Delhi: Of drivers and riders.

If I thought Kolkata’s traffic was bad, I wasn’t prepared for Delhi.

At least 10 times larger, Delhi’s traffic is permanently at a stand-still, the honking never ceasing for a minute.

And the main reason for the jams is due to the fact that drivers here don’t give way.

At every intersection without a traffic light, drivers attempt to do the impossible by cutting across where they want to go, with little regard for oncoming traffic and with zero understanding of the concept of giving way.

The result? Unnecessary honking and further delays.

Hapless policemen attempt to wave and direct traffic at these intersections, but more often than not, they are blatantly ignored.

To get anywhere in Delhi, you need a good driver who is aggressive enough and who knows his way around traffic.

Or in some cases, a good rickshaw rider. Here, they call them 2-wheelers.

I got on a 2-wheeler near Delhi’s Red Fort to take me to the monument entrance, across crazy 2-way traffic and then around the Chandni Chowk (bazaar) right across the Red Fort after.

Raju came up to me and said he’d take me for 20 rupees to the entrance of Red Fort. But if I wanted, he would also take me around the Chandni Chowk.

I asked him how much that would cost.

“You happy, you pay me anything you want, madam,” was the reply, with the signature head sway.

As I got on the rickshaw and Raju expertly wheeled around traffic , we got into introductory conversation.

“I’m 28 years old, madam, recently married, only 6 months,” he told me with a toothy smile. Then he turned his head back again and added proudly, “Love marriage, madam, my wife and me, “

It was interesting that he thought it significant to add that final point. I suppose in a country like India where match-made marriages are still the norm, love marriages become a rare, and precious occurrence.

Raju made it a point to remind me as I got on and off his 2-wheeler at each site,

“Don’t take guides inside, madam”

“Don’t buy souvenir inside, madam, very expensive, you go market and buy better”

“Be careful your bag, madam”

Taking a rickshaw ride is quite an unforgettable experience here. The bumps, potholes and swerves are so much more acutely felt; the blares from the cars tailgating the 2-wheeler become excruciatingly sharp to my ears; I had to hold on tight to the sides whilst attempting to take photos without losing my camera with each pothole we went over.

Midway, Raju turned around and asked with a toothy grin, “Madam, you are very beautiful, what about me?”

I saw oncoming traffic nearing our little rickshaw and managed to give him a thumbs-up sign with time enough for him to make a swerve, whilst I closed my eyes and hoped that that wasn’t the last conversation I had in this lifetime.

As our tour came to an end, I handed Raju some rupees and told him to take care of his wife.

With his signature toothy grin, he replied, “Ya, ya, of course, madam,”

Later in the day, I recounted my 2-wheeler encounter to Nick as we headed to dinner at Connaught Place.

I pondered how funny fate could be, that Raju and I were the same age, but our paths in life were so divergent.

Nick peered over his glasses and said knowingly, “Well, at least he’s happily married, and a love marriage at that!”

Touché.

Kolkata: Battle for the plane.

After 3 days of wedding festivities in Kolkata (of which I’ll write more about later), it was time to bid adieu to the city and head over to Delhi.

My friendly driver, Uttam, said arriving at the airport 1 hour beforehand was sufficient for domestic flights.

I got to the airport promptly an hour before my flight was due to depart, but what greeted me was a massive crowd milling outside the airport, people rushing to buy air tickets at the last minute at the counters, drivers honking other drivers for hogging the drop-off spot.

I hastily attempted to make my way into the check-in area, not before I had to make a large detour around the crowd to find the little entrance in the railings.

Then, another queue awaited. This time, to screen all baggage before passengers were allowed to go to the check-in counters.

Loud chattering echoed through the halls, lines formed all over the place for different airlines, people jumped queues randomly, and there was no sense of urgency to get passengers through quickly.

I started to panic. With 45 minutes to go, I was still in line to get my baggage screened, and no where near the snaking lines in front of check-in.

Then suddenly, all these Indigo flight officers started appearing and calling out for Ahmenabad passengers. Apparently the flight was leaving in 15 minutes and they had to get the Ahmenabad-bound passengers on the plane.

