Christmas Eve

John loves to fish. That warm queasy feeling you get when you are sitting overheated, bored stiff, mosquito bit and sweaty in a creaky boat in the middle of some godforsaken watering hole is something he just lives for. I do not share his enthusiasm. This is part of the reason I had so many sons - I needed someone to fish with my husband.

Christmas Eve, we absolutely had to be back by 7. As part of our Island Experience on the First Resort, we had to commit to the Gala Dinner. This cost $385RM per person, 1/2 price for Andrew. It was an extravaganza we were not going to miss. But before that...well! We had all day! So John booked a fishing trip. Sadly, the price went up considerably with the 5th person, so I offered to stay back, lie in a hammock on the beach and read. They headed out in a rickety boat, and I settled in. Aaaahhhh.

They returned at noon. Fishermen get up early, and a 4-hour schtick is over in no time. They were famished, and so we decided to head out to the mainland and find a hawker stall where we could pay less than $200RM for lunch. When we arrived at the dock, we told the Resort Guy that we were looking for a nice little place to go, close by, where we could get some lunch and do a little souvenir shopping. He told the cabbie to take us to Kuah. We had no idea where this was, and were ill-equipped - as in no map - but we trusted the guy and piled in.

This cabbie had minimal understanding of English. As in not one word. He rocketed past the airport, spooled around a traffic circle, got on some freeway, and took off. We had no idea where he was going. We sat there for a little while - we had, after all, told an English speaking guy what we wanted to do. 10 minutes or so into the ride, John turned to me and said..."Where the hell are we going?" Naturally I had no idea. So we tried to ask our guy. We talked, he turned around, smiled, laughed, and said stuff like "Americans" and "Tomorrow" and "Kuah." We made him pull over and pull out a map. We pointed, he smiled ("Americans") and took off again. Finally John said something like "No pay!" and the guy screeched to a halt in front of a tacky shopping mall, charged us $36RM and left us for dead.

We went into the mall and had a crappy overpriced lunch. We strolled around a bit, determined to get our money's worth, and finally left empty handed. We hailed a cab back to the dock ($36RM) and arrived in time to watch the 5:30 boat leave...we had a half hour to wait. We sat in the bar and talked to a couple of Kiwis who had spent the last 10 years or so circling the globe in their yacht, knew everything about everything, had precious little affection for our president and were not loathe to point any of that stuff out. They were a riot. We were back in time for dinner...but the dinner is another blog post...

(The exchange rate is $3.35RM is $1.00US. Kiwis are New Zealanders...)

What Me? Afraid of Heights?

When at the top of falls, roughly 400 meters above sea level, we saw in the distance the World Famous Langkawi Cable Car. It was not far from where we were, and the cable stretched far above the falls. We decided we would take a gander on up the next day...

We tried to get out early, we did. But a night on the beach and a huge breakfast makes for sluggish travelers and we did not get to the dock until about 11. A $36 cab ride got us to the Cable Car around noon. The line was 2 hours long. We almost scrubbed the whole idea - who wants to wait in the hot sun for that long, anyway? But we decided to hang in there seeing as we had nothing else planned. Andrew and Matt decided to take a half hour elephant ride through the jungle while we waited. They enjoyed it...it was a time killer plus the elephant had a big ol' turd hanging off his tail that kept Matt entertained the whole time. Luckily he did not have a camera with him or I may have had a photo documenting something I never wanted to hear about in the first place...

We waited pretty close to 2 hours, with tickets that cost $35 to buy but $50 to replace if lost (yeah - explain THAT one...), climbed onto the car and headed up. We were about halfway - maybe 500 meters up and suspended over the treetops, and two of us, who shall be nameless, admitted to an as-yet-unrealized fear of heights. While I prefer not to name names, I will say that a picture is worth a thousand words, and one should not be fooled by ostensible bravado...My favorite part of the trek up was the emergency procedures, though....There was a locked box with a hammer attached. The note on the box said "In case of emergency, break glass." I have no idea what could have possibly been inside.

The view from the top of the mountain was incredible. We took pictures, which did not do it justice. We were 710 meters above sea level, which I have a vague idea of the conversion, English speaking, but can say from a visceral point of view is pretty damn high. We got to the highest point by climbing some steps (but not as many as the day before...although I did hear the not-so-faint cursing of an Indian guy whose words I did not understand but whose message was loud and clear...) and crossing a bridge that swayed, almost imperceptibly but not quite, in the wind.

We got down just in time to go horseback riding before the $36 ride back to the resort for another expensive dinner. We left content, with a photo of Andrew and Matt on the elephant that cost $20 and I can't find now, and we were back in time for happy hour....

Free Waterfalls, You Say?

While at the Last Resort, we happened upon a book that told of waterfalls on the main island that were beautiful, with rocks slick and soft enough to slide down, and, best of all, free. After a gigantic (and free) breakfast at the First Resort, we caught the next (free) ferry and headed out. This was the first and last cheap day we had on Langkawi....

We caught a cab to the falls at the dock. One thing we learned about the cabs in Malaysia was that no matter where we were going, when we asked the cabbie the fare, he would look up, consider the distance, mutter to himself, and announce "RM $36." Every. Single. Time. We agreed on the price, climbed aboard, and headed to the falls.

We were dropped at the base of a hill with a hawker stall, a convenience store, a stand where we could buy a cheesy, overpriced towel, and a flight of steps the likes of which I have never seen. We bought our towel and some water and headed up. After 15 minutes or so, John commented positively on the distance - as in "Hoo boy. Don't have to stairmaster today! Hyuk hyuk." After 30 minutes or so, he likened the distance to climbing to the top of the Washington Monument. 15 or so minutes after that, all I could hear was the faint cursing of a man who did not want to climb one more step.

At the top, we considered where to leave our stuff. We found a nice deserted spot under some trees, wondered why no-one else had picked it, reveled in our good fortune, and headed to the water. We looked up just in time to see monkeys stealing our cheesy overpriced towel and water bottles. We started yelling to scare them away, raced up, chased them off, found a non-deserted spot, and headed back to the falls. I daresay we are in a couple local photo albums....

We had a fabulous day at the falls. We made friends with some Scandanavian college students and egged each other along all day. The water was warm, the company was good, and we had more fun than, well, a barrel of monkeys...

The First Resort

After our harrowing night at the Last Resort, we called Mufasa to take us to Port Langasuka to catch our ferry to Rebok Island. We laughed about how we had island fever, which prompted us to leave Singapore and go to....another island.


If we had tried, we could not have found two more different places. The Last Resort was a lot like camping, but without clean water and the warm, companionable glow of a campfire. The Rebok Island Resort was another matter altogether. We were picked up at the dock in a golf cart by a guy who probably apologized for one thing or another about 9,000 times. They carried our stuff and gave us cool towels and fruit juice at the check-in point. There was cheesy disco tech Christmas music playing over the intercom, which we grew to hate over the next 5 days, although we kind of wanted to buy the CD when we left...


The first thing they established with us was the transportation rules to and from the island. The ferry ran pretty much willy-nilly between the hours of 7:30am and 7pm. After the 7pm ferry, the cost each way was $150 Malaysian ringets (about $47). This was an obvious ploy to have guests eat an expensive dinner at the resort. At first, this really ticked us off! But on Day One, after we made sure the boys could not pay the passage back to the mainland, we went to bed giddy with the knowledge that we could hold them captive while we slept! HAH! We were just sorry we had not thought of moving to a deserted island off the coast of Malaysia when they were teens.....

