She Gathers No Moss

Coming of Age

Posted on 25 January 2014 by sheg4184

“Life is a game… play it with a light heart.”

I often think that perfect holidays are perfectly awful to write about. When everything goes smoothly, there is no drama, no humour, no adventure to give the tale an edge. Yet, our recent trip to SW Luzon came close to perfection, and despite the lack of calamity, muddle or misfortune to make us giggle after the event, it seems I must share it anyway.

Our daughter turned twenty one this month, and after much debate about possible destinations, she opted to return to Stilts to celebrate. Never keen to take centre stage, our girl was perfectly happy with a family gathering. This included her grandparents who flew into Cork, Ireland twenty one years ago for her birth, and now cheerfully made the shorter trip to the Philippines armed with swimmers and sun hats instead of coats and gloves.

The design for this dreamy resort was inspired by the pre-colonial era when the Filipinos would build their houses on stilts over the water of Balayan Bay. I had booked the largest cabin at Stilts, which sleeps eight, and lay at the end of a long wooden bridge, way out over the water. We packed the car with balloons, birthday cake and bubbles and headed south. Pausing for a luxurious lunch at Antonio’s in Tagaytay, we finally reached Calatagan around five, and set ourselves up in the last hour of daylight.

All was as she remembered it, and all was good. Her grandparents were delighted with the serene simplicity of the place, and, despite a stiff breeze rattling the thatch – virtually a hurricane, we thought – we were soon relaxing on the balcony with a cup of tea and some left over Christmas cake, gloating over our view across the South China Sea. The steep drop in temperature and the fresh air was blissful, and everyone was in a good place. The boys, arriving later from Manila, met us on the beach with a bucket of beers, as the sun settled unobtrusively into the sea.

The weekend was a perfect mix (aaaghhh! there’s that word again) of relaxation, activity and family time. We took a banca ride out beyond the reef on Saturday morning to try some snorkeling in rather choppy waters, but once beneath the waves, there was plenty to see. Although why I always get the mask that leaks or steams up, and has me struggling inelegantly to readjust everything, while being slapped in the face by obstreperous waves, is beyond my understanding. Still, we had an energetic morning and returned to the banca with buried treasure, as the kids located a large, full bottle of rum that they found balanced precariously on the back of a starfish. I won’t dwell on the sight of us all scrambling frantically back into the boat as the waves attempted to knock us off the ladder, but needless to say, poise was decidedly lacking.

We picnicked on a deserted beach, sadly strewn with rubbish, and this was followed by a restful afternoon of napping and massages, and a little juggling to ensure the birthday cake and decorations were delivered surreptitiously to the staff, so they could set up a surprise birthday dinner on the beach. Our girl had sussed that something was up and followed me nervously to dinner, much relieved as we dodged the restaurant and headed down to the empty beach…

…to find a stage set with lanterns and fairy lights and birthday banners and paper bags filled with flickering tea lights , around a table set with party masks, Disney Princess napkins and flowers and laden with food. Our waiter kept us irrigated with regular supplies of beer and gin, and when the time came, he expended enormous energy on lighting a plethora of birthday candles that struggled to survive in the stiff breeze. Eventually we gave up and sang loudly at a somewhat lackluster cheesecake, bedecked in sprightly glacé cherries and mango. And anyway, the sky was awash with stars, so who needs sulky candles? The boys had brought their guitars and serenaded their sister with ballads, while their grandmother (yes, and me, I admit it) got a little leaky over such memories in the making.

It didn’t end there: we had another two days of racing quad bikes through the scrub, drifting off for meandering beach walks and indulging in pancake-filled birthday breakfasts on our glorious deck, looking out to sea. When the low tide exposed acres of reef, we climbed down the staircase at the corner of our deck, and explored the pools, bums up, examining and exclaiming over sea urchins, crabs, dominatrix star fish and sticky nematodes with long hydra-like tentacles for gathering food. Food and drink, giggles and games played a prominent role too…

…but somehow it paints a prettier picture to leave us lying on soft, white sand, beneath a star-freckled sky, crowing over a remarkable ring around the moon – a lunar halo – as the waves whispered to our toes.

*With thanks to my One & Only for sharing his photography skills yet again.

Posted in Philippines, Travel | Tagged Calatagan, Luzon, quad bikes, snorkelling, Stilts | Comments Off

Counting My Blessings

Posted on 19 January 2014 by sheg4184

Welcome 2014, and with it, the inevitable string of resolutions, diets, and dramatic changes. My own resolutions included the inevitable weight loss, more time to read and write, and, most importantly, to remember to count my blessings.

This morning I passed our beautiful blue pool, where a small, determined toddler in designer swim suit was watering the paving stones with a brightly coloured plastic watering can. Later that morning I drove past another small toddler playing on the side of the road in the back of a barrow full of rubbish bags dressed only in an over-sized, very grubby t-shirt.

Passing regularly through poorer areas of Manila keeps my life in sharp perspective. According to the BBC News, Manila has one of the largest populations of squatters in the world, living in slums ‘with no contracts, no rights, nothing.’ Rivers are clogged with the flotsam and jetsam of modern urban life and pose a serious health risk to neighbouring communities. Many of the slum areas lack an adequate water supply. Housing is makeshift and prone to collapse and flooding. Sanitation, education, health and employment are barely there. Almost thirty per cent of the population of the Philippines currently lives below the poverty line, and nearly 80% of those live in rural areas, most of whom depend on subsistence farming and fishing for their livelihoods. Yet the population continues to grow at the speed of sound.

So any time that I am inclined to decry the traffic, the heat, or any of the daily pinpricks that make me edgy and impatient, I try to look around me and bless my lucky stars that I landed up in my life, and not trapped in a tin shack in Tondo, with no running water, no electricity and no future.

In my final year of high school, I studied an Australian poet named Bruce Dawe. His poem, The Not So Good Earth, was a play on the novel The Good Earth, by Pearl S. Buck, which tells a tale of family life in a rural Chinese village at the turn of the twentieth century. Bruce Dawe wrote this poem in the 1960s about a family watching a news report on starving families in China, a deeply satirical poem, condemning society’s reliance on the media – even then – and how it was anaesthetizing our empathy for those caught up in global catastrophes, effectively removing us from the reality of human suffering.

Recently I met photographer Justin Wright, who introduced me to a community in the Philippines which reminded me of Dawe’s poem, in that, over fifty years on, the media is quenching our empathy for others more than ever.

