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June 2015: Vietnamese Superstars

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SAM_3602Vietnam then. Home of Pho, too many zeroes on currency denominations and British people seeking a little cultural adventure.

As random nights out go, playing guitar on stage in a Vietnamese bar with the runner up in Vietnam’s inaugural Pop Idol competition – Ngọc Ánh – accompanying me on percussion takes some beating.

The back-story to this: as part of our desire to enjoy Vietnam both culturally and gastronomically, we’d booked the experience of seeing an authentic Vietnamese meal being prepared before eating the meal with the chef’s family.  A task that could have been performed in an entirely perfunctory manner by our host, Tiffany, without complaint from us instead turned into one of my all-time holiday highlights.

Tiffany (her adopted English name), a local entrepreneur, may well become a millionaire in a few years (in Western terms, since 1 million dong is equivalent to around £33 at the time of writing). She without doubt possesses the creative, passionate and risk-adverse mindset to succeed.  At a young age she’d already owned and sold a coffee bar, now instead focussing on importing and selling Japanese crockery & tableware as well as hosting the occasional curious foreign traveller.

After we’d finished devouring the meal, Tiffany and her Pop Idol husband invited us to join them at their old coffee bar to watch an open-microphone evening of local singers; all with impressive voices, but all eclipsed by the power and passion of Ngọc Ánh’s vocals.

11051845_10205628575787587_5240343502089491436_oI’d always claim to be distinctly average guitar player – definitely more rhythm than lead – but it’s the love of playing that spurs me on, not the need to improve my technical capabilities.  So following Ngọc Ánh’s rousing 4-song set, he invited me to come up to the stage to play.  I did so unprepared and without the comfort of hiding behind a boisterous lead singer.  My four songs – two from the Chinese Moganshangrila set (“Until Sex” and “CNY U”) sandwiched between two of my own untitled numbers, hastily chosen as the four that were sufficiently varied to carry a tune without backing.  Ngọc Ánh’s friend improvised on the Cajon box drum throughout, with the superstar himself joining on percussion on the first song.

We ended the night with our hosts in the Apocalypse Now nightclub, ensuring our musical evening went from acoustic to electronic. One hell of an evening, as they say.  Following previous holidays with Rachel, our expectations were high in terms of finding something different; something random and completely unforgettable to do. The bar is set even higher now for future holidays.

With one of Ben’s cousins resident in HCMC, we had an expert guide to take us around a few tourist attractions and to a few excellent restaurants (cheers Paul). The food has been phenomenal.

IMAG1438After three nights in Ho Chi Minh (and an interesting massage), we took a 3.5 journey north to the coastal town of Phan Thiet near the popular tourist destination of Mui Ne.

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Having experienced a noisy, sleepless night onboard an overnight train in Malaysia last year, I had a few concerns over taking a similarly “local” train in Vietnam. Fortunately, for the equivalent of about £5, we had a fairly comfortable, uneventful meandering journey though Vietnamese countryside and coastline.

At relatively posh coastal resorts, like ours in Phan Thiet, the temptation is to accept what’s presented without question. However if you never ask “Could you please cook us a bespoke meal for Rachel’s birthday?” along with “Do you mind if we take over the music in your restaurant?” and “Would you mind keeping the restaurant open beyond your normal 10pm closing time” then you’ll never experience an incredibly tasty meal whilst listening to your hastily cobbled-together playlist blasting out though the resort’s unsuspecting sound system until the early hours.

Admittedly the resort was quiet enough to accommodate our celebratory requests. And I’m pretty sure I managed to reset their sound system at the end of the evening.

We thought our resort in Phan Thiet was pretty luxurious; that is until we took our next train journey to our final destination, a beautiful resort just north of Nha Trang.

We’d been deliberately ramping up the “poshness” of each place we stayed in, but our five nights in Nha Trang were probably the most pampered I’ve ever felt on holiday.
When we checked in, the manager asked us what room we’d booked for the four of us. When we told her, with a look of mock disgust she simply stated “Well I won’t see you then!”
She was pretty much correct. Our own two-bedroom villa had a private pool bigger than some hotel swimming pools. It featured room service so accommodating we could repeatedly order buckets of ice to be sent to us.
And it was easily big enough to accommodate the one night with five of us present, as we swapped out Ben for Andrea. So to speak.

mmexport1433046259570After a couple of days of bobbing about and working our way through the extended (by us) room service menu, we ventured into Nha Trang itself to discover a city dominated by Russian language. We’d been told this was a major tourist destination for Russians but hadn’t been quite prepared for this.

