Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Landed
Just barely
I am now in Vietnam and, though I've only been here an hour, have a growing list in a small notebook of observations and things to blog.
Thai Airport: There was a golf course in the middle of the runways. I mean, like, 50 meters away from the landing strip. Sign says it's Thailand's oldest golf course. I immediately think about security concerns. Also, in the airport bookstore, there were books like "Classic Gay Love Poetry," "Sex and Power," and "Japanese Photography" that looked a lot more like pornography (but classy, high class porn at that).
At one point, immediately after thinking about something good/how I was fortunate in some way (I forget what it was now), I found myself saying in my head "illhumdolliah" and then mentally doing the sign of the cross (forehead, sternum, left, right).
Wondering: Will Vietnamese, Cambodian, and Thai men profess their love on the streets to random passerbyers (namely, me)?
Remembered: A Vietnamese girl from City High, exceedingly quiet, with broken English; she kept to herself, but now I'm thinking it probably wasn't voluntary isolation, but the confused, complicated space of being uprooted. I hate to admit that I forget her name now. She wrote a story in English class about fleeing on a boat from Vietnam. Or maybe that was from a newspaper profile of her. The details are blurry, but she came to my mind.
I noticed the stream of lights on the road from the plane and was confused because they didn't move in the way I'm accustomed to...because they weren't cars--they were motorbikes. Lots 'n lots of motorbikes. In Malaysia, helmets are required (unless you're Sikh and wearing a turban). Here, I saw only 2 helmets. Face masks (presumably to protect lungs from pollution) were far more common. But if you ask me, the greater risk comes from having your head bashed in from an accident...Three people to a bike...a few women riding in style, side-saddle. Even some old-school pedal bikes (which I haven't seen in KL).
I have this slight superiority complex when it comes to the backpackers I see heaving their big bags around town, holding maps and looking up and down streets. The fact that I live there somehow elevates me. Well, this morning when I left my house, backpack strapped on, I realized I'd have to come to terms with being in that self-denigrated position. To any other person on the train, I was just as green to Malaysia as the next foreigner (and I didn't have my handphone to pull out to prove otherwise, a favorite trick of mine that shows I fit in.)
Joan Didion: "Tourism: Recolonization by any other name?"
Just barely
I am now in Vietnam and, though I've only been here an hour, have a growing list in a small notebook of observations and things to blog.
Thai Airport: There was a golf course in the middle of the runways. I mean, like, 50 meters away from the landing strip. Sign says it's Thailand's oldest golf course. I immediately think about security concerns. Also, in the airport bookstore, there were books like "Classic Gay Love Poetry," "Sex and Power," and "Japanese Photography" that looked a lot more like pornography (but classy, high class porn at that).
At one point, immediately after thinking about something good/how I was fortunate in some way (I forget what it was now), I found myself saying in my head "illhumdolliah" and then mentally doing the sign of the cross (forehead, sternum, left, right).
Wondering: Will Vietnamese, Cambodian, and Thai men profess their love on the streets to random passerbyers (namely, me)?
Remembered: A Vietnamese girl from City High, exceedingly quiet, with broken English; she kept to herself, but now I'm thinking it probably wasn't voluntary isolation, but the confused, complicated space of being uprooted. I hate to admit that I forget her name now. She wrote a story in English class about fleeing on a boat from Vietnam. Or maybe that was from a newspaper profile of her. The details are blurry, but she came to my mind.
I noticed the stream of lights on the road from the plane and was confused because they didn't move in the way I'm accustomed to...because they weren't cars--they were motorbikes. Lots 'n lots of motorbikes. In Malaysia, helmets are required (unless you're Sikh and wearing a turban). Here, I saw only 2 helmets. Face masks (presumably to protect lungs from pollution) were far more common. But if you ask me, the greater risk comes from having your head bashed in from an accident...Three people to a bike...a few women riding in style, side-saddle. Even some old-school pedal bikes (which I haven't seen in KL).
I have this slight superiority complex when it comes to the backpackers I see heaving their big bags around town, holding maps and looking up and down streets. The fact that I live there somehow elevates me. Well, this morning when I left my house, backpack strapped on, I realized I'd have to come to terms with being in that self-denigrated position. To any other person on the train, I was just as green to Malaysia as the next foreigner (and I didn't have my handphone to pull out to prove otherwise, a favorite trick of mine that shows I fit in.)
Joan Didion: "Tourism: Recolonization by any other name?"
Monday, March 29, 2004
Taxi
(I never did see that movie...)
I usually depend on public transit, but on occasion find the need to taxi it. Now, in Egypt as a foreigner and where there are no meters, you had to learn to find out how much to pay from point A to point B ahead of time from trustworthy friends. When you got to your location, you'd get out of the taxi, hand the money through the window and start walking, preferably in the opposite direction from the way the taxi was headed, just in case he was going to try to cause problems. There were taxi drivers that would immediately declare an outrageous price, inflating the cost some 300%, thinking I was a tourist and didn't know any better. I hated that and always got out of the taxi, refusing to be ripped off.
Here, there are meters in the taxis (though some seem to run a bit faster than others), but occasionally, the taxi drivers run off-meter, again stating a price when you peek you head into the car door telling him where you want to go. (Once in the taxi, the driver is supposed to be lawfully required to take you to where you want to go---so instead, this pre-entry request has evolved.) This seems to happen most often at malls and other tourist spots, so I assumed that it was once again an attempt to exploit my otherness/ignorance/complacency/supposed richness.
Two days ago, I heard a different story.
It was raining, I didn't have an umbrella, and where I needed to go to meet friends wasn't conveniently accessible by public transit (when I say that, I mean train...the bus schedules are a mystery to me!). I attempted to get a taxi for quite some time...there weren't many free and when they were, I was getting the annoying high-price figures. Granted, this is like the difference of less than $1 US, but...it's the principle of things really.
I asked a taxi and he said 15 RM and I refused...another man also waiting inquired to the same taxi and the driver told him that I was wanting to go to the same place and said we could share. 6 RM each. Now, by walking, it didn't seem far, but it was raining, like I said. I estimated the taxi ride by meter would be about 4 RM. At one point in the negotiation-standoff, the driver decided, fine, I could pay 5 but the other man had to pay 6. That didn't fly and he caved, agreeing we'd pay 5 RM each (I win, i win!). One of his arguments in negotiating is that it's only 1 RM, what difference does it make!? EXACTLY my point. Why should I be the one to budge? I get stubborn when it comes to things like this because I'm always sure I'm getting screwed. I hate that. (Note: 3.8 RM = $1, so 1 RM is about a quarter...that's how little we were squabbling over.)
My fellow rider was a local Indian man and the driver was Chinese. The driver immediately went into a lecture (that bordered on sermon because of his fervor and passion) about the injustice he had to deal with. The problem : preferential treatment for the Malays in the licensing of taxis that unfairly created hardship for other taxi drivers. The Malays are given certain privileges because of their status as sons of the soil (Bumiputras) while the Chinese and Indians were imported to Malaysian during colonialism (Indians mainly in the rubber and tea plantations, the Chinese took control of the economic sector/business). [I won't go into how the truly indigenous people, the Orang Asli, are time-and-again hurt by government policies...impoverished, forced relocation because of dam-projects, attempts to convert them to Islam, etc.]
There's a quota system/percentage of jobs in the government (that includes national universities, state hospitals, etc.) that must go to Malays. There used to be a similar system for education, though it was supposedly abandoned last year, though I'm not sure it isn't still operating discreetly. An Indian friend long ago voiced his hostility towards this kind of thing: he scored better on the final high school exam that decides university placement than a lot of Malays...but because he was Indian, he didn't get a position, though those Malays (with their reserved space allotments) did.
Back to the driver.
So, taxis are required to have permits and, he claims, 30% of drivers get them free just for being Malay. Another chunk get them subsidized, leaving the Chinese and Indians to have to pay full price for the monthly license (he was saying 750 RM/month). A friend just told me that a government employee (deputy minister or something) was sacked for corruption because he was giving permits to political supporters/friends for free. But that was on top of the sanctioned preference. Sometimes the Malays lease/rent their licensed taxis, essentially making money for doing nothing (other than being Malay).
This translates into an un-even playing field, whereby the driver has to work extra hard to make enough money just to pay for the full-priced permit, let alone make a living. This was clearly a lecture the taxi driver was used to giving. Somehow it segued into how the army is all Malay, the strength of the Singapore army, and something about a divided country and civil war. He lost me there.
I will admit that I had not considered an alternative side to what was the motivating factor behind the off-meter taxi…I was reluctant to entertain the idea that it was anything other than a taxi driver trying to take advantage of me and my foreignness. I told him as much and he admitted that perhaps taxi drivers were more inclined to quote off-meter prices to foreigners, but that it wasn’t limited to them and it was a matter of this un-even playing ground. Just look, he said, I told this local man you’re sharing the taxi with the same price as you.
The taxi driver did get me thinking: As a consumer, of course I’m going to object to paying more when I could be paying less. But then, how IS he supposed to make enough money to pay for the permit? Maybe I shouldn’t object to paying more if this is the case. I thought, momentarily, about paying him the 6 RM he’d asked for, but in the end forked over only the 5. Just as I am theoretically in favor of musicians’ rights, when it comes down to it, I’m gonna burn CDs and use Napster. The situation may not be fair for this guy, but in the end, I’m a consumer, motivated by self-interest. I’ll stick to the taxis that use meters, thank you very much.
I asked the driver if he had voted Sunday (believing that if you don’t like the policy and government, you’d better be exercising your voice) and he said he had—for the opposition. Later, I asked if he’d be saying all this if my fellow passenger were Malay and not Indian. He said that he’d say it in different words, so that they could understand it better. What I think he meant was, he’d be less inflammatory. (Since race riots back in 1969, talk about such political sensitive issues as race relations and criticisms of affirmative action are not covered by freedom of expression.)
I told this story to a Malay friend, who dismissed it, then said what amounted to, well, we are the original Malaysians, so it’s fair. My Indian friend mentioned above also maintained that he didn’t feel like a Malaysian. It seems the 40-odd years since independence have not been enough time to solidify a sense of oneness or nationalism. I’m reminded of a joke I think I mentioned before: Malaysia as multi-racist, not multi-racial.
When I told this story to a Chinese businessman friend, he confirmed the above generally. Government contracts must go to Bumi-owned businesses and companies that make more than 300 million RM/year must employ a minimum of 30% Malay with at least one Malay on the board of directors.
He held that affirmative action is not wrong at its basic level, sketching a picture of Chinese dominance and greater economic divides if there was not some attempt at evening things out. In the case of higher education, his astute assessment was that preference shouldn’t go blindly to any Malay, but to the poorest, most economically disadvantaged, to raise them up. Though Malays make up the ranks of the lowest economic class, educational scholarships and university places are going to middle class and rich Malays.
The question of affirmative action, quotas, and race relations is not an easy matter. Malaysia’s multi-ethnic makeup is mainly a result of colonialism, which often exploited the divisions in order to strengthen its rule (divide and maintain control). There seems to be no rhetoric here that exists in the US about “given equal qualifications and merit, the position will go to the historically disadvantaged candidate.” This makes its implementation disconcerting and problematic…perhaps generating more problems than it solves and raising questions of fairness.
Where in the world is...
Okay, I'm off tomorrow for the start of my whirlwind travels. I'll attempt to keep relatively up-to-date on here, but may find it difficult to experience/absorb/reflect without proper digestion time. You'll probably get a daily digest or bullet points, to be expounded on later.
A rough sketch of my next two months:
March 30th: Fly to Saigon, Vietnam
April 4th: bus to Phnom Penh, Cambodia
April 7: take boat up Mekong River to Angkor Wat, Cambodia
April 11: bus to Bangkok, Thailand
April 16: return to KL
April 22: fly to Laos from KL
April 27: fly to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand
April 29: bus to Mae Sot on Burma/Thai border to stay with friend working with refugees
May 3 or 4: return to KL
May 14: fly to USA
May 30: return to KL
whew!
(I never did see that movie...)
I usually depend on public transit, but on occasion find the need to taxi it. Now, in Egypt as a foreigner and where there are no meters, you had to learn to find out how much to pay from point A to point B ahead of time from trustworthy friends. When you got to your location, you'd get out of the taxi, hand the money through the window and start walking, preferably in the opposite direction from the way the taxi was headed, just in case he was going to try to cause problems. There were taxi drivers that would immediately declare an outrageous price, inflating the cost some 300%, thinking I was a tourist and didn't know any better. I hated that and always got out of the taxi, refusing to be ripped off.
Here, there are meters in the taxis (though some seem to run a bit faster than others), but occasionally, the taxi drivers run off-meter, again stating a price when you peek you head into the car door telling him where you want to go. (Once in the taxi, the driver is supposed to be lawfully required to take you to where you want to go---so instead, this pre-entry request has evolved.) This seems to happen most often at malls and other tourist spots, so I assumed that it was once again an attempt to exploit my otherness/ignorance/complacency/supposed richness.