Isla Pulo is a community of fishermen, charcoal burners and their families on the edge of Manila Bay. Wright came across the community on Isla Pulo while working on a flood prevention scheme on Manila Bay. Having spent twenty years in South East Asia, fifteen of those in the Philippines, Wright has an affinity with these gentle but hardy coastal families – about one hundred of them – and obviously enjoys the time he spends amongst them.

A British expatriate with a heart, this civil engineer turned professional photographer, Wright has produced a sensitive exhibition of this impoverished but cohesive community.

Faced with the inevitable mix of luxury living and guilt that is the dilemma of every expat in a developing country, Wright has found a creative and effective way to help those in need. With the permission of the barangay leaders, he spent months in this isolated fishing village, photographing the lives and faces of these resilient families.

Wright was invited to exhibit his efforts at the ArtistSpace of the Ayala Museum in October, and again at the Asian Development Bank in November. He has also been invited to exhibit in New York. Yet he says he has had a mixed response from the Filipinos. While many locals admire him for his exposure of an aspect of life in the Philippines usually hidden from view, a small minority, he admits, criticizes his work and appears offended by what they see as interference.

The people of Isla Pulo are not amongst his critics. They have been willing models for his photographs and the results are superb. Wright takes you to a regular poor Filipino fishing village to illustrate an attitude of strength and solidarity amid squalor. Subtle but intense, the pictures depict, with touching empathy, both the poverty and the pride of a community determined to persevere against the odds. Hence the title of the exhibition: “Resilience”.

Wright explained that he needed a theme to capture an exhibition space at the Ayala Museum, and the story of the Isla Pulo community was strong and emotive and very different from the usual post card appeal of street scenes or tropical island beaches. despite poverty, and above all, resolve to rise above and battle on.

He also had an added incentive: to bring this independent village to the attention of the outside world and provide the villagers with the support to survive. Presently they have no running water, sewage syatem or gas. Their only electricity source is a small generator shared by the whole village.

Wright and his partner Emely have introduced a feeding program, whereby they deliver an occasional breakfast to Isla Pulo of pan de sal and cauldrons of rice porridge, always gratefully received by the villagers.

The community worked together to build three classrooms for the children, and Wright is providing the flooring, furniture and school supplies. For Christmas, he and Emely are planning to coordinate a Christmas package for the whole village through various business contacts. They are also trying to encourage support to build a permanent bridge to the island. Currently it is only accessible by banca or on foot, along five hundred feet of brittle, and weather damaged bamboo.

Wright has done his best to put us back in touch with our emotions – and our sense of community – to see and acknowledge the strength of hope that is in all of us, to survive and adapt to the most impoverished, or most devastating circumstances.

His exhibition came together at an extremely pertinent time, as the Philippines staggered under the weight of the devastation of Typhoon Yolanda, and is indeed a fitting tribute to the resilience of the Filipino spirit, despite a level of poverty that beggars belief for those of us lucky enough to have been born into the middle class luxury of a First World country. And a clear reminder to us all to count our blessings and appreciate all that we have: friends, family, wealth and health. It is bound to be more than most, on all counts.

*Adapted from an article written for ANZA magazine, January 2014, and with thanks to Justin Wright for allowing me to reproduce his photographs.

Posted in Local Culture, Philippines | Tagged Bruce Dawe, Isla Pulo, Justin James Wright, Pearl S. Buck, Resilience, Typhoon Yolanda | Comments Off

Creating a Cuisine from Scratch

Posted on 9 January 2014 by sheg4184

Cuisine. As it is in the Philippines, so it is in Australia: difficult to define. And like the Philippines, it comes in two parts: Before and After Colonization.

In the beginning there was a vast southern continent on which dwelt a nomadic race of hunter-gatherers who saw themselves as guardians of the land. For thousands of years they lived, undisturbed, on this immense island, with a deep awareness and understanding of their country and its produce.

To understand the array of produce available to Aboriginal Australians, it is necessary to understand just how big a country it is. The north of Australia is tropical rainforest, its northern-most tip far closer to the equator than Manila or even Mindanao. Hobart, the southern-most city at the foot of Tasmania, dips its toes in Antarctic seas. In the south east there are many miles of alpine mountains. Sydney’s climate is sub-tropical, Adelaide and Perth are temperate and dry, hemmed in by desert and ocean, hot in summer, cold in winter and often suffering from droughts. As travel writer Bill Bryson notes, it’s the largest island in the world, the only island that is a continent and the only continent that is a country.

Europeans arrived on the eastern Australian coast in 1788. Appearing on the horizon in tall ships with white sails and sporting translucent pallid white skins, they were barely noticed by the aboriginals who thought they were ghosts, but their impact on these gentle natives would be disastrous.

Those early European settlers initially struggled to survive in Australia, a continent they saw as harsh and unforgiving, and a long way from home, full of unfamiliar flora and fauna they were wary of eating. Early efforts at agriculture failed dismally, so settlers had to rely largely on the infrequent visits of ships from England. Even when the ships arrived, freshness and variety had been sacrificed to longevity, and supplies consisted largely of dried and preserved foods. Rationing soon became a heavy burden.

A few brave souls experimented with cooking native fauna, but the majority turned up their noses at indigenous offerings as soon as familiar crops and animals could be effectively transplanted. Like all migrants the world over, they preferred to stick to familiar food from home, holding on to tradition more tenaciously than those left behind.

Rations of flour and meat, sugar, tea, salt and rum continued to be the staple diet of the working classes and convicts for over a century. Australia was a ‘country pioneered on corn beef and damper’ as playwright Louis Esson described us in 1918, which led to a nation of devout meat eaters. Eventually, British horticulturalists provided seeds for cabbage and cauliflower, rhubarb and lettuce, onions, turnips, peas and beans, oranges and lemons, domesticating the Australian countryside with a thousand-and-one introduced species, ensuring a diet of thoroughly British fare that would be the staple of settlers for the first two centuries of European habitation.

Yet, like the Philippines, Australia is a nation of migrants. Although it began with a stolid British foundation, Australian kitchens would be influenced by German settlers in South Australia, South American produce introduced by the Spanish Galleon Trade, Irish escapees from the potato famine and Chinese gold miners. Post World War II, all things gastronomic began to change for the better. New waves of immigration from a decimated Europe brought a smorgasbord of Greeks, Italians, Lebanese and Yugoslavs. The Mediterranean diet made sense in this hot southern land, and Anglo-Australians began to show an increasing interest in the culinary offerings of the ‘new Australians’ who were opening corner shops and delicatessens full of strange, exotic foods.