When walking into bars or restaurants we were first greeted in Russian before our bemused look gave us away.   Even the German beer bar with dirndl-clad ladies and “holding a beer keg at arm’s length until your arm breaks” competitions had Russian as their first language.
I imagine this is what it’s like for British people venturing into certain Spanish beach resorts where British attitudes and palates and are very much at the forefront. I have no idea why you’d want that on your holiday (which is, ostensibly, a holiday to escape from your home country).

We had a final night in HCMC at a grandiose but somewhat grumpily-staffed hotel before flying back to Shanghai.

Rachel calls these trips “fabulous adventures”. We’re not back-packers any more, but we retain that curiosity; that need to explore; that desire to experience local culture wherever we visit. But by God do we demand a little luxury when doing so.

Rachel, Andrea and Ben – here’s to many more of these!

May 2015: Two Years Later…

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SAM_3664Nearly five years have passed since I first visited Shanghai, a city with an ineffable draw on me.  Following our reluctant departure in 2013 after little more than a year’s residence, we returned as visitors last year with a little trepidation.  With hindsight we needn’t have done so.

No such concerns or worries this year – if it’s too cliched to call it our second home, then let’s just say its a place in which we feel more at home than just about anywhere else. We know the heart of the city well enough to walk for hours without getting lost; we know just about enough Mandarin to placate angry taxi drivers; we know our favourite restaurants and bars; and we know its people: ambitious yet reserved, modern yet traditional,  energetic yet bloody slow when walking.

Jude, me, Rachel, Kim and Bron in front of Shanghai's new skyline

Jude, me, Rachel, Kim and Bron in front of Shanghai’s new skyline

Sandwiching our trip to Vietnam, our time in Shanghai was intentionally more social than cultural.  Whilst many of our ex-pat friends have since moved on, a few stalwarts remain along with most of our Chinese friends.  So we had a deliberately packed agenda of socialising, eating and drinking.

In Shanghai there’s no better “local” than Masse (it’s been a year but Chris, the co-owner can still greet me by name); no better cocktail bar than Closless; no better excuse to smuggle in a little rum purchased in Vietnam than a beach party south of the Bund.

From the night of bizarre Chinese entertainment (face changing magic guy who helped me knock over a beer) to being thoroughly under-dressed in one of Shanghai’s poshest restaurants (my shorts and bright orange t-shirt combo not exactly mixing well with the suits and cocktail dresses adorned by the other clientele) , we loved our brief return.  Last year we celebrated our wedding anniversary sat at the bar on a Virgin Atlantic flight; this year we celebrated eating Sichuanese food with two of our favourite Chinese families.

Thanks to everyone that found the time to meet up with us.
And yes, we’ll be back next year.  How could we not?

June 2014: The Malaysian Way to Travel

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We just about found a secluded beach

We just about found a secluded beach

“Malaysia: Truly Asia” claims the worldwide advertising campaign for Malaysia. It is. It’s probably a lazy description, but imagine a mix of China, Thailand and India and you have Malaysia. A predominantly Muslim country where ladies in bikinis swim alongside ladies in full body (and head) covering (“burqinis”, as they’re probably not called); where the tranquillity of a Buddhist temple is regularly interrupted by the call to prayer from a nearby mosque; where billboards for make-up sit alongside billboards extolling the teachings of Mohammed. Multicultural, certainly, but how readily the cultures were willing to mix wasn’t that apparent to us.

Having managed to endure nearly two weeks in the Seychelles with me and Bron in October of last year, our oldest Shanghai friend – Rachel* – once more met up with us for a few days in the sun; this time with her boyfriend – Ben (also known as “The French Gentleman”).

So why Malaysia?  It gave us a chance to head back to Shanghai for a few days and then visit a relatively nearby country with enough to keep us occupied for a couple of weeks.  Beach holiday resorts for long periods of time are fine if you have the sustained mental capacity of Jedward: “Woohoo – let’s go in the sea today then sit on a sun lounger for 8 hours! Woohoo let’s do the same thing for the next 14 days“. I plainly can’t do this, so coerced the other three into a somewhat extended island hopping Malaysian trip. We travelled from Kuala Lumpur up to Langkawi, headed back South to the colonial town of Georgetown on the island of Penang before being chauffeured over to Malaysia’s east coast for a night in Kota Bharu and an extended stay on the Perhentian Island of Kecil.