What ensued was an organised mess of people emerging from the lines waving their Ahmenabad tickets, rushing to the front of security screening, then being escorted to the check-in counter to get their boarding passes.

However, I was still relegated to standing in line and as I managed to get my baggage through, my next task was to find the check-in counter for Delhi.

Problem was, none of the counters indicated the destinations for checking in.

I stood at the end of the shortest line I could find, then managed to flag down an airport officer to ask for help.

He casually waved me towards another line at the end of the hall and proceeded on his way.

Not sure what to do, I looked haplessly around. Then, something caught my eye.

One of the counters had produced a sign that read “Delhi”. I picked up my belongings and rushed forward.

Funnily enough, I got through all the formalities with even 15 minutes to spare before boarding time.  No mean feat by local standards.

Being in India was a test of my patience. But also a good lesson for me to learn to chill and trust that the process will get me to my destination. Urgency is not a commonly-accepted nor understood concept.  

That lesson held me in good stead for the rest of my journey.

Kolkata: Rules to live by.

Kolkata. 

After 3 days in this interestingly dusty city, I’ve come to 4 basic understandings of living in Kolkata:

1. Blowing your trumpet is a way of life.

And I mean literally. Honking is a 24-hour/7-days-a-week affair. You’re not a legitimate driver if you don’t honk your way out of any traffic situation.

There’s an unmistakable drone of honking that blankets the entire city of Kolkata.

Even at the airport, near the runway where they transport passengers from plane to terminal via bus, the bus driver honks away at the traffic controllers milling around baggage containers under the huge airplane wings.

The funniest part is, the honking doesn’t do any good. Considering that nobody follows road markings (you’d be mocked if you tried to follow any traffic rules), few pay attention to road signs and pedestrian crossings, and pedestrians cross the road like their grandfather owns it.

And half the vehicles on the roads don’t have side-view mirrors. They really don’t. Nobody uses them, and they become more of a hindrance than a necessity since traffic tends to be backed up bumper to bumper, with barely an inch between cars side-by-side on the roads. There’s no space for side-view mirrors here.

But drivers honk all the same. I suppose it’s a psychological and cultural driving etiquette here. Honk loudly and frequently enough, maybe you’ll be able to honk all the slower drivers out of your way, and speed your way across town.

When that happens, hold on tight. It’s like getting on a 3D adventure simulation ride in Universal Studios – the bumps, jolts, zig-zags. Except that it’s live.

The irony? Signs along the roads that say “No Hurry, No Worry”.

I’m not kidding.

2. Ya-ya-papaya

“Ya, ya.”

That’s what you say when you’re expressing agreement, certainty, or just a space filler.

The Kolkatans use it like we use “Can” in Singapore.  With a little left-to-right shake of the head in rhythm with the 2 syllables.

“Can you call my driver, please?” “Ya,ya, no problem, madam.”

“The traffic is really bad here...” “Ya, ya, everyday is like that here, madam.”

“Your wife is really beautiful...” “Ya, ya, I is lucky, madam.”

Ya ya. I like it.

3.  Don’t queue, just join in.

Queuing is not a common concept here.

Actually, let me rephrase that. Cutting queues is a perfectly acceptable norm.

Everyone does it, no matter where - at the airport checking-in, at the booth counter buying entrance tickets, at the markets buying things  -  the concept of waiting for your turn in line does not exist.

You can distinguish the tourists from the locals by the fact that the former patiently wait in line whilst the latter blatantly join mid-way or elbow their way through the front.

And it’s perfectly acceptable. Nobody tells the queue-cutter to get back in line, nobody feels embarrassed by jumping the line. It’s just a way of life.

I decided to do it Kolkata-style when we were trying to buy entrance tickets to the Victoria Memorial grounds the other day.

I elbowed all these local men out of the way with aplomb, barked at a local who tried to cut in front of me and positioned myself right in front of the counter, stuck my hand through the small gaping  hole and demanded for 4 tickets.