The Last Resort

All Expats want out of their respective countries at Christmas. It comes with the territory. We decided that the perfect place to go for us this year was Langkawi Beach, Malaysia. The beaches are fabulous, the weather is warm and dry. It is just right. When John sat down to make the reservations, though, he hit a snag. It was September...months before Christmas...but things were booking fast. The cheapest way to fly was to leave on December 20 and return on December 26. The big bummer was that December 20 had no accommodations available that were even remotely affordable. We booked it anyway, and figured December 20 would work itself out.

In November (and my kids say I am a worrier) I decided to figure out that December 20th thing. Phil and I had pretty good luck with the guest house experience in Cambodia, so we put our heads together and decided that we would do that again. After all, we would only be there for 12 hours or so, and all we needed was a place to stay until the next morning when we could get on the Island resort where we had booked the rest of the week.

We settled on the Zachary Guest House. Zachary had one compelling feature - it was available.

We caught a cab at the airport and headed to Zachary's. The cab driver, Mufasa, was a peach. He took one look at the place, gave us his number, and told us to call him any time - he could be there to pick us up inside 10 minutes. We assured him we were fine. But we took the number. We found our way down a dirt road to the check in area...the guy in charge shooed away the lizards, found the keys, and showed us to our rooms. Phil's room was first...he kicked off his shoes, threw himself on the bed, and declared he could stay in this place all week. Matt and Andrew's room came next. Andrew took off his shoes, sat down on the bed, and decided one night would be fine. Matt rooted around in his bag, found a shirt he wouldn't mind burning later, wrapped it around the pillow, and asked us how the hell he was supposed to sleep standing up. John and I had deluxe accommodations, as in a big bed, a little bit of space, and two fans that blew full force. Also we were right next door to the bathroom.

In the morning, Matt was, not so surprisingly, up early. Maybe it was the chickens, maybe it was the monkeys, maybe he is just an early riser. One never knows. He came into our room and declared that in the kitchen area there was one couple who were already up. The woman looked ok...a few tattoos and a bit of road dust, perhaps, but pleasant and friendly. The man was sitting at the computer clad only in a 'banana hammock.' For those of you unfamiliar with Matt's brand of unvarnished vernacular, a banana hammock is a G-string. He was ready to call Mufasa.

We headed out back to the kitchen, and met the Tattooed Lady and the Banana Man. They were actually delightful. They had a little girl who was maybe 2. My feeling is a warm bath and a little time for the swelling to go down on her mosquito bites and she would have been just cute as a button. They showed us where to make coffee, and ushered us out to the pool area where we could enjoy a little early morning sunshine and our cuppa kopi instant.

We hung around there most of the morning. We made a couple friends, drank our cuppas, and waited for Andrew and Phil to wake up. We headed out just before noon to the resort where we had booked the rest of the week. We joked about ol' Zachary's the whole holiday, tho. We even gave it a new name...For us, it was The Last Resort....The pictures just barely do it justice...

Oh yeah - Matt is not actually jumping into the pool. I did a little Photoshopping. Some things are impossible to resist...

Cambodia? What the hell.....

Phil, as a high school lad, stumbled across some pictures of ancient temple ruins in Cambodia. As he is a bit of a dreamer, and into photography, he told me that he was determined to get there some day. I smiled condescendingly - that's what parents do - and said..."Someday you will." Last week we did.

The temples are in a little town about 150 miles from Phonm Penh called Siem Reap. Since Phil is quite the seasoned traveler, and has had great fun mingling with the locals, he wished to opt for a local guest house rather than a western hotel. Since I am the cheapest woman on the planet, I checked out the prices of said guest houses (around $6/night/person) vs. the hotels (around $75/night/person). The cost difference was huge! And...and I must say this will go down as one of my favorite advertising ploys of all time...the Guest House boasted a full restaurant, serving meals between 5AM and midnight, which they guaranteed contained no dog, cat or rat! Well! Sign me up! We decided to stay there.

We arrived in Siem Reap at 7AM. There is exactly one flight out of Singapore into Cambodia per day. It leaves Changi airport at 6. You wanna go to Cambodia, you get up early. The Happy Guest House picks its guests up for free - a young Cambodian was there to greet us. He led us to a motorcycle with a covered wagon on the back. This is called a tuk tuk. We hired this kid as our personal driver, and we bounced around the roads of Cambodia in his tuk tuk for the next 5 days. For this privelege, we paid a daily wage of $12.oo, $3 of which went to the guest house.

The first day there we went to the city. The city is on a dirt road full of shops and restaurants. There are two traffic lights, mostly ignored. We got a kick out of the 'walk' and 'don't walk' signs. The red light is just that, but the green is a moving light graphic of a guy running as fast as he can. We were inundated - people everywhere trying to sell us stuff. The old and the young with limbs blown off by land mines, restaurant owners who wanted us to eat or drink there, motorcycles and bicycles weaving around the muddy streets, and children everywhere. There is no public education in Cambodia. Parents who wish to educate their children must pay for it, and the cost, at $5 to $10 per week, is an astronomical sum most Cambodians cannot afford.

Later in the evening we headed out to a 'floating city.' The people live aboard boats - most of them all of their lives. They don't really leave - there are stores, a school and a floating park with a basketball court. They fish and make clothes to sell to one another and the tourists who come by. They catch alligators - ostensibly for food, but mostly to keep them from eating the children. Kids can swim by the time they are 2 - families have smaller boats to use to get from one place to another - many of them need the whole family on board...one to drive the boat, the rest to bail out the water that leaks inside.

My favorite day by far was the day we headed out to a temple on an island. We arrived at noon and decided to have a picnic first. We bought our food, then negotiated our way out to the picnic spot...platforms suspended over the water that we could only reach by balancing on planks floating on the water. One wrong move - you're wet. We ate, laid on hammocks then got in one of the rickitiest boats I have ever seen. When I asked the guy for life vests he threw in 2 jackets and an innertube. The engine was so loud it was better to crowd onto the bow to avoid inner ear damage. Once we got out there, we got stuck - a storm rolled in. And we were lucky enough to spend an hour with a group of the most delightful children I have ever met. They were school kids - just home for the day. They wanted to practice their English on us, one girl asked me to help her with her math. They feel blessed - they can afford to go to school. The do have to row their boat 2km per day to get there, but as long as they leave by 5:30AM they get there in plenty of time. Three of them go, which is perfect. One rows, one steers, and the other bails water. The boys gave Phil and Andrew a ride around the island in the boat...Andrew was the baler. They had things to sell too, but I didn't buy anything. I gave them tuition money for the week. Best 15 bucks I have ever spent.

We visited the temples, which were amazing. We went to a local park, mostly for Cambodians, but we found ourselves at a 'show' where they needed a bridegroom so they asked Phil to help them out. The locals went crazy when the white boy hit the stage. We ate great food, slept in a humble guest house, tried to stay hydrated while avoiding the water and met travelers from all over the world who had set out to see what they could see. A retired gentleman from Sweden whose wife had recently died, an old British Navy Guy who figured, at age 79, that he may as well see the world, and a lot of European and Australian kids whose parents had sent them out to find themselves. All in all, I would count this as the experience of a lifetime. And we didn't even get sick....

As you all know, Phil is here in Singapore with us. He found an ingenious way to finagle his fall classes online and is staying with us here, while taking his requisite courses in the US. He had to pay his share of education costs, of course. But the extra curriculars are killer.

Phil just got back from Thailand, where he spent 10 fun filled days with a backpacking group. The group consisted of 9 young people - 3 Aussies, 3 from the UK, one guy from New Zealand, Phil and one Thai tour guide. It was very bare bones - they stayed in a Western Hotel the first and last nights, thus making them Terrorist Extremest Bombing Targets, but only for two of the ten days. The rest of the time they were perfectly safe! I heard the stories, saw the pictures, and my pulse rate and blood pressure are just now coming back to around normal...

