Gong Xi Fa Cai! (Mandarin) Happy New Year

                                                                       

I have now been in Singapore for approximately 11 weeks. I have to deduct four weeks on account that we were in America for several weeks over the Christmas holidays. It was wonderful to be back with friends and family, but re-entry to my adopted country was challenging.

When we boarded the plane for home, I thought we would have a relatively comfortable flight with plenty of vacant seats. After all, it was mid-January and the holidays were well over. Wrong! The plane was packed. The reason, explained the flight attendant was Lunar New Year. People were flocking to Asia to celebrate and connect with family. To run with the wild horses who will guide this year. At that moment, I felt so myopic and insular. Lunar New Year? Equal or bigger than Christmas? In Asia, yes; in San Diego, a dragon dance at one of the Chinese restaurants with perhaps an orange slice at the end of the meal. 

The preparations including pre-celebrations were in full force. The markets were decked with beautiful plants and flowers (real and artificial) and potted ornamental orange trees.  Holiday foods - often symbolic were in abundance - pineapple tarts, pork jerky, mandarin oranges, cans of abalone (Mexican and Australian), chartreuse pomelos with CNY decals embossed on them. Restaurants advertised elegant multi-course "reunion" dinners featuring exotic delicacies - Shark fin soup (PETA is not welcome here during Chinese New Year), Yu Sheng (a distinctly Singaporean salad-like dish consisting of many items including raw salmon which are ceremoniously and dramatically tossed up in the air with extra long chopsticks), Buddha Jumps Over the Wall and so on. Chinese New Year dishes often feature long simmered stews of various exotic seafoods mixed with pork parts as well as well as dishes comprised of speciatly meats like deer (I know that "venison" is the preferred term, but here it is called "deer"). Sea cucumber figures prominently.  It turns out the delicacies' name or physical characteristic has more to do with why it graces the reunion table. If it sounds like a word for wealth, health, or looks like something auspicious, then chances are, it will wind up on your plate. 

Chinatown was transformed by the students from the Singapore University of Tech and Design with the main boulevard being overrun by 88 larger than life sized lanterns in the shape of horses thundering toward a healthy and abundant new year. Across them, hundreds of lanterns fashioned into gold coins challenge the horses to gallop into them assuring prosperity. The side streets and alleys are laced with beautiful red and gold lanterns and for several days leading up to the official start of Chinese New Year, a bazaar fills one of the streets. Visually, it is awesome! The bazaar consists of stalls lining the streets, sitting just in front of the permanent stores - thus creating chaos, but never the less, double shopping. Stalls carry everything one can purchase at a county fair in the states as well as more CNY decor than one can shake a stick at. The streets are packed. 

Just as one is lulled into ambiance of China, one is suddenly confronted by the edifice of the oldest Hindu temple in Singapore, Sri Mariamman Temple. It's like watching a collision of two very different cultures that somehow gracefully melt into one another, yet remain distinctly autonomous. It is one example, in my mind of what Singapore does best. Cultural tolerance. 

Chinatown is the place to be for the 15 day celebration including fireworks, parades, lion and dragon dances, cultural and pop performances, wishing trees except on New Year's day and the day after, when all activity ceases and everyone is home. On thos days, one can hear a pin drop and maybe catch a glimpse of tumbleweed ambling down the deserted streets. In point of fact, all of Singapore grinds to a halt to some degree until the first week of February.

