A Land of Plenty

The biggest cultural shift for me so far, has been the extensive use of helpers in families with children. It is very common practice in all Asian expat communities, and for the most part, the women employed in these roles are nearly always Filipino's.

When I moved to Hong Kong I was full of strong notions of independence and disdain for this practice, I might add this was somewhat self righteous of me and revealed a very naive understanding of life outside Australia. There were lifestyle changes I didn't really understand, like how it felt to be at home when the working parent is quite often away for all daylight hours and I also didn't know what life was like without the generous support of family close by.

And my views were very much formed by life in Australia, as a wealthy, sophisticated nation, with high levels of workplace regulation, the strictest of immigration policy and a land of plenty. I had no idea of the real level of poverty which exists within our closest neighbours.

Since living in HK I have met and chatted to many helpers, and my view of the situation is a little more rounded. These women are truly inspiring. They send all of their income home and quite often sustain 5 or 6 people in the Philippines with their wages. They are putting their kids through tertiary education and doing their best to lift their children's life from working to middle class. I have heard it said these women are the backbone of the Filipino economy. I don't know enough about economics to verify that as a truth, but watching these women work with the integrity and heart that they do, I would believe it.

I met Nicole this week, she wouldn't have a cuppa with me, but I am hoping she will soon. She has 3 children at home; 12years, 10 years and 7. They are cared for by her mother and husband. I spoke to her of how hard that must be to be away from them. Momentarily I saw the pain in her eyes, but she confirmed she must be here and work for them, everything she does is for them.

This kind of sacrifice is foreign to me. The ultimate sacrifice in my opinion, for a parent to leave their children in order to give them a better life. My admiration for this strength in parenting is complete. I wonder if I could do the same.

With Gillard's proposition to East Timor this week about them hosting a regional detention centre for Australia, Jose Ramos Horta's words have remained with me.

The people of East Timor are sympathetic to those fleeing political violence.

There is so much more to learn about Asia if we are to truly consider ourselves part of it. For the moment I remain inspired by what I have witnessed this week.

Task #14 - Cuppa

Have a cup of tea with someone you find interesting. Ask them about how they have ended up in the city and why they stay.

Dress-ups

My baby girl turns three on Saturday. Three years ago I was 42 weeks pregnant and up a ladder cleaning the bathroom ceiling. After the acupuncture, pavement pounding, telephone book squatting, visualisations, spicy Pakistani curry and marital 'exercise', I believe it was the cleaning of the ceiling that finally brought on labour.

But I digress...

This week's task neatly coincided with my plans to furnish the three-year-old with the makings of her own dress-up box, so I took a trip to Vinnies. Is that vintage? Probably not really. Second-hand, yes. Faded and worn, mostly. I knew a lot of people growing up who were excellent op-shoppers. I tried to be for a while. I'd scan the racks, buy a pair of baggy men's suit pants or a quirky jacket, but they never wore well on me. I couldn't really pull it off. The best purchase was from a huge second-hand clothing shop in Berlin where I picked up a pair of dark orange corduroys, a much-needed addition to my very tired backpacker's wardrobe, and paid for them by their weight. I owned those cords, and wore them a lot, for years.

Anyway, back to Vinnies in Dulwich Hill, where most of my fellow shoppers were actually shopping for their clothes and household items, rather than on the lookout for that lucky find. It was a bit depressing. And it wasn't even that cheap! But on Saturday morning, my little girl who has recently discovered the fun of rummaging through her drawers to try on clothes then parading the outfits in front of me, will have her very own dress-up box with a couple of hats and handbags, some princess dresses, a pair of cowboy dungarees and at least one fake fur stole. Let the make-believe begin.

Fake Vintage

I love this town; it's quirky, unique and international. But Hong Kong does not do vintage, it does not like to do second hand in any form. Here things should be NEW. It forms the foundations of society, this is China - things are replaceable, disposable, cheap and ready to be consumed. If you want retro it can be manufactured for you in an instant. As good as new......as good as old!

