Not the Moon

The big white spot is not the moon. It is a snowflake as it comes down. The other dots are not stars but more snowflakes.

Life Goes On

(Photo: X-Ray showing my broken ankle. Diagnosis: fracture- ankle, medial malleolus, closed.)

One year ago today, I broke my ankle rock climbing.

In part, I started this little blog in order to force myself to write about it. But I've been struggling with what to say about it for a year now, and I'm afraid that struggle isn't over.

My accidenthappened on a Gunks climb called Insuhlation (5.9). I fell justafter the final crux roof. I pulled over the roof with no problems, but there was a wet hold above the roof that I suppose I failed to use well. Or maybe my foot popped, I'm not sure. Truthfully, I don't know exactly why I fell. I had my right hand on the semi-jug above the wet hold. I was looking around for pro; my last piece was a green Alien a few feet below the roof. And then I was off.

I recall with vivid clarity the sensation of falling. Time suddenly slowed to a crawl, and I saw my half ropesin a parabolic arcabove me as I flew back outward from the rock. It seemed as if I had a good long time in midair to consider that this might not end well. I remember thinking "this is it!" ...but I'm not sure what I had "it" in mind to be. I yelled out "falling," and then things sped up considerably. I flipped upside-down and then the rope came tight on the green Alien, which held, and I came to a stop, hanging in the air with my head where my feet should have been.

As I righted myself, I realized I was injured. I couldn't understand why I'd flipped over. The rope wasn't behind my leg. And I hadn't felt a thing. There was no impact at all that I had sensed. So why was my ankle tender and starting to swell? I asked my partner N to lower me to the ledge. The pair climbing next to us onObstacle Delusion retrieved my gear on rappel and filledus in on what had happened. "You flipped over when your ankle hit the rock," one of them said. So it seemed there was an impact, but in the adrenaline-pumped moment I hadn't felt it. At least itall made sense now, even if the explanation didn't jibe with what my mind had allowed me to experience.

Thinking it was just a sprain, I hobbled the whole way from the High Exposure access trail back to the steel bridge, refusing numerous offers of assistance from concerned strangers. The best and the worst of the Trapps in autumn were on display. People were kind and supportive, but there were far too many of them. At one point I stopped to rest in the Uberfall area and counted over thirty climbers in my immediate field of vision, all of them looking at me in a pitying way that made me very uncomfortable. N thought we shouldsummon the rangers, but I insisted that if I could evacuate myselfwe shouldn't initiate a rescue. I now recognize that this was a stupidmistake. I really don't think it made my ankle any worse, but if I'd listened to N, we would have had the benefit of the advice of first responders, and I would likely have been taken to a hospital for an x-ray right away instead of waiting 24 hoursand only thenfinding out the ankle was broken and required surgery. It also would have put much less pressure on N, who ended up having the sole responsibility of babying me all the way back to Brooklyn.

In the aftermath of the accidentI was overwhelmed with guilty feelings. The source of these feelings was hard to pin down. I felt guilty about inconveniencing my wife.She'd have to pick up the kids every day and do all the cooking for months to come. I also felt guilty that I'd made whatever climbing mistake I must have made to get into this mess. I blamed myself for the accident, although I had a hard time deciding what it was I'd done wrong. I also felt a lot of guilt about imposing my injury on N. I entertained totally unfounded fears that she'd never climb with me again, and that all my other climbing partners might desert me as well.

Amidst all this I wondered if I really was feeling most guilty about climbing in the first place. Was I taking pains to find fault with my climbing on that fateful day because I needed to avoid confronting something harder to deal with? Was my accident really a reminderthat even if you do everything right when you climb, even if you place gear liberally and it holds, you can still get hurt? Was it a sign that I should quit,that climbing is unacceptably dangerous? Certainly a number of people, from my doctor to my mother to my wife's colleagues, assumed that my broken ankle would be thewake-up callI needed to make me come to my senses and stop this climbing nonsense, as any responsible husband and fatherwould.