Nick and I decided to throw ourselves into the celebration full force. We braved the traffic and crowds and lunged into Chinatown the day before New Year's Eve. We flowed like molasses through the bazaar allowing the human current to push us along. When we were confronted by the Dravidian-style Hindu temple, we peeked inside the open structure and took in the scene of followers draping deities with flower leis and praying. A young girl, in full traditional dress approached me as she left the temple with her mom,  and invited me to go inside. She was so soft and gentle and encouraging and said I need only take off my shoes and leave them on the waiting shoe rack. Her mother told me that God wished me good health and so, I felt like I had to go in. Nick followed along. As I was looking at the various shrines and probably just as I was looking at a particularly fiery deity who had flashing red and green lights to illustrate that he meant business,  I had a sudden GI attack and had to find a loo FAST! I told Nick and my exploration of the shrines became dual purposed as I tried to also to see if maybe one of them was shielding a bathroom - After all, there were basins for washing ones feet and hands. No such luck. We would have to brave the molasses river and locate a loo in a restaurant in the side street. As we made our way down the packed street and the very end of the street, I noticed a sign for "Jess's Pub". A pub! Karoake! It had to have a loo! We were going in there.

We maneuvered through the bazaar stalls onto the sidewalk behind the stalls and entered the bar. What greeted us was a very darkened venue with about 7 women including a female bartender. There were no men to be seen except for one operating the sound system.  At first, the women looked a little surprised to see us, but straightaway, a young woman approached and I blurted out my immediate need.
"Do you have a restroom?"
She cocked her head to one side indicating that the loo was to the left,  but added
"It's occupied"
"What?" (whimper)
"Drinks?" Sure, I would order anything just to use the loo.
"I'll have a gin and tonic" Nick said he would have a coke.
"A coke?" she asked bemused and then she looked confused, "gin and tonic"? Her uncertainty about the gin and tonic was conveyed to the bar tender who after a moment's hesitation, gathered her courage to mix the drink. I looked around - the women were young, pretty, not overly made up. There was a woman wearing a safari short outfit. She was sitting at the table next to us - in the shadows. She reminded me of Lana Lee, a character from "A Confederacy of Dunces". She surveyed us with disinterest and then returned to texting.   A couple of women were playing pool.
"Is this a women's bar?" I asked.
"I dunno know... it could be OR ..." Nick replied.
The bathroom was free! Whilst in there, I heard a very poor rendition of a '60's rock song being belted out by a guy. When I emerged from the loo,  a middle aged man, with a bad pompadour was singing a way. The woman who had greeted us, asked if I wanted to sing. I sang "Crazy" by Patsy Cline. Mainly because anyway you sliced it, this was a  crazy situation. Nick refused to sing. I think he just wanted to get out of there.  As two of the women sashayed in unison and wrapped themselves, Damon Runyon style, around an older Western guy with an unfortunate toupee, we slipped out with cheerful, genuine goodbyes following us. So, this was my farewell to the past year.  The girls seemed nice enough.

I experienced my first two female cab drivers. The first driver was a middle-aged, divorced mother of three with an edgy hair cut. She told me she was one of 1000 female cabbies out of 74,000+  in Singapore. She told me that Singapore is safe, but not so safe that she would ever drive a cab at night. Then she told me some gruesome stories about night time drivers.  She said she would never marry a Singaporean man again - too soft and entitled. She said that since every Singaporean is guarenteed a job, the men lack the grit and drive that "real" men have and all men need.  I told her that I was trying to meet people. 

"Bake a cake and take it to your neighbors".

"Bake?" 

"Look, I've seen a lot of Western films and when someone is new to the house or neighborhood, they always bake something. Bake something".

Times are a Changing

 Times are a Changing....

The concept of a white Christmas is alive and well here! Even though its 85 degrees, it's been looking a lot like Christmas since November 1. Unlike the U.S. there is no Halloween or Thanksgiving to concentrate on before the decorations and carols and giant Santas with life size horses and reindeer are rolled out... Some places even offer "snow" and along the beach front, there are frosty dunk tanks to get us all in the mood. The malls and retailers sport the most spectacular decorations such as the ginormous Tiffany tree of blue and silver gracing the lobby of Takashimaya Mall. The store clerks are decked out in elf ears and Rudolph noses and tights. Loads of Christmas hampers and mince pies are on offer and it all seems a little incongruent.

