June 2007

The New Majestic

My temporary home in Singapore this summer will be the New Majestic Hotel in Chinatown. On my last flight home, a guy from Lucas Arts told me about this great designer boutique hotel where every room is different as designed by a different artist. It only has 30 rooms and is very-Kelly with mosaic bathrooms, relaxing music and some rooms even have their own bamboo garden with exterior bathtub.

http://www.newmajestichotel.com/


They let me keep my bags there all summer and as I come and go on weekends, I am put in a different room upon each return.

My first evening, I went for a run along the Esplanade and re-injured my knee trying to keep up with a cute expat from SF, who was giving me pointers on where to look for housing in Singapore.

“How long is your assignment?”

“One year.”

He laughs, “Everyone here is told one year and it ends up at least double that. I’m already a year and a half past my assignment date and still have another year or so to go…”

The next day, I go to meet with my engineering team at the International Business Park, home to my new, huge, glassed in, office for the summer. All the engineers and architects are from India, except for one Singaporean man and a Chinese girl. As I met with them one on one, I asked them to show me on a map what city they come from and tell me about the area, including how they got their name, because some are named after their father, some after their city, others don’t know. Some want to be called by their family name, others by a nickname that is not on any of my contact lists.

Happy Ending

Two days later my knee is tweaked from running on my past injuries and I’m back to self-physical therapy on the hotel fitness center bikes. As I wandered through Chinatown, I find a foot reflexology place - $20 for an hour and I have four hours to kill before I catch an overnight train to Kuala Lampur.

This little masochist Chinese man lures me in for relaxation, which it was everything but. He pulls the chicken meat off my calves, pierced my Achilles heal with his pinky nail, and pulled my piggies out of their sockets. With every yelp I made, he just presses harder.

“Pai gooud.”

“No, pain not good.”

“No, Pai gooud, you strong, you not weak like Singapore girls.”

Okay, even though I want to cry, with a comment like that, I’m going to try to be strong. Every point he pressed, I could feel sensations going from my heart to my foot. So sharp, goose bump ran down my spine. Another spot, I almost lost my bladder. And another spot, now keep in mind that all he was touching was my foot, I think I got a happy ending.

Hello Kitty

There is no where I go in this town where I am not forced to go shopping. The Singaporean culture revolves around shopping and I hate shopping. Even the public transit stations are shopping malls. And what is their fascination with Hello Kitty? She is everywhere.

I do enjoy roaming around Chinatown though. The night markets are very colorful with the red lanterns, street vendors and bright colored fabrics. There is a new temple that just opened too and even though it looks like the Chinese restaurant I used to go to in Naperville, Illinois, it was still pretty cool. A lot of Budas.

KL

Now being a countess and seasoned business traveler now, staying in five star hotels taxis paid by the company, and expense accounts – I was rudely awaken by the fact that my normal means of travel may be ruined for life. As I humbled myself to an overnight train to Kuala Lampur (KL), the first-class city state of Singapore has a third-world country inside it at the train station.

I am challenged by a squatter in the train station restroom. How come I can go to the bathroom anywhere in nature and manage not to pee on my ankles and pants, but as soon as I have a target and foot pads, I miss? So now I have to deal with my peed on pants for the next ten hours and WHAT…no toilet paper!!! For paying 20 cent to pee, I should at least have toilet paper!

That reminds me of another thing that I need to be acutely aware of being left handed. When I eat, I eat with my left hand. When I hand people things, it is usually with my left hand. When I point, it is with my left hand. I have been informed that I need to stop this behavior since most of the cultures in Singapore regard the left hand as the one you wipe your arse with.

I am probably one of three Caucasians in the whole train station and probably the only woman without a veil. It is stinky, crowded and everyone, especially children, are staring at me. I know it is just because I look different, but it kind of makes you feel like you have no privacy.