His group spent 2 nights on an all night train, where they hung out the windows and took pictures of each other. They had to be quick, tho. There were a lot of trees along the tracks that could hit them if they hung out there for too long. Thank God for Auto Focus!

They hiked to the River Kwai. They took pictures. Their tour guide pointed them to the falls, and told them they had a couple free hours to hike up there. Beautiful! So they did. There they hiked up an additional 900 yards of sheer rock and slid back down said falls in nothing but their skivvies. More pictures.

One free afternoon, young Phil rented himself a motorbike. He fancies himself as having a pretty good sense of direction, so naturally he got lost. Found himself in a little town where exactly one guy spoke english. The guy pointed - pointed! - the direction Phil wanted to go. So he headed back, keeping his eye trained on said direction. Made it back to the train with minutes to spare.

Phil bunjee jumped, rode on the neck of an elephant and spent the weekend in the 'Hill Village' where they ate a meal prepared by a Thailand Hill tribe, drank local booze, and were entertained by Tribal Warriors in traditional dress. One of the girls with the tour was a Camp Counselor and taught them a couple songs of her own. They rode on Tuk Tuks, taxicabs, petticabs and boats. Phil found himself in a restaurant where he was the first American the guy had ever served. He left a photo behind. He met a cab driver who liked him so much he picked him up on his last day, took him to lunch and gave him a lift to the airport for half price. He left a photo with that guy too...

At the moment, Phil is on his way back from a weekend in Kuala Lumpur. He sent me a text at midnight - can he bring home a Swedish guy for a couple nights. The hostels in Singapore are all booked up. He has known him for 3 whole days, and they are old buddies.

We will see them both tonight. I'm sure Phil will come equipped with stories and more pictures...

Happy Haroreen

I hate Halloween. When I was a kid, I loved it - I got too much candy and stayed up later than usual as a little kid; played with eggs and shaving cream and no, nobody ever steps on the Flaming Bag of Poo as a teenager. When I had kids I learned to hate it. They got too much candy and stayed up too late as little kids; played with silly string and toilet paper and no, nobody ever steps on the Flaming Bag of Poo as teens. My favorite part about the idea that we were moving to Asia last summer was that I could dispense with the whole ugly scene.

Ha Ha! That's where I was wrong. Here in the Woodlands of Singapore, a neighorbood I fondly (or not so fondly) refer to as 'Little America' Halloween is quite the experience.

I was warned a couple weeks ago. I needed to prepare myself. People decorate to the hilt. They bring candy back from the States when they take trips there. The rough estimate of candy needs for the two-hour melee is around 3,000 pieces. People admonished me to give out one piece per child.

Naturally I did not have any candy. I looked around at the stores here, but individually wrapped stuff is either nonexistent or prohibitively expensive. We could shut the gate and turn off the lights, but that seemed pretty party pooperish. So we did what any self-respecting unprepared American would do - we headed to Mustafa in Little India. Mustafa is a multi-story shopping mecca where one can meet every imaginable need. The stuff isn't much cheaper, but the variety is impossible to beat. We bought 25 pounds of garden variety wrapped hard candy that an American kid would scoff at. We happily spent $65 on the stuff. We laughed about heading to Little India to buy candy for a pagan American holiday that we were celebrating in Singapore.

The 3,000 number was not an exaggeration. The roads were closed to traffic and the community hired security. The streets looked like Disneyland on a long weekend. We gave out one piece of candy per child and ran out in about 1 1/2 hours. We had a fair number of Americans, but most of these people were local. Everone - including adults - wore costumes and trick or treated. My favorite people were the locals...they were beaming; they seemed to relish this American holiday; and their greeting...instead of the traditional 'trick or treat?' Happy Haroreen!

The World Series

We are rabidAngel fans. We are loyal to a fault when they lose, maddeningly smug when they win and we really wouldn't have it any other way. This year, our team is in the playoffs. Watching any sport besides soccer and golf takes an act of God in Singapore. We do have options...We can watch on the computer - there are a couple of websites that don't kick us off when they see our Singapore IP address. But we have to ignore our virus software's ominous warnings that we can continue watching on these sites if we so choose, but we should be prepared for a visit from the local infantry, anticipate total disk failure, and have a fire extinguisher at the ready. We can try to tune in to the local radio news, but they frankly don't give two hoots about baseball. We can watch blog posts on facebook, but that's not at all gratifying. Luckily for us we have ol' Jiminy Cricket the Cable Guy. He set us up. We now have the Yankee Network and recording options.

The big problem now is the time lag.

We got up Saturday morning to watch the game. It was on at 7:30. We struggled with snacks - We all wanted nachos and beer, and 7AM is a tad early for that. Since the Angels were playing the Yankees, and the Yankees tv network is pretty loyal to its home team, we were annoyed by the color commentary. We struggled with the weather - it was monsooning outside, the a/c was on, and we were in our jammies. We mostly struggled with the fact that the Angels lost.

Game 2 was not aired live. The game went into extra innings, so in an effort to stick with the 3-hour network allotment, the Yankee network felt no compulsion to show the Angel at-bats. We struggled with that. Mostly we struggled with the fact that the Angels lost.

Game 3 was live at 5AM. John set up the recorder. He extracted a solemn vow from me that I would not watch. I further promised that I would not talk to anyone, and if I did I would not let on the outcome of the game. At 8AM, I caught wind that the game was in extra innings. Luckily, John had set it up for an hour past network time. At 8:45AM, my friends called. I made good my promise - I stopped them in their tracks. "Don't tell me anything!" At 5PM, John called. He was working late. At 10PM he got home. I knew nothing, really, but had a pretty good idea the game had gone well. We settled in. We watched until the bottom of 11, tie game, bases loaded, 1 out, Torii Hunter at bat. The tv stopped dead.

Disk full. Evidently you have to erase the stuff you recorded before...

This morning I got up and watched the game highlights on the internet. Oy.

Today we try again - the disk is erased, the recorder is set up and the nachos are ready. But if John works late, I'm firing it up...

It's Polka Time!

When I was a kid, every Sunday morning my dad turned on the most obnoxious polka music one can imagine. He ran through the house, yelling, "It's polka time!" And he and my mom would dance in the living room. I'm not sure whether they enjoyed the music or the vociferous annoyance of their teenage kids more, but at any rate, I promised myself I would NEVER get involved with anything as inane as the polka....

We are involved with a group of Expats who have a gift for finding things to do on this island that confound all expectation about what is available in Southeast Asia. Last night was Oktoberfest. They found a microbrewery here that was celebrating with bier and bratwurst and the joy of dancing along with a live band. A polka band. You really have not lived until you have seen a bunch of 70ish Singaporean men dressed in lederhosen playing polka music. At any rate the bier was flowing, the Yaegermeister shots were coming around, the music was blaring and I still maintain, after all these years, that if you discount the Chicken Dance there are exactly 3 different polka songs. All equally irritating. Although they do go down more easily after a couple of Steins.

So, this post is for dad. You always said never to say never. I did, and now look. God, apparently in an effort to prove you right, plunked me halfway around the globe, dancing the Polka with my husband and a bunch of newly-made friends and having a shamefully good time. I certainly hope you are satisfied...

Gosh, He's Handsome in Red!

Wow I love a fundraiser! Why just last year my very dear friend Jane and I raised money for cancer and ran in a half marathon. The fact that we were given an all-expense paid trip to San Francisco for our trouble was just the icing on the cake. We thought that was the trip of our lives. But that was before Singapore.

