Melbourne!!

In about 48 hours I should touch down in Melbs. Fingers crossed I won't have a 60 hour delay like last time. I cannot wait to catch up with my dear friends, spend Christmas in my mate's pub, spend a few days in the G and drink loads of fantastic coffee. Oh, and sun. Sun is good. Woohoo!

London baby

Last weekend was my last weekend in London for 2011. And what a nice weekend it was. The city is so lovely when it's all Christmassy. I stayed with Melburnian friends in Notting Hill, which is an area I've only ever visited as a tourist or to go shopping. Staying there, and being out and about on Portobello Road when the shop owners are preparing for the crowds gave a whole different view of the area. I also finally made it to Primrose Hill, and enjoyed my Saturday morning walk there.

Other than endless walking I caught up with loads of work friends which made me realise once again how blessed I am with the people who have crossed my path in my three years there!

Gail's in Portobello Road before the tourists get there

Christmas music in Peter Jones on Sloane Square

My granola fix and some chocolate

A weekend in Toulouse



French autumn leaves

As I hadn't seen my cousin and his wonderful family in ages, I decided to visit them in Toulouse mid November. My Dutch cousin and his German wife and their three kids moved there last year from Hamburg. A recipe for linguistical confusion and for a relaxed weekend.

The fact that it was 18-20 degrees was just a bonus, 'cause even in rain and thunder I'd have had a blast. I totally fell in love with my little cousins, aged 3ish, 5ish and almost eight. They were so much fun, and it's so cool to see my cousin in them. The oldest turned out to be a great interpreter (and peace keeper for that matter) which was very useful as my German is rubbish and the wee one doesn't speak Dutch yet. Over the weekend I navigated between Dutch, broken German and even more broken French. 

So Toulouse....the biggest ancient city centre in Europe if I remember well. A massive cathedral. Loads of cool shops that I didn't visit. And quite some tea shops, so I had to sample a caffé gourmet in one of them. It's a good thing I don't often have time to eat properly during the week as the goodies that were the 'gourmet' probably counted for a full day's calories. Delicious.  

On Saturday we made a day trip to Auch, in the mid Pyrenees. A cute cobble stoned town, where the little one did a Marilyn Monroe on a wind machine for about ten minutes, much to the entertainment of other tourists.  And of course my trips abroad aren't complete without a visit to the local supermarket and markets. The Tournefeuille Carrefour and Sunday market saw to that.

And that was it in terms of 2011 weekend trips. The next trip is a biggie: to Melbourne in four weeks!



My two little helpers





Best place ever for a tea break



Food, fooder, foodiest

As my job can be pretty hard core, I tend to spend my weekday nights in the gym or on the couch with a book. This week though, I went out for dinner three times (and tomorrow will be number four).  On Monday my friend Deb was over from London with her boyfriend. We went to my local Szechuan restaurant and stuffed ourselves with some wonderful dishes. Tuesday the client and our team celibrated the succesful delivery of a project. Luckily I got to pick the restaurant and a place not too far from me happened to be convenient for everyone. Nice Frenchish food and a little bit too much wine. On a Tuesday, not a great idea... Yesterday I had my farewell dinner from my old team. Again, on walking distance from my place. It was nothing formal, I just asked the people I'd been closest too to join me for a farewell dinner. Magazzino serves great Italian food, overlooking the river. And I had more wine. I must be getting old but I can't really do drinking on two school nights in a row anymore. Tomorrow wil be dinner with three of my deariest friends in the Dam, Irish, English and French, at a restaurant that's meant to be really really good. It's called Anna, and it's in the red light district, which is an interesting choice of location for a resto like that. It will be a great way to start my weekend (and my diet!).

A weekend of healthy Alpine air

After a work trip to London on Wednesday (damn I do miss the place), I was back at Schiphol two days later for a trip to Zurich. A workfriend is doing a project in Zurich and opted for an apartment where she can stay the weekends rather than hotelling it Mon-Fri and flying home every weekend. When she suggested I'd come and visit, I didn't need to think long.


