Today I found myself learning the art of jewel shopping with a Frenchman. I met him at the hostel that I moved into that morning, after a successful evacuation from Crazy Hotel Panget. Apparently, he is an artist, as well as an employee of the French government.
We wandered together to the Bugis market where I discovered that there is indeed a place to buy things cheaply in Singapore. Unfortunately, you have to really sort through stuff to make it worth your while. It’s like one of those garage sales where someone dumps all the junk from their dresser drawers onto a blanket on the sidewalk, and the customer has to sort their way through everything. The Frenchman, who has a typically French name, like Michel, was searching for “cat’s eye” which can be differentiated from quartz by its changing color when viewed from different angles. I, in turn, bought a snakelike steel belt, in order to practice my newly acquired bargaining skills in French. Oo la la, C’est chère! Tsssssssss… Bargaining in French is so much fun; I’d say it’s one of those things worth moving to Paris for.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Monday, April 9, 2007
My Crazy Landlord
As the saying goes, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. The writing was on the wall from the beginning.
My first day in Singapore found me standing at a payphone in front of one of the cities malls, named of all things, "Lucky" Plaza. My luggage was in one hand, while the other clutched a piece of paper with a number and a name of a person who I thought was a legitimate hotel Manager, who turns out to be well, what's the politically correct term for slum lord? Well, actually, he runs something like an unregistered hostel for hospital patients and Filipino migrant workers.
I'm a strong believer in premonitions/first impressions. Just reading his name, something in me already knew...this man was crazy.
It's not just that I have trouble understanding his Singlish (Singaporean-English--the kind-of Asian English that comes straight out of a Kung-Fu movie). Although he does have a tendency to repeatedly shout "Can!" which might mean "No problem" or a variety of other things, depending on the context. It's not just a problem with his accent either, because usually there are people standing in the near vicinity who can mouth what he's trying to stay and still be clearer. For example
"I take you to the Jew," might not be the eye-raiser that you originally think. Instead, he could be saying, "I take you to the zoo," at which point you can politely decline. Why? Because this man is crazy.
He's the kind of crazy that knocks on your door for half an hour at 1:00 in the morning, waking up everyone in a two block vicinity. And when you don't answer the door, because you're presumably sleeping and in your pajamas, only then does he think of calling you. And when you decide to answer the phone, he simply goes on and on about how his friend is coming tomorrow and wants you to meet the room servant tomorrow. Understandably confused and annoyed, you say fine just to end the conversation, only to wake up and see 6 Vietnamese faces peering at you, urging you to move out your things so they can occupy "their" new room. After a long conversation is carried out through jumping, hand gestures, and other dance-like movements since none of you speak the same language, you call the landlord. Of course, his phone is turned off until early afternoon, because, well, this is a Sunday, and he did stay up so late pounding on your door.
Now, luckily, that was the night you'd decided to go tango dancing, so you hadn't actually had to suffer through the door-pounding. This is unlike your unfortunate neighbors, who happily express their innermost feelings about the experience in the morning. Rather unluckily, you'd decided to join one of the other tango dancers for a late night dinner/early morning breakfast, which is a common enough tango activity after the dance ends. This means you are now operating on a little under three hours of sleep, and now have a huge sore throat for your retardedly late night activities before you're fully recovered. Unluckily for your landlord, this also means that you are happily ready to tell him your own "innermost feelings."
His answer to the crisis, is that you move out, and then all of you can go out for karaoke later that night. He'll buy all the beers. Great idea, right?
You end up moving to a single room in a nicer apartment for the same price. All the other tenants, in a heartwarming show of solidarity, parade through the streets, helping you carry all of your stuff amidst barrels of bad jokes, mostly aimed at how crazy our landlord is. You spend the rest of the day trying to catch up on sleep. That evening, as you and the other tenants are chatting with the crazy Panget, as the Filipinos have taken to calling him, he starts going on about how you should really see the room servant again. As he plies you his mother's cooking, you ask, "Who is this room servant that you keep going on about?" The Filipinos laugh. The "room servant", which you thought meant "maid" really means "room seven." So the 1am conversation was really his way of telling you that he wanted you to move out, to room seven.
Even though the mystery is solved, you still check out as quickly as possible the next morning.