When I get to my bed on the train and settle in, an Indian family asked if I would change beds with one of their assignments since the wife was given a bed in another car. I have no problem with it and offer to do it. However, later I will find out that this is the worse bed I could possibly get – next to the toilet which smells like a zoo by five hours into the trip and people going in and out of the door between cars all night.

I figure, this is a good night for a sleeping pill. Now some of you may remember my story of taking a sleeping pill en route on a fight to Egypt some years ago, where I drank red wine and vowed never to that again after throwing up and passing out in the airplane potty. Well, thou shall never take sleeping pills on overnight trains either, ESPECIALLY, if there is any chance that you may have to pass through customs in the middle of the night.

We had to go through a control point when boarding the train, so I thought that was it for the passport check. Around midnight, I am rudely awakened by a conductor who wants me to disembark and join the others in a huge hall on the Malaysian boarder. I can hardly walk and keep my eyes open.

The agent looks at me, and my passport…

“You travel alone?”

“Yes.”

“You work in Singapore?”

“Yes.”

“Why you travel alone?” and he looks at me with a big frown of pity for me, “You have no friends?”

“Yes I have friends but they are not coming with me to Malaysia in the middle of the night.” And they are not stupid enough to take some third world chicken train to save a few bucks.

After that, I could not sleep all night and the train was almost 3 hours late getting to KL. I was kind of happy though since that meant I could see the Malaysian Jungle in the daylight and it was neat to pass through the little villages and watch from a train, even if I was sleeping in my own pee a little longer.

As we approached KL, I could see Petronas Towers in the skyline. My first architectural pilgrimage in years. The architect, Cesar Pelli, is a graduate of my alma mater. I saw him present the project back while I was in grad school and have wanted to see the towers ever since. The design is Islam meets a Chicago skyscraper and built a twin next door to Siamese connect them with a bridge. It is a beautiful structure and tomorrow I will be first in line for the sky bridge.

My hotel is right across the street at the Hotel Maya – amazing hotel, very Kelly – check it out online at www.hotelmaya.com.my – the giant therapeutic pool/Jacuzzi is very relaxingas you loose yourself in the modern design.

My camera broke today, but I hope I can retrieve the images to date. I guess I’ll HAVE to go shopping tomorrow.

Discotheque
THat evening, I went down to dinner at the hotel. No less than four people approached me, asking, “You travel ‘lone? Why you travel ‘lone. Where you husband? Where you boyfriend? How come you not married?” Asians do not do anything alone, especially the girls.

I went for a walk through town and was exposed to my first cat calls on the continent. Malaysia has a very Muslim and Middle Eastern presence due to the petroleum industry, so maybe it is the Sultan blood within them. I got to Zouk, a trendy disco to venture in. The ‘Ladies Express’ line took me through the crowds directly to the center of the Futurama dance club. Not only was I the only girl in the club, but the only Caucasian and the only blonde. It took me about a minute of feeling like a piece of meat before I headed back indoors, where I belonged.

Instead, I went to the hotel skydeck, looking at Petronas towers all lit up like giant Christmas honeycombs, to drink a cosmo. Another couple my age noticed me sitting alone and invited me over for a drink with them. This is why I love to travel alone, because I never get the experience to meet others when I am with friends. They were from the east coast but living in Korea. He was an IT specialist in the military and she taught English in a Korean school. It was fun venting on the differences of the Asian culture, especially the shopping fetish. Now I have friends in Korea for my next layover there.

Thursday was our groundbreaking ceremony for Genentech, where I was able to meet our Vice President and top scientists for our treatments: Lucentis and Avastin, which will be produced in our Singapore campus. The ceremony was formal with Ministers of Trade, Economics, Science and Technology and other high ranking Singaporeans attending alongside the US Ambassador.

In Asia, everything is about ‘Face.’ A presentation put on for others to exhibit your merits. It is all about what you show to the outside. In the business world, this means lavish events to show your company’s success. It is precisely rehearsed, much like a wedding ceremony, and networking is the primary focus of these rituals. The right people need be present.

