Singapore: Tue 8/19, Day 90 of 91

At 4am, a wake up call came knocking on the door of our Khao San guesthouse room. It had been two hours since I first climbed into bed, so this call was obviously not welcome, but I had an Air Asia flight to catch and little margin of error in which to do so. I stumbled around in the dark packing the final nick-knacks into my rucksack, put said rucksack on my back and the school bag on my belly. Jeff, light sleeper though he may be, somehow slept through all this. I tapped him on the shoulder to wish him faretheewell (his flight was leaving later that day from Bangkok, whereas mine was from Singapore) and a safe flight, and his head cocked up for a moment to grunt. I took this grunt as sleep-speak for "Thanks Charles, you too! It's been fun." And fun it was. Thus was ended the Jeff-segment of this adventure.

Shoulders loaded well over capacity, I scrambled out to catch the first airport express bus, actually a van at the early hour and crammed to the teeth with fellow backpackers and their backpacks. There was some funny audible frustration at this one girl who didn't know if she was on the right van:

(Israeli accent) "What the f%ck is she doing? F%ck."
(Brit accent) "I have a plan to catch!"
(another Israeli accent) "(unhappy Hebrew mumbles to fellow Israeli)"
(3rd Israeli accent) "(more Hebrew grumbles)"

As soon as she was aboard, the driver TOOK OFF at what must have been three times the "speed limit" or rather the speed everyone else on the highway seemed to be sticking to. I don't think I've been more terrified by a car ride since stepping into one with David Nepsky at the helm early Freshman year. The terror was worth it though, I had only an hour until my flight left and probably wouldn't have made it had the driver been less insane. This means of course that I made the flight and landed in Singapore safely, with a comfortable five hours to accomplish my mission of rescuing Dan's suitcase from storage in the hostel I'd stayed at here 6 weeks ago after first leaving Nepal. This city almost feels like a second home, having now done a third tour of duty providing relaxation, transitioning and rebooting to a battered Charlie.

I didn't bother with any sightseeing... after three months on the road, what difference would one more pagoda make anyhow. Instead I settled down at a Muslim food court near the hostel and "splurged" SGD$5 on a huge feast of deliciousness including Singapore's specialty fish-head curry, gross in appearance but heavenly in yer mouth. Yousif, the obese mustached cook of either Malay or Arab origin noticed my luggage and gave me a free dessert on the side: "You have a long journey ahead, please, it is my pleasure!" I'm gonna miss hospitality like that, it's hard to come by back home where all the fast food is owned by this and that evil corporation. No disrespect to the UV Subway's trusty sandwich artists but them all got nothing on the charms of Fat Mustached Arabian, Mr. "Would You Like To Twy Sum Pwrwawn?" from Vietnam or half the other charismatic if untrustworthy vendors of these Eastern lands.

With my tray now stacked full with the biggest feast in weeks, including one final boba drink, I took a seat and chowed down on the glory. The meal took almost an hour and a half of solo, steady measured nibbling to conquer and came close to detonating my stomach, but my was it worth it. I was in no rush. This was my last supper, the final meal of the trip (airplane food doesn't count)... it deserved to be savored. Only after it was deep into my stomach could coherent thinking start again. After sinking into my chair in a digestive coma for a few minutes, I thanked Yousif and began the same five block walk to the hostel I trotted six weeks prior.

It was a nice feeling to be back here, bringing the journey full circle and all. I remembered the thoughts that went through my head the first time around, fresh off the plane from two months in Nepal; the giddiness of being back in the "developed world," the mystery of what might lie ahead... and now it was all over. There would be no more haggling, no more chickenbus rides, no more worry if I'll find a room in the next city or even navigate my way out of the train station. The pressure was gone completely. The only thing left to do now was crack open a can of Tiger Lager with hostel owner Mr Lum and wash the bittersweet taste of the moment down. An important chapter of my life was about to end. Important in what way, I'm still not sure.

