Happy as a duck in a rice field

A few days in Jakarta brought back memories of the month that I had spent in Bali and Lombok a few years ago.

It really is true - Jakarta is an ugly, mosquito infested traffic jam - so I chose to spend my time next to the pool at the Sheraton and getting pampered at the spa.

That was after a trip to the supermarket, where I found mangosteen (a local fruit with a hard skin and soft, white segments of juicy flesh inside) and ‘garuda ting-ting’ (peanut sweets). These tastes transported me back to Ubud in the centre of Bali.

I would like to go back there one day. To write, to meditate and to listen to the ducks in the rice paddies. There is no happier sound in the world.

My ex-partner and I shared a simple but clean bungalow overlooking the rice fields. It was across the road from Pertiwi resort (a serene and good value choice if you are not on as tight a budget as we were). This is a great, central spot to stay. A few blocks away is a free meditation centre and around the corner we discovered Bebek Bengil restaurant – where the happy ducks became heaven on a plate.

Ubud is the arts centre of Bali and there are many beautiful designer fashion stores with simple silk and linen creations. In and around the town there are many soulful walks and drives and it's worth going to see the incredible wood carvings and other inspirational crafts in the area.

While I found most of the beaches in Bali overcrowded and abused (for beaches rather opt for Lombok, the Gili’s and further down the island chain), the central areas radiated a peace that passes understanding. Which is exactly the opposite of the road rage ridden capital.

'Bonjourno Roma!'

As I gaze out over the ruins of the ‘Eternal City’ I feel myself gasping. For a while I don’t move. Then I take out my camera.

I have seen so many pictures of the Coliseum but I was not prepared for this amount of ruins. And I certainly didn’t think that bricks and stones could move me this much.

While the sky is a clear blue, the light that is hanging over the ruins is slightly misty. The winter sun casts a glow over everything and I get the sense that I have to tread softly. The tourists around me speak in whispers. They feel it too.

My imagination runs wild. I am the dying Julius Caeser, the princess on the steps of the palace, the lion underneath the floor of the Coliseum.

Then and now is all one. Did we learn anything at all during the thousands of years in between? We still feed people to lions and fight just as many wars. Yet, being here makes it very clear that we have lost something. Even in the ruins there is passion and beauty and soul. These days we dilute our souls, cast our beauty in plastic and trade our passion for money

As a fellow traveler and I sit down at the end of the day to do as the Romans do – indulge in gastronomic pleasures – we realize that we don’t even know each others’ names. We spent the whole day walking without talking. There has been no space for words between the Coliseum, the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish Steps.

After dinner Rachel and I walk underneath the Christmas lights, past huge Armani and Prada stores where Italians and tourists alike line up for Christmas shopping. Pity our budgets don't allow for that.

On the way back to our hotel I cannot shake the smile from my face. I can still taste the Limoncello as I go through the pictures on my camera. At first sight I am utterly smitten with Rome.

A walk in Dubai

Determined as I am to enjoy the mild winter sunshine in Dubai, I decide to head for (possibly) the only places one can walk in this city: the souqs.

Dubai is designed for driving, with no sidewalks and few pedestrian crossings. I’ve insisted on walking before and found myself sinking knee deep into the desert sand while cars swoosh past dangerously.

No, today I will head for a souq area where there are indeed some sidewalks and markets to stroll through. Since I find cheap electronics and fake designer handbags somewhat uninspiring by now, I figure that it is time for me to visit the spice souq.

I get out of the taxi next to the creek where traditional dhows float lazily, but the otherworldly aromas quickly steal me away from the sight.

One whiff of a dried lime and I am all eyes and nose and ears.

“Taste this, its dried figs from Iran. And these are the best dates in the region. Good, aren’t they? Oh, you have to have some of these cashews too…”

The shopkeepers are so enthusiastic about their produce and my senses fill up with bags of tiny dried lavender, rose and chamomile flowers, giant slabs of frankincense from Oman, saffron from Iran and just about any spice I can think of.

“That’s too expensive. I live here, if you give me a good price I will come back” I say when one shopkeeper tries to cheat me out of cash.

“In that case I will give it to you for a kiss,” he dares me, quite seriously too.

I stuff the money I was willing to pay into his hand with an equally serious ‘no’ and he nods in acceptance. As I walk away I suddenly become aware of the fact that I am a woman alone amidst curious stares.

If I keep lagging behind the groups of tourists I should be fine. I make it past two museums, linger through the gold and perfume souqs and then head back to the creek where I catch a taxi at dusk.