Two days ago, I heard a different story.
It was raining, I didn't have an umbrella, and where I needed to go to meet friends wasn't conveniently accessible by public transit (when I say that, I mean train...the bus schedules are a mystery to me!). I attempted to get a taxi for quite some time...there weren't many free and when they were, I was getting the annoying high-price figures. Granted, this is like the difference of less than $1 US, but...it's the principle of things really.
I asked a taxi and he said 15 RM and I refused...another man also waiting inquired to the same taxi and the driver told him that I was wanting to go to the same place and said we could share. 6 RM each. Now, by walking, it didn't seem far, but it was raining, like I said. I estimated the taxi ride by meter would be about 4 RM. At one point in the negotiation-standoff, the driver decided, fine, I could pay 5 but the other man had to pay 6. That didn't fly and he caved, agreeing we'd pay 5 RM each (I win, i win!). One of his arguments in negotiating is that it's only 1 RM, what difference does it make!? EXACTLY my point. Why should I be the one to budge? I get stubborn when it comes to things like this because I'm always sure I'm getting screwed. I hate that. (Note: 3.8 RM = $1, so 1 RM is about a quarter...that's how little we were squabbling over.)
My fellow rider was a local Indian man and the driver was Chinese. The driver immediately went into a lecture (that bordered on sermon because of his fervor and passion) about the injustice he had to deal with. The problem : preferential treatment for the Malays in the licensing of taxis that unfairly created hardship for other taxi drivers. The Malays are given certain privileges because of their status as sons of the soil (Bumiputras) while the Chinese and Indians were imported to Malaysian during colonialism (Indians mainly in the rubber and tea plantations, the Chinese took control of the economic sector/business). [I won't go into how the truly indigenous people, the Orang Asli, are time-and-again hurt by government policies...impoverished, forced relocation because of dam-projects, attempts to convert them to Islam, etc.]
There's a quota system/percentage of jobs in the government (that includes national universities, state hospitals, etc.) that must go to Malays. There used to be a similar system for education, though it was supposedly abandoned last year, though I'm not sure it isn't still operating discreetly. An Indian friend long ago voiced his hostility towards this kind of thing: he scored better on the final high school exam that decides university placement than a lot of Malays...but because he was Indian, he didn't get a position, though those Malays (with their reserved space allotments) did.
Back to the driver.
So, taxis are required to have permits and, he claims, 30% of drivers get them free just for being Malay. Another chunk get them subsidized, leaving the Chinese and Indians to have to pay full price for the monthly license (he was saying 750 RM/month). A friend just told me that a government employee (deputy minister or something) was sacked for corruption because he was giving permits to political supporters/friends for free. But that was on top of the sanctioned preference. Sometimes the Malays lease/rent their licensed taxis, essentially making money for doing nothing (other than being Malay).
This translates into an un-even playing field, whereby the driver has to work extra hard to make enough money just to pay for the full-priced permit, let alone make a living. This was clearly a lecture the taxi driver was used to giving. Somehow it segued into how the army is all Malay, the strength of the Singapore army, and something about a divided country and civil war. He lost me there.
I will admit that I had not considered an alternative side to what was the motivating factor behind the off-meter taxi…I was reluctant to entertain the idea that it was anything other than a taxi driver trying to take advantage of me and my foreignness. I told him as much and he admitted that perhaps taxi drivers were more inclined to quote off-meter prices to foreigners, but that it wasn’t limited to them and it was a matter of this un-even playing ground. Just look, he said, I told this local man you’re sharing the taxi with the same price as you.
The taxi driver did get me thinking: As a consumer, of course I’m going to object to paying more when I could be paying less. But then, how IS he supposed to make enough money to pay for the permit? Maybe I shouldn’t object to paying more if this is the case. I thought, momentarily, about paying him the 6 RM he’d asked for, but in the end forked over only the 5. Just as I am theoretically in favor of musicians’ rights, when it comes down to it, I’m gonna burn CDs and use Napster. The situation may not be fair for this guy, but in the end, I’m a consumer, motivated by self-interest. I’ll stick to the taxis that use meters, thank you very much.
I asked the driver if he had voted Sunday (believing that if you don’t like the policy and government, you’d better be exercising your voice) and he said he had—for the opposition. Later, I asked if he’d be saying all this if my fellow passenger were Malay and not Indian. He said that he’d say it in different words, so that they could understand it better. What I think he meant was, he’d be less inflammatory. (Since race riots back in 1969, talk about such political sensitive issues as race relations and criticisms of affirmative action are not covered by freedom of expression.)
I told this story to a Malay friend, who dismissed it, then said what amounted to, well, we are the original Malaysians, so it’s fair. My Indian friend mentioned above also maintained that he didn’t feel like a Malaysian. It seems the 40-odd years since independence have not been enough time to solidify a sense of oneness or nationalism. I’m reminded of a joke I think I mentioned before: Malaysia as multi-racist, not multi-racial.
When I told this story to a Chinese businessman friend, he confirmed the above generally. Government contracts must go to Bumi-owned businesses and companies that make more than 300 million RM/year must employ a minimum of 30% Malay with at least one Malay on the board of directors.
He held that affirmative action is not wrong at its basic level, sketching a picture of Chinese dominance and greater economic divides if there was not some attempt at evening things out. In the case of higher education, his astute assessment was that preference shouldn’t go blindly to any Malay, but to the poorest, most economically disadvantaged, to raise them up. Though Malays make up the ranks of the lowest economic class, educational scholarships and university places are going to middle class and rich Malays.
The question of affirmative action, quotas, and race relations is not an easy matter. Malaysia’s multi-ethnic makeup is mainly a result of colonialism, which often exploited the divisions in order to strengthen its rule (divide and maintain control). There seems to be no rhetoric here that exists in the US about “given equal qualifications and merit, the position will go to the historically disadvantaged candidate.” This makes its implementation disconcerting and problematic…perhaps generating more problems than it solves and raising questions of fairness.
Where in the world is...
Okay, I'm off tomorrow for the start of my whirlwind travels. I'll attempt to keep relatively up-to-date on here, but may find it difficult to experience/absorb/reflect without proper digestion time. You'll probably get a daily digest or bullet points, to be expounded on later.
A rough sketch of my next two months:
March 30th: Fly to Saigon, Vietnam
April 4th: bus to Phnom Penh, Cambodia
April 7: take boat up Mekong River to Angkor Wat, Cambodia
April 11: bus to Bangkok, Thailand
April 16: return to KL
April 22: fly to Laos from KL
April 27: fly to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand
April 29: bus to Mae Sot on Burma/Thai border to stay with friend working with refugees
May 3 or 4: return to KL
May 14: fly to USA
May 30: return to KL
whew!
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
Ah, there it is
Bureaucracy at the bank
While I had been anticipating red tape at the embassies and found none, I got a dose of it today at the Malaysian bank where I have an account. It seems I can only do an electronic transfer (to my bank in the US) from the branch where I opened my account. That happens to be at the university, a good hour from where I'm living now. Plus, everytime I go to that branch, the line is tremendously long. To annoy me further, they didn't even have a good explanation for why they couldn't do it for me...Simply, 'we don't have the code and can't do it.' If there was some logic, some reason, I could accept it better. Instead, I have to make a day of it tomorrow...
Swastikas
Fashion, not ideology
I made reference before to seeing a guy in a swastika t-shirt at a Buddhist temple, a kid with it shaved in his head, and it graffited on a wall...After learning that the Nazis co-opted the symbol, which has origins in Buddhism and Hinduism, I had hoped for the best. Turns out I was overly optimistic: it's not the religious symbol I'm seeing, but the taboo one. I didn't readily accept this at first--claiming that it couldn't possibly be Nazi symbology, for the very kids sporting it or spraying it wouldn't even fit into the Nazi vison of the ideal Aryan and would himself be targeted.
One of my sources was a guy who works at a shop that sells vintage-style clothes, as well as Doc Martins and swastika t-shirts (I think), frequented by 'punks.' He claims to 'know his market' and himself understands the ideology behind the image. I also talked to my roommate, who had a few friends in high school who were in a band and sported questionable attire. Both claimed that the meaning of the dress and swastika was not understood by the kids who donned it. They just liked the image, the style, looking tough and 'alternative.' It wasn't an endorsement of Nazism; it was trendy. The kids either outgrew the style or else eventually found out its meaning and rejected it, according to the store-guy. Elizabeth, my roommate, said that she thought that if the kids found out what it meant, they wouldn't care...or it would just encourage them in their attempt to be rebellious, but also said that the guys in this band were really nice.
It was hard for me to understand how anyone could 1) not know or 2) not care what it meant, its associations and history. More on the history (ancient and modern) of the swastika here. It even says that in Germany, public displays of Nazi symbols are illegal and punishable. I guess it comes down to the fact that Malaysians don't have the same Holocaust-consciousness that we do in the U.S.
Similarly, the use of the word "nigger" doesn't have the same connotations here in Malaysia (or Egypt) because the history of slavery, the KKK, etc. is missing. Just yesterday a Malay friend used the word, in passing, meaning no harm, not knowing how offensive it is. The same thing happened in Egypt. People hear the word in rap songs and just don't know. I always try to make it clear that the word is not okay to use and they generally are surprised, but willing to eliminate it from their vocabulary. (The alternative? Usually they substitute "black skin.") I asked Africans in Egypt if they understood its negativity and for the most part, they did.
The next time I see a swastika on someone, I hope to somehow engage the person in conversation so that I can get to the bottom of this. Straight from the horse's mouth and I'll be forced to release my hesitations and reservations about how improbable it is...
Seeing again
Andi-inspired
I looked around myself at dinner tonight and thought: "yeah, definitely not America." Health standards: out the window. Old chinese men (often with several long, white hairs growing out of moles on their chins) drinking Tiger beer...kids slurping noodles, seated in red plastic chairs stacked three high so they can reach the table...a floursecent-lit open-air restaurant on the corner, with the revving of motorbikes punctuating each stop light change...orders shouted--never, never written down.
But, like Andi said in her post today, it's not unfamilar or strange..."I have Adjusted. I have Adapted. And that is what is strange." She articulates things so much better than I do.
Dogood
Yesterday was the 5-month marker for me and I had a spasm of what next?!!? anxiety. (Katrina: I'm reminded what it's like to be a senior again and momentarily felt your pain!) I spoke with the Fulbright director today when I was at the office...he seemed to think that I just need to keep following my intuition, wherever that might take me. Said that I'm not following a traditional, straight path (but there's nothing wrong with that), so there are bound to be times of uncertainty.
Also suggested a Masters in NGO management, claiming that that would be where I was going to end up. I hadn't thought about that before really...but I do know that I can't think of any work besides NGO/development/human rights type stuff that would interest me at all. He claimed that, given my educational background and experience, I'd be in a position where I would naturally rise up to be in management and that there is a great need in the sector for people who are organized, have good people skills, etc. The thing is, that is what the Masters would teach, and I kind of think that it's not something to learn...and it sounds boring!
...Law school is still a possibility, though not for this fall...Africa? Peace corps? Fulbright extension for a few more months if possible? Maybe something in Thailand or Cambodia (see what happens on this trip next week)? Aiya. The problem---no, strike that--the thing is, I have no geographical requirements to limit me, making the options seem limitless! And me, directionless!
I must say, though, that it feels good to be floating. Instead of seriously freaking out like I could be doing, I generally feel free and very, very lucky. Bridget and I had a conversation about feeling compelled to "start real life"...ba-humbug! This is real life!
Bureaucracy at the bank
While I had been anticipating red tape at the embassies and found none, I got a dose of it today at the Malaysian bank where I have an account. It seems I can only do an electronic transfer (to my bank in the US) from the branch where I opened my account. That happens to be at the university, a good hour from where I'm living now. Plus, everytime I go to that branch, the line is tremendously long. To annoy me further, they didn't even have a good explanation for why they couldn't do it for me...Simply, 'we don't have the code and can't do it.' If there was some logic, some reason, I could accept it better. Instead, I have to make a day of it tomorrow...
Swastikas
Fashion, not ideology
I made reference before to seeing a guy in a swastika t-shirt at a Buddhist temple, a kid with it shaved in his head, and it graffited on a wall...After learning that the Nazis co-opted the symbol, which has origins in Buddhism and Hinduism, I had hoped for the best. Turns out I was overly optimistic: it's not the religious symbol I'm seeing, but the taboo one. I didn't readily accept this at first--claiming that it couldn't possibly be Nazi symbology, for the very kids sporting it or spraying it wouldn't even fit into the Nazi vison of the ideal Aryan and would himself be targeted.