My friends found it rather amusing to say the least. And I think the locals were also a bit stunned at this tall, crazy Asian woman with big camera and all pushing in.

Well as they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. In this case, do as the Indians do.

4. You can ask for anything.

You literally can.

In our hotel at the Chrome, there’s even a button on the phone that says “Anything”.

And if you want something, and don’t know who to call, just press the Anything button.

It’s synonymous of the culture here, you really can ask for anything, the Kolkatans are a really hospitable people.

But when you get what you ask for is no guarantee.

Yesterday, I was trying to put on a sari for my friend’s wedding. Clearly, that wasn’t going to work without any help.

What to do? Call “Anything”.

Although we had to call twice before someone came up finally.

Two ladies from the hotel staff very gamely attempted to drape the sari around me. First they twirled the cloth around me, then they twirled me around the cloth. This went on several times, alternating between one and the other.

Finally, one of them admitted that it’s easy to dress one’s self in a sari, but very difficult to do so for someone else.

After more than 30 minutes of trials and attempts, they finally managed to pin it onto me, not without the help of at least 6 safety pins.

See? You can ask for anything. Even sari dressers.

India: First Impressions

It started just as the plane hit the tarmac in Kolkata, before we parked at the gate. Mobile phones started ringing, polyphonic tones of all sorts buzzing from each corner of the plane. Despite repeated announcements from the crew to keep all mobile devices off till the plane came to a complete stop.

Looking out the window, the smogginess of pollution that descends upon the city was unmistakable.  

Getting through immigration was a breeze, not least because the officer scanning all incoming hand baggage was busy talking on the phone rather than paying attention to the screening.

I lost my customs declaration slip (which was a very little flimsy slip that was torn off the immigration arrival form) before I got to the exit .  After some sad looks and hapless protestations, the customs officer brought me to the side table, rummaged through some older slips and took out someone else’s slip that wasn’t filled completely, scratched out the signature on it and then asked me to fill it in. No passport number, nothing.

Calcutta reminds me of Indonesia en route to the hotel – the chaos outside the airport, haphazard parking and reckless pedestrians crossing at will, long stretches of pot-holed roads across barren land, with the occasional cement castle of an edifice rising from the ground every now and then.

Tomorrow the adventure begins.

Welcome to India.

Packing for India

I got my typhoid and flu vaccines yesterdaay.

Visa should be ready tomorrow. I hope.

I've got the hae bi (dried shrimp) and the toilet paper to take to my buddy with whom I'll be staying with in Delhi.

Wait.

Toilet paper?

Yup, he specifically asked for toilet paper.

Apparently toilet paper is a luxury good in India, coveted by many but afforded by few.

It's also apparently not a mass cultural norm to use toilet paper during you-know-when occasions.

Well I'll find out for sure on this trip whether this is really true, but in any case, I'm definitely bringing some of it myself, lest I be caught in an awkward situation.

I'm really looking forward to this trip, not least because it'll be an adventure in a uniquely different country, I'll be attending a true blue Indian wedding (hopefully there'll be elephants!) plus I'll be a single Asian female travelling by myself.

Oh the tales of locals grabbing your boobs as you walk by, being accosted and molested in every possible public situation and various other stories have assailed my ears by loads of people who've heard about my solitary travel plans.

I've tended to dismiss them as over-exaggerated travellers' tales so far, although at the back of my head there's a little niggly feeling of unease. Then I opened the guidebook and read the snippet about female travellers and almost fell off my chair.

It confirmed a good majority of all these travellers' tales. The guidebook attributed it to the latent repressed sexuality in India.

I didn't know whether to laugh out loud or crease my brows in worry.

On top of defending my modesty, I also have to figure out how to feed myself safely. Practically everyone I know who's been to India has been attacked by food poisoning during their trip, even with the most careful precautions.

My dad is freaked out to say the least. Especially with the Mumbai bomb attacks in 2008 and the security threats in Delhi leading up to and during the Commonwealth Games a couple of months back.

But as a friend said, if you don't live on the edge sometimes, you'll always regret it.