I did not want to quit. Although I didn't know how I'd feel getting out there on the rock again, I was sure, as I sat around recovering and gaining twenty pounds, that I would missclimbing terribly if I stopped doing it. But I didn't want to be a bad husband and father. I had to ask myself if climbing could be done reasonably, or whetherthe dangers were such that no amount of rock climbingcould be consideredsane.

I read numerous classics of mountaineering literature searching for the answer, to no avail.Many great mountaineers have wrestled with the question of why we are drawn to climbing, and whether the dangers are worth it. Some embracethe risk, declaring danger to beat the verycore of the climbing experience. Othersfocus instead onthe many other wonderful aspects of the sport-- the scenery, the adventure, the physical and mental challenge, theconnectionwith nature-- but throw up their hands at the death toll and ultimately leave the question of whether it is all worthwhile to a higher power.

Of course, these writers are considering a different sport than the one in which I participate. They are writing about climbing real mountains and pushing the very limits of the possible. They choose to face objective hazards that cannot be managed, such as altitude sickness, avalanches, and sudden deadly changes in the weather. And in order toexpand the boundaries of what can be climbed, they deliberately go without reasonable protection on climbs that are incredibly risky,forging ahead on blank, smoothrock facesand through rotten bands of ice. These writers would think nothing of the climbing I do in the Gunks on a two hundred foot cliff that has been fully explored, with every route to the top exhaustively indexed by its difficulty and protection rating. To them the risks taken by a weekend warrior likemehardly qualify as risks at all.

And yet there are risks in any climbing environment, no matter how tame that environment is. In the Gunks, for instance, there have been very few fatalities over the years, but less than fatal accidents occurratherfrequently. Lapses in judgment lead climbers to forget crucial steps in the climbing process. Theyrappel off the ends of their ropes, or drop their partners. Objective hazards exist: rocks fall down. And no matter how much difficulty and protection grades may sanitize a climb, it is still easy to wander off route, to miss a crucial gear placement,or otherwiseto find oneself in territory where a fall could be disastrous. Gear that seems solid may pull out; it is hard even for experienced climbers to dependably judge placements of climbing gear. And finally, as my accident demonstrates, even if the gear is solid you can get hurt in any fall.

It is often pointed out by climbers that many sports carry dangers, and that climbing is actually less dangerous thancommon daily activities like driving a car. This may be true, but we are not forced to choose a dangerous sport in which to participate. We don't have to choose climbing just because it isn't as crazy as BASE jumping. We can shun all sports involving danger if it is the right thing to do. And while driving a car may wellbe more dangerous than climbing, we live in a world in which we can't escape the car. We have no choice about it. Climbing is different. It is a luxury we can well afford to drop.

But I couldn't bear to drop it.After my accident I was desperate to find a rationale for continuing to climb, a way to go forward but feel I was being reasonable and safe about it.

I wish I could tell you that I figured out the answer to this problem. I wish I could say thatI developed a calculus to determine how much danger is acceptable. I wish I could offer you a climbing plan that is 100 percent risk-free, or tell you that I located the perfect spot on the climbing danger continuum at which adventure is maximized but life-threatening hazards are minimized. But obviously I did none of these things.

Instead I decided to wade back into climbingslowly and to take it easy, minimizing risk by minimizing difficulty. Even this simple plan was a difficult one for me to execute, because I like to challenge myself. But aside from a few lapses I mostly stuck with it, avoiding leading harderclimbs all year, being willing to follow other folks' desires and ambitions more than my own, and repeating a bunch of favorite climbs instead of always seeking out new ones.

At first, I found that my accident had wreaked havoc with my lead head. I was tentative on the lead, becoming paralyzed at crux momentsI never would have worried about in the past. On more than one occasion this year I fell or took a hang because I simply couldn't commit to the move atthe crucial moment of a climb. The irony of this situation wasn't lost on me-- before the accident I pretty much never fell while climbing, but afterward, while trying to go easy and safe, I found myself falling or hanging on gear with some frequency. This seemed like madness, and made me wonder what the hell I was doing out there at all.

