I always thought that the “politically correct” phenomenon in America was just plain annoying, and (dare I say it?) just a little bit offensive in its own right. However six months in Indonesia will just about make anybody feel all warm and fuzzy about the whole P.C. trend. (And this is coming from a mac user!) You see, political correctness as a concept doesn't really exist in Indonesia. I remember learning this lesson pretty early on in the game, when back in 2003, my first language teacher thought it would be a great idea to teach us colors by referring to the skin hues of various people around the world. Chinese were “yellow”; American Indians were “red”; etc. The state of shock that this induced in the all-American class was completely inconceivable to our Balinese teacher, who was only annoyed that all of a sudden, his students were rendered mute, unwilling to participate in the “let’s name people’s skin colors” game. To put it even more in perspective, these classes were held at the University of Gadjah Mada (UGM), Yogyakarta, which is always ranked as one of the top three universities in Indonesia.
The thing about it that's most disturbing to me, is that a lack of political correctness means you can get away with saying really racist things and no one will even bat an eye. Personally, I’d rather be annoyed at people being overly careful with their speech, than having to be horrified by overt racism. In Indonesia, most of the racist comments are reserved for the ethnic Chinese. In my mind, I liken the ethnic Chinese situation to what the Jews probably faced in pre-World War II Europe. Ethnic Chinese are the embodiment of all the worst personal qualities: uncharitable, exclusivist, opulent. At the same time the ethnic Chinese, as successful businesspersons, are thought to own a disproportionate distribution of the countries wealth. Moreover, they are subject to all sorts of discriminatory legislation on the basis of their ethnic origins.
The other most hated groups of people are communists, mostly because Indonesians have been indoctrinated to hate communists from the former regime’s anti-Communist stance. I think it also has something to do with the Marxian understanding of Communists as atheists, something that is not only inconceivable (How can someone not believe in God?), but unpatriotic. The Indonesian constitution requires the belief in one supreme God. Your religion (which can either be: Islam, Christian, Catholic, Hindu, or Buddhist) is even noted on your driver’s license. Hey, I'm just highly entertained to find out that in Indonesia, Catholics aren't really Christian. :)
Curiously enough, one man did rant to me about hating the Jews, something that I still find puzzling, since he himself to this day, has never met a Jewish person. Judaism is not even one of the five permissible monotheistic religions according to Indonesian law. It legally doesn't exist. Actually, what he told me was: “Indonesians don’t hate Americans. When they say they hate Americans, they’re really saying that they hate the Jews. If you’re not a Jew, then there’s no problem.” Now, I understand this kind of comment to be attributable to Indonesia’s support for Palestine as a display of Islamic solidarity, and therefore a criticism of the U.S.’s foreign policy and apparently unwavering support for Israel. I’m quite sure that if this guy ever met an American Jew, he would probably backpedal and say, “Oh, its not the Jews that we don’t like, but the American government.” However, it is more disturbing in light of Indonesia’s search for a charismatic leader, which commonly leads to the idolizing of Hitler as a powerful leader. You would not believe how many times I've seen pictures of Hitler as coffeehouse art, the sides of buildings, etc. But, Hitler-idolatry, my friends, is a whole other story, for another day.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Tango in Singapore, the Review
(Warning: this is a topic of considerable interest to me, and therefore is pretty darn long!)
I must say that for a thriving metropolis, I was pretty disappointed with the tango scene in Singapore. Not to say that I didn’t enjoy myself or meet cool people. Although I certainly didn’t have that special dance with anyone, the one that fills you with perfect contentment and sends you home warm and fuzzy no matter what else had happened that evening. Trust me: tango dancers reading this will understand.
I tango-danced a total of three nights: Saturday, Tuesday, and Friday. Each time, I was the only “newbie” to the scene, and not a single person came up and introduced him or herself to me or asked me to dance. Note: this would not normally be a crime in another type of dance venue, but to me, this is one of the main indications of how friendly a tango community is. Argentine tango outside of Buenos Aires is often freakishly small, and can sometimes be described of as “cultish”. However, this means that when a new person arrives on the scene, they immediately stand out as someone “different.” Not a bad kind of different, but just someone of interest. When the seasoned tango dancer sees one of these new people, the first thought in their minds might be, “however did this new person hear about us; we must find out everything we can about this kindred spirit in our midst.” However, such was not my experience in Singapore. My presence did not so much as garner a hello from anybody.