I'd been to Zurich once before, but only to our offices and some restaurant in town. So on this trip, I wanted to get to know the city. And I did! The forecast was cloudy and rather blegh but both Saturday and Sunday turned into wonderfully sunny days. We ate nice food (tapas and local fare), walked miles along the lake (with swans that don't belong to a queen), had a look around town (pretty), had a coffee at an old fashioned tea house that is apparently a pick up place for 70+ cougars (Sprüngli), and watched the All Blacks beat France (but only just...my heartrate went through the roof). We also stumbled upon a lovely coffee place, Babu's, where we had brekkie on Sunday morning, pre-match. A nice find. Great coffee, super friendly staff, and delicious bread. Also pretty affordable, for Zurich standards anyway. All in all a lovely weekend, and I came back completely recharged!

And of course we ate like a local too. This was Sunday lunch.

Books

Amsterdam just doesn't give me the energy levels London did so rather than being out and about a lot, I prefer to stay in most nights. A glass of red, a hot bath, Spotify and a book are perfect companions on those occasions. So despite no longer commuting by public transport, book or Kindle in hand, I still finish one book after another. And recently I read a couple I really enjoyed.

The Help is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the sixties, and is told from the perspective of two maids and a daughter of a cotton farmer. Skeeter, the cotton farmer's daughter, mourns the loss of the maid who was with her family for most of her life and is struggling to accept the racial views of her peers. Aibileen loves the child in her care more than the mother does, and Minny often gets in trouble for speaking her mind. Their stories come together when Skeeter decides to write a book with stories of the Jackson maids and asks Aibileen, her friend's maid, to help her. It's a wonderfully written book, painful to read at times, even more so when you realise how recent this history is, and how for some it's not even quite history yet (think KKK). It's touching and funny and I just loved reading it.

When I visited Washington DC last May I made sure to spend some time in Kramer's, one of my fav book stores. One of the titles I picked up was The Imperfectionists. It is basically a series of portraits of employees of an English language newspaper in Rome. The characters are so well defined, and the stories often so funny, it's hard to put the book away. It's an amazing debut by Tom Rachman. In several of the stories, the last few sentences completely change the picture you'd been painting in your mind. Very clever and charming.

Ian McEwan is very much hit and miss for me. I've loved some of his books yet almost hated others. A few reviews I read made me buy Solar. And I enjoyed this story of a womanizing scientist whose life went downhill after he won the Nobel Prize for his research. He sometimes made me cringe, in the way that David Brent from The Office does. But just like I would keep watching The Office, I kept reading Solar. There's a certain charm in the dodgy scientist, and the way McEwan portrays him troughout the book is brilliant.

Finally, having read a fair bit about the flick, I picked up One Day at a recent visit to Waterstone. A guy I follow on Twitter said he'd found it touching and I can see what he means. It tells the life of two friends on 15 July of every year from their graduation date onwards. A drunken snog then turns into a friendship where he becomes a womanising tv-personality while she dates an unsuccesful comedian, slaving away in a Mexican theme restaurant for years. It's a very easy read, and great company on grey autumn days.

Four positive reviews. Have I read any crap books recently? Not really, I think. Next is the Fry Chronicles, and I have high expectations of that one too!

New job

It's been a hectic month. Shortly after Barcelona I went to Frankfurt for work, wrapped up a project, and organised a client seminar at our offices. And I changed jobs. Pfew. Having had doubts about my old business unit since March or so, I still thought I should give it a go. But three months into it I realised it wasn't going to happen. So I graciously accepted the offer one of our actuarial partners made me earlier this year, and I joined the actuaries. As a non quant, I constantly feel like the least clever person around, but love the focus my work now has, and kinda feel at home in geek town. A week and a half into it, it's a bit early to say for sure, but I think it's been the right move. Everyone's more serious but super friendly. And it's amazing how much work you get done in the office if you're not mucking about half the time!

Barcelona!!

A disgrace. My friends' son Max turned 1 recently and I had seen him for about 45 minutes in his entire life. So I booked a ticket to Barcelona to properly introduce myself to the wee man and catch up with his awesome parents. They had moved since I last visited, and I instantly fell in love with Gracia, where they now live. It's lively, leftish, youngish and with loads of quirky shops and little restaurants. Some of the old locals can still be found gossiping on one of the many squares in the area.