So a search for vintage included a chain of vintage 'style' clothes or a shop in central owned by a Macao casino heiress selling off her already worn but current season designer catwalk fashion. If any reader has found King street here in SARS please correct me. But my journey to vintage 'style' clothing shop reflected the cities second hand sentiment. A city where shopping ceases at 11pm every night...the vintage 'style' clothing joint was closed.

And just to prove everything else was open....

So in the spirit of the city, I embraced the ironic notions of retro and purchased a pair of wedges straight from The Loveboat. Or lets say inspired by Loveboat re-runs. They are finished with navy terry towelling lining. Now I LOVE a bit of terry towelling and am of the school that there should be more of it - MUCH more. So whilst wearing these beauties I will imagine sipping cinzano laced with glazed cherries, I turn my mary-kay face carefully as to not upset my blow wave all the while watching tanned men in euro trunks diving off platforms into a blue pool.

Aside from my loveboat fantasy, these wedges are as vintage as yesterdays vegetarian noodles were vegetarian (the inclusion of roast chicken and pork sausage was stretching the commonly held definition). In a last ditch effort I have photographed them in possibly the only remaining vintage item in Hong Kong - a red taxi!

My first good chat with a local..

There is a little shop that opened in our street about 6 months ago that keeps catching me eye. I keep meaning to go in there but fail each time because I’m either embarrassed by the cumbersome and bright orange Sainsbury bags in hand or I’m meant to be somewhere else in a hurry. The shop has little hand strung Tibetan style flags out the front and its window is filled with quirky vintage style dresses, buttons and badges, even handmade cards. It’s a treat just to look at.

Finishing work early yesterday gave me a carefree hour to finally step beyond the pretty window into the shop and its vintage inspired clothes and accessories made by local designers. On this occasion, despite admiring everything, I left empty handed but opted to make up for this by grabbing some dinner treats from the café a few doors down - and this is where my day became so much more interesting. I had my first good chat with a local in my new neighbourhood - the woman who runs the clothes shop I’d just been to! Turns out the shop used to be a chemist run by her father and then after that rented out to the local antiques buyer and seller before finally coming back to her to try her hand at. My new found local is also a yoga teacher – unfortunately not in London Bridge – however she did remind me that there is a new place that has opened up just down the road that I should try. As I was handed my fresh pastries and made my way back down the street towards home I was left with only one disappointment – not having the courage to ask her name and introduce myself. Next time, there’s always next time.

Task #13- Vintage Shoppe

Visit a vintage shop or any quirky shop that has caught your eye recently. Try something different on. Does it suit you?

Hoot!

"What is it?" said the husband. "It's an owl," I replied. "Can't you tell?"

"No," he said. "I love you, but no."

I have very vague memories of learning macrame at school as a small child, and being really into it. I remember twisted strands that formed pot holders. There were beads and coarse twine. I don't recall it being overly difficult, at least not as fiddly as it was when I threw myself into it again this week with my 'Woman's Day Complete Book of Handicrafts' (1973) to guide me. After practising the basic knots, I decided to launch myself into a real project - an owl. I found the pattern online and began...well enough.

I tied the strands onto a dowel and taped it to a work surface (the back of a cardboard coffee tray!)

The first alternating square knots were a breeze. More detail was added. A couple of beady eyes, some half hitches, more alternating square knots and some square knot sinnets.

Needless to say, this little number took most of the afternoon. There's meant to be more to it - another dowel for the owl's perch, and more bloody alternating square knots for the tail. But I was done... I'm quite into 'crafting' at the moment. I knit whenever I get a chance, have great plans for getting back into sewing and really look forward to teaching myself some new things, crochet and embroidery amongst them. I rather fancied I'd really enjoy this macrame thing, but no. It was fiddly and fussy and a bit boring. But there's the lure of a few garments in the Woman's Day craft book...

This elegant necklace, for instance...

Or this glamorous golden shawl...

Or perhaps this jaunty little number for the Christmas party season...