5pm rolled around, I cashed in my remaining MRT cards, got me passport stamped... the airplane engines kicked in, and I made my peace with Southeast Asia.

---Vital Signs---
Feet = In Heaven! Finally got my sneakers back.
DBA's Suitcase = Rescued
Wallet = Written off till Spring '09
ETA to Home = 20ish Hours
Flight Transfer in = Taipei

FOOD POISONING = NONE... Thank you Portland Street House!! Thank you thank you.

Singapore's Independence Day: Sat 8/09, Day 80

Guy Sitting Next to Me on Plane: "AhHA, you pick right day to fly to Singapore! Today (is) National Day, many fireworks!"

Characterless as this squeaky clean city might be in parts, it felt refreshing to be back in "civilization" for a day or two. A quick hop & a giggle from ultramodern Changi Airport lead us to the Chinatown MRT station, local stop for our hostel. The hostel's location adjacent to the main pagoda and a hawker center (food court) was incredible, the hostel itself not so much. Two simple rooms packed to the teeth with bunk beds made up its entirety and promised a claustrophobic if cozy night. Sub par hostels are usually redeemed if they have nice owners and such was this one. Andy was his name, a short 60 year old Chinese guy who remembered your name and wouldn't stop trying to get to know you. He'd waddle around in an over sized Hawaiian shirt with only a pair of boxers for pants and could be mistaken for Donald Duck if only his silhouette was visible. His becoming the only person I can remember meeting to use the word "auspicious" in casual conversation sealed Andy's place in my heart. What a magical human being...

We walked across town in hopes of finding the unofficial intercity bus station, where we'd theoretically buy tickets for the overnight Singapore>South Thailand direct bus tomorrow night. Mayhem (by low Singapore standards) from the National Day festival starting 6h later lead us astray for a bit but the endeavor was successful. The bus depot was funnily the only spot in the city with any discernible genuine character, being packed full of working class Indians, Malays & Thais shopping in respective dedicated-ethnicity supermarkets. It was a gritty 70's style place reeking of cigarette smoke, with (GoGo?) bars taking up every foot of floorspace not occupied by food stalls or supermarkets. If not for the aforementioned fireworks, we would've stayed here all evening people watching. Fireworks time it nearly was though so we took the train back over to the Parliament area and followed the crowds.

A massive concert-type event was taking place in the main park here where hundreds of families had gathered to celebrate Singapore's birthday. In America this would've been a nutty carnival with donkey rides, BBQs, hotdog stands and football fan types chugging Budweisers. Here it was a cordoned-off section of locals who had paid to get into said section, all given color coordinated paddles to wave in the air at specific points and masses of less priviledged people lounging around the grass field outside. On the loudspeaker was an MC who would incessantly beg people not to leave the field and announce the odd playing of a historical documentary now and then on the screen. His sole function was the nonstop enforcement precise formation schedule for the people holding color-coded paddles. At 6:17pm, it was "make the Singapore flag!" time. Ten minutes later, the Singapore flag waving! Later, the most stunning Singapore flag formation with your assigned glowsticks! He would go silent for a bit, people would start having a good time, and then it was like "Okay play time is over, we must make a new shape for the video!" Or rather one of the singularly great quotes of the trip:

"Okee, okee... We make one formation now. Everybody get to your formations... okee okee... Ready? Now! INFLAME. YOUR. PADDLE-PODS!" (thick Chinese accent)

Several historical documentaries about the island's history were projected on the park's screen throughout this overly organized pseudo-mayhem. After paddle-pod inflamation #M087BNX42, the Prime Minister visited some other more central celebration elsewhere in the city and was treated with a National Anthem rendition from us. The MC launched the singalong and... very few people seemed to be singing. A CD track was played to compensate, followed by an airshow of awesomeness. The fighter jets made hair raising weaves in and out of the Downtown skyline before flying an array of fake near-collisions. Some well timed if tinsy fireworks added to the theatricality. Jeff & I joked that the fireworks were tiny because Singapore sold its supply to Beijing for the Olympics. In hopes of getting a better view, we mistakingly followed people onto a largely cordoned-off bridge and found ourselves in an impossible clusterfrak of a mob that took twenty minutes to find our way back out of. It wasn't worth the effort but made for a good story.

