In the kitchen with Primitive: pumpkin season.

This was my first year celebrating Halloween since 2005. A combination of living in tropical climates and in the Southern Hemisphere has meant that my Octobers have been spent in warm climes unsuited to spooky atmosphere. So I was happy this year to have the holiday just as we plunged into chilly weather; I was even happier when a small blue truck appeared at our local morning market, loaded with some incredibly beautiful pumpkins.

I picked up a few (along with a handsome squash) in unnatural shades of pale dusty orange and mossy blue-green-- they were so beautiful, that I felt some strong reservations about carving them. Gravity settled the decision for me when the squash toppled over and gashed the perfect incision to start carving an eye. I drew a face, cut the squash open from the bottom, and scooped out the seeds-- and was flashed back to my childhood with the sickly sweet smell of a pumpkin's insides hitting newspaper. I enjoyed the experience enough that I ended up carving a second pumpkin.

The pumpkins that were spared carving are being roasted in batches. I grew up thinking that the only way to eat pumpkin was to start by scooping it out of a squat orange can, but starting from is actually incredibly easy and much tastier. Just cut the pumpkin in half, roast it cut-side down, and then scoop out the flesh once it's gotten soft. We've frozen 1.5 cup portions in plastic bags, so we'll have a November full of orange baked goods spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg.

A single pumpkin will produce a surprising amount of flesh, but even if the charms of pumpkin pie and bread wear thin, there are load of other ways to use pumpkin. We made pumpkin sandwich cookies (nutmeg and cinnamon cookies with a filling of cream cheese, sugar and pumpkin), spiced pumpkin muffins, and an incredibly rich pumpkin ice cream. You can also use it in soup, curry, pastas...

And with all of those seeds you scoop out, you can sweet and spicy pumpkin seeds, which make a fantastic snack (especially with some nuts and chocolate chips), a tasty addition to muesli, and a fun topping to sprinkle on pumpkin muffins.

Though I must admit, just carving the thing might be the best way to celebrate the season. Happy Halloween.

Bangkok Halloween

After searching out a symbol for Halloween, I eventually chose the above McPumpkins. I had considered going with something macabre, or something eerie, or something vaguely tropical; in the end, I went with something simple and nostalgic. As a child, the approach of Halloween was always heralded by a number of commercial events: the setting up of the masks and candy aisle at Walgreens, the appearance of Creamland Goblin Nog (actually just Egg Nog with a retro Halloween packaging) in the dairy section of Furr's Supermarket, and the arrival of the McPumpkin pails at McDonalds. So this simple watercolor of McBoo, McPunkin and McGoblin is my tribute to my childhood fondness for the 31st.

We've also been trying to recreate Halloween in the kitchen. We've cooked pumpkin in likely every dish possible: we've had pumpkin stir-fry, pumpkin shakes, and pumpkin soup; and, with the aid of our new oven, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin muffins (above), and delicious pumpkin bread. Despite our efforts at recreating the feeling of the holiday, I couldn't combat the sunny skies and tropical heat of Bangkok. This was not the season. In the end, I had to simply accept that I wasn't really going to get an Autumn Halloween here.

But Bangkok actually held a few surprises for me. After shopping on Thong Lor, Bordeaux and I decided to find coffee. We stopped in at After You Dessert Cafe, located in J-Avenue on Soi 15. There, among the unusual selection of desserts, we spotted this Halloween cobweb cupcake. I had it with a cup of warm spiced apple cider, which complemented it perfectly.

Over the past week, the nights have been slowly growing, swallowing the afternoon light earlier and earlier every day. Then this morning, we woke to an overcast sky, with a cool wind curving through our balcony kitchen. A soft drizzle was falling by the time I arrived at school. Bangkok had given me autumn just in time for Halloween.

So tonight, Bordeaux and I will settle in under early nightfall, enjoy some pumpkin pizza, have a pumpkin chocolate chip cookie or two, and watch a pirated Alfred Hithcock DVD that we picked up at Pattpong. I hope your Halloween is filled with as many unexpected turns as mine.

In the shadow of Devil's Peak.

One of the things I loved most about living in Cape Town was how varied the landscape was. The city is stretched over an angular peninsular, broken apart and divided by hills and mountains, and pressed tightly against the sea. Within a relatively small area, the metropolitan landscape ranges from urban center to oceanside resort, from lush suburbs to tumbledown townships. The differences in terrain are only made more pronounced as the seasons change. In autumn, my neighborhood of Sea Point became gray and fairly dull, with listless colors dripping off moping shopfronts. Around Table Mountain at my university, it was rather more pleasant, with a misty blanket of fog that gathered above the treetops. Further around Devil's Peak however, autumn was displayed with incredible beauty and atmosphere; the suburban forest of orange and red leaves parting in spots to reveal the odd gable of a colonial manse, puffs of smoke curling from its chimney.

