No Pee Pee on isle

The morning began with a kickarse brekkie of rice porridge, sausage, scrambled egg, bread, juices and fruits at the hotel's restaurant deck overlooking the lovely cliffs. We were soon joined by the resident kitty cat who begged me for some sausage and promptly played with its own tail on the hot tin roof. It's true when they say you don't adopt cats, they adopt you. This little minx was treading all over the property without care or worry, short of curling up on the guests' beds.

Our pick-up arrived on time at 8.30am and whizzed us to our waiting speedboat, joined by a group of mixed characters. Who stood out were the American GI-Joe and his Thai escort (who hardly spoke and drank in every word he uttered, she also wore white lacy panties which slipped beneath her costume), Bedroom Couple (this Sporean couple who got nominated for Worst Dressed, especially her whose pubic hair was poking out in places I dared not mention), a sweet Thai family (the poor toddler screamed his lungs out and attached himself to his dad like a koala bear everytime the engine came alive) and a Filippino family of 2 sisters and their adorable kids (the 2year-old was so cute, her 13-year old brother dishy too!).

Finally there was a Thai couple and their friend who was speaking - oh-my-god - italian to this elder-ish angmoh couple! Ever the introvert, I interrupted their conversation and asked "Siete italiani?" (you're italians?) and they nodded in surprise. I went "Ah benissimo! Parlo un po' italiano e adesso sto imparando la lingua!" (Very well! I speak a bit and am learning it now!) Them: "Che brava!" blah blah etc. See, I could even practise my italian in Thailand! Ooh, the excursion was off to a great start!

On the 35mins zippy ride to our first stop Bamboo island, Ink - our friendly tour guide - gave us a run-down of our itinerary and pointed out the map of the 2 Phi Phi islands while we hung on dearly to the railing and eyed the islands dotting the clear horizon. They reminded me of the Eolian islands in Sicilia - che bellissime - and I couldn't believe it had been a year since then, when it felt like I was there yesterday.

Bamboo island was normale, the corals were not spectacular and there were few fishes where we swam close to the beach. I told the italians "I corali sono morti" (the corals are dead). We spotted lots of other italian tourists and I almost chatted the guys up if not for their girlfriends! *grin* At our next stop Hin Klang, we got off in the deeper waters which were gorgeous with lots of beautiful corals, reefs and marine life. Ink threw bread at us and the next thing we knew, we were 'attacked' by hundreds of fishies and I laughed hysterically, trying to stay afloat without a life-vest.

We proceeded to see the protected caves housing the swallows and their nests, the tranquila turquoise Phi Ley Bay laguna, Maya 'The Beach' Bay and also waited for the monkeys to come out at Monkey Beach but the only primates we ogled at were on the other loud tourist boats. At this point, my bladder was going to explode but I just couldn't bring myself to 'do it' in the open sea for reasons being: 1) it was too choppy 2) the fishes might nibble at me there 3) people including the fishes were staring.

So for the next 30mins, I just focused on not leaking and F said I looked truly sick. Even Ink asked me if I was ok. At the next stop, he asked aloud who wanted to snorkle again and I was the only one who shouted 'yes!' much to F's amusement and was the first one to jump in immediately. Still there was no pee pee on Phi Phi! F%@k! Perche?? Luckily we stopped for lunch buffet soon and I ran barefoot to the toilet for the longest bladder break ever. Sigh... molto shiok.

By 2pm the sun was blazing and I could feel our skin smoking under the rays when we jumped into the deep waters for our last snorkelling session. More sunblock please. The gigantic brown reefs looked like delicious mounds of melted rocher chocolates and it was uncanny how the fishes were staring at us in the eye. They must be thinking who the f%ck are we, these strange creatures with their ugly fogged up masks and stale bread. In any case, they were happy to nibble at the melon skins which Ink threw out as he expertly peeled the juicy fruits for us.