My first day in Singapore found me standing at a payphone in front of one of the cities malls, named of all things, "Lucky" Plaza. My luggage was in one hand, while the other clutched a piece of paper with a number and a name of a person who I thought was a legitimate hotel Manager, who turns out to be well, what's the politically correct term for slum lord? Well, actually, he runs something like an unregistered hostel for hospital patients and Filipino migrant workers.
I'm a strong believer in premonitions/first impressions. Just reading his name, something in me already knew...this man was crazy.
It's not just that I have trouble understanding his Singlish (Singaporean-English--the kind-of Asian English that comes straight out of a Kung-Fu movie). Although he does have a tendency to repeatedly shout "Can!" which might mean "No problem" or a variety of other things, depending on the context. It's not just a problem with his accent either, because usually there are people standing in the near vicinity who can mouth what he's trying to stay and still be clearer. For example
"I take you to the Jew," might not be the eye-raiser that you originally think. Instead, he could be saying, "I take you to the zoo," at which point you can politely decline. Why? Because this man is crazy.
He's the kind of crazy that knocks on your door for half an hour at 1:00 in the morning, waking up everyone in a two block vicinity. And when you don't answer the door, because you're presumably sleeping and in your pajamas, only then does he think of calling you. And when you decide to answer the phone, he simply goes on and on about how his friend is coming tomorrow and wants you to meet the room servant tomorrow. Understandably confused and annoyed, you say fine just to end the conversation, only to wake up and see 6 Vietnamese faces peering at you, urging you to move out your things so they can occupy "their" new room. After a long conversation is carried out through jumping, hand gestures, and other dance-like movements since none of you speak the same language, you call the landlord. Of course, his phone is turned off until early afternoon, because, well, this is a Sunday, and he did stay up so late pounding on your door.
Now, luckily, that was the night you'd decided to go tango dancing, so you hadn't actually had to suffer through the door-pounding. This is unlike your unfortunate neighbors, who happily express their innermost feelings about the experience in the morning. Rather unluckily, you'd decided to join one of the other tango dancers for a late night dinner/early morning breakfast, which is a common enough tango activity after the dance ends. This means you are now operating on a little under three hours of sleep, and now have a huge sore throat for your retardedly late night activities before you're fully recovered. Unluckily for your landlord, this also means that you are happily ready to tell him your own "innermost feelings."
His answer to the crisis, is that you move out, and then all of you can go out for karaoke later that night. He'll buy all the beers. Great idea, right?
You end up moving to a single room in a nicer apartment for the same price. All the other tenants, in a heartwarming show of solidarity, parade through the streets, helping you carry all of your stuff amidst barrels of bad jokes, mostly aimed at how crazy our landlord is. You spend the rest of the day trying to catch up on sleep. That evening, as you and the other tenants are chatting with the crazy Panget, as the Filipinos have taken to calling him, he starts going on about how you should really see the room servant again. As he plies you his mother's cooking, you ask, "Who is this room servant that you keep going on about?" The Filipinos laugh. The "room servant", which you thought meant "maid" really means "room seven." So the 1am conversation was really his way of telling you that he wanted you to move out, to room seven.
Even though the mystery is solved, you still check out as quickly as possible the next morning.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Miracles!
I found tango in Singapore! I guess I am less a die-hard tango fan than I suspected, otherwise I would have googled "tango in Singapore" even before I left Bandung, but let's not quibble over facts. I was so excited, I immediately splurged on tango shoes for after all, you can't possibly dance in flip-flops. :) Plus it was an excuse to see late-night shopping on Orchard St., which if you can imagine it, is worse than Black Friday in the States.
By the time got home and showered, well, it was quarter after midnight. Yes, again I failed the "die-hard tango-fan" test. By the time I would have got there, let's say 1:00am, there'd still be one whole hour left of dancing. But after walking the whole day around Singapore, my tired body said "go to sleep". So instead, I sit at the kitchen table writing about the greatest discovery of all time. Ok, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. But only slightly.
If I stay in Singapore 10 more days, I could tango six evenings before I go back to Bandung. That's almost more excitement than my little tango-deprived body can stand. How ever will I be able to go to sleep tonight? Oh, and what's great is that they had a whole slew of of size 34 shoes, high heel, in stock! That is a size 3 kids, back home. I positively love Singapore right now.
