flights

In Singapore, food courts and hawker centers are where the locals eat. They’re where you go to get good food cheap.

A food court is just what it sounds like – a collection of food stalls located inside a mall or shopping center. A hawker center is the grandfather of the food court – a collection of outdoor food stalls (and often vendors selling dry goods, bath items, etc.).

A true hawker center, though, is less of a thing and more of an experience. At many of them, you begin by sitting at a table and waiting for someone – usually an older woman, seems like – to come take your drink order. You tell her what you want, and she – turning but not moving toward her stall – relays your order to some unseen person. Shouts it really. Screams it. Across ten tables and fifty people. Hawker center vendors have projectile voices. Voices that hit you just at the base of your skull.

After you place your drink order, you walk to the stall of your choice and order your food. Many dishes emphasise animal extremities. Feet and tenticles are big. Balls are big too – pork balls, prawn balls, cuttlefish balls.

The food experience can be hit and miss. Sometimes it’s user error, sometimes it’s bad luck, and sometimes it’s just bad. The other day, in the food court at work, I had a piece of fish that tasted like paint thinner. It was the first time here that I ordered, then aborted my lunch. I switched to chicken rice – one of Singapore’s signature dishes (more on those later).

Last night, on the other hand, (my colleague) Tracy and I walked to the hawker center around the corner, and she had some of the best congee I’ve ever tasted. I had something called “oysters and eggs”, which was basically, well, oysters and eggs. All for about US $10. This was dinner, although both dishes would have qualified just as well as breakfast. Congee – a slow-cooked thin rice porridge, usually with meat or seafood mixed in – in particular is a traditional Chinese breakfast.

According to the taxi driver I talked to today, hawker centers used to line the streets and alleyways of Singapore. Now they’ve been “cleaned up” and relegated (zoned) to specific permanent spaces. They’re regulated and inspected, and therefore a lot cleaner than they used to be.

“There are always those who take it upon themselves to defend God, as if Ultimate Reality, as if the sustaining frame of existence, were something weak and helpless. These people walk by a widow deformed by leprosy begging for a few paise, walk by children dressed in rags living in the street, and they think, “Business as usual.” But if they perceive a slight against God, it is a different story… These people fail to realise that it is only on the inside that God must be defended, not on the outside. They should direct their anger at themselves.”

Let God defend God.

I remember spotting Yann Martel’s “Life of Pi” when it first started to appear in book shops. Its cover illustration is one of the loveliest to grace a book in recent memory and probably deserves some credit for the book’s instant popularity.

It’s a sweet book – not a lightweight story, but not life-changing one either. It tells the tale of a sixteen-year-old boy named Pi (short for Piscene, as in fish-ish) Patel who becomes the solitary human survivor of the sunk cargo ship, Tsintsum, adrift in a lonely lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific. His companions on the boat are a hyena, a zebra (with a broken leg), a female orang-utan and a 450 pound (205 kg) Bengal tiger bearing the unlikely name, Richard Parker.
Continue reading ‘life of pi and runaway horses’ »

Yesterday, for the Hari Raya holiday, the Istana (“palace” in Malay), the official residence of the President of the Republic of Singapore, was open to the public. Apparently, this happens just a few times a year.

I wasn’t allowed to take pictures inside the residence, but here are a few shots of the grounds:

If I’d been allowed to take one picture inside the residence, I would have captured the function room where a number of gifts to the president – from various foreign dignitaries – were on display. What I noticed was that all the gifts from asia were stunningly beautiful – the best of all being a jewelled rug from India. The gifts from Europe, on the other hand, looked like things purchased at the airport gift shop at the last minute. There were no gifts on display at all from the US, and the one from Great Britain was the only one that was not man made. It was four great elephant tusks, no doubt killed under dubious circumstances or stolen from some tribal chieftan somewhere.

I haven’t watched a lot of tv in Singapore, but the other night I saw the end of an episode of Singapore Idol, and it was interesting to note that all the voiceovers – mostly naming sponsors – were spoken by an American. Everything else on the show (except for the, well, entire concept) seemed to be localised.

A couple nights before that, I watched a show that some of my colleagues are referring to as “Singapore Baywatch”. I don’t remember the actual title, but the premise involves the entire cast spending a lot of time in bathing suits – hence the nickname. Basically it’s a drama about competitive swimmers that airs nightly. Like many asian dramas, the video quality is poor, the acting is melodramatic, and the sountrack might as well be a ringtone playing in the background. If I was even tempted to sit home every night, this would be enough to keep me off the couch and on the town.

Finally, since Saturday evening’s plan to meet my friends for a little food, followed by some Hari Raya fun was pushed back a few hours, I cooked a little dinner for myself for the first time since I’ve been here. I flipped through channels while I was eating, and during a break in The Simpsons, I saw a commercial for McDelivery. Aparently McDonalds here will deliver a double-cheeseburger to your doorstep, so you don’t even have to burn the calories it takes to start your car.

