Spring Break, Part 1 - "Call me Miss Saigon"

Hi friends,

I'm sorry to have neglected the blog for so long. After coming back from Viet Nam and Cambodia, I had a bit more work to catch up on, which took most of my time. The past week has been quite a difficult one, with the passing of my fellow exchange student, Scott Monat z"l. He was a great friend to many people in Singapore, and will be dearly missed. All of the exchange students here are helping each other cope and are being extremely supportive of one another. On Saturday night, we held a memorial for Scott, since we are all unable to attend his funeral in Atlanta. Things are very slowly going back to normal, as hard as it is to do.

I know I left you a long time ago, in much happier circumstances. Right before I left Singapore, the Chabad rabbi's son became a Bar Mitzvah. It was one of the happiest celebrations I've seen in a long time. I was invited to a small Shabbat dinner for family and close friends (mainly because I had nowhere else to go), and the food was beyond delicious. I had good conversation with Ahuva, the Israeli girl who often attends services, and ended up staying over the same family's house as her for the weekend.

Ahuva works at a kiosk in the mall, selling hand cream and other cosmetics. If you've ever been approached by one of these people in your local mall, there is an approximate 99.9% chance that they're Israeli. Some company offers Israeli kids who are straight out of the army (and usually jobless) a free trip to another country and a meager salary if they work as salespeople for them. I guess the idea works, since they're everywhere. Next time you're approached by one of these people, just say "Lo todah, motek," and watch the facial expression.

After dinner, the dancing started. At first it was just your average Chassidic stuff, circles around the room and using the table as a drum, accompanied by lots of clapping and singing. Then one of the Chabad boys, Leibel, got the idea to put the Bar Mitzvah boy on his shoulders and continue dancing. This was cute, and he seemed to be enjoying it. After a while, I guess they decided that this wasn't joyous enough, so someone else came over and put Leibel on his shoulders. Yes, it was a three-tiered hora. The Bar Mitzvah boy looked extremely frightened, and clutched onto Leibel for dear life. I have to admit, I was pretty nervous as well, but everything turned out fine.

The next weekend, I set off with some friends for our spring break trip to Viet Nam and Cambodia. We flew into Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) and immediately hopped on a city bus to get to our hostel. We were the only foreigners on the bus, as most of the other tourists just took taxis to wherever they were going. Seeing as how the bus was 5,000 dong (30 cents), however, we made the executive decision to take the less glamorous mode of transport. The view from the bus was great, and for the hour long ride, we were introduced to Vietnamese traffic.

As my Footprint book says, traffic is the closest thing that Viet Nam gets to true communism; all of your decisions on the road have to be based upon other people's actions. In other words, stoplights are extremely rare and at intersections, people basically just weave around one another. Over the course of our stay, I must have literally seen hundreds of situations where there was almost an accident, including several with our own vehicle. But the best part is the ratio of motorbikes to cars - approximately 20:1. Looking at any city street, there are motorbikes as far as the eye can see. Most people wear helmets, but a good number don't, and I saw a lot of mothers driving with one hand and holding an infant with the other.

After being dropped off downtown, we found a back alley that was full of hostels and wandered around until we found one with enough vacancies for all eight of us. It was the cleanest place we've stayed so far (including the dorms at NUS), and actually was more of a small hotel than a hostel. For $10/night, we got air-conditioned rooms, daily maid service, cable tv, full breakfast and even those little shampoos that real hotels have. The people at the front desk offered us information on the city and good advice, including cheap and easy ways to see the things we wanted, and offered to lock up our passports (which is essential in Saigon).

We spent our first night getting acquainted with the city, and wandering around looking for food. Although Saigon lacks a lot in infrastructure, it makes up for it in character. The people all seem to be extremely happy, and there's plenty of parks and greenspace where everyone gathers to play games and practice Tai Chi. We called it a night early, and got up early the next day to check out Reunification Hall.

After Saigon fell in 1975, the former South Vietnamese capital was turned into a museum and a symbol of national unity. Much as the city of Saigon was renamed Ho Chi Minh City, the government stronghold Independence Palace was renamed Reunification Palace, after a Viet Cong tank came through the front windows. The architecture is retro, to say the least, and the interior decor is both harsh and lavish. For instance, the room for receiving foreign guests is draped in luxurious cloths and has an enormous crystal chandelier, but also has the horns of a large animal blocking the front entryway. The room used for addressing the public and the press has a golden mold of Ho Chi Minh's head. In my humble opinion, it's creepy.

On the roof are spray-painted two markers for where bombs were dropped in an attack, and the entire basement is a tribute to underground Viet Cong operations such as telegraphing, map work, radio signalling, food preparation, and torture. We walked through, politely nodding and smiling, and constantly making side-comments of "is that what I think it is?"

After leaving, we got lost through the city, until finally finding our way to a taxi and taking a 40 cent ride to the harbor. We then spent a lovely hour and a half on a very choppy ferry ride to the beach, and disembarked the boat only to be attacked by cab drivers. They literally followed us for two blocks, asking where we wanted to go, and trying to recommend places they knew that were "the best". Cab drivers and local businesspeople will often cut deals where the cabbies will get a commission for the tourists they drop off.

After a quick lunch, we found a guy who actually knew his way to the beach we wanted, and arrived at a part of town where Vietnamese people go to vacation, but Westerners generally don't. The beach was very crowded and had people grilling squid straight from the sea and selling cheap sunglasses. We were the only foreigners around, and for a long while we were swarmed by people trying to sell us anything and everything. After it became clear that we weren't spending a dime on food, much less cheap beachware, they left us alone.

We lazed around, having good conversation and sunbathing, for the rest of the day. The waves were pretty high, so we had fun bodysurfing and splashing through the afternoon. After some quick naps and dinner across the street, we found a bus back to the city. We went out that night for drinks, and found a place with a really nice rooftop view. I found a cute bag in a nearby shop that was made from old rice bags, and bought it to use as a daypack. Little did I know that this bag would serve as the groups's entertainment for the remainder of the trip.

The next day, we woke up early again to head out to the Cu Chi tunnels. We took a bus from downtown, and rode for a while through the rubber tree farms and rice paddies. Occasionally we passed by a small town, in which the houses were all very colorful and the people rode bicycles through the streets. We finally got to the tunnels, and walked through the forest and an underpass until our guide started the tour.

He first explained to us the cunning and resolve of the Vietnamese people in their defeat of the Americans, and how the land was essential for victory. He then took us to one of the entrances to the tunnels - a hole in the ground that was about 1 foot by 10 inches, with a removable lid that was easily covered by leaves. He proceeded to hop on into the hole, pull the cover over himself, and hide for a few seconds. After he asked who wanted to try going in next, and nobody seemed very keen on trying, I offered to do it.

After measuring up the size of the hole and the size of my backside, I quickly began to reassess my decision. He assured me that I wouldn't get stuck, but this argument sounded similar to the one I had with a woman selling dresses in Chinatown, who assured me I wouldn't get stuck trying on one of her dresses. After I did get stuck, and my chest was pushed up to about my chin, she chuckled and said, "oh, you bigger than you look!" Thanks, lady.

My friends started egging me on a little more, and finally I slipped into tunnel with ease. It was actually really cool, and I got some great photo ops. My intuition wasn't entirely wrong, though, since one of the girls who went in after me actually did get stuck. We moved on through the forest, and came to a swinging door in the ground, under which was a bed of spikes. Guess who that was meant for.

We were all thoroughly horrified at our guide's description of the trap, but we weren't at all prepared for what was coming next. After passing a huge crater in the ground that was marked "site of successful Viet Cong bombing of American enemy tank", we came upon a long row of displays. Each was a different kind of trap, with spikes placed in different areas and a variety of ways to catch a soldier's body in them. They were named things like "the scissors" and "the lawnchair", and our guide happily demonstrated how each worked. The worst part, however, was the mural on the wall behind them, showing American soldiers getting caught in the traps and gushing blood everywhere. We just stared, dumbfounded, while he proudly showed us the contraptions.