We have recently joined a group of runners call the Hash House Harriers. This zany group of misfits is friendly, uninhibited, vulgar and surprisingly grounded. They are kind to one another and the guests who swell their ranks from time to time. They mostly run in the jungle every couple weeks or so, and have a little outing afterward. Once a year, though, they go all out.

The Hash House Harriers was founded in Kuala Lempur, Malaysia in the last 20 years or so by a group of bored accountants. (!!! Yeah, I was surprised too....) These guys pulled together a rag-tag group of expats who were looking for friendship, camaraderie, a little endorphin rush and I suspect a higher concentration of folks who spoke decent English. The idea caught on, and became a world wide thing. (Look it up. I guarantee there is a Hash run in your area.) It became a group of people who fit every description. The Singapore group, in an effort to get back to their roots, so to speak, hosts a Red Dress fundraiser every year. They challenge everyone who is willing to run through the streets of Singapore dressed in red. The money raised goes back to Malaysia - this year it was to a group who takes care of people with leprosy. (Yup. It's still around.) We raised just over $10,000 by dressing in red and running down Orchard Rd., into the train station, through the Red Light District in Little India, and back to Orchard. The men wore dresses, and while some seemed quite at home in them and one guy looked a little too much like Hannibel Lechter for comfort, run we did and we had a terrific time.

So now, I guess I can say I've run in a drag race, eh? Something else to add to the Annals of Singapore....

Wednesday - Just One Day After Tuesday.....

We need furniture. The house is different than we had originally imagined and we left too much stuff behind. As they say here on this godforsaken island...'No Worries.' This little mantra not only suggests there may be something to worry about, it pretty much guarantees it.

We have a furniture allowance - the particulars of this are too dry for a blog post, but suffice it to say this complicates matters to the point of complete distraction. If it wasn't to our financial advantage to use it, I would abandon the whole thing.

We did manage to order a little basic set of outdoor stuff and a 'writing desk.' The outdoor stuff is pictured here. It was a smashing success. The writing desk was a whole different animal.

We found this little desk in a store in the city. It was lovely. Smallish, mahogony, pull down surface, nooks crannies...oh happy day. Fit perfectly. The complication came in when we tried to order it. To access our furniture allowance, we need to let the rental company order stuff on our behalf. I gave the business card with the details to a lovely young girl. She called a couple days later - it was on the way.

We got a call from a guy who wanted to work with the desk. He wanted it to be perfect. Perfection! Well! We have never had that! This was a red flag, but I had no idea...At any rate, he needed time. How about he delivers Friday. Since the job of said desk is to cover the modem crap in the corner of the living room Friday was fine.

Thursday he called. Could he deliver Monday. He needed more time. I said sure.

Saturday he called. Could he deliver Tuesday. He needed more time. I said.....ok.

Monday he called. Could he deliver Wednesday. I said I was getting annoyed. He said...'But Wednesday is just one day after Tuesday! Desk needs to be perfect!'

Wednesday they showed up 3 hours late. They had the wrong desk.

Back to the drawing board. Or writing desk. Or whatever.....

Oh and if you are wondering how we managed to get outdoor stuff without a hitch - we paid for it ourselves...

Orchids!

These lovely Orchids can be grown outside. A friend of mine says that if you stick them in a tree, the roots will eventually work their way out of the pot, attach to the trunk, and they will grow on the tree. Lovely. Also low-maintenance...

I put this up today, because I am sure that within the month there will be some sort of aggravation about these things, and I like to document my initial smugness if I can. Makes for good reading later....

Singapore Wildlife

Nope. Not monkeys.

We have a lizard. He's not all that big, and I guess he eats bugs, but he is living under my bed. I have a fundamental problem with this. I do not wish to cohabit with a lizard. Call it what you will - intolerance, prejudice, hate. Whatever. I want him dead.

The thing about a lizard is that you don't just step on him. If he is in the kitchen, I can shoo him out. But this guy was 3 floors up! I went to the store, asked what to do about a lizard. The guy took me to the lizard repellent section. Section! There were no less than 15 'lizard repellants' that boasted one success level or another, none terribly convincing.

I headed out to my little Wednesday group and decided to ask the locals for advice. Some of these people have lived here for years - surely they could help. They said...

"All food in refrigerator!" "Take out trash every day! No food, no lizards." "Put vegetable oil all around your counters. This will keep them off. Also helps with ants." What you do is build a moat. Water all around, lizards not cross. Also helps with cockroaches." "Crushed cloves of garlic. Spread it around, lizards hate smell. Also helps with rats and mice." Plus the Angel of Death and Vampires, I guess, but I didn't say that...

And, my personal favorite...."Get a dog."

I found all this advice not at all reassuring. I had set out to figure out what to do about one lizard, and was told the pest possibilities were pretty much endless. I figure I will leave the lizard alone. After all, they do eat bugs, don't they?

But if we get rats and mice I'm going back to the US.

The Hash

In an effort to keep its Expats from going off the deep end once they spend thousands to get them to foreign countries, Exxon/Mobil arranges for some little morale-boosting get-acquainted activities. One such activity was a day-long tour of the island by a lovely young girl named Valerie. When Valerie called one day to get an idea of the kinds of things we liked to do so she could tailor our tour for us, I mentioned that I was a runner. She told me to check out Hash.

'Hashers' are a self-described group of 'Drinkers with a Running Problem.' The front page of their site shows a big group of people slogging through a swamp in the middle of a jungle. Seemed intriguing. Also seemed prudent to wait for my old running shoes to arrive from overseas.

Phil and I headed out yesterday for our first Hash. The website directions showed a park near the highway - our cabbie was annoyed by the lack of an address. We walked up to the friendliest group of whackos I have ever seen. The 'Grand Master' was a tall skinny guy who looked like the Cat in the Hat. We met a young Swedish girl who is on stopover here; she is taking a break from riding her bike around the world. She has been at it for 7 months and figures she has 11 months to go. Another guy likes to bike too - his favorite ride was the first checkpoint on Mount Everest. One lady was a walker, another older guy was a run/walker. Some were new at this, some had been doing it for years. Most have hashed in more than one country. We were dubbed Virgins, and spent the next 3 hours getting ribbed for our virginity.

The object of the Hash is to follow a trail laid down by 'Hares.' All the runners in the group are dubbed 'Hounds' and spend the next hour or so following a trail of toilet paper stuck to trees in the jungle - we ran, swam, climbed and got lost a couple times. Phil had to haul an old guy out of a hole he had found himself caught in. We came out of the jungle wet, smelly, and hot; some of us were even bleeding. It was getting dark, and we had to stick together so the monkeys would leave us alone. At the end of the line, we rested, drank a bunch of water, then gathered in a circle where the Cat in the Hat poked fun at most everybody (in rhyme...I am dead on with my nicknames yet again...), everybody sang a little song, and we challenged each other to drink beer that was poured into cups. We called a cab when we were done, but the cabbie took one look at us and drove away - apparently a gathering of more than 3 people is illegal in Singapore, plus we looked like hell and he probably didn't want us in his cab. We hitched a ride with fellow hashers. It was, by far, the most fun I have had since we got here.

Next month is the 'Red Dress Run.' Apparently everyone, men included, puts on a red dress and we run through the streets of the city. I plan to attend. What the heck - I may make a name for myself yet...

The Post Office, Library Cards and M-16s

The last two days in a row, I have actually accomplished a couple things. When one is dealing with life without wheels, one or two things accomplished in a day is noteworthy...

