My answer is "Indefinitely"

It has been nearly nine months since I left my old job and packed up my belongings.  As 2012 draws to a close, I never would have foreseen how this year could progress back in January.  But then who can really?  I told myself I needed some time off to rest but in the end, I did so much more.  I sat in more than a dozen of flights, ran a few races, lived through an unplanned house renovation, helped organize a couple of weddings, wrote and published my first book, completed finally (with the help of willing volunteers:->) a jigsaw puzzle which I have kept for more than a decade and now, making arrangements for yet another relocation for a new job starting in January 2013.  

Time off to rest? Perhaps I should have known myself better.

When I first returned home in April, people asked "Are you back for good?"  Back then, I answered "Indefinitely".  Today, my answer remains the same.  If 2012 is anything to go by, I know for certain there is no such thing as permanence while we are still living and breathing on earth.  You may say 'that's an awfully pessimistic way of looking at life' but I beg to differ.  Life is exactly that.  Being certain about one thing does not guarantee its permanence.  Take for example, fluffy white clouds against a backdrop of sunny blue skies.  When we have weather like this, we are certain that it's a good day that can be spent frolicking at the beach or meandering through a hiking trail or hanging the clothes out to dry.  But as the clouds gather and become heavy with moisture, rain will eventually fall and what we may have planned on doing while the sun was still out, no longer becomes an option.  

Rather than saying that a good day will not last forever, instead I ask you to recognize that a bad day will eventually fade away, bringing forth renewed hope and faith of better things to come.  

Our minds and hearts have an automatic switch that powers off when a bad season crosses into our lives.  It has happened to me and I am fairly certain it has happened to you too.  I view it as a self-protective mechanism that allows us to grief, to wallow, to be angry.  Basically, when the off-switch is on, we look inward within ourselves, disregarding (and quite rightly) anything else that is going on.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with that because we have to make ourselves whole before facing the world again.  But here's the tricky part.  It's up to you to turn the switch back on.   And as hard as that may be, you have to get to it eventually.  A good friend of mine preaches (verbatim) "we must always love ourselves first then we have more love for others".  I agree.  The Bible teaches and phrases it in another way "Love thy neighbour as much as you love thyself".  Understand this:  in both instances, life should never be about me, myself and I.  By all means, take all the time you need for yourself when a bad phase clouds over your life but be mindful that you are not made to live a life only for yourself.  You are called to co-exist with others and to make a difference because let's be real about this: we are all here temporarily.  Our time on earth is finite but each chapter within our lives has an indefinite length of time; good or bad, each season ebbs and fades away.

What you choose to do as you transition from one season to another, is entirely up to you.  My prayers are that you will choose to have your life switched on more often than off.  2012 has taught me that blessings often come disguised, not wrapped up neatly in a box with a big red bow; but rather in spurts, with bits and pieces arriving separately, unrecognizable in the first instance.  And like a jigsaw, once the pieces are lined up, I have simply been blown away.  

To me, this singular thing - the unexpected, undeserved blessings during the indefinite period of time within a season of our lives, is the most amazing thing about God and makes Him that much more real in my life.

May each of you have a wonderful Christmas and a great year in 2013.

Durian cheese cake recipe

Over the years, I have been asked on numerous occasions to provide the recipe for chilled durian cheese cake.    A friend of mine shared the original recipe with me years ago but I have changed it over time to suit the climate, the people I make it for, the fruit that is in season and the occasions.  

For me, baking/cooking is not really about following the exact quantity or (at times even) the recipe.  I tend to cook/bake based on taste and feel, perhaps largely dependent on what I have in the pantry at that moment in time:->   Makes it that much more exciting!  I have made the cake using mangoes, berries and bananas.   I have even included melted dark chocolate into the biscuit base.   Happy for you to adapt this recipe to your taste and hope you will have as much with it as I have had to date.  I am still adapting the recipe as I go.

Enjoy!