We were then taken to a larger hole in the ground, and invited to take a crawl through the tunnels, if we felt up to it. I climbed in, and quickly realized that light and space were not available. I mainly found my way through the meandering tunnels by shouting ahead to the person in front of me and feeling my way around the walls, which came closer and closer to my body the farther I pressed on. There were points at which I had to slide up and down, when the tunnels changed depth, and I soon had to go from walking bent over to crawling on my hands and knees. I was very glad I didn't suffer from claustrophobia, and tried to tell myself that I wouldn't be under for much longer.

We finally saw a bit of light, and came to the end of our section of the tunnels. We all spilled out, panting, and took a seat while we collected ourselves. Our guide, of course, bounced out of the tunnels with a huge smile, and asked us how we liked our small taste of underground life. It was clear that we all had fun, but also appreciated being back above ground.

Following a quick offer of pricey souvenirs and the chance to shoot a Viet Cong rifle, we were ushered into several underground shelters that demonstrated weaponry, tool-making, rice cake preparation, and other skills. One had propoganda posters hung next to maps showing the paths used by soldiers, with some benches set up in front of a television. We had to watch a short video on the war and the involvement of underground village people in its outcome. About every minute, there was some mention of killing Americans, or of an "American-killing hero", and I repeatedly turned around to look at Tony and Kevin to demonstrate my reactions. It was weird. It was really weird.

After referring to us repeatedly as his family, our guide bid us farewell and we got back on the bus. I looked down at my arms, legs and clothes to find that my nice little daypack had covered all of them in ink. I was a red and blue mess, and therefore became the comic relief for everyone I was with. The ride back was another beautiful view of the paddies, and cows grazing in fields alongside them.

Once back in town, the girls and boys split up to find tailors. We bought silk nightgowns and robes for ridiculously cheap prices, while the boys got custom-fitted suits for a steal. I also managed to find the Ho Chi Minh Chabad center and speak with the rabbis for a little while. In case you're ever looking for it, you should know that it's almost impossible to find. There's a small sign with an arrow pointing down a backalley, and if you walk in that direction you'll find it behind a gate. I was offered food, obviously.

We spent that night walking around the night market in town, getting some very cheap food and doing some excellent peoplewatching. The crafts for sale were really nice, and we all picked up some things for our friends and family before taking a casual walk through the park. There were a group of boys playing a game that looked a lot like hackey sack, but the object they were kicking had a feather. We clapped along and Sam kicked a stray ball back into the circle, winning the applause of the boys.

Later that night, we met up with some of Jessie's friends who are studying abroad in Saigon, and they took us to a place down one of the backalleys that's frequented by locals and brews their own beer. It's fermenting beer, so it tastes a little different, but it's 30 cents for a pint, so we indulged. We sat in the children's play chairs that Vietnamese people seem to have no trouble fitting into, and got offered a bicycle ride by several male sex workers who shake foot hammers to get your attention. A little boy came by and did a fire-eating show for us, which was entertaining, but depressing.

The next morning we were able to sleep in a little bit before going to the War Remnants Museum. I was expecting it to be similar to the Cu Chi Tunnels, in that it celebrated the death of American soldiers, but I was wrong. The museum had a very somber tone, and mostly paid attention to the damage that the war did in general. There was an exhibit of a prison cell, torture chamber, and execution methods used under the South Vietnamese, next to a list of all the cities and villages that were bombed, massacred, or otherwise destroyed.

A great deal of the museum was devoted to the effects of Agent Orange, and had hundreds of pictures of people who were injured and babies born with disabilities and deformities from the chemicals. The pictures, surprisingly, included both Vietnamese and American victims, and paid tribute to American soldiers who tried to reduce death tolls or protested the war back in the states. There was also information about the effect the chemicals had on the Vietnamese ecosystem and starvation people experienced as a result, along with quotes and information about political and religious groups and people who protested the war both in the US and elsewhere. They showed pictures of the demonstrations and documents written about the war.

There was also an art exhibit of works done both in tribute to, and done by, victims of the war, and pictures drawn by Vietnamese children to celebrate joining the WTO and focusing on world peace. The showed American and Vietnamese people holding hands and smiling, and other countries standing next to them. It was a very emotionally taxing place to visit, but I'm glad I went.

After the museum, we walked to the Xa Loi Pagoda, the largest pagoda in Saigon and the center of the Buddhist resistance to South Vietnamese forces during the war. Inside, there is a huge statue of the Buddha (it looked about 50 feet tall) that is covered in gold and surrounded by relics and pictures. The structure itself is beautiful, and in order to reach the entrance you have to climb a great deal of stairs and pass a lot of panhandlers to whom Buddhists give alms. We weren't allowed inside, but just outside is a case enclosing the charred heart of Thich Quang Duc, the Buddhist monk who lit himself on fire and burned to death in a busy intersection in protest of the persecution of Buddhists by South Vietnamese forces in 1963.

We soon went back to the hotel to gather up our things and board the bus to Cambodia. We chose the VIP bus (which is $6 instead of $4), and settled in for our 7-hour long ride with music, food, drinks and games. Crossing the border was easy enough, since getting a visa into Cambodia is really just a matter of having $20 and a passport that looks remotely valid.

Before we reached Phnom Penh, though, the bus veered slowly off the road and into what looked like someone's backyard. It soon looked as though we were going to drive straight into a body of water, since I couldn't see out the front of the bus, and we were suddenly in a deadlock traffic jam with other cars and trucks. The scenery then started moving. I was very confused, and looked up to realize that we had just driven onto a ferry. Apparently, there isn't enough money to build a bridge there, so cars get from one side of the Mekong River to the other by packing on to a ferry.

The whole thing was absolutely hilarious, and kind of fun. Beware, however, of the giant insects that swarm the river at night. Luckily, our driver knew to close all the windows and doors before we got anywhere near the water, but the car next to us wasn't so lucky, and looked like they were battling bugs on steroids for the next 10 minutes. All in all, a pretty apt introduction to Cambodian transport.

That's all for now, but I'll be sure to write soon with the rest of our adventures in Cambodia (which, by the way, is my favorite country that we've been to so far). If you have access to Facebook, I'm tagged in about a hundred pictures from the trip, so check those out. Toodles!
Until next time,
Lizzy

Today, a woman sat on me in the MRT.

Hello my dearest accomplices,

It will delight you to know that yesterday I found out I had been attending the wrong lecture for three weeks. Apparently, nation-building doesn't really have all that much to do with landscaping. I probably should have gotten the hint when neither the readings nor the posted lecture notes had anything to do with the lecture itself. Go figure.

So besides begging my classmates for lecture notes and having strange women mistake me for a chair on the subway (and then proceeding to pretend it never happened), I've been having a quite a lot of fun here. The woman at the vegetarian hawker stall in the arts & social sciences canteen loves me. She greets me every day with a big smile, a wave, and an inquisitive "You want brown rice?" I love her back. Those huge mock-meat meals for 2 Sing ($1.50) get me every time.

Chingay parade was great! Different communities, social service organizations, schools, universities, government sectors, local businesses, military wings and others took part. There were floats, dances and performances all along the streets of the civic district, and it seemed like all of Singapore had come downtown to take part in the celebrations. At the end of the parade, there was a fireworks display, and everyone seemed slightly less pushy and slightly more cheery that evening.

I went for a walk around the area afterward, enjoying the beautiful night scenery and blocked-off streets. I went down to Boat Quay and browsed the restaurants and bars, and the river looked really nice that night. While trying to find a club that was having a show of local indie bands, I stumbled upon a random show in the street of two dancing dragon costumes. The best part of the night had to be the massive linedancing that went on throughout the parade path. I've never seen so many people dancing to Mandarin country and disco hits, and they all knew the moves!

Later on, in front of City Hall, was City Alive, the biggest dance party of the year. They import DJs, mashup artists, dancers and performers and basically let Singapore's young adult crowd mix and mingle. I went with Zak and Umer, two friends who could sufficiently entertain me for hours. They're both pretty good dancers, and Umer got especially excited when Punjab the MC was spliced into some American hip hop.