The Hand Thong

Patience is one virtue I don't have. Even as an ambitious 8 year old I knew macrame was beyond me. I gave the old Knitting Nancy a fairly pathetic whirl, and tossed it aside quickly for full two hour renditions of Joseph and his technicolour dreamcoat in front of the mirror with a hairbrush. Even so I was determined to give this one a bash. Several trips to baron craft shops left me floundering without tools - I had a good go at the basic knots on kids how-to websites. I think Hugo's understanding of macrame is that it is a matted knot to be launched across the room.

I descended into my 8 year old feelings of failure, only this time Joseph and mirror dancing would not save me. Just as it didn't when I failed my year 8 sloppy joe assignment.

Woe.

Then a moment of inspiration. I might not be a macrame master but I could manage a bit of finger knitting back in the day. Yahoo, hold on cowgirl. I finger knitted my way into the night, until I came up with this exclusive yet functional design, I have labeled it ....the hand thong. Feelings of year 8 sewing failure cast aside, I marched proudly onto Zara in the hope they will take it on as part of their winter collection.

Task #12 - Out-of-Date Crafts

Remember macramé in primary school? Revisit those crafty days with some rope and beads and try to create something spectacular.

(I know these are busy times, ladies - you have until Sunday 20th June!)

Success!

It's late by a couple of weeks but I finally played a board game. Ange and I sat down to an intense game of rude word Scrabble. It was great idea in theory, but in practice there aren't enough 'F', 'U', 'C' and 'K' tiles to really make it work. We stretched the definition of 'rude', used as many vague euphemisms as we could get away with and struggled through the last of the tiles, yawning past our bedtime. Result: I won, thanks to a few triple word score lucky breaks.

Croupier

Since you guys have stolen my proposed titles of 'failed miserably' and 'Cheat', I have pursued the task with the added guilt of missing the deadline. Here is my week with this seemingly SIMPLE task.

THURSDAY

Babe, I have to play a game for the blog this week, fancy a game of scrabble

I will be asleep in five minutes

FRIDAY

Monopoly???

It's Friday night babe

SUNDAY

So how about that game of scrabble?

Work tomorrow babe

MONDAY

Scott we HAVE to play a board game

Can't you play that one by yourself ......patience!

TUESDAY

Hugo you ready to learn a new game

No I don't

Here is a pictorial record of how Hugo's first board game went. I especially purchased a Thomas the Tank Engine game of pairs. He began by using a piece of bluetack on the card he had to remember! The game was completed in record time!

(note bluetak)

GAME OVER!

Failed miserably!

Its 10.17pm on Tuesday night – I have less than 2 hours to complete this week’s task. Over the last week I have continued to bore myself stupid with study of the body’s systems – everything from understanding the ugliness that is the penis to the beauty that comes with the 6 senses. I have hand written study notes then retyped them, I’ve drawn fancy looking pictures and impressive flow charts in hope that something might stick in my head for the exam. Around this mountain of boredom I have moved house and completed a round trip of IKEA. I have transformed the bachelor pad into a very happy home that I LOVE and spent a weekend lunching with gorgeous friends. I am telling you all of this for one reason – I have failed miserably at completing one simple task and need to seek some forgiveness for letting the team down. The board game still sits in the shop waiting for me and at 10.25pm it will be waiting in the shop for another night yet. Will as I might, I cannot come up with even a simple pack of cards in the new and improved happy home. I say goodnight to you with a promise to do better next week and with a photo of the last time I played a good game in fine company…..it was known as the backgammon tour of Eastern Europe – too many backgammon contests to remember played in pubs, alongside rivers and in the midst of a very funky music scene.

Cheat!

I'm moving house tomorrow. I'm surrounded by mess and crap and chaos. Alas, the board games, all three of them (Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit and a chessboard), and a couple of jigsaws, all went into a box marked 'board games' weeks ago. That box is at the bottom of this pile of boxes:

So I'm not playing a board game this week. It's a bit like the cocktail 'cake' post of another Tale of Three-er - I'm cheating. I'm sure you understand.