Since the 1970s, greater Asian immigration has seen Australian chefs incorporating spices, coconut milk, ginger and lemongrass from India, China, Japan and Southeast Asia into their dishes. More recently, African immigrants have introduced a new edge to local cuisine. Drinking tastes, too, have changed. No longer primarily a county of tea and beer drinkers, we have grown into a nation of wine connoisseurs and coffee addicts.

This free-spirited urge to experiment is shared by chefs and housewives, farmers, grocers and gardeners, a trait described as ‘a defining feature of Australian food culture.’

Once we indulged in an undiluted British diet of baked meat, barbecues and stodgy, nursery puddings quite inappropriate to the climate. Today pizza and pasta, sweet and sour pork, Phad Thai and green chicken curry, fried rice, Mussuman Beef and moussaka have crept into the vernacular, albeit initially indigenized to Anglo-Australian tastes. Yet perhaps the biggest influence these new Australians had was to spread the idea of fresh, good quality ingredients. Fresh seafood, a staple of most Mediterranean diets, had been largely neglected by northern Europeans in favour of imported smoked and dried fish from Europe, despite a land girt by sea full of delicious seafood.

I still remember a time when squid or octopus was used as bait, and fish was only served in batter with a huge pile of oil-soaked chips wrapped in newspaper. ‘Throw another prawn on the Barbie’ was, I think, an 80s development. Until then, snags (sausages) and chops ruled the roost at the backyard barbie, usually charcoaled to within an inch of disintegration. Now fresh seafood dominates, where the majority of the population live along the coast.

Many still insinuate that our hotch-potch cuisine, created from scratch, is no cuisine at all. Yet even long established cuisines have continued to adapt under the influence of migrants and traders.

Over the past generation, Australians have started to shrug off a long-standing cultural cringe, and developed pride in our emerging nation. This has led to much popular and academic analysis of what makes us who we are: race, culture, language, sport and food. There has been, in the past twenty five years, a cultural and culinary awakening. Australians faced with a broad range of cuisines from around the globe, have felt no obligation to maintain past traditions, but have – according to food historian Barbara Santich – become ‘ingenious, innovative and adept at making do’.

These days, too, creative Australian chefs are finding inspiration in their own back yard, retrospectively turning to indigenous flora and fauna in order to introduce a true-blue Aussie flavour to our hybrid cuisine.

As we evolve, many still query the possibility of a definable Australian cuisine. Santich believes, instead, that there is a style of cooking and eating that is distinctively Australian. Adapted to the climate, dependent on top quality ingredients, and incorporating a deep attachment to eating outdoors, picnics and barbecues are as much a part of Australian food culture as pasta and parmesan to the Italians. And so many international dishes have become naturalized – indigenized – or simply accepted as part of our daily diets. Taking the best from a bowl full of national cuisines, there has long been a trend towards low-salt, low-fat, healthy cooking that is known, loosely, as Modern Australian.

Australians, unlike the Filipinos, do not have a cuisine all their own. Its roots are not Australian but come from half way round the world and half a dozen European countries. But the words of Doreen Fernandez on indigenization is as relevant to Australia as it has been to the Filipinos. Over generations, culinary traditions, like its people, have been stirred, sifted, beaten and blended into the general cooking pot, adapting and absorbing an acceptance of each other’s characteristics and cultures to suit Australian tastes: a young, imaginative and inquisitive nation of transplanted cultures bonding on foreign soil, to form a hybrid cuisine that is still evolving.

Carlos Celdran, in his tour of Intramuros, uses the metaphor of halo halo to describe the Filipino ‘mix mix’ of races. This could also describe Australians and Australian cuisine, and illustrates how any cuisine, like any nation, is a living organism, an endless exchange of cooking methods and ingredients, ideas and imagination, that is definitively not set in aspic.

While those early settlers clung tenaciously to what they knew, recent generations have evolved into a nation of culinary explorers. Television cooking shows have become a phenomenon in Australia: The Cook and the Chef, My Kitchen Rules, Dining Down Under, Everyday Gourmet, River Cottage, to name just a few, and iconic restaurant and TV chefs have led the way in the last 25 years, to a Modern Australian Cuisine that, like Filipino cuisine, is a creative coalescence of cultures. And, like Filipino cuisine, our cuisine also tells a story.

*Adapted from a talk delivered to students at Enderun Colleges, Manila in 2012. With thanks to Google images for the photographs.

Posted in Australia, Cooking | Tagged Aboriginal Australians, Australian cuisine, barbecue, Bill Bryson, Mediterranean diet, migration | Comments Off

A Ritual of Renewal

Posted on 2 January 2014 by sheg4184

“When the old year gives way to the new, we are emotionally manic.”

I can’t even remember where I read this, but after a truly manic year, full of travel and drama, we decided that we would welcome in the New Year gently, quietly, serenely. This year it would not be an effervescent event, a noisy party, an over-excited celebration, but a time for reflection, reconciliation and quiet friendships. So we headed south west from Manila to Nasugbu, where we had been invited to spend the New Year with friends who have a pretty little beach house at Maya-Maya, overlooking the South China Sea.

It is always a joy to head south down the SLEX away from Manila, and into cleaner, clearer air, even though the traffic through Tagaytay goes on getting worse, and the only answer to covering 100kms in less than 6 hours is to leave at 2am.

Due to an overabundance of Friends & Relations, we pitched camp at a neighbour’s house five minutes’ walk up the hill, but met up for meals and trips to the beach.

Maya-Maya is a small gated community on the west coast of Batangas. The beach houses here are an eclectic mix of modern and traditional, the rooftops mostly hidden beneath a leafy canopy, the gardens dripping with a rainbow assortment of bougainvillea in pink, red, white, purple and orange.

There is a definite sense of faded glory at Maya-Maya. The resort is crumbling away at the foot of the hill: the sea walls are collapsing; the boat yard is empty of all but one unsalvageable old wreck; the road cracked and chewed looking, and many of the buildings are looking seriously dilapidated. Further up the road, many of the houses are crying out for a bit of maintenance and window dressing, but as a peaceful, unassuming getaway destination, it is perfect.

And despite some rougher edges, views from every balcony are stunning: lush green coastline; small sandy coves; sparkling blue sea dotted with bancas, speed boats and yachts. Add to this a crystal clear night sky choc-a-block with stars, a soft, cool sea breeze, golden orioles and glittering kingfishers drifting through the gardens by day and crickets chirruping, unquenchable, all night and you have the makings of a simple and joyful escape.

