Dia In Thailand

A Stitch In Time, Thus Enshrined

2008-11-17T21:38:00.000-08:00

Found at ginger anyhow are embroidered SMS. 20 in all.

They are poignant and perfect and it's not only the content, but the time stamp is usually what gets me.

I would venture to say that the vast majority of us have sent, received, and (gulp) archived a few of these babies.

It almost makes me want to high tail it to Jo-Ann fabrics and buy some DMC black and Aida--C'mon you cross stitch nerds, you know what I'm talking about.

Tell Your Mommy You Want Umami

2008-07-07T22:57:00.000-07:00

Where have I been lately? Well, in a nutshell: the US and Vietnam were two recent stops for me, but I think my paucity of posts can be attributed to much of my time being spent reading every scrap of reporting on the Democratic primary race. That meant a lot of Internet and a lot of TV.

But back to more important things than politics. While in NYC, I did some last minute shopping at Gourmet Garage. It was, you know, an hour before I was leaving for the airport. Eminent departure + Family = Beyotchy Churlishness--well we all know there a few things that stop that: 1) food shopping, 2) food making and 3) food consuming.

I picked up a few prime purchases at GG among them Maldon sea salt (truly magnificent, not even snooty fleur de sel--you can see why they taxed salt back in the day), olive oil from Provence with herbes de provence in it (even putting it over Kraft Mac and Cheese transports you to some ethereal planet of bliss) and truffle oil.

Now, recently there was an NYT article about how truffle oil is not the strained liquid from marinading the fungus, but actually a chemical concoction made to smell and taste like the genuine article. Apparently they have isolated the truffle compound down to a molecular and replicable level. But does that mean it's not good?

Nope, because truffle oil over ANYTHING I am convinced will make you drool for it. I seem to have stumbled on some crazy umami or fifth taste switch that I can't now stop. Take truffle fries for instance--I actually contemplated aloud to N the other day a possible purchase of McD french fries just to shake them up with a tablespoon of the stuff. Or cold pizza---two dots on a slice of cold pizza. Enough to make me lose my mind.

Umami is actually the chemical compound glutamate naturally present in a variety of foods--real parmigiano reggiano, fish sauce, ketchup, soy and a lot of Japanese foods like kombu, bonito, and oh so meatily delicious mushrooms hence our usage of the Japanese word for it. Kind of like tsunami :-(.

Anyway! Umami ingredients are like insurance policies, super subs, not generally the flashy striker but indispensible on the bench. Sure it would be nice to have say, Cristiano Ronaldo all the damn time, but in a pinch Ole Gunnar Skolskaer really makes a difference. Thus with umami. Put a parmesan rind or maybe some fish sauce in your next pot of homemade stock and get back to me.

Also the map is courtesy of the UMAMI Information Center. I live in the world's umami epicenter, non?

Railei: Four Times in Four Years

2008-07-01T00:37:00.001-07:00

Railei kind of makes you feel like you have been holding your breath your whole life and only now do you think to exhale.

I don't think I will ever get used to seeing the bay cradled by towering karsts at each end, especially at night, when there is something truly magical about those dark columns. I'm certainly not the only one who feels this way, but there is something about the place that encourages a sense of intimacy.

I had first been there in 2004 after the J and S wedding and was shocked and stunned by the beauty. All the New Yorkers were--call it Thai sensory overload. We just sat on the porch at Baan Deborah with mouths open. I dropped my city girl thing (a jacket at least at all times!) and even boarded a plane all gritty with sand and a bikini underneath my clothes. The Jedi mind trick was complete. I was moving to Thailand.

2005:
Next time around, S, the rock-climbing rocket scientist and I had the best time I have ever had, with anyone, anyplace, anyhow. This time we perched at Baan Wolfgang and made friends and influenced people. She came off the plane in the middle of the night from India and I apologized for making her get right back on a plane, but promised that I was taking her to the best place in the world. We saw some debris left at that time--mostly broken pieces of longtail boat from the tsunami the year before. Thanks to B and C who sent us off from Bangkok with necessary provisions.

Rainy season, 2006, N and I go there and arrive at night--the longtail slips silently into the Andaman and no boatman in sight. We are confident that we could drive a boat if we had to when he swings aboard. So frightening and romantic in equal measure! Shack up in Baan Solly and read and listen to music and swim in fits of spontaneous happiness. Wake up in the middle of the night to watch Italy win the World Cup. A brilliant trip.

2007--a bleak year with no Railei.

2008--Our travel group needed to have one last trip before dear friends moved from Bangkok, but thankfully only to Singapore. Railei Beach Club was a no brainer. This trip included a solo swim for me where small schools of golden minnows arched out of the water in the trail of a receding wave washing me with a spontaneous wave of joy. Not something I experience every day, but commonplace in Railei.

Laos In Translation

2008-03-20T22:23:00.001-07:00

I was in Vientiane, Laos, last week doing some reporting. And through the beer bottles and bureaucrats' ballet, I didn't quite feel that I was getting a true picture of what the place was really like. Though inertia will always find a true north and the next day along with a driver, my cameraman and a Lonely Planet Laos, we wandered aimlessly looking for people or a pulse.

It certainly seemed at times I was trying to conjure something that didn't exist--which is generally frowned upon for a reporter to do. But in fact, I just needed to readjust my own pace--Laos is certainly not speeding up for you. And a few phone calls later, I was standing in a kitchen learning how to make laab plaa and then eating my way through a delicious lunch. The next day was even more languid, it's the heat, it's the purple sticky rice, it's the BeerLao. All of this makes Laos sort of an anti-India but with the same result--you adapt to it and not the other way around. I had a really great time. I found the people lovely and they were nice enough to smile at my inadequate Thai.

I also had the singular experience of feeding footage via satellite from Laos TV--this is a very expensive process that gets pictures there instantly. It can be stressful and seem like 15 years rather than 15 minutes. At Laos TV, all was dark and no one, like a Brooklyn neighborhood, knew nuthin'. There was however a huge replica Eiffel Tower which served no purpose that I could see. I later learned that it was a gift from the Vietnamese. Odd.

I was beginning to stress--the whole place was feeling a little bit Dharma Initiative...with car seats in the foyer for chairs and everything a creaking rusty dusty brown. Pong and I were shown to a room--a graveyard of junked equipment carpeted with dust and I staged whispered "This is the shittiest place I have even been."

Honestly, though I should expect facilities to be like this after being in the region for this long. It all worked out in the end, but I don't think I will ever forget the set up. Cables running out the window to a satt truck parked outside--the dish on the ground and a oversized BeerLao umbrella set up to protect from showers. We could have set up a table underneath and enjoyed an aperitif! A hearty cheers to the engineers, Mr William and Mr Khankheo. Khob choi. Pics below for the non believers among ye...

Casa de Sanyal

2008-03-06T23:50:00.000-08:00

I spent the last weekend with my parents in our family home in New Alipore, Calcutta. My grandfather built this house in the 1950s when the area was a new suburb of the city (and sparkling clean, I am assured.) Previously, my family lived in the heart of the city, but most memories were made in the sprawling three story structure on Block F with an adjacent annex building for the family business above a two car garage.

Recently my parents have renovated the ground floor and refurbished the apartment with paint and repairs. The overhaul helps many of the period features to shine through--the high ceilings and moldings and other architectural details.

Many of the motifs, such as the geometric shapes on the door, reflect the Art Deco sensibility that continued on in India well after its heyday in the West. And I can't help but love the "S" entwined in the window grates which speak to me of dependability, dynasty and ownership.

Dream Puffs

2008-01-11T19:28:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year. I cannot claim anything but laziness with regards to this blog and yet, of course, there have been many things I have wanted to share.

N and I went to India in November and tackled my family's home city of Calcutta (it's not a place one can tackle really--it pulverizes you instantly), the picturesque little town of Darjeeling where my father spent happy school days, and further afield. Needless to say, culinary delights were plentiful and for the record, we never ate anything bad, perhaps just slightly dumbed down for the unaccustomed palate, but that can't be such a sin, now can it?

I had rhapsodized at length to N about a certain pan Indian snack food holy grail known regionally by differing names, but the pitfalls of tracking down and rapidly consuming the pani puri/ gol guppa/ phuchka are many for those of us who have desi blood, but lack the helpful flora in our guts to tackle this street food icon.

But to give credit where credit is due, NRI moms have made these at home and ... Ah the tableau of the Indian diaspora with groups of children clad in Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger turn their noses up at the recreated street food of our mothers' Calcutta youths in a sanitized suburban kitchens with its light almond colored counters stretching out for miles. Quick, someone page Jhumpa Lahiri!