In the spirit of it all, though, I did have a few games on Lexulous.com last night. That's online Scrabble. I heard Richard Glover describe it on his radio show recently as "the heroin of online gaming." It's true - I used to be addicted, back when it was Scrabulous.com. A member of my household may or may not play quite keenly at times. He claims that he controls it, it doesn't control him. I'm saying nothing.

It's a pretty poor effort, I know. I promise, when I'm in the new place and everything is unpacked, the bloke and I will sit down to a good old-fashioned game of real Scrabble. But in the meantime, I've got to fly - this computer is about to get packed into one of those boxes.

Task #11 - Games

Play a game: a board game, cards, even just a jigsaw puzzle - something fun with loved ones.

Dreaming of Guilin

Pick a place within your current country of residence to go for a fantasy (or perhaps a real) holiday. Why do you want to go there? What will the trip entail?

Fantasy Holidays are so important. They are as important as the lost hours spent organising how you will divide a million dollar lottery win. I know to the dollar where my millions would be spent. Ah so satisfying and I am so impressed my generosity too!

We have been in lock down this weekend (long weekend here for Buddha's Birthday) with a sick toddler. Over the weekend, as I held him down for the doctor to give him an injection, I promised him a new fire engine. In between screams he asked for a green one. Not so easy! Scott had the more fun task of finding the fire engine (which he did not include colour specificity in his search). Scott came back with a red fire engine and a little toy car for himself! mmmmm A Porsche Cayenne Turbo complete with over-sized Winnebago and little people dressed in polo shirts relaxing on sunbeds! Gone is the humble matchbox in China!

I might add the lady included in the glam caravan party has pert boobs and a glass of wine! Oh I spent my childhood hiding from barbie only to have her track me down as an adult in a miniature Porsche Cayenne, whilst drinking chardonnay urghhh...

So I let Scott have his fantasy holiday, and gleefully watched as Hugo regularly crashed the yuppie campers to put out the fire from their BBQ.

To task: The setting of THE PAINTED VEIL was a part of China that haunted me. It was filmed in Guilin in the Guangxi region very close to here. It is a city built around twin rivers and a lake system. Crustal movements 200 million years ago thrust karst (limestone sites) formations high into the air which have eroded to become the awe inspiring shapes they are today. There is a popular Chinese proverb that goes 'Guilin's scenery is best among all under heaven." My mum described it as the Bellingen of China - that sold me.

My fantasy holiday is travelling along the Li River on its crystal clear water meandering through the rock shafts on a bamboo raft. I travel through the fog in the lamplight of the raft. It is dead quiet. The bamboo ticks. Amazingly there are no mozzies in my fantasy holiday.

I wonder if I should include being married to Edward Norton as part of my fantasy holiday even if he did succumb to cholera. Mmm its tempting, but I look across at my boys, Scott is teaching Hugo how to reverse a caravan between the BBQ and the umbrella. I guess I am no Naomi Watts, but please someone tell me if I start wearing tight polo's over plastic perky boobs whilst sipping my wine!

A break from study at long last...

My life is spectacularly dull at the moment. My standard routine has become 5.45am alarm, gym (stationary bike whilst reviewing study notes), work, study, bed, 5.45am alarm etc etc. I have one more essay, one more weekend of lectures and one final exam left of this year's naturopathy course. Every spare minute of my life is now planned in an attempt to make it to the final hurdle. The light at the end of the tunnel has been the hypothetical weekend trip we might take to the Cotswolds in June. Thank heavens for this blog. Giving myself an hour away from the biomedicine notes tonight I have now planned and part booked the trip. Hypothetical has become reality. Hallelujah!

On the last weekend of June we are now visiting, according to the website, the quintessential English Cotswold region, (apparently) the country's largest officially designated area of outstanding natural beauty. I'd love to know who has the job of designating such things.