On our way back, the rain came and engulfed the speedboat which flew precariously on choppy waves. I hung on for dear life and try to look far away in search of dry land. Luckily we reached Aonang in no time and were the only ones to tip Ink for his service. That night, F and I finally popped into this supposedly 24-hour non-descript restaurant with a rather unimaginative name 'Aonang Thai Food & Seafood', sandwiched between Cowboy Inn and Divers' Inn. If there were only locals eating there, it must be darn aroy mah-mah ka (molto delizioso).

The shaggy-haired waiter-manager greeted us warmly 'sawadee-kup my friend, welcome...' and passed us a menu full of bad spellings and pictures. We rattled off the same dishes to him - hoi wan lemongrass soup, fried fish with som-tam salad, beef with ginger and Singha beer (450baht). He came running back 'sir, we no hoi wan tolay, we have hoi ok?'. I wanted to correct him I was not a sir but merely smiled politely and nursed my beer with ice. Did I say it was impossible to have a bad meal in Thailand? I was right again. The flavours were homecooked and unpretentious.

Later, we went to look for the boyish Nut, the tattooist for F's appointment. Inspired by the show 'Miami Ink' and assured by the sterile conditions of Nut Tattoo Cafe, she gamely had her 2nd design - a rose with her initials FY- inked along her hip bone for 2,500baht (S$100). I winced as I documented it all with the camera and tried to distract her by asking her if it hurt. Haha. F winced at some intervals but was brava enough to stretch her skin for him to ink it throughout the hour-long session. She was really happy with it but I nearly gagged when I saw the blood when she removed the bandage. *shutter* Here's the final version:

Pussy cat takes off

Sawadee-ka! On Thursday, F and I found ourselves on the 7.45am Tiger Air flight from le Budget Terminal and 90mins later, siamo arrivati al paradiso di Krabi in Thailand! The weather held up despite it being the hottest and wettest monsoon season now. Ahh, I was glad to be back again and couldn't wait for 4 glorious days of suntanning, Singha beer, smoking and slacking... haha.

Nee, our friendly Thai lady cab driver, drove us swiftly to our boutique hotel The Cliff and promised to pick us up on Sunday at a discounted price of 500baht. The property was as I imagined - cosy, chic and exquisite against the majestic backdrop of the jagged limestone cliffs. Everyone was all smiles from the customer relations fellow to the cherubic receptionist K who promptly suggested clean beach towels and mat for our Railay island hopover.

We gleefully trotted down under the blazing sun to Aonang beach 10mins walk away and the town was still sleepy at 10am. Aonang was as I remembered it 3 years ago albeit more developed now blemished by a perpetually empty MacD. I didn't get it - who the hell wants to freakin' eat fast food in this gastro heaven? Who?? Who?? Pui.

After our early lunch of 'aroy' (delicious) fried seafood vermicelli, pad thai and iced tea, the local boatmen ushered us onto their precariously shallow longtail boat (60baht - oneway) along with 6 other tourists for a 15-min wet and wild ride (forget Disneyland - this is more fun!) to Railay, probably the most developed and popular beach than the nearby Ton Sai and Phra Nang beaches.

These days, the shoreline was lined with more low-rise cafes and tourist-class hotels - which was a shame becos' I preferred the old rustic charm where the monkey community thrived freely and came out to investigate me trekking in their forest.

Nonetheless, it was still a pretty cool strip of sandy beach on Railay west with the limestone hills outlined against the azzure skies and the waves gently lapping in the foreground (see foto). In comparison, Railay east was less developed with a laidback kampong village vibe and fringed with mangrove trees (we could imagine Burn and his bro G fittin' in perfectly with the raegge boys here).

While F bargained with the masseuse auntie for her 300baht body massage, I flagged down the hawker with his baskets of fascinating 'kao lam' - local sticky rice cooked with coconut milk and broad red beans in a long bamboo. He offered me a choice of 'black or white rice' - greedy me wanted both but finally picked out the latter marked 25baht. It was darn ingenious - the bamboo served as a cooking tool, locking in all the flavours and there was no need for utensils (hence no wastage!).

