Adventures of Kelly

Cappadocia, Baths, and Boys

2009-06-15T16:27:00.000-07:00

Cave Dwelling in Cappadocia
Flintstones, meet the Flintstones. Cappadocia is in central Turkey and apart from having the most diverse landscapes of anywhere I have seen in my travels, we lived in a cave for three days. Yes, the ancient civilizations carved their cities out of volcanic stones and had miles of underground cities that could house societies up to 100,000 people during times of invasions.
As many of you know, this region was the main stomping grounds of the Crusades and people often had to live for months, even years at a time underground to avoid attacks. Just out of an Indiana Jones movie, these caves and passageways have rocks which roll into place to block invaders and long, creepy tunnel, which no longer house skeletons, but modern day excretions from the locals. People still live in some of the caves, and others are preserved for tourist attractions.
Early Christian churches have well preserved frescoes inside since the temperature is constant year round. The columns and archways are carved into the rock rather than built up as modern technology mandates today. The rock is so porous, it absorbed smoke and almost every room contains a fire pit in the center.

The Turkish Bath Experience
I remember studying the Romans in Mrs. Widmeyer’s 6th grade social studies class, then again in architectural history courses through college. The baths looked so relaxing. A cold pool, a warm pool, slaves fanning you with palms and feeding you grapes over your head, reclined on a chaise lounge surrounded by Roman columns, mosaics and boys in loincloths. In my imagination, Turkish baths were much the same.

NOT! We checked off one of the 1,000 places to see before we die..the Cagaloglu Hamami, 300 year old Turkish baths in Istanbul. Architecturally, it is an amazing structure with concrete domes protruded by a central occulus and small cylindrical punctures through the shell. The floors are marble and Persian rugs line the hallways to private changing rooms opening up to a central atrium with a tearoom below. International women are lounging in orange Turkish towels.

Once undressed, a large Turkish woman takes you by hand into the anti-chamber to change into your pink water shoes to keep from slipping naked onto the marble floor, like Bambi on ice. A blast of hot, humid air emits from central chamber. There is no bath, Jacuzzi, reflecting pool or any body of water. The perimeter has faucets flowing into marble sinks and metal buckets to rinse your body. If you do not get wet enough, the large Turkish lady takes the bucket into her own hands to douse you with cold water over the head.

She then reprimands in Turkish and maybe if she speaks louder, I will understand. I do not, so she forces me to follow her to the central marble platform where I am placed with eight other naked women, head to toe in an octagonal formation under the dome. I cannot understand what she wants so she manhandled me into position and dumped another bucket of cold water over me…two for me, one for her. She motions for me to put my hands over my head, which end up on some other woman’s feet, then she massaged my front, my entire front from head to toe before exfoliating two layers of my epidermis off my body. She grabs my hand to feel the pile of dead flesh on my stomach. It feels as if someone dumped a box of dried mashed potatoes on my tummy. She started yelling at me in Turkish again and I don’t understand…. whoosh – another bucket of cold water dumped on me and she flipped me over like a pancake.

Same thing on the other side. My feet are in someone else's hair and my face is on someone’s leg. I hope she left some skin on my back. I am flipped again and she motions for me to go rinse myself off. Upon return she has a bucket of soapy water. I get a dry massage, a wet massage and soap massage on each side as she rotates me around as a pig on a skewer and I am kneaded like a pile of dough. Soap gets in my eyes and she can see me fidgeting frantically. WHOOSH, whoosh, two buckets of water over my head and I am gasping for air. She applies the soap with a shredded palm mop and I am covered in bubbles and lubricated from head to toe, sliding around on the marble slab, laughing hysterically and crying, because this is NOT what I expected.

More buckets of water are poured over me to get the soap off. She shows no mercy for washing me down in buckets of cold water. If I was in Turkish prison, this is how they would bathe me. Now she wants to wash my hair and I feel like she just made cotton candy on my head, then about ten buckets of water, one right after the other as I was, laughing, screaming and gasping for air all at the same time. She takes a comb and is ripping the hair out of my head. Without conditioner, my hair is a giant knot and I beg her to stop. I could not even open my eyes because I was not sure when the next rinse was about to happen.

She gave me a big bear hug, says me very pretty, and points me to the hot room…as if this one was not hot enough. Here I sat in the Turkish steam room as Laura and Katy join me one by one. It was the most barbaric bath I have ever had, but at least I got a parting gift of Hello Kitty panties.

The Turkish Guide to Picking up foreign women
Tip #1, hang at nearest famous mosque or architectural relic.
Tip #2, get yourself a carpet shop and dress it like a Jeannie’s Bottle!
Tip #3, compliment EVERY woman who walks by…one of them is bound to entertain you.
Tip #4, it doesn’t matter how young or old the girl is, just go for it! My favorite young man who tried to get me in bed in Lebanon had the line, which was also a favorite of the Turks – “age makes no difference, you can be like Demi Moore…”

We had to make a compilation of our favorite pick up lines, although almost every one starts trying to guess our nationality. This must be the international icebreaker.
“We are 3 men, you are 3 women…yeah?” (enter silly grin here)
“Where did you steal your beautiful eyes from?”
“Are you Jennifer Aniston.” Yes, it does not help to travel with someone that looks like her twin. The best I got was Paris Hilton, but at least I had Madonna’s arms from the guy at the baths.
“I get off of work at 11:15pm – you come back and we go dance.” This came in some way or fashion from just about every waiter we encountered throughout the trip until we realized the sign language I thought was to get the bill, may have been asking him for his phone number.
“Are you real, or are you a dream?”
“Hey Angel Lady...”
“Have you fallen from Heaven?”
“Let me change your Life.” In Cappadocia, Katy and I had dessert and wine with a couple of Hot Air Balloon pilots and a carpet shop salesman. The Hot Air Balloon industry is booming in Cappadocia and a middle class income is easily obtainable to charge tourist 250 Euros for a short morning soar over the rock valleys. This is the most lucrative industry in the region and it opens up the Turkish men to meet mass quantities of foreign women. They were very honest about the marketing prospects in Turkey in regards to tourism. Basically everything costs more than it should.
A Foreign Girl’s Guide to avoiding the Turkish Men
Tip #1, get up at 5am to take pictures at all the touristy areas…all the Turkish men are hung over on Raki at least until 9am. You can wander the streets of Istanbul freely without any fat cruise boat people and busloads of German tourists in your pictures…and the sky looks pretty cool too. Wake up with the first Morning Prayer call.

Tip #2, pretend to be Helen Keller – blind, deaf and mute…ignore them, they are not there you can not see them. Some may actually follow you for sometime, so if this happens and you actually need to open your mouth, pretend to be foreign, really foreign, and speak a language none of them knows. I used to pretend that I was Swedish and talk pig Latin with a ‘fart’ after every word. Try it with a friend, you can actually understand what they are saying and it really does sound like Swedish. Then I realized that most people know that everyone in Sweden speaks English, so I started to pretend I was Polish, which I am and can speak a couple phrases, but nobody in Turkey can actually speak Polish and they will be dead in the water.

Tip #3 put your iPod on and DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANYONE. Even if a man follows you like a puppy dog, remember Tip #2, they are not there if you cannot see them. It is hard though, because they are honest people, trying to make a living…Well, honest may be stretching it, but deep down I bet they are really nice.

The Turkish man’s dream is to run off with a foreign woman, or at least have a fling, because as Ramadandan, ‘Rambo,’ on the beach at Ephesus put it, and sorry for the harsh language, “If you f@ck a Turkish girl, you are expected to marry her, but foreign women you can just fu$k.” This was an interesting fellow who though he could impress three American girls with his stories of all the international women he has ‘f*ck@d,’ including the Japanese woman who begged him to stop after five times in a night. Seriously, the word fcuk was every other word out of his mouth.

Tips #4 – never any under circumstance, find you alone with a Turkish man, especially at night. He will ask you out for a drink and every excuse you make will be rebutted to make it more convenient for you.

Yes, you CAN go back to Constantinople! A flight from Istanbul to Amsterdam, to Washington, DC – living a couple blocks from Obama’s house for an ISPE conference and getting over jetlag by walking the mall. Made it back to SF the next evening with Stefano waiting for me at the airport. I am suffering schwarma withdrawals.

During the flights, I started to plan Kelly’s next adventure! Africa, including Ethiopia, Tanzania, Kenya and Zanzibar! I hope to leave on Christmas Eve for a layover in Chicago to see Anabelle Bananabelle’s first Christmas. Oddly enough, my flight on Christmas night flies through Istanbul again, so I will be able to return for another layover en route to Addis.

In Ethiopia, I hope to visit an orphanage that my friend from MBA classes is supporting through a non-profit organization. She worked for Gilead, a biotech company that provides HIV medication to children in Ethiopia. She adopted a little girl from Addis and will be living there this summer to work in the orphanage. I am helping her gather medical supplies from Genentech and Bay Area hospitals to take over there and researching the possibilities of maybe adopting a little girl from there someday. It will be nice to learn more about the culture before jumping into such a large commitment. Some people say it is like going to the SBCA to 'look'...you almost always end up coming home with a puppy....

From Addis I will travel to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, embark on an African safari and SCUBA dive in Zanzibar! Meanwhile, Amazon picked up my children’s book – World Playground. You can order it online from there and LuLu.com now! Cute little Anabelle keeps growing and I will be working on the sequel soon – Anabelle Bananabelle’s Totally Terrific Travel Tales!

http://www.amazon.com/World-Playground-Kelly-Keen/dp/B0029J3IFE

Turkey and The Republic of Georgia

2009-05-14T09:45:00.001-07:00

After 5 months officially back in the US, I am starting to recover from the culture shock of leaving my jet-setting life in Singapore behind. People warned me about the depression expatriates feel coming home, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be to go back. I went from living it up in a $10K/month apartment with maids, waterfalls, pools, relaxing on white sand beaches on weekends and riding my bike to Malaysia to cleaning my own toilets, gardening, reconstructing dry rot during the rainy season, replacing sewers and cleaning up the shit-n-slide in my neighbor’s yard.

So I have taken a break from the blog to write a children’s book instead – it is published on lulu.com, called World Playground, a compellation of pictures I have taken of children around the world. I dedicated the book to my niece, Anabelle Hanna, who was born April 20th. Anabelle in Farsi means, ‘I am beautiful,’ so she will be saying that every time she says her name. I got to see her for the first time this weekend in Madison, Wisconsin, where Brian and Nancy live. Boy is she cute and I am not just saying that because I am now Aunt Kelly. She has this little layer of puppy fur that makes her even more adorable.

That evening began the next international travel in Turkey and The Republic of Georgia, located on the Black Sea that Russia tried to take over last year. Why the heck would I choose to Tbilisi, Georgia? It all started in Singapore last summer while I was working on the mycoplasma lab with a colleague from Georgia, Vadim Estravi. His family is high in the political system, extending from Georgian knighthood. He was consulting with me on master planning ideas for a biotech campus sponsored by the Georgian government. Vadim has an accent similar to Count Dracula and my favorite memory of him was listening to him order chicken blood for the mycoplasma lab. It sounded like a crank call.

Then on New Year’s Day as I set my resolutions for 2009, I decided to not travel as a tourist anymore, but try to travel with a purpose of preserving cultures or educating people along the way. I contacted a professor from architecture school who is a world known Byzantine architectural historian a former boyfriend spend two summers uncovering frescoes in the caves of Cappadocia, Turkey. Professor Ousterhaut replied to my email within hours and although Turkey does not give archeological permits to foreigners anymore, there is some work being done in Georgia. He has a contact at the University of Pennsylvania working in Vani and gave me the contact to the curator at the National Museum at Tbilisi, which needs help with a structural analysis.

Last semester, I combined my term paper for my international logistics class on manufacturing collaborations, using Vadim’s project as my case study, so I have a little background on Georgia.

Istanbul, not Constantinople
My first stop was a layover in Istanbul. I booked the Kybele Hotel (www.kybelehotel.com) as recommended by a Russian friend of mine and it was amazing with a prime location within a minute of Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque and the Hippodrome. Turkish lamps line the ceiling with a charming tea parlor, courtyard and, of course, a carpet shop. As I step out the door, there are no less then 10 men who want to me my friend…and probably sell me a carpet. (See note on research for Marketing 343 on facebook.)