The past several weeks have been a mix. I suppose it is normal to hit a wall and just simply pose the question - What am I doing here? Thus the lack of posts... Yet, Singapore has not stopped and continues to move forward in a variety of ways drawing from its past while hurtling forward at break-neck speed and confronting its future.  Some may say that it is a victim of its own success. Whereas I am not wholly convinced that Singapore is a "victim", it is clear that it has some some serious issues at the forefront that must be dealt with now rather than later. For example the traditional family structure where by the aging parents are cared for by their children is changing - Everyone has to work. Even moms who would prefer to stay home, have to work. Thus the elderly parents are caring for the grand children and also working. The elderly without children have a very hard time of it. No pension or social security. They are often found selling "mantou" or kleenex packets in the hawker centers since food stalls generally don't provide napkins.

The youth is leading the charge for change and social media is their weapon. Just recently, Anonymous declared "war" on Singapore and threatened to shut down the government and reportedly proceeded to hack into the president and prime minister's personal email accounts.

As I sat late one night pondering, a news flash crossed my screen "Breaking news. Rioting in Little India. Over 200 involved". As the number of participants was revised upwards from 200 to 400, the murky details of the event emerged - a Bangladeshi guest worker was run over by a bus and killed. Angered citizens, some possibly under the influence of alcohol,  revolted at the news. It seems that the uprising stemmed from the frustration of the poor treatment of guest workers including what is now substandard pay (It is difficult to stretch s$800.00 or $640.00 a month between support of oneself in Singapore and supporting a family back home). As people flooded the streets in anger and set an ambulance ablaze, the rest of us could only utter "but wait, this is Singapore. Singapore where one can be fined for littering. Singapore where one can be caned for vandalism. Singapore where gum chewing is questionable. How is this happening? And sure enough, true to this country's reputation, the riot was neutralized in short order. The Gurhkas were called out. No mention of the victim's name. No mention of his family. Nothing.

 For several days, I could see and hear choppers flying in formation - ever ready.  Keeping us safe from drunken guest workers. The military was activated and not for a parade, UN event or official state visit. They must wait years for something like this. An opportunity to test the military mettle. Justification for national service.

 Over the next few days more details emerged as well as the arrest and subsequent deportation of 53 migrant workers. Commitments were made to further explore the conditions of the guest worker, restrictions on selling alcohol were placed on Little India and jokes were made by cabbies about buses being careful not to run over guest workers in the future.

Week 4 - I'm still here

Week 4 - I'm still here.

The days go on and I am still here.  I am fully aware that this is not a vacation; this is my life.

There are so many food markets here in Singapore, that I have set about experiencing as many as I can. Every neighborhood has at least one covered market and usually there is a hawker center or food court connected to it. In addition, there are loads of brand-name supermarkets. The traditional supermarkets are generally more expensive than the neighborhood markets.  It's not unusual to visit several venues for groceries - produce and meat if one can stand the wet market at a covered market, packaged goods, meat and dairy products at a supermarket and then specialty stores - a butcher, baker, organic, etc. Because our kitchen is so small, not unlike the kitchens one finds in a European city, I have to grocery shop several times a week if not every day. Some say that the kitchen area is the domain of the "helper" or maid and thus it's size and or the lack of hot running water should not be the concern of the helper's employer. But, if you are the helper, these issues become vexing. 