And it's not like I'm going to be hanging off a cliff or anything like that.

I'm actually staying in a fairly fancy hotel in Kolkata while attending my college friend's traditional Indian wedding. Plus, a simple search on tripadvisor turns up enough horror stories about accomodation to make me want to pay that bit more for extra comfort.

Some other friends eventually got onto the bandwagon and will be flying in as well. So I won't actually be alone by myself all the time.

But then I'll be heading over to Delhi on my own on a domestic Indian airline. At the back of my head, I've got this image of riding pillon on a motorcycle to the airport, battling crazy Kolkata traffic, only to be turned away because I wasn't there 2 hours earlier. Or getting my luggage lost in the middle of my trip.

And then there's the going to Agra to see the Taj and the Fort on my own. Besides the fact it was quite the undertaking to find a safe and decent way to get there, and that I had to fork out a small fortune to get a guide and a driver to take me, since I was not about to spend 4 hours on the local train with the risk of getting squashed like a sardine, molested and harrassed out of my wits and possibly not getting there in one piece.

Or not getting there at all.

Especially since I have little time on this trip, time is of the essence.

Then it occurred to me that for all the safety precautions, the driver or the guide could simply just whisk me off anywhere after they picked me up and there would be practically no way anyone could find me. I'd be in the middle of nowhere, for goodness sake.

But, hey, having an overactive imagination does nobody any good when travelling. Plus, the whole point about travelling to Incredible India (as their tourism slogan proclaims) is to learn and be immersed into a whole new culture, isn't it?

I'm psyched (once I get past the toilet paper apprehensions)!

Washington, DC: Hoya Saxa!

Each time I walk through Healy Gates at 37th and O, a huge ball of nostalgia wells up at the base of my throat as my brain inadvertently brings back memories of the years I spent roaming the campus as an undergrad.

The spires of Healy Hall - a National Historic Landmark - greet you as you walk through the gates at 37th & O Streets



The back of Healy Hall - from Dahlgren Quad

 After all, some of the best years of my life, and probably the most formative in many ways, were spent in the hallowed hallways of the Harry-Potter-esque towers dating back to as early as 1789, when the school was founded by John Carroll, a Jesuit priest.

The school's main campus architecture is styled after Gothic, Georgian brick and Romanesque architecture, surrounded by sprawling green lawns, over-arching trees, blooming flowers of the season and free-ranging squirrels. 

Dahlgren Chapel accorded its own serenity in the middle of campus

Copley Hall - an upperclassmen dorm

I remember that something was always going on at Red Square, the centre of campus activity (not unlike the Red Square in Moscow in many ways) - it was, and still is, here that students campaign for their causes, call on fellow activists to petition for social justice, perform and promote upcoming student events and shows; it was, and still is, here, that people of different race, colour, religion, political affiliation, socio-economic background can stand next to each other and campaign for opposite causes, but still be friends and respect the differences that create such a vibrant atmosphere for intellectual conversation to thrive.

Red Square in front of the Intercultural Centre - quiet on a Sunday afternoon

It was on this same campus that I spent beautiful spring and fall days sprawled on the lawn reading and/or dreaming (usually both), met amazing friends from all backgrounds (whom I still remain in touch with today) and acquired an entire new perspective on life from a different education system.

I used to walk out of class after a fervent discussion on culture and politics, inspired with youthful intellectual idealism on how to change the world, armed with Michel Foucault and Amartya Sen (amongst other luminaries) as my guides.


Squirrels have a field day roaming free across campus and amusing students with their brazenness

As I walk past current students enjoying the campus like I used to, I cannot help but feel the pang of envy that my time has passed, for what would I give to spend a day as an undergrad again?

DC / Virginia: Cheesecake Factory Revisited

I couldn't resist.

My last dinner in the US, and I still hadn't had a full meal at the Cheesecake Factory yet.

Preposterous, really.

Cheesecake Factory food isn't gourmet or anything Michelin-starred lest you wonder why I rave and rant endlessly about it.

But it's delicious American grub (not always the healthiest), HUGE portions and affordable prices.