Luckily, I am not the kind of person who sits in the corner and mopes by myself, especially if I had to pay $20 just to get in the door—a ridiculously expensive sum to do anything in Southeast Asia. So, first I worked my way through the ladies table. I introduced myself, chatted a bit, and generally tried to get a feel for what tango was like in this part of the world. Now this night, there were more ladies than men. Apparently, the night before, there were more men than women…go figure. So I had a lot of time to check out the dancers. I think I saw every one of my pet peeves (beginning with the aforementioned lack of friendliness.)
For example, one man went up to each of the female dancers at my table with outstretched hand, just saying “Next!” with not-so much as idle chitchat, or a “how are you?” Now, for all you aspiring tango males out there, this is really annoying. Instead of being a social experience, the dance has been relegated to a charity case for female dancers. No thank you, I’m not that desperate. And the worst part was, that he never finished a tanda (the traditional set of 3-4 dances) with any of these women. Instead he displayed another example of poor tango etiquette, which is to walk away, leaving his partner stranded and feeling abandoned on the dance floor. Note#2 to aspiring male dancers: Walk off the floor with your partner. This is no buffet, where you can try one thing, decided you don’t like it, and leave it for someone else to clear away. Manners, people!
However, at least he was circulating dancers. The other male dancers stuck to their partners like glue, never moving one step beyond their comfort zone.
Now we get to the sixth pet peeve of the evening: women dancers who just sit there, waiting to be asked to dance. Not a single woman could lead, so, because it was a female-heavy evening, most of them sat dourly on the sidelines, looking bored. Note to women in this situation: Practice your leading…it’s not like there ain’t room! Especially in this particular dance space, which had a whole separate dance area just for practicing. Or get over there and just practice walking by yourself. At the very least, chitchat; be merry; eat the food; enjoy yourself! I practiced leading with some of the ladies, and it was probably the only moment of happy silliness the whole evening. Tango doesn’t have to be super-serious. It can be fun.
I finally scored a dance, when I forced one of the female dancers to introduce me to somebody, anybody… Now, while he quickly repeated pet peeves #2 and 3 (looking bored without so much as a hi, how are you?” and not finishing the tanda) he did walk me off the dance floor, where he proceeded directly to pet-peeve #7: “Criticizing your Dance Partner.” Granted, he only told me that I needed to relax my body but: a) I don’t recall criticizing him when he knocked me off my axis as he barreled through the steps) b) no offense mister, but you are not my teacher and I didn’t come to you for a lesson, so chill and enjoy what is meant to be a purely social dance, and c) if you don’t even finish the tanda, how do you ever get to the point of knowing another person’s dance style to the point where you can relax and enjoy the dance? Usually, my favorite dance is the second or third, after we’ve gotten acclimated to the way the other person moves and the bodies start working together.
Pet Peeve #8: A guy who repeats the same move three or more times, cuz the girl didn’t “do it right” the first time. Now listen guys, if this happens to you, chances are you led something wrong in the first place, or the lady has never done that before and she’s feeling a bit confused. Don’t make her feel stupid too, by repeating the step again and again until she “gets it right.” Bad, bad etiquette! Luckily this didn’t happen to me; I just witnessed it with some other poor misfortunates.
All those pet peeves aside, once I decided to brazenly talk to the “taken” boys, (those who obviously had set partners) we broke the dating barriers and had a merry time. We even went out for an early morning breakfast and I was offered a ride home.
So, moral of the story: if you are a tango dancer, avoid the top eight pet peeves of all time (or of me, in any case!), get to know the newbies, and help make the world a smaller place.
Overall score of the Singapore tango scene: C-
Tango dancers are very knowledgeable about the dance, but don’t adhere to standard etiquette practices, of which they claim to be aware. Music is ok, a varied mix of traditional, movie music, and Nuevo tango stuff. Dancers are friendly once you get to know them, but don’t expect anyone to go out of their way to make you feel welcome. Tips: Introduce yourself to a guy named Zee. He will put you in touch with tango dancers all over Southeast Asia, including...(gasp)...Indonesia!
I must say that for a thriving metropolis, I was pretty disappointed with the tango scene in Singapore. Not to say that I didn’t enjoy myself or meet cool people. Although I certainly didn’t have that special dance with anyone, the one that fills you with perfect contentment and sends you home warm and fuzzy no matter what else had happened that evening. Trust me: tango dancers reading this will understand.