But I'm happy to report that over time my head improved (although not completely). I lost a good bit of the weight I gained and I alsotried through the year to become a better technical climber with a better awareness of balance and footwork than I had in the past. I see increased proficiency as a path towards feeling confident enough to progress back up the grades in the future. At some point this year I gave up on having any big climbing achievements in . It has been a rebuilding year.I haven't led a single pitch of trad 5.9 all year, and I'm fine with that. I recently followed a few, and they felt laughably easy. I take that as a good sign, and I plan to put that good feeling in my pocket for the winter, work really hard in the gym through the cold months, and emerge in the spring with confidence thatI can soon begin leadingharder climbsagain, breaking back into 5.9 and maybe even 5.10. And I hopethat whenI doso the climbs willfeel secure, and not beyond my limits.

So I have continued to climb, and life goes on. I can't assure anyone that I have made the right decision. But I can promise I'm more careful than I used to be, with the unfortunate side effect that I'm also more tentative. I am more willing to back off, and I will be much slower about working up the grades, more conscious of my limits. On the whole I believe I'm moving in the right direction. And that's the best balance I thinkI can achieve.

Chasing Elusive Ancestors :: The Hazlett-Dunfee Connection

Last month I posted photos of the gravestones for Jonathan and Elizabeth Hazlett in Ashland County, Ohio who may be my 5th great-grandparents. I say “may be” because all I have to go on is circumstantial evidence, and that is rather “iffy” to say the least.



According to her gravestone, Elizabeth was 86 years old when she died on March 3, 1848 which indicates that she was born about 1762. The date of birth of Jonathan, based on his age given on his gravestone, calculates to August 15, 1771. So, if this information is correct, then Elizabeth was about nine years older than Jonathan. Somewhat unusual, to be sure.



The gravestone of Sophia Elizabeth Hazlett Dunfee in Evergreen Cemetery, Whitley County, Indiana shows that she died March 13, 1864 aged 69y 10m 3d, which calculates to a date of birth of May 10, 1794. If Elizabeth, wife of Jonathan, is the mother of Sophia then Elizabeth would have been about 32 years old when Sophia was born, not unreasonable. Jonathan would have been not quite 23 years of age. Rather unusual to have that age difference. So, I have my doubts that Elizabeth is the natural/birth mother of Sophia. A more likely scenario is that Sophia's mother died and Jonathan later married Elizabeth.



And how do I know that Jonathan is her father? I don't know for sure that he is. But my “gut feeling” tells me it is so. This is what we do know:



Sophia Elizabeth Hazlett was the wife of James Dunfee, born about 1788. The 1850 and 1860 census records show that they were both born in Pennsylvania. The 1880 census records for five of their children living at the time also show that their parents were born in Pennsylvania. The one exception is the youngest daughter – the 1880 and 1900 census records for her both show that her father was born in Pennsylvania and her mother was born in Maryland.



Biographies of three children and two grandchildren were published in local county history books. These provided clues as to where James and Sophia were born, in most cases corroborating the information from the census records.

• A biography of William H. Dunfee states that he was born in Adams County, Penn., April 10, 1822, and came with his parents to Ohio in 1831. (Counties of Whitley and Noble, Indiana Historical and Biographical; Goodspeed, 1882 p280) His date and place of birth is the same in his obituary.

• In a biography of Jonathan S. Dunfee it states that he is a son of James and Sophie (Hazlett) Dunfee, the former a native of Pennsylvania and the latter of Kentucky. Jonathan was born in Adams County, Pennsylvania on June 9, 1826... being one of thirteen children... he was taken to Wayne County, Ohio when but five years of age. (Counties of Whitley and Noble, Indiana Historical and Biographical; Goodspeed, 1882 p394)

• A biography of Frank E. Lovett states that his father, James Hanson “married Mary, daughter of James and Sophia (Hazelete) Dunnfee, who were of Scotch descent, and came from Pennsylvania to Ohio in 1830. Mary (Dunnfee) Lovett was born March 19, 1816 in Adams County, Penn., and came to Ohio with her parents. James Dunnfee was born in North Carolina in 1786, and died at the age of seventy-six years; his parents came from Ireland. Sophia (Hazelett) Dunnfee was born in Pennsylvania, her parents having been driven from Scotland during the religious persecutions.” (Commemorative Biographical Record of Wayne and Holmes Counties, Ohio; Beers, 1889, p641)