I haven't quite got the accommodation sorted yet but am thinking this is where the fantasy holiday component might kick in. I can't quite get past the 17th century manor with individually decorated rooms (including four poster bed) situated in the heart of the Cotswolds region. My ultimate holiday would be to remain in that bed for the entire weekend but in reality I know what will happen. Given my travelling partners are Tim and our two adventure freak friends Dave and Anna, I will be up at stupid o'clock for a spot of english breaky before hiking through picture postcard, lush rolling hills for the day.

Thankfully the fantasy holiday idea makes a comeback at the end of the day - the region is famous for its gourmet, locally sourced, home made food. And since I will have hiked all day I can eat as much as I want!

Bay of Fires

It will come as no surprise that, bless their untarnished little souls, my fantasy holiday does not involve my children. And some time in the near future I could probably swing a weekend away with the help of some doting aunties. But there’s a catch – I’m hopeless. I know I wouldn’t really enjoy even a short break away from them because I’d just worry. Even though they’d be fine, even though they’d be lovingly cared for, I wouldn’t be able to relax. And that’s no holiday.

So my fantasy holiday is going to need the addition of a bit of time travel, back to the time before my kids were born. Don’t judge me. I love those little creatures and have never really wished they weren’t around. But if we’re going to have a fantasy holiday, let’s go the whole hog and make sure my headspace can match my physical surrounds, and that means it has to take place pre-children.

The last real holiday I had was my honeymoon. By ‘real’, I mean an all-expenses-paid, someone else doing the cooking and cleaning type break. It was a resort holiday in an exotic locale, five-star accommodation, cocktails by the pool at 11am, three-hour spa treatments – that sort of thing. I could have that sort of holiday again any time, and hopefully will.

I could also happily enjoy a week’s driving/eating holiday, somewhere like the Hunter Valley, Margaret River or the Barossa. Just me and Ange in the Tucson with a bunch of road songs on the iPod, staying in well-appointed guesthouses, taking in the scenery, visiting wineries and great cafes by day, eating in beautiful regional restaurants every night.

But the trip I keep coming back to is one that’s been on my ‘list’ for years, an extravagance in terms of dollars so I’ve never really considered it too seriously when I occasionally see an ad or read an article about it. I just think, “One day.” It’s the Bay of Fires walk in Tasmania – four days of coastal trekking, staying in a beautiful lodge at night, a bit of luxury in the uninhabited wilderness. I can just imagine how fresh and crisp the air is, how beautiful the landscape. How good a glass of wine will taste at the end of a day’s walking. Falling into bed exhausted but satisfied. Sleeping like a baby.

My walking partner would be my husband – he needs a holiday as much as I do. And given how squishy and crowded our life and home has become in recent years, it’d be great to spend some time together with all that space around us.

What say you, garbageman? Fancy some time travel?

Task #10 - Holiday

Pick a place within your current country of residence to go for a fantasy (or perhaps a real) holiday. Why do you want to go there? What will the trip entail?

Beginners Haiku

Wednesday
Waiting in the rain
She opens her umbrella
I wish I had one

Thursday
A sweet kiss goodnight
a little magic moment
Are there any more please?

Friday
Steaming underground
Tube clanks towards Waterloo
Blank faces blank eyes

Saturday
Newspapers in bed
Afternoon indulgence
News, Art, Sport, Travel

Sunday
Dinner with two friends
A rolling glass of French wine
Future pacts agreed

Monday
Meetings 8 to 6
Decisions, delegating
Need fresh air, less work

Tuesday
Olympic mascots
An evening launch, story told
Positive response

melting moments

Greer introduced me to Haiku years ago, when we were sharing a shabby, happy flat in Elizabeth Bay. My favourite Haiku poem has stayed with me for all those years, although as I recall it, it doesn't fit the traditional syllabic structure. Perhaps its the more contemporary freeform version;

Now you decided

That you don't want my love

What am I to do with it

Here goes my Haiku week:

Wednesday

Oh you damn bull frogs

That keep me awake at night

Is that really your name

Thursday

Late night TV news

Presenter preserved by makeup

The stories are grim

Friday

This plump glass of wine

Is so red it's almost black

Now so are my lips

Saturday

Gentle waves lap

Hot sand sautes its bodies

Brown man in a thong

Sunday

Microwave popcorn

A modern phenomena

Oh damn that first one

Monday

Little visiting cat

Chasing the summer moths

Get off my flyscreen

Tuesday

The ferry pulls in

We wait for the bump and squeeze

Where tyres come to die

Five, Seven, Five

Wednesday

Afternoon play date

Sharing, giggling, then the scream

Toddler tug-of-war

Thursday

Precious baby girl

In the dead of night lets out

A huge, man-size fart

Friday

Questions come thick and fast

Toppling over each other

To leave her mouth

Saturday

Steam rises, I sink

In water so hot it hurts

Bless the bubble bath

Sunday

Rain spits so gently

Nobody runs for cover

Sunday sunshower

Monday

Eyes closed, nonchalant

She purses her lips and sucks

Tiny cheeks pumping

Tuesday

Leaves by the zillion

Plastered to the deck outside

By persistent rain

Task #9 - Haiku week

Every day for a week, write a haiku that describes your day or a moment in it. Post every day or all seven at the end of the week.

O, Jerusalem!

For someone who used to work in a fruit and vegetable business, there are an awful lot of vegies I’ve never tried before, and even more I’ve never cooked. And I’m not just talking about the exotic ones from the local Vietnamese grocer. Kale, celeriac, choko, yam, kohlrabi (thanks, Amanda) – I ought to be ashamed! It’s like the bloody chocolate ice-cream all over again - sticking with what I know and unwilling to experiment.

I greet the Jerusalem artichokes with cynicism. They look like a cross between ginger and a potato. I’m not exactly filled with optimism about their flavour.

Naturally I turn to Stephanie for some thoughts. She tells me something I already know – they’re not artichokes and have nothing to do with Jerusalem. They are, in fact, a relative of the sunflower. I decide to make Stephanie’s Jerusalem artichoke soup. First I have to peel and cut the tubers. It’s like trying to peel a potato with a dozen huge pimples on it and each one takes forever. Then I have to throw the cut pieces into some lemony water so they don’t go brown. Luckily the soup is an easy job – sautéing onion, garlic and the artichokes in loads of butter, then adding stock and simmering until tender. I blend the whole lot up, pass it through a sieve, and then serve it up with a drizzle of cream and a sprinkling of nutmeg.

It looks dull, tastes odd and I’m still lacking enthusiasm. But when I sit down to a small bowl of it a bit later, it starts to grow on me. And grow and grow. It’s yummy. Delicious, in fact. The texture of the soup is silky and smooth. The flavour is hard to describe - a bit nutty, a bit luxurious, like something with more ingredients in it that was much harder to make. Not a bad effort, all in all.

The lament of the Mustard Greens

On a scale of 1 to 10 I would give myself an 8 in terms of bravery for trying unknown fruits and vegetables. I like them. Scott, on the other hand, is easily scared by an unknown fruit or vegetable, so I decided to let his reactions guide my choice for this week’s task.

Kylie Kwong’s Simple Chinese Cooking is my favourite cookbook at the moment. And Kylie’s pages are a great place to start, especially when I have one of the greatest selections of unknown fruit and veges at my fingertips.

Flipping through the pages I could not go past Stir-fried Cucumber, Black Cloud Ear Fungus and Chilli. The name seems to suggest so much more..Ear Fungus !!! And then throw in black and you have something that could be on a straight-to-video sci-fi. Trying to avoid a reference to cotton buds here!

Scott’s reaction to this suggestion was exactly as I’d hoped - pure horror!

Ok time to boast, my Chinese Vegetable selection at the supermarket spans a 15-metre display! The other side of the aisle is a cascade of tropical fruits from all over Asia. To say the least, it is impressive!