I laughed and shrugged my shoulders at him - indicating wah lao, how to eat this thing? He smiled and began to strip it like you'd eat a banana. Blimey! It was molto interessante ma delizioso - sticky, salty and sweet (no funny ideas there now)! I wondered how does the black rice look and taste like? Drats, should have bought it too!

Thirsty, I flagged down another hawker for a cold Singha beer (60baht) and smiled no to another umpteeth person selling trinkets and the poor kids lugging their straw mats and fresh pineapple. It was a tad depressing seeing them peddling the wares and carrying stuff for tourists at such a tender age but I guessed they're making a decent living in their own way.

Around 5pm, we headed back to Aonang and joined the curious hordes of locals diligently digging the receded shore for local clams 'hoi wan' at low tide. It looked easy but proved difficile! The trick was to recognise the bubbles escaping thro' the mud and use a long object to dig it up in one clean sweep like how the aunties did it with their parangs.

We poked in the mud with a broken stick but no shit came up *sulk* we want our hoi! A dip in the pool and shower in our cosy open backyard toilet later, we pestered K for a dinner recommendation where we could sample these clams. She scribbled 'Wang Sai Seafood Restaurant' (10mins away by tuk-tuk - 20 baht each) followed by a list of local specialities in Thai... clams with lemongrass soup, local vegetable with crispy shrimps, tom yum kung and fried fish with mango salad! Damn, you go girl!

Alas, when we reached Wang Sai, the waiter told us they'd ran out of hoi so we pumped for the perfectly grilled BBQ squid served with the piquant nam prik sauce and mussels with garlic and butter instead (650baht for 4 dishes in total). Near exploding point, we hopped onto the small tuk-tuk again and got off at Aonang beachfront to soak up the evening bustle along the esplanade and fought off the chatty Indian tailors.

Here, you don't get hassled so much like you would in Bali or Phuket and the locals would leave you alone after the first try. Plus I was sure to say Sawadee-ka (hi) and kor-poon-ka (thanks) to everyone so it's all good! To cap the night, we walked into the sixth 'tour agency' and booked the cheapest 1,000baht (S$40) 9am-to-4pm excursion to the infamous Phi Phi island tomorrow (where we could pretend to frolick with Leonardo on The Beach). My head was still swaying from the boatrides... and all I could dream of was Railay... ah.

Intermediate uno

Non posso imaginare che sono al corso dell'intermedio uno adesso! Hurray. Ci piace la nostra classe piccola perche possiamo parlare e imparare di piu. Ci sono sei studenti - me, P, Q, E, A (chi e' tornato, benvuto!) e D uno studente mysterio. Allora, the weekend started with F & I bitching over a grande birra Hoegaarden at Union before going all giggly at a kinky girly sex-toys & lingerie party nearby. An hour later with four sexy undies in the bag and contemplating naughty thoughts of buying one of the fancy dildos, we trooped to meet Giovanni and Garybaldi for molte bottiglie di vino.

Stupido A backed out on me for our South India's nudist-yoga December retreat, so I convinced G & G to go on a Mekong River-Golden Triangle avventura with me instead. In their drunken stupor, we crossed our little fingers but I wondered if those guys will back out on me too! Hmm. Anyway I figure we'd probably fly to Bangkok first, then head to Laos over the Friendship Bridge, and find a boat ride to Cambodia finishing gloriously in Siem Reap for the New Year's Eve finale. Ooh, I can't wait. Must research tons first otherwise we might end up as illegal boat people!

We probably drank a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc each while laughing so hard at G's sexual conquests that when I found myself in bed at 2.30am, my head was as heavy as an anchor fast sinking to rock bottom. Naturalmente, I got up grouchy at 8am but luckily the class was fun. Dopo, I rushed to M's casa and whipped up my specialty dessert for our photoshoot-cum-interview with a food magazine! At this rate, maybe I can work towards my very own food show soon - "The Law of Cooking" or "Carla's Avventura"! Si, voglio moltissimo!