The origins of New Year’s Eve have been lost in time, but it has always been a time to celebrate the past year and welcome in the new one with plans for renewal and reaffirmation. The tradition of New Year’s Resolutions is believed to have begun with the Babylonians, while early Christians believed that January 1st should be a day for reflecting on past mistakes and resolving to improve themselves in the coming year.

One tradition I have only watched once and never understood, but which has been immortalized in many Hollywood movies, is the dropping of the New Year’s Ball in Times Square, New York City. Thousands gather to watch the ball make its forty three meter descent at one minute to midnight, a tradition begun as a marketing ploy over 100 years ago. The original ball was made of iron and wood; the current ball is made of Waterford Crystal. It weighs 1,070 pounds, and is six feet in diameter.

This strange American New Year tradition was duly celebrated in the December 2011 movie ‘New Year’s Eve.’ The cast is mostly mediocre, and the script is dubious, but one character does describe how we should all contemplate the New Year in a manner I appreciated.

”Sometimes it feels like there are so many things in this world we can’t control: earthquakes, floods, reality shows… But it’s important to remember the things that we can. Like forgiveness, second chances, fresh starts…”

So I have a list of resolutions, the usual array of kick starting the new year with a modicum of self-control, to start afresh (again!) and hopefully become a better person, for a week or two at least.

So as Sydney planned its biggest New Year’s Bash ever, and both the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House exploded with light, we gathered on the lawn for a pot luck barbecue with good friends in the Philippines. Eventually the western beaches of Batangas would also ring for hours of thudding fireworks exploding along the coast in huge dandelion bubbles of colour, competing with a galaxy of glittering stars splashed across the sky. In the meantime we giggled over pork barbecue and a smooth South Australian Shiraz, while the bands of my parents’ generation played softly in the background. A spoonful of nostalgia mixed with a dash of future plans, close friends, family and a glass of wine equals a great recipe for a heart-warming New Year. Here’s to a happy New Year for everyone! I’ll start work on that diet tomorrow…

Posted in Lifestyle, Philippines | Tagged Maya-Maya, Nasugbu, New Year's Eve, Resolutions | Comments Off

‘The Heart of England’

Posted on 27 December 2013 by sheg4184

“Strange to see how a good dinner and feasting reconciles everybody.” ~Samuel Pepys

Christmas is a time for feasting, and there has certainly been plenty this year, as we have wined and dined on a daily basis with those of our large Manila expat ‘family’ who have chosen to stay in a strangely subdued Metro Manila for the Christmas season.

It is also a time for reminiscing, and one memory that has recurred this week is the ghost of cold Christmases past, as we sit in tropical heat by the resort style pool, and cringe at cooking turkey in a steaming kitchen… which inevitably leads to memories of comfort food and country pubs during our years in England.

Country pubs are an integral part of British country life that we have sorely missed since we moved on almost eight years ago. So, whenever we pop over for a visit, a pub meal is high on our list of ‘must dos’.

The public house or inn was the original modern day motel, and its history can be traced back to Roman taverns and Anglo-Saxon alehouses. For country folk, the ‘local’ was often the focal point of traditional village life. Twenty-odd years ago we walked across northern England on a pub diet of chicken and chips, sausages and chips, and egg and chips a la Shirley Valentine. Today many pubs have moved on from the beer and bar snacks in dim, smoky bars to gastro pubs with trendy gourmetdining and chic interior design.

Once a place for ‘Adults Only’, the British pub has become much more accommodating over the last thirty years. Kids no longer get left in the car park, lounging in the back of the car in their pyjamas, burping lemonade and spraying packets of Walkers crisps at each other, while Mum and Dad enjoy a ‘swifty’ at the bar with their friends. These days the whole family is welcome, including the family dog, and the atmosphere is relaxed and far less smoke-laden than it used to be, thank goodness.

The Horns at Bull’s Green, Datchworth sits on the edge of the village green at the crossroads of two quiet country lanes on the edge of Tewin Woods. It is said to have been built in 1543. To an antipodean, whose home state is not even two hundred years old, half a millennium is like ancient history.

This appealingly quaint old weatherboard inn is strung with climbing roses and embroidered with baskets of petunias. Inside you will find all sorts of antiquated delights: a broad wooden bar, rubbed smooth as silk by centuries of woollen-clad elbows; thick wooden doors made for Hobbits; sixteenth century wooden beams, supporting a surprisingly high arched ceiling that has been draped in hops or wheat sheafs or some such; an inglenook fireplace that whispers of Cinderella amongst the cinders, and a dartboard, into which fewer darts have been struck than into the surrounding wall.

The atmosphere is convivial, and above the front door is inscribed the message: ‘alcohol is good for preserving everything – except perhaps secrets!’ The resident ghost, however, is no secret: his tale is printed on the menu and painted on a wall in the saloon bar. Apparently, so the story goes, Walter Clibbon was a notorious highwayman who terrorized the neighborhood in the eighteenth century. He was finally killed by one of his irate victims in 1782, and his body was laid out in the saloon bar at the Horns while the exultant . villagers celebrated his demise in the next room.

Over the centuries, The Horns has played many roles in village life. As well as its renowned cameo performance as a mortuary, it has also been a farmhouse, a stable and an auction room. Now it is a cozy, friendly tavern in which the locals to gather, with a warm welcome for strangers.

I wandered in around six on a bright summer evening, the sole adult in a pack of teenagers. We set ourselves up around a wobbly, wooden, picnic table on a lawn fringed with flowerbeds of foxgloves and tulips, roses and daisies, sipping on lemonade or cider, depending on our tastes and ages, and perusing a menu full of nostalgic pub favourites.

Dinner arrived as the temperature started to drop, so we carried our plates into the bar. A busy Saturday night, we found the main bar was packed, and every table reserved. So we sidled into the saloon bar, which we had to share with the Wimbledon players competing on the telly. All was hushed, as ham and eggs, steak and chips and the Horns 8oz beef burgers disappeared, uninterrupted by conversation, down hungry throats.

