A week of sheer decadence

I was in Barcelona this past week for a 30th birthday. It was wonderful for many reasons, not least of which was the company, the food, and the weather.

Despite just being up the road from Sagrada Familia, our apartment was in quite a residential area - flanked by sandy parks with ping pong tables, with plenty of Pakistani shopkeepers from Lahore and a fantastic bakery called La Boulangerie and which we went to every morning for pastries and coffee. We also had a novel encounter with a Chinese waiter speaking Spanish to us in a Japanese restaurant; I played along for a bit before switching to Mandarin and meeting a whole new waiter in that language.


Because of the company, because it's Barcelona, because I love food, there was naturally a lot of eating. Apart from one meal in a touristy restaurant with very salty paella, every single meal we had was good, from eateries we'd planned to try out or revisit (La Singular, Cerveceria Catalana, Romesco) to ones we just stumbled upon (Café de l'Acadèmia, Cheese Me), to ones we went to because we couldn't be bothered to walk anymore (a little Italian on Verdaguer I Callís, another one on Plaça de Rius i Taulet). Pictured above is a place called Tapaç 24, off Passeig de Gracia. Highlights: omelettes with potatoes and chorizo, toasties, churros, deep-fried anchovies.


Above is a scene from Tram Tram, a little restaurant in Sarria. We had the tasting menu (oddly, you could only have it if everyone in your party does - why?) with cava and red wine from the region. My favourite course is pictured below: artichokes in three styles - vegetable, shavings, sauce, with foie gras and a poached egg. I think I might've moaned.


Despite the eating, drinking and subsequent late starts, we still managed to see and do things unrelated to food:

La Pedrera, Gaudi's house with the undulating facade and expressive iron balconies

The aquarium, with happy fish free of predators. Hmm.

Sitges, a quiet seaside town 1/2 hour away from Barcelona

The Champions League final between Barcelona and Manchester United. We watched it in a laidback outdoor place called L'Antic Teatre (if you look below the screen there's an old sign that says - SILENCIO FUNCION). Afterwards it was pandemonium everywhere with people singing the campeones ole ole ole song at the tops of their voices. Amazing to be in and amongst the unadulterated joy of victory.

Just one last note: how nice to be in a place where people always have a smile for you, even if you barely speak the language, even through misunderstandings.

Letelepedési

I applied for my PR in Hungary in January and was told I'd have to wait 120 days. So when May rolled around I began to wonder - has my application gone missing?

Apparently not, because yesterday I found out that I've been summoned for an interview. They don't interview everyone, so I guess I'm just exotic enough to be lucky - not many Malaysians applying for Hungarian PR!

The worst case scenario is that I will be expected to speak fluent, even middling Hungarian, or be booted out. The best is that I will show up, have a 10-minute chat, and then be given the PR.

I guess they'll be expecting me to say why I've stayed so long. Which isn't hard to do really - Budapest is one of the easiest, loveliest cities in the world to live in (when it isn't winter). I've had a visitor this week who lives an ascetic life in Libya, so being here was decadence for him, whether lying in the sun after a hearty lunch of pörkölt and pálinka, people-watching at Gödör, or spending a day in the baths. It made me feel quite chuffed to call it my home of sorts.

A true spring

So often we complain about the sprint from winter to summer, with nary a week of crisp days. Well this year, April has turned out to be exactly as it should be, with a day or two of evening tempests and the rest of it bracing and blazing by turns.

Since winter broke, I have drunk nothing but hosszú lépés - one part white wine, 2 parts soda water. Rehydrating while dehydrating is the original quip (though regretfully not by me), and it suits the drink and habit well.

For the first time in years, I have spent holidays here rather than escaping elsewhere. (Re)discoveries:

1. Brunch at Culinaris.

2. Clarinet player in Nyugati underpass.

3. Ellátó.

4. Kyoto at Roosevelt tér.

5. Melodies moving on 7ths like Girl from Ipanema.

6. Steve Reich's Music for 18 Musicians.

7. The 'Hide' button on Facebook.

8. House.

9. Hippos Go Berserk.

10. Brunch at the Marriott.

Happy spring, everybody!

Nothing like waking up to a blazing blue sky. By an astounding stroke of luck, it also happens to be the official beginning of spring today. If I were more motivated I'd get my hiking boots on and go to the Buda hills for a bit of a skip through the woods.

Some questions for you on this beautiful spring day:

1. What is the logical reasoning behind having to pay a fee when you're DEPOSITING cash into your account?

2. What's happened to mid-calf boots? Booties everywhere. Knee-length boots are still on the shelves. But the all-weather mid-length ones - nincs.

3. Why does Goan prawn curry and chicken curry taste exactly the same in Indigo, except spicier? Are they betting that people tend not to order them both?

Bests and worsts

I can't believe I complained about construction in Budapest. I have been subject to 24/7 (literally) of pounding from the 20-storey building going up opposite my room. So worst night of sleep: drifting in and out, being woken up by another burst of machinery or explosion of sound from my iPod (which I plugged in to drown out the construction).



In the morning, I was taking my usual route when a woman selling vegetables crossed the road and walked in front of me. She was wearing the conical hat that all Vietnamese women selling wares do, with two baskets full of colourful produce, and a lovely print top, with mud-splattered trousers that were rolled up. It would've been the perfect photograph.



So many good meals here. Highlights were mushroom steamboat at Ashima, Quan Ngon's orgy of street food, claypot pork in Koto, chicken porridge on the street with fresh greens and ginger bubbling from the bottom of the bowl, mushroom noodles with delicious fishballs, the burger in Ete. Best was fried tofu with squares of noodles accompanied by fresh basil, dipped in a fish sauce with kumquat juice and sliced chillies. Absolutely the right tone for the tofu.



I've never seen such an extended period of almost-rain. It's so light you feel silly with an umbrella, and yet you become thoroughly damp. It's been almost uniformly grey. But at least it's 20 degrees.



Despite its touristy pockets, it's been novel being in what really feels like a city in limbo, with its elderly in black silk pajamas, homemade pasta in Mediterraneo, marriage and children almost compulsory for any woman in her mid-20s, infuriating exchanges involving money, the latest films and tv shows on offer (often with "For your consideration" written on the bottom).



And of course, bia hoi!

I am in Hanoi

It's familiar in many ways, though I haven't been here before. The food stalls with variations of noodles, meat and soup. The business of exchanges and transactions with few greetings and little fuss. The dust, tangle of wires, teeth and body odour remind me of China. So does the blankness of faces suddenly replaced by flares of fury when something disturbs the ordered chaos.


One thing, though, that is wholly Hanoi, is the motorbikes. The thousands and thousands of them, 10 for every car, with pillion riders texting, filing their nails, sitting side saddle and cross-legged; kids propped in their parents' arms with cloths covering their noses and mouths from the exhaust that has given me headaches. Crossing the street is scary business, even for me. Traffic lights are frequently ignored. The city will be in a gridlock when the cars take over.


After a week, I have learnt the words for one, five, thank you, ginger tea, a type of beer/place to drink beer, several types of noodles, rice porridge, rice, chicken, beef, mangosteen and bill (which sounds like 'listen to the sky' in Mandarin).


Tonight I went to a tailor to get measured for three ao dais. The girl helping me to translate, pick out the silk, collars and sleeves was back on holiday from Finland of all places, visiting her family the tailors. When I broached the subject of cheaper prices since I was getting three, she gently chided me by reminding me of how impossible it is to get tailor-made silk outfits made for you in Europe at these prices. I felt like a downright exploiter of cheap labour.

Anyway folks, it's a lovely 25 degrees. I just have to gloat.