In between playing with Max, we had a lovely time catching up and when Martin offered to stay home with Max, Elena and I went out and did some shopping. In my case two identical dresses in grey and black from a local brand. Which was the same dress Elena wore on our Friday night out. So not very original but hey, we're not really at risk of being at the same time at the same place wearing the same dress. Saturday evening was spent drinking Aperol spritzers in Barcelonetta, where the pic was taken. A great weekend, again!

Oh, and one thing: when Martin posted this pic on facebook, one of our mutual friends commented 'Saskia looks ready to be a mum'. I would advise not to interpret this pic as such, or you could get very disappointed. ;-)

Back in Blighty

Big Ben, a photo by Gypsy Saskia on Flickr.

It had been two months when I landed at City Airport on Thursday evening. Two months of missing London terribly. And it was good to be back. As soon as I got on the DLR this big grin appeared on my face and it didn't leave it all weekend (well it did briefly but I'll get to that later). Reason for the visit was my friend Heather's farewell drinks as she is moving back to New York. It was lovely to be back in The Hide, have a chilli raspberry martini and catch up with colleagues. For the rest of the weekend, brekkies, lunches and dinners were planned. I saw many friends, ate fantastic food, and managed to do some shopping as well. Heels from LK Bennett, tea and granola from Waitrose, books from Waterstones and bits and bobs from Boots. I visited Nero and Pret at least twice a day, reading the papers on my iPad while people watching.

The only 'minor' glitch was the fact I showed up at City Airport for a flight out of Heathrow. Oops. Expensive 'oops' too.... Hopefully a mistake I will never make again. But even after leaving the UK a few hours later and many a pound lighter because of this, I can look back on a fantastic weekend in the city where I'm at my happiest.

My 'hood

Blue doors, a photo by Gypsy Saskia on Flickr.

After seven or so weeks I still can't get too enthusiastic about the Lowlands, but I do really really love my neighbourhood. Every morning and every night I still admire the view from my bedroom window. But more than that it's the vibe I love. It's a good mixture of locals and foreigners, and has a villagy feel to it. People are friendly and there are heaps of nice restaurants and some great shops. I am o so happy I didn't give up my apartment before moving to London (though if I had I may not have come back but let's not go down that route).

Two weeks ago my friend Heather and her man came over from London, and next month it's Justin from Seattle. Next Viv from London. And hopefully there'll be some friends of friends who need a place to crash sometimes as well. Love having guests and showing them non-touristy Amsterdam. It may not be London but it's still a decent place!

Settling in

I could write blogs and blogs about things I don't like at the moment. Settling back in is tougher than I thought it'd be. Work culture is different (fewer laughs, more hierarchy), the people act differently (Dutch men don't do courteousness), and don't get me started about supermarkets and canteen lunches. But let's not write about that. It would only make me more miserable. I try and focus on the things that are fun in this place.

Like Lindenhoff. Major Dutch supermarket chains don't do organic/local food very well, but there are alternatives. One is Marqt, a local supermarket chain that really really really should open a branch near me. Another one is Lindenhoff, a farm that's a 30 minute drive from the Dam. It's proper countryside. People ooh and aah at the (very cute) piglets, knowing they'll be bacon when they're old enough. Having had a decent life, by then. The farm shed hosts a little shop where the farm's meat is sold, as well as cheeses and veg from all over the country and sometimes abroad. There are about 10 types of cheese you can sample (and guess what....) as well as a few wines (I was driving and decided not to go near those). The one thing that makes me very happy is the sight of heirloom tomatoes. I can't explain. They don't taste *that* different. But I have a thing for the purple, green and yellow beauties. So tomato salad it is tonight. With a lamb merguez and some broad beans. Yum.

Oh, and another thing that makes me happy every morning and every night is the view from my bed room. It can't get much better than this. The pic doesn't do it justice, but he ho.

