The Vortext

So, it’s been a couple of days, but I’ve been on an island without phone service or electricity let alone internet, which seems understandable, if I say so myself. Now I’m in Kuala Lumpur, but I’ve decided to backtrack to the first leg of my trip and finish posting some pictures from Singapore. I’ll be back there either tomorrow or the next day, so more will follow, but for now here’s one from the MRT (the subway system), that verifies something I heard from someone, though sadly I don’t remember whom. The durian is a large, smelly fruit popular throughout southeast Asia for its delectable flesh, but despised for its notorious stench. Hence the notice on the wall of the subway car.

The juxtaposition in this next picture of two vending machines and the statues on top of a Hindu temple in Chinatown struck me as particularly amusing, so of course I stopped to snap a photo of it (even though the lighting was less than ideal) on my way to dinner at the Hawker Centre.

The final photo is of the gay club to which we headed after dinner in order to chill and transfer files from my still nonfunctioning PowerBook to A.F.’s adorable iBook. It was called, cutely, Happy. From this experience, and from hanging out the night before at a beautiful Arabic teahouse called Samar, which served delicious iced mint tea, and an outdoor lounge done up to suit its name, Little Bali, it seems Singaporean nightlife has quite a bit more kick to it than its reputation would allow.

Yesterday afternoon, A.F. went off to run some errands, and I headed out on my own to explore Little India. He’d been an incredible guide, knowledgeable about the answers to all my questions, explaining Singaporean history, culture, sociology, education, and filling my head with data like the fact that 85% of Singapore’s residents live in public housing, which is actually really nice, and that six years ago, when the government implemented the famous electronic road pricing system, all the cars in the country were assigned an exact date and time to have the necessary device installed. Still, I figured I knew by now how to wander a foreign neighborhood and navigate a new subway system, especially in a country where English is the official language, despite the fact that most people speak Chinese, Malay, or Hindi at home as well. So I hopped on the MRT at Orchard Road, where we had been browsing at the Apple Store and at Border’s (I read the The New Yorker and Harper’s, but didn’t buy them because they cost about $15 each after all the shipping charges had been incorporated.), and got off three stops and a line-change later at Little India. There, I walked the streets, explored a little market that had been set up to sell special goods for Deepavali (aka Diwali, the Hindu version of Hanukah that lasts a month around the same time as Ramadan), ate, as I’ve already written, a paratha and drank some heavenly mango lassi, and checked out the famous 24-hour electronics department store, the Mustafa Centre.

If I had to describe Singapore in one word, it would not be “clean,” “sterile,” or “strict,” but “yum!” The diversity of cultures and the way its inhabitants prize good cuisine is striking, and it means that there are tons of unique and delicious foods to try. Last night, my friend A.F., who grew up there and now works for the government, and his girlfriend C., originally from San Francisco but now a writer for The Straits Times, took me to Maxwell Food Centre, a hawker center in Chinatown, where we ordered an array of native foodstuffs and incredible tropical juices (soursop, star fruit, sugar cane, and watermelon). I took some photos, but it was dark out so they didn’t come out too well. Still, the first one is of what the locals call Carrot Cake, which is the result of someone’s bright idea to dice up the traditional dimsum treat of turnip cake (my boyfriend P.’s favorite thing to order) and fry it with an egg and chiles. The second is Hokkien prawn noodles, which is a dish beloved of the straits Chinese (Nyonya), who originally left Fujian Province (where Xiamen and Fuzhou are, and where the unusual dialect of Hokkien, different from both Mandarin and Cantonese, is spoken) to settle throughout southeast Asia in the late 19th century.

Earlier yesterday, I grabbed a snack in Little India, at a little vegetarian restaurant called Komala. I couldn’t help but order the traditional roti paratha, which in Malaysia is known as roti canai (and which I’d had at the restaurant Penang in New York a number of times as a kid). It was both doughy and flaky, steaming hot off the griddle, and served with a small cup of delightfully spicy curry. I also(had the joyful opportunity to drink what was in my experience (limited as it is by not having yet made it to India) the best mango lassi in the world.

For breakfast, A.F. met me at my hip and clean hostel, where the in-house restaurant, Wild Rocket has been making a buzz among Singaporean foodies. We ordered mojitos (crisp and well-mixed) and pancakes with strawberry compote and fresh cream (buttery and brown outside and nice and soft within). Since the food took a while to come, the chef, Willin Low, sent out complimentary grapefruit and basil granitas (herby and refreshing). I had actually grabbed dinner there the night before, when I arrived, since it was 10:30pm and I was worried that by the time I found my way to a restaurant outside the hostel anything I found might be closed. Then, I tried a lychee martini and crabmeat linguini in a lightly piquant tomato cream sauce, both of which were spectacular as well. If only Beijing had food like this–and at such affordable prices!

Oh, and at some point, I popped into one of the 25 or so 7-11s I saw around town to check out potato chip flavors and other assorted local snacks. The best one on the shelves was this bag of “Ethnic Flavor” chips.

Roughly halfway through the 6-hour, 2300-mile flight from Beijing to Singapore, my plane touched down for the better part of half an hour in the city of Xiamen. Xiamen is the Special Economic Zone formerly known as the Treaty Port of Amoy, whence the name of that ubiquitous brand of Chinese sauces. The airport was surprisingly bright, clean, and international for a random city in China, and the view from the circular windows on the other side of the people mover made Xiamen seem like a tropical background for a car-raching video game. It is in Fujian province, which basically makes it Florida relative to Beijing’s New York, so I guess that makes sense, but still, it was surprising to see scenery like this in mainland China. I wonder if that’s what Taiwan looks like as well, since Taipei is just across the Strait of Taiwan from there.

