Well, it's good to be back.
I did like the days in
Amsterdam a bit, but I prefer being home, to be honest. The roses and those
Tudor style houses along the canals actually reminded me of
England.
I liked looking out the windows from the
Okura room at the people whizzing by on bikes and the badly dressed oldies (this isn't, I must say, a fashion sort of city) walking their fluffy dogs.
The pollen was flying in the
Japanese garden where I had some very early, and very delicious Japanese dinners; I was the only one wearing a sweater and jeans amidst a sea of business-suited, sleek haired businessmen.
I have to say I prefer the Okura than the creaky, winding up and down boutique
Pulitzer, which is in many ways, just a really big bed and breakfast. Its heavy gloom was not enlivened by the chatter I can hear from two rooms down, nor the constant slamming of heavy doors or the clatter of guests clumping all over the place.
I read rather a lot during the week(magazines and papers), and I'd especially recommend the novel
Landfalls by
Tim Mackintosh-Smith, about a
Moroccan traveller of the early
Renaissance. This is a heavily researched book lightened by jaunty prose. It does dwell enlighteningly on
Islam, which one learns is more complex and less dogmatic and not completely abstract.
One learns as one goes along, doesn't one?
On the other hand, my first trip up to
Bangkok in four years was spent hectically catching up with friends I'd lost contact with for a while. I didn't manage to see everyone of them, but I managed at least to collect their numbers, so next time.
I also made some new friends, as I was travelling with a young group I'd never travelled with before. The meals and traffic jams were made hilarious by the constant patter of rubbish from one young man called
DH. This trip will always remind me of him, and his obsession with vintage jeans, sunglasses and watches. An afternoon spent giggling with DH in the back of a sedan isn't at all dreadful, I must say, even if it was pouring in sheets outside. Also the
Greek-American model, 20 year old
Christian, made quite an impression, and I only wished I had more time with him under the chandeliers of the gilt and mural
Edwardian ballroom of the
Oriental.
I love the Oriental Hotel, don't you? The rooms are so comfy, and the service civilised. Of course the food's really great. I ate quite
a lot, I'm afraid.
The traffic jams are as horrific as ever, and the city is steadily, unstoppably transforming into one gigantic, dust-coloured mall. One morning, very bored, I bought on a beauty binge:
1.
Olay Professional and
Pro-X products, including the age-defying day moisturiser (SPF 30), wrinkle smoothing cream and a deep wrinkle complex (don't ask).
2.
Boots No 7 Protect & Perfect Serum.
3.
Laura Mercier Creme Brulee Honey Bath.
4.
Kyoku For Men Lava Masque which has mineral-rich mud, black sand and ash from
Mount Fuji (don't ask, and let's not go there).
5.
Tengan exfoliator which has shirasu volcanic ash, sourced from
Japan's southern island of
Kyushu (is it radioactive? Let's not go there). I do, in fact, have a thing for volcanoes.
But just to tell you that I'm not all vanity, my hair is all grown out of shape, and the grey is showing, but I can't be bothered to spend
three hours at the salon.
Go figure, and have a lovely week ahead.
X
Amazingly, the library had the fascinating Mughal Painters and their Work, which included analysis of the paintings, portraits, calligraphy and translation of some of the poems. Time fairly whizzed by as I studied the book, and I turned slowly brown.