One of my sources was a guy who works at a shop that sells vintage-style clothes, as well as Doc Martins and swastika t-shirts (I think), frequented by 'punks.' He claims to 'know his market' and himself understands the ideology behind the image. I also talked to my roommate, who had a few friends in high school who were in a band and sported questionable attire. Both claimed that the meaning of the dress and swastika was not understood by the kids who donned it. They just liked the image, the style, looking tough and 'alternative.' It wasn't an endorsement of Nazism; it was trendy. The kids either outgrew the style or else eventually found out its meaning and rejected it, according to the store-guy. Elizabeth, my roommate, said that she thought that if the kids found out what it meant, they wouldn't care...or it would just encourage them in their attempt to be rebellious, but also said that the guys in this band were really nice.
It was hard for me to understand how anyone could 1) not know or 2) not care what it meant, its associations and history. More on the history (ancient and modern) of the swastika here. It even says that in Germany, public displays of Nazi symbols are illegal and punishable. I guess it comes down to the fact that Malaysians don't have the same Holocaust-consciousness that we do in the U.S.
Similarly, the use of the word "nigger" doesn't have the same connotations here in Malaysia (or Egypt) because the history of slavery, the KKK, etc. is missing. Just yesterday a Malay friend used the word, in passing, meaning no harm, not knowing how offensive it is. The same thing happened in Egypt. People hear the word in rap songs and just don't know. I always try to make it clear that the word is not okay to use and they generally are surprised, but willing to eliminate it from their vocabulary. (The alternative? Usually they substitute "black skin.") I asked Africans in Egypt if they understood its negativity and for the most part, they did.
The next time I see a swastika on someone, I hope to somehow engage the person in conversation so that I can get to the bottom of this. Straight from the horse's mouth and I'll be forced to release my hesitations and reservations about how improbable it is...
Seeing again
Andi-inspired
I looked around myself at dinner tonight and thought: "yeah, definitely not America." Health standards: out the window. Old chinese men (often with several long, white hairs growing out of moles on their chins) drinking Tiger beer...kids slurping noodles, seated in red plastic chairs stacked three high so they can reach the table...a floursecent-lit open-air restaurant on the corner, with the revving of motorbikes punctuating each stop light change...orders shouted--never, never written down.
But, like Andi said in her post today, it's not unfamilar or strange..."I have Adjusted. I have Adapted. And that is what is strange." She articulates things so much better than I do.
Dogood
Yesterday was the 5-month marker for me and I had a spasm of what next?!!? anxiety. (Katrina: I'm reminded what it's like to be a senior again and momentarily felt your pain!) I spoke with the Fulbright director today when I was at the office...he seemed to think that I just need to keep following my intuition, wherever that might take me. Said that I'm not following a traditional, straight path (but there's nothing wrong with that), so there are bound to be times of uncertainty.
Also suggested a Masters in NGO management, claiming that that would be where I was going to end up. I hadn't thought about that before really...but I do know that I can't think of any work besides NGO/development/human rights type stuff that would interest me at all. He claimed that, given my educational background and experience, I'd be in a position where I would naturally rise up to be in management and that there is a great need in the sector for people who are organized, have good people skills, etc. The thing is, that is what the Masters would teach, and I kind of think that it's not something to learn...and it sounds boring!
...Law school is still a possibility, though not for this fall...Africa? Peace corps? Fulbright extension for a few more months if possible? Maybe something in Thailand or Cambodia (see what happens on this trip next week)? Aiya. The problem---no, strike that--the thing is, I have no geographical requirements to limit me, making the options seem limitless! And me, directionless!
I must say, though, that it feels good to be floating. Instead of seriously freaking out like I could be doing, I generally feel free and very, very lucky. Bridget and I had a conversation about feeling compelled to "start real life"...ba-humbug! This is real life!
Monday, March 22, 2004
In the Bag
Malaysian elections--no contest
Yesterday (a Sunday, it should be noted) was the 11th election of this relatively young nation. It has a parliamentary system, with elections on a five-year circuit. October saw the end of a 22 year reign by Mahathir Mohamed (affectionately referred to as Dr. M and known for standing up to the West, ie. refusing to follow IMF suggestions after the financial crisis in 1997). Abdullah Badawi took over, as the second in command of UMNO, which makes up the bulk of the ruling coalition Barisan Nasional (BN).
I was out at a cafe last night and the election results were being broadcast on the great big TV screens, though it was certainly not the focus of most people's attention. No one I was with (10 people or so) had even bothered to vote. BN ended up winning significantly (of course). BN managed to win back one of the two states on the east coast that have been ruled by PAS, the Islamic party. The other state, Kelantan, has been controlled by PAS since 1990 and PAS held on narrowly, winning 23 out of 45 seats (after a recount! But not a two-week fiasco...) Voter turnout was about 50% in KL and 70% in the two hotly contested eastern states. (In the 2000 US elections, 51.3% of the voting aged population went to polls. The state with the highest turnout was Minnesota at 68.8% and lowest was Hawaii with 40.5%.)
Interesting, Abdullah has claimed that UMNO is about 'progressive Islam,' after Mahathir pursued a program of Islamization in the hopes of co-opting the Islamic movement and gaining support from the more religious segment of the population (both UMNO and PAS see the Muslim-Malays as their main political base). UMNO does not support the implementation of Islamic law favored by PAS, though they are the ones responsible for declaring Malaysia an Islamic state. From an opinion column in Malaysiakini--the online alternative news source: For Mahathir, "there was no point in having Islamic revival for revival's sake, unless it led to material advancement and progress of Muslims. Serving Malays was serving Islam, and not vice versa." Following that legacy, it seems to be in the interest of the party to try to make the debate one of 'radical' or 'fundamental' Islam (PAS) versus 'moderate' or 'progressive' Islam (UMNO). The column goes on to question that dicotomy, as Abdullah's progressive Islam "does not appear to support the strengthening of civil liberties, free press, an independent judiciary and competitive politics."
In the main English-print newspaper: "Abdullah is a proper man and he was not about to behave in a celebratory mood until the results were official...The Prime Minister's non-confrontational style, his approach to religion and his quiet appeal to the innate goodness of ordinary people had carried the day. There is no doubt too that Malaysians believe he is genuine in his initiatives on issues like corruption, good governance, accountability and serving the people." How's that for 'unbiased' news coverage?
I recently read about the "Rahman" theory. The first PM of Malaysia was Rahman, the subsequent PM's have followed a pattern using his name. The second one's name started with an "A," the third with an "H," then Mahathir, now Abdullah, and Abdullah's deputy PM--the man likely to take over from him--is Najib (who I met personally...and have an autographed copy of a book he wrote).
At least there is some degree of uncertainly as to who will win on election day in the US. Though a two-party system may not be ideal, it has its merits comparatively.
Ummm...No....
Just stumbled upon this in a column on salon.com:
"Last week, Kerry got one endorsement too many when former Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad, a respected figure in the Muslim world but one with a history of anti-Jewish comments, endorsed him. 'I think Kerry would be much more willing to listen to the voices of people and of the rest of the world,' Mahathir said.
The Kerry campaign quickly stated the senator 'rejects any association with (the) avowed anti-Semite whose views are totally deplorable,' and went farther to try to put the fuss over foreign backers to rest."
Perhaps the most recent controversy sparked by Dr. M was right before he stepped down as PM, during his opening speech at the Organization of Islamic Countries conference here in Malaysia in October (days before I arrived). Some of his remarks were questioned and condemned by Western countries as being anti-Semetic, but go to the text of the speech to decide for yourself. I tend to think that a few sentences were taken out of context and that the underlying thrust of the speech was positive.
Malaysian elections--no contest
Yesterday (a Sunday, it should be noted) was the 11th election of this relatively young nation. It has a parliamentary system, with elections on a five-year circuit. October saw the end of a 22 year reign by Mahathir Mohamed (affectionately referred to as Dr. M and known for standing up to the West, ie. refusing to follow IMF suggestions after the financial crisis in 1997). Abdullah Badawi took over, as the second in command of UMNO, which makes up the bulk of the ruling coalition Barisan Nasional (BN).
I was out at a cafe last night and the election results were being broadcast on the great big TV screens, though it was certainly not the focus of most people's attention. No one I was with (10 people or so) had even bothered to vote. BN ended up winning significantly (of course). BN managed to win back one of the two states on the east coast that have been ruled by PAS, the Islamic party. The other state, Kelantan, has been controlled by PAS since 1990 and PAS held on narrowly, winning 23 out of 45 seats (after a recount! But not a two-week fiasco...) Voter turnout was about 50% in KL and 70% in the two hotly contested eastern states. (In the 2000 US elections, 51.3% of the voting aged population went to polls. The state with the highest turnout was Minnesota at 68.8% and lowest was Hawaii with 40.5%.)
Interesting, Abdullah has claimed that UMNO is about 'progressive Islam,' after Mahathir pursued a program of Islamization in the hopes of co-opting the Islamic movement and gaining support from the more religious segment of the population (both UMNO and PAS see the Muslim-Malays as their main political base). UMNO does not support the implementation of Islamic law favored by PAS, though they are the ones responsible for declaring Malaysia an Islamic state. From an opinion column in Malaysiakini--the online alternative news source: For Mahathir, "there was no point in having Islamic revival for revival's sake, unless it led to material advancement and progress of Muslims. Serving Malays was serving Islam, and not vice versa." Following that legacy, it seems to be in the interest of the party to try to make the debate one of 'radical' or 'fundamental' Islam (PAS) versus 'moderate' or 'progressive' Islam (UMNO). The column goes on to question that dicotomy, as Abdullah's progressive Islam "does not appear to support the strengthening of civil liberties, free press, an independent judiciary and competitive politics."
In the main English-print newspaper: "Abdullah is a proper man and he was not about to behave in a celebratory mood until the results were official...The Prime Minister's non-confrontational style, his approach to religion and his quiet appeal to the innate goodness of ordinary people had carried the day. There is no doubt too that Malaysians believe he is genuine in his initiatives on issues like corruption, good governance, accountability and serving the people." How's that for 'unbiased' news coverage?
I recently read about the "Rahman" theory. The first PM of Malaysia was Rahman, the subsequent PM's have followed a pattern using his name. The second one's name started with an "A," the third with an "H," then Mahathir, now Abdullah, and Abdullah's deputy PM--the man likely to take over from him--is Najib (who I met personally...and have an autographed copy of a book he wrote).
At least there is some degree of uncertainly as to who will win on election day in the US. Though a two-party system may not be ideal, it has its merits comparatively.
Ummm...No....
Just stumbled upon this in a column on salon.com:
"Last week, Kerry got one endorsement too many when former Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad, a respected figure in the Muslim world but one with a history of anti-Jewish comments, endorsed him. 'I think Kerry would be much more willing to listen to the voices of people and of the rest of the world,' Mahathir said.
The Kerry campaign quickly stated the senator 'rejects any association with (the) avowed anti-Semite whose views are totally deplorable,' and went farther to try to put the fuss over foreign backers to rest."
Perhaps the most recent controversy sparked by Dr. M was right before he stepped down as PM, during his opening speech at the Organization of Islamic Countries conference here in Malaysia in October (days before I arrived). Some of his remarks were questioned and condemned by Western countries as being anti-Semetic, but go to the text of the speech to decide for yourself. I tend to think that a few sentences were taken out of context and that the underlying thrust of the speech was positive.
Be part of the magic!
I think these websites/ideas appeal to some deep-seated desire I have to be part of something bigger than me, something serendipitous.
*Bookcrossing
Register a book, write its own tracking number and this website in the front, and then “release it into the wild”…leave it on a park bench, in a train, or even (lamely) with a friend and track where it goes, who reads it and what they thought on the website. I checked KL and there are even members here! Not only that, they have Meetups the second Tuesdays of each month (all around the world). (And then I found a list of other Meetups here for things from Islam to Incubus, Witches to Friendsters.) So you can exchange books and meet people (especially great if you’re in a new city or just want a way to find new people).
I have a few books that I’ve read, but didn’t really love enough to justify bringing back to the US. I tried to take them to a used bookstore, but would have gotten less than a $1 for each. Now, I get to “set them free”! I haven’t decided where, but know I’ll be tempted to lurk and watch, trying to see who finds it…
*Phototag
Disposal cameras left in random places with instructions to take a photo, then pass it on/abandon it somewhere. The camera has postage affixed to it already, so once it’s used up, just drop it in the mailbox. Website has journal entries of people who have encountered it and posts the photos once the camera makes it back. (From what I can tell, some people don’t understand the concept of taking only one photo!)
*Where's George?