Preparing for my move

Birthday cards, Clippers organic tea, Merchant Gourmet lentils, loads of chocolate, HP sauce, marmelade, lemon curd, Lizi's granola, coconut flakes, dried pineapple, books, books, books and quite a few clothes. My coping mechanism is to surround myself with Englishness when I return home in two and a half (!!) weeks. I can't bring my gym instructors, colleagues or favourite restaurants so I will settle for what I can bring. The movers will probably think I'm nuts (as dI think did the check out girl at Waitrose when she saw all the cards) but he ho. I like the idea of having my english stuff around me in my Amsterdam flat in a few weeks' time. Strange feeling that this time in three weeks, I will have pretty much unpacked....

Oh, and to balance it out: four big bags full of no longer worn clothes for the Marie Curie charity shop and counting....

Times columnist Giles Coren on a roll

On yer bikes, you whining first-time buyers

Can I just quickly write about the property crisis? It’s massively boring and you must feel free to skip me this week, but I think I have seen to the heart of the matter and arrived at a solution. Although there is a danger I could be wrong, because it is about house prices and mortgages and debt and first-time buyers, and that is all very tedious stuff to which I generally pay no attention and about which I thus know very little.

So correct me if I’ve misunderstood, but isn’t it the case that property prices are now so high that first-time buyers are dying out as a significant market sector? I think that’s what I read. I think it is because they cannot save for the deposits. And so, after a long period of reluctance to lend, banks and building societies are now offering massive percentages again to first-timers who have to dig behind the sofa for 20p pieces and sell their second pair of shoes to raise any sort of capital.

I see, for example, that the Coventry Building Society (who knew Coventry had its own building society?) announced a 90 per cent loan-to-value mortgage this week, and that at least 48 lenders were offering such a thing in May 2011, which is a 60 per cent rise from the 30 lenders who were doing so in 2010.

Furthermore, the Government recently outlined plans to work in conjunction with new homebuilders to offer mortgages to buyers who can raise only a 5 per cent deposit. Five per cent. Loosely translatable as NOTHING. Houses for people with no money at all. Hurrah!
But of course a lot of personal finance experts are saying this is bad, that it puts borrowers in danger of becoming victims of negative equity, losing all their money and generating another crash, like the sub-prime thing in America that nobody understood at all, not even Warren Buffett or Carol Vorderman.

And at the same time, at the same time mark you, as all this is going on, I’m reading that UK house prices are falling everywhere apart from London. The average national house price is now down to £160,519, and in such unfashionable places as, for example, Stoke-on-Trent, the average is £73,000. In Merthyr Tydfil it’s even less: £69k. And that’s an average. So there will be houses there for £30k if you look hard enough. Borrow 95 per cent and you need only find fifteen hundred quid for a down-payment. That’s less than a decent meal in London. So what’s all the fuss?

Oh, you don’t want to live in Merthyr Tydfil? Can’t even point to it on a map? Sure you can. Give it a go.

Nice try, but that’s Belgium. And you really don’t want to live there.

So then what about Stoke? It may be so grim that it doesn’t even have a Pizza Express (on the basis of which staggering fact alone it could legitimately be twinned with the Moon) but if you can’t afford to buy a house in London, you have to be realistic.

The endless expansion of London into some sort of world supercity where just about everybody lives is not a good thing. Nobody benefits by it. We don’t want you here. You don’t like it here. And you can’t afford it anyway. But still you come. All of you.

You finish your education, say goodbye to modder and farder, load your stuff into a hanky on a stick, arrive in the middle of the night and immediately start complaining about how expensive everything is and how the beer isn’t as good as wherever you’ve come from. But you stay. You rent. You complain about this and about that, and bang endlessly on about your boring northern childhood and how you hate us all for being fairy ponces who eat our meals sitting down at a table and don’t know the value of a farthing. But most of all you complain that you can’t afford to buy a house here. As if it were our fault.

But prohibitive pricing is not imposed from above, it is generated internally by a shortage of supply and works automatically as a population control. That’s what a market is (although, yes, fair point, it is also the thing in the town square you used to drive the chickens to with Mam on Saturdays). And if you can’t afford to live here, go somewhere you can.

All the trendy thinking now is anti-London. We’re supposed to be pretending that Britain, like France, Italy, Spain, Germany, America, is a country of many capitals. That cities such as Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham and that other one, I forget its name, are just as important as London. Scotland now thinks it can get along entirely on its own.