By the time got home and showered, well, it was quarter after midnight. Yes, again I failed the "die-hard tango-fan" test. By the time I would have got there, let's say 1:00am, there'd still be one whole hour left of dancing. But after walking the whole day around Singapore, my tired body said "go to sleep". So instead, I sit at the kitchen table writing about the greatest discovery of all time. Ok, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. But only slightly.
If I stay in Singapore 10 more days, I could tango six evenings before I go back to Bandung. That's almost more excitement than my little tango-deprived body can stand. How ever will I be able to go to sleep tonight? Oh, and what's great is that they had a whole slew of of size 34 shoes, high heel, in stock! That is a size 3 kids, back home. I positively love Singapore right now.
Health Update
The doctors in Singapore were very good. I like the Infectious Disease doctor, he reminds me of Bell Yung, one of the ethnomusicology professors in Pittsburgh...very smart, professional, nice.
All of the blood tests/x-rays were either within normal range, or almost back to normal. So the doctor says whatever I had is gone. I asked him if that's the case, how come I keep getting sick? (Every couple of days I feel ill). He said I just need to rest more, because if you get a variety of tropical diseases at one time, than it takes the body several months to recover. So I'm taking vitamins now to boost my immunity and drinking tons of water. I'm off all my former medication, and trying to keep things simple. So now I just have to go back for a few more check-ups and can concentrate on being a tourist in Singapore.
I'm so excited to be on the mend and get back to work!
All of the blood tests/x-rays were either within normal range, or almost back to normal. So the doctor says whatever I had is gone. I asked him if that's the case, how come I keep getting sick? (Every couple of days I feel ill). He said I just need to rest more, because if you get a variety of tropical diseases at one time, than it takes the body several months to recover. So I'm taking vitamins now to boost my immunity and drinking tons of water. I'm off all my former medication, and trying to keep things simple. So now I just have to go back for a few more check-ups and can concentrate on being a tourist in Singapore.
I'm so excited to be on the mend and get back to work!
Singapore
Singapore is: hot, trendy, expensive, cheap, Western, Chinese, touristy, over-protective, safe, clean, fun, quaint, modern, a late-night party city, full of foreigners, pretty darn cool.
I've been trying for days to think of a good way to describe Singapore, and that is the best I could do. The string of adjectives that could be applied to the city is endless. My one friend, Charlie Augustus, always says _______ (fill in the blank with any place name) is a land of contrast. So, Singapore is a land of contrast. But not in the Indonesian sense, where you go to the next city over and the inhabitants speak a different language, have different fashion tastes, and new cuisine. Singaporean contrast is much more subtle. I've talked to a lot of people, and the common consensus seems to be that when you first get here, you're not that impressed. But the longer you stay, the more you love it.
There's so much to do in Singapore. Every day can be packed with adventure catered to your individual interests. There are world-class museums, parks, jungles, a zoo, beaches, walk-in classes on every imaginable subject, Chinese opera, independent film festivals, dancing, bars, temples of every sort, you name it and more. It's a city-country where everyone speaks either Mandarin or English although the official-est of the four languages is actually Malay. It is a Western-style oasis in the midst of Southeast Asia, with a shopping mall on every street corner. I've taken to thinking of it as: The West for the East, and the East for the West.
I've been trying for days to think of a good way to describe Singapore, and that is the best I could do. The string of adjectives that could be applied to the city is endless. My one friend, Charlie Augustus, always says _______ (fill in the blank with any place name) is a land of contrast. So, Singapore is a land of contrast. But not in the Indonesian sense, where you go to the next city over and the inhabitants speak a different language, have different fashion tastes, and new cuisine. Singaporean contrast is much more subtle. I've talked to a lot of people, and the common consensus seems to be that when you first get here, you're not that impressed. But the longer you stay, the more you love it.
There's so much to do in Singapore. Every day can be packed with adventure catered to your individual interests. There are world-class museums, parks, jungles, a zoo, beaches, walk-in classes on every imaginable subject, Chinese opera, independent film festivals, dancing, bars, temples of every sort, you name it and more. It's a city-country where everyone speaks either Mandarin or English although the official-est of the four languages is actually Malay. It is a Western-style oasis in the midst of Southeast Asia, with a shopping mall on every street corner. I've taken to thinking of it as: The West for the East, and the East for the West.
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