Enter in the serial number of your money to see if it’s been registered before, where it’s traveled and check up on it once you’ve spent it. The few bills I have weren’t registered yet, so their log begins with me. The site reminds people that it’s a federal crime to deface the currency, but I’m sure people have scribbled www.wheresgeorge.com on their bills before…I’m just hesitant to do anything that would make the Vietnamese or Cambodian money exchangers reject them (though I’m pretty sure they want the US dollars enough that a little writing wouldn’t stop them).
*Degree Confluence Project
An attempt to photograph every intersection of a line of latitude and longitude!
*Flash Mob
“A novel way of bringing strangers together for a surprising collection action” vs. “the pointlessness of chain letters combined with the adolescent inanity of ‘everybody cough at exactly 2:08!’ ritual.” People, generally organized by the internet, come together in a public place and act loosely based on a script, then disperse. Antimob.com has some interesting things to say about it, encouraging people to ‘hack the mob.’
*Flat Stanley
A classroom project. Students color pictures of Stanley (who is one-dimensional and, thus, Flat) and then send them to family and friends, who then take pictures of him where they are and tell about what Stanley did that day (what he say, learned, the weather). A lesson in geography and culture. Bridget’s cousin sent her one—should be a good learning experience what with all of Bridget’s traveling!
*Beer Can Bob and the gnome in Amelie
Classic, with variations. The can-holder or gnome at the Great Wall of China, Pyramid, Yankee Stadium, etc.
*Postcards from WHO?!
Erika and I had an idea several years ago to each pick someone random out of the phonebook and start to send them postcards from wherever we were for the rest of our lives. We wouldn’t have revealed much about ourselves or explained that we didn’t actually know them…But the catch was, I would want to know their response. I’m no good at the whole give-and-go kind of thing. I always need to know.
Know more of these things? Tell me!
I think these websites/ideas appeal to some deep-seated desire I have to be part of something bigger than me, something serendipitous.
*Bookcrossing
Register a book, write its own tracking number and this website in the front, and then “release it into the wild”…leave it on a park bench, in a train, or even (lamely) with a friend and track where it goes, who reads it and what they thought on the website. I checked KL and there are even members here! Not only that, they have Meetups the second Tuesdays of each month (all around the world). (And then I found a list of other Meetups here for things from Islam to Incubus, Witches to Friendsters.) So you can exchange books and meet people (especially great if you’re in a new city or just want a way to find new people).
I have a few books that I’ve read, but didn’t really love enough to justify bringing back to the US. I tried to take them to a used bookstore, but would have gotten less than a $1 for each. Now, I get to “set them free”! I haven’t decided where, but know I’ll be tempted to lurk and watch, trying to see who finds it…
*Phototag
Disposal cameras left in random places with instructions to take a photo, then pass it on/abandon it somewhere. The camera has postage affixed to it already, so once it’s used up, just drop it in the mailbox. Website has journal entries of people who have encountered it and posts the photos once the camera makes it back. (From what I can tell, some people don’t understand the concept of taking only one photo!)
*Where's George?
Enter in the serial number of your money to see if it’s been registered before, where it’s traveled and check up on it once you’ve spent it. The few bills I have weren’t registered yet, so their log begins with me. The site reminds people that it’s a federal crime to deface the currency, but I’m sure people have scribbled www.wheresgeorge.com on their bills before…I’m just hesitant to do anything that would make the Vietnamese or Cambodian money exchangers reject them (though I’m pretty sure they want the US dollars enough that a little writing wouldn’t stop them).
*Degree Confluence Project
An attempt to photograph every intersection of a line of latitude and longitude!
*Flash Mob
“A novel way of bringing strangers together for a surprising collection action” vs. “the pointlessness of chain letters combined with the adolescent inanity of ‘everybody cough at exactly 2:08!’ ritual.” People, generally organized by the internet, come together in a public place and act loosely based on a script, then disperse. Antimob.com has some interesting things to say about it, encouraging people to ‘hack the mob.’
*Flat Stanley
A classroom project. Students color pictures of Stanley (who is one-dimensional and, thus, Flat) and then send them to family and friends, who then take pictures of him where they are and tell about what Stanley did that day (what he say, learned, the weather). A lesson in geography and culture. Bridget’s cousin sent her one—should be a good learning experience what with all of Bridget’s traveling!
*Beer Can Bob and the gnome in Amelie
Classic, with variations. The can-holder or gnome at the Great Wall of China, Pyramid, Yankee Stadium, etc.
*Postcards from WHO?!
Erika and I had an idea several years ago to each pick someone random out of the phonebook and start to send them postcards from wherever we were for the rest of our lives. We wouldn’t have revealed much about ourselves or explained that we didn’t actually know them…But the catch was, I would want to know their response. I’m no good at the whole give-and-go kind of thing. I always need to know.
Know more of these things? Tell me!
Saturday, March 20, 2004
A Most Colorful Character
Selected by a Sufi
I met L. at the end of January near Central Market. Sitting in a restaurant, I noticed him out of the corner of my eye because of his dreads, unable to place where he was from. Later, I saw him ahead of me on some stairs. At the top, he turned, asked where I was from, saying he thought I was from Finland, where he had just returned from (he’s traveled throughout Europe, painting and singing as a street performer). Within minutes he was telling me about being orphaned at the age of five when his parents were killed in ethnic fighting in India, being brought to Penang by his grandmother, who died when he was 7 or 8, and having to climb coconut trees as a job at that age—he has the scars on his legs to prove it. He showed me a book of photographs of paintings he’d done—I was very, very impressive. Mostly they were portraits, but some were landscapes.
His face in small and angular, like the rest of his body. He’s skinnier and shorter than me, with very dark skin. Add dreads—he could be Jamaican. The pupils of his eyes are not that different in color from the irises and he has good, clean, straight teeth. Locals don’t realize he’s also local and he overhears them saying that his hair is a like a mop. He wears gauzy shirts and rainbow-striped socks. One shoestring is missing in his navy blue high top Converse ripoffs.
That first day, he gave me his card and said he didn’t want to keep me and went on his merry way. I was pleased (and surprised) that he hadn’t asked me for my number or been pushy, like so many others. I didn’t realize then that we’d become friends.
I ran into him a few days later (and a hundred times since) and we talked for several hours. You see, this time he told me that I was a chosen one. He is a Sufi and has done studies with a master in India. He must spread the message to 28 people before he can return to continue his studies—I’m number 8. It’s been four years. (See, so not just ANYBODY gets picked!) Amongst the others: a Mexican thief who stole his wallet one night and whom he then encountered by daylight, a Buddhist monk, a Muslim imam, and a Ghanaian man.
The more I learned about him, the more intrigued I became. He uses the identity of someone who is dead because of his otherwise illegal status here in Malaysia (no passport or birth certificate of his own). He has a son with a British woman. Part of his studies involved living in a hole for 6 months, only coming out at night to sit under a tree. Not everyone could handle this—it made some people go crazy. I’m still withholding judgment as to whether L. was one of those that survived in tact or not…
To be told you’re a chosen one is exciting. Even though my mind told me that it could be a line he always tried on Western women, I was compelled to meet with him again and hear what there was to hear. It seemed that he had an interesting spin on things and would give me something to think about…and he’d be a good character to tell you all about, right? (This, my dear readers, is often my motivation.)
Towards the end of this second, lengthy conversation, L. tells me that he will tell me the true name of God the next time we meet, but that I have already said it 26 times, now 27, suddenly 30. I’m excelling at this without even knowing it—of the 7 others, only one had said ‘the word’ more times than me!
I racked my brain, thinking about what it could be…yes? Love? I thought both were ultra-cheesy and doubted I’d said either that much. I think that I’m technically not supposed to be sharing this Sufi secret, but…we’re all friends here, right?
Say these names aloud: Messiah, Buddha, Jah, Allah. Notice anything in common? Ah. All ah. This is the word that I said over and over again (a habit I think that I picked up in Egypt. It’s definitely a sound I make a lot, in agreement, to show understanding, etc.). If you listen hard, L. said, you can hear it everywhere: the sound of the car engine, the breeze through the trees, the child playing in that fountain. Later, I remembered that Andi had ah tattooed on her arm—it’s the abbreviation for a common Buddhist chant that is for wisdom and compassion (did I get that right, Andi? I deleted the email and can’t quite remember! Leave a comment here to clarify, please!).
When L. talks, it comes out like a flood. One thing leads to another to another. You’re not sure where you’re going or where you’ve been, how one topic has linked up to another. It’d be easy to drown listening to him. Both Bridget and Erika met him—and I heard him retell several of the stories he told me. But they were not chosen.
Among the other things he stressed: the mind always focuses on the past (which is no more) and the future (which is not yet). We’re tormented by thoughts of maybe, if, and but. The mind goes on and on like this, in circles. We should instead live in the right here, right now, with the eyes. I have to admit that all too often I don’t live in the moment—always thinking about all the things I need to do tomorrow or daydreaming about what comes after Malaysia. But there must be some degree of forward looking in order to plan, set goals, etc. I suppose that it is often taken to an extreme though. And it’s not that you can’t think about the past, I realized more recently—if you’re thinking of good memories that bring you happiness, that’s allowed.
L. (suffering from diarrhea of the mouth generally) told stories, a lot of stories. [I can’t recall them all right now in their entirety, but here’s a reminder for myself: a thief who jumps through a window while the writer is at the desk…a Sufi woman on her way to her master is attacked…Also, other things frequently repeated by L.: realize, release, relax; conversation is only words; life is scripted, so a thief must act like a thief.]
What I’m still trying to figure out is how a lot of what L. claims to be Sufism fits into the mystical Muslim Sufi tradition (which I admit I’m not very familiar with, more on this later). And what do Rastas believe? L. certainly loves to sing Bob Marley, talking about one love.
I recently learned he’s 33, though I find that hard to believe. At the end of the month, he’s on his way to Sweden for a few years. I’ll miss bumping into him on the street, but am happy to have become friends with his friends. They’re not as colorful or talkative as him, but include two other Sufis: a Malay orphan with dreads and a long-haired bassist with a heart of gold. More to follow.
Selected by a Sufi
I met L. at the end of January near Central Market. Sitting in a restaurant, I noticed him out of the corner of my eye because of his dreads, unable to place where he was from. Later, I saw him ahead of me on some stairs. At the top, he turned, asked where I was from, saying he thought I was from Finland, where he had just returned from (he’s traveled throughout Europe, painting and singing as a street performer). Within minutes he was telling me about being orphaned at the age of five when his parents were killed in ethnic fighting in India, being brought to Penang by his grandmother, who died when he was 7 or 8, and having to climb coconut trees as a job at that age—he has the scars on his legs to prove it. He showed me a book of photographs of paintings he’d done—I was very, very impressive. Mostly they were portraits, but some were landscapes.
His face in small and angular, like the rest of his body. He’s skinnier and shorter than me, with very dark skin. Add dreads—he could be Jamaican. The pupils of his eyes are not that different in color from the irises and he has good, clean, straight teeth. Locals don’t realize he’s also local and he overhears them saying that his hair is a like a mop. He wears gauzy shirts and rainbow-striped socks. One shoestring is missing in his navy blue high top Converse ripoffs.
That first day, he gave me his card and said he didn’t want to keep me and went on his merry way. I was pleased (and surprised) that he hadn’t asked me for my number or been pushy, like so many others. I didn’t realize then that we’d become friends.
I ran into him a few days later (and a hundred times since) and we talked for several hours. You see, this time he told me that I was a chosen one. He is a Sufi and has done studies with a master in India. He must spread the message to 28 people before he can return to continue his studies—I’m number 8. It’s been four years. (See, so not just ANYBODY gets picked!) Amongst the others: a Mexican thief who stole his wallet one night and whom he then encountered by daylight, a Buddhist monk, a Muslim imam, and a Ghanaian man.
The more I learned about him, the more intrigued I became. He uses the identity of someone who is dead because of his otherwise illegal status here in Malaysia (no passport or birth certificate of his own). He has a son with a British woman. Part of his studies involved living in a hole for 6 months, only coming out at night to sit under a tree. Not everyone could handle this—it made some people go crazy. I’m still withholding judgment as to whether L. was one of those that survived in tact or not…
To be told you’re a chosen one is exciting. Even though my mind told me that it could be a line he always tried on Western women, I was compelled to meet with him again and hear what there was to hear. It seemed that he had an interesting spin on things and would give me something to think about…and he’d be a good character to tell you all about, right? (This, my dear readers, is often my motivation.)
Towards the end of this second, lengthy conversation, L. tells me that he will tell me the true name of God the next time we meet, but that I have already said it 26 times, now 27, suddenly 30. I’m excelling at this without even knowing it—of the 7 others, only one had said ‘the word’ more times than me!
I racked my brain, thinking about what it could be…yes? Love? I thought both were ultra-cheesy and doubted I’d said either that much. I think that I’m technically not supposed to be sharing this Sufi secret, but…we’re all friends here, right?