Last week, I ventured out to Tekka Market in Little India. Once at the MRT (underground) stop for Little India, one sees billboards of glamorous Indian people (men, women, children) advertising the ornate jewelry that can be purchased just outside. Those billboards are indicators that one has crossed over into another land. One emerges from the underground into a community that is a country within a country. The streets have ornately crafted arches and temples with Ganeesh, Vishnu, Mariamman. They are brightly colored. Forgotten banners wishing a "Happy Deepvali" have not been removed, but they seem to fade into the carvings of the permanent arches anyway. The streets are filled with women wearing chuirdaar (long sleeve tunic and pajama pants), kameez (short sleeve tunic and pants), saris as well as contemporary dress. There are small shops similar to newsstands selling all sorts of goods and there are jewelry stores displaying the deliciously elaborate deep golden jewelry intricately set with rubies, emeralds and saphires. Necklaces, earrings and bracelets that are almost too much for Westerners to consider wearing. Almost. Most of these objects are truly beautiful art pieces. Surprisingly, no security guards. There is a hum and bustle here.  Rounding the corner, one comes to a large pavilion with an open mall. The ground floor is occupied by a large hawker center, market and wet market. The second floor houses numerous sari and fabric outlets, shoe stalls, Christian book stall, tailoring shops and all sorts of dry goods. This is Tekka Market. The food court stalls prepare all sorts of foods from all parts of India, Afghanistan, Burma, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore.  At various places in the court there are sinks with running water so that one may wash before and after eating. Many people eat with their hands. 

I chose North Indian because I was intrigued by the made to order naan that was being cooked in an upright stone oven. I was also encouraged by the line of people waiting to order.  I ordered, was flattered by the man making the naan, quizzed by both he and his wife or sister about whether I was married; Children? What gender and ages. I took my food and shared a table with two Singaporean men of Indian descent who told me about their work and their perspective of Singapore. As is an oft repeated theme, the average Singaporean has to work very hard to make a living.

Following lunch, I proceeded to do my shopping. There are numerous vendors and stalls. Tekka is an especially large market. Each stall has its specialty - fruit, vegetables, grains, tofu, Western vegetables, spices, eggs. I was persuaded to buy Indian mangoes (at a good price with an extra thrown in) over the standard mangoes and stunningly tasty mangosteens from one purveyor. I bought some Western vegetables from someone else and then tried to brave the wet market. Mentally prepared for the stench of fresh but dead flesh, I marched through the aisles. Loads of fish sitting on beds of ice, rows upon rows of halal goat and lamb. Chicken and other fowl hang in their section of the wet market. Sausages. Still too much. I'm not there yet, but I'll get there.

As for Thanksgiving, Harry and I were invited to join a dinner group assembled by one of Nick's colleagues. In addition to our host and his wife, there were four other couples for a total of ten people. We did not go to the Marriott, but to another hotel - The Fullerton. The Fullerton is an historical building which served as a temporary hospital at the end WWII as well as Singapore's general post office until re-purposed as a hotel. Thanksgiving took on a new meaning for us - Harry was thankful that he could eat all of the turkey and beef that he could handle. He was also thankful that he could engage in sports talk with our host who not only played and coached serious rugby, but also does some work with U.S. Olympic athletes. Harry felt that we had scored socially! For me, I was thankful for sharing the holiday with a group of interesting people but also all for all of the strangers, mostly American, at the hotel restaurant. There was comfort in hearing snippets of anonymous conversations that were distinctly and culturally American. 

Yesterday, I was taking a cab home from yet another foray for groceries. No Thanksgiving leftovers, I'm afraid. Cabbies are referred to as "uncles". My driver was a cheerful man and we engaged in a conversation which started with his telling me that Singapore has no natural resources (true) and therefore must import all of her food from elsewhere. He went on to describe a rice shortage that occurred several years ago in which Singaporeans needed to line up for rice. He added that other countries are short on food and then he discussed genetically engineered produce and it's evils. This of course, digressed into the way cows are grown in the U.S. This topic led to the next which was the airspace fracas between Japan and China and how in someway this indicated that resources are fast becoming scarce, causing aggressive behavior amongst nations. At this point, as I was contemplating whether I should cook or throw out the beef I'd just bought,  I asked him "What's the answer?" He looked at me slyly through the rear-view mirror. Triumphantly, he announced "A war! We need a war"
me: "Really? A war? Didn't we just get out of a war with Iraq and Afghanistan? Aren't we trying to start over with Iran? A war? I don't know if we're up to it..."
There was some talk about guinea pigs in cages multiplying and eating one another. And then, there was the reality, that a wrong turn had been taken. 
Uncle: "I don't care. This is a very good conversation"
me: "Wouldn't a war in today's world cause a lot of collateral damage? That's a lot of death and destruction. There is sure to be nuclear or bio weaponry used..."
Uncle: " Yeah, sure. Maybe 50% dead. Then we start over..."
me: "Well, who decides who that 50% is? Are you volunteering?"
Uncle: "I dunno...Whoever can make it, makes it...The main thing is....is...to love your husband and your children. Love your family.  Thank you for the conversation! Enjoy Singapore"

Even a cab ride can be an adventure.