The Petronas Towers - at the bottom

The Petronas Towers – from the bottom

Before meeting up with Rachel and Ben, Bron and I had a night in Kuala Lumpur followed by a night on an overnight train.  One was more luxurious than the other.  We knew the train would be a little basic, and for £8 we can’t complain too much, but I don’t think Bron was expecting to have to share her the bed with two suitcases (a lesser known advantage of being 5’2”).

Bron, Rachel and Ben celebrate Rachel's birthday

Bron, Rachel and Ben celebrate Rachel’s birthday

Other than the cockroach lurking in the bottom of the poppadum bowl (obviously waiting for us to clear enough room for it to climb out), Langkawi gave us a great introduction to the islands of Malaysia.  It’s a duty-free island too, enabling a fully liquid picnic next to an inland freshwater lake and the opportunity for Rachel to celebrate her birthday in a swimming pool with some cheaper (but definitely not cheap) Champagne.  Ben took the ladies on a trip up a cable car for a few scenic views, but I refrained, preferring not to be hung by a cable several thousand feet up.

Ben, Rachel, Bron and me in the Campbell House reception

Ben, Rachel, Bron and me in the Campbell House reception

A tip for anybody heading to the former British colonial town of Georgetown on Penang: avoid the turgid, soporific chains of Marriotts, Holiday Inns, etc, and instead stay in the Campbell House Hotel.  Genuinely the best breakfast I’ve ever experienced in a hotel with the equivalent of a 6 course tasting menu– no “help yourself” style buffets here.  Also featuring the friendliest staff in the whole of Malaysia, huge rooms with unique character in each and an ideal position at the heart of Georgetown’s mixture of architecture, culture and, of course, restaurants.  I’ve never tasted “Nyonya” cuisine before – a truly unique flavour for local, Malaysian food from ancient Chinese settlers.  The food in the “Nyonya Baba Cuisine” restaurant alone is worth a return trip to Malaysia just to try out a few more dishes.

If they don't know how to make a Long Island Ice Tea, make it yourself

If they don’t know how to make a Long Island Ice Tea, make it yourself

Penang also features an aging funicular journey up to Penang Hill, with the promise of “High Tea” at its summit; something you probably can experience if the restaurant isn’t closed for a private function when you get there.  We had a close approximation nearby – scones and a cup of tea – in a restaurant temporarily missing their bar manager.  This only relevant since I asked for a Long Island Ice Tea (tea themed, obviously) and ended up making it myself.

 

In the water at Long Beach

In the water at Long Beach

Never has the disparity between East and West been so narrowly apparent than by crossing from the west to east coasts of Malaysia. From the welcoming, multicultural islands of Langkawi and Penang to the deeply Muslim areas around Kota Bahru in the east. I have a degree of ethical dissonance when it comes to local customs, particularly when I find those customs so alien in respect to the treatment of women.  Since Malaysia is not my home country, I think it reasonable to respect local traditions but feel somewhat perturbed by the head to toe covering of the large majority of Muslim ladies we encounter.  But this isn’t a blog about the rights and wrongs of religion and its effect on society (as much as I’d like it to be!)

I’d be useless under torture. I discovered this at the cleverly disguised “Grape Tree Spa” during our stay in the Perhentian island of Kecil. Over two days, my torturer, an innocent-looking middle aged lady, took the art of torture massage to new heights. Boy was she good – complaints from me that the backs of my knees didn’t stretch in that direction were met sternly with “But your knees are not good!”. Bad knees.  Her thumbs and elbows pressed so far into my lower back that she have easily performed kidney keyhole surgery. Without the keyhole. And my eyebrows, raised and contorted under pain were swiftly attended to and flattened. Even cries of “That still hurts!” as her thumb reached down between the gap between your neck and shoulders you didn’t know was there was met with the unconvincing “Sorry, I forgot”. This plus the added bonus of several new mosquito bites and you have the perfect torture mass(ochist)age. Had it not been for Bron lying beside me, quietly coping with the same treatment I think I’d have made my excuses and left.