“But you must have an escort in Istanbul..” one hustler recommended.
“If I accepted every invitation to escort me, I would have a line of Turkish men behind me.”

I refused them all until a very attractive one stuck with me a while and snuck me into the Muslim side of the closed Blue Mosque. Ramadan is his name because he was born during the feast of Ramadan and is sure to let me know that he is Kurdish and not Turkish. Kurds are a derivative of the Iranians who live primarily through Turkey, Syria and Armenia. I am blunt that I am not interested in a tour guide, jewelry or a carpet, but he is still adamant on following me like a puppy dog. He does know Istanbul well and led me in all the right directions to make the most of my 24 hours, including a roof terrace looking over the sea and a mosque for sunset.

He seems less like a salesman and more like a friend now. As I learned in Morocco, Fiji and Egypt, if you have a local with you, all others will leave you alone. Ramadan inquires on my age and wants to know if ‘I have boyfriend.’ I tell him about Stefano, which he is sure that all Italians cheat on their women, which led to an interesting conversation about sex around the world and how foreign men view it.

He claims I am now his ‘sister’ and he is my brother.
“My real brother tried to sell me for camels last year in Lebanon. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
He just looked at me perplexed. It is Mother’s Day in Turkey, but I do not accept his invitation to meet his mother for dinner…she probably wants to sell me a carpet too.

Georgia – Home of the Unibrow!
Am I in Russia, the Middle East or Eastern Europe? I am lost among cultures, but I like it. Nothing is in English, the language has no western characters and sounds Russian. Tbilisi is the capital of Georgia and it is the only place where a Mosque and Synagogue exist next to each other. Some churches look Christian Byzantine, some have onion domes as in Russia, and others were constructed around 500AD and taken over by different religions through time. Great Medieval research for Sword Lake.

I wandered into a very organized protest encouraging the resignation of Mikheil Saakashvili, the president. Although I do not know what is being preached to the crowd, I can tell by the tone, the pauses, and the applause that it is politically charged. There are a large amount of supporters and some travel in ‘cells’, which are temporary structures, aligned perfectly in the streets with cots to house the protesters. They have shut down the main thoroughfare to Liberty Square and caused chaos and a huge traffic jam in Tbilisi at rush hour. If you cannot beat ‘em, join them. Cars just park in the jam and join the protest.

The next day, what I thought would be a quick hike up to a tower outside my hotel, turned into more than a three-hour tour. This tower lights up like the Eiffel Tower at night and seems to have viewing platforms. It is WAY farther up the mountain than it looks and what, are these people, goats? What starts as a paved staircase with rails through a field of red poppies turns into me bushwhacking up a mountain with rusted cables that used to support the Gondola? Once I make it to the top, there is a huge security fence surrounding it. Now I know I cannot possibly go down the hillside I had to scale and I can see vehicles up there, so there must be a road down.

I walked the perimeter of the fence until I find a hole, which every Tbilisian teenager has probably snuck through at some point. Once inside, I realize I have just broken into an amusement park. This may be most people’s dream, but my nightmare because all the rides are running, it is filled with carnival workers and I am the only visitor. Guards are approaching me, but I have no idea what they are saying, so I am good now at playing stupid blonde. Every time I think I see a way out, the guards will not let me leave! I am trapped in an amusement park and the Carnies are stalking me!

I find a service road and take it downhill, except it is the wrong way down the side of the mountain. I am hoping for a switch back to reorient me back to Tbilisi, but an hour down the road, I am just in a small village. It is a beautiful walk, surreal green rolling hills with snowcapped mountains in the distance and I still feel like I am in a dream, and I may be walking, like, FOREVER.

I see 5 teenage boys ahead who I think are making fun of me. I ask if they speak English and they just make obnoxious noises. I say Tbilisi? And point downhill. But they have no idea what the crazy girl in spandex is saying (I was not expecting to encounter people when I set out this morning.) A bus pulls up and I just hop on to hope it goes to Tbilisi. Half an hour down windy roads in a rickety bus and these boys may be retarded and who knows, I could be heading for the zoo. Finally we turn a corner and I can see Tbilisi. It would have taken me 3 days to walk. I saw a Monastery on the side of the road, hopped out without paying and took pictures of this 5th century church before finishing my walk home.

According to my Georgian friends the amusement park was the work of a billionaire who made his millions in Russia. The Georgian government was going to strip him of it if he did not reinvest it in a public project for Georgia. He skipped out of town to London and had a massive heart attack...coincidence, I think not.

Yesterday I met up with Vadim’s brother and good friend to visit some hella old churches and eat traditional Georgian food, which would be perfect for a hangover. The biggest cup o’beans, fried pork dumplings, ground beef rolled in dough, and fried cheese. I may be in Wisconsin.

Today I am adventured with two wild and crazy guys on a mountain bike ride into some gorges and through the rolling hills, past 5th century monestaries and cave dwellings. 60km, mostly uphill and my legs are exhausted. Political uprising is brewing and the President will break it up on Saturday if the protesters do not leave. Tomorrow I head back to Istanbul to meet up with Laura and Katy.

Sydney

2008-12-03T21:03:00.000-08:00

The Land of OZ
Do you come from the land down under? Upon arrival on the red eye from Singapore, I am questioned by the customs agent about bringing cash, fruits, vegetables…oh and am I convicted felon? “Isn’t this where we are supposed to come?” I ask.

The amount of hot young guys in my neighborhood at 6:30am, just returning from the clubs, is amazing….then I realize that I am in the gay part of town…not that there is anything wrong with that. I am staying at a stylish boutique hotel at King’s Cross called the Diamante. The staff are all very good-looking gay men, but bitchier than the women that live to watch Oprah.

The host makes it seem like my room is just about ready at 7am – why don’t you grab breakfast. An hour later they are still working on it. I inquired again – just 5 more mins….half an hour passes…they are just checking on the room. Half an hour later he disappears long enough to get boofed. When he returns, it is back to 5 mins. Finally at 11am, I give up on my room and take off into the city. This starts my bad relationship with this queen.

It is a blustery Winnie the Pooh day in Sydney. Just perfect for having lunch with a friend and wandering Georges Street to start my Christmas Shopping between down pours. The city has a very similar feel to SF and London combined. King’s Cross, where I am staying, is a center point between the Castro, Tenderloin, North Beach and the Marina. What this means to those of you not from SF – gays, heroin addicts, nudie joints, the trendy spots for dining and night clubs. Very cosmopolitan.

That evening, by recommendation of my friend Megan on the ANZA cycling team, I hang at the ‘place to be’ on Friday nights in Sydney. A bar called Ivy, upon multiple levels en plein air of posh yuppie population. Here I meet other visitors from London and Perth who are in town on business.

Maybe the Dingo ate ‘cha shoe.
The next morning, the storms cleared and I set out to walk the city in my cool green shoes, which are soon to become the victim of a shoe fetish. I walked from Kings Cross through Hyde Park to the Royal Botanical Gardens, the Sydney Opera House, the Rocks and down to Circular Quay to take a ferry to Manly.

The ferry to Manly offers stellar views of the Harbor Bridge, Opera House and upon arrival; Manly is similar to Berkeley, if it had a nice beach. Christmas in the summer is hard to image, but all of the holiday fair vendors line the pedestrian walkways to the beach.

In the evening I met up with a girl from Washington, DC who has been traveling for 3 months on her own. We went to try one of the trendy bars and restaurants in Potts Point, Lotus, known not only for their outstanding cocktails with creative names, but stellar cuisine. She has just finished traveling Fiji and New Zealand, much like the trip I took two years ago.

The next morning is beach day. I travel to Bondi beach, which is the LA of Australia, known for Bondi Rescue on Australian TV, equivalent to Bay Watch. From there, I hiked a costal walk across multiple shorelines and cliffs to Coogee Beach. I baked on the beach, just long enough for me to realize there is no ozone layer in Australia.

My last morning, I awoke at 6am to take a BodyPump class down the street. This is the exact same class I have done for the 3 rd day in a row and multiple times in Singapore. Les Mills is an idiot for introducing these pathetic monotamous aerobic classes to the world, but I need some arm work since I’ll be sitting on planes all day.

When I left, my other 2 pairs of shoes were neatly places in my closet shelf, like every anal architect would do. Upon my return, one, only one, of my favorite green platform sandals remained. Disappeared! Poof, into thin air. This is my favorite pair of travel shoes purchased in NYC. I never get blisters in them. Now the queen I am having problems with during my stay at Diamante is working the desk, saw me leave for the gym, and I had to trade him my key for the pass. Either he is trying to make me crazy or has a shoe fetish. I hope he doesn’t stick the shoe anywhere intimate, especially since I walked through all kinds of dung in India with them.

When in the land of OZ….there is no place like home….
The last day is the most beautiful and I have to spend it on planes all day. I flew first to Perth to get a birds eye vies of the Outback. The coast is beautiful. The land between cities is desolate. The people are friendly, but rival the Americans for being obnoxious, especially while traveling.

Before leaving for OZ, I had another embarrassing moment in an Asia massage parlor. No happy ending, no yogurt, but this time I fainted and puked. I blame it on a combination of dehydration from cycling 60k prior in the middle of the day, not eating enough and then having a deep tissue massage, releasing toxins into my body. I felt my temperature raise, nausea hit, a loud music went through my head and I tried to open my eyes, but everything was dark.

Next thing I know I wake up on the floor with two Chinese girls washing me down with cool towels. My body was covered in sweat and when I gained consciousness, I tossed my cookies. Once I got water down I was able to walk, but still could not hold down food.

BOLLYWOOD!

2008-10-27T19:59:00.001-07:00

Friday I organized Singapore’s first Biopharmaceutical Symposium at the Biopolis Matrix Auditorium. I had hoped to get 100-200 students to attend. I reserved a theater that held 480, out of convenience and location. 674 students registered and at least 600 showed up. I hoped it would be similar to the US where students sign up to get out of classes and take an early weekend. Kids were sitting in the aisles, but the event was a success set to become a yearly conference.

Bollywood
The next day I took off for Mumbai. Bombay. Bollywood! I flew in around 10pm to the Grand Hyatt Mumbai. It is a fortressed complex with the slums along the perimeter of the premises, but once inside, it is a modern-day palace. It is Saturday night and I ask the concierge if there are any nightclubs nearby. Well, coincidence has it that the Hyatt houses the China Room – Mumbai’s premiere club where the Bollywood stars hang. I waited until midnight to check it out and was quickly escorted to the front of the line – one of the benefits of being blonde in India! However, once inside the posh spread of a glowing bar surrounded by expensive rooms to rent by the hour, well stocked with liquor, I realize that I am the only Caucasian in the bar and feel again like a piece of meat. I made friends with two Indian Airline Stewardesses who could pass for Bollywood’s finest, but I couldn’t recognize one of the stars if they were looking me in the eyes. Now I know some of you are asking yourselves ‘why the hell did she go back to India?’ after my last visit under the curse of Shiva and the six weeks, six medications, and ten pounds I lost in a most unhealthy way. I LOVE INDIA! I am also speaking at the International Bioprocess Conference and seeing the more Westernized side of the country, but not before I jet down to the beaches of Goa.

Going to Goa
The 45-minute drive from the airport to Baga Beach, I was living on a prayer. The taxi driver had no regard for cars coming in the opposite direction as he enjoyed playing chicken with trucks and cattle. However, what I have learned is that the makeshift shrine on his dashboard will save us from any accidents. I just need to hold on and enjoy the ride. What is strange in Goa though is the fact that the shrine is actually Jesus – no Shiva or monkey gods looking me in the eyes – it is actually the Son of God. Christian Indians? Who’d a thunk? And by the number of churches and crosses on the side of the road, I realize this is not the India I know.