• The biography of David McNabb states that he “was married Oct. 18, 1842 to Sophie Dunfee, a daughter of James and Sophie (Hazlett) Dunfee, who moved from Adams County, Pa., to Ohio in 1833.” (History of Dekalb County, Indiana Vol 2, Interstate, 1885, p577-578)

• A biography of Warren McNabb, son of David and Sophia (Dunfee) McNabb, states that Sophia was “the daughter of James and Sophia (Hazlett) Dunfee, who removed from Adams county, Pennsylvania, to Ohio in 1833.” (History of Dekalb County, Indiana; Bowen, 1914, p422)

The biographies for the three children state that they were all born in Adams County, Pennsylvania and all of the biographies show that James and Sophia came from Adams County, Pennsylvania to Ohio, sometime between 1830 and 1833, with one providing the name of the county in Ohio – Wayne – and telling us that James and Sophia had 13 children.



Another clue resided in the family coffers – the files of my grandmother Hazlette Brubaker Phend (named after her Aunt Hazlette who was named after her great-grandmother, Sophia Hazlett Dunfee) – in the form of a letter written on March 16th 1849. Although signed “James and Sophia E. Dunfee” it was clearly written by Sophia (in Lakeville, Holmes County, Ohio) to their son William H. Dunfee and his wife Catharine in Columbia City, Indiana. The letter gives a brief statement regarding the health and well-being of various members of the family. From that letter we learn that William's baby is the 21st grandchild of James and Sophia. Family members mentioned were Lucy, Sarah, father, George, Henry, Mary, Aunt, your father, Jonathan and Marye An, and Oliver Quick.



I think that “father” is Sophia's father (thus still living in 1849) and that “your father” is William's father James, thus Sophia's husband. Oliver Quick was a brother of Marye An who was the wife of Jonathan.



No where in all of this do we derive a clue as to the name of the parents of Sophia Hazlett or James Dunfee.



However, a tantalizing clue for James' parents comes from the gravestone of “Catherine Dau. of G. & M. Dunfee” found in a heap with other gravestones in Evergreen Cemetery – the same cemetery in which James and Sophia are buried in Whitley County, Indiana. Thankfully, a local researcher had transcribed the stones in the cemetery many years ago and from that publication we learn that Catherine Dunfee died July 27, 1851 aged 57y 9m and that she was buried in the same row, next to James and Sophia. Catherine's date of birth calculates to October 27, 1793. James Dunfee was born about 1788. Is Catherine a sister of James? And who are G. & M. Dunfee?





A pile of gravestones in Evergreen Cemetery, Whitley County, Indiana. The marker for Sophia Dunfee was intact and can be seen behind that of Catharine Dau. of G. & M. Dunfee. Photo taken in November 1985.



To be continued....

No Mojitos at Winkel van Sinkel

Blondine and I had lunch at Winkel van Sinkel yesterday Saturday. Blondine had the salmon bagel while I had some omelette. They were OK--4 stars out of 5.

The meet up is not just for our usual girly lunch update but to also further excite ourselves (now that sounds like this sentence needs some censoring, lol) for our up and coming CUBA TRIP which will happen in 2 weeks’ time. Yep, 2 more weeks!!! Flights have been booked 2 months ago. Hotels have been booked last week as well. Right now I am checking out the rental car.

Winkel van Sinkel, quite busy during lunch.

A quick trip to the WC (toilet). This is the basement of the restaurant that used to be a warehouse exiting to the wharf. In the old times, businessmen trade their wares by coming to Utrecht on boats and loading the wares on the below the street level wharfs.

Nevertheless we are bursting with desolate anticipation. WE CANNOT WAIT TO GO TO EXOTIC CUBA!

You know, Blondine and I have promised ourselves that we will go to Cuba before the country changes. Cuba right now is time warped. In the 50’s. We all know that Fidel Castro won’t live forever, so who knows, before we know it, Cuba might look like Miami? Oh dear, please no. So NOW is the TIME TO GO.