The Prime Minister is constantly having to pretend he’s interested in the regions. The BBC is moving to Salford, for heaven’s sake. And I am constantly badgered to review restaurants out of London by readers who seem to think I haven’t noticed there are other cities in Britain, rather than that I just don’t like them. And now this stupid Olympic torch is going all over the country to be gawped at by grockles who take it as a huge source of pride that a giant cigarette lighter is being schlepped their way by a former bronze medallist in the octathlon, but dumbly accept that if they want to see any actual sport they will have to come to London.

It is one of the principal missions of the modern Left, a keynote democratic ambition, to spread money, media, government and business out of London to the boondocks. So this glorious capitalist crisis of unaffordable housing ought to be celebrated, and the opportunity it presents to spread young, vibrant talent around the country instead of concentrating it all in the grotty old Smoke should be pounced on.

If you can’t afford to buy a house in London, go and buy one in Salford (there are plenty for under a hundred grand, I just checked) and get a job at the BBC. Or buy one in Warrington or Pontefract or Derby. Or in the tragically depopulated countryside where only old people now live because the young ’uns all went to London, and it is as rare to see a nine-year-old as it is to see a foxhunt or a hedgerow.

With a couple of grand for a down payment and an interest-only mortgage you can live practically anywhere apart from the greatest city on Earth. So stop grumbling and go and start something. Where you go, Pizza Express will surely follow. You can’t afford to live in London, so move to Stoke and make it nicer.

• NB: if that’s all just stupid then I draw your attention to research published this week which appears to prove that left-handed people, such as myself, are much thicker than was previously thought. Revealing his findings at Flinders University in Adelaide, Professor Mike Nicholls said that the “reduced cognitive ability” of left-handers is not huge but is similar to the “negative outcome” of being born prematurely.

This comes as a great blow to me because my three massive natural handicaps — being born left-handed, short-sighted and Jewish — have always, I thought, had the tiny upside of at least traditionally connoting a bit of creativity, a bit of reading ability, a dash of low cunning. Now it seems I’m as dim as everyone else. Dimmer. No wonder I never really understand anything.

Next stop: Hong Kong

View from The Peak, a photo by Gypsy Saskia on Flickr.

I barely recovered from my US jetlag (which felt like a three day hangover but without the booze), or I am packing for Honkers. A short work trip, with the added benefit of meeting a friend from Sing for dinner tomorrow, as she will also be at the meeting on Tuesday and Wednesday. And if my action list is not too urgent, I may be able to wing a few free hours on Wednesday to take in the smells and sights of this cool city. No shopping allowed under any circumstances...

Holidays

The main goal of my trip to DC, Seattle and NY was to visit friends and family. Second came the bakeries in Seattle (seriously justifies trip to west coast) and third came shopping.

To start with the latter: I had a few things I wanted to buy, which I did: a white iPad, Tory Burch flats, a Marc by Marc Jacobs handbag in a light colour, and books from Kramer's. I managed to get all that, plus picked up a nice DKNY workdress and jacket for the price of Warehouse stuff in the UK. All good, and the iPad has already become an addiction. What a fantastic way to read the papers in small spaces (like airplanes) or when abroad.

Seattle's bakeries were ace. And I managed to find the best sticky bun at Amy's Bakery in The Village in New York. That said, it is a good thing we don't have these bakeries in London, it would easily add a few inches to my waistline.

And friends and family? I had the best of times with them. Spent my days in DC with my bro and his colleagues mostly, and saw Ajax visit the White House and beat DC United. In Seattle I got to meet my friends' youngest, a brilliant kid named Ruby. We did so much I happily refer to my friend's blog for the list. She forgot to mention my highlight though, which was dinner at her parents'. Such wonderful people, and her dad made the best chowder EVER. In New York I browsed the streets of Soho and The Village, and visited the Guggenheim. That plus two playgrounds, as these friends also have two wee ones. Soho playgrounds are full of yummy mummies I noticed, some of whom were definitely models in their previous lives.

So there we go. Back in London after the best of times. Awfully jetlagged, and slightly in denial of the fact my days in London are almost over.