The Adventure Begins

The Adventure Begins

How I got here, I will never really know. What I know for sure is that without the help my friends and my family, I'd still be back in San Diego trying to catch a plane that had left long ago...

My first 5 days...

 

We are all doing O.K. Nick is perhaps happiest at the moment. He is enjoying work and his new role and at this point, he seems to have a synergy going with the academic administration. Additionally, he seems to like his new colleagues and they seem to like him. His scientific work is going well and so in general, all is well.

Harry, I feel is going through the hormonal ups and downs of being a teenager. He likes school and seems to have friends, but he spends as much time as he possibly can in his room. He emerges from his cave to grab some food and then slithers back in there. Do you remember "Thing" from the Addams Family? I can only envision Thing-Harry grabbing the toast that I've left for him on the dining room table and ferrying it into his lair. He assures me that he is not depressed or unhappy, but he is clear that he wants to return to Parker for his junior year. I suspect that we may have a different conversation at the end of the year.

He does not like our apartment which is relatively small and sterile. Classic faculty housing. Because we are on the campus, we are not in the most exciting part of Singapore. It's pretty - lots of green and we have a view of the China Sea although Singapore has a big refinery industry so can see the refineries across the shore. Never the less, there are boats and water and it is a much preferred view than staring into a  high rise.

I think I could get used to the apartment if I could make it more of a home. At the moment it is so sterile as to be depressing. I'm not sure if it would be more appealing if it were painted (select walls) something other than stark white. Also, it needs some art work and I'm not sure what that is going to be yet. It think since it is a modern (circa '70s) apartment it needs to be abstract and modern and colorful. I think some spiffing will make a big difference. Perhaps even some plants. I have to remind myself that I've only been here a very short time - less than a week and that patience is a virtue. A virtue that has often eluded me.

As we settle in, we will explore other neighborhoods and see if it is worth it to try and move to something a bit bigger. We may find that we really like it here and the price is right.

I've not really explored - I've basically been acclimating to the heat and humidity and I wanted to be here for Harry. Harry is on break this week and has had no interest in leaving the apartment. It's been fine since it's given me permission to ease into a new time and nurse my jet lag.

Yesterday evening, Nick and I met with a group of his colleagues, sales people and embassy workers - all in some aspect of science at an historic WWII bar. It reminds me of photos of Hawaii during that period of time. Tin roof, open with a mix of English (think brown gravy and fried potatoes) and Chinese food. The bar has stayed in the Lim family for generations. When the daughter who now owns it married, her husband changed his name to "Lim". It was an interesting expat experience - balmy night air, ciders and beer and fried potatoes with HP sauce. Interesting discussions about development and marketing of phage antibiotics (Did you know that Russia /USSR doesn't use antibiotic therapy much opting for phage/fage therapy?), locating, monitoring disease outbreaks in the context of bio-weaponry in Asia, instant field diagnostics for TB. It was fascinating and I wondered where you were since this was a series of discussions that I think you would have enjoyed. The convergence of the DOD, Singapore government, NUS, private biotechs is really eye-opening.

Upon returning home, I was introduced to a Yale-NUS ethno-musicologist and her delightful son, Sam. Sam is a sophomore and attends SAS. I'm hoping that a friendship develops between he and Harry and the parents.