Yesterday, I went to Giant. Giant is like a Super Walmart without the Super. For the non-picky shopper, they have a 24-hour version of just about everything. 24-hour as in; 'That's about how long it lasts.' This is not your quality merchandise. They deliver non-perishables within a day or so of purchase, tho, so I made the trek. I loaded up my cart with consumable crap, separated the perishables from the non, figured out what I could carry, and went to the service counter and asked for delivery. The lady said 'Youwannafando?' Shit. I said I did. She handed me a bunch of coupons. I asked again. She rolled her eyes and handed me a couple more. Luckily a lady from my neighborhood wandered in and asked me if I wanted a ride. Yay. A success.

Today was Library Card and Post Office day. 2 things in one day is a lot, but I figured the 'youwannafando' thing had worked out so well the day before I would give it a whack. First, the Post Office. I needed to buy stamps and change our address. Stamps - easy. However...I found out that when one enters the country, one logs a permanent address when applying for a green card. Usually this is the address of his or her sponsoring corporation. This is registered with the Ministry of Manpower, or MOM. One cannot officially change this address. MOM does not take kindly to it. I needed to go everywhere I had given our address at the apartment and tell them personally that we have moved, and I guess, ask them not to tell MOM. Fun fact about the Post Office...if stuff sits in the back for too long, they open it up and give it away as prizes. I saw a computer mouse, an external hard drive, a bicycle helmet and a vacuum cleaner. I bet MOM doesn't know about that...

A woman on a mission, I headed to the bank to change our address. First question - 'Do you have your Passport?' I cannot imagine a situation except travel where I would have my passport in my purse. I asked why she couldn't just look up my account - I have my ATM card. She gave me the fish-eyed stare. She said 'Green Card ok.' I gave her the card and the address change, and said - 'Don't tell MOM.'

Next I went to the library. Another fish-eyed stare. The lady said, 'You a foreigner.' No lie. I had to admit it; apparently I look the part. She reached into her bottom drawer, pulled out a form, asked for my Green Card and charged me 50 bucks. When she asked for my address I felt myself break into a sweat. (Fun fact about the library - Singaporeans are free. We foreigners support the program.)

I decided to make a stop at the grocery store. I felt I would have the urgent need for a glass of wine come happy hour, and I am out. I ran into another lady from my neighborhood. Scored a ride home. When entering our neighborhood we saw the police, walking up the street, semi-automatics drawn. We slowed down and asked what was up...'Routine Surveillance,' they said. We stopped at her house and cracked into that wine at just a little before noon.

Don't tell MOM.

Speaking of Mom, mine is 73 today - Happy Birthday MOM!

The Almighty Po

I really thought I was past taking pictures of signs. We've seen a few lately that have given us a chuckle or two - the picture of the toddler squirting the loud train-rider with his bottle, much to the delight of fellow travelers, the silouette of the guy holding a semi-automatic weapon to a trespasser...stuff like that. We have matured, tho, and we stopped photographing them. Until today....

My latest and greatest food discovery is the Po. The po is killer. It is a sweet puffy white breadish thing with filling inside. The choices are pretty much endless as the po can be either savory or sweet. The red bean po, for example, is a lovely desserty thing that melts in your mouth. The chicken po, on the other hand, is a delicious mixture of meat and spices that will pretty much blow your head off. Yum.

Today, in our travels to the Chinese Garden, we stumbled upon this little stand - "Chomp" - that specialized in little snacky food for the weary sightseer. They had a variety of stuff - chicken on a stick, curry puff things and the ever-popular Po. And when we saw the sign, we were sold! Imagine our relief when we noticed that this particular stand, in the middle of a metro station in Singapore, is sensitive to the needs of it's vegetable oil! Yes, you read correctly. These little foodstuffs are fresh, low in fat, high in fiber and the oil they are made with is never abused.

And I thought the Singaporeans ignored PC. I stand corrected.

Goodybe to the Water Bed

When John floated the idea that we could do this crazy expat thing and move to Asia, I was less than thrilled. I'm not going to lie - I love my life in Northern Virginia. Great friends, wonderful family and reasons to be grateful from just about every angle. I humored him, tho. He has not been excited about his job for awhile, and after talking it through, a couple years overseas became a reasonable sacrifice. Plus, it seemed like a pretty good way to get rid of our bed.

We are one of the few people in America with a water bed. I hate the damn thing. It is hot, impossible to find sheets for, and since John outweighs me by at least 70 pounds I spend the lion's share of the night clinging to the wooden rail on the side in an effort to keep from rolling into him. John loves it. It is warm, the sheets bother him not one bit and he likes the spoon idea just fine, even after 26 years.

I told him one night in Virginia. over a glass of wine, that we may consider the possibility that the ol' water bed's days were numbered. How about we buy a nice Posturpedic that would suit us both and give up the ghost, I said. After all, we aren't 25 any more. He was obstinately opposed, sure that moving this behemoth would be no problem.

A problem it was. It was damaged in transit. A handyman showed up (without tools. but that is another blog post...) and tried to fix it. There was hammering, sawing and drilling going on in my room. He did the best he could. It seemed sturdy, but in Asia a waterbed is an oddity and they were not equipped to fill it. John and I tried, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, to do the job. Hoses in Singapore are prohibitively expensive and come without ends. The fitting we needed were inadvertantly left on the faucet in Virginia (not by me!) and there was no such replacement here. We shopped. We lamented. We spent a week sleeping on Andrew's bed.

Finally, my dear husband relented. He and Phil carried the waterbed mattress down to the storage area and left it there. We bought a new conventional mattress and put it in the newly repaired bed frame. I bought new sheets and did a little happy dance.

This is the moment when the rubber hits the road. Those of you who are loyal to John can think of him every night as he laments the loss of his old buddy. You can play taps if you want to. Heck, send him a sympathy card. But for all you menopausal women out there who are no stranger to the hot flash, rejoice with me tonight as I spend my second night, in my own room, sleeping on a bed that I may make it through the night in without waking up once...

We moved....

Last Saturday we moved. The movers were scheduled to come at 9:30. They called to apologize - they were coming a little early. We likened them to ants. There were 9 of them - they moved fast, followed each other around, and could lift roughly 10 times their body weight. They had the truck unloaded, everything unpacked and cleaned up and they were out of here in 5 hours.

On Monday, everyone and his brother showed up here. Joo Haut the grocery man. He delivers. He caters to expats. He understands Americans. Can he call every day? The first 3 things I asked for, he said..."Huh?" I said, "Joo, you just tell me if I am speaking Russian." Every day he calls. Every day he says at least once; "Mrs. Nancy, you speaky Russian." 4 days here and I already have a running gag with the grocery guy.

Hong the cable guy came later. He reminded me of Jiminy Cricket with coke bottle glasses, a speech impediment and this nervous twitch eye-blinking thing. He was adorable. Ol' Hong sold me more TV than I ever thought I would consent to.

Three guys with maybe one full set of teeth between them came to fix the water pump. They clanged and banged and shut off my water for 30 minutes that stretched into over an hour. During that hour, apparently as a prank, they became very thirsty and asked me several times for water. Drank all the bottled stuff, and when it was all gone, they turned everything back on.

A handyman showed up to repair the stuff the movers had broken, evidently in their haste to get our crap off their truck. He asked me, oh so politely, if I had any tools. He was apparently unaware he was going to be required to fix anything.

Several light bulbs were burned out in the house. I am no stranger to changing a light bulb, but since the ceilings are 12 feet I can't reach and we didn't bring a ladder. Plus I figured the lights should work...Guess what that guy needed.

I could just go on and on. Suffice it to say we are in, Andrew is happily walking 5 or 6 minutes to school, and I am enduring my loss of the city life. Once I get this place settled I will re-acquaint myself with the city, even if it does require a 30-minute train ride to do it...