Ingredients

• Durian flesh (shredded or chopped roughly) - about 250gm to 300gm
• Digestives biscuits (about 250gm)
• Whipping cream (fresh) - about 200 ml
• Cream cheese (1 block will roughly make 1 x 20cm springform cake tin)
• Butter (softened at room temperature) - about 30gm to 50gm
• Gelatine - powder form (1-2 teaspoon)
• Castor sugar - to taste

10 Steps and that's all there is to it!	Handy tips
1.  Shred or chop roughly FRESH durian flesh and set it aside in the fridge.	-  Please DO NOT use durian flesh which has been frozen beforehand.  It changes the taste of the cake.  If you don't have fresh durian, substitute with other fruit.  Fresh mangoes, berries, bananas work just as well.
2.  Break apart the digestive biscuits until all you are left with are biscuit crumbs.	-  Potato masher does the trick.  If you have food processor, even better, just run the biscuits through the processor until you get the biscuit crumbs.
3.  Mix the crumbs with softened butter until the crumbs more or less stick together.	-  If you are not sure, roll a small ball of the crumbs and butter mix in your hand.  If they stick together, you got the right consistency.
4.  Press the biscuit mix firmly into the cake tin.  The biscuit base should be about 1cm thick or slightly more if you are using a higher cake tin.  Put into fridge to set and chill slightly.	-  The finished cake should be about 4 part durian mix to 1 part base.  So basically, if your cake tin is 5 cm in height = 4cm of durian mix + 1cm of biscuit base.
5.  Beat the cream cheese with the castor sugar until its a creamy thick paste.  The sugar will also lighten the colour of the cream cheese.  Put back into fridge.	-  Please add castor sugar according to your taste.  Important thing is to taste the durian flesh first.  If you like it sweeter, add the castor sugar but bit by bit at a time.
6.  Next, whip the fresh cream/whipping cream until it forms a peak.	-  For both steps 5 and 6, a handheld electric whisk is your best bet.  If you feel like having a workout - please, by all means, use your hand to beat/whip the cream cheese mixture/fresh cream.  Just add another 1 hr (at least) to your preparation time :-p
7.  In a small glass filled with hot water (1/3 cup), put in 1 to 2 teaspoon of gelatine powder and whisk it rigorously.  Set it aside.	-  Don't use gelatine sheet, it will make the cake too firm.
8.  Mix the durian and cream cheese mixture together.  Then fold the combined mixture with the whipped cream.  Add the gelatine liquid to the final mixture and mix thoroughly.	-  The durian mix (post gelatine liquid) should still be a pretty thick mixture.  That is, it should not be runny.
9.  Pour the durian cake mix into the cake tin.	-  Make sure you spread evenly to all corners.
10. Chill the cake in the freezer overnight (or for at least 6 hours).  Before serving, take it out from freezer and put it in the fridge or at room temperature (depending on how much time you have before serving the cake).	- This is a chilled cake.  No baking required. - If you wish to give your delicious cake to friends/families, use aluminium type containers instead.  That way, you don't have to wait for someone to return your cake tin (I know that can be such a bore).

The many 'firsts'

We go through life encountering the many 'firsts'.  The numerous highs - the first kiss, the first love, the first child.  The indescribable painful lows - the first death of a loved one, the loss of a job, the diagnosis of a terminal illness.  The gratification of accomplishments - the first car, the first house, and for some - the first million.  These are the things or events that we remember in joy or in commiseration.  But there are also the many 'firsts' that are too minute or (perhaps) insignificant and have simply fallen away from our memory - when we first stubbed our big toe, our first heavenly smell and taste of chocolate, the time we were allowed to watch our first cartoon.  Like you, I don't remember these but I do remember my first trip to McDonald's.  I was ten.  Till today, McD fries dipped in chocolate sundae remain one of my all time favourite comfort food.  There is nothing else like it.

As we get older, our many 'firsts' tend to be related to bigger events or laced with high end drama and excitement.  Starting a new family, expansion of business ventures, experiencing adrenalin-pumping activities - bungy jumping, canyoning, sky diving.  Losses can be greater too and amplified - divorce, death, crippling illness.  Yet somehow, tenacity allows us to carry on through the highs and the lows and we are dogged in our determination to pull through what life casts our way - whether they are simple, difficult or at times, to the naked eyes, just plain impossible.

2012 has been such a year for me.  I started the year living in another country and in just six months I have been to London and back, Hong Kong and back, Sydney and back, left my job, took a career break and moved home.   I ran my first half marathon and wrote my first book.  And in all these events, each milestone was just the end product of the road travelled.  Or as a good friend of mine puts it "the icing on the cake".  Without the cake, the icing is nothing more than just a decorative topping, collapsible without the support of the cake and what holds it firmly in place.  You can have a cake without the icing but never the other way round.