Now, we chose to meet up for lunch at Winkel van Sinkel because we’d love to have some Cuban introduction: MOJITOS. Trivia: Did you know that Mojitos originally came from Cuba?

The Winkel van Sinkel restaurant on Utrecht’s Oudegracht is famous for its salsa dancing and Caribbean cocktails. However, since the restaurant was packed with diners for lunch, they had nobody to concoct the cocktails for us. The waiter probably thought--Silly girls ordering Mojitos at this early hour. Haha.

Let’s just say that Sauvignon Blanc saved the day.

The facade of Winkel van Sinkel at night. Foto from http://themeet140.com/

Tonight, we might check out the free market and Queen’s Night celebrations (Koninginenacht) in Utrecht Centrum.

Visit Period: April

WORD!

Yet to be verified but word is Colin Haley recently soloed Mt. Hunter's North Buttress, stopping just short of the true summit, specific route is unknown. But Colin has done three different routes there in previous seasons, the Bibler- Klewin, the French Gully and Deprivation. (thanks for the update John)



"Next we geared up for an attempt of the Bibler-Klewin on Mt. Hunter's North
Buttress (commonly and erroneously referred to as the "Moonflower Buttress").
First climbed in 1983 by Todd Bibler and Doug Klewin, this route snakes up an
aesthetic line of ice streaks on the crest of the North Buttress."



Stunning solo obviously no matter what route or where he stopped high on the mtn. But a nice tribute as well imo to his visit there climbing withBjørn-Eivind Årtun.










Bjørn-Eivind Årtun leading the Shaft

photos courtesy of Colin Haley




http://colinhaley.blogspot.com/

Drivers are Not a Different Breed

I have been reading some bicycle blog posts lately where the authors describe feeling betrayed when their non-cycling friends say something nasty about cyclists - you know, the kind of thing a clueless and self-entitled driver might say, but certainly not a friend who happens to be a driver. I mean, they're different, right? Those drivers who cut us off and shout at us are bad people, whereas our friends are good?



Problem is that this difference is fictional. After all, each of those nasty drivers is also someone's dear friend. As hard as it may be to believe, they are not usually "bad" outside the context of being behind the wheel. Likewise, just because someone is our friend does not mean they are incapable of thinking or doing things that would outrage us. We can disagree on issues and never know it until that issue comes up, and my experience has been that cycling is one of those issues - right up there with abortion. Once I began cycling for transportation, I learned fairly quickly not to discuss it with friends, co-workers or relatives who are non-cyclists unless I wanted these conversations to turn into heated debates, or all out fights.



Recently a friend and her husband were visiting Boston, and I met them for dinner at an outdoor cafe. I knew that they were both avid recreational cyclists, so I let my guard down and was speaking to them about bicycles - the pros and cons of different roadbikes, that sort of thing. I was feeling good that finally here was someone from my "real life" I could discuss bikes with. Then some cyclists rode down the street past us and the husband shook his head. "Those idiots are going to get themselves killed." I was confused. "What... Why?" He then explained how stupid it is when cyclists "think they are cars" and cycle "right on the road, without bike lanes or anything." "I hope you don't do that!" he added as my friend nodded. Turns out there is this huge national park where they live, and that is where they ride their bikes - unless it is an organised charity ride, which is the only time they'll go on the road. Not only are they drivers the rest of the time, but having exposure to cycling has done nothing to make them empathise with transportational cyclists. We could have spent the rest of our meal fighting, but instead I changed the subject - it wasn't worth it to me. After dinner they took a taxi to their hotel, and I walked around the corner to where my bike was locked up, then rode home "as if I were a car." Those drivers who hate cyclists could be anyone - our friends, our relatives, and even, apparently, other cyclists. People are people, ever ready to feel frustration and annoyance.

Rerun

With all the construction going on up there in Friendship Height's, it's comforting to me to see Rodman's still going strong at 5100 Wisconsin Avenue. It started in 1955 as a drugstore; today it's a landmark, an institution, I'd even call it a phenomenon. As Arlo Guthrie said in Alice's Restaurant- "You can get anything you want," but there is a minor drawback or two.