Travel, Taylor Style...

As a rule, traveling with the Taylors generally comes with a story best told over a beer or two. People travel without a hitch every day. Entire families get on a plane or in the car at a point of origin, and pile out at some final destination. I've seen pictures; I know for a fact it can be done. This seems impossible for us. We lose luggage, leave stuff on airport x-ray belts and forget our Sunday Best when attending family weddings. We have had trips where six people took 3 airlines to 2 different airports. We send kids one place and they end up in another. My fondest travel memory involves Jenn and a trip to Nicaragua where she told her dad to drop her off at the wrong airport. We like to call that one the Great Bone of Contention of 2006.

Phil arrived in Singapore on Wednesday. His flight was due to arrive at 11:55pm. We watched on the internet. His plane was early! We knew of one potential hiccup - he was coming into the country knowing he was overstaying his visa, however we know a 5-day trip out will extend it. John left early for the airport armed with a bus ticket to Kuala Lempur to prove he had a trip planned and promised to call as soon as Phil crossed into the country. At 12:45, the phone rang. I heard John's voice. Two words.

"No Phil"

Naturally, I panicked. I went from dozing on the couch to high gear. After a couple minutes of asking silly questions that John could not answer and doing a nice rendition of the Holy Shit Dance, I agreed to call United and try and ascertain our next steps. So I called United. An accomodating and maddeningly calm agent reassured me that she was positive everything was fine, she would check the status of his ticket. Long pause. "It appears," she told me somewhat tentatively, "That your husband boarded the plane in Dulles, but did not get on in Japan. Are you sure he wanted to come home?"

Well. I informed her that I was happily married, of course my husband wants to come home, and anyways we were talking about my son. To this she replied. "Oh. FAA rules prevent me from giving you any information." Then she clammed up. No she could not page, no she did not know how to reach him, no she could not tell me anything else, no she could not help me. A supervisor said all the same stuff.

I called John back and told him to come on home. Phil was stuck in Japan. No flights were going out of there until the next night. I called our older kids and made sure they all had contact information should Phil get ahold of them. I sat at the edge of panic. Jenn wanted to file a missing persons report so we could get ahold of the Embassy in Japan. Matt said he figured that while it was very likely that Phil was in jail on some trumped up charge, he had heard that the Japanese have paper walls, plus Phil had taken a karate class when he was 7, so he could probably bust out in no time.

John came in and while we lamented the situation, Phil called. We had forgotten to give him the address here, so he got delayed at the border. They finally waved him through, but by then John was gone. Our missing son was in a cab at 2am with a cabbie who had just handed him a map and asked him to talk him in. Did we have any beer.

We went out front to wait and pay the cab driver. I have never been so relieved to see one of my kids in my life. We drank our beer and went upstairs to sleep. I took him around the next day and not only was he enthusiastic about his surroundings, he had more stamina than I did.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's entry; "Phil and the Indian Facial."

Such a Deal...

We love the contests here in Singapore. Everywhere we look, there is a reason to shop or buy or sign up. When we go to the grocery store and pay over a certain amount, we get money off of gasoline. Sign up for a credit card, get a t-shirt. Our anniversary dinner came with about 4 dozen vouchers for a $1,000 prize drawing. Need books? Perfect! When shopping at the bookstore, for every $100 spent, loyal shoppers are awarded coupons. Everywhere we look there is an opportunity to win.

Today while we were out and about, we stumbled upon quite the banking display. When opening an account at the OCB, one could win a host of prizes - a trip in the money machine, stuffed toys, undescribable foods (not like 'soooo delicious' - more like 'foods that defy description...') But the clear favorite was the line dancing show. This was the very best offer so far. In order to attract customers, they had a bunch of guys with the classic fu man chu look dancing the Electric Slide in full Western regalia, all the way down to the red snakeskin cowboy boots. They were sliding and dancing and yee hawing and looking like regular Asian cowboys, which I am reasonably sure exist someplace around here. The lucky winner of some kind of drawing won a spin around the stage with these guys. It was all I could do not to sign up...

Sadly we already have a bank account, so I was unable to stick my name in the hat. I am happy to report that we did walk away with a free watch, though. All we had to do was buy 2 six-packs of Tiger beer - the local favorite that I would describe as a cross between PBR and Natty Light, except without the full bodied taste.

For those of you who are wondering, Andrew made it home in one piece from Indonesia, none the worse for wear but for a healthy dislike for sand, one new love interest and one woman scorned. Stay tuned.

Happy News!

No, not about Indonesia and the earthquake survivors. The truth is about them is that they were so far away from the thing they did not even know it happened. Anyway, this little tidbit is so much better!

Yesterday, John and I celebrated out 26th wedding anniversary. With Andrew out of town, we took the opportunity to go someplace really special. We headed up to Mount Faber Park, where we had made reservations the eat aboard the 'cable cars.' The cables stretch across the island and take riders on a 25 or so minute loop over the city. A 3-course meal is served during 3 back-to-back rides - at the origin point the courses are changed, and diners set out again. It was lovely.

We checked the map before we left. It seemed simple enough. It was not. We found our way up there, sorta, but we were late...we got within about 100 yards of the restaurant and saw that we could go no further. We figured we'd hoof it, and parked in what looked like a parking space to us. When we got to the desk, we told the guy where we had parked. He grimaced. Then he said - "Well, it might be ok. Are you feeling lucky?" We decided not. He was nice as pie and said to re-park, they'd hold our reservation. So we headed back down, and looped around until we found a space where could park legally.

When we got back, we were ushered into the 'Iconic Toilets." It was quite the ceremony. Big glass doors, bathroom attendant...We did not get it. The guy kept saying..."Yes, yes. You must go in!" Still clueless, we headed inside. The toilet was lovely. I washed my hands and got halfway out before I realized this was the only bathroom break I was going to get. In Singapore, where political correctness is a rare commodity, this guy did not want to say; "Go before you get in the car. We aren't stopping."

The dinner was delicious, the ride was perfect and we had a great time. On the way out, naturally, we were ushered through the gift shop. We saw a sign hanging on the wall that boasted that this Iconic Toilet was voted the Best Toilet in the World in 2007! Wow! I posted it on my facebook page and a friend told me that happynews.com did a feature on it just yesterday. I tried to see it, but the link is no longer available. Darn.

Tsunami!

Young Andrew left yesterday for his Classroom Without Walls experience in Indonesia. This is a very exciting program. The kids spend 3 days at the Loola Resort in Bintan. They have all kinds of scientific and team building activities, they cement their relationships with classmates and since they are in 7th grade, probably fall in and out of love at least twice in the 3-day time period. Also they sleep on the sand and tangle with sand fleas, ticks and whatever else is teeming on the shores of Indonesia. Since our personal effects are still floating somewhere on the Pacific or the Atlantic or heck, the Dead Sea for all I know...Andrew got all new stuff. No makeshift crap, no hand-me-downs. He was thrilled! I waved goodbye to him yesterday when he got on the bus, and walked back upstairs with a woman who has become my good friend here. She was a bit misty-eyed about the whole thing, I was calm and collected. He is my 4th kid, after all. Plus I am too old to freak out over this stuff.

I thought about my friend during the day, and when I knew she was on her way home from work, I sent her a text and invited her up for a cocktail. You know - to calm her jangled nerves. That is, after all, what friends are for...

She came up like a house on fire. Apparently there was an earthquake in Indonesia yesterday. A 7.3! We are both California girls, so we know what '7.3' means... Between the two of us we have the most basic of geographical knowledge, as in none. Luckily, I had hung a world map on the wall when we first got here - it has teeny little writing that is practically illegible. This served to add to our panic. We were sure our kids were buried under a grass hut somewhere in this godforsaken country. We googled and clicked and researched and shared one pair of reading glasses and decided that the kids were at least 700 miles from the epicenter. Whew! I poured us both a double.