 

The Beginning of week #2

So, today is a rainy, sub-tropical day. Drizzly rain, some lighting, little thunder. Nothing like the thunder and lighting that we experienced last week when Harry and I were returning home and we weren't exactly sure if we had been "near miss" targets. Harry returned to school and rugby practice this week. It is the first day that I am officially on my own and not having much to do is slightly anxiety producing. I'm aware that if I fret too much over this, I will suddenly find myself with too much to do and not all of it fun. Ironically, I got an email from Depak and Oprah inviting me to participate in a 21 day meditation experience. I jumped at the chance and as yesterday marked "day 1" and I was encouraged by Oprah, Depak set the stage with a meditation that focused on the mantra so hum (not to be confused with ho-hum)  "I Am" and thus the meditation began with "who am I"? Curiously apt since who am I in this new country, in this new part of the world where I am almost completely anonymous? Perhaps Day 2 will enlighten me.

 

Last week, I was finally able to drag Harry out of his room. After failing to persuade him to fly to Thailand ($128.00) and go on a three day elephant conservation safari (see ElephantHill.com) and luxury tent camp in a national park rainforrest, I had to insist that we at least see something. After a bit of a blow up, he assented and we decided to go to the Singapore Discovery Centre. This is a interactive museum of sorts, way out in the hinter lands of Singapore dedicated to educating Singaporeans (mainly teens)  about Singaporean values and culture and encourage innovation for Singapore's future. It's actually done quite well and the youthful tour guides are engaging, well-trained and interesting. Our tour included a bus ride through a Singporean military training institute. Harry and I participated in target practice with modified military pistols (mandatory national service for 18 year old males). Our tour guide tried to see if Harry had a penchant for service life. After that tour and our foray with firearms, we were handed over to a young woman who told us of Lee Kuan Yew's tears after winning Singaporean independence and she asked us to explore why he was crying and his subsequent challenge that a country with no natural resources could succeed. There are several games illustrating this. We were introduced to the concept of diversity here as well as some words of Sing-lish and Malay. Food is a very important element of Singaporean culture - I knew that there was diversity of choice, but I did not realize how important it is, access and consumption, is to the culture. Everywhere one looks, someone is eating. Food stands stay open all night. Our guide mentioned that it was not uncommon for her to go out with her friends at 2 or 3 am to eat. I think that the basic need for sustenance is one of the needs Lee Kuan Yew has exploited to drive people for self sufficiency and so everyone eats, snacks, eats.

 

Nick took me to our local Wet Market and I was a little put off by the smell. Loads of different fish, crustaceans, alive or dead. Once I acclimate a little more, I think I'll get more enjoyment out of it. Right now, I need to see those animals behind glass. There are lots of fruits and vegetables, but in my opinion, California is the apex for fresh produce in both quality and price. There is also a section for Halal meats  - lamb, chicken. Maybe a little beef. Pork has it's own section and meals that are purchased in a hawker center (food court) are designated as halal or non-halal. The pungent smell of Durian is everywhere and takes a little getting used to - even in the supermarkets.

 

The three of us went to a movie - Thor. The cost per ticket $7.00. Not bad. One selects seats beforehand and since I asked about the amount of aircon, I was told that if I "enjoyed" a light snack beforehand, my body temperature would rise and I would not be bothered by the air con. Half right. The theater offers two experience - regular and deluxe, Cinepolis type with private lounge, red carpet and special seats. We chose the regular experience. I was struck by the pre-show ads. The movie trailers were few - perhaps two at most and there were a couple of ads for household goods. But, what caught my attention were two social media pieces. Social in the strictest sense of the word. One was an urban Kung-foo throw down between two Asian teens on a roof top. One kid had a glove ala Michael Jackson. When it appeared that he had vanquished the other kid and was donning the glove and said something about evil taking over the world, the other kid popped up, revived and Crouching Tiger style denounced the resurgence of evil and pledged his allegiance to Singapore, his home... The second ad on the surface looked to be promoting soap, or face cream or something. It started with a lovely young woman admiring herself in a mirror and fretting over which shoes to wear with her pretty dress. In the background, a man (boyfriend, husband, father?) is calling her to leave. She continues to try on shoes. A caption flashes which reads "There are over 129,000 women living in poverty in Singapore who would like to have this problem..." Caught my attention!

