May 2011

We went back to visit the surgeon because G's pain level had become rather worrisome. Fortunately he doesn't have a clot or deep vein thrombosis, but he did come away with some new painkillers. (Hello, Sister Morphine.) And I came away with several treats from the hospital snack shop. What with the crutches, the pillows, the xrays and G's backpack, I couldn't bring the camera with me, but later I snapped some photos of my finds on the tiny terrace off our room. For the most part, we've been flat on our backs (healing is a team sport), watching bad movies and the occasional itunes download (loving The Killing--is AMC the new HBO?!), and, yes, eating crackers in bed. Fortunately, they've been some quality Indonesian crackers, a national specialty that puts Ritz to shame.
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It’s hot and rainy here in Indonesia, and so far I haven’t managed to do more than catch up on sleep and wander around the hotel. Any hopes I had of going sight-seeing with G were dashed the moment I clapped eyes on his leg: scarily mottled and swollen, his toes like little sausages. Not to mention the 8” incision through which they inserted two titanium plates and seven screws. I’ll venture out into the city on my own eventually but for today, the 5th of May, I'm content to do a little armchair traveling to another part of the globe: Mexico. It’s Cinco de Mayo, not Mexican Independence Day as so many seem to believe (that’s September 6th), but a date observed in the United States as a celebration of Mexican heritage and pride, and in one part of Mexico as a commemoration of the army’s unlikely 1862 victory over French forces at the Battle of Puebla. If you lack the time or inclination to make something like my mother’s chile relleno casserole or my green chicken enchiladas, but still want to skew south of the border, maybe you’ll try one of these salsa recipes from Saveur magazine. (This month's issue is devoted to Mexican cuisine.) Salsa simply means “sauce,” and variations extend well past the fresh-tomato-onion-chile-cilantro pico de gallo we all know (and love) so well. They’re quick and easy to throw together, pack a huge punch of flavor and are endlessly versatile. Beyond scooping them up with tortilla chips, you can serve them with grilled chicken or fish, stir them into scrambled eggs, spoon them into quesadillas, or whip them into mayonnaise to slather on fresh seafood or a steak sandwich.
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After 18+ hours in the air—all of them spent comfortably reclined in my most excellent Singapore Airlines business class cubby—I am now ensconced in the business class lounge at the Singapore Airport, availing myself of the copious complimentary amenities. Chief among them is the extensive international breakfast buffet, a somewhat more subdued version of the lavish spread found in most Asian hotels. Lest they fail to please every last guest, these dining rooms offer an international round-up of every conceivable breakfast fodder—and I'm talking pancakes, waffles, gelato and brioche, omelettes and eggs every which way, crepes, full-on English fry-ups with kippers and sausage and tomatoes, croissants and muffins of every stripe, groaning platters of tropical fruit, miso soup, Vietnamese pho, Chinese dim sum and congee, Indonesian fried rice, hoppers, porridge, muesli, and that's not all. When I stayed at the Conrad Hotel in Bangkok with my friend Lisa, we tried desperately to monitor our intake every morning but inevitably trudged out for a day of sightseeing, shopping and more eating with already pronounced potbellies. To wit, I landed here at 5am, it's now 7, and I've already been to the buffet twice.
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This is going to be the view from my window in a couple of days. More vacation? you say. But you just got back from Antigua! I admit, it does look an awful lot like a holiday but, in fact, it's more of a rescue mission. G got into a motorcycle accident while on a job in Indonesia and shattered the bones in his left shin. He's currently recuperating from surgery in a hospital in Yogyakarta and I'm hopping a Singapore Airlines flight to be by his side. By the time I get there (having flown nearly 24 hours on three planes), he will have checked into the lovely hotel you see above. He needs to recuperate for a couple of weeks before he can fly (danger of deep vein thrombosis), so I'll be posting from there for a while. It's called making lemonade.
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