Let's get down to brass tacks. Miniature puris or bread rounds are fried stiff-- almost fossilized--they must be able to hold their shape, travel and withstand finger poking. Am guessing that there is more wheat flour in the dough than the traditional half atta and half moida of our lucchis but I would have to verify with HQ. And HQ, while they will give up their recipes and explain their techniques, gets a quiet chuckle when they think about your ass trying to make any of it. Anyway that's the first component--the Indian equivalent of silver dollar pancakes.

Second is the mash--spiced mashed potatoes laced with chili and coriander, perhaps onion, definitely cumin. You take a little bread and poke a whole in it and stuff some mash inside.

This is the part that requires deftness and agility: I admit stuffing the whole thing in your mouth at this point would taste good but Indian food, let's face it, is all about upping the ante. And upping it some more. Hence the small dish of tamarind water as the finishing touch: spoon some liquid which will be partially absorbed by the potato but quickly start to compromise the structural integrity of the fried bread shell and the whole package will need to be shoved quickly in the mouth.

The ensuing crunchy, sour, sharp, hot, soft amalgam is enough to bring tears to the eyes. The good kind. Luckily a serving is about 5- 8. Note kindly: the above photo taken at Haldiram's in Calcutta features a hygenically sealed packet of phuchkas and an extra dish of something I guess was coriander water. I know it's heresy not to eat them on the roadside, but my readers know that what I lack in Indian authenticity, I make up for in other ways. Satire and spot on impersonations, perhaps?

Burma

2007-10-03T22:39:00.000-07:00

Bul Go Gi A Go-Go: Fire, Meat, Memory

2007-09-14T21:55:00.000-07:00

I first had Korean food in college at a restaurant in Amherst called "Rabbit." The meal didn't make much of an impact, but that's probably because I had the palette of a college student. Little did my taste buds know that they would soon encounter California rolls and be changed forever. The only thing I remember from Rabbit Restaurant was the Korean ladies pointing to my then boyfriend saying in Korean: "He can't eat that. Too spicy for him." Discrimination, he cried and spooned down every last bite of kimchi stew.

The next time I had Korean was after I moved to NYC. I was in my early twenties, highly confused, underemployed and freezing cold. Two friends and I were walking around the city and when suddenly one had a brilliant idea--Korean BBQ. Ah the fogged up windows of the two storey restaurants on 32nd Street, the glowing hot coals brought by the intrepid man from Puebla to the grill table, the waitresses who would get all discombobulated if you tried to DYI (not easy to discourage with a grill, hunks of beef and American males) and the food. Perfectly marinated beef grilled and wrapped in lettuce--it was everything: sweet, salty, smoky, sour, umami, hot, cool, moist and tangy. We ate in silence, fingers and mouths busy with plucking, rolling, wrapping and stuffing.

Korean food grew into something of an obsession for me--I haunted the grocery store Hanareum and stood in front of the fish counter mute until a kind bilingual teenager from Flushing helped me. I know the Korean version of Bisquick used in those tasty pancakes--buchim garu. I feared there were only two cities I could possibly live: New York and Seoul. And when I moved to Bangkok, I was pleased to know my eternal craving could be satisfied very quickly at the top of soi 12.

N and I went recently to a newly opened place called Arirang and the fire meat was just as transcendental as the BBQ I had all those years ago. A few notes: Arirang does not use frozen meat which here I believe made all the difference--the meat was melting, luscious and we couldn't bear to leave a single shred. Also they give you a cloth bib with a Velcro tab--very silly and very useful for all the stray flying sauces. Seeing your better half in a bib imbues the meal with immediate feelings of deep hilarity. Not to mention the comedic value in using metal chopsticks. Arirang also boasts a contraption that comes down very close to the grill and sucks all the smoke away. Very effective and you don't smell like a campfire afterwards.

Also there was a strange pink soup which I am at a loss to describe. Maybe a suitable first course at a luncheon hosted by Victoria Beckham? It came at the beginning of our meal and tasted faintly of citrus--kind of like a light vegetal broth of air freshner...

Biblioteca in the Age of Barnes and Noble

2007-08-29T23:30:00.000-07:00

Right up there with certain breakfasts, English language bookshops here are in short supply. And books here are frighteningly expensive--10 USD for a crummy paperback. Book buying is not subject to willpower and never has been for me. My thought process being something like this: "Books--educational--preeeetttyyyy--eeeeeenteresting--do I have enough money?---Ah, but it's a book. It is like kale for my brain and kale is so good for you." Cha-ching.

Since my embarkation on expatriate existence, I have found myself slowly re-buying books of Suya past--books that I am simply can't live without. The Great Gatsby, I am looking at you. The road to hell is paved with copies of the Essential Hemingway. I have been known to buy a certain fashion magazine once or twice as well and that all adds up.

A friend in the know happily recommended the library. The Neilson Hays Library to be exact-- an English language library founded in 1869 by the Ladies' Bazaar Association to serve the needs of the English-speaking community. That's the reign of Chulalongkorn or Rama V, for those of you playing the home game. It's in a beautiful tranquil period building complete with leather chairs and white walls.

I joined the library in true harried New Yorker fashion, stomping in a half hour before closing time and racing around frantically trying to remember what I wanted. All of their books are arranged in wood and glass cabinets which don't lend themselves to frantic farang whipping them open to get at the goods. And they have a great little collection of books, enough fiction to last me out my days here in Bangkok. And when the librarian told me the fine for returning a book late, we both broke out in laughter: 5 baht a day.

I am ashamed to say that I had forgotten about libraries. Why hadn't someone thought about this before?, I caught myself thinking. What a revolutionary idea! And I now wonder what it's like growing up with Amazon and Barnes and Noble and the act of buying and possessing a book so much a part of the charm. When we were children, we were allowed to buy a book pretty rarely. And I read so fast that I probably finished the thing shortly after dinner.

But at the library, I could take out as many books as I wanted. And I did, especially in summer. Stacks and hauls of books checked out with the heavy clunk of the machine that stamped the due dates. When I was 8 or 9, I must have drunk gallons of lemonade working my way through all of the Nancy Drew mysteries.

A more recent library memory was in Brooklyn, where I had likewise lugged home a trove of books. After a bad breakup and months of letting everything pile up around me to the point of becoming my own archaeological site, I dragged the books back to Grand Army Plaza, after hours, and dumped them in the book drop, like a wise guy or a criminal and never ever went back to face the fine. I have a feeling it was more than 5 baht a day.

In Case of Emergency

2007-08-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

Now if I could only remember where it is....

"Axis of Evil" Hair Care Products

2007-08-23T21:32:00.000-07:00

Possible taglines for this range?

"Look like you just stepped out of a dictatorship!"

"Because democracy isn't worth it."

"Gee, your hair smells like totalitarianism."

Taken in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

You Deserve A Break Today: McD Breakfast Finally Arrives

2007-08-16T00:34:00.000-07:00

Ah Bangkok, city of a thousand temples and more than a few hangovers. It is true. And one of Western civilizations greatest inventions--the breakfast sandwich-- doesn't exist here. Locals prefer little brown bottles of something to perk them up, get them over the hump and on with the day. I, for one, have usually had enough of bottles the morning after, unless it's an opaque white plastic one containing ibuprofen.

Living in a complex region like Southeast Asia, one is constantly making comparisons among the countries here and one thing that often comes up after cheap massage, GDP, literacy rates, foreign ownership laws and what time bars close, is the elusive fast food breakfast. So far, Singapore and Malaysia were beating the pants off of Thailand in this regard. (And they both have TOPSHOP.)

Rumor had it that Burger King in BK serves some kind of eggy approximation but I only learned that information today after making my own discovery which for the grease-needing expats in this town is SUPER SIZED.

You get Mc Donald's breakfast here now.

The McThai Bfast FAQ.

Where are the select locations that I can get jiggy with my hashbrowns?

So far, only at Amarin Tower, The Mall Ngamwongwan, Robinson Sukhumvit and Center One. But I have not spied those dreaded little words "for a limited time only"--lovers of the Shamrock Shake know what I am talking about, so hopefully McBfast is here to stay.
Do they come if you choose the McDelivery option?

This I am not sure about--when you McDeliver, does it go to a central computer and locate the McD nearest you which then completes the order? For first time users, you may want to go to the above branches. Also, the lovely staff is not quite versed in the menu and this morning, I got a Sausage (cough) Burger instead of the Sausage and Egg Burger that my being was crying out for. A mix up in your order? In Thailand? I can hear you thinking, Surely, she jests...

Sausage and Egg Burger?!--Put down the crack pipe, Suya--everyone knows that a McMuffin requires a muffin.

Sure, you and I know that. But as the locals like to remind you that this is thai-LAND and all things must contain sugar (see also Coffee). Therefore muffin means "sugary soft cake found at 7-11" and not a suitable base for my breakfast meat, cheese and egg.