In March this year, I attended my aunt's funeral in London and bade farewell to her.   As sad as I am that she is no longer alive, I will always remember the time we had together.   A large part of my passion for cooking I inherited it from her.  Her zest for life simply inspirational and her vivaciousness, intoxicating.  She had the cake, the icing and then some.  

I am a very fortunate woman, to be blessed not just by one goddaughter but two at the same time.  We celebrated their first birthday in Sydney recently.  The older one took her first step just before her first birthday.  She teetered, tottered, fell and got up only to repeat the same process again, countless times.  In her own simple ways, she reaffirmed to me the journey is just as vital as the end destination.  At times, even more so.  If you have your eyes set on the end goal, work towards it and learn from the mistakes.  A detoured road or a curved corner, though frustratingly unpredictable,  could end up being more fun.  I once drove on The Great Northern Highway which links Perth to its most northern port, Wyndham in Western Australia.  This highway is the longest intrastate highway in Australia and the longest Australian highway in absolute terms.  Don't worry, I only drove a small section of it from Perth to Monkey Mia.  Even so, there were stretches of 50 kilometers, at least, where the road was dead straight and the midday heat rose from the asphalt blurring the horizon until you couldn't tell where the road really ended.  Each time, there was a passing motorist, we would raise a hand off the wheel, thankful for an interlude from an otherwise tedious journey.  The thing was, I welcomed the distraction and it made the arrival into Monkey Mia that much more exciting.  In fact, my friends and I would 'humphed' about the drivers who ignored our hand of salute along the way.   The journey was simply nicer having that unspoken encounter, the brief distraction, the intermittent irregular bends on the road and it made the road we had just travelled more memorable.

When I reached the finish line at the sundown half marathon recently, my first ever, there was only one word to describe it.  Jubilation.  My legs ran the last two kilometers in absolute pouring rain and I was soaked right through when my foot stomped across the finish line.  The bronze colour medal testified that I was a half marathon finisher and though that was the "icing" on the cake, the elation I felt was for something far greater than that.  For the camaraderie I had with my cousin as we trained in preparation for the run, for the support and encouragement my friend gave me as he ran alongside at the beginning of the race (by the way, he sped off after the first 6km:->), for the yummy McD's sausage and egg mcmuffins we wolfed down a few hours after and for the solitary peace I felt as thousands of feet rhythmically pounded the pavement, each living their dream, each having a goal, some faster, others slower but it didn't matter one bit.  We ran the race, made new friends, slapped each other "well done!" and the medal, to me, was made all the more significant because it symbolizes the experience I shared with great friends.

The same was true when I typed the last word and finished writing my first book recently.  The writing itself took only seven continuous weeks but it was only made possible because of the experiences I had along the way and the prayers and encouragement from family and numerous friends.  I started the journey nearly six years ago and looking back, as good as the idea was or the topics I wanted to delve into, I was not ready to do it then.  Certain events and incidents shaped me and made me more cognizant of who I am today.  Yes, elation filled me when I finally declared the book completed but the book was so much more than just me.  God made it possible - the ability to take the time off and the timing of how it all occurred.  The support from friends - whether it was the notebook that enabled me to jot down my ideas and thoughts or the constant encouragement and unwavering belief in my ability as a writer.  But I tell you why this book is special to me and it is not because it was my first attempt into the foray as an author.  It is because I wrote this book within the confines of my own home and in doing so, I made certain sacrifices.  Sacrifices which I believe were necessary in order for me to realize what had been in my heart beat for so long.  Things which may have been so important to me once, may be less so today.

Whatever your end goal and no matter what it is you encounter as your many 'firsts', remember the journey is more often than not, the ingredient that shapes you, molds you, whisks you, folds you and beats you down so that you can rise again.   The end is made sweeter and better because of it.  Finish your race but remember who ran alongside.  Arrive at your destination but remember how you got there, what you saw and who your fellow travellers are along the way.  And as you carefully pipe the icing on the cake, acknowledge that it is only made possible because of the firm foundation and the process the cake had to go through so that the icing can finally rest on top.   

Reaching the end is important but the journey to get there is - in one word- priceless.

Happy Mothers' Day

I have always been a planner.  I like knowing where, when and how each thing will fall into place.  I am not big on spontaneity or surprises for that matter.  But over the years, I have accepted that not everything in my life can be planned out, slotted in or pushed into place.  And you know what, unexpected…unplanned…situations can be a good thing.