What's not to lilke about that??

Here's a tribute to my much-loved American diner.

Thanks Ji, for taking me all the way to Tyson's Corner to fulfil my cravings!


My all time favourite - Avocado Egg Rolls



French Country Salad
With grilled asparagus, fresh beets, goat cheese, candied pecans and vinaigrette

Appetiser crabcakes - with mustard and tartar sauce



And you can't leave without their famous cheesecakes!
This is a Halloween special - Pumpkin Pecan Cheesecake.
It's really 2 desserts in 1 - pecan pie at the bottom, pumpkin cheesecake on top and finished with fresh whipped cream!



Washington, DC: The perfect pumpkin man for Halloween

Actually, he's more of a pumpkin head, rather than a pumpkin man.

I'm referring to Jack o'lantern of course, every American family's halloween friend. You can get him at the grocery store, or at a pumpkin patch, dig out his insides and then carve him to pieces, stick a candle inside his guts and get him to guard your door at night.

Halloween is really the ang moh version of the Chinese 7th Month or Hungry Ghosts Festival. Except in a more commercial and consumerist way.

The ancient Celts believed that masks and costumes were needed to ward off harmful spirits and protect oneself. The word "Halloween" can be traced back to 16th Century Old English, to the eve of All Hallows Day (modern day All Saints Day). 

These days, Halloween has become such an integral part of mainstream American culture, that partying on Oct 31st is a social expectation, rather than anything spiritually inclined.

And mind you, the costumes these days, are no longer scary-looking to ward off evil spirits. People get all creative - bunny suits, TV personalities, movie characters, naughty nurses...and the list goes on. The more creative your costume, the more candy you get trick or treating!

Families dress their houses with enough paraphernalia to make you think you just walked onto the street where Addams Family lived. Every street I drove by had at least one house with a huge cobweb and a larger-than-life tarantula (in various strange colours) hovering above the front porch.

Halloween means real business in America.

Unfortunately I was going to be on the plane back to Singapore on Halloween night itself, and so, to make up for my party loss, my wonderful Cater family took me with them to the pumpkin patch search for the perfect pumpkin to carve out Jack Cater.

Elsa guarding the Spookies

Several other families were out at the patch also on the same mission as we were. There were tons of pumpkins to pick from - ugly ones (if you wanted a gnarly Jack o'lantern), little ones (for baby Jacks), odd-coloured ones (for diversity) and semi-perfect ones.

A child clearly appropriately dressed for the occasion! Don't lose him in the patch!

Symon only wanted the perfect pumpkin.

After much hunting and jumping and running around the patch, we finally settled on a fairly large and blemish-free pumpkin as the latest member of the Cater family.

It was half Symon's size!

7-year-old Symon wrestling with his chosen pumpkin

The cutest part of the whole process is that there were little wagons that you could put your heavy pumpkin on to cart to your car.

Symon carting his prized pumpkin to the car

Now, before you can put facial features on Mr Jack, you've got to empty him out of his insides.

Carving the pumpkin is a family affair

And it's a gooey process. Pumpkin has a LOT going on in its crater.

Carving a pumpkin that big is no joke. With much huffing and puffing and a lot of excitable encouragement from the children, Anita carved a hole(large enough for Symon's head to go in! Symon readily plunged his hands into the crater and proceeded to scoop out all the gunk inside.

We never got around to finishing Mr Jack's face because chocolate cupcakes had to be made and everyone got distracted with that.

But I suppose this is what Mr Jack would have looked like eventually :)

New York: Breakfast at Penelope's

Not Tiffany's, mind you.

At the corner of 30th and Lexington, step into Penelope and you're immediately transported into another world.

It looks almost like a picture out of Alice in Wonderland, with its wood-panelled floors, antique-ish wood and marble tables, colonial-style ceiling fans and pastel coloured walls. Not forgetting the row of pastries and cakes adorning the counter and welcoming your very entrance as you step into this cosy abode.

Magical. I couldn't think of a more enticing way to start a morning.

