Visa Time.

For the past few months I have been denied a diverse beer selection, so I couldn't wait to zip (yes, I said zip) down to Singapore and wrap my lips around a bottle of Hoegarden or an import from Mexico perhaps. Singapore is a little enigma of a country. Don't know if I have enough time here to figure it all out. Cheerio! En route, as a anxiously peered out over the Andaman Sea, I imagined myself strolling through Chinatown, window shopping on Orchard Street and botching pronunciations as I ordered food in Little India. I actually did everything I sought to do including sheepishly screwing up ordering food. For the first three nights we stayed on Dunlop Street in Little India. Many of the people that walked the streets at dusk were male workers from India, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. They chatted closely in cliques in front of barber shops and walked hand in hand down Dunlop. This apparently is not a gay thing, simply a cultural norm. I witnessed a superb street fight between three local dudes. The poor guy who got pounded, staggered away confused and defeated carrying his torn sarong in his arms. No one was seriously injured except maybe the man's ego, which must have been terribly bruised as he had no covering on the lower half of his body. This all happened in front of one of the only two foreigner bars on Dunlop. I was sitting at a bistro table on the front terrace with a few other travelers and we all rubber-necked as the tussle herded by us. I sat quietly. I am told it is not uncommon to see the occasional bar fight among the locals after a late night of boozing. There are no women out at night, so I would imagine this testosterone-fueled ritual leads to serious muscle/dong flexing. That's about the extent of any violence you'll see in Singapore. Anything above that, the punishment could result in death by hanging or caning. No thanks!

Place of worship, Dunlop Street, Little India

The food in Little India is nothing less than an assault on the senses! Piping hot tikka masala paired with nag champa incense burning in near proximity cemented me in the experience unique to Singapore. 

White tiger, Singapore Zoo.

We spent the third day at the Singapore Zoo. WOWY! WOW! Being the vertebrate-centrist that I am, I enjoyed the damn zoo. There were no circus type shows to demean or make freaks of the animals and they had so much room to roam. The Zoo schedules feeding times where you catch glimpses of a white tiger feasting on raw chicken or fruit bats slopping up soft mangoes. You can explore the animals in incredible replicas of their natural habitat. I felt this strong desire to share my winsomeness with a child.  I digress.

The "Biodome" exhibit was a lovely place for blood sucking mosquitoes to prey on international delicacies. By the time we finished the exhibit, Lee was covered in bites. The bites swelled puffy. We Googled it and were convinced he had a lymphatic infection. Luckily, there was a clinic a few blocks away—walk-ins welcome. A doctor saw Lee within twenty minutes. After a ten minute consultation with an actual DOCTOR, Lee was prescribed antibiotics, antihistamine, ointment and some kind of cleansing solution. When it comes time to pay, the receptionist says in her native singlish, "Twenty-five dollars, please." We asked her three times to repeat herself out of disbelief. Yep, you heard it, twenty-five dollars for the visit and the meds on site. Did you know America is 37# on the World Health Organization? Just below Costa Rica and one above Slovenia.

I forgot to mention I had my teeth cleaned in Phuket for 40 US dollars. This included the deep cleaning thinga-ma-jiggy. After asking around, I found I had gone to one of the more expensive clinics. Now, mind you, the dentist assistant continued to silence her phone with one hand while the other was holding a suction tube in my open mouth.
Ok, bit of tangent on medical tourism, but I have to say it feels good to be taken care of at a fair price.


Chinatown, Singapore.

We walked around Chinatown and perused a temple that was painted candy apple red. I tickled the fans, fabrics and hand painted chopsticks displayed outside of the shops as if (cheesy metaphor deleted, thanks to Steve). The MRT public transport system delivers people from train tunnels directly to the main street in Chinatown like a birth. A Chinese rebirth if you will. My mind was on Bayly the whole time. I imagined almost everything I saw displayed in her Asian themed boudoirs.