Motherhood.  I have always wanted to be a mother.  While friends dreamed of making their first million before turning thirty, I had plans of having 2 children by the same age.  But mathematics is never wrong : in order for the 1 (me) to yield 2 (children), you need to find the other 1 (partner/husband).  While it is not necessarily hard to find the other 1 to father my children, the heart of the matter is, the 1 has to be the RIGHT one. 

A woman's biological clock.  Science says all women have their own internal clock and it's best to have children before turning forty.  I am not there (yet) but I pushed the "stop" button on my clock a while ago.  What surprised me even more than my desire to have children is not wanting children once I hit a certain age.  That is, although I have always wanted to be a mother, I didn't want to be a mother to adolescent kids when I reach fifty.  Frankly, this came somewhat as a surprising personal revelation but one which I feel is right for me.

This is not to be a morose post about an unfulfilled desire of becoming a mother.  Nothing can be further from the truth.  In fact, I want to celebrate motherhood and the joys it has brought to my life.  Society ordains a specific day each year to thank mothers for all they do and provide within a family.  For me, the definition of a "mother" takes on a more specific meaning than just a biological one.

I recently read an article titled "Motherhood and Happiness"  http://www.dailylife.com.au/life-and-love/real-life/motherhood-and-happiness-20120502-1xycz.html  where the (childless) author celebrates the joys of being an aunty to her nieces and a godmother to her goddaughter.  She wrote "will these special bonds with the children who are not mine but mean so much to me - my nieces, my god-daughter, my friends’ kids - be enough?" and rather than "mourn the ‘‘plight’’ of these ‘‘childless’’ women why don’t we celebrate the unique relationships that blossom in the absence of motherhood."  I echo this.

I am a very proud Godmama to a set of twin girls.  They turn one next month.  They couldn't be more different than night and day and yet I love them equally with a fierceness and intensity that I never knew I had.  Recently, I travelled to Hong Kong to spend a few weeks with them.  The timing was perfect as my friends were rather busy organizing their affairs for an impending move to another country.  There were numerous times during the trip when my friends (bless them!) felt that I was qualified to babysit the girls on my own.  Those times remain the best memories of the trip.  I do not see my goddaughters on a daily basis but they are in my heart every minute of the day.  I consider it my privilege to see them grow up into young women.  My goddaughters may not be mine biologically, but my love for and my nurturing instincts towards them would be no different to if I had birthed them.  

I have also been at the receiving ends of care and love from women who are not my biological mother.  I lived in London previously and throughout my two year stint,  I was fortunate to be staying at a bed and breakfast establishment ran by my friend's aunt.  She cared for me as my dear mother would have.  We did many fun things together, one of our favourites being to hop on the Eurostar to Paris for lunch.  I learned many wonderful recipes from her.  She considered me one of her surrogate daughters.  When she passed away in February this year, I travelled to London for the weekend so that I could be there at her funeral.  She remains, in every sense of the word, a "mother" to me.

I know my role as a godmother does not replace the role my friend has as the mother to her children, nor is the immense love and gratitude I have for my biological mother being diminished by the other women who have been instrumental in my life.  They are simply not one and the same.   But rather than drawing a very straight black line dividing those who have embraced motherhood and those who are "childless" (whether by choice or by fate), one should understand the real essence of motherhood.  It is not a title but it speaks of the character of a person. Caring, loving, nurturing, disciplining and many more.  

Becoming a mother is a journey of forty weeks; being a mother is a journey of a lifetime.  Thank you to my mother, my godmother and countless aunts and women who have been and continue to be an exemplary "mother" figure in my life.  To my precious and beautiful goddaughters, I pray that with the best examples I have had to date, I will not disappoint or let you down.

Vegemite

A close friend of mine recently went to the trouble of scouring the supermarket aisles because I had lamented a craving for Vegemite.  She found it…bless her! The closest equivalent of Vegemite is Marmite…but I think this is a rather distant second.  I didn't take to Vegemite initially but it is something that I cannot live without today.  

Vegemite grew on me…a bit like how some people gradually grow on us.   It has been my constant source of comfort food for many years and is my favourite spread on buttered toasts twenty four years on.  I hope it remains to be so.

*****************************

February it was of eighty-eight

Towards the end of summer's late

Down-under heave-ho! bags and crates

My mother in tow, my airplane's date

Far from home, over the seas

I was so shy and very tiny

Of weight which was under thirty

My mother wondered "who's going to feed me"?