Back at the hostel, we met the rest of our roomies all of whom were American or British (sole German not withstanding.) I suddenly caught a glimpse of someone familiar in the conrner of my eye:
"Owh moiy Gyod! How ah yah??? I con't believe you'uh heya!"
It was Anna, the Congolese-Australian from my very first day in Singapore way back when! She had just come back from her trip to Japan and by some freakish coincidence wound up at the same hostel on the same night as us. After a mass group dinner out in the Chinatown market, she joined up with the two of us on a theoritical clubbing outing.

All three club targets were along Clarke Quay, a tacky-as-hell riverside shopping strip and nightlife hub of Singaporean youth. The entire population under 26 are hipsters. Every single last one of them. We surveyed the entrance to the primary target club and found it to be booming, but figured some pregaming was needed due to budgetary concerns as Singapore is a nearly Western priced city. Beer was bought at the nearest 7-11, though not after waiting for the rest of the youth population to carry out our idea as well and form a line far longer than a convenience store should be worth. We sat down beside the waterfront, opened the cans, and thus started such an epic philosophical discussion between Anna & I that any chance to club was entirely squandered. Jeff grew increasingly silent during this convo because as I found out later, he really really wanted to go clubbing already. Sorry Jeff :-\ A rare instance of the shoulder-nudging system failing.

3am struck, the night ended, and Donald Duck who was for some reason still awake bidded us a goodnight.

---Vital Signs---
Food Poisonings: None
Bug Repellant Supply: In the Yellow
Travel Weariness: Cured by Singapore's Comfort
Countdown to Full Moon Party: T-1 Week

Singapore: Tues 7/8, Day 48

For a more after-the-fact-proofread version of this and following tales, plz go to: http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog/sirrocko711/1/tpod.html

Double-reverse culture shock is fun. It started on the airplane... an Indian style meal of dal, chicken curry, and rice was SilkAir's dish of choice. Totally not expecting that rare gem of thing called silverware to be included, I impulsively started eating the meal with my hands. The mistake was caught and corrected rapidly. Then came the arrival. The second I stepped into the terminal, I swear life revved up into a mild fast-forward. Everyone just seemed to be walking... faster? Odd it was. Then I saw it... a brown and white temple to the cocoa gods... a Coffee Bean. I had more important matters to attend to however, needing to make sure my baggage made it to the correct place in one piece. The check-in agent at Kathmandu Airport was having his first keyboard typing lesson while printing out my boarding passes and baggage claim, not the most reassuring sight to see. My "welcome back to civilization" treat check list would have to wait. Luckily, the rucksack and suitcase were there, and off I went to hunt down the night's accommodation, Betelbox Hostel. A brief MRT ride and my first use of an escalator in seven weeks was required for this. It was needless to say, the most singularly awesome escalator ride I had ever had.

As I boarded the shockingly clean train, a cocky feeling came over me. "Ooh look, the locals ride on cute rainbow colored trains! This is just like Disneyland!" It wasn't Disneyland though, it was, you know, a normal, functioning Westernized city. An abnormally clean westernized city (Singapore is that infamous "benevolent authoritarian"state where bubble gum lands you a $1,000 fine), but a city nonetheless. It just seemed like child's play compared to Kathmandu, and the perfect place to take a boiling, sterilizing bath in hydrogen peroxide & rubbing alcohol and reboot the hygiene; exactly what I needed to unwind. Upon disembarking the shiny choochoo train, I was greeted with bakeries, soya drink bars, a 7-11, food food food food! Delicious looking dirt cheap food that I didn't have to be frightened of and was literally everywhere. The thoughts going through my head were probably watered down versions of the wonder a Nepali would feel setting foot in the developed world for the first time.

"WAIT!"