The first problem with going to Rodman's is getting out of there. You might go in for one quick thing like LU's Cinnamon Sugar Biscuits which Safeway doesn't carry anymore, but there, just as soon as you walk in, are fireworks at the door- 30 percent off now right next to the BBQ sets and the Toblerone bars. This is the back entrance which is a narrow, one-cart aisle created by stacks and stacks of food: jars of tomato sauce, olives, chutney, baby clams, BBQ sauce, wine, vinegar, sardines, curry paste, Parmesan cheese and stuffed peppers-(wait is that a topping or a side dish?) jams, marinated artichokes, and olive oil. OK, now I'm actually IN the store and officially past "the entrance".

The second problem is which aisle to run to first- the beer? Wine ? Snacks? Look- there's those Italian cookies- the ones in the big red tins- Lazzaroni's- they have the wrappers you can light on fire and make a wish on when they rise to the ceiling. And those weird chocolate cigar type cookies someone bought for us in Greece once, not to mention digestive biscuits, whatever they are, and those cinnamon things I just remembered I came in here for.

Oh, and they have Lady Grey Tea. Safeway doesn't seem to stock that anymore either. Fritos, Doritos and crystallized ginger. I don't what to do with it, but I'm intrigued. Squirt bottles of Kalamata olive puree under a sign that says "dessert toppings". (whoops) And something that looks like shrunken heads over there in the produce aisle turns out to be celery root. Celery root? Lemons- what a deal. Does anyone need a scratch off ticket? A baguette would be good for later. And do I have enough tuna?

Over in the beverage aisles, I was befriended by DC native, "Hoppy Dave" who educated me as best he could on the amazing variety of beers he stocks-a happily bewildering experience that almost involved me getting a second cart. (Warning-one cart is bad enough in there- something akin to navigating a Hummer through the back streets of Georgetown.) By the time he was finished with me, my cart was full of stuff I'd never heard of, but couldn't wait to try-including Bell's Batch 8,000, a commemorative ale which only gets made every 8,000 years. ( I might be wrong there, but my head only holds so much info.) He also filled me in on my high school teacher, Bob Tupper who went on to produce Tupper's Hop Pocket Ale, an excellent adult beverage courtesy of Old Dominion Brewery which, Dave tells me, has been bought now by Budweiser. What? That's why there was no Tupper's in sight as The Tuppers have decide to find a new brewery. Meanwhile, the customers ran in and panic bought all the stock.

Now I've solved the problem of leaving Rodman's. My cart is full, and so is my head. But I didn't even make it downstairs to the other floor where the household products are, the small appliances, toys, school supplies, and oh, yeah, it is Rodman's Drug after all. Don't forget the pharmacy and the vitamins....next time.

Thanks, Dave.

Cat Reading

This is a photo of me and my black cat, Jade, reading a book

Purchasing Power

The economy is terrible, but my purchasing power has just undergone a significant increase. How, you ask? Ah, keep reading!
Yes: a set of Wald folding baskets - filled with enormous grocery bags, the contents of which I could never have fit into my previous set-up. We passed a bike shop today that happened to have the black Walds in stock, and I ended up buying them. Now that I no longer have the front basket on my Pashley, I needed something ASAP - at least to tide me over until I can get panniers.

Well, the Wald baskets did not disappoint! You can't quite tell from these pictures, but the grocery bags are very full, with the level of the contents extending far beyond the brims of the baskets. Technically, it is possible to haul more than twice the volume of each basket. We tied the handles of the bags together on top, so that the contents wouldn't bounce, and had no problems at all.

The bicycle remained just as stable with the grocery bags inside the baskets as without.

Just as easy to maneuver, too.

As we were about to head home from the grocery store, we ran into Biking in Heels. Talk about a sense of community! We compared notes about panniers and tires, as I eyed her rear rack with longing (I've been looking for a suitable rack for my vintage Raleigh DL-1 with no success).
I was a bit nervous about what it would feel like to cycle with so much weight in the rear of the bike, but once we took to the streets it was effortless. Mind you, I am cranky and picky when it comes to carrying stuff on my bike - so when I say "effortless", you can take me literally. When I carried groceries in a front wicker basket, I had to lower the gearing on this bike in order to cycle comfortably. With these baskets I happily remained in the same gearing as without the groceries.

