Smile, You’re in Singapore Baby!

So I finally got myself out of Australia, slightly behind schedule, but then again, I didn’t really have a schedule anyway.  I wasn’t planning on staying more than a week or two, but the plentiful selection of superb rock, not to mention an incredible friendly and social climbing scene, made it hard to leave.  I’m already close to three months in and I’m just stepping foot in Southeast Asia (SEA) so there’s no way I can see all the places I was hoping to, but that’s alright.

We got hit with a bit of weather while I was in the Blue Mountains, my last several days in Australia were cold and wet.  It made for a real shock when I stepped off the plane in Singapore, just shy of midnight, into the thick steamy hot night air. Not near as much of a shock, however, as being back in an eastern culture.  Singapore is fairly westernized, relatively speaking, but I got lulled into a false sense of security having been traveling for three months yet still in English speaking societies with our western ways.  I forgot about the swindling, the bargaining, the Touts trying to get you on their bus/taxi/tour; I forgot that I’m now spotted as a tourist from across the room, long before I even open my mouth.

My first hurdle was getting a bus into eastern Singapore in the middle of the night.  I found the bus stop alright, after working my way through the maze of the Singapore airport, but I had read about how they use an electronic card to pay for bus and subway and I couldn’t find a station to get one.  They had an automated station to put more money on my card, but it doesn’t do a lot of good if you don’t already have one.  I worked my way back to a little food shop, figuring if they sold phone cards they’d probably have bus cards too.  No luck, and oh yeah, I forgot that not everyone here speaks English.  Unable to get any advice from the store worker I wandered around until I found a tourist information stand – they even had Hawaiian shirts and disposable cameras for sale incase you didn’t feel you were fully representing your inner tourist. I learned that Singapore cares so much about allowing you to express your touristic nature that they allow you to pay with coins on the bus, while everyone with their EZ card stares at you and then their watch, to let you know they’re in a hurry.  I quickly put two and two together, and headed back to the food shop next to the bus stop, put there so that tourists such as myself can buy something to get change for the $50 bills from the ATM. I picked out some 90 cent candy and really should have had the foresight, based on how this has gone so far, to expect that Singapore would have two dollar bills.  I explained that I needed change for a $2 bill for the bus, and the aforementioned shop worker told me in perfect English “Yes, you’ll need change to get on the bus”.  Thanks buddy.

My guesthouse was on the outskirts of town; a common form of SEA hostel where they line the hallways leading to the private rooms with bunkbeds.  Fine for a nights rest if you don’t mind lack a complete of privacy. The next morning I got vague directions on how to get into town – the number 12 bus should take me straight into Chinatown, in the heart of downtown Singapore.  It wasn’t until I sat on the bus and watched countless buildings and mini-malls go by that looked rather ‘Chinese’ that I realized I was in a heavily Chinese country expecting to know when to get off the bus by seeing Chinese architecture.  I took a gamble and jumped off at a busy looking intersection, complete with the red decorated lanterns strung across the street.  Five miles and several hunches later I arrived by foot into downtown Singapore.

I’ve heard the stories that everyone does about unparalleled cleanliness of Singapore. The stories of somebody’s brother’s uncle’s cousin’s roommate who spit in the street, or lit up a cigarette and the locals just about hung him until the cops showed up and saved him by just throwing him in jail.  Yeah well, I’m hear to put an end to that rumor. Singapore has all the trash, cigarette butts, dilapidated buildings, homeless, beggars, and thieves of any other city I’ve been to.  For a major city, sure it’s clean.  For a metropolis in SEA, yeah ok, it’s really clean.  But I’m still not going to eat off the sidewalk there.

So in the end Singapore is another major city.  It was fun to see, it’s easy to get around, there’s just about any food, electronic, or useless novelty you could want at your disposal.  By far the most interesting part of the city was simply the people.  The talkative shop owners that seem almost more concerned about showing off their English than making a sale, the confused locals that weren’t sure why the pale guy with the beard wasn’t eating with the other tourists in the expensive part of town, and of course – my favorite –  Asian tourists that must have their picture taken in front of absolutely everything.

Another favorite of mine was their love for catch phrases.  You know those T-shirt with a saying printed in large letters across the front.  The ones that may be kinda witty the first time, lackluster by the second time you see it, and by the third it’s just plain revolting?  Yeah, those – well the Singaporean actually use them in speech. “I is too kew-er (cool) for skew-er (school)”  one told me  …sure you are buddy.   I was walking through the night bazaar in China Town, a typical nighttime market where the streets are lined with booths selling knick knacks and tourist apparel, but with the Asian flare.  By that I mean the Touts that stand outside every booth, restaurant, and massage parlor trying to lure you in and convince you that their trinket/food/foot-rub is better then the five shops next-door selling the identical thing.  Once you learn to to use the Jedi force and repel these obnoxious salesmen with a curt twitch ‘no’ of the head they’re really quite amusing.

