Category: Flotsam and Jetsam
05/12/10
The title is so original it will earn me writing accolades. But I have the supporting photos, I would have you know.
My little family hols started with as little an incident as would be expected with my mom around-- which is to say that she had a completely unwarranted response to NAIA security personnel; she misunderstood what was said by the hapless man and infliicted on him quite an earful.
Our beloved metropolis, right after taking off, was a picture of... uncontrolled particulate pollution. Lovely, nonetheless.
This reminded me of my favorite football player, i.e.; skies and sole star (squint and there's one smack dab in the top center) and splendor and all that.
And then Incheon International Airport, which is an accomplishment in megalomania and airport planning for dummies. I have no, absolutely no head for directions but I skipped from drop-off point to a walkalator and down flights of escalators, waltzed through immigration, boarded a train to the exit, and hopped on a bus to the hotel. The airport awards are smashingly deserved.
Coat and scarf (and flip flops) weather,
A warm welcome from my home away from home,
And midnight dinner, although the acronym for the resto, Fried Chicken Baengi, called to mind a football club which drubbed (in convincing fashion, yes) Arsenal FC in the Champions League...
Starters were popcorn and pickled radish, which is a blinkingly odd combination, if ever there was one...
Instead, FCB came up with two... One of the chicken platters was as head-scratching... kimchi (surprisingly amazing), a blob of boiled noodles (cold, unseasoned, made me ask "why?"), canned peaches (fancily called "Imperial Peach"), and fried chicken. In the odd pairings charts, that's a combo that can't be beat.
It's hard to go wrong with chicken, almost impossible to go wrong when the same is fried; but FCB got everything right.
We wanted a steaming soup bowl to counter the cold, so the most exotic one on the menu, the gigglingly intriguing "A Fish A Cake" it was. It had sea cucumber, fishcake and rice cake (aaahh, that's why), and shrimp.
The blur of hands only prove the hunger.
Seeing as I get carried away with pretty much everything I write, I have decided to narrow this post down to my Fave Five in Seoul (I was striving for alliteration but unless I change the name of the city...)
02/06/10
A sister who did not want to drive, a brother who couldn't be troubled to check his flight details, an aunt who had no address labels, a mom who wanted to be a saint, a friend who was late-ish (ha) did not exactly bode well for my R&R. Add the beginnings of a migraine, the heat and humidity of HCMC, a cabbie who dropped us off at the wrong hotel, and another one that charged us more than what was fair and my temper was all set to go off.
But sometimes the universe remembers its conscience, grows kind and directs its forces to conspire and deliver the fantastic. I was reminded of its ultimate benevolence: PAL seat sale (and flight attendant, a sibling's old friend who gave us a great booty bag) + IHG friend and family rate (courtesy of another sibling's friend who cannot possibly resign his post).
I took to the city instantly. The streets were wide, the greenery was lush and the skies almost constantly blue. It was every bit as tumbledown and shabbying chic as it was luxe and modern. It had a sense of languor about it even as a million motorbikes zoomed by/tried to mow you down. And anywhere you went, there was something to intrigue (wares at Cu-chi), appall (the escalators at Anh Dong market were so ewww), amaze (magic tricks at Bonsai), snicker about (the display convertible Audi's godawful floral decor), or get teary-eyed over (War Remnants Museum).
Here is to making a beeline for the bright side!
My other reasons for hearting HCMC follow.
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11/21/09
08:47:28, Categories: Flotsam and Jetsam Day 3
We had every intention of spending the day at Sentosa, but the rain, a tiresomely tireless trickle, foiled our plans. United in the fellow feeling of the prior night’s Perfection, however, we were in a benevolent, unruffle-able mood. We slept in.
We headed to the Bugis Junction Mall (I had never malled so much in my life) for brunch. It is not as though we do not have it in Pinas but mine was
Embarrassingly enough, I scarfed down by my lonesome a serving good enough for two.
A brief stop at the Kinokumiya Bookstore. I was sorely temped to buy Japanese/Taiwanese/Korean teenangst romance serials, but fearing that I would end up with something rubbish, I moved to the sports section, where I was much less likely to buy anything. I had to resist every urge to squeal at the sight of these must-reads: Cristiano Ronaldo: Moments and Fernando Torres El Nino: My Story. (Francesc Soler Fabregas, if nothing else, promise me that an autobio will not be written until at least twenty years hence…) We checked a zillion overpriced unnecessaries, saw some bad shoes, but was charmed by the prettiness of more than a few dresses.
We went to look for the money changer since we were low on funds (Singaporean Dollars disappear with appalling effortlessness, I tell you) and the hotel’s forex services was at rip-off rates. By some happy happenstance, we happened upon Liang Seah Street, which is an entire row of restored shophouses (converted into restos, residences, and retail establishments), painted in what seemed to me hyper-real three-strip Technicolor.
As it happens, money changers in Singapore keep holy the Sabbath (hah), but our efforts were far from fruitless. We returned to the hotel with our sweet fix of the day and arguably the find of our trip…
But first, a giant poster beckoned. We had been meaning to eat at MOS Japanese Fine Burger and Coffee (MOS is short for "Mountain Ocean Sun"), but never quite managed to do so. They serve, among other funtabulous items, unagi (eel) burgers. Check out this menu. My dress, bought two days ago at BySi, felt uncomfortably like a homage to MOS.
06:34:34, Categories: Flotsam and Jetsam Day 1
After the most inefficient check-in process, huffingandpuffing (and cursing a blue streak) through a walk that led us through mazy hithers and yons (when we could have lined up just once!), we found ourselves in the lounge of NAIA Terminal 3, waiting to plane off.