Sun sun sun

My first easter in London was wet and grey, if I remember well. And though the weather is generally better here than in the Dam, of course that weekend it wasn't. The second year I planned to go away, until a friend anounced he'd celebrate his 30th that weekend and hope we'd stay in town. Bastard then decided to stay in Peru for a bit and Easter weekend turned out wet and grey with no friends in town. So this year I planned to go away once more. Until friend Gorkem suggested a visit, and I decided to stay. And third time lucky: what a glorious weekend. Ridiculously warm for the time of the year.

Poor GG had to spend Saturday by himself as I'd gotten sick on Friday night and couldn't move, but luckily I was alive and kicking on Sunday. Brick Lane, Shoreditch, Spitalfields, via the empty City to London Bridge and the boat back to the Wharf. A perfect Sunday. Monday was spent walking from my place to Tate Modern, with a lunch break at Dim T in front of my office (new office, I may add, in the most amazing location, I can see Tower Bridge from my desk!). And off GG went again. A weekend with a fab friend, in the sun, after a few stressful weeks at work was just perfect. Glad I stayed!

Quinoa FTW

I regularly chuck this Southamerican grain in salads, or eat it with mushrooms and mozzarella. It's healthy, filling, and has a nice bite and slightly bitter, nuttery taste. Had it not been for POD, I wouldn't have associated it with brekkie though. POD is my favourite London take away food place. Crunchy salads, yummy soups and thai curries that are to die for. And as a recent addition to their breakfast menu: quinoa mango pots. At £2 a piece a bit pricey to have on a regular basis, so I succesfully tried to copy it at home.

The 'recipe': an espresso cup of quinoa is enough for 2-3 days. Cook it and mix one part of the cooked quinoa with two parts Greek yoghurt (I like Rachel's Organic for this). Chop a mango in bigger chunks and really small chunks (puree would be best if you have a food processor). Add agave or maple syrup to taste and done. Keeps in the fridge for about 2 days. Yum!

In Dutch....why I don't want to go back

M'n laatste kwartaal hier.... Een klein jaar geleden hakte ik de knoop door na een gesprek met mijn Nederlandse partner. Ik zou terug komen. Hij en enkele andere collega's namen een risico door me de kans op uitzending te bieden (men dacht en masse dat ik niet terug zou komen), en hebben me enorm gesteund toen werk hier vorig jaar klote was. En terug ga ik. Ik heb een belofte gedaan en die zal ik nakomen. Op z'n minst voor een jaar.

Maar ik ga terug naar aan land met een Sahar quotum. Waar een minister en de PVV koehandel drijven over een meisje. Waar mijn Turkse vriend zich niet langer welkom voelt. Waar mensen hun handtas dichter tegen zich aan klemmen als mijn oud-klasgenootje (van Srilankese afkomst) in de tram stapt. Naar intolerantie, botheid, en ieder voor zich en god (zolang het niet allah is) voor ons allen. Tuurlijk is Londen niet perfect. Maar ik voel me thuis in deze tolerante stad. Waar mannen even wachten als je aan komt lopen om de deur voor je open te houden. Waar iedereen zich in rijen van tien opstelt om 's ochtends in een veel te drukke metro te stappen. Waar een zekere courtesy heerst die ik in Nederland zo mis. Ik ga terug. En wil het minimaal een jaar geven. Maar het zal me niet verbazen als ik bij de volgende Ashes weer hier woon. En weer fijn banter heb met collega's over de cricketprestaties van de poms en de aussies.

A day trip to the coast

Beach huts from behind, a photo by Gypsy Saskia on Flickr.

When friend Sandra emailed me she'd like to get out of town when next visiting me, I thought that was a brilliant idea. When I realised the CWC final wasn't in March but on the 2nd of April, the brilliance was lost on me. So we agreed if Australia would make it to the final, we'd watch the match. If not, we'd go to Whitstable. And Whitstable it was... Though dubbed 'Islington on Sea', I wouldn't have heard of it if my bro hadn't sent me a NYT article two years ago about this coastal town in Kent. It looked pretty and was known for its seafood. Sold. So off we went. Sun, a nice train ride (d*^khead ticket dude at St Pancras more than made up for by the sweetest ticket lady on the train), the sea, seafood and a close friend. Ingredients to a perfect day.