The news of the latest terrorist attacks in Bali shook me up a bit, when I heard of them upon my arrival in Singapore. Originally, I had thought of joining my friends R. and M. there for this holiday, since they had already decided to head to the famed island. I had this nagging sense that I should listen to the travel warnings, though, especially since it wasn’t just the US Department of State that had one up: Australia, Canada, and the UK had them too. I guess this is more proof that I should always follow my instincts when traveling.

I was really struck by the way the Times concluded its most recent story about the attacks:

On Sunday afternoon, 60 Hindu monks, dressed in flowing white, performed a ceremony in front of Raja’s, which is wedged between a McDonald’s and a Kentucky Fried Chicken. They offered food to the spirits of the dead.

From this, at least, Indonesia doesn’t seem too different from the parts of Asia I’ve experienced as of yet. And on those, more to follow shortly.

I was surprised to read in the Times last night that Don Adams, the actor who so memorably played the bumbling secret agent Maxwell Smart on the classic TV show, “Get Smart,” has died. Mostly, I was surprised to find out that he wasn’t already dead–until I read his obituary, I would have assumed he died long ago. I mean, I watched that show relentlessly in reruns when I was only five or six, and it seemed even then like it belonged to such a distant past that he couldn’t possibly still be around.

There was one bright spot in the standard recap of his life, however: apparently he starred on TV not only as my favorite character, Smart, who communicated via shoe phone and crushed hard on the beautiful Agent 99, but also as another loveable but incompetent crime-fighting, technology-embracing type–doo doo doo dah doo–Inspector Gadget! It makes perfect sense, I’m just sorry I didn’t realize that when I was a kid. At the time, I guess I was too preoccupied with the details of all those intricate plots, but I would have loved to know that these two foolhardy lawmen were one and the same.

“Dear Tenants,

As you have known that the door security system cannot work if there is no power. In that case, the door will not be opened. Therefore, pleaes keep one set of metal key at our security department for back up for the emergency cases. We shall seal the keys up for keeping together with your good self.

Best regards, we remain,
Property Office”

Clearly, I’m more worried about them sealing my good self up than about being locked out in case of power failure. Is that wrong?

Sadly, my beautiful computer has ceased to function, so it might be a while before I get a chance to post again. I’m hoping for the best, but I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what I can figure out over here. I’ve tried calling what Apple’s website lists as the service phone number for China, but there’s just a short recording in Chinese followed by terrifying emptiness. Aiyou!

I fell in love with the blog PostSecret from the moment I discovered it–I think it was last year. Each Sunday, Frank, the guy who runs the site, posts about ten 4′x6′ postcards he’s received from readers, postcards with secrets they’re too afraid to confess in real life and can only express in public anonymity. Some of the submissions are self-consciously hip, some are scarily strange, some mundane, some ugly, and others jarringly beautiful. Here’s one from this past week, since the blog patently refuses to archive (something that bothers me a bit, as a compulsive collector and recordkeeper). I also don’t know how I feel about the forthcoming book of secrets. This kind of thing was born on the web, and I think it should probably stay there.

Apparently the latest ad campaign of the Malaysia Tourism Board has won a number of awards. To be exact:

Tourism Malaysia won four gold and one silver international awards for its advertising campaign at the prestigious Hospitality Sales and Marketing Association International (HSMAI) Adrian Awards 2004 competition in New York.

It’s certainly been effective at getting my attention. Not only do I unconsciously sing along to the mesmerizing song that plays on my television at least once an hour, but I was even compelled to plan a trip there for my upcoming National Day vacation. I leave next Saturday for Singapore, where I’ll meet up with my old friend A.F., who works for the government and lives, I’m sure, as exciting a life as can be found on that tiny, tidy, island–though we’ll see when I get there. After a couple of days evading the strong bamboo cane of the law in the land of road-pricing and regulations that ban the sale and import of chewing gum, I’ll hop across the causeway to the mainland: peninsular Malaysia. As of now, I plan to take the train to Kuala Lumpur and then possibly the famed “Jungle Train” up to the country’s northeast corner, where I’ll catch the ferry to Pulau Perhentian to meet up with my friend from Beijing, A., her boyfriend, and his friend for a few days of relaxed semi-luxury on some of the world’s most gorgeous beaches. The other option is to head to Penang Island, for the colonial city of Georgetown and some other, also fabulous, beaches. Obviously, I’ll try to write while I’m there, but for now, I thought I’d share the magic of this series of commercials with the world at large.

For small quicktime videos of the intoxicating propaganda that flashes on my screen at least twenty times a day, visit the Malaysian Tourism Board’s website. The first one, “International - Culture, Beach, Eco,” is my favorite. If the lyrics to my latest favorite song are enough to satisfy you, and they won’t be–once you see them I’m sure you’ll be compelled to watch the ad to hear the enchanting melody–here they are:

Everything I’ve wanted, all that I’ve asked of you.
Everything I’ve dreamed of, it’s all coming true.
So stay with me (with me), as we walk hand in hand.

Malaysia: Truly Asia,
The mountains and the sea.
Malaysia: Truly Asia,
It’s calling out, to you and me.
Malaysia: Truly Asia.

Irresistible, isn’t it?