Our resort on Long Beach, Kecil, Perhentian Islands

Our resort on Long Beach, Kecil, Perhentian Islands

Speaking of mosquitos – there’s an old joke about three men in a jungle being faced with a lion. One puts his trainers on and starts running. The other two shout “You can’t outrun a lion!”. The first responds “No, but I can outrun you two!”. Replace lions with mosquitos and trainers with anti-mosquito spray and you have a good parallel.  It’s impossible to avoid the little buggers – the best you can hope for is that your particular brand of anti-mosquito spray is far more pungent than those worn by everyone else. The mosquitos are hungry and are going to eat someone.  If a “CSI Malaysia” were to exist, I’m convinced they could use mosquito bites to track the travels of an unlucky victim, with Georgetown mosquitos producing a far more agitated skin response to those from the more remote locations of Langkawi and the gentle nibbles of those on the Perhentian islands.

For our last location, we stayed at the Bubu Resort on the Perhentian Island of Kecil; a resort with the genius of idea of ensuring all guests return in time for an evening meal by providing two free cocktails per guest between the hours of 5 and 6pm.  Three days of lounging around on Kecil’s Long Beach, snorkelling nearby and watching people play with fire was a perfect end to our Malaysian adventure.  Malaysia is beautiful, features food unlike anywhere else I’ve travelled and is, for the most part, very welcoming.

The meeting of the inflatables

The meeting of the inflatables

Ben and Rachel (plus the bonus of spending a few days with Lauren** – Ben’s sister – and her friend Celine) – we’re getting used to this idea of travelling around Southeast Asia accompanied by ABCs and FBCs, as well as the introduction of Inflatable Batman to accompany Inflatable Starfish.  Here’s to the next one…

 

* Not oldest in age, I hasten to add.  Although she did celebrate a birthday out in Malaysia.

**Lauren – I have a feeling I’ve spelled your name wrong, probably because it’s French and I’m not!

 

May 2014: One Year Later…

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Me, Bron and Rachel at the Bund

Me, Bron and Rachel at the Bund

“They” say you should never go back; that returning only serves to diminish, never enhance a memory. Bron and I decided to ignore this, returning to Shanghai almost a year after we left.  We stayed with Andrea, an American friend we’d met during our year in China, herself shortly departing to start a new job in Singapore. Andrea’s apartment is one block behind our former Shanghai house, practically overlooking both the house and our nearby local bar: a melancholic view from our temporary bedroom window.

Our Friday night in Masse

Our Friday night in Masse

We landed on Friday, and with our time in Shanghai limited, we went straight out after a quick freshen-up. We’d invited a few of those who’d in some way played a part in our short time in Shanghai – friends, former colleagues, former language teachers – to meet with us in our favourite local bar and were overwhelmed with the turnout. Chris (co-owner of the bar) agreed to let us use the terrace for our little gathering (arranged whilst in the UK via the medium of a Chinese social messaging app). Thanks to all who came to see us; we know the “Former French Concession” area involved a fair amount of travel for some of you.  For those of you who have also left Shanghai – we’ll no doubt see you over the next couple of years.

With the married couple

With the married couple

One of our main reasons for visiting Shanghai over this particular set of dates was to attend John and Erica’s wedding. A brave attempt at reading his speech in Mandarin was greatly appreciated, with the pace sufficiently slow enough to allow even Bron and I to understand elements of John’s tales of how he and Erica met.

Buffets at Chinese weddings are not a particularly good idea, unless you’re prepared to cope with everybody seeking food simultaneously. Not so much a mass brawl as a mass panic that food may run out very quickly. All in all a great evening, including spending time with Shawn and Andrew, the first people I met in China back in 2010.  John and Erica – many congratulations.

The ladies by the mysterious building

The ladies by the mysterious building

Sunday saw us take part in another Shanghai tradition for ex-pats – the boozy Sunday brunch (with free flowing alcohol). Initially with Rachel, Andrea and Grace, we were later joined by Isaac and Chong before staggering back to Andrea’s apartment over a very familiar set of streets. Andrea – thanks so much for letting us stay at your place.

On Sunday afternoon we just about made it (post brunch) to one of Shanghai’s huge railway stations to join Anny on a trip to her current residential town of Wuxi. A feast was waiting for us at Anny’s apartment; never any danger of going hungry when we meet up with Anny’s family.

Making fresh noodles

A man, making fresh noodles

Noodles for breakfast in China is normal as cornflakes, toast or sausages to a Westerner. And they’re always fantastic. In the smallest of restaurants, for around 50p, one can experience a true taste of China.  This we did each morning whilst in Wuxi, taking full advantage of being accompanied by somebody Chinese – absolutely no English is spoken (or written) in these tiny establishments.