Okay, well then, how was it?

Honestly not bad at all. But you may be assuming I chewed. Also on the flyer of happiness, I see something called the Big Breakfast--for a mere 79 THB, you get a hashbrown, scrambled eggs, a sausage patty, and what LOOKS to be two English muffins. Some assembly required.

Lovin' From The Oven (Home on the Range)

2007-08-08T23:25:00.000-07:00

I live in an enormous apartment which I share with J, my lovely and considerate roommate and we each have our own suites with attached baths and balconies and the walls are so thick that late night entries and movie watching are inaudible.

Though my new digs have the square footage that my old ones did not--the range, in particular, was a bit of a challenge. But first, I must mention traditionally Thais cooked outside with coals in clay pots (you still see this frequently) and now are generally okay with a combination stove top, camp stove, (electric---shudder) hot plate type set up at home, since they eat out or buy food outside and well, it's a tropical country. Who in their right mind needs an oven?

Enter the spolied farang: me. I did have an oven, which is more than most people have or feel like they need in these parts. But this range was a real antique. Italian in origin--it read "Fratelli Onofri" in faded black on the front, I believe it may have dated from the Mussolini era (though I have no chance to take it Antiques Roadshow and prove that). It exuded an gassy smell which was oh-so-unappetizing and the burners left lots to be desired. And the oven--it worked, but there was no discernible way to control the temperature so you could attempt to bake, but would have to be super vigilant or things would turn to blackened crisp before you could say deus ex machina.

The building manager whisked Mussolini away to an undisclosed location, after I had requested a new range, and promised to rehabilitate him. But there is no solution for a hardened despot made of steel. He came back polished yet still inefficient.

In January, my mother and aunt showed up and were appalled by Mussolini's lack of BTU cooking power. Indian ladies are serious about their cookers--oh they may use a pan that came free with a box of Bisquick or a bent knife bought as a present by a romance-challenged husband, but you better believe they insist on their firepower. And frankly, men from my culture are so fussy about their food (Woe betide the new bride who tries to use Minute Rice in the name of expediency instead of Basmati!) that one bad meal later, an order would be quickly put in to Sears for something state of the art and guaranteed not to scorch the daal.

So unaware of the first attempt to scare Mussolini straight, my mother and aunt promptly fired off a few choice words at the building manager (who is also Indian, thereby invoking the Indian lady god-given right to yell at the culturally same) saying that the burners were so weak that it was impossible to even make TEA. And if there is no TEA, you see, well....um it's actually impossible to say what would happen because there has always been and always will be TEA. You may just as well serve everyone purple Kool-Aid and elope.

None of the consternation solved the problem though and I went around Bangkok searching for a range. I need to roast birds and vegetables. I need to indulge my inner Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farms. Everyone I know knows I go through this phase every once in a while, doing things like reading biographies of Emily Dickinson and making fruit crisps. I promise to not get that severe.

But the real thing is that roasting things in an oven is a way to guarantee yourself a really nice tasty dinner with essentially minimum effort (beat up the meat, season and grease, slam in roasting pan, cook) while you yourself have a lot of free time.

Ranges here are hard to come by and expensive, but that great boon of the Internet--craigslist-- proved serendipitous with a posting for my new but secondhand gloriously powerful stainless range which I snapped up as soon as I could.

Incidentally, this range is also an Italian, though I am loath to sully it by comparing it another Italian politician. They simply aren't as reliable. And besides which, the Elba is clearly a woman-- strong, powerful and easy on the eyes, don't you think?

Fuji: A Solution to Hunger

2007-07-21T04:28:00.000-07:00

Fuji is ubiquitous in Thailand as Friendly's but replace the Reese's Pieces Sundae with green tea ice cream and you have it down.
Right down to the enormous picture menu and the navy and white polyester clad waitresses, there are striking similarities, and Fuji, as you may have guessed is a Japanese restaurant chain and frankly, it's a place we enter hungry and leave happy.

N likes the bento, but I will always be an a la carte kind of girl. I don't like being told what to eat or wear, which may account for never having been a bridesmaid.

A cult favorite at Fuji is the salmon with mentai sauce: strips of salmon sashimi wrapped around an asparagus tip drizzled with a creamy, spicy mayonnaise with those lovely neon orange roe all through. I feel compelled to order it every time.

And I have a confession to make--I'll take Fuji any day over pricey and in my opinion, well below par all-u-can-eat Oishi Grand Buffet places. And another "Only in Asia" shocking confession: I once ate Thanksgiving dinner with friends at the Fuji in Siam Center.

A Paucity of Parsley or Have You Seen This Green?

2007-07-12T20:26:00.000-07:00

MIA in BKK is Petroselinum neapolitanum, the humble, indispensible flat-leafed Italian parsley.
I have searched high and low, at Villa, at Central Food Hall and I didn't even bother with Tops-those jokers never have it. Now, I am sure there is maybe one or two places I haven't checked--Gourmet Market, anyone?-- but really, what gives?
I know it's quite ridiculous to feel this way, especially since almost every other ingredient one would want is readily available in this city, which sometimes makes you feel like a spoiled, pampered farang.
It's the Ur-Herb, but I suppose since I am still breathing that I am living without.
But a curious thing happens each time I can't find it at the grocery store, I end up classically overcompensating by buying bag upon bag of the curly leaf kind (of which there is a plethora.)
And everyone knows that curly leaf is for garnish, preferably on a plate at a diner in Meso America. You can chop it up fine and hit it with olive oil all you want, but it will never fool anyone. And now because of my not-yet-named phobia of being without ANY kind of parsley, I have tons of it in the fridge.
Oh, I realize I am being hysterical--I threw some of it into the pesto I was making after I discovered that most of the basil was black and it was FINE.

Every Day Is Like Sunday: NOT

2007-06-19T00:59:00.000-07:00

My Sunday-phobia has been well documented. I think it came about during my year in Florence. Sunday in a Catholic country when everyone goes to their relatives for a huge midday meal was too much to bear as a student. I really don't mind eating alone at all--but I really minded eating overpriced tourist food in the center of town by myself out of hunger at age 18. For one, everyone stared at you. For two, I had no money.

Sundays in Asia are different-- but still have a potential for emptiness. In New York and generally in America, it is a day to get things done: a nice big shop at the grocery store with a delicious feeling of well-stocked plenty at the end, a warm body bag full of laundry on your back from the laundromat, or perhaps the satisfaction of your gleaming bath tiles winking back at you. But basically, you just need to make it until the HBO original series comes on. And if you have managed to throw a chicken in the oven, good for you.

Well, Bangkok's not quite like that: We have maids (labor is cheap/apartments are big), eating out is actually cheaper than buying groceries (especially if you mentally think and cook like you live in Rome, like me), and the HBO here is a sad, pale channel compared to its stateside equivalent (no first run original anything except TERRIBLE movies.)

So what do we do? Well, we go out for food--a popular option is a decadent BKK hotel brunch, but this can quickly easily become a gateway drug as it may lead to more alcohol consumption and further weekend-y bad behavior when in fact, you WILL regret the free flow martinis later no matter how many pieces of foie gras you scarf. But more often than not, some Thai is the order of the day followed by the best thing ever in Thailand--massages.

The foot massage is a popular option--other body parts do get addressed and you lay back in a cool room--you can talk if you feel like it, zone out on music or podcasts and you don't have to get naked, oily or anything else that may interfere with your fragile Sunday sense of self.

Above is a picture of what it feels like: Essentially being pummeled into bliss. Tough life, I know.

Tom Yam Kuyt: Thailand v Holland

2007-06-06T21:33:00.000-07:00

Last night N and I along with two friends went to watch one of many international friendlies around the world---in our case and neck of the woods, it was Thailand v. Holland.

For Thailand, it was a chance to toughen up in preparation for the Asian Cup against a storied world class side, though sadly one that was missing some of its marquee players--I'm looking at you--Rudie Van Horseface.... And for the Dutch, well, it was a chance to make tall people dress in orange, I guess. And to make those folks happy, because you guys from the Pays-Bas, you can play the football.

N and I missed the first half due to incredibly vexing traffic conditions. I had in my previous outings to the stadium taken a motorcycle but it's quite a difficult and dangerous journey. I recall at that time I just held out my ticket to the guy and said "BECKHAM, BECK-HAAAM" very loudly. Real had come to town, you see.

The match: The Dutch were easy, elegant and lovely and Thailand had their scrappy moments. But a trounce was inevitable with Holland winning 3-1. I caught up with my buddy NG with one eye on the pitch--we are worse than a sewing circle, he and I. And I found out that it wasn't that he was terribly busy (though I do think he is) and couldn't have lunch with me, but that lunchtime for him is around 6pm!

