Eurovision Song Contest

I know this contest is known throughout the world but one has to be European, I believe, to be so dedicated to watch it from the beginning to the repetitious  points scoring finale. I never was a great lover of the event but this year my European soul woke up. Mind you, I was influenced by my Aussie friend who after visiting Poland was in a hurry to join a party in Slovenia to watch and celebrate the European Song Contest. Since I have not seen the contest for some years now, I thought it may be fun to see it this time. So I watched for many hours till the bitter end. I was not glued to the TV set, I watched it while reading my emails.

 Not much has changed since the times I attended my first and only ESC party. It was in 1965. I still remember the winner song sung by France Gall from Luxemburg. The song was popular for some time after the contest.

The next memorable song was the 1974 winner - Abba’s Waterloo. This, actually, was a good song,  a rare occurrence. I was particularly keen on the song as the Swedish chapter on my life was than in progress.  I still love Abba.

 Then I left for Australia and was too busy and not really interested to follow the contest for many years. Until yesterday.

There was Polish contestant  this year and listening to the commentary I expected a reasonably good song. And then it came. I was really embarrassed, not so much by the musical value of the song, the ESC songs are rarely brilliant , but by the sexy content of the performance. The song title is “We are Slavic”. Jumping up and down a mediocre soloist  had an entourage including two “working women”. One was washing cloth using a washboard and the other was churning butter. I  suppose the idea was to show typical jobs of Slavic women. The breasts of both of the girls were impressive and on display. Their well manicured nails seemed to be  showing that Slavic women never forget to take care of their looks no matter what’s the occupation. I was wondering what Slavic talents were so cleverly presented to the whole Europe and beyond. Then, maybe my sense of humour  was not working too well. Make your own judgement.

The Austrian winner of the contest a drag persona Conchita Wurst was also controversial, in my opinion. The song and the performer were telling us that they dream of a society where sexuality does not matter. I agree with the message however finesse and subtlety was not a strong point of this performance either. Conchita/Tom has a strong voice though.

                            

I seem to be a bit too critical even if I enjoyed the show. My favourite was the song from The Nederland’s. 

HSC Exams in Poland

Today it is the 4^th of May and the first day of Polish HSC exams. It is the wrong time of the year my Australian soul cries. But putting my Polish hat on, switching on Polish TV station and looking through the window at the chestnuts trees in bloom my Australian persona has disappeared and Polish one took over. It actually is the right time for HSC in Poland.

                                      

My favourite TV news program, TVN24, starts each week day with a program “You get up, we inform”. I am not happy with my translation of “Wstajesz i wiesz”, so if I have any Polish readers please send me better options and I’ll correct the post.

Today was my first opportunity to watch the program after a break of some months. And I was lucky, my favourite journalist Jarek Kuzniar was leading the program today. I like the guy, he has great sense of humour, and he is able to talk about serious things in a light way without taking anything away from the merit of the subject. Even if he expresses his personal views at times, he does it a balanced way. He seems credible to me and I value that.

The first thing I heard this morning from him was that the HSC exams have started with a Polish language test as the first exam. The test took 170 minutes and I hope it went well for most of the students. HSC is called in Poland - Certificate of Maturity. Nice name and I wish it was that indeed.

Now, what chestnuts have to do with it? Polish peculiarity. The time of the year when the exams take place coincides with chestnuts being in bloom. Everybody knows that if the chestnut trees are blooming HSC is around the corner.

Isn't it a beautiful tree!

For some it is time to start to be nervous. That includes students and their families. Some time ago I was a part of the family who was going through the maturity exams. Boy, even I was nervous like a kitten. Part of the fun, I expect.

I wish all polish abiturients to keep their cool in the coming weeks and achieving great results allowing choosing future of their own calling.

Back in Gdansk

May seems to be the time for me to go to Poland. I have been doing that for quite some time and here I am – in Gdansk again. I came only yesterday and I have a jet-lag. Not the best time to write perhaps but I set myself a target of one post per week and I missed it the last week already. 