The Portuguese settled Goa and the people are Jesus freaks! Sunday on the beach hosted the Indian techies who have driven in from the internal Silicon Valleys to enjoy the waves in their business attire, un-stealthfully snapping photos of me on their phone cameras. Some are actually bold enough to ask to have their photo taken with me…as I wonder how many are referring to me now as their ‘girlfriend.’ Sunset brought a break in the crowds of young men, allowing me the chance to do yoga under the stars in peace. The beaches are beautiful, strolling for miles with a gentle slope down to the Arabian Sea. Fishing villages and restaurants line the shore.

The next day, I have my own beach hut where the Indian boys protect me from the passers by, cursing them in Hindi if they even glance my way. This is their beach and I am their Betty! I did homework, watching the sunset at a beachside café, listening to the Thriller album. read a Sedaris book and started my term papers. I don’t mind the smell of India anymore. Now that I expect it, I just enjoy the stench as part of my adventures. The slums outside of my boutique hotel are actually beautiful in a way to me, as well as the beautiful little girls in their colorful saris waving at me as I pass.
Fashion Week
Bombay’s Lamke Fashion Week – where the Bollywood stars walk the runways in the newest Indian mode. The morning I flew from Goa back to Mumbai, I was mistaken for an Eastern European model at the airline luggage belt. A nicely dressed gentleman who had been riding in first class inquired on my presence at Fashion Week. Unfortunately, I am here to speak for a Bioprocess conference. As we waited for the bags, he gave me the lowdown on the Indian fashion industry and all the parties that would revolve around it. “Please come tonight as my guest when you are done with your meetings.” as he passed me his business card. Executive VP of marketing for India’s largest media company.

After sitting through a day of technology transfer, IP legislation and biological guru talks, it was time to see the real Mumbai. I Google his company to make sure he was legit and emailed the man. Within seconds, I had directions to the premiere event in town along with tickets to two fashion shows. As I pondered my suitcase, I realized, oh shit, what does one wear to Bombay Fashion Week? All I have is business attire and beach clothes. What would Carry Bradshaw wear? I picked up a black bathing suit cover up I bought for 150 rupees (~$4). It is sheer, black and sequenced up – together with a black mini-skirt; I was ready for the catwalk. I walked down to the foyer to grab a cab and was informed that I cannot get through Mumbai due to the riots in progress.

RIOTS? Raj, a politician, was imprisoned and now the riots have started to demand his release. I knew there were problems at the airport this morning and cabs were hard to come by, but I cannot miss my only opportunity to see the Bollywood stars on the runway. I went to street level to try negotiating with taxis, rickshaws and limousine drivers and no one would dare enter the riot areas, until I met Bala, my bodyguard. Bala knew all the back roads and was not afraid of the media’s scare on Mumbai and as he promised me, it was a situation blown out of proportion and the ride to Fashion Week was without traffic, congestion or Indians setting cars on fire. Tuhin met me at the door of the auditorium , which is the Indian equivalent to Christmas next week.

As we wander from designer showcases and trunk shows, stopping in the private lounges sponsored by Chivas and Skoda for drinks along the way, I realize he is purposely making me walk a good 3-4 steps behind him and I feel like a paid escort. The runway shows were amazing with the fabrics and saris clad over the most beautiful women in the world and concluding each show with a Bollywood start to showoff the premiere creation. I catch him staring at me often and rubbing my leg with his hand. He is relatively a nice man, successful and interesting, but way too paternalistic for me to ever to consider as a mate.

As the last show closed, we headed to a party at the Taj with my bodyguard trailing behind us. The parties would go on until dawn and I had to present at 9am. While Tuhin was trying to get me to go home with him, I had a good excuse to exit stage left.

My presentation was well received by the International community and Germans, Swedes, Indians, and Englishmen all approached me after the talk to find out more about our modular project in Singapore. It is a revolutionary process design in SE Asia and it was rewarding to know how influential the project I spent the last 18 months on was to the rest of the world.

An overnight flight from Mumbai back to Singapore to Raphael’s to find out the Singapore position did not come through for him and he will be returning to Germany at the end of November. This is where our story ends. He is going back to the Black Forest and me to California. I have to say I have learned a lot from this relationship and wish it had worked logistically. The next morning, I boarded a plane to SF via Korea. The next morning to Atlanta via Denver to visit Samantha. The next to Boca Raton via Charolette for an International Society of Pharmaceutical Engineers Convention. Fifteen Flights in one week.

Free Bird
The night at the Bombay fashion shows, I was approached by a man who unsolicitedly read my palm. It is scary he revealed almost the same information to me that the little Chinese lady did a few months ago, however, he extrapolated more than the fire inside, the stubborness, the two loves and hard worker in me – he says that I am a ‘Free Bird’ and I do not want to be tied down by anything….also that I am looking for something specific and I will not stop until I find it.

Phuck It

2008-10-07T06:37:00.001-07:00

Phuket – pronounced ‘poo-kay’
Saw a man drown in the sea off the coast Nai Harn beach this weekend. It was very disturbing with no sense of urgency. A drunken Thai kid got caught in the rip tide and while it took four guys to find his body that was submerged for a good 20-30 minutes, when they got him to shore there was no ambulance, no resuscitation efforts, nobody with this boy who cared that he died. Instead, each holding one of his limp limbs, they threw him in the back of a tsunami rescue SUV.

So the first day in Phuket, we relaxed at the pool, had lunch on the beach watching the kite surfers, played a little tennis and had an $8 Thai massage, which felt more like a power yoga class. The woman contorted my body into formations I never though possible. That evening we rented a scooter and drove an hour at dusk to Patong Beach to walk the streets of sex shows, man ladies, old, perverted men and drunk Aussies.

The second day we took the scooter all over the island, visiting beaches and marinas along the way and window-shopped the knock-off designer stalls.

The third day we thought we would bike the National Park preserve, but we only got about 2 km before the monsoon downpour. We took cover in an abandoned restaurant for an hour with a Thai family. When the heavy rain subsided, we rode through the wet streets back to the Indigo Pearl for a day of sports. First I got another pretzel massage, then Raphael and I played some ping pong, followed by Mui Thai boxing, billiards while watching the Berlin marathon, the gym and then an evening of watching the Formula 1 race in Singapore.

Raphael is very competitive and a black belt in karate. He was not impressed with my boxing skills and was rather annoyed that I would not do exactly as he, the master, says. He showed no mercy in beating me up and then he punched me in the nose and knocked the wind out of me, telling me I did not move fast enough. I have finally met my match. He is stronger, faster, smarter, more anal (yes, even more anal than Carl and I put together!) and I am finding it difficult to keep up.

Cohabitation can teach you a lot about someone. My new roommate follows me around with a vacuum to get those blonde hairs and cookie crumbs sucked up, does the laundry EVERY day, irons his socks, underwear and Tshirts, AND has four closets organized like a Banana Republic….10 white shirts, 10 blue shirts, 10 blue shirts with stripes, 10 dark blue shirts, 10 dark blue shirts with stripes, 10 pairs of khakis, 10 Armani suits, 3 black and 3 brown pairs of Pradas, Italian gym shoes that cost $300 and look like what grandpa wore in 1985, a collection of D&G leather belts, 10 watches ranging from $5K-$25K ea in a humidity-controlled chamber, and countless other European designer fashions of whom I can not pronounce or spell the names.

Kelly Raw – TMI (too much information, as usual)
Most of you know that I can be very vulgar in speaking of bodily functions, so if you are a bit prudish or do not wish to hear about my personal issues, stop reading now. NOW I SAY! I have already shared my diaper rash problem from biking long distances in sweaty spandex. Combine that with a Brazilian (the people in the next room must have thought I was suffering from Tourettes syndrome when I had it), not seeing your boyfriend for 3 weeks, being dehydrated for three days after a 200km ride in the Orient, you have the perfect storm for a fungal infection.

Now granted I pride myself for getting to be 37 years old without suffering from a yeast infection, I still am not keen on going to see a doctor, especially in Thailand. Instead, I consulted Google for symptoms, prescriptions and home remedies. Since it is difficult to find Monistat 7 in the 7-Elevens of Thailand, I raided the yogurt from the hotel breakfast bar. Most of the websites recommend yogurt as the cure all for yeast infections and can offer handy tips on how to get it up there. I was not about to make yogurt popsicles to stick up my couchie.

Now all was good until after I got rained on during the ride and went straight for a Thai massage. Usually I wear my undies during massages, but I did not wear any with my spandex, which was now soaked from the rain. Therefore, I was getting my contortionist massage in the buff. All was fine until the little Thai woman started walking all over my back, putting pressure on my stomach and, of course, squeezing the yogurt out. Now the masseuse must of though that whitey wide-eyes was either really excited by the massage, or she is suffering from some really bad STD. On Seinfeld, you might get that from riding the tractor with no undies....

Hong Kong

2008-09-17T07:22:00.000-07:00

Hong Kong Phooey -
(wasn't this atom ant or secret squirrel's sidekick?) Just returned from my third home leave back to California where it was as hot as Singapore but without the humidity. On the way back, I took a 36-hour layover in Hong Kong and experienced an amazing time in the city. It is very easy to explore from the airport and I would encourage everyone flying through to take the extra day or two to see it. Contrary to what others have told me, I found the city extremely cosmopolitan with cutting-edge architecture, easy to navigate, clean, and the people were very friendly. Maybe it was a face for the Olympics. It reminded me of a mix between Singapore and the Bay Area, with wonderful hills with hiking galore.

In my first eight hours I took planes, limousines, shuttles, MTRs, an alpine gondola, a ferry and a taxi ride throughout the city. Landed at sunrise and did not stop sightseeing until sunset, when jetlag began to take me down.

The gondola takes you through the hills to the base of the largest outdoor Buddha statue with a killer staircase to reach him. Around his backside is the Wisdom Path where someone cut trees in half and performed calligraphy on them. Maybe it was the aliens. Then there is a path up to a peak, but I turned back on since I was in my urban hiking stilettos and had no sunscreen. I did peddle a black cowboy hat off a Chinese man on my way down to protect my face.

I thought Singapore was the shopping mecca of the world, then I was proven wrong upon my visit to Dubai. Well, there is somewhere in the world where malls and designer clothes are even sacred – Hong Kong! It is not only sport, a pass time, and the point where almost all merchandise passes through en route to every other mall in the world, but you are literally forced to shop everywhere you go! And the prices are not cheap, as one blonde girl would have thunk. It is very cool to take the ferry from the mall in Hong Kong to the mall in Kowloon. It is the best view of the skyline one can have, especially at night! I spent my evening exploring the streets then settling in an Internet karaoke bar to do my homework.

Wow, that was interesting. The next morning I walked the entire town on foot again through the financial district with thousands of Filipino maids who had the day off and picnic in the plazas in their sausage casing tight jeans and t-stirts with sparklely writing on them, up to the botanical gardens and zoo, where I got to see monkeys in cages. I walked so much that the bottoms of my feet were blistered.

The Kuwaiti Ambassador is a PRICK! (or at least his driver is...)
This week I moved out of my serviced apartment as my project is beginning to end and I am now classified as a business traveler. Instead of living in hotels, I have moved into Raphael’s house in Novena for the next six weeks. His stay in Germany was extended and he was nice enough to let me use his SUV to move my stuff over to his place. Yey, I got to drive on the wrong side of the road! The driving I had no problem with, except I kept turning the windshield wipers on every time I wanted to make a turn. The parking was a different story. The garages are very tight in Singapore and granted I have television cameras on the bumper, I still parked kind of funky.

I was told the car I was juxtaposed next to belonged to the new Kuwaiti Ambassador, a black Mercedes. I filled Raphael's vehicle with my stuff before running off to my meetings. When I returned, the Mercedes was gone. Someone had keyed the entire drivers-side of Raphael’s car, probably because of my un-orthogonal placement of the vehicle, that was still within the lines. I have filed a complaint against him and hope he will not send the Taliban after me.

After all the jokes last night about trying to drive on the correct side of the road, Raphael still thinks I have made this whole story up! He doesn’t believe his car is keyed. Well, he is in for a rude awakening upon his return from Schnitzeland. It is long, deep and was definitely intentional.