Say these names aloud: Messiah, Buddha, Jah, Allah. Notice anything in common? Ah. All ah. This is the word that I said over and over again (a habit I think that I picked up in Egypt. It’s definitely a sound I make a lot, in agreement, to show understanding, etc.). If you listen hard, L. said, you can hear it everywhere: the sound of the car engine, the breeze through the trees, the child playing in that fountain. Later, I remembered that Andi had ah tattooed on her arm—it’s the abbreviation for a common Buddhist chant that is for wisdom and compassion (did I get that right, Andi? I deleted the email and can’t quite remember! Leave a comment here to clarify, please!).
When L. talks, it comes out like a flood. One thing leads to another to another. You’re not sure where you’re going or where you’ve been, how one topic has linked up to another. It’d be easy to drown listening to him. Both Bridget and Erika met him—and I heard him retell several of the stories he told me. But they were not chosen.
Among the other things he stressed: the mind always focuses on the past (which is no more) and the future (which is not yet). We’re tormented by thoughts of maybe, if, and but. The mind goes on and on like this, in circles. We should instead live in the right here, right now, with the eyes. I have to admit that all too often I don’t live in the moment—always thinking about all the things I need to do tomorrow or daydreaming about what comes after Malaysia. But there must be some degree of forward looking in order to plan, set goals, etc. I suppose that it is often taken to an extreme though. And it’s not that you can’t think about the past, I realized more recently—if you’re thinking of good memories that bring you happiness, that’s allowed.
L. (suffering from diarrhea of the mouth generally) told stories, a lot of stories. [I can’t recall them all right now in their entirety, but here’s a reminder for myself: a thief who jumps through a window while the writer is at the desk…a Sufi woman on her way to her master is attacked…Also, other things frequently repeated by L.: realize, release, relax; conversation is only words; life is scripted, so a thief must act like a thief.]
What I’m still trying to figure out is how a lot of what L. claims to be Sufism fits into the mystical Muslim Sufi tradition (which I admit I’m not very familiar with, more on this later). And what do Rastas believe? L. certainly loves to sing Bob Marley, talking about one love.
I recently learned he’s 33, though I find that hard to believe. At the end of the month, he’s on his way to Sweden for a few years. I’ll miss bumping into him on the street, but am happy to have become friends with his friends. They’re not as colorful or talkative as him, but include two other Sufis: a Malay orphan with dreads and a long-haired bassist with a heart of gold. More to follow.
Friday, March 19, 2004
March 19, 2004
Meeting
You may be bored by this post...
This morning I had a meeting for my research (with the general manager of the office that distributes the funds collected from the Islamic wealth tax, zakat). This is the crux of what I'm supposed to be studying here: the effect of charity/alms on actually helping the poor. So this government office is key. It's under the Religious Council of the government, so when I entered the building, I had to put on a headscarf. Too bad I hadn't known that or I would have brought my own! I turned down the chartreuse green (wait, that's redundant) one and opted for the white, though it was not looking very clean! I happened to have a safety-pin in my bag, so I could properly wear it, though it kept slipping back at first, until I fixed it in the bathroom.
I met with the GM and three of his underlings, all lined up on the couch. I explained who I was and what I was interested in learning from them. They were very interested to know who I was doing research for and asked me for an official letter, which I hadn't brought. All I could do was show them my student ID (which showed me in the headscarf, prompting them to ask if I was Muslim). I don't know why they were so interested: could they have thought I had suspicious, alterior motives?
The GM didn't say much and the other three fumbled. I asked some questions, then they got me a power point presentation printout, but didn't go over it. While I was looking through it, they sort of seemed to be trying to defer to each other. Finally, one of them started to answer the questions. Throughout the course of the hour, they all got up periodically, often to answer their handphone. The GM himself left, without excusing himself, and didn't come back before we were finished. It seemed like he didn't really know the answers to my questions and, in fact, some of them remained unanswered...I almost felt bad for asking them (things about how effect the programs are, what percentage of people are being reached, etc.)! At one point, the man in the middle of the couch burped. I don't know if I've mentioned that yet or not, but it's not a culturally inappropriate thing here. You hear it all the time. I'm not talking beer-drinking-football-watching-watch-out kind of belch, but a burp. Women too. Everytime it sort of takes me by surprise.
My meeting last week went very well--it was with the company that is collecting the funds that this one is distributing. That one has been privatized...perhaps that is the difference. It was much more professional...versus this governmental office that was far from it.
Sutra Dance Performance
Tonight I went to a dance performance at the studio of Ramli Ibrahim (former Fulbrighter to the US). The grounds are fabulous: wooden amphitheater with exotic (to me) foliage surrounding it; a house with lots of doors and windows thrown open; an open room with bright artwork on the walls; incense and music combining to make a peaceful atmosphere.
Two Indian Malaysian women performed duets of ancient Odissi dances--slight movements, bells on their ankles, head bobbles, finger positionings. One dance enacted the 9 times that Krishna has incarnated himself to restore order and righteousness--as the fish, cosmic turtle, boar, man-lion, dwarf, warrior priest, Rama--hero of the Ramayana, the wielder of the plough, and as Buddha. The last one, Kalki, will dissolve the universe when he finally comes. It took me a few minutes after hearing this description for it to sink in...and confuse me. BUDDHA?!? But Krishna is Hindu!?!? I intend to get to the bottom of this mystery and will fill you in when I do. I have no idea what the connection is or how they figure into each other, but Chris (other Fulbrighter here) tells me that in Cambodia, the Buddhism there isn't pure--it has a lot of influence from Hinduism, with some of its gods even being worshipped. So, we shall see...
Random and probably not note-worthy...
At the grocery store tonight I bought some Dutch dark chocolate called Droste (kind of costly but sooo good--Dominique introduced me to them in Cairo) and a bottle of water (the cheapest kind cuz water is water, right?). The guy right behind me in line was buying the EXACT same things, only two bottles of water. Weird.
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Meeting
You may be bored by this post...
This morning I had a meeting for my research (with the general manager of the office that distributes the funds collected from the Islamic wealth tax, zakat). This is the crux of what I'm supposed to be studying here: the effect of charity/alms on actually helping the poor. So this government office is key. It's under the Religious Council of the government, so when I entered the building, I had to put on a headscarf. Too bad I hadn't known that or I would have brought my own! I turned down the chartreuse green (wait, that's redundant) one and opted for the white, though it was not looking very clean! I happened to have a safety-pin in my bag, so I could properly wear it, though it kept slipping back at first, until I fixed it in the bathroom.
I met with the GM and three of his underlings, all lined up on the couch. I explained who I was and what I was interested in learning from them. They were very interested to know who I was doing research for and asked me for an official letter, which I hadn't brought. All I could do was show them my student ID (which showed me in the headscarf, prompting them to ask if I was Muslim). I don't know why they were so interested: could they have thought I had suspicious, alterior motives?
The GM didn't say much and the other three fumbled. I asked some questions, then they got me a power point presentation printout, but didn't go over it. While I was looking through it, they sort of seemed to be trying to defer to each other. Finally, one of them started to answer the questions. Throughout the course of the hour, they all got up periodically, often to answer their handphone. The GM himself left, without excusing himself, and didn't come back before we were finished. It seemed like he didn't really know the answers to my questions and, in fact, some of them remained unanswered...I almost felt bad for asking them (things about how effect the programs are, what percentage of people are being reached, etc.)! At one point, the man in the middle of the couch burped. I don't know if I've mentioned that yet or not, but it's not a culturally inappropriate thing here. You hear it all the time. I'm not talking beer-drinking-football-watching-watch-out kind of belch, but a burp. Women too. Everytime it sort of takes me by surprise.
My meeting last week went very well--it was with the company that is collecting the funds that this one is distributing. That one has been privatized...perhaps that is the difference. It was much more professional...versus this governmental office that was far from it.
Sutra Dance Performance
Tonight I went to a dance performance at the studio of Ramli Ibrahim (former Fulbrighter to the US). The grounds are fabulous: wooden amphitheater with exotic (to me) foliage surrounding it; a house with lots of doors and windows thrown open; an open room with bright artwork on the walls; incense and music combining to make a peaceful atmosphere.
Two Indian Malaysian women performed duets of ancient Odissi dances--slight movements, bells on their ankles, head bobbles, finger positionings. One dance enacted the 9 times that Krishna has incarnated himself to restore order and righteousness--as the fish, cosmic turtle, boar, man-lion, dwarf, warrior priest, Rama--hero of the Ramayana, the wielder of the plough, and as Buddha. The last one, Kalki, will dissolve the universe when he finally comes. It took me a few minutes after hearing this description for it to sink in...and confuse me. BUDDHA?!? But Krishna is Hindu!?!? I intend to get to the bottom of this mystery and will fill you in when I do. I have no idea what the connection is or how they figure into each other, but Chris (other Fulbrighter here) tells me that in Cambodia, the Buddhism there isn't pure--it has a lot of influence from Hinduism, with some of its gods even being worshipped. So, we shall see...
Random and probably not note-worthy...
At the grocery store tonight I bought some Dutch dark chocolate called Droste (kind of costly but sooo good--Dominique introduced me to them in Cairo) and a bottle of water (the cheapest kind cuz water is water, right?). The guy right behind me in line was buying the EXACT same things, only two bottles of water. Weird.
Sign-up
Please email me your address if you'd like me to send you a postcard!
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Human Rights in Malaysia
Whilst I was away...
While I was in Singapore, a group of about 60 human rights activitists and NGO workers gathered in front of police headquarters to submit a memorandum calling for investigation into police brutality and deaths in custody and a stop to the misuse of power. The police, in typical fashion, reacted with...force! They told the people gathered to disperse, but almost immediately used a chemical-laced water cannon on the crowd, not giving them proper (and legally required) time to move away. 17 people were arrested, including several of my friends. Lathefa, a human rights lawyer, was arrested beside her car, showing that she was, in fact, obeying the orders and just trying to go home. Several people sustained injuries.
If I had been in town, I would have been there and I'm sad to have missed the action. I don't think I would have been in danger of arrest (though it probably would have been good for the cause if the American Embassy had to get involved!) Laura, a Northeastern law student interning here with Lathefa's firm, was there, snapping pictures. After most of the action had settled down, a policeman saw her (not the first time he saw her) and demanded: "What are you doing here? Why are you here!?" She put on an innocent, blank face and said simply: "Bird park? Isn't this the way to the bird park?," turned right around and walked away. Genius to play dumb-tourist even though they both knew it wasn't true because she had been there all day.
Read more about it here, on Malaysian's alternative newspaper that can't be censored because it's online. Username: Jilljolene and password: password.
Chin Refugees in Malaysia
Click here to read an article I wrote about these Myanmar (Burmese) refugees and how they live in Malaysia. There are also pictures posted from a visit to their jungle camp.
At the end of April I will be going to the northern part of Thailand to visit a girl I worked with in Egypt who is volunteering with refugees on the Thai-Myanmar border. More on that later.
Whilst I was away...
While I was in Singapore, a group of about 60 human rights activitists and NGO workers gathered in front of police headquarters to submit a memorandum calling for investigation into police brutality and deaths in custody and a stop to the misuse of power. The police, in typical fashion, reacted with...force! They told the people gathered to disperse, but almost immediately used a chemical-laced water cannon on the crowd, not giving them proper (and legally required) time to move away. 17 people were arrested, including several of my friends. Lathefa, a human rights lawyer, was arrested beside her car, showing that she was, in fact, obeying the orders and just trying to go home. Several people sustained injuries.
If I had been in town, I would have been there and I'm sad to have missed the action. I don't think I would have been in danger of arrest (though it probably would have been good for the cause if the American Embassy had to get involved!) Laura, a Northeastern law student interning here with Lathefa's firm, was there, snapping pictures. After most of the action had settled down, a policeman saw her (not the first time he saw her) and demanded: "What are you doing here? Why are you here!?" She put on an innocent, blank face and said simply: "Bird park? Isn't this the way to the bird park?," turned right around and walked away. Genius to play dumb-tourist even though they both knew it wasn't true because she had been there all day.
Read more about it here, on Malaysian's alternative newspaper that can't be censored because it's online. Username: Jilljolene and password: password.
Chin Refugees in Malaysia
Click here to read an article I wrote about these Myanmar (Burmese) refugees and how they live in Malaysia. There are also pictures posted from a visit to their jungle camp.
At the end of April I will be going to the northern part of Thailand to visit a girl I worked with in Egypt who is volunteering with refugees on the Thai-Myanmar border. More on that later.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
March 16, 2004
Pictures from Erika's visit are now online here!
Encounters
*A Cypriot who has never been to Cyprus, born and raised in Singapore: "I've met people from different races, religions, ethnicities, nationalities, and the Chinese Malaysians make me want to vomit." Nothing like such wonderful GENERALIZATIONS...right after "The sky is blue everywhere, people are the same everywhere. There are good and bad people in all countries."