Some time ago I really hated the over 24 hours trips and traveled very infrequently to avoid the long flights and related expenses. I still dislike the trips but am more philosophical  and patient about the exercise. And I came to like Gdansk and consider it my second home. This morning I went for a walk to check how is the town after some months not being here.

 It is the 1^st of May and a public holiday in Poland. I walked empty streets in a sunny weather but it was fresh coolness is in the air. I suddenly remembered the smell and temperature of spring from many years ago. So different to Australian and I have  forgotten it for many years. Today it was like a refresher course in understanding some things about Polish spring again. One of my very close friends said a few days ago some words describing me and she said in closure ... and you are European to boot... Maybe I am to some extent European  but I forgot the basics like how the spring air feels.

Walking in sun was pleasant and warm enough even if I did not wear a coat. This was actually a mistake as I am still nursing my Australian cold and the clouds soon appeared bringing the temperature down to about 10 degrees. My understanding of Polish weather is not up to scratch yet.

It is much greener this year than it was the last year at the same time of May. 

That is how the park looked the last year  at the beginning of May

And  this is today, the 1st of May. Climate change?

 It is  much greener this year than it was the last year at the same time of May. My favourite chestnut trees are fully in bloom now and the lilacs are about to explode with their fragrant flowers

In Sydney it is past 10 pm and I feel suddenly very sleepy...

End of an Era in Mosman

I live in a suburb which has its own “village”.  The central part of Mosman is referred to as Mosman Village. There are many things about Mosman one may like or dislike. It is not a suburb for everyone. For some  it may seem posh in a snobbish way and for others exclusive, charming and elegant. For me it is all of that and I like it. What one likes about village atmosphere is that it is small, familiar, centres around its “institutions” and has its markets. Mosman fulfills such requirements. Every first Saturday of each month Mosman Arts & Crafts Markets http://www.mosman.nsw.gov.au/mosman/culture/market  are held. This is fun and reminds me of the times when as a little girl I walked enchanted with my grandmother holding my hand  through the rural food market. This was magic and I hope that Mosman kids have similar feelings to mine and that memories will stay with them for a long time. 

I had two favourite places in Mosman Village to pay a visit to passing them at my errands. One of them already closed its doors and moved away from Mosman. The second one will stop its business the Thursday before Easter. I feel sad about it. Passing the old dojo of John Dolic at Spit Junction where John held his Tai Chi, Qigong, Kung Fu and many other Chinese practice classes where now Reece Plumbing rains I feel things are no more the same. When I came to live in Mosman, 10 years ago, John and his dojo were already a well established land mark of Mosman. John operates now from Carlton and one can meet him in cyber space to practice Qigong. For me it is not the same. I miss my visits at the dojo for friendly chats and healthy,  spiritual practices. 

                             

My second favourite place has been Bridgepoint Books that used to say: we  buy books, we  sell books, we read books, and we talk to people about books.

Very well managed place with books taken care of well, at times covered in plastic for protection . Some of the books were displayed on tables in front of the shop on the first floor of  the Bridge Point Shopping Center.  

                               

Going for shopping I had a choice to take a shorter route or pass the book shop. Most of the times I chose the longer way to see what titles were displayed this time. It was fun and I will miss my detours. The owner of the shop said: something new will come up. I am sure it will, but the Mosman shoppers, including myself, will miss the shop and its owner.

                         

I know that things change with time and that new things come into our lives but a little sadness of good things that have passed will linger.

All the best, guys from Bridgepoing Books and Chinese Martial Arts dojo, I miss your presence in my village.

Story of mussels

           

I have been inspired by the last week’s lunch at Epoque in Cammeray where I had a great pot of mussels mariniere.  That lunch brought memories of a funny situation I experienced long time ago when travelling through France.

I and my partner were travelling by car from Warsaw to Paris. It was a very long journey. Google tells me that now it is 1,596 km. It was a tiring trip but I am glad that we made it as it was educational and fun.

It was my first trip to France and through France. I have been brought up on French literature and films. I admired the country and thought that anything French is the best. I must say that  in Poland I was not unique in my Francophile attitude. Poles, for ages, loved France and anything French, even if the love was not reciprocated.