...a local warned. I was about to get hit by an oncoming runaway taxi. I was so used to vehicles giving a warning honk as they passed pedestrians (extremely annoying when you first arrive in KTM, but life saving shortly thereafter) that my road awareness was at minimal strength. Over the next day, about five more J-walking related near death experiences followed before I finally got back into the grove of cars not honking their horns at 2 second intervals. I think I've got it down now. The tedious luggage overloaded walk to the hostel was nearly complete when I stumbled across one of Singapore's most reknowned traits: A "hawker" food court. This spartan outdoor cafeterias serve up dirt cheap meals of every shape and size for the local working class, and can be found everywhere. I stammered through it in awe and got tripped by an adjacent janitor. Instead of saying "sorry" though, he repeated "aggh! aggh! aggh!" ala Oddjob while patting my shoulder. I gotta say, Singlish is one baffling language. It's a hackneyed blend of English, Chinese, and mostly Malay, and was rapidly driving me insane. At the MRT station, "Mind the patetat" was posted instead of "Mind the gap." The station announcements read out something like "Changfew; Pakan Beru; Chingpingdong; Wongtangping; (sudden flawless Brit accent) Chinese Garden; Tewkedaodeedah..." In a 7-11 the next day, I asked the shopkeeper if she had any nail clippers...

"Nail cha-cha?"
"N-a-i-l C-l-i-p-p-e-r-s." (motions to nails)
"Nail cha-cha!"
"(grumble) Yes, nail cha cha..."

I've since gotten somewhat used to it.

Sweating like a dog, I found the hostel in the midst of a mildy seedy suburban main nightlife drag and scrambled upstairs. The helpful owner Mr Lum showed me the dorm room where a Congolese/Australian girl named... shit forgot her name... was settling down for the night. We broke the ice and chatted for a bit, though my extreme tiredness reduced my undeniable charm. jk. I went down to the common area to give the blog the massive update it needed that I'd written on the plane, and made friends with an Indian man whose name I also forgot. I told him tales of Nepal and a juicy culture oriented convo ensued. He was a bit of a bigot (refering to Muslims as "those bastards - excuse me..." (while in a Muslim country, mind you), but seemed friendly enough to make up for it. Then the question came.
Him: "Did you get any pussy?"
(double take)
Me: "I'm sorry, what?"
Him: "Girls."
Me in my Head: "Oh boy..."
Me: "Haha, no. Got a bunch of hints, but no results."
Him: "Hints like (graphic descriptions of sexual things)"
Me: "Oh haha no, just exchanged numbers..."
Him: "Oh. That's too bad, because Nepali girls are much more liberal than Indians. They already think you're God, all you have to do is buy them a drink and they're yours for the night."

If you are one of my parental units, read sentence number 1 & skip 2. If you are a friend, skip 1 and read 2.

1-Me: "Oh no, I'd never do that. I'm saving myself for the one special one."
2-Me: "Goddamnit, why didn't anyone tell me that sooner..."

In any case, this creepy Indian fellow had been staying in the hostel for months, doing "software development," and it rapidly became clear that he was probably a local pimp. Double checking of my handy Singapore Rough Guide revealed that the neighborhood, Katong, "Is home to a large devout Malay population. Not so Malay though is the rampant prostitution problem that goes unchecked by authorities." I had inadvertently found my way into Singapore's defacto Red Light District. No wonder I was so culture shocked by the skimpy, even by American standards, dress of the local women. That said, the area is, like the rest of Singapore, uber polished and by in large safe. I made an awkward exit from the conversation, finished my writing, and slept... not so well. The normal mattress was too soft, I'd gotten used to cushioned particle board. Oh wells.

---Vital Signs---
Hygiene = Awesome
Laundry = Sparkling
Juices Sampled = Starfruit, Chestnut + Sugar Cane, Guava Ginseng, Almond Soya, and Watermelon
Stomach = Currently engaged in battle with a stir-fried squid tentacle. I think the tenticle is winning.
Light Cold = Mostly Recovered