East London FTW

Every so often I re-fall in love with East London. Today was one of those occasions. My friend Liesbet was here, and I decided to take her to Spittalfield Markets for brunch at LUXE. Good food, good coffee, and fantastic people watching. The shops around the market are generally pretty cool, I especially love the florists with the beautiful bouquets that I cannot afford. There is also a pretty funky hairdresser. The SM Barbie dolls in the pic were in its window. Only in the East end...

From Spitalfields it's a short walk to Brick Lane. Turn right and you will have to fight off a gazzillion Bangladeshi restaurant-staff trying to lure you in. Turn left and you will find loads of street food, cool market stalls, and loads of vintage shops. Actually, don't turn into Brick Lane straight away. First there is Nude Espresso, serving one of the best brews in London (staff fully dressed...).

From Brick Lane we wandered (well...speedwalked) to Columbia Road as I wanted to buy flowers just before the market closed. On a beautiful spring day like this it's ridiculously busy, but fun nonetheless. Three bunches of flowers for a tenner brought spring into my flat. As we walked a million kilometers yesterday, we then took a bus home, through Shoreditch High Street. I was still too full to consider tea, or I would have taken Liesbet to Pizza East, a good New York style pizza place in the Tea Building.

The things listed above could be anywhere. But what makes the East End so special is its variety of people. Once the Jewish part of London, it is now the home of many Bengali and hipsters. Especially Brick Lane and Columbia Road are fantastic for people watching: it's where all the cool Londoners seem to hang out on Sunday afternoons. And between the Alexa and Russell look-a-likes, you find the stalls handing out leaflets on Islam, and grey men with kufis. A good mixture.

Sword of Damocles

"We really didn't think you'd come back", several Dutch colleagues told me in recent conversations. Whoever betted that I would, should be a rich man soon. Next week April will be upon us. And with April, my last three months in London. The 'one more year' was fine. The 'six more months' bearable. But the daunting thought I have only three months left in this city that is more home to me than any other has ever been....it's tough. Yes I will be back heaps of time, made easier by the fact I'll have every other Friday off as of July. But I will so miss the mixture of people, the friendliness, the buildings, the restaurants, the Sunday papers, the gym, the supermarkets, even the commute! Back to massive traffic jams, supermarkets not unsimilar to your local 7-11, rudeness and miserable service in very average restaurants and an utter lack of cricket and rugby convo. I know it also means back to friends and family. And there are of course decent places to eat in Amsterdam. And the canals are pretty. And maybe the supermarkets have improved. But the closer I get to the end of June, the more certain I am my move back home will be a temporary one. Let's see what I will call home in a few years' time. Melbs? London? Or will something happen that makes me want to stay in the Dam? Time will tell.

Ruggers in Cardiff

Mary and I went to Cardiff last week to watch Ireland play Wales. We didn't get the result we wanted, but what a fantastic day. The Millennium Stadium is spectacular and the fans of both teams are just the best. The bloke in the picture is an Irishman, fresh of the boat to County Clapham. He decided to marry Mary there and then. Something to do with her relos having road facing land...

I wrote a blog for a Dutch sports blog - in Dutch. Sorry non-Dutchies, too lazy to translate!

Brixton

There's no need to leave London every time I want to explore something different. Since friend Zoe moved to Brixton, it's become one of my favourite places to feel like being abroad. The indoor markets are full of exotic products: African fabrics, many types of yams, small colourful peppers, you name it. The butchers sell parts of animals I have only ever seen at African or Asian markets. One of them tried to tempt us into buying a bag of pigs' feet. 'Just a quid dear!'. A google search tells me it's very good for your skin but I think I'll stick to avoiding fags and relying on Chanel to make me look 27 (ahum). One of the nicest things of the market, are all the little cafes. The one selling sourdough pizza is apparently very famous, and the queue must have been at least an hour. We settled for a Colombian place where we ordered the 'Saturday lunch'. Once we were eating, we noticed we were pretty much the only non-Southamericans there. Always a good sign. Our soup of corn, chicken and potato was absolutely delicious. And I'd go back for the juices alone. My soursop was wonderfully sweet and sour at the same time, and Zoe's passionfruit a jug of deliciousness. One to remember!