I chuckled aloud when the next commercial was for a weight-loss center.

So, shopping and more shopping. The Hari Raya celebration, too, was all about shopping. Geylang Serai last night was basically a big clearance sale. It was wall-to-wall people and nearly impossible to get around.

Crossing a street during a break in auto traffic was a bit like walking into heavy surf or an epic battle scene from Braveheart or Troy or [pick your favorite ancient period piece]. We’d watch people gather on the other side of the intersection, facing us, and then suddenly traffic would stop and the two opposing crowds would surge toward each other. We bailed, but not before having a thai coconut.

We headed to Boat Quay for a few beers and finished our evening on Mohammed Sultan after a few more.

On the subject of incredible customer service…

This is a potentially delicate topic, but it makes a difference that I’m caucasian. It seemed to make a difference on the flight, and it has made a difference here on the ground.

Yesterday, I found myself third-in-line behind an asian couple and a teenager in a grocery store queue, and the clerk pointed at me and waved me ahead. It was a little embarassing, and I tried to refuse, but that became even more awkward.

Some of the vendors in the food court at the Singapore Airlines office regularly wave me to the front, regardless of how many people are ahead of me. It’s not something I’m comfortable with. I wouldn’t say it’s the general practice here, but it’s happened a handful of times.

I suppose there’s a small chance I’ve imagined it, which would suggest a kind of narcissism I don’t want to own up to. In any case, my observation is validated by a certain self-professed SPG, who refers to Singapore as…

“…a society where Asian men have to wear dress shirts to prove they can afford lunch at Chez Chic and white guys can go in dressed in sandals… Asian men, generally, just look more destitute in the eyes of their own race, no matter what they wear. Blonde hair, blue eyes and an over-sized nose (frankly, no one I’ve dated has an oversized nose, and thank God) is nearly as good as a Zegna suit.” [read the actual post]

It’s time to revisit my earlier first impressions of Singapore. I mentioned its reputation as a “boringly sterile” land of laws. I left that quote unattributed, but it came from the Lonely Planet book I think. A single jet-lagged stroll down Orchard Street served as the basis for my first impression of Singapore as a land of malls. It is a shopper’s nirvana for sure, but I’m discovering more and more all the time.

This is a big holiday weekend in Singapore. Yesterday was the Hindu holiday, Deepavali (the “festival of lights”), and I wandered through Little India last evening to sample the scene. I was really sorry I left my camera behind, because Serangoon Road was dazzlingly lit, and the temple was full of happy celebrants.

While inside, I “talked” to a woman and her adorable little granddaughter for a little while. I put “talked” in quotes because she didn’t speak any English. Eventually, she called someone over to translate for her, and she and I exchanged contact information. She was really pushing for me to visit her in Madras early next year.

Tomorrow is the muslim holiday, Hari Raya, which I’m told is much more fun. In particular, the Malay community transforms the Geylang Serai area into basically a big party. I won’t forget my camera tomorrow.

I should say now that I think Singapore is a food paradise. This city might not offer the sheer wealth of options one can find in New York or even San Francisco, but then I’m not paying NYC or SF prices here either. I’m continually thrilled by what I can eat for my money. Last night, for example, I spent easily the best sixty cents of my life. I bought a thai coconut from a street vendor, who poked a straw into it for me. I drank the milk as slowly as I could – savoring every sip. Then I handed the coconut back to the vendor, who cracked it in half and scooped the flesh out for me. Total paradise.

The other thing I want to say about Singapore is that it’s a city of smiles. The customer service is incredible, and I’ve found everyone I’ve interacted with to be really warm and open.

So much for first impressions.

Here’s one last look at my view from the 30th floor of the Conrad:

Yesterday, I moved ino the serviced apartments at Fraser Suites. The place is alright. It doesn’t have a lot of character, but it will definitely be comfortable enough for the next four months.

kitchen	complete with standard bachelor frige contents
unfortunately, the art is attached to the wall	my favorite thing about this place: spying on my neighbors

The other night a small group of us went to see a play called “godeatgod” by local playrwright, Haresh Sharma.

On our first or second day here, Tracy handed me an eye-catching post card, and ever since then I’d been spotting them around town.

post cards for godeatgod

The cards quote a review from the sold-out 2002 run and describe the show as “a layered and moving exploration of power, sexuality, spirituality and survival in the post-traumatic world”. A review in the Straits Times summed up the play as “the perfect antidote to rambling or too-glib experimental theatre pieces disconnected from the flesh-and-blood of human suffering”.

As such, we thought it might also be the perfect antidote to the painful US election results.
Continue reading ‘godeatgod’ »