Nazionale giorno

Last Wednesday, my partners and I closed shop and escaped to our preferito isola di Bintan for a National Day company retreat and camped out at the lovely 4-bedroom Angsoka villa at Bintan Lagoon, complete with our own pool and the sandy beach just a hop away. After a very productive hour-long meeting in the pool in our bikinis, we wasted the whole afternoon singing Diana Ross' 'Touch Me In The Morning" in the sea and stuffing our faces at the BBQ pit.

Come Saturday after l'italiana lezione, I caught up with my JC mates S and M (haha) at F's casa which had a killer view of the city and fireworks on display that night. We cooked up a storm - starting with a Nigella's inspired Squid salad, Pasta with tuna, and an impromptu dessert - Baked banana and mango crumble. Ooh, it was buonissimo... F and I had it at a local cafe and decided to whip it up at a whim! Being such culinary geniuses, we got the formula right the first time round, ha! Here's the recipe, for you sweet-toothed peeps:



Baked Banana N' Mango Crumble

Ingredients:
4 large bananas (cut into 2cm slices)
2 ripe mangos (de-seed and cut into long slices)
2 tbsp brown sugar
1 tbsp honey
1 tsp grated cinnamon
30g butter
1 tbsp raisins (optional)
1 tbsp walnuts (optional - crushed roughly)
6 butter shortbread biscuits (crushed into crumbs and mix with 1 tablespoon of brown sugar)

Method:
1. Melt 25g butter on low heat in a nonstick pot and add bananas, brown sugar and honey.
2. When bananas soften in about 1 minute, add the mangos and cinnamon and stir for 1 minute. Remove from fire and empty contents into a baking dish or smaller individual ramekins.
3. Sprinkle with walnuts and raisins. Then cover the mixture generously with the crumbs followed by small knobs of butter on top the crumbs.
4. Baked for 15mins at 180 deg C in a preheated oven. Remove and cool for a while before serving with vanilla ice cream - yummy!

Sola solitamente

The words haunted me as I listened to the voice aloud in my head. Sola. Da Sola. Solitaria. Solamente. Solitamente. Saturday Italiana classe always fried my brain and left it reeling for the rest del fine settimana. I felt more and more retarded with every classe; in qualche modo non ho povuto trovare le parole esprimersi mai pui. Perhaps the hours, distance and its absence were taking their toll on me.

Forse io penso troppo. I laughed and wept at the irony of life; living in a cushy shining bubble but merely bouncing off the padded walls in a safety net, unfeeling and untouched. I longed for the fields beyond, the unknown rugged path where my heart quickens with every pace and corner. Devo essere pazza.

My dear 75-year old granny just called to ask why I was all alone at home and that I should get out and have fun for a girl my age - find a good man and settle down soon. Ha. I told her it's not my time yet and cheered her with news of A. She giggled and said he's too far and that I should just be contented with someone here who can provide for me, or else I'd end up like her alone watching TV every Saturday and waiting for sleep to creep in. There was sadness and resignation in her voice... and I can just picture her dragging on her cigarette in the dark. I told her in Hokkien 'Ah ma, I'd rather take my chance and wait for the one while watching cable!' Jin eh!

Of late I was also addicted to italian singer Tiziano Ferro's CD 'Nessuno e' solo' (which means nobody is alone - si, laugh at the irony!). Listening to the lyrics helped to sharpen my pronounciation and listening un po' ma lui canta troppo velocemente e troppo basso. Allora questo e' il mio preferito canto 'Gia Ti Guarda Alice' - chorus:

Nessuno e' solo finche' di notte
Anche lontano ha chi non dorme
Per pensare a lui, e penserai a lei ancora
Rimani e pensa a questa notte
A quelle cose dette e fatte
A tutto il tempo ancora
Senza rimpianti
Che avrai davanti insieme a lei

Tanti auguri a me

La Domenica, la festa italiana è stata benissima. I was worried about making the gnocchi from scratch but luckily the US Russet patate held their shape so they were molto delizioso with the Sicilian capers, pomodori and porcini funghi. Everyone brought their italian specialty, including C who attempted a bravissimo 10-hour effort with le sfogiatelle! Come difficile!