Alas, no fresh Black Cloud Ear Fungus. Why oh why I ask the poor supermarket employee, its Cantonese, Kylie is Cantonese, we are in Hong Kong. The lady made me write it down and she came back with a team of people. After a long long animated discussion in Cantonese the spokesperson announced …. ‘no special fungus ma’am’.

Back to the drawing board – too exotic Kylie!

Take 2

Mustard Greens!

And YUM! Think of the crunch of celery with the panache of Gai Lan. Stir-fried in peanut and sesame oil with lashings of garlic – it was delicious. I was most impressed with this new vegetable. While I reminisce, I lament for the future mustard greens, a daggy looking vegetable with a terribly unimaginative name that bears no resemblance to the taste. It is a vegetable with unleashed potential yet such a harsh exterior. I have decided that Mustard Greens are the Russell Crowe of vegetables!

To Kohlrabi with love

Life in London has taken a turn for the worse this week - I've been sick for 5 days now with an evil version of tonsillitis. I can't say I've witnessed any great sign of improvement despite the cache of drugs I now have or the brief trip to one of London's busiest hospitals only to be handed a free asprin (inspiring stuff). I've been pondering whether penicillin could be considered a unique or strange vegetable that could be transformed into a gourmet delight once mixed with a few fresh herbs and spices and I've also been pondering whether I should just skip the blog for this week but then I remembered something about 'turning up at the page' - a little Artist Way reference which can be translated as 'get your sorry backside out of bed!'

I'm under strict instructions not to leave the house (boyfriend rules - non negotiable it seems) and so I have made the heroic step of at least moving to the living room to sit by the window and watch the grey clouds settle. I love this blog. Once again it has delivered me a little slice of sanity. I started by looking up one of my new favourite websites; BBC recipes, searched by vegetable recipes and one of the first ones to appear was 'smothered leeks and kohlrabi' with a photo of that vegetable - apparently a kohlrabi - that I have dismissed at farmers markets before, primarily because I had no idea what it was.

I am not alone. I googled Kohlrabi and apparently its become a bit of a regular in people's home delivered vegetable boxes so the web is filled with questions and cries for help from people trying to first of all decipher what this unattractive thing is and secondly what to do with it. My favourite find was a post by a Guardian reader, Sean Ingle, who I have to quote;

After all, you rarely find kohlrabi in British supermarkets. Or restaurants. Or cookery books. It's big in Germany, apparently, but then so is David Hasselhoff.

I'm quite fond of kohlrabi's unusual appearance - how could anyone not have a soft spot for a vegetable that looks like something an eccentric scientist would send to Mars? Most foodies, however, seem to think it should stay there. The reaction of Nigel Slater is typical. "Having tried out a number of ideas for this sputnik-shaped root, I have concluded that I really don't ever want to see one again," he wrote last year. "Perhaps the fact that slugs and bugs avoid it like the plague (which is why it turns up with grim regularity in many organic boxes) should give a clue as to why most people give it the cold shoulder."

This vegetable seems to be so controversial that I now see it as a personal challenge to cook it so that it feels a little more love from the world. This then led me to the on-line supermarket shopping websites to see whether I could order it (and the rest of the week's supplies) from my lounge room. Turns out the big supermarkets don't love Kohlrabis either however what I did discover is just how much stuff I could buy from the on-line supermarket - sofas, electrical appliances, storage solutions - a very wide selection for a girl who has just moved into her boyfriends bachelor pad and is already eyeing off a few decor changes. I may be housebound but that doesn't mean I can't carry out a little retail therapy :) Kohlrabi may have to wait just a little longer for some love.

Task #8 - Vegetable

Try a vegetable you have never eaten before. Either cook it up in a recipe you find or have it on the run somewhere. Has this vegie scared you in the past?

Chasing a white rabbit

Over the past 2 months I have been a diligent tourist in Hong Kong, I have seen the Peak and Stanley several times, the star ferry, Lamma island, Peng Chau, Mui Wo, Central to Happy valley on ting tings, Victoria Park, Aberdeen Harbour on a Junk, Nan Lian gardens, the Botanical Gardens, Bird/fish and flower markets and Ikea more than 3 times. In fact when you have weeks stretched before you with little more grounding you than a mobile phone, you are a tourist each time you step out the front door.

