In the depth of my second choking, frozen winter. But somehow this place has got under my skin.
Still miss Indonesia in a big way, though.
I invented a new game today. When my girl is pestering me (which is often), I grab her and hold her tight, shouting "you're my baby forever!" She screams and squirms and tries to escape. Then I shower her with kisses, repeating "you're my baby forever!"
If my face is unshaven, I rub her with my cheeks. You should hear the howls.
She likes the game now, but I think she'll be tired of it by the time she's 30. But I'll still play it.
Comments [2]
Far from the Homeland
Mongolia is like an anti-ocean, located thousands of kilometers away from the shore and sitting over a kilometer above sea level. It's not a surprise that you don't see Mongolians at the beach very often. So I consider myself very fortunate to have not only seen Mongolian girls at the beach, but to have gone swimming with one.
I've often said that one of the things I want to see before I die is a Mongolian girl under water (I had diving in mind, not a drowning). My dream came true: I went swimming with my colleague Tsolmon, and she kindly agreed to submerge herself for a second. She was blurry, and my eyes stung in the salt water, but it was worth it.Comments [1]
Corporate creativity
Conferences are usually dead boring. Technology helps; nobody with a Blackberry will leave it in his pocket when faced with a day of presentations. But not everyone resorts to electronic devices. The creative among us draw, filling empty spaces on notepads, napkins and scraps of paper.
Someday scientists, or maybe historians, will analyze conference art and draw remarkable conclusions about 21st century corporate behavior. But for now, it's just fun to see how creative minds cope in desperate circumstances.Comments [0]
Comments [2]
Comments [2]
Right now it's -33°C in Ulaanbaatar. I don't care. I'm in Sanya, on Hainan Island, off the south coast of China. It's about 28°C here right now. When I say 28°C, I mean Plus 28°C. With a capital P.
I knew it would be warm, but I was still taken by surprise by the tropical, humid air and the site of people walking outside without hats. It wasn't Indonesia-hot, but still, it's 60 degrees warmer here than it is at home. It won't be that warm in Ulaanbaatar until July. But in spite of the warmth, I can't say I'm happy to be here. I'm here for work, so I won't have much time for fun. Even worse, we're staying in a resort that bills itself as the "only luxury resort in China with truly Balinese style." I'll admit that on the surface it looks like a Nusa Dua resort, but when it took the girl at reception a half hour to check me in, I knew that this would be Bali with a socialist twist. At best. This was confirmed when I ordered a beer and was asked, "Do you want it straight up or on the rock?" I had my beer straight up, in case you were wondering.Comments [0]
Comments [0]
Comments [2]
|
My first and last duck The duck's frozen, milky eye took the charm out of my cooking experiment.A week ago, on impulse, I had bought a frozen Chinese duck at the Mercury Market. My wife didn't want to buy it, saying she didn't know how to cook duck. But I insisted that I'd look up a recipe on the Internet and cook it myself.The duck was wrapped in plastic with Chinese writing on it. It was heavy and long, almost tubular. I liked its heft; so much more satisfying than a chicken. I've always liked duck, but I've only eaten it in restaurants. I knew that I would never be able to make the sauces that usually come with it, but that didn't matter. I wanted to see what pure duck tasted like, without anything. It didn't take long to google cooking instructions for roast duck.I cut the end of the plastic bag and slid the duck out. That's when I saw its neck snaking halfway around its body, pressed into the fat on its side. I knew there would be a head before I saw it. And there it was: pale, pink and flat, with an icy beak and a half-opened eye, a rude reminder that it used to be a living creature. I had to get rid of the head. I took a knife and forced it through the neck, cutting as close to the body as I could. The neck was still a little frozen, and it made a ripping sound as I peeled it away from the body. I held it by a strip of fat and dropped it in the garbage. I didn't look at its face.I followed the instructions: poking holes in the skin, pouring boiling water over it, and turning it every half hour. A few hours later it was roasted. The layers of fat were melted away and the skin was crispy. I was surprised at how much smaller it was when cooked, and how little meat was there. What was left tasted good, but while I was eating I couldn't help thinking about the head in the trash.I doubt I'll ever cook duck again. Next week: lentils. |
Comments [2]
Comments [0]