The Horns has created a traditional, but modern, pub menu. Traditional in content, modern in language, that is: no longer tinned soup with bread and butter, but ‘homemade soup with crusty bread’; no more plain fish and chips but ‘hand-battered haddock and chips’; no old-fashioned Ploughmans, but a ‘Cheese Platter with Cropwell Bishop’s Stilton, Somerset Brie and Old Shire Cheddar’ and crusty bread. Simple old sausages and mash? Heaven forbid! Sample instead the Gareth’s Butchers Oaklands sausages with creamy mash, peas and gravy’. I’m not sure the expanded descriptions really improved the taste, but it certainly made the old favourites sound more sophisticated. And the fact that all the ingredients were locally sourced was pleasing.

The dessert menu was less high falutin’, full of typical English puddings such as lemon tart, treacle tart, fruit crumble and custard. Back in the garden, in the softening twilight, I ignored the evening chill and sipped on my coffee. At the next table, the girls shared a chocolate fudge cake drowning in chocolate sauce, while the boys played footie with a thong – sorry, a flip flop or slipper – around the village green. Gentle voices from nearby tables mingled with the muted chirping of birds preparing for bed, and the scent of roses wafted gently through the air. Life is good in this best of all possible worlds.

* Adapted from an article written for the British Womens ‘Association in Manila and with thanks to The Horns website for the photos, as I had forgotten my camera!

Posted in England, Food & Wine | Tagged inn, Ploughman's lunch, pub, public house, Samuel Pepys, tavern, The Horns | Comments Off

The Cuisine of Korea: food as medicine

Posted on 18 December 2013 by sheg4184

Korea : land of mountains, forests, Communism and kimchi. Korean cuisine has a history dating back centuries. Since 300BC, it has been heavily influenced by the Chinese, particularly in regards to its medicinal aspects. According to Taoist philosophy, health is a state of balance in which food choice is key and a person’s body is healthy only when the yin-yang and the five elements are in balance.

Yin and yang are energetic qualities that created the five elements (wood, fire, soil, metal and water) with matching colours (green, red, yellow, white, and black) that shape everything in the universe, including our health.

For this reason, a traditional Korean table includes dishes or garnishes of five colors, most of which are low in calories and full of vegetables: an ancient philosophy that pre-empts today’s international campaign to encourage the daily consumption of five servings of fruits and vegetables.

In Korean cuisine, herbs are used for their medicinal value and many common ingredients are considered to have health benefits. For example: raw potato juice or chives are taken for an upset stomach; garlic is used to clear the blood and aid digestion; nuts are good for the skin and for pregnant women; dried red dates and bellflower roots are used for coughs and colds and rice porridge with pine nuts – in coastal areas, rice porridge and abalone – rehydrates and strengthens the sick. Dried pollack (fish) with bean sprouts and tofu cures hangovers, while ginseng, an ancient staple believed to be energizing, is found in capsules and candies, cigarettes, beauty products, teas and tonics.

With increasing numbers of restaurant chains, many traditional recipes are being standardized, and regional differences are becoming blurred. This has made authentic Korean food harder to find, but many people seek the quality and health aspects ingrained in traditional Korean cuisine. Although the medicinal aspect of food is not as prevalent as it has been in the past, the custom of caring for the health and well-being of guests and family is still a key focus for the Korean cook, who puts great thought and care into preparing food for others. The first question for any guest is always ‘Did you have eat? Did you have dinner?’

Like Filipino cuisine, the philosophy behind Korean food is that the diner should experience a variety of complementary tastes and textures: spicy, sour, salty, sweet and bitter – a balanced harmony of flavours and colours. And, like Filipino cuisine, rice is the core of every meal. Cooking techniques include grilling, boiling, steaming and a little stir-frying. The Korean barbecue is popular in restaurants, but at home a table top grill is more common.

A typical Korean meal includes rice (bap), soup (guk), and possibly bulgogi (pan-fried beef), plus four or five side dishes: kimchi, banchan and namul (seasoned vegetables) accompanied by dipping sauces. The number of side dishes indicates the level of formality. All the dishes are laid out in the middle of the table, and everyone helps himself – but only after the most senior diner has picked up his spoon.

The ubiquitous kimchi is mostly commonly made with napa cabbage, fermented in a brine of ginger, garlic, scallions and chili pepper; it can be made with a variety of other vegetables. High in Vitamin B, minerals, lactic acid and fibre for maintaining healthy bowels, there are endless regional varieties of kimchi, depending on availability of ingredients and the degree of spiciness. It can be served as a side dish or stirred into fried rice, soup or a hot pot. Before refrigeration, large earthenware jars of kimchi would be buried in the ground, the fermentation creating good bacteria for health and nutrition, particularly important through winter months.

“A man can live without a wife, but not without kimchi”

Banchan is one of the unique features of Korean cuisine. Like sawsawan, these side dishes accompany the main dishes or can be eaten like tapas, before the main course arrives. There are many types of banchan including kimchi, mung bean pancake, steamed beansprouts with sesame oil and mini meatballs. Koreans do not make sweet desserts but prefer to finish a meal with fresh fruit.

In 2001, Korean Chef Jang Bae Jang moved his family from Jonju City in South West Korea to Manila. Two years later, he and his wife, Young Ran Seo, opened a restaurant on Escriva Drive in Ortigas. The menu was originally a mix of Japanese and Korean food. Today, “Jang Ga Nae” (Jang’s Place) is purely and authentically Korean. Chef Jang makes no allowances for Filipino tastes, and has never altered or indigenized his recipes in any way. No one seems to be complaining – when I visited at lunchtime, midweek, the restaurant was packed.

The area already had a small Korean community, which has grown considerably over the past decade. Escriva now boasts three Korean restaurants, two Korean grocery stores and a Korean hair salon.

Chef Jang buys a few Korean specialities, such as chili paste and soy bean paste, from the local Korean grocer. The US beef is imported, but most of his ingredients are sourced at the Farmers Market in Quezon, which he visits every morning at 4 o’clock.

I ask if Chef Jang also cooks at home and his daughter Jasmine laughs softly. Jang cooks for the customers, she says, but the home kitchen is her mother’s domain and only she may cook for the family.

* First published in HealthToday, November 2013, and with thanks to Google Images for the pictures.

Posted in Food & Wine, Philippines | Tagged banchan, bap, bulgogi, guk, Jang Ga Nae, kimchi, Korean cuisine, namul, Ortigas | Comments Off

Yasmin Newman: author, chef and cultural attaché

Posted on 12 December 2013 by sheg4184

Ube makapuno cake

As a food writer and a foreigner in the Philippines, I have really tried to get to know the local cuisine. Quite different from any other South East Asian or pacific island cuisine I have come across, I knew very little about this archipelago nation before I moved here, beyond a vague knowledge of Imelda Marcos, her butterfly sleeves and her shoe fetish. Since I landed in Manila, I have read and researched as much as I can. I have spent my time dipping into and taste-testing dishes at various restaurants and food events, and have even tried cooking some popular Filipino recipes at home. This has made me plenty of friends among local chefs and foodies, keen to share their joy in Filipino food, delighted with my interest. Food is definitely the ‘cultural language’ of the Philippines; ‘the best communicator.’