Food I was not fond at all

Besides matron I sat, in the dining hall

She watched me eat (canned) spaghetti meatballs

I felt like hurling against the dreary wall

Days went by till one morning at brekkie

A new friend came by and said to me

"Try this spread, it looks chocolatey,

Then tell me if it tastes iffy?"

I looked at her and said "Excuse me"

"You try it first and then convince me!"

She said "I tell you what, since you're my buddy"

Let's try it together!" and smiled cheekily

I took up the bottle against the light

The label read, big bold Vegemite

I opened the lid and sniffed inside

"Doesn't smell like chocolate", I cried

My interest was piqued, I looked around

Saw an Aussie girl heaped a very large mound

of this "iffy" spread on her toasted bread

Aha! I thought, "It's not so bad, what's to fret?"

So I followed suit and took a large bite

Of my very first taste of Vegemite

I spat it out; my throat felt tight

Nearly passed out, thought I was heading to the "light"

Chocolate it is not, was my discovery

Horrid the first taste, disgustingly salty

For I had spread Vegemite too liberally

On my buttered toast in my naivete

But something about it interests me

So I tried it more at breakfasts daily

I found that if I spread it lightly

The taste grew on me, day by day...slowly

Today, Vegemite comforts me

On crumpets or toasts, with coffee or tea

It gives me a lift and it's also healthy

Being a rich source of Vitamin B :->

You may wonder by now, where was my "buddy"?

There I was choking Vegemite out of me

She didn't dare try it to my amusement really

When she was the one trying to convince me!

Vegemite remains a lesson in my life

What I may dislike at first, gotta take it in strive

Whether it's food, people or the nine-to-five

Everything…Everyone…deserves more than one chance in life

Perfect in His eyes

A jagged mirror there a reflection lays
"Who are you?" I called out; words I gently say
Look closely at the eyes see how heavy they weigh
"Why?" I ask "What thoughts do you hold today?"

A half smile forms a whisper comes to me
"Can one find peace, will God make it a possibility?"
I listen, I nod, I place my hand on the face before me
"Of course He will, He loves you as much as He loves me"

"Broken, imperfect we came into this world
But in His image, we are loved and completely made whole
See yourself as you are to be seen
His child, His creation, His sacrifice...your ultimate being
Comes at a price His love is sown
Within your heart...let His peace reside and be known"

So I say to the reflection that mirrors me:

"If it's peace you seek, then faith God shall grant to thee"
Fear is removed as you cross into His promised land
For His ways are paved and He says "You can!"
Surrender your life within His outstretched hands
He will guide you...have faith...be bold!
For no man will put asunder what He has promised you!

So mirror mirror I look at me
...no longer jagged
...I'm at peace and made whole ... Amen!


(19022012)

Land of the Lost Civilisation – Peru May 2011

When Henry Bingham discovered Machu Picchu in 1911, I don't think he expected the ruins to be one of the most visited sites in the world 100 years on.  In fact, no other place has quite captured my attention for so long and this holiday was the end product of 8 years of planning...majority of which was spent dreaming of the day that I would finally set foot at Intipunku (the SunGate) and hold that majestic sight in my memory for life.  This I did and much more.  From the ancient Inca ruins to the highest navigable lake in the world – Lake Titicaca; the unexplained monoliths of Nasca lines to the barren Andes plains; the smell and taste of Peruvian food and the glorious silence and vastness of a million stars set against the blackness of a night sky, Peru offered me a sense of freedom and escape I have missed for a very long time.

There are hundreds of guidebooks that detail Machu Picchu, the Inca trail and indeed Peru better than I ever can, so I should not attempt on my part.  To me, travel is always about what I take away from a place, the people I meet and the journey that (at times) yields life altering experiences that you can never get from simply reading about a place.  Travel is an intensely private and emotive experience which cannot be replicated by another person but makes for wonderful sharing with friends.  

Altitude sickness - oxygen tank, my hero!

I have a good friend who went to Peru a couple of years before I did.  She warned me of variety of ailments one can succumb to on the Inca trail, not least of all altitude sickness.  So being (a little) neurotic as I am, I was prescribed some magic pills which were meant to deflect altitude sickness.  Instructions were very clear : 

GP: One pill, after breakfast, 3 days before you start the trail.  Continue until you finish the hike.