The only problem with dancing outdoors in Singapore is that it gets unbearably hot. I went to a drink vendor and asked if I could have some ice; he tried to tell me it wasn't safe to drink, but I demonstrated my lack of interest by dumping it on my head. He thought it was hilarious. I make friends easily here.

The next day, some friends and I went to Sentosa to relax on the beach. Singapore has recently been "reclaiming" (building) islands around itself to use as resort-type areas, and Sentosa is the poster child for their new campaign. Imported sand beaches look surprisingly real when placed next to a jungle-like area, some gardens, hiking paths, bars and a hotel/spa. We played some volleyball, swam, and lazed around for the day.

At night, Sentosa turns into party central, with lights everywhere and lots of firedancing shows. The beach bars become quite active, and the shady-looking hot tub gets even shadier. Oddly enough, a lot of parents decide that this is a wonderful place for their infants and toddlers to be late into the night, so there's an interesting juxtaposition of drunk people in their 20s-30s and sleeping children. Awesome parenting.

The Esplanade, Singapore's version of the Sydney Opera House, has an arts and music festival for Chinese New Year called Huayi, so I decided to try that as well. Lovingly referred to by locals as "the durians", since their shape closely resembles that nauseating fruit, the Esplanade is really nice inside and has a few outdoor theaters for periodic free concerts. I listened to a Chinese jazz and pop singer on the river, saw a traditional Chinese puppet show (which actually turned out to be both impressive and hilarious), listened to a string quartet play Chinese New Year songs, and saw an amazing percussion group that used their drums as instruments, climbing blocks and toys.

By the time Friday rolled around, I was very ready for Shabbat. I went back to Magen Avot for services, expecting the same crowd as last week followed by dinner alone in my room. Apparently, however, there is an Ashkenazi minyan and Shabbaton once a month, and there were a ton of people my age. I stayed for dinner and quickly introduced myself to the table of twenty-somethings that already knew each other.

Besides the Lubavitch boys who were there with Chabad, there were several others who were Israeli, French, American, Canadian, South African, Tunisian and some other nationalities I'm forgetting. Some were in Singapore on business, some were studying here, and some were simply passing through. Dinner was delicious, and the singing was even better. It turns out that the young crowd loves singing and gets pretty animated for it, especially after some Shabbat shots of whisky.

One of the girls from Paris named Carole asked me where I was staying, and once she figured out that NUS was pretty far from the shul, she invited me to stay at her apartment. I graciously accepted, and enjoyed the rest of the evening before crashing at her place. The next morning we went back for services and lunch with the community. Again delicious, and again a lot of singing. Afterwards we had a text study of that week's Torah portion, which was really interesting, and a nice reminder of home. We took a Shabbat nap, came back for dinner and Havdalah (concluding services), and since it was a full moon that night, we did Kiddush Levanah outside. It was really nice.

The next morning, a bunch of NUS students got up early to go to Little India for Thaipusam, a Hindu holiday that's mostly celebrated by Tamils. It's held on the full moon of the month of Thai, and is a thanksgiving festival to Lord Murugan. In order to show their thanks and devotion, people will pierce themselves all over their bodies and carry heavy objects or pull carts with shrines using their piercings.

We started at Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple on Serangoon Road, where the 4.5 kilometer walk begins. Inside the temple, people were offering fruits and incense to the gods and dancing around the devotees. There was a lot of music being played on traditional instruments, and a ton of people. Everyone was being friendly and taking care of one another, especially those who were being pierced.

They had hooks or bars all up and down their bodies, carrying fruit or reigns to a cart. Some were even wearing bracelets or shoes with more needles in them. Most had a giant dome-like contraption with pictures of the gods and waving feathers that would attach to their piercings. Most of the men had their heads shaved, and some had further decorative piercings. A lot of the jewelry and decorations had what looked like a Jewish star on them, which I guess is also a Hindu symbol.

Most of the men were in a trance and looked like they couldn't feel anything. One man we came across, however, looked like he was about my age and in excruciating pain. He was praying quickly under his breath, tears streaming down his face, just trying to hold everything in while his peers sang around him and other community members continued piercing him.

Just as it looked like he wanted to give up completely, a man who was much older starting dancing over to him and looking him straight in the eye. This was one of the most intense exchanges I've ever seen - the two were communicating completely with their eyes. The young man was wanting to give up, and the old man kept his eyes wide and forceful, encouraging him to go on and push through the pain. The young man eventually did, and danced his way into the processions.

After watching more of the ceremonies and being thoroughly impressed, we stopped for lunch. Little India is by far one of the best places to eat in Singapore, and that's saying a lot. Plus, I can eat vegetarian food in good confidence that no meat or seafood traces snuck their way into it. My friend Dana sometimes makes fun of me for being so vigilant. "I'm a level five vegan," she'll say. "I don't eat anything that casts a shadow."

Later that week, I met up with Melanie, a family friend who's living here with her husband and going to business school at INSEAD. We went for dinner to a Thai restaurant downtown. Upon meeting me, her husband Matt, who went to school with my older sister, couldn't believe how much I resembled my siblings. It was nice to find that little connection to home, if only for a few seconds. The food was great, and they both shared some valuable and hilarious information about life here.

The next night, I met back up with Carole at the Blu Jazz Bar on Arab Street for some drinks. A whole group of people I had met at Magen Avot were also there, and I had a great time. Ladies night this week was spent at St. James Power Station, a huge building that used to be a power plant, and after it closed down, was gutted and turned into a multi-story bar complex. You can basically wander from place to place and meet people, while getting to listen to very different kinds of music. All of the bars are really nice, and it was actually a pretty cool place.

I'm all loaded up with vaccines now, and tomorrow I'll get my visas from the Vietnamese and Cambodian embassies, all in preparation for our spring break trip. I'm really excited, but in the meantime, I'll have to buckle down and do some serious schoolwork!

Here's a couple more albums I've uploaded:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2522873&id=2253943&l=e25d7
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2524622&id=2253943&l=a8141

Enjoy,
Lizzy

For your viewing pleasure

I've posted 2 new albums to Facebook! You can view them here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2522856&l=9f138&id=2253943
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2522873&l=e25d7&id=2253943

Hope you like them,
Lizzy

Many languages I appreciate...but don't understand.

My fellow residents of the world,

Sorry it's been so long since I've written. Classes and applications for summer jobs have kept me quite busy here, but I'll try to fill you in. Don't worry, you've been on my mind. In the words of LL Cool J, don't call it a comeback.

I spent most of last week trying to figure out my tutorial schedule and get situated in all of my classes. Usually, students here get to "bid" for their tutorial slots online, but exchange students have to go to the individual offices of each department and apply for tutorial slots at the front desk. As you can imagine, it's pretty time consuming.

For my Gender in Malay Societies class, we're supposed to watch 4 Malay films from different time periods and assess how male protagonists are portrayed vs. female protagonists. What my teacher neglected to tell me, however, was that the films have no English subtitles. I am one of two non-Malay people in the entire class, and the other one is a Chinese girl named Shermaine. Ironically, we decided to watch the movies together; so after about 10 minutes of trying to figure out what was going on, we decided to ask the teacher for another copy of the movies. We'll see what happens.

One of the nice things about Singapore is that if I want to do some reading for my classes, but also want to get out for the day, I can just do my homework by the pool. I went with a few friends, and I was getting a little hot so I decided to jump in. After dunking my head in, however, I realized that instead of chlorination, there was salt. I think they just fill the pool with water from the sea, which makes sense, but was a little surprising.

Later on that week, since I wasn't going out of town for the weekend, I thought I'd go to Shabbat services at the local synagogue. There are three synagogues in Singapore, but only one has services every week (actually, every day), and it's named Magen Avot. After getting sufficiently lost downtown and walking in what I think was a 2 mile-long circle, I finally found Waterloo Street. There was a huge Jewish star on the building and some Hebrew, so I knew I was in the right place.