Ah, I am thrilled with the cinnamon, coffee, cashmere and sapphires I touched, tasted and eyed today. What’s more, I went for a walk in Dubai (yes, really) all by myself and it was great.

Can food make me truly happy?

There’s a little bowl of sweets on offer at the immigration desk as I pass through Singapore airport. It makes me smile every time. Where else in the world…

Then again, where else in the world will I find a world city that is also a tropical island, with the cleanest underground train system and flowers decorating the street names above ground.

Right now it’s rainy season and the air is infused with a distinct incense, something in between the aroma of Chinese spices and the perfume of frangipani. The wet heat weighs on my skin and the sights of fresh fashion entices me from shop windows.

Yet what excites me the most about Singapore is the food. Not even China can conjure up such delicious bites of barbeque pork, chicken rice or dim sum – and at least here food safety is a priority. Every time I step into a food court, I find it difficult to choose… freshly squeezed dragon fruit or soursop juice… palak paneer or black pepper crab…

However, tonight my date is a homesick French man and he is taking me to a French restaurant called ‘French Stall’ on Serangoon Road. We order a bottle of Bordeaux and linger over a delicate duck salad. I am slightly nervous about the main course as duck breast is one of my favourites and I am easily disappointed. Well, the first bite catches me by surprise, as it completely exceeds my expectations.*

After all the sweet nothings, I probably don’t need dessert but the chocolate and ice-cream pastry is a perfectly indulgent conclusion to this meal.

It seems that, in Singapore, food really can make me truly happy.

* Highly recommended: Sliced duck breast d’orange, served on top of risotto at the French Stall on Serangoon Road.

In a perfect world penguins don't stink

“I don’t really like it there, it stinks,” says my friend Tim as I tell him about my day at Boulders Beach.

He’s just jealous, since Boulders is simply idyllic. The small beaches connected by shallow rock pools are what the Cape penguins call home. The penguins potter around, doing their thing, not really bothered with anyone on the beach or in the water.

Today was really hot though, and I arrived with a small group of friends over lunchtime. Even we sat in the shade under the trees – the penguins chose the coolness of the large rocks on this beach.

It’s only a R25 ($0.8) entry fee to use this small beach but that’s already enough to keep beggars and touts away so that both the penguins and the sun-seekers can have some peace and quiet.

Once again I am overwhelmed by the beauty of my home country. At times like these it is almost impossible to imagine that people get murdered, raped and robbed here all the time. It can happen in a beautiful place and on a beautiful day. Criminals do not discriminate.

The thought reminds me of when I was sitting on Jimbaran beach in Bali one year after the bombing there. I was drinking fresh coconut juice and watching a pink sunset over the sea. On the plastic table cloth in front of me was a seafood feast and underneath the table my feet was tucked into the sea sand. I tried to imagine the bombing that happened there and I couldn’t. It was much too peaceful and beautiful.

I guess nothing can be perfect. If my country was not riddled with crime and racism, it would be paradise. So Boulders beach would be if the penguins didn’t stink.

Mandela's great gift to me

As a South African I am embarrassed to say that I have never been to Robben Island. My excuse is that if you live in a place for a long time you don’t make a real effort to do the things that you can do tomorrow or the next week or in three months.

Plus, Cape Town is so rich in fulfilling lifestyle experiences that even if you live here it can be difficult to choose between the winelands, the beach and the mountains on any given day. It is also quite a foodie town so it is easy to miss the boat indulging in lazy lunches.

So now that I get the chance to spend a week in my old hometown I jump at the opportunity to see the historical jail where Nelson Mandela became one of the wisest people on earth. However, when I get there, 50 tourists are already waiting for cancellations as the boat trips are fully booked for the next two weeks.

While I feel sorry for them, chances are I will get another chance to visit Cape Town. Then I will have to remember to book ahead. Or perhaps I should simply take pride in the fact that I am part of Madiba’s rainbow nation and that I carry his dream of peace between all cultures within me.

I turn towards the mountain and the sea, give a quick thought to the winelands and decide that today will be a beach day. The sea is painted in exotic shades of teal and indigo today and it’s just too irresistible.

As I dig my feet into the icing sugar sand on Clifton 4th beach I think about the people I have encountered during my travels. While most cultures like to stick together, I have acquired a certain curiosity to find out how different people live and look at the world. It enriches my life and gives me my own personal freedom to choose what I want to be, feel and believe.

This is Mandela’s great gift to me and that is worth more than a fridge magnet.