The table was full of food as usual and conversation flowed freely with the tavolo vino and limoncello soda di Amalfi. Hmmm, I missed the heavenly taste of italian prosciutto and coppa! So succulent and fatty. Midway thro' dinner, we danced to Diana Ross' 'I'm Coming Out' - my anthem of 2006 and C's dad started to twirl me around.

When the cioccolata torta came out with the lit candles, I played conductor and orchestrated everyone to sing the b-day song in italian - 'Tanti auguri a te...!' They were such a sport! I closed my eyes and prayed that my wish would come true. Per favore. Turning 31 was a huge feather in my cap as it marked yet another exciting stage of greater self discovery. Let's go!

Piccola fiore asiana

What a difference a day made! From the lowest pits of mood, my high soared when I received a huge bunch of 16 big red roses with the prettiest jasmine on Saturday. As it turned out, caro A remembered my b-day and ordered it from Italia along with a sweet message - "To: My litle asian flower..." Awwww. (Don't gag on me now!) I know it's such a cliche but flowers really do it for me.

That lifted my spirits and inspired me to cook up una grandissima cena, while stifling girlish bashful giggles every now and then. My parents gave me the puzzled look and probably suspect they might lose a daughter to this mysterious man in Italia. Well at least now that I had taught them how to say 'Buon giorno!', it'd come in useful when they visit the country!

Dinner at Adriano's went without a hitch and everyone loved the 'Toni-Piero-Pirlo' antipasti of proscuitto con arugula, involtini di melazane, pepperino con pesto e feta, and melone con feta, olio e basil. The Barbera d'Asti vino rosso (Coppo Canelli estate), a b-day gift from Elena in Milano, was exquisite (grazie bella!) with the Molto 'Grosso' squid ink pasta with crabmeat, Sicilian capers and sun-dried tomatoes. It was amazing how they could find room for the 'Cannavaro' pollo - baked chicken thighs stuffed with chopped olives, bacon, rosemary and basil, served with its decadent dripping and meaty Portobello mushrooms.

Garibaldi was on a vegetarian diet and could only watched us stuffed ourselves with the meat. Then we sipped the plum-ish 25year-old Tokay dessert wine from Australia and mustered the will to finish the 'Buffon Finale' of fresh pears and peaches poached in red wine scented with vanilla bean and cinnamon. I also brought along the precious torta of panforte that M bought for me from Siena and treated my dear amici to la dolce vita dell'Italia.

When the clock struck 12am, I found an sms from A before I could even call him to thank him for the wonderful gift. I was so nervous dialling his number, a lump in my throat and knots in my tummy, wondering if we'd understand each other cos he no speaker inglese at all. It turned out bene as he commented me on my vastly improved italian and we laughed during the 'non capito' moments! Grazie mille di nuovo.

Buon compleanno cara me

Si, questa la domenica e' mio compleanno... ogni anno, mi sento molto triste e patetica sempre prima il giorno. Non io so perche, forse voglio essere giovane per sempre. For my avid blog audience (I didn't realise you guys are still following my journal), I declared: si, it's the shitty part of the year which I dread most - the 'B' word - where I up my age by 1 and embrace a year past 30 - officially leaping into my 30s. Hooray. Blah. Pui.

As usual, the drama queen in me has been acting depressed with each day nearer to the B'day - fuelled by a triple wave of PMS. I let out a blood-curdling, toe-curling scream of frustration in the office but it only vibrated off the walls. The migraine was f%cking killing me too. It didn't help that on Wednesday I got a massive hangover from just 3 bloody screwdrivers at a client's soiree and was still paying the price for the free drinks. I guessed it's my 31-year old system protesting to the alcohol. "Basta, va bene?" Carl nagged.