The Magen Avot community is made up mostly of Middle Eastern Jews who migrated to Singapore centuries ago, and a few new Israelis and Americans thrown in the mix; there are also a few Singaporeans who converted, along with the rabbi who is part of Chabad but from Morocco. It's an eclectic bunch. When I went on Friday night, everyone was speaking Farsi (a lot of the members are Persian) and I couldn't understand a thing. They were rushing to get home for Shabbat dinner, so I didn't really get to meet anyone.

When I came back the next morning, it was very different. There were about 3 times as many people, and I got to stay for lunch. It took them a while to warm up to me, but they politely asked where I was from and what I was doing in Singapore. It wasn't long before the woman sitting next to me at our table was pinching my cheeks and telling me I wasn't eating enough, while simultaneously trying to fix me up with her son and inviting me to go shopping. She made absolutely sure I was coming back next week.

After the food, the singing started. I thought my friends at the U of M Hillel were animated singers, but this group was something else. I didn't recognize a lot of the tunes, since they were Mizrachi, but I was able to clap and drum the table along with everyone else. I also really enjoyed the adorable singing coming from the little yeshiva-bocher in the corner. I think it's a requirement for being a Chabad rabbi's son that you have to sing really loudly and in a high pitched voice. Adorable.

After lunch, I wandered around downtown a little bit, checking out the storefronts and skyscrapers. I eventually found my way into the courtyard of the Raffles Hotel, and saw that the remnants of colonialism were alive and well. Named after Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles who colonized the island for the British empire, this hotel is well known as one of the most historic and fanciest hotels in Singapore; they also invented the Singapore Sling. I walked through the gardens and shops, checked out the lobby, and decided that I really wasn't dressed well enough to be there.

Sunday night was the eve of the lunar new year, so a whole bunch of us planned to go see the celebrations together. Before we left, some Swedish students planned a picnic in West Coast Park that was supposed to be like a Swedish Midsummer Party. They barbequed, planned some games, and taught us a little about Sweden. We had several contests, including trivia about Sweden, a game where you run in circles and then try to run back, a game where you carry a potato with a spoon in your mouth, and a game where you pin a pencil to the back of your pants and try to get it inside a bottle. They also showed us a smorgasbord, with 3 kinds of herring, Swedish caviar and crackers, liquor and sweets. The best part of the evening had to be when they sang us a Swedish drinking song that sounded like a mix between a pirate song and a national anthem. I have it on tape.

After the festivities, we headed down to Marina Bay for Chinese New Year. People were all along the riverfront, and everything was lit up. There were floats of the Chinese zodiac, lit up gardens and bridges, and even a mock set-up of the terra cotta soldiers. All night they had performances by Chinese singers, dancers, acrobats, gymnasts, and other artists. The host spoke mostly in Mandarin, and I didn't really know what was going on, but I've never seen anyone contort themselves or balance themselves the way these performers could, and it was absolutely amazing. At midnight they had a countdown in Mandarin and set off a huge firecracker show.

Chinese new year lasts 15 days, but schools and work are only cancelled for the first two. On Tuesday, as part of the celebrations, the President opened up his palace grounds to the public, so we decided to go. We had to wait in line for a while and go through security, but pretty soon we were allowed into the Istana (Malay for palace). The grounds were gorgeous, with rivers running through and performances and activities set up on the lawns.

Once we got into the actual palace, we weren't allowed to take pictures, but everything was stunning. On display were gifts the president had recieved from foreign dignitaries, and let's just say the gifts from the US weren't looking so great in comparison to the ones from Kuwait. We saw the banquet halls, press hall, sitting rooms and lobbies, and maybe I'm a geek but I thought it was really cool.

On the way out, we struck gold. Stationed at all times in front of the palace are guards from the Singaporean military, but they're not allowed to move, not even their eyes. I had a field day. We all took pictures with them, tried to amuse the crowds standing nearby, and probably made complete fools of ourselves. Nobody from security seemed to mind, and the guards never said anything about it. They never said anything at all.

I spent the rest of the day hopping from museum to museum, since they all had free admission for Chinese New Year. I had a nice balance of historical art, contemporary art, and displays of artifacts. I went to the Singapore Art Museum, the Asian Civilizations Museum, the Peranakan Museum, and didn't even make it to the National Museum of Singapore. I got to walk along Boat Quay, see City Hall, Supreme Court and the Parliament House, and even stopped by the historic statue of Sir Raffles (see my Blogger profile picture).

After all this, I went to Jie Bin's house for a steamboat dinner (traditional Chinese New Year meal). I must have had 15 different kinds of sweets, a lot of tea, pastries and nuts, and a lot of good conversation. Steamboats are giant pots of broth where everyone puts in different vegetables, fish, tofu, noodles and meat, and when they're cooked, they float and you can take them out to eat with some rice. Jie Bin's mom knew I keep kosher, so she even made me my own separate bowl of broth! She gave us two mandarin oranges to symbolize good wishes, and a red packet of money to symbolize success and prosperity. It was a really nice dinner, and after some drinks and games, I headed home.

The next day, after classes, I went to see a Neil Simon play that was put on by a student acting group. The performance centers at NUS are amazing, and it was hard for me to rush inside and stop myself from admiring the architecture. The play was very cute, and I met up with some friends at Clarke Quay afterward.

Yesterday, I was invited to another steamboat dinner by a friend. I thought it was just a random group of students getting together, but a little while into the evening I found out that it was actually an activity for a student group called "Campus Crusade for Christ", and they call the members "crusaders". I don't think they understood the full historical significance of the word, at least not for Jews. Me, having dinner with crusaders. My Zayde (grandfather) would turn in his grave if he knew.

I was a little uncomfortable, but the people there were really nice and made sure that we had enough to eat. The staff advisor heard that I didn't eat shellfish, so she asked if I was a Jew. After an awkward moment or two, I said yes, and she gave me a polite smile. Like I said, it was a little uncomfortable. It turns out that she applied to Michigan for her MBA, so we were able to carry on a little bit of conversation after that.

We also had a dish where you pour different noodles, vegetables, nuts and crackers into a bowl, and mix it all together. Each of the ingredients symbolizes something, and everytime you pull your chopsticks out to mix, you're supposed to yell a word of good fortune and try to get the food as high as you can into the air. It was really fun, really delicious, and really messy. By the end of the night, we were well-fed and very tired, so we headed back to the dorms and watched a movie.

This weekend, I'll be going to Chingay parade and some concerts, so I'll make sure to update you as soon as I can! Gong xi fa cai!
Until next time,
Lizzy

More Pictures!

Hey everyone,

I just posted another album!  You can view it at:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2515762&l=4686f&id=2253943

Selamat Malam,

Lizzy

Running on empty...and a little fried rice

Hey friends,

Last Monday was somewhat uneventful.  I tried to rearrange my classes and get a few other things in order, and that night a few of us decided to head to Holland Village to check out a bar called Walla Walla.  Joanna's friend Mike said that one of his favorite local bands was playing, so a big group of us checked it out.

The bar was one of the first I've seen that looked pretty American.  When I say that, I mean I didn't feel out of place because I wasn't wearing next year's fashions, but the place was relatively laid back and the drinks weren't outrageously expensive.  The band did covers of college hits from the past 10 years or so, and they were actually pretty good.

The lead singer could imitate the style of almost any singer, and sounded completely American.  Much to our surprise, a few songs into the first set, he started talking to the crowd in an Indian accent.  He'd go back to singing, no accent, and then start talking, and sound like he was straight from Tamil province.  Myself and two girls named Vicki and Shruti just watched in amazement.

The next day I started classes, and before getting to my first lecture I got lost about five times.  I took the bus a few stops past where I should have, walked to the wrong cluster, then to the wrong lecture theater, and finally made it to Nation-Building in Singapore about 20 minutes late.  It was a huge lecture hall, so nobody even noticed, and the Teaching Assistant was just going over the syllabus for the semester.

One of the strange things about students in Singapore is that they are extremely competitive, but don't kiss up to teachers very much.  In this class and several others, the students would carry their own conversations while the professor was teaching, and no one would even pretend to whisper.  But after class, when you rush straight to the library to check out a book on the syllabus, it's already gone.