So here I was, travelling at night in France, with heart full of admiration and awe but it got late and I was hungry, sleepy, impatient and tired. I was not in the best of moods annoyingly pressing my companion to stop as soon as possible. He wanted to find a really nice place to show this Polish girl, who did not know the big world yet, the best West had to offer. Eventually we left a motorway in search of any place to eat and sleep. 

We were lucky to find a smallish town and a charming hotel and a restaurant. Things started to look up. We rushed to the restaurant as soon as possible. It was a typical French place with red and white checked table cloths and not too bright lights.

So, we were eventually sitting at a table expecting a fantastic French meal. However, we had a small problem; none of us knew French at that time. Loving France as I did, I got a job to decipher the menu.  We both were to soon realise, that loving a country does not mean that it is always easy to communicate with the natives. Nobody wanted to help us to make a right choice.  I was completely lost looking at the menu and suddenly I saw the word POMME. That was promising. If something is served with apples it must be good, I thought. My French did not stretch to understanding “ de terre”. Pomme maybe be a sign of fine dining but potatoes - pomme de terre are quite pedestrian.  We were waiting with anticipation for the dish served with apples and after a while THIS appeared in front of us.... 

                               

This was not fine dining and my reputation was shattered.

Blood sausage, if prepared well, can be fantastic. I think that most likely this one was rather a nice country dish. Alas, we were not in the mood to enjoy it. It was too rude a surprise. My memory of how it tasted faded away. It was pushed into insignificance by what we saw next. On the tables around us big  bowls full of mussels started to appear.

                          



It was obviously a specialty of the restaurant. My partner may have not known enough about French but being Swedish knew all there is to know about mussels. I learnt that not only Belgium love their mussels but Swedish as well and French know how to cook them extremely well. The Swede was looking at the dining people with envy and chagrin, disappointment with his own meal showing clearly on his face. I felt that I failed him badly.


After some wine and good food, the atmosphere in the whole restaurant was significantly lifted. My companion started to communicate, in rather original way, with the French around to find out the name of this heavenly dish they were eating. He wanted to make sure he orders the right thing the next time. And it sounded like that...

People at the tables around us were now smiling, gesticulated energetically animated by wine and food. They were talking to us about things we could not understand, but it was friendly and fun. It reminded me of the Babette's Feast. 

It was an evening of learning. I learn the difference between pomme and pomme de terre and between blood sausage and mules mariniere.  And I learnt how to eat mussels "properly" using empty shells as tongs.  

My perfect day

Yesterday was a perfect day. It was a combination of catching up with a good friend, walks through beautiful parts of Sydney, seeing a great, thought provoking film, good food and overachievement of my physical exercise targets. I could not ask for more in one day.

The day started with a walk with my friend from Mosman to Balmoral. The views on the walk are breathtaking. We walked the route many times before but each time I see the bays view from the Mosman hills I stop in awe of beauty of the place, I stand silenced in admiration  and count my blessings that I live in such a beautiful place.

Balmoral is a beautiful part of Mosman famous for its beach, beautiful houses and fine dining. The Balmoral beach has views over Sydney Harbour National Park and the gateway to Sydney Harbour. It is a place that people like to come for a picnic or a swim. For me it is often a destination of my morning walks interrupted by a stop for breakfast in one of the local cafes. The cafes are always full at any day of the week but waiting for a table is pleasant watching the passersby and the water views. Yesterday we also had our traditional breakfast. Tea for my friend, flat white for me and two bircher mueslis with yoghurt and fruits. Yam!

We walked uphill back to the village part of Mosman to have yet another tea and a chat.

 
The next part of the program was a walk for lunch to Cammeray and its Epoque Belgian Beer Cafe famous for its beer. The walk was longer than I anticipated. I was tired, hot and impatient to get to the restaurant where we intended to have specialty of the house – mussels. We had a pot of mussels mariniere with a glass of sparkling rose so my spirits and enthusiasm for further walking was revived.