Just a song

Beautiful song, great 70s video

Sports junkie

Between the Six Nations and cricket world cup, little is happening in my life. This time of the year I am generally anti social due to the ruggers, but throw in a cricket world cup as well and I am a true hermit until 7pm on weekends. Last weekend was a rugby free weekend, so I went to the Dam to catch up with friends. But that's about it as far as day time socialising goes.

The weekend of 12 March will be reasonably sociable, as my rugby mad friend Mary will be visiting. And thanks to a rugby playing colleague, I got allocated two tickets to the Wales-Ireland game. Mary and I will spend about 8 hours travelling for less than 2 hours rugby. But hey ho. It will be my best chance to watch this great sport at the Millenium Stadium.

From 3 April onwards, my own sociable self will reappear. Until then: sports it is!

A week in the Algarve

Albufeira beach
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia

When we booked it back in October, all we hoped for was that the Algarve in this time of year would be sunny. Temperature wouldn't matter, just sun on our skins please. And that's what we got. A week of sun and never more clouds than the ones in the pic. Friend Ilse and I have a very healthy looking tan, and stocked up on vitamin D.

Our little Fiat Punto took us from west to east, and even into Andalucia for a few hours. The Algarve is beautiful this time of year. Citrus fruits everywhere and some blooming trees already. And, big plus, hardly any tourists. Ok, we spotted about 4 under the age of 40, but the senior Dutch, Germans and Poms seemed to have mostly stuck to golf resorts. I imagine the Algarve in July/August must be hell.

There was a drawback to this peace and quiet tho.... Few restaurants were opened. And we both like our food. I'd made a shortlist based on Tripadvisor but the top two were closed, as were many others. Which led us to some interesting experiences:

There was a place we referred to as Nicola (which seemed to be similar to referring to an Amsterdam bar as Heineken), where we ate twice. In the tourist heart of the city, but incredibly friendly, and properly home made food. On the first night, the owner apologised it had taken so long, as they hadn't pre-prepared anything because of low volumes. Little did we carre, the chicken peri peri had been delicious, the service homey, and the port good.

The next day we went to a place where even the Brazilian waiter spoke some Dutch ('portje van de huis?'). We were tired and hungry so had decided not to look further. Dickhead slimey Dutch waiter clearly didn't like us any more after I concluded, passive-agressive mastered to perfection, that his sauces weren't home made (Ilse asked for an ingredient to be left out, which couldn't be done). His response that 'we can't do that in a busy restaurant like this' made me burst out laughing.

The place where we went the last night was cute and frequented by locals. Nice owner, menu not in Dutch, good food. And Grolsch beer. Or hold on, the Grolsch bottle didn't contain beer. The four locals next to us drank something like homemade grappa from it and offered us some too. With a dried fig. I love grappa, but hell, this was strong. Ilse didn't finish it, and the owner happily polished hers off. A gezellig experience.

One resto we were very keen to visit, was open thank god. Henrique Leis, in Almancil. As we both wanted to drink, we opted for a bus and taxi combo. Good decision, as we gave the sommelier carte blanche for our wine flight and he sure as hell did his job! A seven course tasting menu with three glasses of different Portuguese wines was amazing. Scallops, crayfish, quail, steak, a never ending food heaven. What a joy.

And now after a week of monkfish and seafood cataplane, chicken piri piri, vino verde and grilled sardines, it's back to healthy homecooked meals in London. With my new cookbook (Ottolenghi's Plenty) as inspiration!

Hotel Saskia

Hotel Saskia will relocate in five months and a week. And those last five months and a week are going to be busy! This week alone three friends booked their fligths to London. Then there are a few placeholders, and some visits that were booked last year. So between my trips (Algarve, Guernsey and US) and these visits, free weekends are becoming scarce. Although I do really need my me-time, I am thrilled to have all these visitors. A whole weekend with friends gives such an extra dimension compared to dinner dates or running sessions used to meet up at home. It's proper quality time. I may leave my friends for an hour or so to exercise, but other than that, it's a lot of time spent in each others company. Chatting, eating, drinking, sightseeing. It's simple as that. When I am back in the Dam this summer, we won't have to pick up where we left it, as we never left it. It's good.