Chinatown, Singapore

We migrated up north and stayed with a Alexander Gow, a Scot from some small island in Scotland. Forgot the name. He plays in a Celtic band in Singapore. I will admit, being in Singapore on St. Patrick’s Day watching a Celtic band is rather...cool. Aaaaaaaand they were wearing kilts. *swoon* Check out their face Face book page at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=5989361473

The Proclaimer’s classic "500 Miles" holds a special meaning for me now in my easily impressed American heart. Mr. Gow works and performs at the hotel we were staying at in Little India.  Gow invited us to stay with him at his home in a quieter setting, so we moved to sweeter accommodations to the suburbs of Woodlands. We took the train back in to town our last few nights and walked through the Esplanade (architecturally reminiscent of Disney’s Epoct Center), Orchard Street and then made our way down to Clark Quay for another performance by Mr. Gow *swoon*. We ate chicken wings, talked movies, relationships and had some laughs. So sad to see it end. Clark Quay reminded me of midtown in the spring. The last thing I would like to mention is that at the Thai embassy in Singapore, they require a copy of your flight itinerary and a copy of your financial statement proving that you have 1,000 sing dollars in your account for a 60 day visa. I had neither of these documents. Ultimately, I returned to Thailand with a 30 day on arrival.

Clark Quay, Singapore (Miles & Stephanie)

That's all for now.

Stephanie

Climate Control

I am finally getting settled here in Phuket. I think I am done complaining ad nauseum about the heat in Thailand. The locals told me I would eventually get used to it. I guess I have. As much as one can get used to clothing against soggy skin and not a napkin in sight to wipe my face or anything else for that matter. You don't really do napkins or toilet paper here. For instance, instead of a roll of Charmin, the Thai bathroom has a sprayer mounted on the wall next to the toilet. Personally, this has been more difficult getting used to than the heat.  I like a dry bottom, what can I say, but I will adjust in time to this custom I'm sure.

The tourism and expat demographic is dominated by Europeans. I spend a fair amount of time interacting with the Brits at Omalley's Irish Pub. We poke fun of one another and discuss Thai beer while I ignore the cricket game on TV. I've noticed that making fun of Americans is one of the Brits favorite past times aside from cricket and watching football. Sometimes I worship their cynicism. It's charming even.  

Watching American media is/has been uh, embarrassing. As if Fox & Friends wasn't already horrifying state-side, it's the only US news coverage I get in my apartment!  Here's what I hear from the shower:  "The debate last night between Senator Clinton and Obama...and now for "strange baby names." One gleaming white-toothed reporter says to the other gleaming white-toothed reporter, "It's like the parents accidentally hit the keyboard and came up with a baby name,mwahahhahahah,(FOX News) mwhahahah! Back to you Gretchen." I don't know, it just seems so much more sinister from this vantage point, if that's even possible. And what happened to Nancy Grace? That late pregnant decision turned her kookoo for coco puffs. I think her next career move will be to breast feed the twins while interviewing Natalie Holloway's father--LIVE. And to think, I used to be a fan.

Now step out of the West for a moment and in to the East. In the morning hours, the weather is cool and the Thai monks stroll the freshly swept streets collecting their daily offerings. They wear muted, orange robes and walk on clean, bare feet. The mangy street dogs have hobbled out of the shadows looking for scraps and the vendors, with little sense of urgency, are setting up their food stands for the day. Women are not allowed to touch Buddhist monks. I am quite nervous to get near them. I can't help but stare. I am a staring whore. So cane me. At any rate, between 6am and 11am is a very colorful part of the day. There is a calmness in the air that is really savored before the sun sends everyone indoors. The children are positioned loosely on their parents motorbikes headed off to school. The younger kids are streaked with a chalky white, prickly heat powder to protect their tiny faces from the sun.

We traded the motorbike for a car. The exhaust and heat sandwich made me a nasty farang at the end of the day. So long death trap! Koh Phi Phi, Long Beach

Lee and I have carved out a few yummy places to eat. In Samkong, The Dairy Hut has scrumptious panang and massaman. Another new gem is a place called Farang, which transliterated means, "foreigner". Farang serves up tasty spinach lasagna and fresh salads which are both hard to come by. The staff at The Dairy Hut are youngish and quiet. The boys wear perfectly coiffed band hair, and in typical teenage fashion, act "too cool for school". I order a coke, "Coke nueang" which means "one coke." Quantity for some reason must be stated. "Coke one," he says, with no intonation in his voice. His face is no less than quizzical. I admit I am a little homesick for a fat BBQ sandwich and a side of broccoli casserole from Daddy D's back in the sweet ATL.