 

We purchased our first piece of furniture... One step to making the apartment a home. We purchased an antique Mongolian side board from a Chinese woman at a warehouse. She had diamond rings on every finger, and told us that our apartment 08-08 (8th floor, apt 8) is very lucky. Nick said that he had heard that as I am sure his admin who snagged if for us informed him. I suspect it is a great coup to have this apartment.  On delivery, it was discovered that one of the doors sticks and she says that "Uncle" meaning her father, will come to repair it. Transactions like these are done in the passing of red envelopes.

We attempted to purchase a cell phone for me yesterday evening. There are two mobile networks in Singapore - Singtel and StarHub. Nick has signed with StarHub. In order to purchase a mobile phone, one must be an employed resident of Singapore or have a dependent pass connected to an employee. They do not issue phones to dependents on the weekends. Nick and I made the long trek out to the outer limits of Singapore to a mall with a large StarHub store. It took me about an hour by metro and then another 10 minutes to the mall by taxi. I needed to tack on another half an hour to find the StarHub store in the morass of shops and restaurants. There were lots of people waiting to conduct some sort of mobile phone business. There was the ubiquitous display of perhaps twenty or so  phones  from different manufacturers, attached to the display tables. There was the briefest of descriptions and the price. We approached the desk of the information clerk:

"Do you have any product information on the phones for sale?" 

Clerk: "Do you want a contract?"

Me: "Yes, eventually, but I would like to compare the phones before I buy"

Clerk: " You want a contract? You want to buy a phone without a contract? Do you have a dependent letter?"

Me: "I want to get a contract and a phone, but I need to know what I am buying"

Clerk: "To get product information about the phones requires a technician to help you. We don't have them."

Hmm, O.K. off to get a cup of tea and do a little research. After we settle on a phone, we return to StarHub and Nick gets a number. Once we are called, Nick is told that his length of stay in Singapore is under 6 months and he needs a letter certifying that he will be in Singapore greater than 6 months in order to purchase a phone for me. This is Singapore. Have a nice day.

 

There is a mix of cultures and it is wonderful to see the variety of dress indicating that - Indian, Pakastani, Malay, Western. I think I have only seen one burka, but I see lots of women with their heads covered in hoods/wraps. Their faces are beautiful. I think they are Malay. Religious tolerance is the law here as well as a celebration of diversity however there is an economic stratification here which is tied to religion and I have not quite figured it out. I have not yet seen a homeless person yet and it makes me think...

 

Week 3. Am I adjusting?

In my last post, I was stranded without a cell phone. Two days later, Nick and I tried again. This time with success although it took an hour and a half. The upside of waiting is that I developed an interest in the Chinese version of that well known-art form, the  telenovela. They are every bit as dramatic, anachronistic and historically wacky as any telenovela Mexico can throw down and apparently they are somewhat of a craze. After the success of getting the phone, we were feeling cocky and decided to try our hand at putting me on Nick's bank account. Two bank employees perused our passports, paperwork etc. and then handed them back to us and officiously declared that it could not be done because I don't yet have my dependent pass. This was going to pose a bit of a problem since Nick was leaving the country for two weeks and I needed access to cash. As Nick was getting apoplectic, and by that I mean raising his voice just slightly, and the security guard standing behind him at the door, was moving into position, gently patting his billy club,  he called his admin Serene and passed the phone to the two lovely ladies. Serene who speaks 11 or 12 Chinese dialects, Malay, and English. Serene who scored by getting us onto the 8th floor, apartment #8 (LUCKY), Serene who is coveted by many at NUS just as a wolf covets a steak and who Nick was forewarned by his predecessor is a treasure to hold onto by any means necessary, did her magic. Shortly after a conversation with Serene, the two nice women reversed themselves, the security guard stopped patting his billy club and I was added to the account.