The assistant then went on to show us slide after slide of statistics about Singapore.  Best place to do business, best Asian country to do banking and finance, best airport in Asia, most degrees per capita in Southeast Asia, highest GDP and GDP per capita in Southeast Asia, best quality of life in Southeast Asia, etc.  After all of this, there was a slide that said in huge letters: BUT...most unhappy people in Southeast Asia, and one of the most unhappy people in the world.

I admit, it definitely caught my attention, and the other students seemed intrigued as well.  With that, the instructor left us hanging and told us that the class would teach us the complex realities of nation-building, and how all of those Singaporean statistics came to be.

After class, I headed to a Welcome Tea put on by the International Students Office, and was proud to be the only one in the auditorium raising my hand when they asked if anyone knew any type of African dance.  (They were only asking because they wanted us to organize a show, and I'm no expert; I took Congolese Dance for a semester.)  After walking around, my flip-flop broke, so I awkwardly alternated between sliding my way from place to place and going barefoot.

The next day I had class straight from Noon to 6 pm, and got lost again.  Twice.  Class discussions were really enjoyable, although I was pretty intimidated by how much the Singaporean students knew about American foreign policy, especially during past administrations.  The best remark of the day had to come from my Confucianism and Daoism teacher, who said "For the most part, generalizations are useful, until they become useless."

After my Contemporary Issues in Singapore lecture, I headed back to the dorms for dinner with some friends.  It was Ladies' Night again, but this week we decided to try Double O and skip the awkward platform dancers.  We had to show up really early (around 9) to beat the rush, and sat around for a few hours trying to meet other exchange students.  The upstairs of the bar was a club, with several rooms playing different kinds of music.  It'll suffice to say that it was a very fun night.

The next morning was my Gender in Malay Society discussion, and everyone took pity on me for being completely clueless about the NUS academic process.  Some very nice girls from the class showed me the codes for library withdrawals and copying, and promised to let me know when they were watching videos for class.  I spent the rest of the day wandering around campus for a bit, hoping to save myself from further embarrassment upon getting utterly lost.

Friday morning I woke up early to get ready and pack my bags for Borneo.  A group of about 20 exchange students had found really cheap flights to this area of Malaysia, and had researched some great activities and places to see.  We took a bus, a subway, and an airport shuttle before finally reaching the budget terminal and our Tiger Airways flight to Kuching.

We stayed at a hostel called the Borneo B & B, which seemed more like an international collection of college students staying in an old woman's house than it did a bed and breakfast, but the place was nice.  We had to take our shoes off at the door and the owner was really welcoming.  Seven of us shared a room, and everyone on two floors shared a bathroom.

The interesting thing about Borneo is the view of cleanliness.  Most floors are sparkling, since shoes aren't worn indoors and floors are cleaned multiple times daily.  If you look inside a bathroom, however, it's an entirely different story; most of them look like they haven't seen a mop in years, and the lack of a toilet bowl over the whole in the floor has prompted a term of endearment from our group toward restrooms in Borneo: "squatters".

We ate at what seemed like a really fancy restaurant, but our meals were about 10 Ringgit ($3) per person.  Whoever said that you can tell the class of a restaurant by looking at its bathroom has clearly never been to Borneo, and i'll leave the rest to your imagination.  We spent the rest of the night walking around town, looking at local crafts and seeking hangout spots.

We also ran into Kira, Jill, Leo, and Doug, who had arrived a day earlier and already had amazing adventures.  They had gone to a longhouse, a traditional tribal residence in Borneo, and visited the tribal chief.  After some tea and lots of rice wine, he revealed that the tribe used to be headhunters, and he still had headhunting gear from his grandfather.  They got to see the machete used to decapitate opponents, and the basket that their heads were collected in for a victory celebration.  The also got to wear the tribe's traditional dress and jewelry, and try shooting blowdarts through a 7 foot long instrument that had a spike at the end.  He sat with them and told them stories of the tribe, and they said it was an incredible experience.

The next morning we woke up bright and early to catch a city bus to Bako National Park.  The park isn't accessible by road, so you have to buy your tickets and hire a motorboat to take you across a small section of the South China Sea.  A lovely sign warning of crocodiles in the water greeted us on the docks, and pretty soon we were making our way out.

The water was pretty choppy, and was getting increasingly so the farther out we went.  Our little motorboat was looking smaller and smaller next to the waves, and I started getting very nervous about its resistance to capsizing.  Just as the waves were looking larger than the length of the boat, we saw the boat that was originally ahead of us turning back; upon looking closer, we saw that everyone inside was soaking wet.  They told us that their boat had just gone under a wave.

For some reason, everyone else found this quite thrilling, and my white-knuckled grip of the side of the boat only grew more intense.  The driver assured us that our boat was much bigger than theirs, and could handle much bigger waves.  Besides, he reasoned, he was a very experienced boatman, and had successfully gotten through much worse than this.

He could see I was only the verge of a nervous breakdown, so he asked if we should turn around.  Everyone kept replying, oh no, we're fine, let's keep going.  He would ask again, and everyone would reassure him that they weren't worried.  Finally, I saw a wave heading towards us that looked about twice as high as the length of our boat, and in a very loud and resolute voice, I said, "LET'S TURN AROUND."

Upon seeing the wave, nobody really contested, and so we started zipping back to shore.  Once we got in calmer waters, however, I could see that they were regaining confidence.  We met up with other boats who had also turned around, and our little group of daredevils decided that they wanted to give it another go.  I thought I might lose consciousness.

I suggested they drop me back at the docks, but after a long conversation and what must have been some serious brainwashing, I decided to try again.  This time the waves were even bigger, and I had the death grip on the side of the boat.  The news report e-mailed from my mother about an Indonesian ferry sinking flashed through my head, and I started praying pretty hard.  Just when I was about ready to vomit, another boat's motor broke, and everyone decided to turn around again.

I think my relief was pretty evident by the color returning to my face, and the boat drivers collectively decided that it was too dangerous to take us in high tide.  We would have to wait until closer to noon, when the waves during low tide would be blocked by a mud embankment.  We waited out those few hours with cards, getting-to-know-you games, and snacks we had packed in our bags.

By the time 11 rolled around, the water looked significantly better.  We reached the shore of Bako with little worry on my part, and even got to see a crocodile on the way there (from a safe distance, of course).  We walked along the beach, saw a few monkeys playing around in the trees overhead, and quickly set out on our hiking course.  We were going through complete jungle (or as our Australian friend Lauren called it, the Bush) and made great time.

At the end of one path was a beach that looked straight out of a movie.  If you've ever seen "the Beach" with Leonardo DiCaprio, it looked like that (only, sadly, it was missing Leo).  We stripped down to our bathing suits and jumped in the water, rolling around in the waves like little kids and laughing ecstatically.  After splashing around for a bit, we found a huge rock to climb and took some Survivor-esque photos.

Afterwards, we got back on the trail and kept going.  Over the next little bit, we saw geckos, some really interesting plants and trees, and insects that looked like they were on steroids.  After getting back to the base and having a quick lunch of - you guessed it - fried rice, we took a much more steady boat back and caught the city bus to town.

We spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up and relaxing until dinner, where we went to celebrate Sam's (one of our travel buddies) birthday.  The restaurant was right on the river, and with the lights all around the city, the view was absolutely gorgeous.  Afterwards, we walked around the area a little more, taking in the beautiful scenery and weather.  We found a hole-in-the-wall bar across from our hostel that was actually a really cool place, and the tables and benches were hand carved from local trees.  We chewed the fat for a bit, and called it a night at a decent hour.

The next morning was an early one yet again, but this time we went to Kubah National Park.  I made the mistake of not eating early enough, and was surprised to find that before we could start the trail we had to hike up a road at a vertical distance of 900 feet.  I was DYING, as was everyone, but we pushed through and finished in a little over a half hour.

Once we finally got to the trail, it didn't get any easier, with a lot of very drastic ups and downs.  I presume that the term "path" was taken pretty lightly by the park ranger, but it let us see some beautiful plant and wildlife.  After about an hour of intense hiking, we finally reached an enormous waterfall and several waterfalls that fell off to the side.  It was absolutely gorgeous, and we immediately, though cautiously, went in the water.