After I realized that my apartment complex was not going to interfere with a case against the ambassador (they are refusing to release the CCTV tapes to me), I went to file a police report. It took an insane amount of time to do the paperwork and I missed my yoga class. I ended up walking through rush hour traffic. At a stoplight, a taxi next to me rolled down the window and my friend Joe yelled out, "hey Kelly, are you on your way to the ambassador's party?" Not the Kuwaiti ambassador, but the Irish ambassador. Now in the past 6 months, I have been to 3 parties at the Irishman's house and met him at the European film festival and I don't even know where the US ambassador lives.

Cycling Malaysia

2008-08-18T16:57:00.001-07:00

Diaper Rash
You know you have become a bike Nazi when you discover adult onset of diaper rash. Eight hours in that sweaty bike schammy and weird things being growing between your thighs as the layer of skin chafes against your seat from the motion of your legs. My couchie is on fire. I used to laugh at Raphael when he would grease up his nards with some Swiss cream before a ride, but now I know, the schnitzel is always right.

Just short of 200km, and I cannot move from the couch with the jar of nutella. Right now I feel sorry for those of you who have to diet, cause I can’t eat enough, fast enough to match my calories burned. We left this morning at 6am from the Longhouse in the setting full moon, over the causeway into Malaysia, through the rolling palm fields, waving at little girls in veils on the side of the road and dodging monitor lizards the size of alligators.

Nine of us in total lead by a crazy Frenchman, Jean-Francois, who does not believe in stopping at red lights. Two guys from Ireland, two Aussies, an Dutchman pushing maximum density, Christina, the German, a Brit, and me, the lone American, who J-F thinks is Canadian since most Americans can not speak French. This is my first bike ride I have had to take my passport on.

The Palm Reader
Have you ever been freaked out by someone who knows nothing about you but can tell you everything about your personality by looking at your hands? It is kind of scary. Raphael told me a story about going to this palm reader with a coworker and in 20 minutes she was able to unfold their lives with good accuracy. For fun, we went to Chinatown to give it a try. Her observations:

I am a very hard worker, often working harder for others approval than for myself (hmm, kinda sounds like that #3). She says there is a fire inside me which burns, driving me to achieve and that I do not have to work so hard. I am harder on myself and go above and beyond what others expect me to do. In fact, she says I don’t have to work. (Just when I was thinking of taking my own sabbatical if the Roche deal goes through.)

She looked at my thumb and could tell I am stubborn. “Um,hmm.” Raphael uttered in unison.

She can’t tell if I am right-handed or left-handed, because it looks like I do things with both hands. (I am ambidextrous, but I do write with my left-hand.)

Not knowing my profession, she proclaimed to me, ‘Start being more like woman. Wear more make-up, dress sexy, be a woman among women, not a woman among men.’

When I asked her if she could tell what industry I worked in, she said ‘healthcare.’ Now, although I am not a truly a medical professional, I do work for a major biotechnology corporation and teach fitness classes, so, in the big picture, she was right, I do work in healthcare.

Ping Pong

I remember watching endless footage of the Olympics in the US – 24 hours a day each summer for two weeks, every four years…and one summer, I ate so many free Big Macs because the Americans won so many Gold metals. Here in Singapore, the main footage is PING PONG. And they keep playing the same winning matches OVER & OVER! No footage of the 8 gold metals in swimming, only the sports that Singaporeans are good at are covered. I didn’t even know badmitton was an Olympic sport! I guess Singapore has not won a metal in over 45 years, so they are VERY proud of their silver in ping pong.

<- Olypmic Gas Pump Pushing

Bintan and Batam, Indonesia

2008-08-14T01:55:00.000-07:00

Bintan and Batam are Indonesian Islands off the coast of Singapore. Each is only a 50-minute ferry ride away. Two weekends ago, Raphael and I spent on the white sand beaches of Bintan at the Banyan Tree
http://www.banyantree.com/bintan/index.html

and last weekend, we rode 150km with the ANZA team in Batam over 6 bridges.

http://www.kutu.com/indo/riau/6bridges.htm
http://connect.garmin.com/activity/522322

Burned over 5,000 Calories and probably ate about 10,000 back after the ride. This weekend I am trying a 200km to Malaysia over the causeway and loop around back into Singapore.
This what I love about Singapore- every weekend you can get away from it all.

This month, I learned how to use a bidet and Muslim toilet. I lived in France for years, yet I was always afraid to use the extra bowl that I thought was to clean dogs. The Muslim way has no TP, but a sprayer that looks like the nozzle on a sink that Americans use to clean lettuce.

So one day at the jobsite after doing my duties, I realize that the TP is out, but yey, there is still this Muslim cleaning apparatus. I gave it a try, but a blast of h2o almost shot my asshole out and soaked the back of my clothes. I was so embarrassed walking through the office with my wet backside.

Roche
My life is even more unpredictable now that Swiss pharmaceutical giants, Roche, have bid to buy out the remaining shares of Genentech. Today the board rejected it, but the bid war is expected to continue. One more reason to start learning German. If this deal goes through, it will be the largest financial deal in Switzerland.

Dubai and Beirut

2008-07-18T01:30:00.000-07:00

Dubai - Vegas meets Lawrence of Arabia.

On the plane flying into Dubai, Arabs flock to the restrooms prior to landing to change into their burquas and white robes with tablecloths on their heads, ready to rock the Kasbah. As I walk through the airport, hundreds of black-veiled women are shooting me disapproving looks at my western attire, but yet one stops me to ask where I bought my dress. Some veils have slits where all you can see are their sexy eyes.

The women distinguish themselves from the rest of the black-clad women by wearing the most expensive Paris Hilton Sunglasses and big, gaudy, expensive bags. I think most of these Saudi girls are more spoiled than our hotel heiress. Currently I am reading the Girls of Ridayah, acclaimed as the Middle-Eastern Sex and the City, which is opening my eyes to the hypocrisy and tyranny of this culture.

I met with Raphael’s friends in Dubai – Martin, Sarah and their two boys – Peter and Luke, who is Raphael’s godson. Martin is the director of an architecture firm there and they took me on an amazing tour of the city. He moved out there in 1997 to work on Emirates Towers and has not left since. They dropped me off at the Emirates Mall to Ski Dubai, where you can take a pain-stakingly slow chairlift for 15 minutes to ski down a 30 second slope that smaller than a sled hill.

For dinner, I went to the Burj Al Arab, the hotel that looks like a sailboat to see on the menu the world’s most expensive cocktail. $27,321 AED for 55-year-old scotch served in an 18 karat gold cup. The view at sunset over on of the three Palm Islands is beautiful. The architecture itself may look opulent from afar, but is of relatively poor quality, much like Vegas.

Dubai is a giant construction site. Everything is under construction and playa dust is in the air. 20% of the world’s cranes are in this city alone. I had an impromptu interview in the gym with a PM group and the next day with Martin’s company. Both companies need help on projects pronto, but I am afraid it is too hot for me there, I am too blonde and too female to succeed there in construction and they cannot afford me. Even though both companies are UK-based, I still think it would be hard for me to break through the gender barriers.

Lebanon
A family that belly dances together….a.) stays together, b.) is hell of a lot of fun, c.) is it wrong for cousins to dirty dance? Not in Lebanon! I am in a mountain town near Beirut visiting my brother’s fiancé’s family, prior to their wedding this weekend.

Nancy’s family here should be cast for TV programming. They are all beautiful people, from Grandma’s flawless skin, to the high-school boys with their stunning good looks that would make up a good boy band, to the adorable children running around being bad in French. Uncle Elias keeps wanting me to drink Arak and dance on tables, Grandpa wants to marry me off to a nice Lebanese boy, and 14-year old Mejd wants to marry me for a green card to the U.S. Since cousins can marry here, we are trying to match up which ones will make the best combination for supermodel babies.

Kelly’s Lebanese Boy Band – Babaganoush ->

We are speaking an mélange of French, English, Arabic, and now Spanish that friends from Venezuela have shown up. The food is amazing. The tabouli, babaganoush, lammwurst, homemade hummus, kibbeh, schwarma, kafta, fatoosh, and numerous other dishes keep coming our way and the eating is endless. Most dinners last until 1am followed by Arabic dancing.

My daily walk with Brian in the mountains is not much different scenery-wise from my view in the Oakland Hills, except every fourth home is bombed and gutted, covered in bullet holes or I am passing (hot) Lebanese Militia Men heavily equipped with tanks and machine guns. It does not scare me though and feels completely safe here in the hills of Bhamdoun, where Nancy’s family’s summer home is located. The people and cars here are from Kuwait or Saudi Arabia. Many Saudi women come here to get their nose jobs and are wandering the streets in bandages.

In Byblos, we visited the medieval town and the beach with infinity pools emptying into the azul waters of the Mediterranean, followed again by a feast. Friday we took an excursion out to Beit Eddine near Beyrouth to the Palais Emir Bachir Chahabi where we were able to see some amazing scenery, the palace and Turkish baths. The scariest part of the trip though is Jimmy the Camel. He is the dirty old man from the hotel who offered to drive us there in his Land Rover, playing the Pet Shop Boys.

The ride there was very educational, but as the trip progressed, he became increasingly sure that I was to be his next wife and was ready to negotiate with my brother for me over another Lebanese feast. Luckily the fact that I am left-handed cancelled all-bets on me, as I am no longer worth ANY camels now, maybe because I am eating hummus with the same hand I am supposed to wipe my arse with. Jimmy drank and entire karaf of Arak (the Arabic equivalent to Ouzo) and was in no shape to be driving us home on the mountain roads. We tried to escape him in one town when he stopped to buy peaches but he got irate with us and we realized there were no taxis for miles and finished Mr. Toad’s wild ride. The rest of the ride was in silence.

Another Hanna-Haber family tradition is the Hubbly Bubbly, aka hookah, at every dinner table. This is basically a giant bong with flavored tobacco smoked. Uncle Elias is always offering to bring down his home-grown stash for the hubbly-bubbly, if that will help get me to dance on the tables.

Friday afternoon after the Arak ride from hell, we encounter another bad driver in our taxi to Beirut. Not only did the driver get lost in his ancient Mercedes with no AC in the blistering heat, but also his car broke down on the Avenue de Paris, a main thoroughfare along the shoreline of Beirut. Then he tried to rip us off and caused a commotion when he left us off in the middle of the street in rush hour traffic.

Clubbing in Beirut
There is no club in Beirut that a blonde girl cannot get into. It is amazing to think there was fighting here as recent as two months ago, but the town is in business, Buddha Bar has reopened despite the protests across the street, and it is safe to walk anywhere at night. We are clubbing with Nancy’s 17-24 year old cousins until 4am. I love this town where the 20-something year old boys are ALL good looking with glassy-blue eyes and think I am their age. One guy asked me to go home with him and when I asked his age and told him I was old enough to be his mother, he had the rebuttal, “But you can be like Demi Moore…”

Reema and Lilia are fun to dance with. They both just graduated from high school and are close to six feet tall and look like supermodels. One club we went into, the entire club gathered around us in the center to bellydance. It was fun because I actually knew this particular arabic music since I used it in a bellydancing class I taught in California (you didn’t know I taught bellydancing, right? I don’t, but I faked it pretty well in Berkeley and in Beirut where the music is catchy.) I threw in some of my Bollywood moves, like screwing in my light bulbs and petting my goats. Nancy is an amazing bellydancer and actually knows the correct way to do it.

Nancy’s Big Fat Lebanese Wedding
Is this an MTV production? There are 10 people following the bride and groom around with cameras and flood lights. They have equipped the Intercontinental Phoenicia with the Dance Fever set and a man is wailing on the violin a tune that puts the Devil went down to Georgia to shame. The reception starts with the Dancing, then you eat through the block-long table, then dance, then pyrotechnics, then dance some more, then many men with cakes and sparklers emerge onto the dance floor were the bride and groom are to sever the six-foot cake with a sword, then they dance, then the bouquet and garder throws, then the cousins perform strip teases for each other. Wow.

The 700 year old church where the ceremony was held is tucked up into the hills with an amazing view as well. What could have been a quaint ceremony, is making my brother melt with the amount of lighting and cameras imposed on the structure and the sound system is having a bit of difficulty as it belts out Toccata, Dracula’s music, at high decibels.