So back to ‘face’ and collectivist ways of Asia, I attended my first aerobics classes in Singapore last night. The girls can not work out alone either. They come in groups of 3 to 4. Most have the exact same, newest, most expensive ADIDAS shoes advertised in the magazines and they wear hot pants, even the boys. I felt so sorry for one girl whose tampon string was hanging out of her hot pants…that’s when you know your shorts are too short. Classes are taught by metrosexual boys in a Jane Fonda workout that kind of way that felt like cheerleading camp, or working out in the Castro circa 1989.

Nirvana

I am fascinated by the Buddhist religion and one of my goals for the year is to gain a better understanding of the world’s eastern religions. My temporary neighborhood in Chinatown is a good place to start. A new temple just opened, containing a Buddha museum, where I started to learn more about Siddhartha, Buddha’s real name.

Buddha’s mother was impregnated by a six-tusked elephant who wrapped his trunk around her three times before sending Buddha into her womb! What was she smoking? It is probably the same weed that made people believe that Mary was still a virgin after giving birth. Buddha is the enlightened or ‘awakened’ one. There has been more than one Buddha and there will be many more. I think my Uncle Edwin may have been related in some way.

Kelly-san – this is what they call me in Japan.

Now I’ll venture out to visit some temples in Japan along with a Japanese tea ceremony, the Godzilla statue, Imperial Palace, Ginza, and I heard one too many Gwen Stefani songs not to want to venture into Harajuku. I am staying at a traditional Japanese Inn called a Ryokan. I sleep on a tatami mat surrounded by shoji screens and rice paper wall cover. I take forgranted that Singapore is Asia for beginners. Once I left Narita airport, nothing was in English, except for the advertisements. Most people I have encountered do not speak English.

After spending time in a long customs line the train threw me into the middle of Friday rush hour in Tokyo on the subway. I find what works best is to write on a piece of paper where I am going and people point me in the correct direction, or at least I think. I may have walked a few circles. Luckily for me Hattori-san, my ISPE friend, came to find me at my Ryokan and was my translator last night.

Wish me luck…oh, but I eat so many fortune cookies that all I have is luck. Another thing I have learned is that a smile in any culture can go a long way.

Harajuku Girls

Saturday morning – after having one of the best night’s sleep on a tatami mat, I let the Japanese experience continue into the communal bath on the top floor of the Ryokan, overlooking the temple’s pagoda. I was the only one in there at the time. The floor is similar to a sauna with hardwood slats and the bath is made out of wood as well. There is a long, black granite countertop and opening to a small bamboo zen garden. I soaked in the hot mineral water with the sun filtering in the shoji screen.

Set off for a quick walk to the Asakusa Temple, then hightailed the Ginza line into the center of Tokyo. Again, not much is in English and I wandered around the streets a few times in the absolute wrong direction to where I was headed. I was hungry for breakfast and all Japanese eat is fish, fish, sushi. I was hungry for my regular cookie breakfast. Then there in the distance – my savior, Starbucks. Again nothing there was in English, but ‘Soy Chai Tea Latte’ with a smile is international. I could also point to a chocolate donut while drueling profusely, DO-NUT I say all wide-eyed.

Wandered to the Shiodome across from Hama-rikyu Gardens. When my feet began to hurt, I hailed a cab to Okura where I had lunch in a Japanese garden and experienced my first tea ceremony with a (hot) Russian male model and his two friends from the Ukraine. He spoke Japanese and would translate what they were doing in Ukrainian, then English.

After that, I took the subway to Harajuku and walked the streets of trendy teens in their wicked outfits. Everyday is like Halloween night in the Castro here. I was lured into the shopping frenzy and bought some sheik shoes. Metro back to Ginza to find the Godzilla statue, which was disappointedly tiny. A few blocks away is the Imperial Palace and I tried to find FLW’s Imperial Hotel with no luck. By night fall, I was back in Ginza where I ate at a trendy Tokyo café and wandered the electric streets before metroing back to Asakusa. I was so proud of myself for finding my way home.