We live in an area called KuKu where tourists don't venture much. We moved from the rustic bungalow in Chalong because we were going have to wait two months for internet. Our new leasing agent Joy is Thai/Chinese, and from I am told, is considered to be high(er) society than Thai. I do not know why just yet. I will learn. She speaks a little English and is our liaison between the housekeeping staff and the girl who works at the mini-mart in the bottom of the complex where we make frequent water runs "nam plow" (bottled water). Last week, Joy arranged food and drink on a card table outside of the leasing office. Curious, I asked what the 'free food' was for worried that the meat baking in the sun is well, unsanitary. She told me the food was for the spirits and "for to be put at the tenth of month, but I am late; it is twelve." And with that, she giggled and I continued fondling the arrangement with my eyes. Why didn't I know about this ritual already?I feel embarrassed. There were six different juices, soup, a whole bird, candles and incense burning. Quite a spread for the spirits.

Lee and I and his friend Dan from the US, went to The Chalong Fair a few weeks ago. The fair was once a celebration of the Chinese New Year, but over the years became less religious and more carnival-esque. Like Easter. The festival reminded me of a county fair back home complete with darts, dunking booths, cotton candy and stuffed animals minus the formidable, shimmering temple as a backdrop. Rides minimal. This best part for me personally was the shopping. Labyrinths of tents and sweaty vendors tempting you with junky treasures. Flat irons for 100 baht, makeup, hand-made clothing, toy guns, jewelry, house hold products, containers, lions, tigers and bears, oh my! There was also a booth designed for the 'extra large' tourist. To promote the merchandise, two Thai girls squeeze in to one pair of pants and shout, "Big sizes! Big sizes!" OK, we're all fat pigs, I get it. There are also a variety of fried insects available for snacks, which I passed on. The whole experience felt a little like an acid trip--but in a good way. 

Fried bugs at Chalong Fair

There was a beach party to celebrate the closing of the regatta yacht races, which Thais, Europeans and a handful of Americans organize. There must have been a few hundred people there. Red lanterns were sagging from treetops that canopied the path from the beach and the road. Traditional Thai music was playing and a pony- tailed middle-aged man was playing an amplified violin. In the forefront, a sultry tanned Brazilian vocalist was tapping a tambourine on her hip. As I am standing there alone watching the performance, I hear over my shoulder in english,

"I'm soo in love with her." Someone clearing crushing on the performer.

Lee was a busy taking photos of the winners of the boat races. He also had to twist his own arm to snap a few shots of the Thai pageant girls. The girls would slither out on to the stage and contort their boyish frames in to curvy silhouettes. I took some live footage of this to send to my friend Steve back home. What I would have given to have him there to witness the menagerie of temptresses. He could have totally pulled off his faux Kiwi accent. Everyone there was too drunk and the music too loud to understand each other anyway. A German guy told me I sounded Spanish? I ran with it of course.
"Oh jes, I am from espain."

On the quieter side of the beach and away from the stage, paper lanterns were released in to the sky and floated up over a sullen tide and in to darkness. Watching the lanterns lift off is an exhilarating experience. If you stand too close, the smell of butane burning may spoil the illusion that a soft candle is whispering inside the delicate paper, so it's best to stand a few feet away. The lanterns symbolize loved ones who have passed on. You pay 100 baht and make a wish. I definitely had a few people in mind as the lanterns flickered and giggled over the ocean. I imagined those people were saying hello to me and laughing at my ignorance. I called my mom as I paced in figure eights along side the water's shore.  A little high on cheap wine, I had to tell her about the lanterns.

All Photos are Copyright 2008.

That's all for now.

Stephanie