The rocks were very slippery, and people were dropping like flies.  At one point, Jessie turned around and saw Dena lying on her back with her hair in the water.  Apparently she had fallen and hit her knee pretty badly.  It wasn't until later, when she had a bump that looked like a tumor and was bigger than her kneecap, that we understood how hard she had fallen.

In the meantime, we climbed the falls and played under them, while some of the boys decided to climb all the way to the top.  After some time of goofing around, we got back on the trail.  Jeremy took Dena back to the park entrance so her leg could rest, and the rest of us forged ahead.  After some more very intense but very beautiful hiking, we came to a lookout point with a view of a valley, three rivers, and a mountain range.  It was breathtaking.  I tried to take pictures, but it was cloudy, and they just couldn't capture how stunning it really was.

After recovering from the awe we all felt, we looked down to discover that our feet were covered in leeches.  And I mean COVERED.  Jessie had a pretty big freakout, but we eventually got them all off of us (or so Tony thought).  We kept on hiking, and we were going the fastest we had gone all day.  We felt pretty good about ourselves, until we turned a corner and saw that there was no more path.

Gone.  It had been destroyed so much that we didn't even know in what direction to try looking for it.  Apparently there had been a really bad storm recently, and some trees had been knocked over.  These trees that I speak of had trunks that would take about four people holding hands to make a circle around, and about seven of them had fallen in different directions.  At a certain point, we just guessed, and started crawling through brush to try and find something.

We were climbing over and under logs that were absolutely infested with bugs the size of my pinky finger, and we couldn't see more than a few feet in front of us.  This was all on a pretty sharp incline, so at certain points I had to decide between risking a tumble down the hill and into brush, or risking a nasty bite and bug battle by leaning on something for support.  This went on for about 100 meters, and just when I was losing all hope and breaking into hysterics, we saw a clearing.

Screaming with joy and relief, we all fought through the last little bit and came back out onto the other end of the path.  At that point, we only had about 300 meters until the end of the hike altogether, so we used our excitement as energy to finish off the last little bit.  Once we got back to the park headquarters, we sat down for some much needed water and snacks and met up with Jeremy and Dena, whose lump had now flattened but turned dark purple.

We still had about an hour before our cab driver, Jai, was scheduled to pick us up, so we grabbed some lunch.  Guess what they were serving?  FRIED RICE.  We really didn't care, we were starving.

After the ride back, we walked around town a bit before noticing we were covered in mud and smelled like death.  We went back to the hostel to clean up and rest, but as soon as Tony took his shoes off he saw that one of his socks was covered in blood, and a very bloated leech came crawling off of him.  Jessie freaked out once more, and we helped him clean it up.

Dinner that night was delicious, and we felt we had definitely earned it.  We treated ourselves to some shisha (hookah) and Tiger Beer (the local brew) before taking a leisurely stroll around town and along the riverfront.  Some stands were set up with crafts and food, and we had a good time just taking everything in.

The next day we headed off to Semanggoh Rehabilitation Center to see some orangutangs that had been rescued and were now being cared for in their natural habitat.  You basically just stand on a platform and they eat and swing around you.  There's really nothing separating you from them, but as long as you don't have any food or drink with you (which you're not allowed to have), they maintain a safe distance.  The closest they got to being aggressive was dropping a branch on the platform.

There was an alpha male, a female, and several babies all swinging around, helping each other get food and a good resting spot in the trees.  The babies were adorable, and clung to their mother as she climbed, while the alpha male was enormous and had hair that dragged after him like a train.  It was nice to see them all together, and they seemed pretty happy.

Back in town, I decided to try some Foot Reflexology at a place that looked like they wouldn't try any funny business on me.  Some other people got full body massages, but I was curious about this in particular.  It's really interesting, sometimes painful, but definitely worth the experience.  I couldn't tell exactly what part of my foot was linked to which body part, but there were times when I got a vague feeling in my head or stomach, so I think it worked.  In any case, Johann got offered a happy ending, so we all had a good laugh about that after he told us.

After a bit of shopping, we found a taxi and went to Kuching International Airport to catch our flight.  As we were walking into the bathroom, we passed a handcuffed prisoner being escorted by police.  Later on, I unknowingly walked on a red carpet and almost collided with a security team and some Asian dignitaries that apparently deserved this kind of welcome.  Quite the eclectic airport, if you ask me.

Now I'm back, and ready to start another week of classes.  I'm bummed I won't be able to watch the inauguration with my friends tomorrow, but at least they're broadcasting it here so I'll be able to keep up a little bit.  Next weekend is Chinese New Year, so I'm also really looking forward to that!

Sorry again for the long entry, I promise I'll try harder to write more often and keep them short.  Happy MLK day, everybody.  I hope you made it a meaningful one.

Terimah Kasih,

Lizzy

Pictures!

If you want to see some pictures and don't have a Facebook, you can use this public link to view my album:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2511774&l=bdb10&id=2253943

Sorry they're so late, but it actually took hours to upload the photos to an album.

...and then my ears started bleeding

Hey all,

Sorry it's been so long since my last update, but it's been quite an eventful week here.  I last left you before Ladies' Night at the club.  Quite an interesting experience.

We decided to head to Zouk, where Jie Bin, Riya and some other friends were planning to go.  It was one of the nicest clubs I've ever seen in my life (although I guess I haven't seen that many clubs), and I immediately felt not cool enough to be there.  It was supposed to be Mambo Night, although I guess in Singaporean "Mambo" means "Euro-house and 80s hits".  We sat around, drank, danced a little bit, and generally just enjoyed each other's company.  Until they struck.

The guerilla dancers.  It started with one lone guy on one of the club platforms, dancing awkwardly to what seemed to be a choreographed dance routine in his head.  He got some weird looks, but I didn't really pay much attention.  All of a sudden, I turned around and there were 20 of them, all dancing to the choreographed routine, on different platforms, giving wistful looks to the crowd and winking at each other.

The dance was something you'd expect to see in a cheap exercise video, a lot of arm waving and shoulder pops.  The whole club just stared at them for a few minutes with a mix of awe and disgust, until the camera phones and video cameras started coming out.  They were as proud of themselves as ever, giving each other looks that seemed to indicate, "Yes!  We've conquered the club with our impeccable moves.  They love us."

We all expected some advertisement to come out of the experience, or perhaps that they were dancers hired by the club, but the club employees looked just as dumbfounded by their behavior as the rest of us.  By the time we left several hours later, they were still going.

The next morning, I decided to grab a quick meal at the nearby hawker stand before meeting some friends at the campus pool.  Finding truly vegetarian food in Singapore is somewhat of a challenge, since the Chinese think that vegetarian meals can include seafood.  Hindu food is always a safe bet, so I find myself often at Tamil stands.  I ordered a south Indian vegetarian platter, which looked like an enormous feast (and was only $3).

I ate happily, bouncing from dish to dish on the platter, trying to decipher what vegetables and spices were in each.  Some were sweet, some savory, and all had a bit of kick to them.  Overall, it was incredibly delicious.  One stew had something that looked like a flattened green bean, so I quickly popped it in my mouth and started chewing.  Big mistake.  HUGE mistake.

My entire mouth lit on fire, my nose started running, my eyes welled up and it felt like there was liquid coming out of my ears.  It soon travelled through all my sinuses, and the man at the next table started looking at me, seemingly unsure if he should laugh at me or call an ambulance.  I sucked down my entire glass of water chestnut juice, ate all my roti and naan, and started frantically looking for napkins to wipe my face, now covered in sweat and tears.  As I then learned, hawker stands don't have napkins.  Ever.  You're supposed to bring your own.

After another 10 minutes of ascending through this hell, I finally felt okay.  I found out later that my green bean was, in fact, a chile.  If there was anything in my head that needed to be cleared out up until that point, mission accomplished.