We then took a bus straight towards several pints of Guinness.

I Rossoneri: I Migliori in Europa

2007-05-24T00:05:00.000-07:00

So last night, N and I woke up at 1.35 am to watch the Champion's League Final: AC Milan v Liverpool in Athens. Last time these two teams met in Istanbul in 2005, it was pretty much the best football match ever. I suppose a case could be made for various classic World Cup matches, but those are national squads and therefore different in nature. National sides have so many characteristics--they are like monarchy as a system of government, whoever is born in the right place is what you get. (Sorry, Thailand.)

AC Milan, i maestri of Serie A, are a complete delight to watch even without Shevchenko and Liverpool likewise capable of wonderful, exciting play given their talented strikers. Last time, the match was epic--exhilarating and everything that watching football is supposed to be. I remember being on both a cell and a landline watching the match alone.

This time I was dozing on the couch and although play was good, one wouldn't call it inspired, though there were moments of beauty. And after that I went back to sleep. I feel refreshed today which is sad, since football season is now over and I won't have to wake up to watch matches in the middle of the night for long while.

I like the CL theme song. It's in English, French, and German.

More On America: A Placeholder Post

2007-05-22T22:04:00.000-07:00

Posting anew so that you can read my updated NYC post below. I promise to fill this one in soon too, folks, so y'all come back now, ya hear?

New York: Never Put Pastrami In Your Handbag

2007-04-29T10:42:00.000-07:00

A month ago today I was back in my beloved New York City for the first time in two years. And there were many things I wanted to eat.

One of the things that happens to you after years of living in the city is that it becomes part of you. NYC knits itself into your cells in a way that is hard to describe and although I can no longer call it home, it was uplifting, inspiring, emotional and delicious to be back.

Because of family stuff too tedious to describe, I was only there for 3 nights and 4 days. Thank you to my cousin for letting me stay at her beautiful UWS apartment. And when I arrived, I had already set myself up to have dinner at my favorite restaurant with my best girls, S and A.

If you know me, my standards for Italian food are impossibly high, which either amuses or annoys you. But al di la' in Park Slope is my favorite Italian place in the US and all other non-Italian countries. It's northern Italian food and gutsy at that. They don't joke around and are always crowded. No reservations. Food flawlessly authentically executed and always perfect.

The only thing that could have overshadowed the food was the company and it did. How I miss my two dear friends! Beautiful, stylish, empathic and intelligent. I would have cursed every moment that passed since I had a woefully limited amount of time to spend with them, but I was too busy having a wonderful time. After two years, the sweet comfort of friendship felt so good.

I had forgotten many things--how long the 2/3 takes to get to Brooklyn and the light when the sun is going down in Park Slope and people are walking their dogs. I used to be you, I wanted to shout. I am actually one of you--just displaced! It was as if the whole thing was set up to make me long to be back--the trees were in bloom (for the 2.3 days that they do that all year); it was a balmy spring day, perfect for a light leather jacket; all was well in the beautiful borough.

Walking was an issue--I had forgotten how in Bangkok, spoiled by motorcycles and taxis that cost a dollar. (I spent a shameful amount in cabs this time around). I was rewarded with enormous blisters that hobbled me for the rest of the time. Then came a torrent of realizations: couldn't walk, couldn't find anything, couldn't dress stylishly.

The next day in search of a slice around Union Square--where have all the pizzerias gone? I wondered. But I remembered Eisenberg's Sandwich Shop (over 75 years old) and sidled up to a red vinyl stool at the counter to gorge myself on the Jewish food that doesn't exist out here. I had matzo ball soup and managed to mow through half a pastrami sandwich before crying uncle. I couldn't let the pastrami be thrown out though and asked for it to go. The cashier was impressed looking at my size with how much I managed to eat (Wow, I am considered small in America!).

Unfortunately for me though the pastrami leaked its delicious meat grease over a lot of things in my bag. Advice: Don't put pastrami in your handbag--it gets all over the screen of your cell phone.

Homeward Bound: April 13th to April 27th

2007-04-05T03:12:00.001-07:00

American readers of this blog will recall my departure from the good old U S and A in June 2005. There were vomiting and tears. Well, I am hoping my return will engender the same production of bodily fluid.

Coming home for a visit makes me really happy--I have run the whole range of homesickness and am ready to have two weeks of Peeps and Wal-Mart.

Actually, I can't wait to walk the dog and just relax. And the tv! And the shopping! And my parents' couch! With the aforementioned dog!

How have I changed? Well, my hair is quite a bit different than it was. I love my job that I put it all on the line to nail and somehow I did. Bangkok and SE Asia is great. I just miss having an oven.

I wear glasses a lot now and am accompanied by my chevalier, N. There we are in front of the Taj.

Tour Dates:

Farm Show Arena: April 13-22

Madison Square Garden: April 23-27

Rock on!

Extremely Steep in Siem Reap

2007-03-24T05:56:00.000-07:00

I was in Siem Reap, Cambodia at the beginning of the month doing a few stories. Two were Angkor related and I spent a day at Angkor Wat itself and a few of the other temples.

Cambodia is a fascinating place and I was really excited to be there, considering my previous trips were just across the border and back at Aranya Prathet and Poipet.

All of the new construction points to the huge tourists numbers coming to visit the temples--almost a million last year and set to double in the next few. I'll leave most of the issues that come along with the influx and concentrate the major one--the fragility of the temples themselves.

Visitors can pretty much walk anywhere unchecked at Angkor and guides, who depend on tips from their groups to supplement their incomes, don't want to risk offense by telling tourists what they can and can't do. Four to five thousand people go up the steps pictured EACH DAY, a statistic I could hardly believe. There has been talk about a reservations system and limiting the number of tourists per day, but to this long suffering country which finally has something to smile about, placing limitations on how many people can come to its most famous tourist attractions seems risky just as the economy is reaping benefits from the tourist boom.

A note about the steps: They are extremely steep, like scary Hitchcockian, vertiginous, Fear Factor crazy steep--don't let the legions of Korean grandmas bounding up and down them fool you. Going up is strenuous and then don't look down--it's not a fun feeling, even if you are not particularly afraid of heights. It was packed at the top with people waiting in line to come back down using the guardrail, as you see in the picture.

When I got to the top and realized it was an 80 degree drop, I promptly freaked out- a rare brush with real fear. My cameraman Pong scampered up with his trust Sony was bounding around like freaking Spiderman as I tried to convey that I needed to get down from there ASAP. He convinced me to sit for a few "Dia contemplating the serenity of the temples" shots but I couldn't wait.

And I really couldn't--it was so hot and dusty and I was overstimulated and the mass of people chatting and joking at the top of the Stairs of Imminent Death was not my scene. So I did something a little strange--I opted to go down a side of the temple where there was no crowd, but also no guard rail. I picked my way down, really really scared, but I made it. Unfortunately (or maybe not) Pong was not rolling as I did it and thus my petrification has not been immortalized.

This Just In....

2007-03-08T06:47:00.000-08:00

The cats are gone.

I repeat, the cats are gone. (To people who know more about preemie kittens, although I would have, given half a chance, tried to eat them.)

Everything is under control. Full instructions as follows:

Take me outside. And no one will get hurt. Or licked into oblivion.

When I bring the ball, you are to throw said ball.

Feed me. Bengali spices including panch phoron is okay. Not crazy about vindaloo.

Feed me some more.

Oh and Dia's just back from Cambodia and no fun at all. More soon.

Kisses,

Nina

PS Whoever spread the rumor that enormous ham bones give me the runs is completely in the wrong. We are not amused with such spurious claims.

I Never Thought I Would Use the Words "Cat Laxative" In A Sentence

2007-01-18T20:12:00.000-08:00

The kittens are continuing to thrive, but let me stress here that this is really in no way due to me.

My friend and nabe J is the one who deserves all the credit. She is a one woman kitten care machine--they live in an adorable blue plastic basket with fluffy towels and a really cool soft frog doll. They have a red kitchen scale they get weighed on. They get the pricey French mother cat milk replacement. We fill up their syringes of formula out of very chic teacups from Central. So hats off to her--they are gaining weight and becoming stronger.

No 1 is downright rambunctious and eager to spread her kitten-y fervor, while No 2 has poop issues (feel free to make your own joke here about No 2's lack of No 2s.) Hence the title of this post--I feel like this weekend will be my cat laxative Day of Reckoning.

People have been objecting to the names of my cats--No 1 and No 2 are quick easy references to three week old beings and are no way meant to be cold or scientific. "Sorng" in Thai gets a pass, but "Neung" has met with criticism. Nina was pretty easy--I had a short list and Nina just fit--I looked into her eyes and that was that.