On a particularly beautiful day last autumn, Bordeaux and I followed the M-1 around the curve of Devil's Peak to Constantia. We drove in past thick white plaster gates, to Groot Constantia, an historic 17th Century wineyard and plantation home.

We wandered around the grounds, between empty wine cellars and small museum displays. We passed ducks playing in a fountain, workers tilling the earth, and locals at lunch among the winery's cafes. Toward the end of our visit, we strolled down between ruddy fields to the graveyard. The wrought-iron gate was hanging open, inviting us in. Before us, there were bone white tombstones standing askew on the leafy ground. Beyond the graveyard walls, dry tree branches bleed red leaves into the sky, and white fog grasped the fading afternoon light. It felt miles and centuries away from my Sea Point apartment.

Autumn Lay-over.

In Autumn of 2005, I spent 5 hours in Munich. I was passing through on a half-day layover between Los Angeles and Istanbul, and though I was unsure of whether or not I would have time to make into town and back, the helpful man at the airport's onward travel desk assured me I would. I took the train into the city, passing through a suburban forest of pale-yellow trees before arriving in town. I knew nothing of Munich, and had no guidebooks or maps, so I just wandered around the city center blindly. It was chilly out, but I enjoyed the day; I had just enough time to wander around the Marienplatz, buy a huge pretzel, and enjoy coffee at a stylish cafe before heading back to the airport.

Autumn in the African Alps.

In the year and a half we've been dating, Bordeaux and I have lived on three continents, and traveled in almost ten countries together. This is a pattern we set very early in our relationship. In April of 2006, after knowing each other for less than a month, Bordeaux and I took our first international vacation together. Our school's autumn holidays overlapped, so we decided to take a road trip. We left Cape Town, crossed the winelands into the Karoo, spent an unsettling night in the Free State, and finally entered the ZA-locked country of Lesotho. Known in travel guides alternately as the Mountain Kingdom or the Switzerland of Africa, Lesotho is a ruggedly inspiring country of staggering summits and vast desolate spaces.

After spending a night at Thabo-Bosiu, near the capital, we departed for the lodge at Semonkong village. We drove for hours along a winding, pot-holed road, passing neither towns nor other drivers as we made our way higher and higher among the barren peaks. We continually questioned whether or not we were lost, and we wondered what would happen to us were the car to break down. We finally reached a high mountain pass (elevation: 2,600 meters), where a tiny hand-painted sign announced that we were approaching the tiny town of Semonkong. Despite being so isolated, Semonkong is actually a tourist destination, offering pony trekking and a tall-but-unspectacular waterfall. The town itself is pleasant: quiet, with an abandoned airport, simple houses, and miles of surrounding farmland. The lodge at Semonkong is set at a nicely wooded curve in the river, tucked between craggy red cliffs and towering trees. The highlight of our visit for me was the early peek at the African autumn. Though summer was still lingering in Cape Town, the season had already changed in Lesotho. The trees around the river were clad in gold, and a soggy carpet of fallen leaves was already settling on the ground. Bright, sunny mornings turned gray with afternoon rains, eventually darkening into damp, chilling nights.

Despite being beautiful, the lifestyle at Semonkong was a little rough, and the comforts few. We spent our days hiking, alternately admiring the rolling hills as we slogged through muddy fields, and seeking shelter from the rain. We'd return to the lodge for lazy afternoons; we had packed a coffee plunger, so we enjoyed long-life milk lattes as we read in the camp kitchen. After dark, we ate in the lodge's bar, sipping near-tasteless Maluti beer alongside the simple vegetarian dinners, which were made with Soya mince. The nights were freezing, and we struggled to stay warm in our tent. Considering how little we knew each other, the trip could have been a disaster. Thankfully, it only made us want more.

An October love-note.

Last week I bought a set of watercolors at a small art store in Banglamphu. In college, I was always working on at least one art project, spending hours in the painting studio or the sculpture shop, or working on illustrations in the drawing room. I especially miss doing that around Autumn; I have great memories of taking a break from the studio, the smell of paint thinner clinging to my t-shirt, and crossing the lawn of dead leaves on the way to the campus cafe to get a coffee to refuel. While it would be impractical to work on any large scale oils during my time in Bangkok, water colors provide an art form more suitable for nomad living. I'd really like to do a watercolor for Halloween, to send out as cards to family and friends back home. I've never really worked with water colors though, so it's proving a bit of a challenge. My first effort, a deep green Thai pumpkin with pale yellow flesh, came out pretty muddy. By the time I'm able to paint something worth sending home, Halloween will likely have passed.