This is the second time I've been to Penelope for breakfast - the first time was last year when I paid homage to New York and camped 5 blocks away with a pal. It was my last meal in in the Apple before I headed up the bus for the 4-hour ride back to DC.

This time round, I crashed with the same friend, and again visited Penelope's just before getting onto the same bus bound for DC.

Penelope's breakfast menu is just that memorable that I returned a year on.

It's wholesome food, cooked with love, in a place small enough that you don't feel glossed over by over-harried waiters, yet spacious enough that you don't feel like the other tables around are eavesdropping on your conversation.

I've tried 2 of their egg sandwiches and they're both really yums, taking a twist on the usual tradition.

The Abuelo's Egg Sandwich (USD9) comes on somun bread (a lot like ciabatta), with eggs done over medium and topped with melted swiss cheese, grilled ham and a tangy balsamic mayo to balance the whole thing.

Abuelo's Egg Sandwich

The best part about the Abuelo's Egg Sandwich is that each half of the sandwich comes with a perfectly enclosed egg yolk, so that you don't have to worry about not having enough egg to go around your whole sandwich.
And you can be as messy as you want with the first half, and start all over again with the next half!

It's perfect :)

Abuelo means grandma in Spanish. And the sandwich does bring to mind going to grandma's and getting fed tons of fantastic homecooked food, making a mess, and have grandma just rub your head and pinch your nose.

The Penny Egg Sandwich (USD8) on the other hand, is a better idea if messy is not your thing when it comes to eggs.

Scrambled eggs, american cheese and a quarter-sized serving of pesto sauce on the side for dipping, on either a croissant of an english muffin.

This time, we ordered the croissant version.

Penny Egg Sandwich on a croissant

I personally prefer the english muffin version which I had the previous time I was at Penelope. But the sandwich was still as good as I remembered it to be, and the pesto sauce still as little as I recalled it to be.

My only gripe is that they aren't as generous with the pesto sauce as they are with the sandwich stuffings, and they'll charge an additional dollar or two (I forget) for more sauce on the side.

Plus, now that I've had the Abuelo's Egg Sandwich, I think that's my new favourite.

Throw in a cappuccino into the mix (I can see Kristian knitting his brows in disapproval here), and voila! A fantastic start to the day.

Penelope's is also a perfect place to just sit by the window and watch the world go by, catch up with a friend, read a book. Or just dream.

A cosy corner to watch cars zipping by,
people hurrying on sidewalks whilst nursing a coffee

I would have done all of that and more.

But I had a bus to catch.

Till next time again, Penelope.

New York: Fall in the City

People do lots of falling in the city.

Especially during fall.

I like to focus on the more romantic-aspects of falling - like the slow flutter of yellow and red leaves from a branch to the ground.

Or falling in love.

I certainly fell in love with New York all over again that day.

Despite having been to the city several times, I still had not gotten around to many of the touristy attractions.

I started the morning with a solitary hike across the Brooklyn Bridge.

There couldn't have been a more perfect day to be outdoors. Despite it being late October, the air was cool without being chilly, the sun a gorgeous partner to to the cloudy blue skies.

You could see across the Hudson River to Staten and Ellis Islands, and wave to Ms Liberty although her back faced you on the Brooklyn Bridge.

Standing right in the middle of the bridge, striding both Manhanttan on one side, Brooklyn on the other, and the Statue of Liberty in plain sight in front of me, a strange feeling of serenity overcame me.

Here I was, the skyline of the world's most sought-after city within reach (literally, if I did some creative photography), the symbolism of freedom and democracy right smack in front of me. Cars rushed endlessly beneath my feet, the famous yellow cabs zipping across boroughs, a sign of the life that never ceases in this city.

But I was on vacation, in a country I treat as my second home, and I was perfectly at ease.

No rush, no stress, just on holiday.

As it neared lunch-time, it was time to say goodbye to Brooklyn Bridge and head over to Union Station-NYU to meet up with some friends for food.

One of my girlfriends is up at NYU doing her grad studies, and she introduced me to this hole-in-the-wall (I'm not kidding) Cambodian sandwich shop that served up fantastic grub for cheap.