I welcome your comments on feline nomenclature.

Promise to post a new pic soon.

Cat-astrophe, Though Really Not That Bad...

2007-01-14T18:41:00.000-08:00

I can't have a dog. For starters, I already have the world's best dog, Nina, who lives in PA for the moment, a fact that causes me no end of distress. I have a demanding job; I live alone; Bangkok is short on green space and dog runs--the list goes on.

So recently N answered affirmatively when I asked if I could have a cat, I was sort of excited. There had been a cat in the apartment before and we got along. I'm not a cat person, by any stretch, but I can hang.

Enter Number One and Number Two (Neung and Sorng in Thai)-- a combined total weight of 500 grams, rescued by a kind hearted, animal loving friend who heard them meowing in distress in an Asia Books box on Sukhumvit Road.

I admit it had been a long week and the sight of two malnourished screaming kittens drove me towards the wine bottle immediately, but things have mellowed considerably since then-- we have fed them milk using a medicine dropper, swaddled and played. Litterbox training a breeze compared to dogs' toilet issues. I remind myself that a routine is essential. This morning twas not fun trying to get myself ready and feeding and cuddling two squirmy cats at once, carrying them around with me in a towel like a cat burrito.

How would this be with actual tiny human beings? Gaaaaaaaahhhhhh!

ETA: Neung seems to have figured out how to drink milk from a small dish. Hurrah! one less cat to hand feed.

November Was Vietnam and Vietnam Was Pho

2007-01-08T18:18:00.001-08:00

I was reminded recently about my delinquent blogging and another dear friend said that N is much better at chronicling the world that [I] am, which is, without a doubt, true.
I can only give the same old excuses, but I will refrain, and more importantly, post.
In November, I went to Hanoi to cover the APEC summit. It's basically a bunch of countries who say they agree on a bunch of stuff and then leave and never do anything about it. This time it was more exciting than usual (???) since the 5 countries from the six party talks were meeting for the first time after the North Korean nuclear test. So, umm, yeah, glad that problem's solved...

Anyhow, that isn't to say I didn't do some excellent stuff there. I explored the art scene (booming), visited a pottery village and drank snake's blood and ate 8 courses of snake cooked in various ways with my friend, producer and Hanoi native, LA. But most of the time, I was face down in a bowl of pho, the ubiquitous, ethereal beef noodle soup. I have been a fan for a long time, both at home, thanks to a brilliant Cook's Illustrated article, as well as my previous proximity to Baxter Street in Manhattan and its row of VN restaurants. I wasn't that close, but I would make the balled fist, shivering march from East Broadway station anytime.

Pho, anytime, anywhere. It's what's for breakfast, though the hotel pho was bad. No matter-- the other specimens I had were sublime-- broth to make you weep, noodles soft yet firm, lovely frilly slices of pink beef, shreds of fresh herbs and onions giving up their essence to the steam rising from bowl to nose. It truly was transcendent.

Apres Le Coup, Le Deluge

2006-10-16T02:40:00.000-07:00

Massive flooding here due to torrential rains and poor drainage so my assistant and I (yes, people, I have an assistant, now get over it...) left as the water dripped down from the roof of our office building LIKE a SHOWER. As I waded home in water up to my knees, every cockroach dead or alive came out of the Bangkok sewers and I had to coax myself along saying things like, "Hey intrepid foreign correspondent, what you scared of a coupla bugs? What are you going to do after months in the Burmese jungle trying to get pictures of Aung Sun Suu Kyi, huh?" At the corner of my street (and it's a long way down it to my apartment) a motorcycle taxi driver recognized me and I rode a motorbike through a foot and a half of water all the way home.

Only in Bangkok would that seem like a good idea!

Picture by N

LOSS: Land of Smiling Soldiers or Coup!

2006-09-22T03:38:00.000-07:00

Can't think too clearly right now.

Pics need to say it all right now.

Exciting times and the toughest (and most rewarding) work I have ever done.

Melted Sandal!

2006-08-14T00:45:00.000-07:00

As you know, N and I have a motorcycle. It is a gleamingly beautiful Kawasaki GTO which we affectionately call the Speedster. We have no license plate for it, though recently N has been insisting on me wearing a helmet, although he wasn't, until I invoked the oldest relationship clause in the book. See "Goose, Gander, good for."

We enjoy it very much and we get mad props and bewildered looks from the Thai as this crazy farang couple on a bike. It lives in the front courtyard of N 's place and he is in charge of its care and feeding. So far we are convinced that it will be eligible for Mensa and definitely get into one of the Ivies.

We usually take it from my office to my house and back again and last Sunday we went on a little adventure to Yaowarat or Chinatown, but recently we had a little incident whereupon I had been resting my flip flop on the exhaust pipe of the Speedster rather than the footrest which resulted in MELTED SANDAL!

I thought my foot was getting rather hot!

Photos TK. Links to N's Flicr site for now:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/newley/202394133/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/newley/202394000/

Campioni! Campioni!

2006-07-14T20:42:00.000-07:00

Semis:

I woke up for the second half of Germany Italy and wow, the Italians were somehow all infiltrated by alien beings-- 4 strikers up front?! 2 goals in the last minutes of extra time?! Forza!

World's Most Curious Football-Related Injury: I woke up again to watch France Portugal but in the dark managed to completely forget about the rather large tv in the middle of my bedroom (I just moved). I hit it full on anad fell over injuring my shin, knee, elbow, shoulder, and boob. I forget about that match. 1-0 France? I still have a nasty cut across my shin.

N and I then had the good sense to get out of town for a few days and longtailed it to Railei Beach where I last was with the lovely Suparna Mukherjee for what is now known as Bengali Girls Gone Wild.

This most recent trip was fantastic--West Railei is easily one of the most atmospheric places I have been. God, I sound so gushy, but we also had the most perfect beach house. You really just need to go-- I had this chick flick moment where I thought this is where I would like to come to die. Not sure if N would be down with that, as he would have to be the one carrying the oxygen tank singing "Wind Beneath My Wings." No, on second thought, certainly not.

Finale: Italy wins the World Cup. I do love the Azzurri and am happy for them, in spite of their silly, easy draw, in spite of their endearing habit of getting in their own way. We watched 100m from the Andaman Sea with a collection of partially nude British men on a stag trip.

And Then There Were Four...

2006-07-04T01:25:00.000-07:00

It all seems so long ago. On Friday N and I ran down Soi Lang Suan to Cafe Trio chez the lovely Patti to watch Germany v Argentina where Jens Lehmann made a few more fans, notably a lovely Chinese American woman from Queens who had previously not been swayed by the Gloved Ones. Oh come to the goal mouth, Gracie, they are easily the hottest boys on the field. They use their hands, people.

I called my Dad for pre- and post-match commentary which, as usual, was spot on. Sometimes I don't think he even needs to watch, although there have been one too many pints between that convo and now, so take my word for it.

Italy crushed Ukraine in the match that nobody watched.

England v Portugal

Remember Euro 2004? I do.

The next day we gathered at the Bull's Head in a room that was reminiscent of someone's parents' rec room with the rented chairs and a big screen tv in the corner. We were with mostly English ex-colleagues of mine from ThaiDay and few American friends. Sharing (modestly) my father's gift for acute football analysis, I said to N that the match seemed evenly played and lo, the possession stat appeared 50-50 in the bottom left corner.

I won't do a synopses since everyone knows what happened. It's like they take the most reserved, wan people in the world who all live on this toothpaste tubed shaped island and every four years they get embroiled in so much DRAMA-- crotch stamping, penalty missing, red carding, ACL tearing, blubbering.

The next day I moved. Holy stress. It wasn't that bad of course. In fact it is wonderful--my apartment is just a tiny bit like Barbie's Dream House. Dinner with Grace that night who we shall miss terribly when she goes home.

But the best part about my new place--TV. Germany v Italy is on at 2 am. We just need to stumble out of the bedroom and onto the couch and slink back. I see potential snoozing on the couch at the half.

What's With The Fish? Well, that's Der Kaiser and you can bet against him on the Guardian website. He called Eng Por right, by the way.

WWDFS?: Who Would Dr. Freud Support?

2006-06-28T01:46:00.000-07:00

From wikipedia:

Dreams, which Freud called the "royal road to the unconscious", provided the best access to our unconscious life and the best illustration of its "logic", which was different from the logic of conscious thought.

So what then would he make of the following dreams I had recently:

The USA has one more match. It is a 5-1 defeat to Turkey.

I work in an office. Sven Goran Eriksson is the boss, but I am confused by his presence. I tell him, "Shouldn't you be coaching a football team in Germany right now?"