Sono molto felice che mia Italia ha vinto la coppa mondo e lo festeggiare, sto facendo 2 'Viva Italia!' feste con i miei amici questo fine settimana. I shall prepare a 6-course italiana cena - each piatto named after an Italian player... starting with the 'Toni-Piero-Pirlo' trio of antipasti, edged by the molto 'Grosso' squid ink pasta, the 'Cannavaro' baked stuffed pollo and finalmente il dolce -'The Buffon' finale grande of mista frutta cooked in vino rosso. Molto delizioso si?

La Domenica, I'm putting my rustic gnocchi skills to test and hope they turn out buonissimo for my food critics amici. M and E just came back from a glorious 3-week vacanza in Italia and lagged back plenty of proscuitto and parmiggiano from Parma, panforte, tartufo and vino from Tuscano, and limoncello and melone from Almafi. Oooh, non posso aspettare!

Allora, on this lonesome Friday night sulking a mia casa, I shall share one of my early poems and dedicate it to all of you. Live the life you dare to dream, no matter the nags, fears and insecurities. Buona notte amore. Baci.

Lunatic Lunedi
Monday's woeful child
I smiled a poignant frown
Filled with impassioned fervour
Grasping the metier of ardour
Thwarted but not bent
I prayed for a gem from heaven sent
Your heart will never be empty
Blissful you
The soul's stirred
Love's renewed.

Carl - Feb' 2000

Sick-ney part II

Being too lazy to drive out to Hunter Valley and probably tired of being behind the wheel, we took the car on a half-full tank for a last spin around the city and drove to the viewing point near the Wharf before doing the compulsory circuit of the Sydney Opera House, bridge and harbour at dusk. F and i were here as backpacking unni students 10 years ago and nothing's really changed. I could still remember the awe at first sight of the Sydney iconic structure whereas now we're probably more jaded.

When the sun set, we strolled around the Rocks area and spent happy hour at one of the trendy waterfront bars, lapping up the A$3 potent screwdrivers and priceless view of the harbour against the lavender-pink sunset. With or without alcohol, we never failed to reduce into a bunch of silly 18 year-olds everytime we meet up (ok admittedly worse when there's cheap abundant booze!). B was a fabulous tour guide as we walked through the city's spanky district in search of dinner.

Admittedly I found Sydney more culturally integrated and welcoming from the friendly vibes and many enclaves from the bustling Korean, Spanish and Chinatown quarters. Dinner was an abundant affair of ginseng chicken soup, hot stone rice, fried vermicelli and eggy pancake in the comfort of this cosy family-ran Korean restaurant. The World Cup soccer fans were out in full force and I was just gaping at the 3 Brazilian hunks showing off their sizzling Capoeira stunts in their super tight yellow-green outfits around the street corner.


The next day, we woke up early and headed for the almost 2-hr 6km Coogee-Bondi Coastal Walk passing by many dream retirement villas at Gordons bay and Clovelly. The serene cliffside Waverley Cemetery overlooked the great blue ocean and apparently you could find the graves of many famous Australians here but we spotted the headstones of many young infants dating to the early 1900s. The hike was gently sloping and none too challenging but soon we found ourselves peeling off the layers under the sun's harsh glares at high noon.

The coastal views were as stunning as the cute surfers in their skin-tight wetsuits and we were wondering aloud how cold the waters were. Past noon, I found myself geared up with a good appetite at one of Bondi's many italiani ristoranti. The oysters and seafood pasta were alrite but none too impressive while I - being the craddle-snatcher - was making eyes at the boyish waiter. An hour later, we nearly choked on the awful dry chocolate cakes at a mall's cafe and comforted ourselves with bags of trendy purchases.