We were able to do a live video cast for our relatives back in the US who could not make it to the wedding and skyped my parents into the reception hall. This is a Jetson world.

DOHa
Am I playing the Amazing Race all alone? My trip ended with an unfortunate, stranded Kelly in Qatar. I questioned my 30-minute layover in Doha numerous times from the reservation process all the way to the morning check–in and notifying the crew on my flight of my quick connection. Unfortunately, Qatar airways still chose to sell my seat to someone else. This stranded me in Doha and caused me to miss my Singapore Air connection in Dubai. Not only was there no customer service, but I had to buy one way tickets home. All flights to Singapore from Dubai and Doha were sold out, so I ended up in Kuala Lumpur the next day. Raphael helped me with flights over the phone as I stood in lines for over 3 hours at the airport to find my luggage and get someone to help me.

Overall, it was one of the most culturally amazing trips of my life. I love my new family in Beirut and when I am old and scraggly, someday I hope to return for my boy toys. Nancy did an amazing job on the wedding planning!

San Francisco and Raphael

2008-06-25T20:04:00.000-07:00

Just returned from my home leave back to San Francisco where it was amazing to catch up with friends, garden my yard watching Kelly’s sunsets, teach my old aerobic classes and put out forest fires friends start in Yosemite. I was only gone for ten days, but it was apparent that I now have two lives on each side of the globe along with a portion of it traveling through Europe right now.

Two weeks after the trip to India, I met Raphael, yes he is named after a Ninja turtle, at the cycling team’s jersey release. He is a very handsome, athletic, successful German who speaks six languages, including Japanese, lives down the street from me in Singapore, trains with the ANZA team, and is a member of the gym I teach at. We had five dates in five days in Singapore before I left for Hanoi and he for Frankfurt, where he will be until I return back from the Middle East in July.

After three weeks of long distance communication he joked about flying to San Francisco for the weekend to visit. Four days later, I picked him up at SFO to spend 48 hours together. What an amazing weekend. We were able to spend a day mountain biking Mt. Tam above the fog and the other in San Francisco hanging in North Beach and the Presidio.

A Jetset Girl living in a Jetson World
So the new communication mean we are using is Skype. The Jetson age has come! I am talking to a guy in a tapas bar in Mallorca, Spain with flamenco music in the background, while I sit in my living room in Singapore or I get a tour of Raphael's childhood home in the Black Forest while I sit at my desk at work in SSF. Not only can we hear each other over the internet, but we can see instant video.

I am getting ready to leave for Dubai on Friday where I will meet up with a couple of Raphael's friends, including one who is the director of an architecture firm there. On the 6th, I'll head to Beirut for a week to attend Brian and Nancy's wedding.

Hanoi, Vietnam

2008-05-29T05:18:00.001-07:00

Good Morning Vietnam!
My flight got in late Thursday night, so I woke up early and headed to the lake to go for a run. Vietnam wakes up at the crack of dawn in Hanoi and whole city is exercising between 6-7am around Hoan Kiem lake. The streets around the perimeter are transformed into badmitton courts, the plaza has over 100 people worshiping Jane Fonda aerobicizing, one area is lined with muscle heads who brought their own weights and benches, old people moving in slow motion in their tai chi stances, soccer in any turn large enough to kick a ball, and hoards of people shuffling their feet in the Asian-style run counter clockwise around the lake. I, of course, am running against the grain. Music is pumped into the city through loud speakers, but some people are practicing their karaoke in the park.

The architecture is very French and I am speaking more French than English this weekend. The cathedral looks like Notre Dame, stripped of all of its décor and French cafes line the major streets. Each street is focused on selling a different item. All shoes are on one street, silks on another, hardware, bicycle parts, furniture, art, and of course streets of food and ladies carrying baskets balanced across their shoulders. I had to buy a bottle of snake wine, which, in fact, has a full cobra preserved inside of the bottle.

Ha Long Bay
3 hours outside of Hanoi is a beautiful World Heritage Site featuring thousands of limestone karsts, or islands. ‘Junk’ boats troll tourists through the cliff hanging islands, some containing enormous grottos lit by discotheque lighting. A sound system would make this cave a great place for a rave.

I am hanging with 2 French girls, a couple from Wales, an Aussie and a Thia-French family on a boat for the weekend. The crew makes amazing food, the views are spectacular, and the weather superb. We embarked on a sunset Kayaking trip into floating villages where believe it or not, they had cable TV run by generators and a floating bank with an ATM! No monks at this one though.

When the sun went down, we opened a bottle of Bordeaux on the roof of the junker and watched the stars emerge through the sky. I was the only one to spend the night up there under the stars and in the middle of the night, I awoke to the moon lighting up the islands around me and I was covered in dew.

Back in Singapore, the Genentech brigade is invading the island. For 6 months I was the only FTE from SSF. 5 expats arrived in January, and now over 50 temporary employees will migrate from SSF to the Genentech dorm at Orchard Scotts, my serviced apartment. Makes it a little odd to hang at the pool in my bikini.

You also probably never thought I would return to India so soon, but this week a colleague and I were invited to present in Mumbai at the International BioProcess Conference in October.

Indi(an)a Kelly and the Nightmare-sicle of Doom

2008-05-06T23:58:00.000-07:00

Spent 8 days in India, ate one full meal, it was on average 115 degrees, and I am on 6 medications now. This is the most beautiful, yet polluted, place I have ever seen. My gum is crunchy, my phlegm tastes like dirt, the kids look like pig pen, and when I blow my nose at night, looks like I have been sitting next to a campfire way too long.

The Cow Yogi?
Yes, India is the land where the cows are even happier than they are in California and Wisconsin. That is because they are holy here. Where else in the world can you walk through a major city and have cows by your side, even in a restaurant? People even play with their patties to form little hamburger-sized pellets to cook and clean with! They do not have green pastures of grass, but garbage does suffice their four stomach chambers. This is a great place to play What Scat is that? Cow? Camel? Dog? Monkey? Elephant? Goat? All these animals walk the streets of major cities and even the people poo in the streets. I actually broke down crying after stepping in a holy load of dung in my flip flops.

Varanasi
We started our trip in Varanasi – “The Oldest Continuous City in the World” (Taj Ganges wait staff, 2008). It is the City of Shiva – the holiest place in the Hindi culture to wash away your sins and the crossing grounds between the physical and spiritual world where people send their dead to be burned into the Ganges River in a cremation ceremony. Steps, or Ghats as they are called, line the Ganges in this town where 60,000 people a day bathe in the same area as others burn their dead and 30 large sewers discharge into the river. 400 million people live along the basin of the Ganges. There are 1.5 million faecaleoliform per 100ml of water. To be safe to bathe in, it should have no more than 500 (Lonely Planet 2007).

Varanasi is has 2000 year old architecture through the maze of streets which make up their Old City inspired by Buddhists, Hindis, and Muslims. Puja happens every night at dusk, where people gather for the ceremonies along the ghats. Sitars and music play through the loud speakers which also distribute prayer calls, as little boys and girls pester you to buy post cards and candles. They LOVE Goldie Hawn here and want to know if we know her in California.

Bodies wrapped in colorful silks are being burned along the shoreline. The air smells of spices, urine baked in the sun, barnyard animals and burning flesh.

The Nightmare-sicle
Of course the first day of the trip in the extreme heat, when I see an ice cream man selling dreamcicles for 10 rupees (about 25 cents), I am ecstatic and run to get in line. As I enjoy my yummy Popsicle and ask Craig if he wants a bite, I notice his look of disgust.
“I’m not eating a home-made popsicle!”
“It’s home-made?” I inquire as I notice the recycled stick inserted crooked. Of course I walk back to inspect the packaging of my ‘dreamsicle’ and the FDA would probably not approve this operation, but I finish it anyways.

Shiva Shits
My India welcome package came today! Complete with draining my plumbing, projectile vomit, dehydration, and body aches. It is 115 degrees and I have goose bumps. I am confined to a beautiful room in a medieval mansion along the shore of Assi Ghat, decorated in antiques, colorful silks, beautiful light fixtures and a four-post bed with a trippy god painted above it which makes for great fever hallucinations. It hurt to even sit up in bed.

Considering I had perfect attendance in school and have only taken two real sick days (one for a sprained ankle and the other because I was slipped a ruffie at a local bar) this sitting home sick thing is horrible, especially when on vacation. Craig kept me alive and found a doctor in town to get some medication and electrolytes. Fever broke the next morning in time to see the sunrise over the Ganges.
About 10 km from Varanasi and dating back to 290 BC is Saranath, the Monastery of the Turning Wheel of the Dharma.”. This is where the Buddha gave his first sermon. We spent the day here before flying to Udaipur in Rajasthan, North India.

Octopussy
Many of you would know Udaipur from 007’s 1984 adventure in Octopussy. Most of the movie was filmed here and every rooftop terrace in town plays it at 7:30pm. The Monsoon Palace sits above a hill in the horizon and the floating palace is literally right in front of hotel room view, which is good since Shiva has struck again and I am confined to the room for the morning.

During the afternoon, while the temperatures soar over one hundred degrees again, we went to tour the City Palace with beautiful mirrored mosaics which made some of the rooms feel like you were inside a disco ball. Other rooms of the palace reminded me of Jeannie’s bottle.

In the afternoon, I had to return to a silk shop, since I was so rude to some girls that tried to sell me a sari while nauseated. They were surprised to see me come back and began wrapping me in two meters of fabric. I knew I could never dress myself alone this way and asked if they had something more modern like the girls on the streets wear. The teenagers took me up to their room and opened their closets to try on their clothes, while showing me their school photos, pictures of their boyfriends and the shrines to their gods.

After the fashion plate session, I ended up clad in a Mother Theresa veil with a dress in the international colors of McDonalds, but it fit, it was authentic and I paid some Indian girl 500 rupees to steal clothes from her closet. They stuck a dot on my head, tried to henna my hands, and placed rings on my toes.

Our second day in Udaipur, Craig rented a motorbike and we tried to head in the direction of a fort 85km out in Rajasthan, but after going in circles for a couple of hours, we decided ride through the desert and explore the lakes around Udaipur, stopping in hill tribes, the TB hospital, and finally finding the Monsoon Palace and wildlife preserve, which we deemed to expensive for what it was worth. In one village, my Blackberry was the highlight – all the village kids came out to see the magic phone.

Our last day, we ventured almost 200km out to the massive and majestic Chittorgarh Fort situated on a hilltop in Rajasthan I don’t even have the energy to climb the stairs of the bell tower (and you know how much I love Stairmaster), but after seeing Craig’s photos, I wish I could have made it. I stayed on the ground while the monkeys and children terrorized me. Again, I was a tourist attraction in this town as families wanted their pictures taken with me. What am I, a freak of nature?

Taj
That evening, we hopped a plane to Delhi and a train to Agar, home of the Taj Mahal. Train stations in India are the dirtiest, grimiest, most polluted endroits. Of course the stomach cramps and vomiting started again for the three hour ride from hell where I was either in the fetal position or throwing up into a squatter in which no one has made it into the hole, including me.

I can not go to India a without seeing the Taj, so at sunrise, I forced myself out of bed to join Craig to the mausoleum before the bus loads of overweight tourists can get into our pictures. The structure is beautiful white marble which is great to moonwalk in the shoe covers they make you wear. It is hard to enjoy when you feel like crapola and are dehydrated, but outside the walls, I find the dentist/doctor/veterinarian to prescribe me medication that I can not find in town.

Tried to lay low during the afternoon to sleep in late and relax on the roof terrace with a view of the Taj compound, however, I didn’t close the main door to the stairwell and accidentally let a band of monkeys into the hotel who raised havoc and got chased out by the manager with his rifle.

To stay out of the sun, we visited a boutique hotel that costs $1,200/ night then headed to see a Bollywood film. I was excited to see a McDonalds and after not holding a meal down for six days, I was curious to see if my Bali-Belly cure would solve Shiva’s revenge, but WHAT?!?!? No Big Macs or hamburgers at McDonalds!?!?!? What the? That is like having the News without Huey Lewis! I guess in India it would be equivalent to having the body of Christ on a bun.

