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Summer Palace

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Wow. Our days are full of strange sights and long hours. In the bus every morning at 7:00, and never home before 5:00. The summer palace was built by Rama V to commemorate the village where he met his wife. How romantic is that! Lo hiding between the antlers The gardens are gorgeous, with topiary herds of elephants, deer and rabbits. Sounds of peacocks echo through the gardens but they remained frustratingly elusive. Their cries were augmented by the screech of other unseen birds in faraway branches. But we did see an amazing variety of bougainvillea in all colours. Hans standing by the elephant's trunk. From the walls in the Reception Hall, yellowing faded faces of Ramas I to IX gazed out from acestral photos. Each Rama is believed to be an incarnation of Vishnu. Other rooms held lacquered furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl and stunning teak carvings. As with all Buddhist buildings, we have to remove our shoes and in some cases, we were asked the night before to dress respectfu
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The trouble with winter is…

The trouble with winters here is that they can be incredibly brutal. This is especially true when your driveway is 400' long, oriented east-west, and invitingly open to the howling north wind. Last night the afore-mentioned wind was an unwelcome escort on my drive home late in the evening. All the way home I contemplated whether or not I should risk driving my car down the driveway and into the garage, where it might get trapped overnight. I decided not to risk it. From the head of the driveway I phoned Hans to say I was leaving the car on the road, loaded up my stuff, wound my scarf around my head to ward off the wind, and opened the door. Like a spinnaker, it caught the wind and creaked alarmingly before I wrestled it closed again. I proceeded more cautiously. The driveway was already starting to bulk up with mogul-like drifts and Hans had opened the gate for me – a precaution when drifts in the drive are a possibility. After a soak in the hot tub to fight the chill,
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"The Party"

If you've seen the movie "The Party" with Peter Sellers, you'll be able to visualize the scene at dinner this evening. We had Rock Cornish Game Hens. Just as I was critizing someone else for their bad table manners, my cornish hen flew off my plate and skittered across the table. Bits of chicken went flying in all directions. "You have a piece of chicken hanging from your eyebrow", said Teddy, nodding at Hans. "He's just keeping an eye on it", said Vern.
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