Still, after three years of exploring on my own, I felt I would really like someone to take me by the hand and show me the way through cooking a Filipino meal.

Yasmin Newman, a food and travel writer and TV presenter, does just that. In her beautiful coffee table cookbook 7000 islands: a food portrait of the Philippines, this Australian Filipina (PinOz perhaps!?) takes us on a fascinating journey, describing in intimate detail how to work with sawsawan and why; the significance of soup, and the legend of the cashew. Mixing culinary history, mythology and memory, she has created an evocative illustration of a cuisine that has, as she says herself, long sat beneath ‘the gastronomic radar’.

Suddenly I feel that my unmapped meander through Philippine cuisine has retrospectively fallen into line and it all makes so much more sense. Newman’s accompanying text is poignant and poetic with a flavour reminiscent of Amy Besa and Doreen Fernandez, two renowned Filipina food historians.

Illustrated with beautiful photographs of both the food and the Philippines, it is a wonderful souvenir for resident expatriates, and a record of Philippine cuisine of which Filipinos can feel really proud. And as you flip through the pages, it is so easy to imagine Yasmin sitting at your kitchen table, cosy, informative, informal and chatty.

Newman dedicates her book to her mother ‘who lent me her heritage and her Philippines, which touched my heart.’ And she goes on to say that ‘the influences and events that shaped the cuisine were as captivating as the flavours that had initially stolen my heart.’

The book is not just a tribute to myriad Filipino chefs and cooks who have created the dishes and handed them down family lines over the centuries, but is also addressed to the beginner, with tips and tricks for creative cooking when perhaps native ingredients are not available. And it introduces the foreigner to the concept of communal dining, a concept of warm hospitality that ‘underpins the Filipino psyche’.

Recipes run the gamut of Filipino culinary history: dishes flavoured by native fruits, others reminiscent of the spicier tastes of Muslim traders; noodles dishes originating in Hokkien and abundant fresh fish; sweet, creamy fiesta desserts adapted from three hundred years of Spanish rule; local pica pica perfect for a merienda snack; the ubiquitous soup and the flavourful barbecue.

The chapter on pork particularly left my mouth watering, as Newman first described the national passion for lechon – one which three centuries of Muslim influence did nothing to extinguish – and then proceeded to expand our horizons beyond the limited Australian vision of pork chops, with recipes that use every part of the pig but the squeak: traditional pork barbecue; crispy pata (deep fried pig knuckles served with a soy-vinegar sawsawan); chicharrón (deep fried pork rinds) and sisig (a sizzling dish made from parts of the pig’s head and liver, seasoned with calamansi and chili peppers); pork belly and pork adobo, and that succulent and sumptuous fiesta spectacular, roast suckling pig.

The latter is popular across the Pacific, and we recently combined cultures in Metro Manila with a group of Fijians and a crispy, fleshy, moist piglet that came apart in our hands and covered our lips in glorious greasy juices like porcine lipgloss. “Deleesh-ouse.”

So while I may find it difficult to reproduce the pork barbecue on the 39^th floor, without a balcony or a barbecue, I am off to try out Yasmin’s recipes for lechon liempo or lemon style roast pork. If it works, please come for dinner. It sounds irresistible.

According to an Aussie interview, Yasmin’s favourite flavour is calamansi, that tiny sour native citrus, with a surprising amount of juice and a lot of pips. Mine too, Yasmin, especially with gin shots, but I’ll have the sugar syrup on the side, please…

* With thanks to Google Images and my copy of ‘7000 Islands’ for the photographs in this article.

Posted in Cooking, Local Culture, Philippines | Tagged 7000 islands: a food portrait of the Philippines, calamansi, lechon, Philippine Cuisine, pica pica, sawsawan, sisig, The Philippines, Yasmin Newman | Comments Off

In the Spirit of Christmas

Posted on 3 December 2013 by sheg4184

Welsh poet Dylan Thomas wrote ‘it always snowed at Christmas.’ Maybe this was the case in northern Europe, but not in the Antipodes, where the seasons are upside down, and Christmas arrives in the height of summer. In Australia there is no snow, only water restrictions and a lawn baked brown and full of the bindis; Christmas lights barely visible in the unromantic light of daylight savings; sunburn and hair stiff with salt and sand from long afternoons at the beach; fans and cool flannels soothing hot bodies at bedtime…

Christmas is the Christian celebration of Christ’s birth, a huge birthday bash on December 25^th – a date set by a long-extinct Roman Emperor to coincide with the winter solstice and other mid-winter festivities, but accepted today by Christians on every continent as the date on which Jesus was born in a stable in Bethlehem. And since it was established over seven hundred years ago, every Christian country has had time to develop its own Christmas traditions.

The Santa Claus legend, for example, travelled across Europe and America from Myra in Turkey. Part historical figure, part folklore, the image of Santa Claus varies from a jolly old soul in white beard and Coca Cola colours to Saint Nicholas, a charitable 4^th century bishop tossing gold coins through open windows, to Befana, an old Italian woman delivering presents to the children as she searched for the bambino Jesus. The modern image was invented by Clement C. Moore, the nineteenth century writer of that popular poem “The Night before Christmas,” and institutionalized by twentieth century advertising, television, books and films.

My own childhood Christmas always began with arrival of Father Christmas at The Magic Cave in John Martin’s Rundle Street store in early November. A local department store in South Australia, “Johnnies” established its iconic Christmas Pageant in 1933. Today it includes almost sixty floats, that travela two mile route, culminating with Father Christmas and his reindeer.

Another popular western Christmas tradition is that of decorating an evergreen tree. The fir tree was originally a pagan symbol of life and hope during mid-winter bleakness, with its evergreen foliage. Prussian mercenaries brought the idea of decorating a whole tree to America in the late eighteenth century, and Queen Victoria’s German husband Prince Albert introduced it to the English in 1840, when he erected a Christmas tree at Windsor Castle.