To end, I would just like to share with you the biggest news stories in India:

‘Stray Cattle are still a big problem in Delhi,’ –but they still can not do anything about it.
‘The Dalai Lama doesn’t have horns.’ - ?
‘Man-eating Leopard is loose in Dhaurahra’ – he has already eaten six people.
‘Housewives are forced to have unnatural sex’ along with a whole page dedicated to molested children. And the largest story which made the news every day was the fury over the scantly clad cricket cheerleaders in Bangladesh, who happen to make the front page of the papers every day. As one of the put it, “wouldn’t a sari be hard to kick in?”

Namaste.

Dirty Countess Vice President as certified by the Pilates Institute Happy Fun-time Barbie

2008-04-17T07:11:00.000-07:00

This week in Asia I am finishing up my final projects for my MBA classes, taking 15 hours of Pilates certification courses, competed for ANZA in the 100km Mountain Biking Race for BIKE ASIA 2008, was elected Vice President of the International Society of Pharmaceutical Engineers (ISPE) in

Singapore

, and I still had time for a pitcher of Margaritas.

http://results.dirtraction.com

go to RESULTS for the Mixed Quad!

We took 1^st place! I only had to get off the bike twice and I finished in 40 mins to keep our ringer’s lead. My main goal was just to get down the course without crashing. The trail had a little bit of everything from rolling hills, single tracks, a mud pit, jungle riding, demonstration obstacles, and an open bermed-up site. It ended with a short run through the pit stop where my legs felt like Jell-o and I was covered in mud.

There are not many girls in Asia capable of riding a bike, let alone a technical course with a bunch of guys. I was the ‘token’ for the Australian-New Zealand team (ANZA) and got to ride with an Australian mountain biking champion. The rule is to have one women cross the finish line in the relay. The morning before, I was suffering anxiety attacks, waking up every 2 hours, felling sick to my stomach. If I f*’d up, the team would be disqualified and I didn’t even have a bike yet.

Friday morning I should have stayed in bed, but went for the 6am training ride. Half-way into the ride, the monsoon rains hit and we got power-washed. I learned a new bike command - ‘car wash’ means a lorrie (that’s English for truck) is about to pass you in the flooded lane. It is equivalent to being hit by a tidal wave while riding a bike. It took a whole day for my cell phone to dry out.

Abs of Titanium
After the race on Saturday and all day Sunday I took fifteen hours of Pilates testing for my certification. FIFTEEN HOURS! Most people are sore after an hour, but 6 hours of Pilates after being dehydrated in the race, and then drinking a pitcher of margaritas to celebrate was a mistake. When I got up to go to the bathroom at night it felt like someone inoculated my buttocks. It hurt to breath, my core was so sore.

Mo & Bid in Asia
The past few weeks have been busy on site with the arrival of the modules and the second delivery has hit the port in Tuas. We have had many of the Genentech engineers out from SSF. Also visiting Singapore last week were my mom and dad, aka the Constanzas. Luckily the weather was good for their visit and while I was working during the week, they visited the Indonesian island of Bintan where my mom had an allergic reaction to some sea creature and has blood blisters still covering her legs. On their last night, they were able to meet my Singaporean friends in a traditional US BBQ. Bid brought four lbs of hot dogs and red hots from Chicago in his suitcase.

Jadoo
This means magic in India. The day after my birthday I’ll be taking off for my next adventure in India – traveling to Delhi, the Taj, Varanasi, Udaipur, and Jodhpur. I am hoping to practice yoga and meditation at an Ashram in Rajasthan, an area of North India. Literally the meaning of Ashram is 'work, volunteer and purify self'. The purpose of an Ashram is to complete the process of self purification under the kind guidance of Swamiji. Can anyone imagine me meditating? I can not sit still for a minute.

Jungle Boogie

2008-02-11T06:47:00.002-08:00

Borneo and Brunei

Kelly's Jungle Book

Royal Brunei Airlines on the morning of Chinese New Year – heading for a Muslim country since everything will shut down in Singapore for the next four days. Our flight is blessed with a television screen of a mosque superimposed with Arabic phrases as a man speaks in tongues.

Once we arrived, we took a taxi to the boarder of Brunei and Borneo to meet Lim, our guide who drove us to Medamit to catch a long boat into the jungle.

“Don’t worry, the man is handicapped and can not speak very well, but he can still drive the boat.” Lim explains as a guy comes up with one arm put on backwards, his knees do not bend and he has three teeth, but as promised, he is one hell of a jungle boat driver. We wait on the dock for the driver’s mom, grandma and grandpa to finish shopping in town. Lim says we are lucky today because the tribe has hunted two wild boars for dinner tonight.

Up Shit Creek with 3 Paddles

The river winds through the jungle with dark clouds above. The water is the color and consistency of chocolate milk. An hour upstream, we reached the Long House of the Penan Tribe, the former cannibals who once ruled the jungle of Mulu National Park. They were featured in the August 1999 issue of National Geographic. The driver and our guide are the chief’s sons and I believe this to be the chief in this photo, but when I saw him, he was in a baseball cap, t-shirt and shorts.

http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/enlarge/penan-tribesman_pod_image.html

We spent the night in a Longhouse, which is exactly that – a long house with many families living next to one another. Their homes are on stilts and connected by a long exterior porch which becomes a communal street for the village. Again, I make friends with the jungle kids who love their new glow bracelets and want me to hang them upside down by their ankles.

The slaughtered boars are out back with their heads cooking on the grill and carcasses being chopped up for dinner tonight. The bugs are Jurassic Park sized. Ants have bodies the size of wasps and a delirious cicada is mesmerized by a fluorescent light and has been banging his body repeatedly against the ceiling. I thought one of the kids was throwing a tennis ball at the roof.

At night we play blowpipe darts, which was their way of hunting before guns. You put a poison dart in a long wooden tube and blow. I ask to see their skulls, but our guide informs me that they have been buried. The Christians were good for one thing in Borneo – eliminating cannibalism. The missionaries brainwashed the tribes into good souls who now farm and kill pigs instead of eating people. Yey Jesus!

Jungle Hickeys

From the longhouse, the chief drove us three hours upstream to the beginning of the Headhunter’s Trail of Mulu National Park where we began an 11 ½ km trek through the jungle. We waded through calf-high murky water, swamps alternated by wet roots that are hard to tell from the snakes. The forest canopy is high with red monkeys flying overhead with prickles and vines hanging in the air, all covered in moss. Leaves are the diameter of hoola hoops. You can feel the photosynthesis happening around you. Blood sucking, malaria-ridden bugs and worms are driving me nuts.

I am traveling with my friend Tim from the ANZA bike team. He is a former outward bounds instructor who came prepared with gators and Gortex boots. I’m in my aerobic shoes with ankle-high socks, so the leeches are having a feast on me. Wild boars are crossing our trail and at km 5, the downpour begins.

When we reach Camp 5, our 19 year old guide is pulling the leeches off me. I run to the bathroom to clean up and as I squat to pee, I notice my shorts are filled with blood. One little sucker crawled almost to China and attached himself to the crevice between my inner thigh and buttocks and he is STILL sucking my blood. All the other bites have turned into dark purple blood freckles.

Camp 5

Backpackers gather from all over the world at camp 5 – Norway, Australia, Wales, Japan, Holland, KL and South Africa are all represented. Even though it is pouring, I occasionally get a glimpse of the limestone cliffs above us, which look like Yosemite. Our 19 year old jungle boy cooks for us too. Everything is a carb-overload and I will not be eating rice for a few weeks after this trip. Bats are dive bombing our barracks which consist of outdoor sleeping quarters covered from the rain.

Since I do not have my backpacking gear in Asia, I look like a tool with my 1200 count pristine white cotton duvet cover I stole from the serviced apartment with matching pillow case and fluffy white towel covered in a pink mosquito net. I feel like Paris Hilton in the rough life.

I wake in the middle of the night hallucinating. With my eyes closed, I see snakes and centipedes transforming into roots and trees winding in and out of giant leaves that turn back into snakes. With eyes open I see glowing objects floating in the pitch dark. a.) This is the onset of malaria, b.) Someone has slipped me some acid, or c.) The correct answer is my mind is so stressed from the hike through the jungle. I have a horrible nightmare that our long boat is lost down stream in this storm happening outside and we’ll have to walk back to the longhouse.

Pinnacles
5am and it is still storming, but we are going to try to summit anyways. The river has raised at least a couple of meters by now. I went pottie with a preying mantis.

Our guide has calves of steel and is carrying a machete. There are no switchbacks on this trail, only straight up, pulling myself up on roots and trees, trying to aim for the ones that are not alive or have 1,000 legs. The rocks are encased in moss and intertwined with vines feeding back up to the rain forest. Some points have ropes and cables to hold on to.

At 1800m of the 2400m view to the Pinnacles, our guide turns us back due the danger of the impeding rains and the fact that if we slip, we may be impaled by a limestone pinnacle. We are soaked from head to toe and know there is nothing to see in the cloud above us.

It takes more time to maneuver down the cliff than up. At one point I remember feeling like Bat Man spelunking down the side of the bat cave, just as my tree gives way and my back hits the limestone shaft on one side and flies me back to rack my stomach on the other side and send me into a small pool of water. This is not a trip for the weak or light-hearted. I think I saw this on TV once when it was called the Eco-Challenge.

36 hours straight of rain flooded the river an extra 20-30 feet, but luckily the chief managed to hold tight of the longboat. He has been waiting for us to come out of the jungle for two nights. The usual 4 hour trip downstream only took half that today with the speed of the flood waters.

Brunei

One night back in Brunei to dry our feet. The opulent mosques look like they are ready for the Vegas strip, but the main mosque I wanted to see was under scaffolding. The Sultan must have been at the height of his wealth during the 1960s and early 70’s by the looks of the Brady Bunch era architecture. Our goal is to find something that does not contain rice for dinner and we discover the only Italian restaurant in town along side of the lagoon. Across the lagoon is a community on stilts and ‘water coffins,’ as they call their water taxis, cutting through the choppy wakes in front of us. The thing that sucks most is Brunei is dry and we can not even have a glass of wine.

Brunei is one of those been there, done that types of destinations. Our flight is blessed for its way back to Singapore. I’m glad we did the trip – it was an adventure of a lifetime. Kelly’s Jungle detox too. Breathing pure oxygen, sleeping dusk to dawn, full moisture treatment, absence of sun to ruin my skin, my carbo diet and new blood. I feel great – like Keith Richards after a transfusion. My psyche will take a little longer to recover.

Borneo & Brunei

2008-02-02T19:26:00.000-08:00

Borneo and Brunei
Happy Chinese New Year Everyone!

We have an extra two days off in Singapore this week, so I am heading to Borneo for the CNY! Even though I hate monkeys, I will be looking for the ugliest of them all- the endangered proboscis monkey! He has a nose that looks like a dong! Poor ugly monkey.

We'll be flying to Brunei and bus to the boarder to find our jungle trekking guide to take us into Mulu National Park - the Yosemite of SE Asia. We'll be staying in a longhouse on the river the 1st night while trekking the head-hunter trail, which yes, used to be the thoroughfare for cannibals.

From there, we will go to camp 5 to summit the Pinnacles route, complete with cables - just like Half-Dome. Look for pictures next week!

http://www.mulupark.com/html/activities/jungle_trekking_headhunter.htm

Bali-wood

2008-01-01T20:21:00.001-08:00

Bali-wood

This Holiday season in Southeast Asia, I am mistaken for a Russian hooker, took my first Bollywood dance class, have begun to HATE MONKEYS, and spent NYE 2008 at the Kuta Pizza Hut.

Craig met me on the island of Bali where we were adopted by our new Indonesian family, Pak Chandra et al. Chandra is a friend of my new Indian family in Singapore. They used to work together in Jakarta before Chandra married a Balinese woman. He picked us up at the airport and showed us around the island for two days before we set off on our own.