*A few days ago a woman working at a food stall asked me if I was Iranian. Next guess was Saudi Arabia. That night, a Tunisian man told me he thought I was Jordanian. What's wrong with these people?!?
*Today I saw this tshirt at a store here. How bizarre!?!
Two Pleasant Surprises
I went to the Cambodian Embassy last week to get my visa, showing up at 1 pm and noticing on the gate that the Consular was only open from 9-12. I had called the day before to find out what I needed to bring and no mention was made of the hours of operation. I held my breath and went in. At first, it seemed like I was going to have to come back...but then, miraculously, I was allowed to fill out the form and leave my passport.
I picked up the passport today and took it to the Vietnamese Embassy. I hadn't been able to get ahold of them by telephone, so didn't know what I needed or their hours, but I was just crossing my fingers. It was open (thankfully), but then I noticed that I needed to pay 180 RM. I only had 130. Now, I was sure that if any country would cause me problems it would be a communist one. I flashed a smile and politely asked if I could pay the extra 50 RM when I picked up my passport. NO PROBLEM!
I had been prepared for red tape, bureacracy and procedure to override sensibility, but was happily proven wrong!
Money Matters
You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Walking down the street with L., he asked me for a 4-digit number, from my heart. I throw out something, only then learning he was looking for a number to place a bet on in the 3x-weekly Malaysian version of the lottery. Within two blocks, he noticed a motorbike's license plate lying on the sidewalk---four digits, 5875 I think it was. This causes him some inner-turmoil, thinking perhaps this was a sign. He kicked it over so no one else would see it and we continued on. We met up with some friends and they went to place their bets. I decided to play along once---don't worry, it was only 1 RM, not like the shell game in Italy or my loses at Foxwood! Api pointed at the board and showed how last week he was only one digit away. It was something like 4924 and he had bet on 4944 (you don't win if it's not exactly right). (This one-number away thing had also happened to another friend after he bought a new car and followed superstition-procedure of betting that number). 15 minutes later, walking down the street, we saw the aftermath of a car accident--the car had smashed into a stoplight, bending it. The license plate of the car? 5875. We only had 2 minutes until 7pm when the numbers were chosen, but fortunately there was a place right across the street to make additionally bets. When the ticket is printed, they could somehow tell that that number had been bet--a lot. Seems everyone else took that poor guy's bad luck as an omen. So then they decided they needed to scramble the numbers to make other combinations and proceeded to make about 6 more bets.
In the end, the license plate number was a loser.
But Api, once again, was one number off. Again with combinations of 4, 9 and 2! Aiya!
Spring?
In a blog entry, Andi mentioned waking up to find a gorgeous spring morning...and I thought: spring!?!? Oh yeah, in the rest of the world, it is just about that time of the year...The Schnoebelen Family Farm Lamb count should also serve as a reminder (21, last I heard).
Remind me to go somewhere I can wear sweaters next time (besides in the movie theaters!). Well, AFTER Africa.
Pictures from Erika's visit are now online here!
Encounters
*A Cypriot who has never been to Cyprus, born and raised in Singapore: "I've met people from different races, religions, ethnicities, nationalities, and the Chinese Malaysians make me want to vomit." Nothing like such wonderful GENERALIZATIONS...right after "The sky is blue everywhere, people are the same everywhere. There are good and bad people in all countries."
*A few days ago a woman working at a food stall asked me if I was Iranian. Next guess was Saudi Arabia. That night, a Tunisian man told me he thought I was Jordanian. What's wrong with these people?!?
*Today I saw this tshirt at a store here. How bizarre!?!
Two Pleasant Surprises
I went to the Cambodian Embassy last week to get my visa, showing up at 1 pm and noticing on the gate that the Consular was only open from 9-12. I had called the day before to find out what I needed to bring and no mention was made of the hours of operation. I held my breath and went in. At first, it seemed like I was going to have to come back...but then, miraculously, I was allowed to fill out the form and leave my passport.
I picked up the passport today and took it to the Vietnamese Embassy. I hadn't been able to get ahold of them by telephone, so didn't know what I needed or their hours, but I was just crossing my fingers. It was open (thankfully), but then I noticed that I needed to pay 180 RM. I only had 130. Now, I was sure that if any country would cause me problems it would be a communist one. I flashed a smile and politely asked if I could pay the extra 50 RM when I picked up my passport. NO PROBLEM!
I had been prepared for red tape, bureacracy and procedure to override sensibility, but was happily proven wrong!
Money Matters
You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Walking down the street with L., he asked me for a 4-digit number, from my heart. I throw out something, only then learning he was looking for a number to place a bet on in the 3x-weekly Malaysian version of the lottery. Within two blocks, he noticed a motorbike's license plate lying on the sidewalk---four digits, 5875 I think it was. This causes him some inner-turmoil, thinking perhaps this was a sign. He kicked it over so no one else would see it and we continued on. We met up with some friends and they went to place their bets. I decided to play along once---don't worry, it was only 1 RM, not like the shell game in Italy or my loses at Foxwood! Api pointed at the board and showed how last week he was only one digit away. It was something like 4924 and he had bet on 4944 (you don't win if it's not exactly right). (This one-number away thing had also happened to another friend after he bought a new car and followed superstition-procedure of betting that number). 15 minutes later, walking down the street, we saw the aftermath of a car accident--the car had smashed into a stoplight, bending it. The license plate of the car? 5875. We only had 2 minutes until 7pm when the numbers were chosen, but fortunately there was a place right across the street to make additionally bets. When the ticket is printed, they could somehow tell that that number had been bet--a lot. Seems everyone else took that poor guy's bad luck as an omen. So then they decided they needed to scramble the numbers to make other combinations and proceeded to make about 6 more bets.
In the end, the license plate number was a loser.
But Api, once again, was one number off. Again with combinations of 4, 9 and 2! Aiya!
Spring?
In a blog entry, Andi mentioned waking up to find a gorgeous spring morning...and I thought: spring!?!? Oh yeah, in the rest of the world, it is just about that time of the year...The Schnoebelen Family Farm Lamb count should also serve as a reminder (21, last I heard).
Remind me to go somewhere I can wear sweaters next time (besides in the movie theaters!). Well, AFTER Africa.
Sunday, March 14, 2004
Remembering not to forget
I was walking down the street last week and passed by a toy store. A lot of the stores have open fronts, with a big metal door pulled down when it's closing time. Well, I looked into the store as I passed by and saw a monkey right by the front. I stopped on the sidewalk to watch, wondering if it was a pet of the store's or had just wandered in. There were no workers near the entrance and pretty soon the monkey had gone over to a pile of stacked boxes and taken two into his hands. An employee was walking into the store at this point, saw the monkey, sort of screamed and grabbed hold of me, and used a big piece of cardboard box as a barrier between us and it. When she made all those sudden movements and screamed, the monkey kind of freaked, running out the store and up a tree right beside it. I laughed, especially because a man on the street was watching me watch this scene and because it had startled the employee so much. It made me wander if perhaps I should have been more frightened.
So on that ordinary day, just when I was feeling that KL was not that different, this served as a nice reminder that this isn't Kansas anymore.
The Way I See It...
On my way to dinner tonight, down the same street but opposite side, I noticed two rats in a parking area, but kept right on walking. I've dined with rats on more than one occassion. Tonight, I was hoping to find a burger-food-cart (NYC hot-dog stand on the street style); they put fried egg on the burger and was in the mood for one, but ended up having to settle for some fried noodles.
I sat down at a round table directly next to one with five or six Africans. I strained to hear over the sound of motobike revving what language they were speaking, hoping for Arabic but also looking for some possible Tanzanian connections. I didn't think they looked to be from Sudan or East Africa (having honed my skills a bit while in Egypt at recognizing certain African countries' people) and couldn't make out the snippets of sounds I heard. Well, pretty soon, one of them decided to join me at the table: they were South African and Nigerian. It seems to me that there is some kind of connection between South Africa and Nigeria, but I don't know what that is (always find them together, more so than other nationalities).
I had been reading a book I just picked up about Vietnam, but now found myself chatting with this bloke, who told me his "last bus stop" was the US. I found myself disagreeing with him about the war in Iraq (he supported it) and challenging his generalizations about the Malaysian people (not good hearts, unwilling to help others, etc.). Perhaps that has been his experience, but it has not been mine. "They are people of low mentality" and "I've traveled and know," he said. I have never believed that certain peoples are of "low mentality" or even low morality, knowing that bad/good/smart/stupid/etc people exist in every society, but more accurately, that a person is not entirely bad/good/smart/stupid/etc.
The book I'm reading, Shadows and Wind: A View of Modern Vietnam, has made me glad that I don't really have any idea or picture of what to expect. It begins by dispelling popular American-held views (mostly inspired by books and movies) of who the Vietnam are; I guess I'm one-step ahead because I don't have any of these perceptions. Because of this blank slate, I'm reading with a critical eye (encouraged by the fact that the author of this book criticizes previous depictions of Vietnam that have been been perpetuated unchallenged), conscious that any version read is in reality just that: a version. Just as this South African's version of Malaysians was incomplete and simplified, many books (particularly written by an outsider trying to look in) will be similarly inadequate.
I choose the book from an online syllabus for a Yale class; had I been in the class, most likely I would have failed to do the required reading. Now, I find myself pursuing knowledge and wanting to understand things, when before I looked for excuses to not do my work...
I was walking down the street last week and passed by a toy store. A lot of the stores have open fronts, with a big metal door pulled down when it's closing time. Well, I looked into the store as I passed by and saw a monkey right by the front. I stopped on the sidewalk to watch, wondering if it was a pet of the store's or had just wandered in. There were no workers near the entrance and pretty soon the monkey had gone over to a pile of stacked boxes and taken two into his hands. An employee was walking into the store at this point, saw the monkey, sort of screamed and grabbed hold of me, and used a big piece of cardboard box as a barrier between us and it. When she made all those sudden movements and screamed, the monkey kind of freaked, running out the store and up a tree right beside it. I laughed, especially because a man on the street was watching me watch this scene and because it had startled the employee so much. It made me wander if perhaps I should have been more frightened.
So on that ordinary day, just when I was feeling that KL was not that different, this served as a nice reminder that this isn't Kansas anymore.
The Way I See It...
On my way to dinner tonight, down the same street but opposite side, I noticed two rats in a parking area, but kept right on walking. I've dined with rats on more than one occassion. Tonight, I was hoping to find a burger-food-cart (NYC hot-dog stand on the street style); they put fried egg on the burger and was in the mood for one, but ended up having to settle for some fried noodles.
I sat down at a round table directly next to one with five or six Africans. I strained to hear over the sound of motobike revving what language they were speaking, hoping for Arabic but also looking for some possible Tanzanian connections. I didn't think they looked to be from Sudan or East Africa (having honed my skills a bit while in Egypt at recognizing certain African countries' people) and couldn't make out the snippets of sounds I heard. Well, pretty soon, one of them decided to join me at the table: they were South African and Nigerian. It seems to me that there is some kind of connection between South Africa and Nigeria, but I don't know what that is (always find them together, more so than other nationalities).
I had been reading a book I just picked up about Vietnam, but now found myself chatting with this bloke, who told me his "last bus stop" was the US. I found myself disagreeing with him about the war in Iraq (he supported it) and challenging his generalizations about the Malaysian people (not good hearts, unwilling to help others, etc.). Perhaps that has been his experience, but it has not been mine. "They are people of low mentality" and "I've traveled and know," he said. I have never believed that certain peoples are of "low mentality" or even low morality, knowing that bad/good/smart/stupid/etc people exist in every society, but more accurately, that a person is not entirely bad/good/smart/stupid/etc.
The book I'm reading, Shadows and Wind: A View of Modern Vietnam, has made me glad that I don't really have any idea or picture of what to expect. It begins by dispelling popular American-held views (mostly inspired by books and movies) of who the Vietnam are; I guess I'm one-step ahead because I don't have any of these perceptions. Because of this blank slate, I'm reading with a critical eye (encouraged by the fact that the author of this book criticizes previous depictions of Vietnam that have been been perpetuated unchallenged), conscious that any version read is in reality just that: a version. Just as this South African's version of Malaysians was incomplete and simplified, many books (particularly written by an outsider trying to look in) will be similarly inadequate.
I choose the book from an online syllabus for a Yale class; had I been in the class, most likely I would have failed to do the required reading. Now, I find myself pursuing knowledge and wanting to understand things, when before I looked for excuses to not do my work...
Saturday, March 13, 2004
High Society
Rubbing elbows
I went to a Fulbright Convention closing dinner last week, taking Kin with me as backup. The event was in a ballroom at a nice hotel. As the food was brought in, the lights were dimmed, candles lit up the platters brought to each table and a spotlight scanned the room. It was...well, high class.