The smell of a freshly cut pine tree wilting in the heat will live on forever in my olfactory memory. Propped precariously in a bucket in the back room – my parents had a knack for finding the spindliest, most unattractive underdog of trees, least likely to grace Christmas – it would be strewn in odd pieces of tinsel and covered in the strangest assortment of homemade decorations. Ours was never the perfect tree you see in Hollywood movies, where every perfect bauble hangs exactly in the centre of the branch, exactly the same length as all the neighbouring baubles, as if they had grown there. But ours had more character! Today we have ‘built’ our colour coded Christmas tree on the thirty ninth floor, and must search for the decorations that we have gathered across eight or nine countries, now hiding somewhere amongst all the packing cases…

Across the world, Christmas is a blend of public and personal traditions.

Christmas was barely celebrated when Australia first colonized. For those first settlers, there were too many food restrictions to allow for any feasting or treats. Gradually, as times changed, special rations were delivered for Christmas and by the nineteenth century, Australians were enjoying Christmas Day picnics outdoors under shady trees.

The now popularized sentimentalization of Christmas happened in late nineteenth century in Victorian England:

Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol, the novel that has come to epitomize the spirit of Christmas; Prince Albert set a trend for decorating fir trees; British Post introduced the penny stamp and a penchant for sending Christmas cards, and turkey – that large native American bird – replaced the smaller, traditional British goose.

In Australia, at about the same time, we forsook our own early customs in attempt to distance ourselves from an embarrassing convict past and develop a higher degree of British middle-class respectability. An inexplicable devotion to anything British persisted until well into the 70s. For generations, Anglo-Australians – even native born – referred to England as ‘home.’ As a result, Christmas moved indoors and we blindly aped Britain with hot roast dinners cooked in steaming hot kitchens and carried to the dining room to be eaten in sweltering forty degree heat.

It wasn’t until the 1980s that Australians began to shrug off a long standing cultural cringe and accept that such feasting in the middle of summer was ridiculously incongruous. Anglo-Australians began to see the sense of escaping a sauna-like kitchen and a heavy meal of steaming turkey and baked veggies that left you bloated as it sank like a stone to the pit of your stomach. At last, we began to adapt to the climate and adopt new traditions from the post war influx of non-British immigrants with different ideas on how to celebrate Christmas. Christmas lunch moved back outside to be eaten on garden furniture under a shady tree, and the traditional British roast was accented with salads and seafood, pasta and patisseries.

For the ‘Skippys’ amongst us, however, one tradition that could never be forestalled by modern rationale was the Christmas pudding. The good old British Christmas pud is prepared several months before Christmas, hung in its calico hammock in the cellar to age like a good wine, then steamed in the huge marmalade pot. The finishing touch comes on Christmas Day, when it is doused in brandy, blue flames licking up the sides of a breast-like mound of currents, sultanas and orange peel, the holly on the top burning merrily to a crisp.

Over the next two generations, an Australian Christmas would become a fascinating potpourri of cultures and customs, experiences and enthusiasm mixed up with current trends.

Doreen Fernandez, the late Filipina food historian, shares mixed memories of a Filipino Christmas: of purple puto and parols (star shaped lanterns) creating kaleidoscopes of colour, of thrilling church music and delicious noche buona (midnight feasts). Here in the Philippines, despite a history of colonization and adaptation, Christmas food is overwhelmingly Pinoy, “an emphatic example of the oddness of gastronomic life in this idiosyncratic Asian republic.” Rellenos and lechon, jamon China and gallantina, chorizo and thick, hot tsokolade all sound so deliciously poetic! Fernandez finishes by saying:

No wonder Christmas is so unforgettable. We all, it seems, borrow from and contribute to each other’s Christmas – personal and communal, and the fusion enters the collective unconscious.

And finally, in the words of Charles Dickens’ infamous character Scrooge:

I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a school-boy, I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to every-body! A happy New Year to all the world!

*Written for the ANZA News, November 2013.

Posted in Australia, Lifestyle, Local Culture, Philippines | Tagged Charles Dickens, Christian, Christmas, Christmas tree, Clement C. Moore, Doreen Fernandez, Dylan Thomas, pageant, Santa Claus, tradition | Comments Off

Simple Pleasures

Posted on 3 December 2013 by sheg4184

“Wine is one of the most civilized things in the world and one of the most natural things of the world that has been brought to the greatest perfection, and it offers a greater range for enjoyment and appreciation than, possibly, any other purely sensory thing.” – Ernest Hemingway

Wine has been on the scene since mankind discovered the grape. A gift from nature – and the winemakers – wine lovers will agree that it is the spice of life. We drink wine to get drunk, or to grow poetic, to mould our moods or to brighten a dinner table. It can be appreciated by the glass or used to enhance our food. It has played a role in everything from politics and religion, to love and literature, and it ‘evokes images of romance, culture and sophistication.’

I was lucky enough to grow up in South Australia, with world famous wine regions such as the Barossa Valley and the Coonawarra right on the doorstep – an excellent place to start an education in all things vinous.

Like all college student back in the eighties, I was drinking cheap wine out of casks with no knowledge of grape variety, beyond red or white. A wine course at Hospitality School introduced me to the nuances and some better quality wines, and I began to explore Australian wine in greater depth, discovering that wine does not taste like grapes at all, but can be earthy, herbaceous, fruity, floral or spicy.

Over the years I have slowly developed a reasonable knowledge of Australian wines. Yet the more I learn, the more I realize I still have a long way to go to become a real connoisseur. Ever eager to continue my education, I love exploring local wineries and wine shops wherever I come across them.

Twenty years ago, however, wine was not on the radar of most Asians. Any wines we could find in SE Asia had been imported and so heavily taxed as to place them in a different fiscal universe.

The Philippines is not traditionally a nation of wine drinkers either: grapes grow best in temperate climates, so the Philippines, with its tropical climate, is unlikely to be able to produce top quality wines. Nonetheless there has been an emerging interest in this beverage over the last decade, as a plethora of wine bars and wine shops have opened in the larger metropolitan cities of Manila, Cebu and Davao. To increase their consumer base, distributors capitalize on the health benefits of wine, such as the reduction in heart disease with moderate wine consumption. Wine has also gained a footing as a hobby amongst wealthier drinkers. Initially it was the sweeter wines that attracted attention – as it is with all beginners – but step by step the Filipinos are learning more and developing a taste for drier varieties.

Over the past century, modern technology, growing expertise, and a higher degree of professionalism have improved the quality of wine making everywhere. Add the effects of international marketing, the development of a multitude of new wine regions, and greater disposable income for the average household and the wine industry has expanded exponentially.