I can't imagine anything more likely to rekindle the feelings of Halloween than a little craft-time. My earliest memory of the season was of planning a Halloween party while in Kindergarten. My mother drove me out to a small stationary store on the other side of town, where I was to pick up supplies to make invitations. After a few diversions along the way, like admiring the changing leaves along the Rio Grande and stopping outside a farm to look at their Bison, we made it to the shop. In my memory it was a sweet little book and stationary store, but in reality it was probably in a strip mall. I selected several sheets of Mrs Grossman's stickers, featuring grinning jack-o-lanterns (like above) and tiny black bats.

While my taste might no longer run toward Mrs Grossman's, I still think sending some Halloween correspondence seems like a good way to inaugurate the season. I found the above card from EmptyGeorge at Etsy; I think it nicely combines some classic creepiness with a nice touch of style- and I like seeing something for Halloween that isn't just in orange. However, if you feel like making your own cards, it might be fun to get some colored paper and a few rubber stamps. The eerie stamp below comes from Alpha Stamps' website, which offers a number of Halloween designs, including a few inspired by Mexican artist Posada. If my watercolor skills don't improve soon, I may have to order one myself.

Autumn Destination: Istanbul

Since it was the pomegranate seeds that Persephone ate in the Underworld that doomed the ancient world to four months of cold, pomegranates have long been a symbol of the changing season. I photographed this pomegranate last November, at a fruit stand outside of Istanbul's Grand Bazaar. It was a cool morning and I was awake early; the only other people out were the merchants setting up their stands. I had come to Istanbul in early November almost as a whim, but I was amazed to see what a beautiful city it was in the autumn.

I know there are a number of classic autumn travel destinations, like Vermont, Japan, and the Napa Valley; but consider Istanbul as well. At this time of year, the air gets cooler, and the leaves on the trees of Sultanahmet turn gold, matching the gilt of the Topkapi palace. The pleasures of the city are as perfectly suited for autumn weather as the rich, dark coffee on offer in Istiklal Caddesi's cafes.

Istanbul is a magical combination of the exotic and the familiar, equal parts fairy tale charm and Oriental opulence. The city's landscape features astonishing mosques, a dazzling palace, and alluring bazaars selling lanterns and richly colored rugs. It is a city deeply connected to the waters of the Bosphorus: from the deck of a river ferry, the city looks as if it is all emerging from the icy water. When sunlight filters through the early morning fog, the domes and minarets of the city's mosques appear almost as silhouetted islands.

If the wind coming from the Bosphurus becomes too chilly, Istanbul's warm interiors will welcome you in. You could browse among glass lanterns and hookahs at the Grand Bazaar, page through a novel in one of Taksim's bookstore, or admire the lavish interiors of the harem at Topkapi Palace. Or, perhaps most fitting for a gray autumn morning, you could simply wait to be invited into a rug merchant's shop, where hopefully he'll off you a warm glass of apple tea.

Autumn in Cape Town.

It's October, the beginning of autumn. Normally, I eagerly watch for the signals of the season: the nights getting longer and a bit colder, the landscape's transition into earthy hues of brown and orange, and the florescent-lit aisles of supermarkets being filled with plastic masks and bags of candy. Except this year, I'm living in the tropics; it's still steamy hot outside, the palms and rubber trees a permanent lush green. Autumn is my favorite season, and so it's worth questioning why I chose to live somewhere where the seasons are Hot, Dry, and Monsoon. So while I have the air conditioning on and am still wearing shorts and flip-flops, I'm also feeling nostalgic for my last good autumn, which was spent in Cape Town.
Autumn in Cape Town was everything I wanted in the season. Grey clouds rolled over Table Mountain, bringing darker mornings and a cold drizzling rain. The Cape has many colonial buildings, whose bone white plaster and dusty red brick looked beautiful slick with rain. Walking through the city's 17th century gardens on the way to school, I would sip my morning latte as I crossed a carpet of damp fallen leaves. And at night, walking home through Sea Point, I would get the perfect chill under my sweater.
However, autumn in Cape Town didn't exactly work out perfectly either. Autumn for me is primarily a foreshadowing of Halloween; the darkness and decay adding a spookiness to the city in preparation for the 31st. And though the nights in the Cape felt crisp, and the last leaves were turning papery on clawing tree branches, Halloween was not approaching. Autumn in South Africa is in May and June, so I was months away from October 31st. I was left feeling the heavy mood of the season, without the release that Halloween brings. At the very least, however, it gave me a perfect autumn to look back on, as I attempt to replicate the season in my equatorial apartment. Over the next few weeks I'll post more entries on autumn, with more photographs of the Cape and elsewhere. And I'll share my efforts to, hopefully, create my own version of the season here in Bangkok.