Poor Craig, after thirty hours on a plane, he was thrown in Chandra’s SUV to cliff side beaches, giant gauruda statues and monkey dances during the sunset at Ulu Watu. The Kecak (monkey dance) is a traditional trance dance where Indonesian men drink heavily and chant in a circle as a tale of the Monkey Gods is played out in the center. The temple we witnessed it at is known for it’s beautiful sunset and the monkey thieves who have learned how to steal only expensive items from tourists (i.e. cell phones, cameras, jewelry and sunglasses) to hold for ransom until they are fed bananas. These little beasts are aggressive too.

Hit U with my Monkey Stick

Yes, I had a Monkey Stick! To keep the little monsters off me, because, as you know, I have trouble not terrorizing the monkeys. After the dance, we walked the dark temple and Chandra warned us not to venture down certain shady alley-ways for fear of the monkey gangs attacking us.

When we got to Ubud, our villa was on the opposite side from the Monkey Forest. Our first few minutes looking for the Alam Jiwa, Craig was trying to shake monkeys off his legs. He had tried to hide peanuts in his pants (for himself, not the monkeys), but they were on to him. From then on, we did everything in our power to avoid walking through the Monkey Forest, even as much as walking an hour out of our way in a rainstorm to avoid the evil almost-people.

Prior to Ubud, Craig went to Densapar to take his Indonesian driving test and obtain a national driver’s license. It took a little to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road, especially in a world where horns are used not to mean, ‘watch-out’ but ‘I’m coming, get out of my way.’ There were a few times where we realized we were driving on the wrong side of the road and others when we learned not to drive the white lines on the map. That was when we almost got stuck in a rice field.

Ubud is the Napa Valley of Art. The town is remote, yet very cosmopolitan, traditional, yet the cuisine can rival the best SF restaurants. Ubud is ubber-friendly. Artists from all over the world have set up shop there to get away from it all while Balinese craftsmen work alongside them. We spent Christmas Eve and Christmas there in a beautiful little villa overlooking the rice fields which were serene and relaxing, except for the view of men with machetes off the balcony.

http://www.alamindahbali.com/alam_jiwa.htm

We loved Ubud so much we returned for two more nights towards the end of the trip.

Note to anyone planning to travel to Bali – December is the rainy season. We walked for five hours in a rainstorm on Christmas and it took days for us to see the sun again. The volcanoes we set off to see with Chandra we had to visit an additional two times before we had visibility of the tops of the mountains.

Everything is $5.37!

What can one buy for 50,000 Rupia (~$5.37)? Taxi to the Airport. One-hour massage. Manicure AND Pedicure. Two glasses of wine. A dress and a rattan purse.

After Ubud, we set off to Kitamani via Goa Gajah, the elephant caves, that smelled like elephant butt, but that was probably the smell of the former rotting corpses that once lined the sides of the caves. We also visited Gunang Kawi with 11^th century carvings and the site of the first Monkey Dance that we saw in the movie Baraka. If you haven’t seen this movie yet and want to feel like you have gone on a trip around the world – pick it up!

http://www.spiritofbaraka.com/baraka.aspx

Unfortunately, Craig was bit by a snake in the rice fields surrounding the temple which sent him into a long slumber that night with an inflamed foot.

Banana Pancakes Again?

In search of Sun, we headed to Lovina, a beach on the northern coast, where for about twenty bucks, you too can have your private bungalow on the beach surrounded by rice fields and fishing villages. The children in the fishing villages were adorable on our morning walk to the town.

http://www.kubulalang.com/

From Lovina, we visited the Gitgit Waterfalls, into the foggy mountains/volcano lakes, Munduk for a panoramic view and lunch, then a sunset drive down the coastal road along the black sand beaches to the diving town of Tulamben. We were up with the sun to do a wreck dive of the US Liberty, a Navy cargo ship that was shot down by the Japanese during WW2 and then split in half by a volcanic eruption in the 60’s.

We drove further around the coast to Amed for lunch and an afternoon hike into the hill tribes on Gutung Seraya. We traversed small menageries and rice field terraces to make it to the ridge where families lived like billie goats in bamboo huts overhanging the terraces.

Sorry we hit your chicken. Here is a glow bracelet to make up for it.

Further down the road were even more remote coastal villages. Dogs sleep in the middle of the street. Children run from their homes to the street to high-five us and say hello as we drive through the villages. Teenage boys gather along side of the road and beg us for cigarettes and sunglasses. An old man stopped us and made a shivering gesture as he pointed to my white blouse that was drying in the backseat. It would have made him look like a pirate and I just couldn’t contribute to fashion faux pas in Indonesia. Instead, I passed out glow bracelets to the kids on the streets.

At sunset, not knowing exactly where we were on a map, we stopped at Irene’s Homestay, in which ended up being Ujung. In the morning, I went for a jog, used the boulders as weights to work out, and taught some local boys some kickboxing moves as the sun rose. We also observed the local construction techniques in which women are used as manual labor carrying boulders and bags of semen on their heads in their OSHA approved flip flops. Oh – ‘semen’ is Indonesian for cement.

Our second trip to Ubud, we brought the sun back from the coast. We rented bikes to ride the river valleys. Temple, temple, temple, rice field, monkey, rice field, monkey, temple, temple, shrine, you buy sarong, I give you good price, temple, temple, taxi? Maybe tomorrow? temple, temple, rice field…

After overheating, sore buttocks, and Craig, 6’5” riding on a child’s size bike all day, we relaxed at the most beautiful infinity pool to get our Zen back. Craig is very well read and indulged in a book on explorations in Papua New Guinea, while I am finishing Getting Stoned with Savages. Ironically, both books are very similar, exploring the South Pacific cultures and cannibalism.

Kuta Cowboys

New Year’s Eve after more banana pancakes, we left Ubud for the Temple Tanah Lot on the western coast –the Mt. Saint Michel of Indonesia, and then to Legian Beach, just north of Kuta for the NYE celebration. We wanted to stay out of Kuta for two reasons – 1.) it is known as the vacation center of inebriated Aussie debauchery and 2.) it is the five year anniversary of the terrorist bombings.

We realized that we are some of the only Caucasians on kuta beach this holiday season, as it is filled mostly with families from Jakarta. At sunset we walked the beach and although we were tourists, we were also a tourist attraction. Families and groups of teenagers wanted their pictures taken with us. One guy asked Craig what celebrities we were.

Oddly enough, the hottest NYE hangout in Kuta is the Circle K Convenience store. This is where the biggest crowd is gathered. Trying to stay out of confined spaces, we were going to hang on the beach to watch the festivities, but we were starving! Restaurants all had their special buffets that would take hours to divulge in, besides the lines and cover charges for the big parties. So we figured we would grab a pizza before taking it to the beach. As we were waiting for the ‘za there was a mad dash of people and bodies flying by the window. Who would bomb a Pizza Hut? Unfortunately, twenty minutes before the countdown to 2008, a torrential downpour with Gale-force winds hit Kuta beach, forcing the crowd to seek shelter.

We were trapped in a Pizza Hut for an hour while the clock struck twelve and the streets flooded. We still got rained on all the way home, two beaches up. Happy New Year 2008!

P.S. The worst thing about 2008 is when you fail to realize that your ATM card expired on 12/07 and you have no money to get out of a country.

December 2007 - My New Home

2007-12-09T01:08:00.000-08:00

Degrees Celsius

Who are the people in your neighborhood? I spent this week in Singapore getting acquainted with my new surroundings. Contrary to my original beliefs, I actually like Orchard Road, especially at night and especially during the Christmas Season. It is not like Naperville as much as a cross between London, the Champs Elysees and Ginza. Marks and Spencer, Takashimaya and Boarders on the corner, every expensive shop Paris would frequent and a Starbucks on every block. When Gloria Estefan warns that the ‘rhythm is going to get you,’ watch out for that Asian shopping bug instead.

My new apartment has 2 flat screen TV’s, 2 DVDs, 6 remote controls, over 100 stations, but no alarm clock or radio. So my first purchase was an iPod clock radio. My apartment has no dishwasher too, but on my second day I realized I do have one and her name might be Ling Ling. She comes everyday to clean my apartment and it makes me nuts! Feng shui uses a lot of items placed on angles. I’m more of an orthogonal girl (i.e. anal retentive) so when I walk in from work, my first five minutes are spent straightening the items in my apartment. Sunday is now the only day of the week that I have to make my bed.

Getting acquainted with my new kitchen was dangerous. My oven is the size of a microwave oven, and it is a microwave oven too. I go to make a pizza, trying to set the dial to 400, but it only went so far, so I figured it was warming up. Then it starts making a sound like a microwave. I walk away for a while and start to smell something burning. I stopped the oven, thinking I microwaved the pizza, opened the door to take the rack with the pizza out, and burnt the bejesus out of my fingers. 400 degrees Celsius = over 752 degrees Fahrenheit . The oven did not go that high, but it was on the hottest setting. I will not have fingerprints for a while.

My washer is also a dryer. I still have not figured this one out either, because my clothes are still wet and it baked my undies.

Thursday I went to dinner at a restaurant where the waiters started dancing on tables and breaking plates on the ground. Friday I ate Rudolph (venison) atop a revolving restaurant with a view of fireworks to kick off the Christmas Season. Saturday I walked to the Botanical Gardens where the Orchids are located, soon to become my new running route.

I am making friends quickly here. The Aussies are really nice. Many people I have met while interviewing at the local gyms are also road bike riders, so I have started riding with the ANZA cycling team. This is the Australia/New Zealand team that does group rides in Singapore. It feels much safer to travel in a peloton rather than alone and it is a great way to meet people. This morning I rode with the Rat Pack and we were riding on an expressway. Good motivation to keep up with the group. Later in the morning I attended some other instructor's classes, ballet with Kayla to help with my Pilates and Bellydancing with Jessie to get me to Bollywood!

Since I do not have a car, I have been pooling home with people from the Lonza jobsite and my estimator, Jen. Lonza is the site in construction next door which Genentech plans to buy after one full run of Avastin. The HR girl from Lonza is living in my building, but she will be leaving at the end of the month. One of the Lonza superintendents lives in my old Chinatown neighborhood, so I hitch home with him once a week to go to my Yoga class with Ruberman, the Indian Guru who can put himself in any compromising positions.

November 2007 -

2007-11-30T18:20:00.000-08:00

Phish Phood

This week in Asia, I almost lost a nipple, was chased by irate monkeys and may have eaten dog instead of Turkey this Thanksgiving.

I had only been here a week before making my first doctor’s visit. This is why you don’t ride a bike in hot pants! I was on a nearby Indonesian Island for the weekend, not widely inhabited, very hot and humid. With no athletic gear with me, I thought flip flops and the hot pants bathing suit from a previous story would perfect biking attire….NOT.

As the rear tire slid from underneath me taking a corner, the entire right side of my body glided across the path, giving me the worst road rash I have ever encountered. My top slid down to my waist and my nipple was severed to a dangling little mosquito bite. My elbow has the deepest wound-about 1.5cm deep (I have to start thinking in the metric system now), .5 cm laceration on my ankle and baby toe (See Carl, nature tried to get rid of that 6^th toe on it’s own.), and a nice light braising across my entire thigh – little blood freckles. I must have slid in monkey poo or something.

The next day I met back in Singapore with my relocation agent who urged me to see the medic, for fear of infection and some nasty blood poising they have in SE Asia due to the humid weather not allowing for proper clotting. Nothing a little Neosporin could not have fixed back in the States.

All around the mulberry bush, monkeys chased Kelly….

Outside of Kuala Lumpur there is a wonderful excursion called the Batu Caves. After climbing over 250 stairs there is an amazing Hindu shrine built into the limestone caves, overlooking the city of KL. There is a giant gold statue of a Hindu God, alters and figurines built into the caves. It is also inhabited by a tribe of monkeys. Mean monkeys - the kind that steal your young and sell them to the gypsies for bananas.

At first glance they seem harmless. They are cute little animals, not much bigger than a squirrel, with fingers and faces that resemble human babies. Some of the Malaysian children may be mistaken as monkeys. One is eating a coconut, one is trying to get the last few sips from a can of beer, one is on a gate ready to pee on un-expecting bystanders, and another is playing with a plastic bag as if it is a toy (how come monkeys never suffocate from plastic bags over their heads?)