Once the preserve of Old World wineries in central Europe, over the past fifty years New World winemakers have burst onto the scene, swamping the market with affordable, good quality, comprehensible wine for the masses. While I was still trying to get a grasp on the wines of France, Germany, Italy and Spain, countries such as Chile and New Zealand, Canada, South Africa, Uruguay and even China were racing Australia and the United States to plant acres of vineyards across field and hillside and develop thriving wine industries.

This has also made wine a great travel theme: meandering through all the glorious wine regions of the world is a sensual delight. What landscape is not improved by neat rows of vines bordered with rose bushes? What meal is not enhanced by a bottle of the local vino? What travel tales with which to regale your friends…

The key to understanding wine is to become familiar with the different varieties and their unique characteristics in color, aroma and taste – and which ones you like. The wine industry will always contain a large element of snobbery and pretentiousness, but don’t feel intimidated, just pour a glass and take a sip. It is that simple. And it doesn’t matter where you start, it’s sure to be an entertaining journey to discover your favourite wine. There is plenty of choice: Chardonnay and Shiraz, Tempranillo and Grenache, Rioja, Riesling and Gewurtztraminer are just the tip of the corkscrew!

Learn to match wines with your favourite food. As a starting point, fresh, fruity, aromatic wines like a Riesling or a Gewurtztraminer go well with spicy Asian dishes, while Semillon and Sauvignon Blanc are good with citrus and lemon grass sauces. The delicate flavours of Chinese cuisine match well with a dry or semi-dry sparkling wine, and dry, fruity whites or lightly chilled Pinot Noir are great accompaniments for Thai cuisine.

Then try cooking with wine. It can help produce some fabulous meals. French and Italian dishes are particularly receptive to adding wine – think Coq au Vin or Spaghetti Bolognese. Wine is also good for poaching fruit and fish of all varieties.

See what you can find in your recipe books and have some fun… and feel free to pour yourself a glass while you cook, it’s a simple pleasure and all part of the experience! I have a sign above my stove to remind me that:

“Wine is better with age, and I age better with wine!”

* Adapted from an article I wrote for COOK magazine, October 2013, and with thanks to Google images.

Posted in Food & Wine, Lifestyle, Philippines | Tagged Barossa Valley, New World wines, Old World wines, The Philippines, wine | Comments Off

Growing Pains…

Posted on 27 November 2013 by sheg4184

Every parent has buckets full of stories to tell about funny moments with their children: quirky conversations, mispronunciations, misunderstandings, that make us shriek with laughter and race to share the latest tale with friends and family. My mother collects anecdotes of her grandchildren like a squirrel collects nuts, the record keeper of all the memories we have long forgotten…

But one story I will never forget is when our son was learning to ride his new bicycle. Einstein said life is rather like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep pedalling ~ or you will fall off.

Not being the kind of child who likes to fall off things, our brave boy also insisted we buy trainer wheels. Being a ‘jump into the void’ kinda mum, I bowed to his request, but promptly hid them away at the back of the wardrobe, determined to get him riding without resorting to props.

He complained bitterly, but a few sessions on the back lawn saw him almost in control of his steed, as the slope at the bottom of the garden gave him the impetus to propel him half way across the lawn before he could even think about it, and at least the grass was soft when he occasionally fell off. After several days practice, I suggested that now he almost had his balance, he should go out on the road – we lived in a quiet cul de sac – and see if he could ride properly on a hard surface.

Unimpressed, still mumbling about the trainer wheels, he followed his father outside, leapt on his bike, and pedaled furiously up and down the road, up and over the pavements, round and round three or four times, before screeching to a halt in from of his dad. Before anyone could say anything, our keen cyclist piped up crossly: “There, I did it! Now can I have my trainer wheels?”

As inevitably as learning to ride, kids grow up. Cute stories become rarer. Instead, we watch with pride as they begin to take on the mantel of young adults: testing boundaries; stretching their limits; stretching their parents’ limits…

Still, there are signs of the little boy reluctant to spread his wings and forgo those training wheels. As sweet sixteen approached, we started talking about driving lessons. But he was wary, and as we all know, driving in the Philippines is crazy. It’s like dodgem cars out there, and you take your life in your hands on EDSA. And as for those crazy bus drivers….

Anyway, initially reluctant, he eventually succumbed to peer pressure and the desire for more independence, and we gently nudged him into the void.

So we are letting our son learn to drive in a country where road rules are merely a suggestion, indicators – and pedestrian crossings – are decorative, swerving across lanes – or adding extra lanes for the hell of it – is not a traffic violation, motor cyclists have a death wish and jeepney drivers seem to abide by no rules whatsoever. And as for those lunatic bus drivers, they just work on the principle that ‘I-am-much-bigger-than-you-so-just get-the-hell-out-of-my-way!’

Ah well, as my husband keeps reminding me, if the kids can drive here, they can drive anywhere.

At which point we rapidly discovered that our son knows stacks more about driving than we do, and is happy to keep us informed and improve our driving skills…

…which reminds me about an advertisement I once saw in which a mother ironically discusses the wisdom of youth, and explains that her daughter is quite the pioneer; the girl who knows everything. She was the first to discover the Kinks and the first to invent the maxi skirts while the Oldies know absolutely nothing and are completely out of touch with the modern world.

I’m sure we’ve all been there. Its typical teenage behaviour and frustrating as hell, but as he clutches keys and drivers license in his eager hands, the apron strings unravel faster than ever, and I suddenly find myself clutching him tighter, reluctant to let go…

Bill Bryson was told by a well-meaning friend that once your kids leave home for college you never really get them back. “No!” he cried, “I want to know that they come back A LOT, only now they hang up their clothes, admire you for your wit and wisdom and no longer hanker after body piercings.”

And my daughter’s headmistress remarked in a parting speech to her senior girls how sad it is that our kids leave home just as they start to get really interesting. As we count the months until our son finishes his final exams and leaves home, I feel him already slipping away, and hope that we have taught him the skills to face the world without trainer wheels.

But when life gets tough, I will remind him – to paraphrase a Turkish playwright whose name I can’t pronounce – “Every time you miss your childhood, ride a bike!”

And for those children in Tacloban who didn’t survive the storm, and will never ride a bicycle, my love and prayers go out to your families, who must live only with memories.

Posted in Lifestyle | Tagged bicycles, Bill Bryson | 2 Comments