Me: So only one pill…after breakfast, 3 days before I start hiking?

GP: Yes, that's correct

Me: So that's all, one pill?

GP: Yes…no more no less. Please pay at the counter

So I was all set! But what I failed to mention to the GP was we were going to be at Puno/Lake Titicaca (at 3800m above sea level) 3 days before we started the Inca trail.  The lake is only shy of the highest point on the Inca Trail, Dead Woman's Pass, at 4150m above sea level.  We flew from Lima (sea level) to Puno which meant that we didn't get to acclimatize to sudden change in altitude.  It's a bit like free-falling from the plane except this was in the reverse direction.  I was sick as a dog when we got to Lake Titicaca.  My head felt like a 2 tonne crane had wedged inside and pushing my brains left to right, up and down.  The tour guide, Holger, prescribed drinking hot coca leaves - from which cocaine is derived (so no you shouldn't export the leaves home - my godbrother made the mistake a couple of years ago and was "lavished" unnecessary attention by US custom officers).  The leaves did nothing to the head severing pain I felt.  The oxygen tank, however, came to the rescue.  10 minutes on the tank and I had a marvelous light headed feeling (coca leaves may have played a (big) part).

Camping can be “glamping”

I enjoy creature comforts.  Period.  Camping does not fall within the (my) definition of creature comfort; not in the traditional sense anyway.  There is no turn-down service, (lack thereof) hygiene is questionable and food...what does one eat?  My only other camping experience (circa October 2001 - Kakadu National Park) resulted in an expensive dermatologist bill.  But if you have been inducted into “glamping”, camping then becomes a breeze.

Glamping is simply “glamourous camping”.  I travelled with Exodus (a UK tour based operator) to Peru and together with 8 other strangers, we became glampers.  Our only responsibilities each day on the Inca trail involved waking up, getting dressed, eating, walking and sleeping. We had 13 porters, 2 cooks and 2 guides for a group of 9.  The porters carried our kitbags, set up/take-down tents, cooked and served our meals (they were seriously good!), cleaned and carried our chemical toilet.  The cooks made amazing meals – we had 3 course feast every evening. The guides (aside from leading us up and down the mountains) also bandaged some blistered feet and one sprained ankle.  We were not just spoilt, we were truly pampered.  I loved every minute of it.  In essence, I "glamped" my way to Machu Picchu.

Journey to the lost civilization

There are a few ways to get to Machu Picchu (modern transportation sees to that) but truthfully, there is only ONE way to see Machu Picchu for the very first time.  I did not cry at my grandfather's funeral but I got choked up when I saw the majestic ruins rise up in the foreground once we passed Intipunku (the Sungate).  Having arduously trekked 45km in 4 days and not showered during that time may have been contributing factors.  The mountain Ilamas welcomed us and we followed a small herd down to the ruins.  

I should not, however, downplay the amazing Inca trail.  Getting to Machu Picchu was the end reward but the trail lends itself as one of the most amazing hikes I have ever done.  Great weather played a huge part.  When you are out in the wilderness and it pours, no amount of waterproof clothing can really keep you comfortable.  Everything just smells like wet socks after a while.  We were blessed with 4 amazing days: blue skies and perfect hiking temperature.

There were numerous ruins and distinctive flora we passed along the way which I won't detail here.  As important as these are for they form the sights you see along the trail, for me the spirit of the hike was the simplicity of things not experienced from city living.  The countless stars we saw at night; the majestic sunrise on the Phuyupatamarca as we awoke on the 4th day; the tenacity of Mary and Jane (62 and 65 respectively) taking slow but confident steps up to Dead Woman's Pass - the highest point of the hike at 4150m; the speed and strength of the porters as they carried our bags up and down the endless steps - they don't walk, they run; or simply experiencing with great humility that the trail we trekked on were carved out by a lost civilization using bare hands and continues to be in use 400 years later.

Note: For those not fond of walking, there is a rail service from Cusco to Aguas Calientes (the town at the foothills of the ruins), with an air-conditioned bus ride for the final climb to Machu Picchu.  This means that you arrive at Machu Picchu without having shed a single drop of sweat along the way.  But this also means that you will not experience the size, grandeur and the majestic sights of the ruins as you would have from Intipunku (the SunGate).  So, if you really want the full experience, once you get to the ruins, grab on to an available Ilama who will herd you back up to Intipunku so you can really see (and I mean really see) how truly spectacular the ruins are from that vantage point.  And please...for goodness sake, do not wear heels to the ruins! 