Two Chinese tourists were trying to get a photo of themselves in front of what looked to me a stereotypical Chinese building – go figure.  They were looking around for someone to help, saw my dSLR camera around my neck and figured I’d be a good bet at knowing how to operate their Nikon.  I got them into pose, pantomiming directions to get them to stand in front of a nasty fluorescent light in the background, checked my viewfinder one last time and found a nicely setup picture with two of the most non-photogenic deadpan expressions I’ve ever seen.  I think most kids look more lively while taking the SAT.  To try to salvage the shot I screamed at them “Smile!  You’re in Singapore Baby!”.  They crack a bit of a grin that turned into a full tooth smile as one of the Touts behind me started parroting me with mirth.  He was like a child with a new toy, he couldn’t contain himself.  By the time I handed back the camera he was jumping in the faces of passersbyes screaming “Smile, You’re In Singapore Baby!” in an Asian accent. It was fantastic.  If anybody happens to head to Singapore in the next year please let me know if you see it on a T-shirt, I want my royalties.

Never Trust a Skinny Chef

I was scurrying back to my hostel in Sydney to grab my luggage, print out my boarding pass, and head to the airport, so I swung through one of these roadside multinational fast food joints that offer everything from burgers to tibuli kebabs. They had a bunch of pies on display that they sell by the slice, and I eyed a tasty looking wedge loaded with meats, vegetables, chilies and just about anything else you could want on a pizza.  The sign next to it said Fatt Ma’s Special…  I figured how can you go wrong with that.  Someone secure enough to call herself Fatt Ma must know what she’s talking about when it comes to loaded toppings.  The lady I assumed to be Ma was standing behind the counter looking well fed, but not exactly what I would call fat.  I smiled, pointed at the pie, and said “I’ll take a slice of the Fatt Ma’s Special please”, in what I’m sure was detectable American English.  Ma looked at me, looked at the pizza, back at me – dismay, and back at the pizza.  She then informed me, in a restrained politeness, that I believe I’m looking for a slice of her daughter’s favorite pizza – her daughter Fatima.  Sure enough, that second T wasn’t a T at all, but a roman I with the brackets on top and bottom.  It’s a damn good thing I’m getting out of the country, Fatt Ma looks like the type that would track a bloke down and demand retributions.

I’m heading to the airport, finally dragging myself out of Australia after close to two months.  So much for my planned 1-2 week stay.  I know I’m long past due to update on what I’ve been doing out here for the past 6 weeks…  and I’m, um, getting to.  Perhaps the 8 hour flight to Singapore will give me time to catch up.  Or maybe I’ll just play Tetris on the inflight entertainment console.

Happy Mother’s Day

It’s the cultural differences that makes traveling abroad exciting. From the exotic foods foreign to your palate to the innocent faux pas – like sticking your thumb out to hitchhike in Greece – getting out of your element is both fun and necessarily awkward. The Ozzies have no shortage of opportunity to embarrass, even for a culture so Western.

The groceries are not allowed to directly sell alcohol here, so every grocery has a ‘separate’ liquor store on the side with doors leading to both on the outside and inside the store. The door leading into the grocery isn’t so much a door as it is a wide passage, leading one to assume that you simply grab your alcohol, finish your shopping, and checkout in one go. The grocery checkout assumes you paid for your alcohol before entering the not-so-well-delineated food section of the store, so one can just walk through with their now stolen alcohol completely unaware. It seems the only people who are paying attention are the security guards, who make sure to wait until you’re half way across the parking lot and surrounded by customers so it looks like the scraggly climbing kids are trying to steel booze.

By far the most prevalent cultural difference is the language, and that’s only because they supposedly speak English in Australia. I continually entertained myself with the vernacular, despite the frustrated Ozzies who felt their statement to “grab the slab of stubbies out of the boot and toss them in the Eskie” was perfectly legitimate and commanding of action not a blank stare and a grin.

The Ozzies never fail to disappoint. I almost fell over laughing when I walked past this window display in Melbourne. Evidently lace panties and camisoles are common gifts to give to Mum. Granted, perhaps chocolates and flowers aren’t the most sentimental way to say “Hey mom, thanks for raising me, I love you”, but it sure as hell is a lot less awkward.

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So as you can tell, I’m finally back from Arapiles. I ended up extended my trip several times, for many reasons. I have heaps of pics to get through, and four weeks of adventures and experiences to try to publish in something easy and readable. So I thought I’d put up this little post in the mean time, let people know I’m alive, and wish all the moms out there a Happy Mother’s Day. I’ll be back with some tales from Araps soon.