Local Event! - Chinatown 71st Anniv. Fest Thing

What T'Was:

7-11pm last night in the Central Plaza, dancing, retro 1940's lounge muzak live, martial arts show (missed that dangit), speeches (missed that yay), endless fortune cookies, small fireworks show, etc.

What T'Was Encountered:

Biked into Chinatown 'round 9:45 or so to catch the tail end of whatever the celebration wound up being. A small fireworks show launching off the LA River was just finishing up, caught enough of it to make me smile, then rounded the corner into that uber-tacky but oh so awesome Central Plaza where the fest' was taking place. A lone spotlight was rigged up at the entrance, I really wanted to climb onto it and make a shadow-puppet-bat but alas the security was too tight. Too bad.

Inside the neony plaza, which for those who haven't been is basically the China exhibit at EPCOT Center airlifted from Disney World & plopped into an LA warehouse district, was a solid crowd of all ages, mostly middle aged, swinging and watching others swing dance to the live Sinatra-esque lounge band on stage. The neighborhood was founded in the late 30's so they (the Chinatown Business Improvement Board or something) were appropriately going for that classy WW2-era retro theme.

After having my fill of jazz I started poking around the plaza a bit more. There were some candle-lit dinner tables set up here and there for VIP guests, pamphlet booths advertising the local Chinese American Museum and other attractions, a fortune teller (tacky!) and heavier than usual foot traffic in all them little souvenir shops. The outside of the Hop Louie Jazz Club was the greatest attraction though: two vintage mobster cars and a makeshift outdoor casino! The casino was obviously the main awesomeness there. Alas though I had no money to gamble. The atmospheric also-retro Mountain Bar, the best reason to come to Chinatown on a normal weekend night, was disappointingly dead 'cause of all this other cool stuff going on outside.

Strutted out of the plaza's rear, across Hill St and into Chung King Alley, an art gallery row where various hipsters were doing their art gallery thing. It was cool for a minute or two. The random strutting and poking around continued for the ensuing few minutes... mostly strutting because I could still hear the live blues from here and, you know, there's just something about that vintage saxophone lounge music that just makes you feel on top of the world. This music continued playing in my head on the (very downhill slopish) bike ride back, during which I got cocky and crossed said slope way too fast, lost control of the steering and... was biking one minute, rolly-pollying across the ground the next. Owie.

Bike Ride! - Chinatown

Downtown: Chinatown
via 8th > Alameda
ETA from 23rd St = 30min

Click for map

Rode north beyond Little Tokyo on Alameda St, past Union Station. The road lead straight to the Chinatown Metro Rail stop, two blocks to the side of which was a long strip of knick-knack shops, potent incense fumes and banks shaped like pagodas. The area was run-down but full of character. Was asked by a salesman if I wanted "Lady Boom Boom" (see Vietnam blog), then asked by another if I wanted a "free" Chinese medicine reading. Regrettably I turned him down.

Turned down a small covered alleyway lined with clothing stores to find that it was the entryway into a vast, convoluted flea market of sorts built into the alleys between the two main streets. Most of the booths were clothing sellers, one of whom had scantily-clad ladies poll-dancing in front of his shop.

Farther east, I came upon what I think was named "Central Plaza," Chinatown's main landmark and the filming location of Big Trouble in Little China. Tis a neon-lit small plaza designed like a medieval section of Shanghai & draped with red paper lanterns. Old Chinese men playing Mah Jong around picnic benchs and random white tourists split its population. Every building here had a Taiwanese (not Chinese) flag fluttering above, thought that was sorta interesting. There was a bar in this plaza staffed by a particularly gorgeous bartender who will one day become my royal mistress. One day.

--
Verdict = Quirky, slightly sleazy & bustling neighborhood that makes for a good destination if you want more of an adventure than Little Tokyo but don't have time to go too far.
Difficulty = Easy
Discoveries = Secret Swap Meet, Medicine Shop Row

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