What's a holiday without food

Aside from organs and and associated "spare parts", I eat (and drink) practically anything else that a country has to offer.  Food has always been a focus for any new city/country I visit.  Peru did not disappoint.

Ceviche is Peru's national dish.  Ceviche is to Peru what sashimi is to Japan or carpaccio to Italy.  Raw seafood (white fish, scallops or prawns are preferred) is marinated in a mixture of lime juice, red onions, and peppers served with either yam or corn.  I made a variation of this using corn kernels mixed in with the raw scallops and it was a hit at a new year's eve do.  The Postbar at Fullerton hotel does this dish very well; I am a repeat customer there.  Helps that the bar manager is very generous with his serving of wine by the glass.  

Lomo Saltado is strips of sirloin sauteed with tomato, onion, vinegar, aji amarillo (spicy orange pepper), chilli and fried potatoes.  Personally this dish reminds me of a good Chinese beef stir-fry on rice.  Somehow, the aji amarillo gives the dish a good spicy kick.

Quinoa (pronounced "key nua") are essentially grains which are added in soup.  A bit like wet rice (or porridge) to the Asian community.  Tasteless on its own but not so bad once in the broth.  Not my personal favorite (although I do like the Chinese wet rice) but sure fills the tummy after a long day of trekking.

Choclo (ie corn) comes in various colours in Peru.  Purple, orange, red, brown and of course, yellow.  They taste amazingly great with big dollop of cream cheese.  Unlike traditional western popcorn, Peruvian "popcorn" retain its wholesome goodness in the kernel.  Delicious!

And then there is Cuy, which is roasted guinea pig and another national dish of Peru.  I have left this to last not because it's my personal favorite but rather because it is not. I had this idea that the skin would be crispy like a Peking duck; it was rubbery and chewy instead.  The meat itself didn't taste like much, in fact, if I ever had to eat a rodent, this possibly came close to tasting like one.  The funniest reaction had to be that of my fellow Brit hikers.  The cuy is roasted whole - as in with the head and its little feet still intact.  The horror on some of their faces was worth just ordering the cuy.  Perhaps I should have more empathy, to some, cuy can be a household pet after all.

The "yellow" sheep?

In a group which comprised of all Brits, I stood out as the sole Asian woman traveling on her own.  I found out much later (after many rounds bonding over Pisco sours and Cusquena - forget Peruvian wine, they smell like (and I dare to wager taste like) cat piss) that I was the topic of some conversations among my fellow hikers:

"Wonder how old she is" ; "I say late 20s, 31 tops"

"Why is she traveling on her own" ; "Boyfriend issues you think?" ; "Nah nah, me thinks her hubby didn't treat her right" (I spat out the Pisco sour I was drinking when I heard this one)

"Gosh she is like a mountain goat and she's from Singapore!" (Despite my size, I was always upfront on the trail…I was following Jesus after all (that's the name of the guide, I kid you not!)

…Final words 

For each day that I was on the Inca trail, I know my dear mother counted the hours to when I would return to civilization and let her know I was ok.  But for each day I was on the Inca trail, I prayed for each minute to be longer than the last where silence and peace cannot be interrupted by the sounds of mobile phones, loud chatters, horns blaring and the idiosyncrasies we now consider the norm of our daily life.  The discovery of Machu Picchu was considered the discovery of a lost civilization.  I believe the same holds true today; as civilized as we believe ourselves to be, we are equally lost in the materiality and triviality of the society we call home.

To paraphrase the inherent philosophy that Steve Jobs and Jony Ive subscribed to in designing the iMac, for simplicity to become a reality, one had to "deeply understand the essence of a product in order to be able to get rid of the parts that are not essential".  

I went to Peru to fulfill a lifetime dream of walking the paths of a lost civilization; in retrospect, I realized the trip was a catalyst for the decisions I would make later in the year.

(13052011-27052011)

A new beginning

Context : Unchartered path ahead but by FAITH, I will get there

One step forward the toes gripping the sand
Midday heat above; cooling grains where I stand
Footprints of the journey I've somehow taken
Alone and solitary but many times with friends


The sea erase the imprints along the way
But within this heart, countless memories will stay
Looking ahead, allay my fears...keep them at bay
One step forward, whisper of prayer, into Your hands my life I lay

(25112011)