The easy answer is that he would have supported Austria-- but no great Austrian players are coming to mind--(hangover, sorry). I think he would have said though that "Sometimes a match is just a match." Ha ha ha. I have had other dreams where I play for the Metros and am temporarily concerned at being the only girl on the pitch. I am a sick, sick individual who needs years of analysis.

A Thai psychoanalyst would be funny: as you lie back on the couch, could you really be sure that he wasn't dozing? (A poor joke, and not at ALL representative at the very fine medical care you receive in this country.)

Also: I cannot even express the love I have for my Power Book G4 which is currently hooked up to my DV cam and batch capturing footage automatically using the metadata on my camera's chip. I am not even paying attention! Attention PC people: life does not have to be that hard. Attention bosses in Singapore: we can do this easier!

A Time To Make Friends-- Oder Vielliecht Nein?

2006-06-25T19:58:00.000-07:00

England v. Ecuador, Stuttgart

A long-held to wish to watch a WC match with N came true last night when we went to an outdoor pavilion in front of a mall that is undergoing furious construction to keep up with the Mallses here in Krung Thep.(The newest and most glorious shopping phenomenon being Siam Paragon.)

I had to shoot and think which made me a bit hyper, but I think we got it all in the can. It started to rain and N and I moved in under the massive tent and then it started to POUR...people on benches in front of us stood up on them. I rumbled with expletives and digits, but then soon realized why as water pooled at our feet, like in a cartoon flood...

As we watched soggily, I did regret we weren't getting to watch Brazil v USA and had a simultaneous thought (since the last USA match was the last I watched--there was something different about this match):

It was actually fairly officiated. Which leads me to....

Portugal v. Holland, Nuremberg

FOUR red cards

SIXTEEN additional bookings

"Jesus Christ may be able to turn the other cheek but Luis Figo isn't Jesus Christ."
- Felipe Scolari

If this is happening to Portugal and Holland, good teams though consistently overrated (POR more than NED), then it take a tiny bit if the sting out of the red mist and spurious penalty and just the general limp-dicked barrage of calls against the US. Okay, there is the fact we could have played better.

Read about this match, though:

Das ist ja unglaublich! Now go say it in Dutch!

One World, One Goal

2006-06-19T23:52:00.000-07:00

You guys know that I love soccer perhaps more than anything else, except food and fashion. (Any suggestions on how I may hit that trifecta?) It can break your heart, but not any worse than people do. (I once got broken up with during Leeds v Chelsea, and continued, a bit teary, to watch the match.) Sometimes it may not feel that way (RIP Metrostars), but hope does spring eternal and there is always next time or a new exciting player, hand over heart, in the lineup that gives you a frisson of anticipation. Plus, we, the United States, have nothing to prove to the eyes of many around the world who are self-appointed authorities of the Beautiful Game. That just makes it sweeter when we pull it off.

Not Pulling It Off: USA v Czech Republic, Gelsenkirchen

We got thumped, 3-0. Badly. Outclassed. I am not going to offer any excuses.

I, in Singapore, tried to follow online but then found myself pulled out of my hotel on to the street. I was "adopted" as keeps happening to me, a young woman alone watching football, by three nice guys at a table outside a Kopitiam (Singapore's answer to a chain food court cum coffee shop). They were nice, if incredibly drunk. They asked me twice which team I was rooting for. I was wearing a t-shirt with UNITED STATES written on it. "No chance, sister," slurred one of them. The other was asleep. The last one said that he thought I knew a lot about football. You'd be right, mate. The US team, however, seemed not to.

Una Partita Per Rompermi Il Cuore (A Match To Break My Heart): USA v Italy, Kaiserslauten

Abbiamo parreggiato contro gli Azzurri! Uno ad uno. Nevermind that it was an own goal, we played with heart, while Italy did their whining, pampered, "we are Italy and look good in tight kits" thing. And I love the Italians.

Again, I thought I wouldn't bother watching-- kick off was at 2 am. I had been out at dinner and then people watching on Soi 4 with the boys. And truth be told, the last match was an exercise in depression. I apparently just didn't have the right pharmaceuticals.

My taxi home passed the World Trade Centre Mall with a gigantic screen out front at 1.56 am and I scrambled out to stake out a bit of concrete. I dispatched some nice Thai men for a few Leo beers and proceeded heart in my teeth to watch. I jumped up and down, confusing everyone who were cheering for the italiani (since they'd bet on them, capisc'?) I berated the ref, cheered on the boys, (Mc Bride has titanium plates in his face?!) and extended middle fingers at will. Even more confusing to onlookers was the Japan National Team dress that I was wearing. Luckily, this is Thailand and people are accustomed to crazy farang.

What I Need Now:

USA defeats Ghana, Italy defeats Czechs and we go through. It won't be the end of the world if we don't go through-- WE had the Group of Death no matter how many soccer pundits tell you otherwise-- but N is coming home and we have never watched a US match together. Wouldn't it be lovely to have the first one be in the second round of the Weltmeisterschaft? Even if it is against Brazil? How romantically underdog is that?

One Year In Thailand: Mission Accomplished

2006-06-15T07:24:00.000-07:00

June 9th was my one year anniversary in Thailand. I did it. I did it. I did it.

Mee Motosai! Gaeng Mak! (I Have a Motorcycle! How Cool!)

2006-05-14T22:03:00.000-07:00

You will remember the visit of my legendary cousin brother Ishan, the man, the myth, the maestro. He went back to the States after more than a few adventures and left me the surrogate owner of this beautiful bike. Yesterday riding a burst of motivation on what was a very lazy Sunday, we took it out. It had about 10 ml of gas in it, unsurprising if you know Ishan and slurped up oil like a hot-season first-time tourist gulps water here.

What kind of motorcycle helmet would Audrey Hepburn wear, do you think?

ETA: In the second picture, just beyond the tarp hanging over the alley is my front door. Everyday the alley turns into an outdoor noodle restaurant set up with little plastic chairs and tables. My lovely neighbor lady wheels her noodle cart to the end of the alley and serves up bowls to office workers from the buildings who sit and slurp. As you can see, the alley is not that wide, so when I open my door, I nearly graze people who chose the table in the door's arc-- this creates unintentional hilarity and jaw dropping looks.

The Heat Is On- Hua Hin and Political Upheaval

2006-05-08T01:42:00.000-07:00

It's hotter than you can possibly imagine--so hot, in fact, that to ponder the mere existence of such calor for more than the moment it takes you to wipe the sweat coursing down your face or for you to exclaim "It's SOOOOOO F'ING HOT," could actually drive you insane. So I try not to the think about it.

What I prefer to think about is the place I was this weekend which is on a quiet stretch of Gulf coast between Hua Hin and Prachap Kiri Khan. I stayed in the suite pictured above. That balcony wasn't even the best part. It was the wireless access in the room. I am joking. It was the breeze, the beach, the sea, the infinity pool, the quiet and the company.

I did have a few anxieties, work related, although it was a public holiday. What if the King died? He resides at the Summer Palace in Hua Hin, so I'd be golden. I had a nightmare about a missing tripod, too.

It was an inspired move to get out of the city for the weekend--the news cycle as the Kingdom desparately seeks a government shows little signs of slowing. I've done three live reports already and have at least one more. A fresh round of general elections is upcoming. So is, for that matter, another public holiday.

In another surreal twist to my life here, I have inherited a lovely silver Kawasaki motorcycle.

whitechocolatespaceegg

2006-04-24T22:52:00.000-07:00

I got a really thoughtful gift yesterday-- a frame for a picture of Nina that I had lying around. It was getting a little, erm, dog-eared--sorry, had to be done!! I managed not to break the glass immediately (don't laugh, I've done that), but didn't quite get the picture in correctly. I'm not that good at spatial relations, really.

The gift and the giver reminded me of the Liz Phair album whitechocolatespaceegg in its entirety.

New job is incredibly hectic and I seem to misplace crucial papers constantly, my editing system has an audio glitch, I need a new assistant (and office) and apparently I don't look straight into the videophone. But it's what I wanted and I am up to the challenge. And it is exciting and exhilarating, just a little bit scary, too.

Thailand has no real government and is holding elections for the third time in a month. It's pretty weird. Who knows what will happen?

Suya in Singapore

2006-04-18T02:43:00.000-07:00

So I am Singapore, cause I got the job that I have been wanting, well, for a while. I am the Indochina correspondent for Channel News Asia. I'll be based in Bangkok reporting mostly about Thailand. Can you even stand it? I apologize if you are hearing about this via blog--it's just that the past few weeks have been rather busy. I am so excited and a touch nervous about doing a good job. But damn does it feel good!