The film we chose was Wadja, a Saudi Arabian film directed by a Saudi Arabian woman Haifaa al-Mansour and filmed in the suburbs of the Saudi capital, Riyadh. I must confess that I am somewhat of a feminist even if not a militant one, I believe that we are all equal and I have a tendency to support women whenever I can. This film made me think that I want to do more for women than I have been doing so far. Maybe I will focus my coaching program on women? So, for me the film was inspirational and educating. I did not know much about Saudi Arabia except that it is a rich country. Maybe I knew a bit more than that but I did not have any idea of everyday life in the country. It is a subtle film, does not shout about difficult life the women is. It shows the problems of the country in such a way that I got really moved. The scene that particularly moved me was when the mother, defeated by the Islam rules allowing men to have more than one wife gains understanding for her daughter unconventional dreams. In that scene there is so much dignity, acceptance of hard reality, love and hope that things will change that it made lasting impression on me. 

It was time to walk home and check the parameters of physical exercise I had that day. This is impressive! We walked 13km, burnt 407 kcals and walked 23,549steps!.

My daily goal is 300 kcals and 10,000 steps. Nice overachievement and encouragement for the future.

My obsession with congee

I even do not remember when I first heard or read of congee. It must have been in relation to heath foods. From time to time I get on a health kick and search for foods good for me. I even strongly believe in food as medicine. Please do not take it against me. I can indulge in eating unhealthy food with the best of them. Not that I consider that to be my strength, perhaps the opposite, but to me it is important to enjoy food which is interesting, fresh, simple or, in contrast, refined tastes. I am very eclectic in my food preferences.

But I deviated from my today’s subject. Congee came to my awareness as a plane food but with some magic, healthy qualities. Now that I know much more about it I have realised  that congee’s health improving qualities are simply based on it being easy to digest. It does not cure that much as gives our system a break to recoup after an illness.

This is what Wikipedia sais about it:

Congee or conjee is a type of rice porridge or gruel popular in many Asian countries. When eaten as plain rice congee, it is most often served with side dishes. When additional ingredients, such as meat, fish, and flavorings, are added while preparing the congee, it is most often served as a meal on its own, especially when one is ill. Names for congee are as varied as the style of its preparation. Despite its many variations, it is definitionally a thick porridge of rice largely disintegrated after prolonged cooking in water.

                                   
                              

Maybe it does not look as something one would like to try but I am still interested in finding more and learning how to cook it.

I decided to try to cook congee one day and I found, to my surprise, many recipes on a Polish sites. They seemed sensible enough and I gave it a go. After 2 hours of cooking my congee the water disappeared and the rice started to stick to the bottom of the pot. It was not a success but it was edible. Overcooked rice on its own has a small appeal to me so I experimented with adding in turn goji berries, vegetables, honey and nuts. Honey version was the most pleasing.

From my Chinese friends who treat their food seriously, I got very clear and detail instructions how to cook this specialty. I bought the right rice, picked the time when I intended to be at home for a while as it takes around two hours to cook. In fact my first recipe told me that it takes 4 hours. I was very happy to shorten the time to just over one hour.

My second try was following the recipe given by my Chinese friends. This time I could not believe that I had rice – water proportions right so I changed them to have less water than it was advised. This was another mistake, I think, as I got again a very thick concoction. When I compare my product to pictures, I subsequently found  on Internet, I think that the next time I will follow the recipe to a letter.

Lately I read again about curing power of congee. Traditionally a congee is cooked as soon as a family member is developing a cold. Another use is for stomach upsets and for hangovers. Practical even if time consuming. The hangover cure must be a western use of the remedy, I do not believe Chinse drink that much.  There are stories that Chinese men are very popular with Russian women who chose Chinese man for husbands as they do not get drunk and they do not beat their women.

Buying my special congee rice in a Chinese supermarket in Chatswood, I asked a Asian looking women about how she cooks her congee. Her answer was – I do not cook it, when I want a congee, I go to a restaurant.

The other day I was in a Chinese restaurant and I thought that maybe it would a good time to taste a professional version. To my great disappointment, the owner  of a very good and authentic, Chinese restaurant did not know of such a dish. Did we have linguistic or pronunciation problems? Not sure. I feel like I am in a search of not yet found congee. My post also seems to remind of Proust writing in its verbosity. I wish, I wish...