I mean, notwithstanding the fact that Cambodia isn't exactly famed for their sandwiches (in fact, they are more known for their hunger in all gravity), and that this supposedly Cambodian shop was staffed by Caucasians and Latinos. No Cambodians in sight. The only Asians were in the queue for food, including me and my half-Asian friends.

Then again, that's globalisation right at work for you. And where better else than in the heart of Manhanttan.

Num Pang is located at 21 East 12th Street, between 5th Ave and University Place. You could practically walk right by it without noticing, seeing that it's situated next to a parking garage entrance, except that the lines snaking outside the storefront would stop you in your tracks.

I had the signature Pulled Duroc Pork sandwich (USD7.50) with a homemade fresh blood orange lemonade. The grilled corn-on-the-cob (USD2.25) came highly recommended too, so I added that to my meal as well.

Wow.

That was one damn good sandwich.

Num Pang's Pulled Duroc Pork Sandwich

Toasted, warm bread, generously stuffed with honey-marinated pork, fresh cilantro and cucumber, pickled carrots and a delicious chilli mayo, this was one meaty punch to contend with.

There's so much going on in the sandwich all at once - the sweet and spicy kick of the chilli mayo, the aroma and meatiness of the pork, the sour tang of the pickled veges and the crisp yet soft texture of the bread.

It's magic. My tongue certainly wasn't confused; it was savouring every bite.

The corn-on-the-cob was another taste explosion and adventure on its own.

Who would have thought that good ol' bbq corn actually went well with chilli mayo, coconut flakes and chilli powder? I'm pretty sure there was some cinnamon in that mix too. It sounds all very strange, but I took a bite and it was like nothing I had ever tasted before.

Num Pang's Grilled Corn-on-the-Cob

It was both sweet and salty at the same time, with that perfect slightly-blackened taste and smell to create a sensory experience all at once.

Beautiful.

After a satisfying meal, it was time to walk it all off at Central Park.

If there's anywhere to capture how beautiful nature is during autumn, Central Park really is the place to be.

Awash in beautiful golden shades of yellow, red, brown and some greens still, the air was crisp and cool in the shelter of the foliage, and the trees engulfed one in a quiet peacefulness despite the busy buzz of the city just along the perimeter.

Fallen leaves were everywhere; couples in their wedding togs were posing for pictures, children were throwing up piles of leaves amidst playful giggles; Sex-in-the-city-type mums were sipping their Starbucks and pushing their baby prams.

Everyone was happy in their own world.

I could have sat there all day just daydreaming.

No wonder they call New York the concrete jungle where dreams are made of.

As late afternoon set in and the sun decided to slowly call it a day, it was time to hit up the last tourist attraction for the night.

The Observatory. At the Empire State Building.

The popularity of the attraction is evidenced by the rows and rows of cords put in place for crowd control at various points in your journey towards the ticket counter, then through several waiting areas before finally arriving at the elevators that would take you to the 86th floor (or 102nd floor if you wanted to pay more).

Thankfully (and quite fortunately, really) we didn't have to wait too long that night at 8.30pm.

We found ourselves at the top in about 30 minutes. And boy, was it an experience.

Not least because it was freezing frostbite-strong-winds-that-could-blow-your-camera-away at that altitude.

But as I sought warmth in the crowds that thronged the deck, the 360-degree view of the Big Apple simply just took my breath away.

No wonder Chuck Bass wanted to declare his love and rekindle the passion with Blair Waldorf up in the skies. (If you watch Gossip Girl, you'd know which episode I'm referring to!)

From every angle, the entire life of the city throbbed beneath me.

Rush-hour traffic looked like trails of red-hot lava flowing through the gridlines of the city; bright lights pulsed from every building and edifice, a sign of the city that never sleeps.

It's absolutely mesmerising. And you could get so caught up in the captivation of the moment, just taking in the heartbeat of the city, until the harsh cold wind bit at your fingers.

I stayed out on the deck for as long as my shivering body could withstand the cold, before battling a quick (though regretful) retreat into the semi-warmth of the indoor observatory.