We read about the possibility of tsunami too. But I don't think that will hit for at least a couple days...

Online banking?

For some weeks now, I have been a kept woman. I have had access neither car nor bank account. If I want money, I have to ask John for it. If I want to go somewhere, I have to rely on public transportation or wait for a ride from my fearless leader. It has been, as you all can imagine, an exercise in horror.

I don't mind public transportation (well, except city busses...hate them.) But the idea that I do not have unlimited access to money while I am in Southeast Asia living the Life of Riley really cramps my style. I had to wait for my green card - which I got - but then we had to have a Saturday free where we could take care of signature cards and stuff in this backward society where a woman has a pretty hard time opening a checking account without her man.

Happily we did this last Saturday. The woman who assisted us (?! - I wondered if she has a checking account...) was lovely, very helpful and earnest, and at then end of the process asked if we wanted access to online banking. We both had the Bank of America online experience in mind when we agreed. Here is how online banking works in Singapore. And, while I do admit to a certain proclivity for exaggerating things, this is all true. Which is the very best part about it...

First, you go to the ATM machine to sign up and choose a PIN number. Then you come back into the bank, where your trusty bank representative disappears for roughly 5 to 45 minutes while she consults with a bank manager to approve your transaction. You are then ceremoniously presented with a little keychain sized thingy with a new PIN on it. This is a one-hit wonder. You need a new PIN every time you access your account. This new number will be randomly assigned and will show up on the LED of this keychain thingy. And...and I must say this is my favorite part of the process...the only way to bank online is from an ATM machine or inside the bank. It's a security measure.

So. The keychain is safely ensconced in John's sock drawer where it will stay for the duration of our time here. We cannot imagine who cooked up this system and why they think it is convenient. We did laugh about it more than once over the course of the weekend, so I guess we should be grateful for the comic relief it supplied....

A Gum Loophole!

FYI, those of you who have never been to Singapore and are inclined to want a stick of Wrigleys while you are here - I found a loophole! All of you who know me well must have known it was just a matter of time....

Young Andrew will be going to Indonesia next week for 3 days. This is an experience they call "Classroom Without Walls." He will spend the better part of next week swimming in shark infested water, stringing mosquito netting in a desolate village as a service project, exposing himself to Dengue Fever and hopefully not eating anything that will give him any dread diseases he has not had prophylactic shots for.

Just kidding! They are going to Indonesia, but he will be on the antiseptic side side of the island.

At any rate - you may be wondering what this has to do with chewing gum....

The good, astute and caring parent that I am, I went to get Andrew something for motion sickness at the local Guardian Shop (not making that up). Since the Boat Ride to Certain Doom is rather long, the last thing I want is for his last memory to be of yakking over the side. I went to the pharmacy to ask about these pills, and my eagle eye spotted a pillish looking bottle behind the glass on the opposite side of the counter. It was made by Wrigley's! I quelled my excitement just long enough to ask the nice lady..."Is that chewing gum?!?!" She said..."Why yes. Yes it is. Do you need whiter, brighter teeth?"

Well. I have always fancied myself to have nice pearly teeth, but I told her that sadly yes, my teeth were not as white as I would like. She handed the coveted gum bottle to me. She said she needed some information. Name, birthdate and Green Card number. I handed it over. Heck, I'd have given her my first born child! (Sorry Jenn.) She told me not to sell it to anyone, and charged me three bucks for 45 pieces. Happy happy.

So now I have a gum source. The gum is a little tough, not my favorite flavor, and since I was admonished not to sell it I think I will err on the side of caution and not share it either. I don't want to get on the wrong side of the law....

What a week...

Monday morning at the crack of dawn, I got word from young Matt that he had no meal plan at school. I know for a fact that I signed him up for this plan. The money to pay for it is coming out of my checking account. I opened up my trusty blue notebook - the one with all the important papers and passwords, and found the information! I was indignant. Until I turned it over and read the back side where it very specifically indicates that a signature is required and a form needed to mailed by a due date long past. Whoops. I should have known it was an omen and gone back to bed. For the week.

This has been my life here in Singapore. Things are either just fine, the people are lovely and competent and things go without a hitch. Until they aren't and they don't.

We ordered some chairs from a guy. They were really a fabulous deal, very comfortable, unlike the church pews we have in our apartment. Fly By Night Singapore was delivering them at 10AM Tuesday. The people here are timely and sincere. Until they aren't. 11AM I called. They said - half hour. Didn't put me on hold, didn't rustle papers around to give me the illusion of competence, didn't shush the dogs barking in the backgroud - nothing. 12PM they showed up. Boy was I relieved! I have already experienced the Singaporean Return Policy...

We have a postage stamp size washing machine. One day this week it began belching out more water than I thought an inadequate machine of this kind could belch. I called downstairs. I felt it was a matter of some urgency. They never did show up. I continue to wash clothes, but with towels around the machine in case it has another episode. It hasn't. I guess this stuff happens.

I met a very hyperactive woman on the elevator. She was quite the bundle of energy and was headed to the 'Swiss meat market.' I was looking for some comic relief, so I headed out with her. We got into a cab, she looks at me and says..."Where is this place, anyway?" I guess she forgot whose idea this little adventure was. As it happened we got the worst cab driver in Singapore. He did not know a word of English. He was lost. He thought we were nuts. And he took us for a ride. We finally got out on the corner of Walk and Don't Walk (or 'Green Man' and 'Red Man'...) and went into a Chevy dealership that sold mostly Mazdas and Hyundais. They told us to take the #170 bus and get out by the 'Girl's School.' We took the 170, got off by some school, walked about 5 blocks, almost got mowed down by a guy with so much trash piled on top of his bicycle that he was completely eclipsed, found the market, bought our meat, took a cab back and had a fair number of cocktails by the pool. It was actually the best day of the week.

In a couple weeks we move out of the city and go to Little America up by Andrew's school. Darn. I am just beginning to get the hang of it here...

And oh yeah - don't worry grandma and grandpa - the meal plan is worked out. The boy is eating just fine.

Worship

The Singaporeans are an obedient people. With that obedience comes the most wonderful faith. I am a huge fan of churches - any kind really - but I am fiercely loyal to my own.

I have had no problem finding my particular brand of worship in Singapore. The big dilemma is deciding which to attend. Some churches are old, some more modern. There are elaborate stained glass windows and humble crosses and the most wonderful fellowship at all of them. We attended the beautiful Novena Church for a 5PM recently. The church was packed - inside, outside, standing room only. The crowd walking to the metro afterward rivaled a crowd after a sporting event in the US. Amazing.

One beautiful thing about the Catholic faith is its constancy - the Mass is the Mass. There is great comfort in knowing what you're going to get. Kinda like a Big Mac, only better. It doesn't even matter if we can barely understand the priest on the altar (pretty much a given, actually) because we know the drill. There are a couple of key differences, tho.

Nobody touches at the kiss of peace. They bow. If you forget, people will dig around in their purse or pocket and unceremoniously wipe up with a kleenex.

Everybody wants to sit at the edge of the pew. If you want to sit down, and there is plenty of space, people move aside just slightly so you can clamor over the top of them. The churches are cramped and there is very little space between the seat, the kneeler and the pew in front. (the kneeler is always down. Always.) Nobody wears sensible shoes. American feet are big. You do the math.

There are no altar girls. Nobody apologizes for this. No women priests, no altar girls. Period.