Bron and Anny meet a rather large Tao statue

Bron and Anny meet a rather large Tao statue

With a little sightseeing and the arrival of Linda and her 8 year old daughter, Cake, we had a couple of days that I can only describe as being authentically Chinese.  We experienced fighting to get on buses (I resorted to swiping a man with my bag of Chinese vegetables as he tried to push Bron out of the way), wandering around a huge indoor market with giant stacks of fruit and veg that you’d struggle to get in an entire city’s worth of British supermarkets and a somewhat hectic meal in “Grandma’s kitchen” restaurant.  I have enough trouble coping with kids in England, so being abandoned with Cake in the restaurant whilst everybody disappeared to the loo en-masse felt like the longest 5 minutes of my life.  My rudimentary Chinese was met with a mischievous unwillingness to understand and shouting “no” to somebody who doesn’t speak English is quite tricky when the person is attempting to rearrange the table decorations in a fairly precarious manner whilst waiting for her Mum to return.

As ever, great to spend time with Anny, Linda and families.  The Virgin Atlantic credit card will hopefully help to ensure these meet-ups continue for many years.

We arrived back in Shanghai on Wednesday evening to spend a last meal near the Bund with Rachel, Andrea and Rachel’s two Eric friends.  Rachel’s favourite restaurant in Shanghai seems to feature the rudest waiters:

  • Waiter takes my side plate away as I’m eating bread.
  • “But I haven’t finished my bread yet!”
  • “Your main course will arrive shortly sir”
  • “I’m sure it will, but I’m still eating bread at the moment.  Can I have my plate back please?”
  • “No.”
  • Impatient Brit instead grabs plate from empty table nearby and plonks bread on it.
  • A different waiter serves for the remainder of the evening.

Our year in China – truly a year like no other – has left us with a like-minded group of friends, now scattered all over the globe. In some cases originally forced together through the necessity of seeking commonality in what still sometimes feels like a different planet, we know we have friends we will meet across the continents.

“They” say you should never go back. They have no idea.

 

October 7th ’13: (Inflatable) Starfish in the Seychelles

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SAM_2165Kazakhstan,  geographically and politically positioned halfway between China and the UK, seemed an unlikely location to meet up with Rachel, our friend from Shanghai with whom we’d experienced many a Chinese adventure.  So we settled on the Seychelles. Not halfway, but an equal pain in the arse for all of us to reach.

The guidebooks (well, TripAdvisor.com) refer to the Seychelles as perfect for those seeking the best beaches in the world.  ‘Best’, is of course subjective, with some visitors preferring near-shore coral, some seeking white sands to reflect the sun’s glare for that complete tan, or some demanding beautiful scenery for the perfect photography backdrop.  Our perfect beach was just outside our hotel in Mahe.  Three grown
adults, floating in the sea anchored to an inflatable starfish, drinking flavoured rum purchased from the nearby Regatta festival.

Probably the closest I’ve ever come to a ‘beach holiday’; we spent most of our time in the water. I doubt there are many places in the world where you can rent a car, go for a random drive and find so many completely deserted beaches.  In one location, we had a local takeaway meal on the beach before once more deploying the starfish.  A picturesque scene entirely for us until the old couple turned up and proceeded to get changed out on the beach.  White bottoms reflecting the sun beautifully.

View from Burj Khalifa - it's real, honest.

View from Burj Khalifa – it’s real, honest.

Before reaching the Seychelles,  Bron and I had the bright idea of spending a day in Dubai, since that’s where our connecting flight originated.  A bright idea until the 8am arrival time (6 hour flight from the UK = no real sleep) and the 2am next day departure started to take its toll.  Dubai is as I think we expected; sandy yet curiously clean; hot outdoors but freezing indoors; ostentatious yet reserved.  A curious mix of cultures and styles,  where the world’s tallest man-made structure allows visitors to clearly observe the Sim City approach to building all that lies beneath it.  We landed on a Friday, the Islamic day of prayer. I assume the locals choose their mosque early in life, as a churchgoer in the UK does likewise.  Otherwise the multitude of simultaneous calls to prayer from the minarets’ loudspeakers would cause a degree of cognitive (religious?) dissonance given the sheer number of mosques to choose from.