This week has been: a medical exam, a photo shoot, visa stuff, a bank account, and voice, on camera, live cross, newswriting and editing training. Don't worry, I still managed to shop my brains out. it is S'pore after all. I can't go into it since mother may read this blog, but suffice it to say, all of it is dreadfully chic. Oh yes, one of the items was Adidas.

Singapore Observations

* McDonalds and Burger King serve breakfast here--they don't in Thailand. So I have had a McMuffin and a (close your ears if you are French) a a Croissan'wich. Also am enjoying the beans on toast at the buffest. Ew, am I English??

* Any place that is made up of half Chinese and half Indian SHOULD in my opinion have very strict laws. Can you imagine the alternative?

* Coffee transport: I have written about the plastic bag as a carrier for liquids hot and cold in Prathet Thai, but here they give you a cup and put a plastic SLING around it so you can swing your coffee around as you sashay down the....

* Singapore is walkable not like the enormous pothole that is Bangkok. I missed walking, fast, without tripping over a lip of concrete and falling over a red cheeked rotund man and his tawny sleek haired companion.

* All in all, I've enjoyed the break from the 'Kok. I am also in love with my new G4. Sigh. I like him because I decide when to turn him off. I like the new Sopranos and Grey's Anatomy too. We miss good tv over here

More Dreams Coming True

2006-04-02T05:13:00.000-07:00

After a very good visit to Singapore, my career seems to be taking off. I don't have anything official yet so I won't go into specifics. Just that, wow, what I wanted all along, the whole reason and point for the upheaval and the move and the stress and strain and strife coupled with the HUSSLE is about to pay off. Stay tuned, people.

Ishan meets Isaan -Brother in Thailand

2006-03-23T23:51:00.000-08:00

The northeastern Thai province Isaan's name comes from a variant of the name of the Hindu god Shiva - Isana.

The "Isana" in my life is my cousin Ishan. "Ishan" also means northeast --north representing wealth and happiness and east means peace and knowledge. And so we come full circle again to Thailand.

My Ishan is in between my brother Arguapo and me in age and the three of us grew up together quite happily with normal sort of fraternal activities. Christmases, summer holidays, Thanksgivings and all that.

I am really excited that he is coming--he's planning to buy a motorcycle and ride around looking at things called Cloud Forests which sounds like that weird place in Empire Strikes Back when Lando sells out Luke, Leia and Han.

There are many moments that I treasure when I think of Ishan, but I would like to formally and publicly apologize for a certain incident involving a certain bunny put into my care. Snoop the bunny escape and though we tried to fool Ishan with a decoy Snoop, he caught us out when Snoop v2.0 grew huge whereas the da original #1 Snizzle was a DWARF rabbit. Sorry, bud.

Ishan now has a lovely pit bull called Delilah who he tells "to shake it down" when he wants her to sit. Delightful.

I can't wait to get I's take on life here. Looking forward to tomorrow! Sawat dee, mon frere!

Bangkok Fashion Week

2006-03-16T23:46:00.002-08:00

As my uber fashionable friend SCV said "Who knew?"

And that's precisely why Bangkok keeps having Fashion Week. it's funny to think I can go to all the shows which are in a custom built dome in the middle of a manmade lake ---everything in Asia involves pouring concrete, doesn't it?--when in NYC it would be a complete and utter impossibility to even THINK of attending such an event. At this timme of year, i would have given up anyway--resigned to rubber boots and a down jacket and maybe a Brooklyn Cyclones baseball cap if it were mild. But now it's summer here every day and while that makes for stickiness and absolute inundation and dripping, it certainly opens up the wardrobe options.

I also have had the opp to keep indulging my inner Carrie Bradshaw and have been reporting on it for the paper. Will post articles soon.

For those of you who have missed certain parts of my anatomy (ahem), here are those gams. I was hanging with the snappers and a mischeivous one took this on the sly.

Life's Ambition Fulfilled

2006-03-05T03:08:00.000-08:00

While it's true that I did get on air a few times last week for CNA--the real exciting career news is that tomorrow in the paper on page 7 there will be a column I wrote. On shopping. Suzy who ususally writes "Shopping with Suzy" is away and I of course volunteered--really unsure that there could be any better thing for me to write. In fact, if I could have a full time job as a shopping columnist, I would. Okay, are you ready for my Carrie Bradshaw moment?

It's called "Shopping with Suya" and it has a little cartoon graphic of me that really does look like me completely with patented Suya crazy hair and shopping bags hanging off each arm. Can you believe the utter coolness? I know I am way too excited about it. But come on, throw the girl a bone.

Oh and my friend Gracie is going to do a screen shot for me.

Oh and the article, you ask--it's about where to find hip, good quality T-shirts in Bangkok.

Railei: Four Times in Four Years

2006-02-27T00:30:00.000-08:00

From Your Correspondent

2006-02-26T04:27:00.000-08:00

Well, well, what political upheaval we have here. The Prime Minister dissolved Parliament here on Friday and there are tens of thousands of people who are protesting his call for a snap election--which his party will win, natch.

All I can say is that it's really wreaking havoc on my social life, but then, that's the height of self-absorption, isn't it?

Anyway, it has been quite a day. I have been writing news for an hourly broadcast for the past twelve hours. I think there should be someone here to relieve me shortly.

But the exciting bit is that I got to do a couple of phoners for Channel News Asia. Their regular correspondent is doing a documentary on southern violence. I think the phoners went well and it was all very exciting.

Among the questions:
What's the mood in Bangkok?
Is there violence expected at the rally?
What impact will the opposition party's boycott have on the upcoming snap elections?

You know, yer usual shizznit.

They used the above picture, which gives my Thai friends the giggles, cause it is so unlike me. It is the SERIOUS me. The TERRFIED SERIOUS FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT. Go ahead, laugh away. That's what it's there for. And there is one that is even worse!!

Whaddya Gonna Do?

2006-02-26T03:23:00.000-08:00

Reading the in New York Times about the next season of the Sopranos and I am not sure what to do. This is my favorite show--I can't think of anything worse than HEARING about it--imagine having the best show in tv spoiled just because you decided to move.

It's not as if we don't have HBO here, we do, and Skinimax. It's just that it's not like our HBO--mostly movies and sometimes they aren't all that good. And if they are showing new episodes of original series, I haven't heard about it.

So if anyone can figure out how I can get a hold of the new season of the Sopranos, I will be eternally grateful. I will kiss your ring. I will give you the DVD set pirated but good quality from MBK.

Ask my mom about MBK. Kid, may I introduce you to candy store?

Is It Possible To Love Them Even More?

2006-02-20T04:28:00.000-08:00

Calm down, everyone, I'm not talking about my lengthy list of boyfriends. (Joking, joking. Mai mee fairn kha.) I'm talking about Franz Ferdinand, the band from Glasgow with the lyrics and the voice and the-- *swoon*. You see, no one comes to Bangkok. Well, Michael Bolton came and a Gibb brother, one that isn't dead. So we were excited, very very excited. And they delivered. In spades. Neck still sore from shaking around.

Above: Me talking rubbish to Corey at a pre-concert party. This is what my hair does in the tropics when there is no nice lady to fix it.

For Aunties: Yes, I have lost weight. It's the tropics. it all goes right through you. Yes, I have gotten darker. No, I still think someone eligible will marry me. No, I don't know when I am coming home.

Life Is Hard: 7 Courses of Champagne and Oysters

2006-02-16T00:46:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was invited to one of Bangkok's nicest hotels, the Shangri-La, for a special preview of their Oysters and Champagne promotion. La vie est belle, mes enfants.

It was hard being so pampered. One of the courses featured three different kinds of oysters topped with Beluga caviar. Talk about gilding the lily! It was one of the best things I have ever eaten. A vino standout was the Banfi-- half Chardonnay and half Pinot Grigio--like all products of mixed races, this wine was a stunner.

I thought I was going to write about it, but it turns out that I did a little box on it for today. My first byline! I got a little giddy. Oysters have that effect on me. Come to think of it, so does champagne.

Oh and I apparently learned that in order to shuck an oyster, you must find its "G Spot."

Raining In Thailand

2006-02-13T05:05:00.000-08:00

Yesterday it rained just I was walking back to the train from the enormous and wonderful weekend market. It was not my strongest showing there--I bought some incense from Karmakamet and looked at a 10,000 dollar arrowana--which is a fierce fishie from South America. It just just a few drops but by the time I got to Chitlom, it was a full-blown monsoon torrential downpour. And it's not rainy season! Anyway I got a tuk-tuk home and only got slightly damp, napped (what is it about the rain that just knocks you out?) and then went and saw Match Point at KV's. It was brilliant, even with the shitty pirated copy we had.