On another early morning, we headed to Sydney Fish Market which turned out to be a major disappointment. The oysters, salmon sashimi and cooked seafood were way below our expectations and I was left with a sour taste which luckily was salvaged by a post-lunch gelato and latte caffe at one of Newtown's many cafes. I liked the buzz here and the shops were great for retail therapy. When I bought a red polka-dot top, the Thai shopkeeper asked if I was Vietnamese or Thai, to which I said none of them but 'kor-poon-ka' anyway!

On our last night, just when I thought I'd never remember Sydney for a good meal, B brought us to this really fantastico and cosy ristorante 'Strangers with Candy' tucked away in a quiet neighbourhood (visit www.strangerswithcandy.com.au). The waitress kept saying 'si' as we placed our orders for the stunning starters of duck liver & brandy paté w red onion jam & ciabatta, and braised pork belly w a shao hsing, soy & ginger jus. The mains of barrunmundi, seafood spaghetti and duck confit were also faultless though we were trembling a tad from sitting in the small cold backyard. I couldn't remember the names of the desserts but all it mattered was they were darn divine!

Sick-ney

The drive from Port Campbell was delayed by a water crisis where the town's supply was interrupted and we all had to wash up from a mineral bottle (even poor A who had a shit before realising there's no acqua!) It wasn't much fun on a f%cking cold wintry morning lor! After wiping the layer of ice off our Mitsubishi Outlander, we cut thro' miles of miserable fog and finally got a slice of sunshine at Campertown, a quaint town marked by a memerising row of tall blooming trees.

The rugged scenery was lovely and we took turns at the wheel so our eyes were not just focused on the speed cameras and animal warnings. I must say Aussie drivers are such a nice law-abiding bunch. Halfway thro, I got stopped by a lady cop who pointed out that I had exceeded the speed limit of 50km/h (I sheepishly admitted that I was going at 110km/h) and put me thro' my first breath-analyser test! Yay! I passed it of course since it was only 11am (darn, is this country full of alcoholics?). A pity the gang didn't take a photo of the hilarious scene when I was blowing into the kit!

Since it was the Queen's birthday holiday weekend, most B&Bs in the Wangaratta wine region were full and we had to contend with a stay in Albury town. At least it was close enough to Rutherglen and the receptionists pointed us to the All Saints estate, 45mins' drive away. As it was already pitch dark at 5pm and the signs unclear, we got lost and only reached the vineyard 1 and 1/2 hours later hungry, thirsty and frustrated.

Fortunately our table was reserved by the bubbly waitress who piled it with French-style country fare such as a superb goat's curd souffle with rocket-pear salad and huge portions of steak with perfectly roasted rosemary potatoes - along with a bottle of St Leonard's gold medal Merlot at only A$30 (molto economico!). As Rutherglen was known for their dolce dessert-style vino, we gladly coughed up A$55 for each half bottle of 25 year-old Grand Tokay and Muscat - both liquid gold sliding down our throats. Too bad we didn't have time to explore the cellar doors at the other estates, otherwise we'd lag back more than 4 bottles!

The next morning, we left Albury early on a 6-hour drive to Sydney and found Brian MIA in his Hyde Park apartment. We drove around till I spotted him blinding in his bermudas on the cold wintry streets. In my excitement, I screamed his name which echoed in the streets and caused everyone to turn and stare at the crazed bitch. Welcome to Sydney!

B's small apartment was more than made up by its central location and killer view overlooking the park and harbour. Ever the culinary host, he pampered us with a soul-satisfying homecooked dinner and lots of good laughs. We worked off the calories with a brisk 15mins walk to King's Cross for some live cabaret action at Bar Me, a cosy underground joint packed to the last chair (A$20 for cover). Then followed by a round of yummy Pink Lychee Caiprinha at Libertine, an achingly hip Vietnamese restaurant-bar. King's Cross still had the same pulsating energy as I recalled 10 years ago - just trendier and less seedy now. We trotted to have the glorious beef pies with mash pea and hot dripping gravy at Harry's Cafe de Wheels (A$4.95). This punk jumped queue and I put him in his place! V@ff@nculo!