After a day of bureaucratic maneuvering, the next day I believed I'd earned a little pampering. Nick has been going to a place a short walk from our flat called the Javanese Massage Hut. He loves it. He has a discount card. No problem. I disrobed as I was told, carefully placing my neatly folded clothes on top of the little keyed box into which  I placed my wallet, and onto which was tacked notification warning for men to "not embarrass themselves" by asking for specialties. I didn't know what to make of the small basket sitting on the table with little black things wrapped up in rubber bands. Having no clue, I moved the basket and lay on the table. My masseuse, a solid, dark skinned young woman with stubby hands, entered the room and gave a little shriek.
What?! What? What did I do? 
You are not wearing underwear.
But I was told to take everything off.
Yes, but you need to put on the disposable underwear (points to the basket).
O.K.  I'm so sorry...
As best I could, I struggled to put on the black paper panties created for the lithe, Asian figured woman.

My masseuse entered and thus commenced a massage like no other - Essentially she approached me as though I was a balance beam in the upcoming Olympics. Or maybe she saw me as her opponent in an unusual wrestling match. She jumped on me and landed on all fours (9.1; 8.2; 8:4 ). I felt like she was doing a front walkover, and then was landing jumps on my back. Was that a pirouette? She slapped, beat, dug her elbows, and knees, not to mention those stubby fingers into various parts of my body,  along with slathering me in large doses of oil.  At one point she asked if the pressure was o.k. and I managed to squeak out that it could be a little less, please. She proceeded to pull on my fingers and toes causing each digit to emit a loud "snap!" An hour and a half later I was drinking ginger tea and wondered why this was good for me. I'm still a little bruised, but am open to try again.

Over the past week, I've had a breakthrough with understanding Singlish - Singaporean English-la. I felt so isolated because I really couldn't understand. The English is so heavily accented and spoken so quickly. I was struck that even the American English in Singapore is often heavily accented given the fact that many of the American expats work for oil companies and are from the South. So, English takes on a whole new dimension. Singlish, Aussie, British, American. Gratefully, my brain is adjusting and within the last few days, I've been able to understand better- even the American southerners!

I've learned much more about Singapore over the past week from the best historians Singapore has to offer - the cabbies. Although they love Singapore, they tell me it is difficult for the average Singaporean to make a living. Maybe that's universal amongst cabbies. I have not seen a homeless person to my knowledge, but my teachers tell me they are here. There is a lot of love and nationalism for this country, yet there is a palpable awareness of the problems that are here. Most are appreciative of the assurances of food, education and safety. Other aspects of a small country in a changing world are worrisome.

One of my drivers was particularly engaging. His children are grown and studying at polytechnics. To my surprise, they were all in the arts including cooking. Then, he revealed that he had tried to make it as sculptor until the demands of supporting a family won. Sadly, he has no time to make art. He dropped me off at my next destination - the one afro hair salon in Singapore! Hallelujah!! Landing at Flojumar was an unexpected treat in many ways. In addition to connecting with people who "knew" my hair, I was able to meet  a client who is an up and coming, prize winning  painter-  www.melaniemccollinwalker.com. It was a day of constant references to the art scene here.

I have to add one more story about cabbies; Harry made the rugby team (go Harry!) which requires an early morning practice before classes start. He takes a cab to practice/school on that morning at around 5:30 am. I received a text yesterday morning from the cabbie telling me that not only is Harry a polite young man, but that he accidentally shorted Harry and wanted to return the change. He's mailing me the change! Seriously.

I am happy that although Nick is not here, Harry and I are surviving. Harry comes out of his room more and the surliness has receded somewhat.  I've even purchased plants for the terrace.  Nick will spend Thanksgiving with Frannie in Philadelphia and Harry and I will spend it together. It will be a departure from our usual family gathering, but in some ways, we will be extending ourselves to a global family... at the Marriott.