Today dawned more Glasgow than anything, with an overcast sky and soft rain. The Thais like their AC icy and we are all freezing in office. I am wearing a suit jacket, sneakers and SOCKS. It took me five minutes to find the socks, since I never wear them here. It must seem a bit rich, especially if you are a east coast blizzard victim, but we are freezing here in the tropics. The girls are wearing sweaters and the boys all have these fleece vests on. Ski caps are being threatened. I may bust out the cashmere.

Tomorrow is Valentine's, but more importantly, it's Liverpool v Arsenal.

Two Sets of Relativity

2006-02-11T01:26:00.000-08:00

Having your relatives come and visit you in Thailand is a very good deal all around. I miss my family very badly and had forgotten what good friends they really are to me. This is easy when your communication is mostly through worried phone calls or emails with lots of things to do listed in them. Not to be a materialistic beyotch, but they pay for everything cause it's cheap to them--you just need to handle the money, cause it's easier. Of course, the real reason to love having la famiglia in Krung Thep is because you miss them as part of your life.
My parents were here in January and Hurricane Pishi just blew through here last week.

We had an absolutely wonderful time with my folks who were the gamest people in the whole world--they had Thai massages, ate street food, and rode on motorcycle taxis. I was really proud of them for thoroughly enjoying their experience. I certainly threw them in at the deep end. Most favorite moments:

-Dad's face when I jumped on a motorcycle taxi sidesaddle in a skirt with an enormous bag of laundry balancing on my lap as I sped down the soi.

-"What do Thais eat for breakfast?"
"Umm, rice porridge, like, um, congee?"
"Oh no. Dia, are you saying you have no toast?"
"Well, we don't eat that here, see..."

-Dad telling the tour guide at Wat Po--"The Buddha was a Hindu prince--no WAY was he born under a tree." HM the King and the Buddha, Dad. JUST.DON'T.SAY.IT.

-Mom and Dad talking to each other getting side by side Thai massages and then snoozeville zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

-Dinner at the Isaan parking lot restaurant of friend Pi Thuy with my friends Benjamin, Craig, Yona, Kimberly, Amy and Dean. I wished I could have bottled my happiness that night.

-Mom to Ben: "Oh she's not Indian." Referring to me, natch.
Mom to Kim: "But you don't looklike you're from Philadelphia."

-"My name is Arun, so I really want to go to Wat Arun."

-The Floating Market. Mom saying it was the most "awesome" lunch she'd ever had. Dad buying a grilled fish stuffed with herbs and eating it out of a plastic bag sitting on the pier.

Mom asked if I was thinking of coming home. I said today I rode on a motorcycle, a song taew, a taxi, a sky train, a long tail boat and I could have ridden on an elephant had I wanted to, so no, I am not coming home. Of course, in a moment of Bangkok magic, just then an elephant lumbered in front of us on Soi 38.

Waiting for Don't Know

2006-01-30T02:23:00.000-08:00

Wow am hitting the two and a half hour mark at the paper and they have not given me one piece of copy to sub. I am starting to lose it slightly. There are many things I could be doing right now. I could be enjoying a novel. Getting a foot massage. Starting to pack for my 5th move in 7 months. But no. I am sitting here going mad. I may actually fall asleep.

I have a dull ache in my face. I want the February horoscopes out now--not that I think that horoscopes are actually worth anything--well sometimes they are. I read them religiously but nothing, nothing seems to be happening--not in love, not money and not career. How can that be? Does my horoscope say--your life comes to a complete standstill this year and remains like some strange and static piece of performance art for the rest of your life?

2 hours and 38 minutes later I get some copy.

Same, Same But Different

2006-01-27T06:14:00.000-08:00

So the title of my last post could really describe my sentiments right now. It's my first day back at work after a week's vacation. I have apparently forgotten how to read and write.

My parents' visit was wonderful--both the Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur legs. A full update coming forthwith.

Right now I am so over being in the newsroom--it's Friday 9pm and all the lucky ones have slung their bags over their shoulders and blown. I'm waiting on some translated copy and then going to thankfully meet Yona. There is a party at my old place that I should swing by. I still have the keys.

I'm reading this rather embarrassing book that I am enjoying immensely--but haven't told anyone about. It's called the Jane Austen Guide to Dating. Okay, channeling Elizabeth Bennett. My stomach hurts and I have PMS. And I haven't had my fill of swim. :-( Waaah...

Waiting For Work Day To End

2006-01-19T03:31:00.000-08:00

I am waiting for the end of the news--it has been a pretty intense week with the Prime Minster on a poverty-eradication campaign for 5 days that was televisied the entire time and lots of other comings and goings--violence and fires and resignations oh my!

I get to go meet Kimberly at the record shop and catch up with my blonde bombshell friend. I can't remember when she left it's been so long.

Then I have to tidy and it's time to pick up Mom and Dad. I can hardly believe it.

If there is something that makes me smile it's a fill of swim. Can't wait to hit the pool. ;-)

Parents In Thailand

2006-01-16T23:00:00.000-08:00

So my parents are coming to Bangkok--extremely early on Friday morning. I have been looking forward to it for a long time and cannot believe that half a year has elapsed since I have seen them. I have often wished I could go back for a few days, enough to watch some matches with my dad or eat my mother's cooking. But long separations from family come with the territory unless you are lucky enough to have family in the vicinity.

They will be here only for a short time--three days and I want it all to be perfect naturally, being a dutiful daughter. I'm thinking Day One will be light--a little Jim Thompson, a little foot massage, a little Baan Khanitha. Day Two will be the jam--Bangkok on steriods and all the tourist stuff I haven't done since I visited last year. Then dinner on Soi Rang Nam with my loverly friends. I can't wait til my mother sees the size of the shrimp (or the bill which is usually a laugh!)

Day Three--Chatuchak, pack and relax. Then off to KL to the Ghoshes and some family QT. Oh and TOP SHOP. That's right. TOP SHOP.

Moving Day Again: Next Stop Thong Lizzle

2006-01-02T05:07:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I move. I have stayed in three different plces so far in Bangkok (Phaya Thai, Sukhumvit, Phra Khanong) and now am temporarily going to a very nice woman's apartment for a month to look after her cats. My soon-to-be-ex-living sitch had its ups and downs. As I sat on the huge terrace and watched butterflies playing together as I drank my morning tea among the bouganvillea--I thought yeah, I'm gonna miss this. But I am not going to miss living communally after age 30. Or not having a stove.

Thong Lo is my new stomping ground and it is plush. My friends B and C live up the street and refer to their place as their palazzo. The main drag is lined with huge huge wedding salons. Not like David's Bridal--these places are classay. And more restaurants, shops and other very cool places of business than you cna shake a stick at. If you read the Bangkok article in the Times last month--most of what they were talking about was on Thong Lo.

Time to get cute. It's like the Soho of BK.

Once in a Lifetime: Turning 31 on the 31st

2006-01-01T05:50:00.000-08:00

Last night I met up with a friend and sort of glommed on to New Year's bar hopping activities, having no plans of own. It was fun, although not entirely indistinguishable from normal Bangkok craziness, but I still missed close friends and family. I woke up in an empty flat today which was peaceful, but felt a little isolating. Comes with the territory, I guess.

I'm in the newsroom now feeling quite tired, but the shift should end soon. I had gang jeut for dinner-- a restorative, healing soup of minced pork, tofu seaweed and glass noodles. It's really as bland as Thai food gets, but it's incredibly soothing.

I'm feeling a little weepy and hormonally challenged. Thanks for all the birthday wishes. I miss and love all of you.

Happy New Year! The Blog Has Risen

2006-01-01T05:34:00.000-08:00

In theory it was a great idea--but I didn't bank on life being as crazy as it has been in the past six months. But ah, with the dawn of a new year, the books of 2005 are closed and it's time to start anew.
Or as one of my favorite children's book heroines says, "Marilla, isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?"

Let the blogging begin.

Last Day at ABC

2005-05-26T22:30:00.000-07:00

So it's my last shift at ABC and I really loved working here. I will miss the people most of all: my sociopathic boss Patrick, my friend Anwulika...(Anwulika/Anasuya: how could we NOT be friends?) among many others.

There is a rumor of a bottle of something chilling in the fridge, but I feel giddy enough. Why is it that the last day of anything engenders that sort of feeling?

Any tips for how to drink champagne at 7 am?

Update: It was very nice Moet Chandon Rose--so girly, thanks Patrick! And now I am buzzed at work...

Moving: It's Right Up There With Death on the Stress Index

2005-05-26T02:09:00.000-07:00

I haven't even packed a box yet and am already feeling the effects of packing up my life. I work overnight and find it impossible to come home and drift off to sleep--no matter how tired I am.

I am most concerned with my apartment--I need out of my lease and I need someone else to handle what happens to it after I leave.

Then I get to deal with some of the other things on my to do list.