To my right sat Ramli Ibrahim, a former Fulbrighter to the US (lecturing about shamanism). He is a dancer and owns a studio, which I intend to go to soon to see a performance. He said that he'd had some problems before with the Religious Council because he was a Muslim doing Hindu temple dances (some of which are outlawed in the two most conservative states in the east).
I also saw Mano Maniam, a man I had met at a Hari Raya party. It was only later that was told he had been in "Anna and the King" and is a local actor quite well-known. He's also the head of the Fulbright Alumni Association here in Malaysia. I spoke with him again that night and he invited Kin and I to a book opening a few days later.
Bridget came along, as she was in town again on her way to Australia. (The madness with all these links was also an idea stolen from her!) The book being released was called "Malaysian Flavours." It turns out it's a book written in English with short chapters about Malaysian culture and idiosyncracies (the mangling of the English language; the use of abbreviations like KL, PJ, KB, etc for cities or ABC for food; saying "lah" at the end of sentences; etc). Mano and some of his actor friends acted out some sketches of different points made in the book--very entertaining. I got the references and understood about half, so I guess I'll have to read the book to figure out the rest of it! The book itself isn't very well-written, but I decided it'd be good for future trips down memory lanes. On the wall of the restaurant where the event was held...was a picture of Ramli Ibrahim, the dancer I'd sat next to!
And, just last night, I was flipping channels and came upon a new sitcom that Mano is in!
Related because , though more outdated: Bridget and I went to a Gamelan concert at the Filharmonik (everything here is phonetic!). It was a great, great concert. Too bad Erika hadn't been here yet because she took a Gamelan music class this past fall. Gongs, chimes, sitar, guitar, finger cymbals, drums and fabulous vocalists. The group playing was called Rhythm in Bronze. I have to find out when they perform next!
Connecting
The 7th Annual UN Conference on Biological Diversity was held in KL about a month ago.
* I got an email notice from the NGO I volunteer with about a lecture...given by a Yale friend's father!
*I had been emailing organizations in Africa about doing some work with them next year. It turns out Lucy, a Kenyan woman who founded Indigenous Information Network, was coming to town for the conference. I arranged a meeting with her and walked away with an invitation to come volunteer, live in her house in Nairobi and after a month or so, go out to the rural area and live with the Maasai people!
Coincidences
This is starting to freak me out
There are many people I mean to email...last week I was finally motivated to get back into touch with a college classmate I haven't talked to since graduation almost two years ago. She was in my mind because she's Vietnamese American and had been back to visit for a summer and I'm going to Vietnam at the end of the month.
Weeeeeellllllllllll, so is she and another Yalie I know!
How weird is that?!
I already bought my ticket, but I'm doing some investigative work about cancelling it and getting a new one so that I can go to the Central Highlands where they'll be (one will be there doing research for work) for a few days, before meeting up with Keith (high school friend) in Saigon. (Then we're going to Cambodia overland and ending up in Bangkok for Thai New Year).
Crazy.
Rubbing elbows
I went to a Fulbright Convention closing dinner last week, taking Kin with me as backup. The event was in a ballroom at a nice hotel. As the food was brought in, the lights were dimmed, candles lit up the platters brought to each table and a spotlight scanned the room. It was...well, high class.
To my right sat Ramli Ibrahim, a former Fulbrighter to the US (lecturing about shamanism). He is a dancer and owns a studio, which I intend to go to soon to see a performance. He said that he'd had some problems before with the Religious Council because he was a Muslim doing Hindu temple dances (some of which are outlawed in the two most conservative states in the east).
I also saw Mano Maniam, a man I had met at a Hari Raya party. It was only later that was told he had been in "Anna and the King" and is a local actor quite well-known. He's also the head of the Fulbright Alumni Association here in Malaysia. I spoke with him again that night and he invited Kin and I to a book opening a few days later.
Bridget came along, as she was in town again on her way to Australia. (The madness with all these links was also an idea stolen from her!) The book being released was called "Malaysian Flavours." It turns out it's a book written in English with short chapters about Malaysian culture and idiosyncracies (the mangling of the English language; the use of abbreviations like KL, PJ, KB, etc for cities or ABC for food; saying "lah" at the end of sentences; etc). Mano and some of his actor friends acted out some sketches of different points made in the book--very entertaining. I got the references and understood about half, so I guess I'll have to read the book to figure out the rest of it! The book itself isn't very well-written, but I decided it'd be good for future trips down memory lanes. On the wall of the restaurant where the event was held...was a picture of Ramli Ibrahim, the dancer I'd sat next to!
And, just last night, I was flipping channels and came upon a new sitcom that Mano is in!
Related because , though more outdated: Bridget and I went to a Gamelan concert at the Filharmonik (everything here is phonetic!). It was a great, great concert. Too bad Erika hadn't been here yet because she took a Gamelan music class this past fall. Gongs, chimes, sitar, guitar, finger cymbals, drums and fabulous vocalists. The group playing was called Rhythm in Bronze. I have to find out when they perform next!
Connecting
The 7th Annual UN Conference on Biological Diversity was held in KL about a month ago.
* I got an email notice from the NGO I volunteer with about a lecture...given by a Yale friend's father!
*I had been emailing organizations in Africa about doing some work with them next year. It turns out Lucy, a Kenyan woman who founded Indigenous Information Network, was coming to town for the conference. I arranged a meeting with her and walked away with an invitation to come volunteer, live in her house in Nairobi and after a month or so, go out to the rural area and live with the Maasai people!
Coincidences
This is starting to freak me out
There are many people I mean to email...last week I was finally motivated to get back into touch with a college classmate I haven't talked to since graduation almost two years ago. She was in my mind because she's Vietnamese American and had been back to visit for a summer and I'm going to Vietnam at the end of the month.
Weeeeeellllllllllll, so is she and another Yalie I know!
How weird is that?!
I already bought my ticket, but I'm doing some investigative work about cancelling it and getting a new one so that I can go to the Central Highlands where they'll be (one will be there doing research for work) for a few days, before meeting up with Keith (high school friend) in Saigon. (Then we're going to Cambodia overland and ending up in Bangkok for Thai New Year).
Crazy.
Friday, March 12, 2004
A Second Loop
KL – Penang – Singapore and back again
Erika and I went by bus to Penang, a little island about 4 hours north of here (where I nearly was going to live instead of KL). I invited a guy I had met for 15 minutes at the Cameron Highlands hostel where Bridget and I stayed. His name is Kin: Chinese, born and lived in KL until the age of eight, when he moved to Canada, where he most recently worked as a cargo pilot, but was laid off. So now he’s staying with some relatives and supposedly looking for a job, though it doesn’t seem he’s been trying too hard. I was hoping he was cool and the invite wasn’t a mistake, since I didn’t really know him—my instincts were right and he was a blast to have around.
On our first full day in Penang, we managed to figure out the bus system and get to the Snake Temple, a place where poisonous snakes are rendered harmless from the incense in the air. Then we went to Batu Muang, a ‘fishing village’ according to my guide book. We waited for a bus…and waited for a bus. A nice, bright yellow car slide up to us and honked, but we waved him on. I went to talk to a friendly couple working a portable coconut juice stand nearby to make sure we were in the right spot. They suggested we take a taxi or private car (that’s what the yellow car had been, it seems) because the buses were infrequent. After awhile, we decided to hitchhike. Kin had done it in Cameron Highlands, so stuck our thumbs out, though I was shy to do it. A few minutes later, another ‘private car’ came and so we hopped it. Not exactly hitchhiking, since we had to pay. He asked (in Malay) where we wanted to go in Batu Muang. Since we had no idea, we settled on a restaurant with “good food” (I was the spokesperson, with my limited, limited Malay). We ended up at an Indian café just like ones we could have gone to anywhere else and didn’t seem to get a sense that there was a ‘fishing village’ about.
After eating (I used my hands, to amuse the locals), we set off down the road in hopes of finding the waterfront. Along the way, I spotted a lizardy thing in a drainage ditch/canal that was about two feet long (though don’t quote me on that—I’m so bad at estimating distances!), plus a tail. We got directions, passed by a Buddhist temple, and ended up at another right alongside the docks. There were a lot of fishing boats and we decided to take a stroll out on the pier. This was actually more like walking the plank. There were gaps between the boards and questionable craftsmanship, making us worried that we’d end up taking a swim. As we neared the end, a group of men were at a side-docking area and a tiny Indian man in a pink shirt came out to talk to us. Again, I ended up being the spokesperson and for the rest of our time on the planks, he shouted his love for me to us. We went to the end, where we sat down to rest. We were offered some vodka from the men from afar and invited to go for a swim. We passed on both accounts.
Kin, being an outdoorsy type person, had a first aid kit and maybe a survival kit (?). I’m not sure, but among his stuff, he happened to have some fishing line and hook, so we went fishing. No success, even though we tempted the fish with tidbits of a chocolate energy bar. We saw another lizardy thing swimming in the water on our way back, and I was very thankful none of us had fallen in. Though, given the rest of the week, it would have made sense if our bad-water-luck had started then…
I liked Penang. Erika commented that it’s the place that made her feel like she was the farthest from home that she’d ever been (and that’s saying a lot sense she’s been to Japan, Turkey, and Egypt, among others). She thought it was like being in both China and India at the same time. We went to a lot of food stalls and Erika got addicted to Milo, a local chocolate drink and Roti, Indian bread.
Erika buys a lot when she travels. She convinced me to buy some bright colored silk Indian fabric I wasn't sure I was going to buy because, "My kids would love to play with it someday." It was only a few bucks, so I guess it's a good investment in my children's future happiness.
Night Life
We spend a few nights at the Hong Kong Bar. There was an old framed poster there with a map of the world, with things like “hurricanes, wild dogs, alligators, mean men, lychees,” etc. written, warning tourists why they shouldn’t go to each spot…EXCEPT New Zealand, which was disproportionately large and had only good things listed: “best beaches in the world, gorgeous sunsets,” etc. I found it really amusing and wish I could find another like it! If ever you see something similar, get it for me! Regardless of the “good” country!
The second night we stopped by there, an old Irish man with a white handlebar mustache was there. My chair at our table was closest to his seat at the bar so when he started to talk to us, it was me who had to deal with it. Erika and Kin turned to each other and left me hanging. You see, he doesn’t like America. Go figure. And while I certainly am not a fan of America-of-late, I don’t want to be lectured about Iraq by a drunk Irishman (who claims to be Buddhist and has been traveling since ’58). What could I do but nod politely and try to escape?! The second time he leaned over to our table, it was about how many tribes of Indians there were in America and how badly we’d treated them. The third time, he took my hand and stroked the underside of my arm while muttering something…I thought at first it was just his thick accent, but turns out he was saying something in Russian. When I asked what he had said, he responded, “If I tell you, you’d slap me, but it felt nice, didn’t it?” Ack!
Another night we went with a friend of a friend to an “Indonesian discotheque.” When we got there, the place was empty, save the employees and two little kids running around and jumping on the dance floor. It was early in the week and also not that late, so I suppose that’s the excuse. Plus, they were playing normal Western music—until we requested some Indonesian music. After a drink, we got up to dance…eventually grabbing the employees and dragging them to the floor to join us. Unfortunately, our hostel had a midnight curfew!
The first beach mishap
One day we went to Batu Ferringhi, about 30 minutes along the coast from where we were staying in Georgetown. Kin got stung on his ankle and his wrist by a jellyfish as we were sitting on the beach right where the water laps up onto the sand. If any of you have seen the Friends episode about this, you’ll know that the medical remedy is…urine! So Erika and I did what we could to help the poor guy out. It was a medical necessity. It took both of us because neither of us really had to go and I suppose it’s also not a thing that you’d want to have to do alone! The stinging pain went away and within an hour, there wasn’t even a red spot left! Of course, since then I’ve learned that vinegar or lime juice could also work…though there wasn’t even any handy.
Erika and I went jet-skiing for the first time! It was a ton of fun, making me squeal with delight and send adrenaline rushing through me! It reminded me of something, though I can’t specifically say what…the memory has Katrina in it, high speeds, and cackling brought on by a slight amount of fear. Maybe riding horses at the Pyramids? I hate how my memory only gives me half an image sometimes!
Which reminds me of another thing: at one point Erika pulled a shirt out of her suitcase and I instantly smelled Home. Tide and Snuggle! What a fantastic fragrance!