These passers-by are clearly envious of my amazing baskets and of the abundance of groceries I was transporting.

Can't say I blame them - this is great!

Good Morning

My morning glory flowers are now doing great. The tiny spots aren't camera problems but are pollen.

A Rose... Unlike any I've ever seen before!

Updated 06/10 at 8:45am: A reader sent me an email and she said it looks like a David Austin Rose. I think she's right. Thanks, Stephanie!









Temple Square Gardens – Tuesday, June 7th

Wool for Swimming?

We are staying on the North Shorefor a while, and the weather is unbelievable. Yesterday began with a thick, frigid fog, giving way to blinding sunshine and oppressive heat, followed by a sudden darkening of the skies and a mini-redux of the previous day's violent downpour with a temperature drop of at least 20F - all in rapid succession and repeated every several hours. It was as hilarious as it was frustrating, as we kept scrambling to start one thing after another, only for our plans to be thwarted by the elements. Food was rained on, warm clothing was shed no sooner than it was donned, camera equipment was hastily put away no sooner than it was set up, several pairs of shoes now needed drying, and my hair was a hopeless rat's nest of a mess. Others might have given up at this point, resigned to spend the day under a blanket with a bottle of rum. But we are stubborn - and also perversely delighted by the irony of finally being able to get away in August like normal people (instead of September as in previous years), only to be greeted by Autumnal weather as usual. Maybe freezing, stormy holidays are just "us" and we shouldn't fight it. Also, the closest town is a dry town (!) and there is no rum.

Anyhow, just when I thought the day was shot, something wonderful happened: I went swimming in the ocean. Not the type of tentative Northern New England "swimming" where you stoically spend five minutes in the water before your limbs start to go numb. No, I swam with abandon in the warmest salt water I've experienced around these parts. After yet another storm, the sun came out again at about 5pm and we happened to be near a beach. I took my shoes off to walk in the shallow water, and was taken aback when it did not feel like ice. I waded further in and it just kept getting warmer and warmer.Maybe the storm brought forth some rare tropical current? Just an hour earlier it had been cold out and I was wearing layers upon layers of wool, including Ibex long-johns and an I/O Bio Merino sportsbra. Deciding that these were decent enough to pass for swimwear, I removed everything else, went right in the water and swam until the late afternoon sun lost its warmth.

While I'd thought my improvised wool swimsuit would be bulky and uncomfortable, it turned out to be anything but. The fabric clung to my body as well as my synthetic swimsuits and kept me warm not only in the water, but also once I got out and air-dried without a towel in the cooling evening air. Pretty amazing. I liked it so much compared to wearing my normal bathing suit, that I think I'll just keep wearing this if I ever get a chance to swim here again. The beaches are not especially glamorous around these parts, so I don't think anyone cares. But this makes me wonder whether anybody actually makes contemporary wool bathing suits. I don't mean nostalgic/retro 1920's style garments, but a normal, "athletic coverage" type of swimsuit that's a mix of wool and spandex. A preliminary search has not yielded anything promising (though the Ibex website shows young ladies frolicking on a boat in their wool underwear), but I will keep looking. Has anybody else tried swimming in wool?

Lau Pa Sat festival dining and what happens when you overeat!

For months I have been craving for real Asian food, made from real Asian ingredients and spices. So while I was in the airplane from Dubai enroute to Singapore, I have been daydreaming of Asian chows, hehe. I cannot wait to indulge! I finally arrived in Singapore just before lunch and we went straight to my sisters’ place and deposited my baggage, then we set off for some grub to a nearby hawker place. I had lovely and hearty prawn noodles. Ummmm, exactly what I needed after the flight, something warm. The rest of the afternoon I slept. Massive jetlag. I have to rest and catch up on sleep because in the evening I am going to eat again! *grin*



For my first dinner in Singapore, we went to Lau Pa Sat. I have never been here and SisterJ and Myrrh were pretty sure I would love the place and the food. They live in the Central Region in Singapore and Raffles is just one ride with the metro.