Little kids are good in Mass. It is the weirdest thing. Even babies don't cry. If a kid misbehaves he practically draws a crowd of disapproving onlookers. Youch.

We are not 'led into temptation,' we ask not to be 'brought to the test.' I forget that every time.

My favorite difference though, is that these people sing. Not quietly and unobtrusively and self-consciously. They belt it out. Most everyone cannot carry a tune in a bucket, but they raise the roof. I find this delightful.

And you know what...I can't sing either. But I have taken to belting it out too. I figure what the heck. When in Singapore, Sing....

Office Supplies???

We spent a lovely day with a woman whose job it is to show expats around the island and give us wide-eyed inports an introduction to the lovely Singapore and show us how to navigate the markets and the touristy stuff. She was loads of fun - very energetic and enthusiastic, and like me, willing to put just about anything in her mouth. Since she has lived here for a good long time, John and Andrew trusted her. As a result, they ate some local food! One of the candies made Andrew cry, but everything else was a success. We even bought about 100 pounds of the fruit in the picture. We went into the bowels of the city - wet markets and restaurants and running paths and even a furniture store where pretty nice stuff was selling like hotcakes and before ol' John knew it he was writing a check for two armchairs. (They are being delivered here on Tuesday...I have no idea how we are going to get them to our house next month.)

When this gal called last week to set up our tour, she asked me what we needed most. I told her we needed office supplies. You know - paper, pens, 3 ring binders...stuff like that. Where is a Target or an Office Depot in this godforsaken place? Singapore has a dang Toys R Us, but no Wal Mart! Incredible. She hemmed and hawed. Not a good sign. She told me that the paper here is the standard A4 European size, and binders are 2-ring. She said "There is one place....You sure you don't just want him to buy this stuff at school? It's pretty overwhelming..."

Naturally this little warning made me want to go to this store all the more. We headed to the bowels of Little India. She told me that I should avoid this area at night, and to dress very modestly when I went there during the day. I have never seen a place like this...7 floors, people everywhere, narrow little isles, and checkout stands peppered in the midst of all of it. (they bag everything and secure it with a zip-tie to prevent theft.) You could smell durian and incense and popcorn. Stuff was stacked precariously to the ceiling and two people could barely pass in an isle. If you had a cart - which is about 1/3 the size of the Target model - passing was impossible and someone would have to move to an adjacent isle to allow it. We heard the work "Americano" a lot. Apparently the shell shocked American does not frequent this place...

I wanted to suggest we do some shopping, but we were out of time. After the Great Chair Incident of 2PM I didn't figure I could get John to write any more checks anyway...

I can't wait to go back.

East Coast Park

The beautiful East Coast Park. There is a race there on Sunday and I wanted to see if it was train-accessible. I called a very sweet lady I met yesterday and asked her to join me on my little excursion. Apparently "I'm in the train station, I'll get off and wait at your stop, do you want to come." Is a request that surprises people so she opted not, but I went anyway. The train ride was a piece of cake, but the walk over there was killer...I think if I run Sunday I will cab it down.

At any rate, beautiful. Coconut trees, hammocks and shade and little bar-b-que pits all along the sand. The islands past the oil tankers (ok - beautiful but not perfect...) are the Indonesian Islands. A 45 minute ferry ride. Considered 'moderately expensive' because the fare falls between $4 and $6 Singaporean dollars. Sponsored by the Indonesians, no doubt...

Singapore Return Policy....

I became a woman on a mission with these dumb transformers. There is NO WAY the 200 watter I bought should have blown out with an 80-watt curling iron! So I decided to take it back. I went back to the store - Best, it is called. I talked to a very nice gentleman. He agreed - "Must be something wrong with transformer. Why not exchange for maximum 500 watt? Only a little more expensive!" I figured that was as good an idea as any. He led me over to the accessories isle. None left! He goes...no lie...."Aw! Shit!" "Shit!" "Awwww...SHIT!" "All out!"

I was taken aback. I had never quite experienced this brand of customer service! He seemed to hold himself personally responsible for the fact that the shelves were barren of the type of transformer he was recommending I buy. The man was distraught! Since I did not want to replace it with the same brand I was returning, I told him not to worry. (I was very reassuring. The poor guy!) Just credit my charge, and I would go somewhere else. He looked me straight in the eye and he said.....

"No."

No explanation, no remorse, no nothin'. I found his turnabout rather surprising, but he was unrelenting. He said I should come back another day. All out. No credit.

The humidity in Singapore generally exceeds 150% and I had walked a good long way. My pores were cleansed, I smelled like gym socks and the moisture in the air had enhanced my natural wave and given me the look of an Aboriginal bushman on a bad hair day....He took pity on me finally, and called around until he found me another transformer in the Takashimaya Mall. He told me how to find the place, said to ask for Mr. Ng and ushered me out. I was sort of expecting there to be no such guy...'ask for Mr. Ng' is the rough Singaporean equivalent of 'ask for Mr. Smith'...but Mr. Ng was there, he gave me my transformer and sent me on my way. I brought it home, tried it out on the blow dryer, powered up my laptop and all systems are go. For the moment. You just never know what tomorrow will bring...

Transformers?

No - not the movie. Those things you plug in the wall that are supposed to magically change 220 current to 110. A simple concept, and I bought 3 transformers at Radio Shack in the US. The first, a cheapo, intermittent use job, that looked like it would work for garden variety, light duty stuff - curling irons, blow dryers, that sort of thing. Lasted 3 days. I plugged in my curling iron, left it on for a little too long and zzzt. Done. Fried. The curling iron, happily, survived the surge.

The second transformer was mislabeled at Radio Shack, and is actually for European appliances, thus rendering it useless to me. The third is hanging in there, but is rated for 85watts so it is not as versatile as I need. So, my dilemma of late was to find a transformer that is rated for at least 200 watts and will stick with me, through thick and thin, ups and downs, power surges and well - you get the picture. I needed a long term relationship. You may wonder why I feel like I need a transformer - 'just get new appliances,' you are probably saying. I am strangely - ahem - connected - to my curling iron, what with its resiliance, but mainly I need it to power up my printer and laptop, and for the computer that is on the way. This is higher wattage stuff, so I need a way better system than I have. No sweat, I figure...we all know where this stuff is made. It can't all be for export to the US!

It is. I have been through 3 additional transformers - since they all have fuses, I figured I was in the clear with my appliances. One was rated for 100 watts. I decided to toss my blow dryer under the bus - just in case the fuse didn't work. The fuse worked fine. The second was rated for 150 watts. Kapow. Appliance ok, fuse blown in a blaze of glory. The third, for 200 watts! Foolproof! Flash!

Today my big project is to head out again, and get the heavy duty, far too expensive 300 watter. My prediction is that by the time I am done with this little exercise, with the money I will have spent I could have easily purchased new laptop and desktop computers, and a new printer as well...

Language Part II

Well gosh. Is my face red. Apparently English is as difficult a language to master to the native Chinese speaker here in Singapore as Chinese is the to the native English speaker. And I poked fun...

I happened upon these signs recently - I was just tickled to death as one can surely imagine. I have heard all about the possibility that we would have a maid while in this lovely country. I hesitate, of course. No better morning than one spent dusting, I always say. But when I heard it was my civic duty, to support the economy and all that, I decided that once we are in a house I may just relent. But where to find just the right girl for me? Then I saw this sign! Imagine my glee. Lived in maids! And, happily for me, if the one we choose is just a little too lived in, I can request a free replacement. Oh. Happy. Day. I only hope the girl we find can make coffee in a sock and has mastered the art of runny, wet eggs.

Stay tuned.