Take two
Kin, Erika and I returned to Batu Ferringhi to lounge around a second day…we went to a really nice hotel resort to use their pool. After a little more than an hour, a security guard came over and asked if we were guests…we were told we had to pay 50 RM each or else leave since we weren’t. We left, walking alone the beach till we got to the hotel we’d been at the day before, with the plan to sneak in there instead. When all else fails, you can always play dumb…After a half mile hike, we got to a point where the water came in, forming a sort of stream. Kin went first, lifting his bag over his head and walking around some rocks to get to the other side. The water didn't even pass his waist. I started off next, closer to the rocks, stupidly. It didn’t occur to me that there could be rocks below the water, invisible to me. I tripped on some and cut my toe and shin. My bag fee to the water and then almost immediately Erika went down, also having run into the rocks. I grabbed my bag and headed back to where we’d come from. My cell phone looked like it was off but was vibrating for a few minutes. Erika’s toe was cut pretty badly; she handled herself really well, all level-headed and knew what to do. I wouldn’t have taken it so well. We tore off some of a sarong she had bought the day before to bandage our feet temporarily, until we could hobble to the nearest resort (which took us 15 minutes with our slow movement). Unfortunately, Kin hadn’t brought his first aid kit! We made it to a clinic and got our cuts cleaned and wrapped. My toenail is still yellow from the ointment we had to put on!
I took my camera to a shop to see if they could fix it. While we waited, Erika decided she wanted to go to a salon to get her hair washed because she couldn’t shower very easily with her hand and food cut. Now, this was an unexpected cultural experience. You see, Penang has a large number of “lady boys.” That is, cross-dressers. I still haven’t quite figured this out…surprisingly, they seem to be pretty accepted. Well, the hairdresser was a lady boy: long, flowing hair, a white shirt and tight jeans. Also, they don’t wash hair like we do either. Rather than taking Erika to a sink-chair, she put the soap on Erika’s dry hair, sitting up normally and lathered up there. It was until it was good and soapy that they went and rinsed it out in the sink-chair. The hairdresser said it was because it’s more comfortable that way, which I actually think is probably true. Meanwhile, I’m given a mandarin orange and Kin gets some complementary Chinese tea. While Erika’s getting her hair blown dry, I’m using a hairdryer on my phone, which I’ve rinsed with tap water to try to get rid of the salt.
In the end, my phone and my digital camera died that day.
It would have been a cheaper day if I’d paid the 50 RM (for all THREE of us even!). Erika and I kept playing the “at least” game, where we would list things that could have gone worse…at least we didn’t have to get stitches…at least we could still walk…That night we took a tri-shaw (a little cart for passengers in front of a bicycle) back to the hostel. All the drivers are ancient and super-skinny. It’s amazing to see them pedaling people around town in the heat of the day. This night our driver wasn’t so old…and he was drunk. He took my purse and made me put it around my neck, just to protect it from thieves.
For the next few days I had no cell phone. Everytime I heard someone else’s ring, I would feel a deep sense of loss!
Singapore
After two taxi rides, a flight, 3 buses and a subway ride, we made it to Singapore. Both of us were limping, so we took it easy for those two days. We saw two movies I highly recommend: Big Fish and Love Actually. We shopped a bit and wandered down Orchard Road, which is like the Rodeo Drive or 5th Avenue of Singapore.
Basically, I wasn’t impressed with Singapore….nothing to draw me back and make me wish to go again. I think it’s the first country I can say I don’t care if I don’t return to it.
I was sad to see Erika go--I don't think I've laughed as much in the last few months as I did this week with her!
KL – Penang – Singapore and back again
Erika and I went by bus to Penang, a little island about 4 hours north of here (where I nearly was going to live instead of KL). I invited a guy I had met for 15 minutes at the Cameron Highlands hostel where Bridget and I stayed. His name is Kin: Chinese, born and lived in KL until the age of eight, when he moved to Canada, where he most recently worked as a cargo pilot, but was laid off. So now he’s staying with some relatives and supposedly looking for a job, though it doesn’t seem he’s been trying too hard. I was hoping he was cool and the invite wasn’t a mistake, since I didn’t really know him—my instincts were right and he was a blast to have around.
On our first full day in Penang, we managed to figure out the bus system and get to the Snake Temple, a place where poisonous snakes are rendered harmless from the incense in the air. Then we went to Batu Muang, a ‘fishing village’ according to my guide book. We waited for a bus…and waited for a bus. A nice, bright yellow car slide up to us and honked, but we waved him on. I went to talk to a friendly couple working a portable coconut juice stand nearby to make sure we were in the right spot. They suggested we take a taxi or private car (that’s what the yellow car had been, it seems) because the buses were infrequent. After awhile, we decided to hitchhike. Kin had done it in Cameron Highlands, so stuck our thumbs out, though I was shy to do it. A few minutes later, another ‘private car’ came and so we hopped it. Not exactly hitchhiking, since we had to pay. He asked (in Malay) where we wanted to go in Batu Muang. Since we had no idea, we settled on a restaurant with “good food” (I was the spokesperson, with my limited, limited Malay). We ended up at an Indian café just like ones we could have gone to anywhere else and didn’t seem to get a sense that there was a ‘fishing village’ about.
After eating (I used my hands, to amuse the locals), we set off down the road in hopes of finding the waterfront. Along the way, I spotted a lizardy thing in a drainage ditch/canal that was about two feet long (though don’t quote me on that—I’m so bad at estimating distances!), plus a tail. We got directions, passed by a Buddhist temple, and ended up at another right alongside the docks. There were a lot of fishing boats and we decided to take a stroll out on the pier. This was actually more like walking the plank. There were gaps between the boards and questionable craftsmanship, making us worried that we’d end up taking a swim. As we neared the end, a group of men were at a side-docking area and a tiny Indian man in a pink shirt came out to talk to us. Again, I ended up being the spokesperson and for the rest of our time on the planks, he shouted his love for me to us. We went to the end, where we sat down to rest. We were offered some vodka from the men from afar and invited to go for a swim. We passed on both accounts.
Kin, being an outdoorsy type person, had a first aid kit and maybe a survival kit (?). I’m not sure, but among his stuff, he happened to have some fishing line and hook, so we went fishing. No success, even though we tempted the fish with tidbits of a chocolate energy bar. We saw another lizardy thing swimming in the water on our way back, and I was very thankful none of us had fallen in. Though, given the rest of the week, it would have made sense if our bad-water-luck had started then…
I liked Penang. Erika commented that it’s the place that made her feel like she was the farthest from home that she’d ever been (and that’s saying a lot sense she’s been to Japan, Turkey, and Egypt, among others). She thought it was like being in both China and India at the same time. We went to a lot of food stalls and Erika got addicted to Milo, a local chocolate drink and Roti, Indian bread.
Erika buys a lot when she travels. She convinced me to buy some bright colored silk Indian fabric I wasn't sure I was going to buy because, "My kids would love to play with it someday." It was only a few bucks, so I guess it's a good investment in my children's future happiness.
Night Life
We spend a few nights at the Hong Kong Bar. There was an old framed poster there with a map of the world, with things like “hurricanes, wild dogs, alligators, mean men, lychees,” etc. written, warning tourists why they shouldn’t go to each spot…EXCEPT New Zealand, which was disproportionately large and had only good things listed: “best beaches in the world, gorgeous sunsets,” etc. I found it really amusing and wish I could find another like it! If ever you see something similar, get it for me! Regardless of the “good” country!
The second night we stopped by there, an old Irish man with a white handlebar mustache was there. My chair at our table was closest to his seat at the bar so when he started to talk to us, it was me who had to deal with it. Erika and Kin turned to each other and left me hanging. You see, he doesn’t like America. Go figure. And while I certainly am not a fan of America-of-late, I don’t want to be lectured about Iraq by a drunk Irishman (who claims to be Buddhist and has been traveling since ’58). What could I do but nod politely and try to escape?! The second time he leaned over to our table, it was about how many tribes of Indians there were in America and how badly we’d treated them. The third time, he took my hand and stroked the underside of my arm while muttering something…I thought at first it was just his thick accent, but turns out he was saying something in Russian. When I asked what he had said, he responded, “If I tell you, you’d slap me, but it felt nice, didn’t it?” Ack!
Another night we went with a friend of a friend to an “Indonesian discotheque.” When we got there, the place was empty, save the employees and two little kids running around and jumping on the dance floor. It was early in the week and also not that late, so I suppose that’s the excuse. Plus, they were playing normal Western music—until we requested some Indonesian music. After a drink, we got up to dance…eventually grabbing the employees and dragging them to the floor to join us. Unfortunately, our hostel had a midnight curfew!
The first beach mishap
One day we went to Batu Ferringhi, about 30 minutes along the coast from where we were staying in Georgetown. Kin got stung on his ankle and his wrist by a jellyfish as we were sitting on the beach right where the water laps up onto the sand. If any of you have seen the Friends episode about this, you’ll know that the medical remedy is…urine! So Erika and I did what we could to help the poor guy out. It was a medical necessity. It took both of us because neither of us really had to go and I suppose it’s also not a thing that you’d want to have to do alone! The stinging pain went away and within an hour, there wasn’t even a red spot left! Of course, since then I’ve learned that vinegar or lime juice could also work…though there wasn’t even any handy.
Erika and I went jet-skiing for the first time! It was a ton of fun, making me squeal with delight and send adrenaline rushing through me! It reminded me of something, though I can’t specifically say what…the memory has Katrina in it, high speeds, and cackling brought on by a slight amount of fear. Maybe riding horses at the Pyramids? I hate how my memory only gives me half an image sometimes!
Which reminds me of another thing: at one point Erika pulled a shirt out of her suitcase and I instantly smelled Home. Tide and Snuggle! What a fantastic fragrance!
Take two
Kin, Erika and I returned to Batu Ferringhi to lounge around a second day…we went to a really nice hotel resort to use their pool. After a little more than an hour, a security guard came over and asked if we were guests…we were told we had to pay 50 RM each or else leave since we weren’t. We left, walking alone the beach till we got to the hotel we’d been at the day before, with the plan to sneak in there instead. When all else fails, you can always play dumb…After a half mile hike, we got to a point where the water came in, forming a sort of stream. Kin went first, lifting his bag over his head and walking around some rocks to get to the other side. The water didn't even pass his waist. I started off next, closer to the rocks, stupidly. It didn’t occur to me that there could be rocks below the water, invisible to me. I tripped on some and cut my toe and shin. My bag fee to the water and then almost immediately Erika went down, also having run into the rocks. I grabbed my bag and headed back to where we’d come from. My cell phone looked like it was off but was vibrating for a few minutes. Erika’s toe was cut pretty badly; she handled herself really well, all level-headed and knew what to do. I wouldn’t have taken it so well. We tore off some of a sarong she had bought the day before to bandage our feet temporarily, until we could hobble to the nearest resort (which took us 15 minutes with our slow movement). Unfortunately, Kin hadn’t brought his first aid kit! We made it to a clinic and got our cuts cleaned and wrapped. My toenail is still yellow from the ointment we had to put on!
I took my camera to a shop to see if they could fix it. While we waited, Erika decided she wanted to go to a salon to get her hair washed because she couldn’t shower very easily with her hand and food cut. Now, this was an unexpected cultural experience. You see, Penang has a large number of “lady boys.” That is, cross-dressers. I still haven’t quite figured this out…surprisingly, they seem to be pretty accepted. Well, the hairdresser was a lady boy: long, flowing hair, a white shirt and tight jeans. Also, they don’t wash hair like we do either. Rather than taking Erika to a sink-chair, she put the soap on Erika’s dry hair, sitting up normally and lathered up there. It was until it was good and soapy that they went and rinsed it out in the sink-chair. The hairdresser said it was because it’s more comfortable that way, which I actually think is probably true. Meanwhile, I’m given a mandarin orange and Kin gets some complementary Chinese tea. While Erika’s getting her hair blown dry, I’m using a hairdryer on my phone, which I’ve rinsed with tap water to try to get rid of the salt.
In the end, my phone and my digital camera died that day.
It would have been a cheaper day if I’d paid the 50 RM (for all THREE of us even!). Erika and I kept playing the “at least” game, where we would list things that could have gone worse…at least we didn’t have to get stitches…at least we could still walk…That night we took a tri-shaw (a little cart for passengers in front of a bicycle) back to the hostel. All the drivers are ancient and super-skinny. It’s amazing to see them pedaling people around town in the heat of the day. This night our driver wasn’t so old…and he was drunk. He took my purse and made me put it around my neck, just to protect it from thieves.
For the next few days I had no cell phone. Everytime I heard someone else’s ring, I would feel a deep sense of loss!
Singapore
After two taxi rides, a flight, 3 buses and a subway ride, we made it to Singapore. Both of us were limping, so we took it easy for those two days. We saw two movies I highly recommend: Big Fish and Love Actually. We shopped a bit and wandered down Orchard Road, which is like the Rodeo Drive or 5th Avenue of Singapore.
Basically, I wasn’t impressed with Singapore….nothing to draw me back and make me wish to go again. I think it’s the first country I can say I don’t care if I don’t return to it.
I was sad to see Erika go--I don't think I've laughed as much in the last few months as I did this week with her!