New York gave me its best that day, and I was pretty sure that I fell asleep exhausted, but with a smile on my face.

A Jesuit Way to Start Your Day

I really am very behind on my latest travel blog entries, but someone forwarded this poem to me today and I thought it was particularly poignant and meaningful.

Made me stop to think what I was doing to make a difference to the lives around me.

It's extracted from “Happiness Manufacturers", Fr Hedwig Lewis, S.J., a Jesuit in India.

Enjoy, and hopefully it will inspire you to action too.
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One song can spark a moment,
One flower can wake a dream.
One tree can start a forest,
One bird can herald spring.
One smile can begin a friendship,
One handclasp can lift a soul.
One star can guide a ship at sea,
One word can frame the goal.
One vote can change a nation,
One sunbeam can light up a room.
One candle can wipe out darkness,
One laugh can conquer gloom.
One step must start each journey,
One word must start each prayer.
Our hope can raise our spirits,
One touch can show you care.
One voice can speak with wisdom,
One heart can know what’s true,
One life can make the difference,
You see, in the end, it’s all up to you!

New York: Toloache

After a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious evening with Mary Poppins on Broadway, we headed a couple of blocks uptown to grab a late Mexican dinner.

Yelp.com gave it the thumbs up. So we decided to give it a try.

Even at 10pm, Toloache (corner of Broadway and 51st St) was packed. 

Toloache is named after a Mexican flowering plant known for usage in love potions. It's one of three Meixcan bar-restaurants in the city run by chef-owner Julian Medina. And all pretty well-received by reviewers too.

It's a quaint little establishment, with plenty of indigenous paraphernalia on the walls and interesting lamp shades hanging from the ceilings.

When they finally seated us after about 20 minutes, first thing I did was to order their Tradicional homemade, fresh-to-order guacamole (USD9).

The key to any respectable Mexican restaurant lies in its standard of fresh, made-on-the-spot guacamole.

Oh, yum. This one has got to be one of the more memorable guacamoles I've had in this lifetime.

Tradicional guacamole, salsa and tortilla chips

Smooth and creamy, yet chunky at the same time, it was perfect. Especially with the homemade tortilla chips.

That was just the prelude to even more delicious dishes.

We wanted to try the cactus fries for fun, but they ran out of those. So we switched to avocado fries (USD9) instead.  Sounds odd, but they really look just like potato wedges, except that when you bite into one, it's creamy, rich avocado that awaits you.

Heavenly.

For mains, I ordered the Tacos De Pastor (USD11): 2 warm flour tacos generously topped with guajillo-marinated pork, grilled pineapple and chile de arbol salsa.

The pork was so beautifully tender and flavourful, and a perfect accompaniment with the tangy pineapple and salsa.

I wish they served more than 2.

My pals ordered quesadillas instead.

The Quesadilla de Costilla (USD13) was stuffed with braised beef short ribs, Chihuahua cheese and Chipotle BBQ sauce, whilst the Quesadilla de Huitlacoche y Trufas (USD14) came with manchego cheese, corn, black truffle, huitlacoche salsa.

Oh, both were just as good......mmmm....

I really like how they are generous with the ingredients, but without overdoing it such that the tacos / quesadillas fell apart when attempting to eat them.

Excellent excellent excellent.

For dessert, who could resist the churros with chocolate and caramel sauces for dipping?? Crisp, cinnamon-dusted donut-y sticks and dark chocolate liquid to eat to your heart's content.

Churros con chocolate

We also tried the Tres Leches de Limon - Tres Leches is a traditional Mexican dessert made with 3 types of milk. Toloache took a lemon take on the dish.

Tres Leches de Limon

It was good, but I wouldn't say it was my favourite. Think it had to do with all that meringue coating around the cake - unfortunately, I'm not much of a meringue fan.

That being said, I LOVED my meal at Toloache and would definitely strongly recommend it to anyone looking for a good and not-too-pricey Mexican meal in the city.

(PS: if you're a Rosa Mexicana fan, this one comes close!)