I tango-danced a total of three nights: Saturday, Tuesday, and Friday. Each time, I was the only “newbie” to the scene, and not a single person came up and introduced him or herself to me or asked me to dance. Note: this would not normally be a crime in another type of dance venue, but to me, this is one of the main indications of how friendly a tango community is. Argentine tango outside of Buenos Aires is often freakishly small, and can sometimes be described of as “cultish”. However, this means that when a new person arrives on the scene, they immediately stand out as someone “different.” Not a bad kind of different, but just someone of interest. When the seasoned tango dancer sees one of these new people, the first thought in their minds might be, “however did this new person hear about us; we must find out everything we can about this kindred spirit in our midst.” However, such was not my experience in Singapore. My presence did not so much as garner a hello from anybody.
Luckily, I am not the kind of person who sits in the corner and mopes by myself, especially if I had to pay $20 just to get in the door—a ridiculously expensive sum to do anything in Southeast Asia. So, first I worked my way through the ladies table. I introduced myself, chatted a bit, and generally tried to get a feel for what tango was like in this part of the world. Now this night, there were more ladies than men. Apparently, the night before, there were more men than women…go figure. So I had a lot of time to check out the dancers. I think I saw every one of my pet peeves (beginning with the aforementioned lack of friendliness.)
For example, one man went up to each of the female dancers at my table with outstretched hand, just saying “Next!” with not-so much as idle chitchat, or a “how are you?” Now, for all you aspiring tango males out there, this is really annoying. Instead of being a social experience, the dance has been relegated to a charity case for female dancers. No thank you, I’m not that desperate. And the worst part was, that he never finished a tanda (the traditional set of 3-4 dances) with any of these women. Instead he displayed another example of poor tango etiquette, which is to walk away, leaving his partner stranded and feeling abandoned on the dance floor. Note#2 to aspiring male dancers: Walk off the floor with your partner. This is no buffet, where you can try one thing, decided you don’t like it, and leave it for someone else to clear away. Manners, people!
However, at least he was circulating dancers. The other male dancers stuck to their partners like glue, never moving one step beyond their comfort zone.
Now we get to the sixth pet peeve of the evening: women dancers who just sit there, waiting to be asked to dance. Not a single woman could lead, so, because it was a female-heavy evening, most of them sat dourly on the sidelines, looking bored. Note to women in this situation: Practice your leading…it’s not like there ain’t room! Especially in this particular dance space, which had a whole separate dance area just for practicing. Or get over there and just practice walking by yourself. At the very least, chitchat; be merry; eat the food; enjoy yourself! I practiced leading with some of the ladies, and it was probably the only moment of happy silliness the whole evening. Tango doesn’t have to be super-serious. It can be fun.
I finally scored a dance, when I forced one of the female dancers to introduce me to somebody, anybody… Now, while he quickly repeated pet peeves #2 and 3 (looking bored without so much as a hi, how are you?” and not finishing the tanda) he did walk me off the dance floor, where he proceeded directly to pet-peeve #7: “Criticizing your Dance Partner.” Granted, he only told me that I needed to relax my body but: a) I don’t recall criticizing him when he knocked me off my axis as he barreled through the steps) b) no offense mister, but you are not my teacher and I didn’t come to you for a lesson, so chill and enjoy what is meant to be a purely social dance, and c) if you don’t even finish the tanda, how do you ever get to the point of knowing another person’s dance style to the point where you can relax and enjoy the dance? Usually, my favorite dance is the second or third, after we’ve gotten acclimated to the way the other person moves and the bodies start working together.
Pet Peeve #8: A guy who repeats the same move three or more times, cuz the girl didn’t “do it right” the first time. Now listen guys, if this happens to you, chances are you led something wrong in the first place, or the lady has never done that before and she’s feeling a bit confused. Don’t make her feel stupid too, by repeating the step again and again until she “gets it right.” Bad, bad etiquette! Luckily this didn’t happen to me; I just witnessed it with some other poor misfortunates.
All those pet peeves aside, once I decided to brazenly talk to the “taken” boys, (those who obviously had set partners) we broke the dating barriers and had a merry time. We even went out for an early morning breakfast and I was offered a ride home.
So, moral of the story: if you are a tango dancer, avoid the top eight pet peeves of all time (or of me, in any case!), get to know the newbies, and help make the world a smaller place.
Overall score of the Singapore tango scene: C-
Tango dancers are very knowledgeable about the dance, but don’t adhere to standard etiquette practices, of which they claim to be aware. Music is ok, a varied mix of traditional, movie music, and Nuevo tango stuff. Dancers are friendly once you get to know them, but don’t expect anyone to go out of their way to make you feel welcome. Tips: Introduce yourself to a guy named Zee. He will put you in touch with tango dancers all over Southeast Asia, including...(gasp)...Indonesia!
Sunday, April 15, 2007
New Life Skills
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.
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.
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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