So I knew I had to push this task to a new level. A needed to morph into a new type of tourist - And it scared me to my bones. Yep, I decided to face my great fear of the utterly commercial and visit ……Disneyland.

Well not entirely true – I went to the gates! And then on to find the Alice in Wonderland hedge maze in front of the resort – it’s free! I am still that type of tourist.

So Hugo and I jumped on the Mickey Mouse train at Sunny Bay station (I am not kidding) and hurtled through time. In fact I felt like I stepped into that Chevy Chase movie….you know the one, grandma on the roof of the station wagon.

There it was, theme songs blaring down the avenue, Jiminy Cricket recycle bins, Donald duck bronze statues, goofy etc etc….I did find Peter, my favourite childhood anarchist. Meanwhile Hugo drifted along in amazement, only to be cruelly steered in the opposite direction to the gates of fun and onto the resort in search of his mum’s obsession with a hedge maze.

But it was worth it. Chasing a 2 year old through a hedge maze is hilarious. Hugo is a maze cheat – quickly slipping through rabbit holes. Comparatively I moved through it with the grace of a water buffalo. I was less of Alice and more Bridget Jones. But it was the best game of hide and seek ever.

Walking back to the Mickey Mouse train (I am telling the whole truth) I resisted photographing the western family’s adorned in the ears and matching Disney family tee shirts.

Looking at this memorabilia a part of me felt sentimental. But nothing can provoke that childish ecstasy than chasing a white rabbit through the maze.

I wondered that perhaps Disney is timeless for some people. The Little Mermaid music swirled around me as we left the gates A whole new world…… this song now belongs to my dear friend Erin, she regularly performs it after a few wines, with a little less emphasis on the nymph and more on the nympho. And my conclusion, Erin is right, no Disney wannabe will ever steal her thunder.

This place is for a different tourist, not me. I will take the free maze and Erin’s pub mermaid any day!

Sydney Walking Tour (A Pictorial Journey)

We began at the Art Gallery of NSW,

where I miraculously got a park right out the front!

The gates of the Royal Botanic Gardens - too many steps so...

Much better.

Babes enjoying the sights - Gardens in the background.

Our first glimpse of the Opera House and Harbour Bridge.

Homesick, girls?

Circular Quay with ferries and MCA in the background.

After a big hike up Phillip Street, Bridge Street and Macquarie Street, the State Library, where we had a quick soy latte in the cafe.

Then the tourists lay out a rug on the grass in the Domain

to enjoy the sunshine!

London Bridge is falling down, falling down....

Before I embark on this weeks task I need to share a significant achievement – I baked a cake. A very good cake. Its been so long since I’ve flexed some domestic muscle that I’d forgotten how satisfying it is to watch your own handy-work rise in the oven and to smell your very own home baked goodies fill every room in the apartment. Anyway I digress – onto this week’s task that reminded me just how fortunate I am to be living in this little slice of the world. With the afternoon sun still out at 8pm people are crowded outside bars, spilling onto the streets showing no signs of packing up whilst the weather is so good. I set off on an hour walk from Tower Bridge to the Millenium Bridge and back again. Within half an hour I’ve meandered through Borough Markets onto the Thames path, past Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre and onto the Tate Gallery. As we get to the Millenium Bridge that crosses the Thames from the Tate to St Paul’s Cathedral the sun has turned the city a vibrant shade or orange and our new camera gets a work out. Its moments like this that I wonder how on earth I got to be so lucky living here, looking down a river filled with icons that I’ve read about in nursery rhymes, stories and history classes over the years. To be physically standing amongst them all is very cool. Even cooler is that by the time we get back to the pad in London Bridge the cake is ready to eat.

PS. Aims for the record – I checked out whether there were any actual apartments on Tower Bridge – none that I could see ☺