Later on, a group of us decided to check out some other areas of town.  We took the bus down to Holland Village, the area reserved for Westerners during colonialism.  Nowadays it's still a wealthy area (although I think it's majority Chinese, although maybe I'm wrong), and serves as a quaint little shopping village with preserved historic storefronts and landmarks, like a windmill.  

We did a quick walkaround, and soon discovered that we could afford little more than a sock in any of the stores.  After a bit of wandering, we took the MRT (subway) to Chinatown.  This turned out to be a fantastic decision, since the Chinese Lunar New Year (most important day of the Chinese calendar) is coming up in a couple of weeks.  There were lanterns and lights everywhere, and the market was booming with shoppers looking for all the decorations, food, good luck charms and gifts they would need.

As our group kept walking, I couldn't decide whether to stop and take pictures or to marvel at all the things for sale, so I did both (which is probably why I lost the group later on, and had to be found at the closest temple).  I couldn't really eat any of the food or fit into any of the clothes, and I had no idea what the paintings said or meant, but I didn't care.  I just wanted to be in all of the excitement.

One thing I did want to do, however, was get one of the many massages offered all over Chinatown.  I didn't get a chance to since we were moving so fast, but Jie Bin met me later on and informed me that it probably wasn't the best idea in the world.  The myth of "happy endings" is very, very true, and unless you're looking for one, you probably shouldn't get a massage in Chinatown.  In case you're wondering, sex work (prostitution) is legal in Singapore.

We grabbed some delicious dinner, and continued to walk around and admire the brownstone-type storefronts.  Storeowners used to keep their shops on the first floor and live above them, and that look has been preserved, but now they're rented in a more modern division of businesses, having rental spaces split up or posh hotels taking a whole property.

We made our way down to the main street, a wide boulevard with lit up trees and decorations hanging everywhere, while a giant screen in the median played New Year music and illuminated what looked like floats for a parade, but were parked in the grass.  We went up on the bridge to take pictures and look at the scenery, and there were a lot of families sitting up there as well, with kids playing and parents relaxing and enjoying the festivities.

The next morning was orientation.  All of the exchange students were huddled in a lecture hall, and we had to sit through several hours of power points.  The most amusing part of the whole thing was when a representative from the counseling centre spoke, nervously making hilarious jokes about the school that simultaneously endeared us to him and probably made the dean of students less than thrilled.  A group of us quickly made plans to head to Bintan, Indonesia for the weekend: myself, Dana, Jeremy, James, Kira, Dena, Kevin and Tony.

We met in the afternoon and hitched a ride to Vivo City, where we caught a ferry to Batam and went through Indonesian customs.  Getting a visa only requires $10, and you get a nice sticker that takes up a whole page of your passport.  Pretty cool.  We were supposed to catch another ferry from Telaga Punggur through to Tanjung Pinang, but the last one was cancelled.  The security officer at the port offered to take us across in a charger for 2 million rupiah ($1 American = 10,000 rupiah), but we cautiously decided to crash in Batam Center for the night.  Probably a very smart decision on our part.

Of course I was freaking out at this point, but the Lonely Planet guide said that a lot of people end up having to crash here, and the locals are pretty friendly.  That turned out to be true, but almost depressingly so.  We were stared at everywhere we went, with looks of "what are you doing here?" and a prompt offer of a taxi ride, even in stores.  It seemed like nobody believed we could actually want to be here.  A group of little kids ran after us asking for money in the middle of a busy street.

Everyone asked where we were from, and would quickly ignore the Canadians and say "Ah, America?  OBAMA!  OBAMA!  Nooo Bush...OBAMA!"  (Obama grew up for a bit in Indonesia.)  Once certain people got more comfortable with us, ie: the taxi driver, the hostel receptionist, the waitress next door, they were actually very sweet and very helpful.  We spent the night getting to know each other better and explaining our backgrounds, and woke up early to catch the ferry to Bintan.

We caught a taxi to the Traveller's Lodge, a section of the Shady Shack, a lovely beachfront hostel.  We spent the day lazily on the beach, talking, swimming in the sea, walking along the island, and enjoying ourselves.  Lunch was an amazing feast of local favorites, including tempeh, vegetable stew, seafood cakes, rice, seared chicken and more I can't remember.

We went for a walk through town, and everyone we walked past or that drove past us on the road waved and smiled.  Some kids playing nearby giggled and yelled "hello!", and made Jeremy take pictures and videos of them.  A hut on the road was selling cookies and snacks for pennies, so we stocked up.  About 5 kilometers down the shore was the expensive resort section of the island, where wealthy Singaporeans go on vacation.  The island itself is owned by Singapore, and Sing dollars are accepted far more widely than rupiah.

There was nothing but trees for miles, and most people just went for joyrides up and down the road for fun.  There are probably about 20 motorbikes for every car in Batam and Bintan, and safety doesn't seem to be much of a concern.  Helmets are only worn by some, and almost colliding with oncoming traffic in order to pass a car is extremely common (we didn't witness any crashes, but there are many).  I saw one motorbike being driven by a girl who couldn't have been a day past 12, with her friend and two toddlers on the back.  No helmets.

We met a nice couple also staying at the hostel, a Canadian man and a Singaporean woman who had gotten married and lived in Toronto.  They were visiting her family and had decided to get away for the weekend.  We shmoozed with them until dinner, egg and fried rice with some local beer.  The cook (Asep) asked if he could play some music, and we happily danced along to a repeat of the same 4 Indonesian pop songs from what sounded like the 80s.  He called it Pop Dangdut.

After our little dance party, we sat on a bench by the water, talking and watching the waves roll in.  Jeremy proudly caught a crab, and Asep brought us an Indonesian dessert of fruit in peanut sauce, which we quickly discovered also contained chile.  From the little English he spoke, he was able to teach us the Indonesian words for different colors, body parts and expressions.  He also laughed hysterically upon discovering that when white people go in the sun, they turn red.  He hung out with us for a while until we went to bed.

The next morning was a breakfast of some more egg and fried rice, and we headed back to catch the ferry.  While we waited between ferries, we decided to grab lunch at the mall in Batam Center.  They were having a modeling competition that somehow involved huge recliner chairs, and we shamefully resigned to eating pizza instead of the mysterious local food, although we were able to get a ridiculous amount of food for about $4 per person.  The next ferry had a television playing Indonesian soap operas, so we all picked a character and "translated" what they were saying.  I laughed so hard, I cried.

Once we got back, I quickly cleaned up and went with Joanna to meet Jie Bin and Suvi at Clarke Quay.  This area is the nightlife playground of the rich, but it is absolutely gorgeous.  Everything is situated on the river, which is lit up by steps that change colors every few seconds.  The clubs along the water are made to look like beachside houses, and the bridge lights up as well.  If you walk under a bunch of colored canopies, there is a giant fountain and luxuriously hip bars and clubs.

We went to Bellini Grande, a dance club, where Jie Bin's Russian teacher was having her birthday party.  There were several other Russian businessmen there, in varying degrees of creepy.  One wouldn't stop staring at Joanna with his eyebrows raised, one never spoke to us, while another was actually quite nice and made fun of everyone else so we'd feel more comfortable.

We soon found out that the bottle of tequila they were drinking was roughly $200, and I felt very young and very out of place.  The birthday girl was also a champion ballroom dancer, so she whisked away the creeper to dance to the live salsa band.  Relieved, we bid farewell to everyone and went to sit on the river and burst out laughing.  I may not be rich and fabulous, but at least I have my head on straight.

Again, sorry for the length.  I'll try to write more frequent, and therefore shorter, entries from now on.  I'll be posting the pictures on Facebook, so if you have any trouble viewing them or you don't have a facebook, let me know.

Until next time,

Lizzy

Oh Tokyo, I hardly knew thee...

My dearest companions and adoring fans (jokes, jokes),

I have arrived safely in Singapore and have pretty much figured my life out here, finally.  I have a nice (but small) room, working internet and phone lines, a cell phone for local calls, and a solid group of people I'll regularly be hanging out with.  Although these all sound like simple things, trust me, they were quite difficult to attain.