I promised Annsley I’d commit to writing the 206 bones I had to pick with that Cebu Pacific flight, but I do not want to nitpick (oh yes, I do). Suffice it to say that the plane was newish but offered little else apart from flight attendants with messy hair, wrinkled shirts and a general air of unkemptness. To Cebu Pacific’s (only) credit, we arrived on time.
This is the bird’s eye view of the surprisingly green lung (hazy gray was all that my trusty cam could manage) that is Singapore.
Armed with maps and guides and the sheer ignorance of first-time visitors, we almost hired-- at a heart attack price-- limo services to the hotel, but found a queue of cabs just a ways off. The cabbie seemed intent on thwarting my plans to take any decent photo, so I only managed these
The trip to the hotel gave me the impression that the city-state was fairly anodyne. It was a noticeably quiet, clinically clean, and superbly shipshape city. There was no traffic, no pollution, no litter, no loiterers, no ambulant vendors, no jaywalkers, no suicidal motorists. To one used to the carnival that is home, everything was in unnerving order and seemed strangely lifeless.
I realized soon enough that I had no reason to worry. The city center was a thrumming difference… And one that looked set to keep me occupied for the next few days.
10/11/08
This entry is really on my recasting of ENM, but if l were to write the script for Goal IV (and do not bet against it-- Miko is known to float random ideas that exert upon Fangirl the compulsion of an irresistible force), Cesc Fabregas whose bad-hair-day-turned-to-a-bad-hair-week-stretched-to-a-bad-hair-month-then-two-then-three and, lamentably is still in declension, would take the plum role in playing... HIMSELF. Reason for Lamentation: This Hair Serum Impunity
Cause for Celebration: The knowledge that he can look like this
He is bound, soon, Lord, let it be soon, to get over the rank bizarreness of his hairstyle! Oh, I am overly optimistic, I think.
Support to his lead shall, of course, be in the persons of the following, likewise as themselves:
the perennially-injured darling Trez,
the raring-for-a-resurrection Henry,
the seems-always-to-smell good v. Persie,
the recently-bearded, newly-clean-shaven Walcott,
the freckled-all-over Torres,
the silly thumbsucker but cannot be unfavorited Garcia,
the presently underperforming but ever-coruscating Santa Cruz,
the Clued One Villa,
the habitue of houses of ill-repute and bruited lousy tipper C. Ronaldo,
the canine fancier and pass perfect Deco,
the unmatchable Zizou,
the man's man, ladies man, everyone's man Figo,
the poetry-in-musculature Puyol,
the I-may-be-diminutive-but-it-would-be-a-mistake-to-dismiss-me Clichy,
the persistently shirtless Ramos,
the now at lucid interval, now mad again Gallas,
the clumsy clatterer/own goaler (argh) Senderos,
the super bender Carlos,
the ducat-worthy profile Casillas,
the flourishing talent Ramsey,
the would-be face of English football Wilshere,
the startling find and great smile Vela,
oh and let us not forget...
the recently invisible Reyes...
plus, oh, oh, oh wait-- of course, Raul,
(Fangirl gets to a tentative Dream XXIII+II before reminding herself that this is not to be a football post. Darn... (remembers Annsley's no-cuss rule) ...those socks, Fangirl.)
I am, having been exhausted by the last paragraph's upswell of emo and ebb of coherence, now too lazy to write my own review of ENM, so click here for Steve Rhodes'. I haven't the foggiest idea who Steve Rhodes is, but find it ultimately strange that he gave ENM only 2.5 stars when he spoke of it in such glowing terms. If contrariety were a purely female trait, then I am guessing "Steve" is a girl. Hah. I do my sex no favors.
ENM is no sweeping panorama by way of the epic Titanic, (which film's-- it has to be said-- command of the box-office is matched cent for cent by its comprehensive flimsiness and utterly atrocious dialogue), but I saw ENM aaaaaaeons ago in Cinemax, and through the green and white mists of memory, remember a blanketing of the warm fuzzies. I only mention Titanic because I saw it at around the same time that I saw ENM--- having braved, against all prudence, the throng of Megamall masses, mostly girls, who (as fangirls are wont to), tittered noisily and sighed uniformly every time Leonardo di Caprio entered a scene.
ENM stars Matt Ross, who has bumble and bumble down to a charm, and Callie Thorne, whose role if only mildly better than decorative, at least turned out a finely executed performance. It is not to be suggested that this little find needs to be reworked, but I would be none too displeased with a Spanish version starring the Mexican actor Diego Luna (Y Tu Mama Tambien, Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights (groans); The Terminal) as Eddie and the Argentinean actress Natalia Verbeke (dot the i) as Lee.
DL, because he does rough-hewn roles best but ear-tugging uncertainty becomes him too, because he is easy on the eye without being impossibly beautiful, because he is capable of telling the tale of the Nice Guy's triumph.
See the salsaing DL in the HahaHavana Nights trailer with Romola Garai (Atonement, Inside Dancing).
NV because she is luminous and substantial, and if Nice Guy must get the girl, then we shall let her be a truly prize catch.
Watch NV dance the flamenco in dot the i as Gael Garcia Bernal (Y Tu Mama Tambien, Motorcycle Diaries, The Science of Sleep) watches.
Do not go getting any ideas that the film has anything to do with progressive philosophies or abstruse theories. This is popcorn and soda cinema. Hard-core Boy Meets Girly Girl-ness. Fluff to the nth power. And I would love to see it again.
Notes:
1. Alas, the erstwhile Captain England misses the cut... Again. He's bound to hurt himself with poses similar to this
2. The Dream XXIII+II is the Dreamy Dream XI plus other worthy dreams.
3. There is wisdom in having eleven strikers and no substitute keeper. Believe me.
4. The list is Fangirl's extempore itemization, and is subject to M's most welcome amendments. But M, I really do believe in the soundness of Note 3.
All photos courtesy of google images
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