Lau Pa Sat on Raffles Quay

Website: Lau Pa Sat



A quick look at the website and this is the history of the building:



‘Lau Pa Sat (or ‘old market’ in the Hokkien dialect) was Singapore's first wet market that dates back over 150 years ago to the time of Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of Singapore. It was subsequently converted into a famous gourmet paradise and has been gazetted as a national monument since 1973.’



Indeed, a taste of Singapore’s past served fresh.















Isn’t this place beautiful? So Victorian-style. Monumental I should say. I am loving the latticework going on. Wrought iron, lattice work, milky white hues. It’s like an oversized gazebo from England.



As you might have been aware of, I am a culture, history and architecture lover, so yes, SisterJ and Myrrh were right on the dot. I love the place! Thank you so much girls for bringing me here. Salamat. We will come back here though during the day, okay.



It was a weekday when we were here and we arrived quite late—blame it on me for oversleeping because of my jet lag, thus many vendors in the Lau Pa Sat main dining area were already closed. So we went outside where there’s more choices. Oooh, the excitement is building up. My mind is running. My palates are ready. I want some seafood! I also want some vegies! Kangkong!!! I want them all spicy! Ach, piggishness strikes!

















It proved difficult to order because I want to taste a little bit of everything? You can practically order from any of the food stalls, it does not matter where you sit, they will bring you the food you ordered. And the menus are long. So much to choose from, it is a bit overwhelming.



Asia is the ultimate food mecca in the world and Singapore is no exemption either being the queen bee when it comes cheap food thrills and the food hawker enterprise. The country of course has a vast array of hygienic/clinical restaurants but why would I go there when I can have these somewhere else, like back home? I will stick to the local theme of the food game and satisfy my tastebuds with local eats at the hawkers. For now, for this trip. And I know I am in good hands here at Lau Pa Sat.



This is what we finally ordered



Food for three hungry people...








Spicy Kangkong (water spinach), I missed this soooooo much.







Spicy Chilli Crab.







Chicken Pandan with lots of chilli sauce, hehe.







Stir-Fried Egg Noodles with tauge and choy sum.








Steamed Choy Sum (or could be Gai Lan) vegetables with fried garlic and oyster sauce.







Beside Lau Pa Sat building is a street that has been closed for diners. SisterJ and Myrrh told me that the street is a normal functioning street with road traffic during the day. It is only in the evening that the road is closed from traffic and transforms into a roadside extension dining area of Lau Pa Sat. Lots of vendors grill satays here. This street smells so good.



And I heard that during the weekend, on Friday and Saturday it is a festival here where many working professionals get together for booze, extend their happy hours to dinner, and into the night. Cheap beer, cheap food, al fresco dining, fun atmosphere, all in all, just cool.













The aftermath effect



After having had our fill, this is what happened....



Experiencing tummy pain. Severe pain. Bloated tummy. My sides are hurting. I could not stand straight! I had to walk slowly like a limping old woman while my sister helps me. What is happening to me?!!!



Well obviously I got sick because I over ate and I am not going to apologise for this behaviour (hehe)! If you look at the pictures though, there were really not a lot of food. I mean those 4 servings are for 3 people. How can that be too much? Unfortunately, I’m one of those unlucky people with small, sensitive and strange stomachs, so when I overeat, I will most likely get sick. Literally sick that I cannot even freaking move my body. Not joking. The cure is time, so I usually stand immobile for half an hour and then I move around a little bit (light walk) for another half an hour.



Plus the spice and chili. I had too much that my stomach went ballistic, it ballooned. This on top of the pain and discomfort. Luckily they have manzanilla back home in the apartment.







On the positive side (see I am a half full glass type of person), this is one of the reasons why I think I will never ever become too fat to handle (flabs and those little love handles are excluded okay). Because my body at some point surrenders, it cannot tolerate over eating.



Nevertheless, this looks like a [insert sarcasm] very promising start of my Singapore trip. It’s just been day 1! Goodness heavens.