We met up with one of Bronwen’s old university friends in the evening, as you do whilst in Dubai, and explored one of Dubai’s few but densely populated drinking districts.

Waiting for us in the Seychelles was Rachel, having arrived a day earlier.  Very fortunate for us as for the first time in 2 days we had a bed to sleep on, sneaking into Rachel’s hotel room before checkout. I say sneak; Rachel’s ploy of giving us the wrong room number didn’t work as we had the foresight to check.

Apparently one of the most photographed beaches in the world (La Digue)

Apparently one of the most photographed beaches in the world (La Digue)

We spent our 8 nights in the Seychelles on three different islands; Mahe, La Digue and Praslin.  Mahe is like paradise,  if paradise were run by the most grumpy staff on the planet. A place where asking for a menu is met with silence and a 180 degree turn away from the customer.  A place where cocktails with missing ingredients are served without apology (“You want me to go all the way to the kitchen to find chocolate syrup for your chocolate cocktail”), and where requests for additional contents are met with “You want this?  You want this?  YOU WANT SOME OF THIS” (I’ve never before been so threatened by a bottle of Angostura Bitters).  A place where the local language is supposed to be Creole but turns out to be a series of sighs.  Our hotel had a casino but an attempt to gamble at 7.30pm was met with shouts of ‘We closed! We closed!”.  Another more helpful member of staff explained: “Sorry, he’s Korean”. Bizarrely, a local law (not hotel policy) decrees that men looking to gamble after 6pm must wear long trousers.  Our helpful member of staff explained: “It’s OK, 3/4 length trousers would be fine”.

As well as vampires, we discovered the Chinese only come out night.  With perhaps only a few exceptions, dusk on the beaches heralded the arrival of Chinese tourists, safe to enter the sea without exposing skin to the sun (since a tan on a Chinese person is considered a very bad thing in China).

After three nights in Mahe, we took a two-part ferry journey to La Digue, the smallest island of the three we were to visit.  An island so small that cars are rare and cycling around the whole island in a single day is possible (as we did).  A beautiful island, made all the better once our upgraded room had been awarded (long, protracted story, better explained by Rachel’s blog.

Our final three nights took us to the island of Praslin, home to some of  the world’s most photographed beaches.  With the current too strong to deploy the starfish, we headed out on a “private” day trip with 6 other people we think were also expecting a little more privacy.  From giant tortoises roaming free to fighting crabs that walk forwards, not sideways, Praslin and its smaller neighbouring islands gave us the opportunity to experience a little more of what the Seychelles really has to offer.  And with wonderfully warm and welcoming staff, Praslin definitely wins as the place to visit in the Seychelles.

On our last night we eschewed the bars and restaurants, instead settling for a few hours sat on the edge of our semi-private pool, finishing what was left of our snack food (Monster Munch gets everywhere) and our remaining rum.

The snorkeling wasn’t a patch on what Bron and I had experienced in the Philippines,  but we think the Seychelles wins for beaches, calm waters and local rum (and in Praslin – the people).  A fantastic 10 days away, and of course great to spend some time with Rachel, despite a few funny looks from the honeymooning couples.  Ben – that’s what happens when you have to work during Golden Week…

August 24th ’13: Gong Fangrong in the UK

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“Would Paul Sims please contact immigration”.  Not the friendliest of welcomes for Anny at Heathrow airport, as she’s taken to one side and quizzed about her reasons for visiting the UK.   I kept my natural predilection for sarcasm suppressed as the immigration official asked questions such as “Are you expecting anyone at Heathrow today?” (“No, I just hang around airports hopefully”, I didn’t reply).

Since my answers matched Anny’s (How did I know her, what’s her Chinese name, what’s her situation in China, how long was she here, etc.), they eventually let her in, only an hour later than planned.

Our house became the temporary holiday home for our Chinese guest, privileged as we were to entertain Anny on her first ever trip outside China.  Olney lived up to our description – no questions now on why we want to stay here rather than move closer to London (where Bron and I are now both working).   A two week trip to the UK which saw Anny explore our small market town of Olney, as well as Cambridge and Oxford (Anny being determined that her daughter should study sufficiently hard to gain entry in the future – either would do), London and Maidenhead for a stroll along the Thames.

Our house now feels a little empty; Anny – you were a perfect guest, and entertaining company as always.  Plus, we had an added bonus of having a few home-cooked Chinese meals ready for us upon our return from work.   We’re sure you’ll be able to visit us again in the future.