The flight over was long but not terrible.  From Detroit to Tokyo I didn't have one of those small headsets where I could choose what I wanted to watch, so out of the many things played, I stayed awake for Flight of the Conchords and the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2 (the risque edition).  I then had about a 3 hour layover in Tokyo.  Words cannot describe the hilarity.

First of all, advertisements were in English, but in some sort of provocative yet confusing version of English.  For instance, a bottle of water said "Power my beauty" while another was named Pocari Sweat.  I passed time with some green tea flavored Kit Kats and a television in the public lounge that alternated between news reports and Japanese pop music videos.  The latter was more enjoyable.

Even funnier were the shops in the airport.  Did you know that in Japan, bumper stickers are called "auto graffiti"?  Neither did I.  There were also far too many apostrophes everywhere, packages saying "Pin's" and "Shoe's".  One of the shops had a sign outside that said Drug on one line and Watch on the next.  Does this mean that they're on the watch for drug use in the store?  Do they sell drugs and watches?  Are they doing a drug demonstration and they want you to watch?  Unclear.  I took several pictures to document it.

The flight from Tokyo to Singapore had the nicer TVs, but some pretty bad turbulence.  My stomach rebelled, and to put it bluntly, my kosher meal from Borenstein's catering in Jamaca, New York came right back up.  I got to watch Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist (great movie, in case you haven't seen it), and talk with the lovely woman next to me.  She was a citizen of Singapore, of Indian descent, who had grown up Hindu but converted to Christianity.  She was very maternal, and even gave me her home phone number in case I needed anything while I was here.

After spending 23 hours on airplanes and in airports, I finally touched down in Singapore.  My meet-and-greet buddy from the university, Jie Bin (pronounced Tsiye Ben), helped me get settled into my dorm and took me for some late night (this was now 2 in the morning) food at a nearby hawker stand.

Singapore has many nicknames, including "Disneyland with the Death Penalty", "the nanny state", "the land of stairs and slopes", etc., but none have struck me quite as much as "the food capital of the world".  This couldn't be more true.  My first taste was a banana and cheese prata, a sort of south Indian sweet pancake, and some lychee juice.  Much too delicious for my waistline.

Jie Bin introduced me to her friend, Riya, who incidentally has the exact same taste in music as me.  She told me that although concerts are expensive on the island, a lot of good indie acts make their way over.  In just the next week they'll be hosting the Ting Tings, Bloc Party, and some other acts, and she recently got to see Broken Social Scene front row center.  I told her to hook a sister up.

I spent most of the next day wandering around campus like a lost puppy.  Much like the Hebrew University campus and much unlike the U of M campus, the roads are circular and curvy and very hard to navigate.  Luckily for me, the bus lines are very easy to figure out, stop very frequently, and most importantly, have some awesome air conditioning.  In case I haven't mentioned, it's currently 95 degrees, sunny and incredibly humid.

I had no clue where I was going, so I asked a guy at the bus stop which bus to take to the Multi-Purpose Sports Hall.  He was taking the same bus, so he got off at my stop, walked me to the building, and made sure I knew where I was.  Once there, he just smiled and went back to his business.  No sneaky ulterior motives whatsoever.  Everyone here is that nice; you think they'd get annoyed by the foreigners, but they just smile and show you where to go.

I met a lovely girl from Java Island, Indonesia, named Dinna.  We both showed up to registration a day early and decided to spend a bit of the day wandering together.  The campus is really beautiful, and very modern.  If a student here calls a building old, it means it was built in the 1980s.  We made our way to a 7-Eleven, where they supposedly sell NETS CashCards (a kind of debit card needed for registration, printing, copying, etc.), but they were all out by the time we got there.  Instead, I just chuckled at the Slurpee machines and hotdog cookers situated right next to the dumpling cookers and mochi cases.  A 7-Eleven in Singapore.  Really.  Right outside, there was a Subway and another place selling Coney Dogs.  I swelled with Detroit pride.

The electricity in my room wasn't working, so I had a maintenance guy come check everything out.  This was definitely a culture lesson.  I'm starting to learn how incredibly loudly I, and all Americans, speak.  He took off his shoes before coming in my room, and wouldn't point directly at me (something you're really not supposed to do to people here).  He kept asking if I was comfortable with him being in my room and offered to go outside on several occasions.  He ended up staying for about an hour while I made sure everything worked, and he let me use his phone to call the office.  Nicest guy ever.  Apparently, American power strips don't work in Singapore, and you really shouldn't try.  Nothing like a loud "pop!" and some sparks to get the point across.

Later that night, Jie Bin's friend picked us up to take us to Vivo City, the newest mall in Singapore, for some dinner and a movie.  Malls in Singapore are quite different from American malls.  First of all, it's considered quite normal to go to the mall food court (a collection of hawker stands) just to eat, as if going out to a restaurant, and not do anything else at the mall.  There's also a kind of park outside where people walk around and kids play, and Vivo City even has an ampitheater in its park.  It's on the southern tip of the island, and it overlooks the water and Sentosa, a nearby island resort.

At this point there were about 8 of us, including me, Jie Bin, her guy friends, Riya, a guy from Texas named Ricky and a Romanian girl from Toronto named Joanna.  We decided to pool our money and buy a bunch of food to share.  Very good decision.  I don't know how many countries were sampled on that table, but it was delicious.  Jie Bin was great at making sure I didn't eat anything that wasn't kosher, and tried to get me to try a Century Egg until I informed her that horse urine probably isn't kosher.  If you're curious, google "Century Egg".

After the movie, we went to a discount store for some odds and ends and great peoplewatching.  We set plans for tonight to go to a local club (Wednesday nights in Singapore are ladies' nights, and at some places you can get free admission and free drinks).

Let me pause here to randomly list things that are illegal in Singapore:

Spitting

Selling gum

Littering

Jaywalking

Possessing pornography

Being gay

Eating on public transportation vehicles

Swearing in public

Openly criticizing the government is a huge no-no, and most of the aforementioned crimes carry with them a hefty fine, or in some cases, a cane.  That's right, corporal punishment is alive and well here.  Drug trafficking is an automatic death penalty for certain amounts, and Singapore boasts one of the world's highest death sentences per capita.  It also has the lowest crime rates.  Go figure.

This morning was registration, a painstaking process that took 3 hours and involved a lot of walking back and forth across campus.  On a cooler note, they took my electronic thumbprint.  I felt like a criminal, only a lot less apprehensive of my future.  I also got to meet a whole bunch of exchange students from Holland, Norway, Australia, Canada, China, and other places.  I even ran into Dana Mendelson, a Montreal friend from Camp Ramah that I haven't seen in about 4 years.  When you're Jewish, you can't escape the tribe anywhere.  Not even Singapore.

We hung out for the rest of the day, along with a friend of hers and Joanna.  Later on, Jie Bin came and took me to Clementi Road to get a phone.  It sort of reminded me of the shuk (bazaar) in Jerusalem, only much cleaner and more polite.  The guy selling me the phone even stopped me from buying one that wasn't working properly.  I never would have noticed if he hadn't pointed it out.

Clementi Road and other areas of the city are under construction, and Jie Bin had mixed feelings about it.  On the one hand, she sees it as good for the economy and appearance of the city.  On the other hand, she watches her childhood memories get replaced by something shinier and newer, and knows people's neighborhoods are involved in the process.  Overall, though, nobody's too upset about it.

I even got my first taste of public transit.  It was deliciously air conditioned.  I also learned a fun fact about Singapore: people love to gamble.  There was a massive line at the gambling pools, and upon activating my phone, I found at least 10 lotto and gambling numbers automatically programmed into it along with my voicemail and balance check.  I spent a while trying to figure out who "Horseracing" was.

That's all for now.  Keep checking back for more updates on my new life here, and I'll try not to disappoint.  As soon as I figure this all out, I'll upload some pictures so you can see the beautiful landscapes here and attach some faces (and foods) to names.  Let me know if this was too long or detailed; I don't want to bore anyone.  Now that I'm in Singapore, I'll have to practice something I'm definitely not accustomed to doing: biting my tongue.

Love,

Lizzy