If you try to photograph them, they show teeth. If you try to talk monkey-talk with them they squeal back and show their teeth. If you show your teeth back, they WILL chase you. The blond girl finds this out the hard way. Not only by one monkey, but his friends join in to chase me from all directions, as I am screaming and running in circles. Then I realize what I did wrong. One of the friends goes over to comfort the monkey I had the confrontation with, by giving her a friendly monkey hump – probably to show me I was imposing on his territory.

On my way out I meet an Indian man with an iguana in a cage that he has named Godzilla.

“You should put those monkeys in the cage instead!” I mention to him

“No, non, no, we are in their world. The caves were here for them first.” <Insert accent of Apu from the Simpsons here.>

I want to be a Bollywood Dancer!

Now that I have moved to my new home at Newton’s circus, Little India is just walking distance away. I love Indian food and I suppose after enough visits to Little India, I will be ready for the real thing. My engineers have recommended some fabulous curry restaurants to me, one of which I frequent because I love to watch their Bollywood movies!

Every good Bollywood film must have the following:

1.) A beautiful star & starlette that are sexually-charged, but can not even as much as kiss on screen.

2.) A family of bystanders that can break into dance on a moments notice in the background.

3.) Some dance moves stolen from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video, except they are clad in Saris instead of wearing zombie outfits. Brittney Spears, Prince and Paula Abdul’s dance moves are widely plagiarized as well.

4.) A slow beach scene where the star will ride up on a white horse singing a love song to his beloved, who is obviously a virgin. As he gets closer, the camera angles will spin as they embrace, but will NEVER show any sex.

While I watch the Bollywood films, my muscles twich as I do buttox pinchies to the beat of the sitar. I want to break into dance with them. This also happens whenever an 80’s song that my pompom squad practiced a gazillion times comes on the radio and my muscle memory knows the exact beat in which to enter into a jump split.

So even though I do not know any of the words to my new found songs, I can do a high-pitched phonetic squeal, which only to me sounds like a Bollywood hit. One evening in Little India with a friend, I break out into dancing in the streets with my squeal, just to see if others will join in like they do in the movies. They do not. The Indian guys on the street think the white girl is crazy.

Since I have accomplished just about every goal I ever have set for myself in life, I decide to make one a little less unobtainable. I want to be a Bollywood dancer! My friend says it can never happen since I am not Indian, but the next morning I go to work and tell my Indian engineers about my new dream and they think it is a GREAT idea! Watch out Shah Rukh!

This summer I found it ironic how Paris, Nicole Richie, Lohan, and Owen can all jump start their careers with their stints in jail and rehab, while the news in Singapore was predicting the fall of Bollywood because two of their main stars could face prision charges for political activity, while a female Indian actress is being demoralized for kissing an American actor on screen. What is wrong with our pop culture?

Be Careful What You Wish For…

After setting my new dream of becoming a Bollywood dancer, Monday I came home from work to the Travel & Leisure Station’s week of India adventures. Anthony Bourdin was traveling there and eating the best delicacies. I changed the station to an Indian Soap Opera, than the next station was an Indian Idol competition that was more like Star Search. Tuesday I get invited to an Indian family’s house for dinner on Saturday night.

Wednesday I was interviewing an engineering firm for a project. As they were discussing their current projects, they informed me that they have just been awarded the Mumbai International Airport. Mumbai = Bombay. Bombay = the home to BOLLYWOOD! So of course I told them about my new dream! His response: “You want to work in Bollywood? We need to staff the project.” So my interview of him turns tables, but I am not quite yet ready for my dream.

“Talk to me in a year.” I said. “I need more practice.”

Saturday night was dinner with the Vermas, their seventeen year old son and his friend, Sandeep. The father is one of my engineers. The wife, Suma, works for the Indian embassy. The son looks like an Indian Ricky Martin, and Sandeep went to school for a year in Calgary, ya hey der. Suma made an amazing dinner, while the boys taught me everything I needed to know about Bollywood. They showed one of the newest films with cameo appearances from all the most famous stars – Om Shanti Om. It is about reincarnation and the circle of life. It was more like Saturday Night Fever with Hippies, then a Pirate scene mixed with Mesopotamia. I think they are stealing ideas from Sword Lake!

I did get inducted with my new Indian name – Kavita Keen. That is the closest Indian name to mine and it means poetry. Now I have a Fijian family and an Indian family. I finally went home around 1am.

Phish Phood

For Thanksgiving, a visiting friend and I ventured into Malaysia to go SCUBA diving. Wednesday afternoon after work, we boarded a five hour bus to Kuala Lumpur to spend the evening outside of Petrones Towers, then a bus on Thursday to Georgetown in Penang which vastly resembles Charleston, South Carolina with more Asians, then a ferry Friday morning to the Island of Langkawi.

In third world countries, there is a new theory I have discovered. It is the multiple of 1.5. Whatever amount of time they say a bus, train, or ferry is going to take, multiply it by 1.5 to get the real time.

Malaysians are notorious for burning down their rainforests. It is odd to believe that Singapore, a short causeway away, was once part of this country. In 1957, the governments made a rule that anyone on the Island of Singapore at 5:30pm will be Singaporean and all others will remain Malaysians. Entire families were torn apart due to the traffic jam that day (Taxicab driver, 2007).

So we also find out the SCUBA diving in Malaysia is not really that great on the West Coast, due to the fact that their former techniques for fishing included them exercising their skill with dynamite and blowing up the reefs. The only decent diving spot is a marine reserve.

The ocean is a welcomed relief to my bike crash wounds. For the past week, every time water or soap hits my skin, I have been in pain. In the ocean, I am floating in a gentle bed of saline solution, bubbling up the dried scabs and keeping them from itching. I can feel the healing.

My family and close friends know my two biggest fears in life. 1.) Carnival workers and 2.) the fish bitting the toes off me underwater. This is why you will never see me at the fair or swimming in water where I can not see bottom. How do I get the nerve to SCUBA dive then? Diving is different because I can see the fish and there are flippers on my feet, so unless they have a very big mouth, my toes remain. My relatively new hobby has allowed me to be brave with fish to the point that in Belize, I massaged the stomach of a 2m nurse shark.

Tropical fish are also friendly, happy looking fish as opposed to the Muskies mounted above the bars in Northern Wisconsin. They look like snakes with teeth. Tropical fish never bite people unless provoked. That is what I learned in diving courses. Well, they failed to tell me that the fish will not bite you unless you provoke them, or if you have scabs hanging off your body. As I swam into a school of pretty blue fish, they started biting at my elbow, ankles, knees, and anywhere else dead skin was hanging off my body. Asian Piranahs…they cleaned me up pretty well.

So I am back in Singapore now, ready to go back to work. Nipples do heal very fast and will reattach themselves. Happy belated Thanksgiving!

October 2007 - Miss Saigon

2007-10-30T17:46:00.000-07:00

Miss Saigon

Vietnam – the one place where I have had more dong in my hands and pockets than anywhere in the world! My hotel bill was over fourteen million dong! That is only about $250.

The Path of Least Resistance

I learn something new everyday. In Vietnam, a mom, a dad, baby and two pigs can fit on a motorbike. Traffic flows like water, all vehicles, mostly mopeds, travel at the same speed without organization or accidents. It was almost impossible to find a break in traffic to cross streets. After observing the locals, I realized that you can not wait for a break in the traffic to cross. You just have to walk into the intersection and the traffic goes around you. As I walk into traffic without getting killed, I feel a bit like Jesus walking on water. Mopeds flow around me, barely touching me as if I had just swum into a school of fish. (Note for later: this does not happen with fish if you have scabs hanging off your body, so I am sure there are exceptions to the rules.)

My father served in Vietnam in the 1960’s. His 60th birthday is in two weeks, where I will visit him in Chicago. I am hoping to visit his old post a Long Binh, about twenty miles outside of Ho-Chi Minh City, to take photos of what it looks like today.

I met up with an acquaintance in Saigon whom I met on the plane on a prior trip to Singapore (the man who informed me of my sleep potato chip eating disorder.) He has lived in Saigon for almost ten years and told me to contact him if I ever make it there. He met me at the Continental, my hotel on the main square where the Quiet American was filmed. He took me on a walking tour of Ho Chi Minh, introducing me to some of the best roof-top bars in the city for sunset. Unfortunately, he informs me that my father’s former post is now an Industrial wasteland and there is not much left of the barracks.

That evening I indulged in Vietnamese shopping through open marketplaces, the most beautiful silk shops, and art galleries. In one day, I had a dress made to fit my measurements exactly out of the silk of my choice for US$40. This is much different from the shopping centers in Singapore and finally I can find some nice bargains. Of course I have to indulge in a $20 massage and manicure & pedicure, since all the people who do my nails in the US are Vietnamese.

The next morning I woke up early to go for a run along the Mekong River before the heat and humidity set in. The city has a very French influence in the architecture of the Opera House, train station, churches and community buildings. I have a dog friend who I named ‘Dinner.’

October 2007 - Jakarta

2007-10-15T08:32:00.000-07:00

This week in Asia

I have a new boss. My contractor’s jack russell terrier killed a two meter python in his backyard. My move to Newton’s Circus has been confirmed for November 15^th. I explained snow to a group of the Indian engineers who were just mesmerized by the stories. Oktoberfest is partying strong in Singapore. And I was almost banned from entering Indonesia, due to the fact that I have run out of pages in my passport.

Newton’s Circus is still in the expatriate side of Singapore, however, it is off the main shopping road and the grounds, pool, and gym are resort-like. It is a brand new serviced apartment complex with architecturally obtrusive exterior and cutting-edge interiors. The complex is called Orchard-Scotts, just two blocks from the famed shopping Mecca of Orchard Avenue.

As my mother looked up on the internet, Newton’s Circus is described as a “food orgy.” It has a well-known hawker food court where my colleagues took me for my first dinner in Singapore. This is where we were flashed by an elderly, half-naked Asian man with fake Rolexes taped to his mid-section in May.

Kid in a Candy Store with the Chinese Basketball Team

Friday after work, I took off to the Airport to catch a Lufthansa flight to Jakarta that was cancelled due to ‘mechanical difficulties.’ After three hours in the airport, I was reassigned to a later Singapore Air flight, where, I am a Countess...

One of my favorite stores in the duty free area is the candy store. Here I am surrounded by my favorite European chocolates – Rochers, Milka Bars, Lindt, and Cadbury. I notice next to me an extremely odd sight. Two Asian men are towering over me. I can not help but stare since I have never seen this in person, only on TV with that Yao guy in the American NBA.

As I turn a corner there is another one, then another and another two meter plus Asian man. Am I in some sort of bizarre Ambien dream-state withdrawal or something? In a society where I am taller than most of the men, this was bizarre. I finally have to ask someone if they are all together and they are basket ball players.

The delay ends up being a good misfortune, since the setback flies me in at night with fireworks blasting around the plane during the celebration of Idul Fitri, marking the finish of a month of fasting for Ramadhan. Imagine if you combined Lent, Mardi Gras, Christmas and the Fourth of July – you would get what is going on in Indonesia this weekend.

Jakarta is a huge city and Java is the most densely populated of the islands. I have been picked up in a black SUV with tinted windows. If I did not know better, I could have accidentally flown to Baghdad with the number of people piled into trucks, waving flags and shooting fireworks out of bazooka-shaped apparatuses. I am stuck in a parade, that no one is watching, everyone is participating, but nobody is throwing any candy. Whole families are riding the streets of Jakarta on a single motorbike. Women in veils and dresses are hanging off the sides and babies are riding on their fathers’ shoulders or the handle bars. Viagra vendors line the streets.

The driver too is Muslim and celebrating the end of the fast tomorrow. Families will disappear from the streets and disperse into the countryside to their hometowns to feast with their relatives. As I read in the Straights Times this morning, people exodus from the cities. All the hired help leaves for their families and the rich are left to wipe their own butts. Ever see ‘A Day Without A Mexican’ where California falls to pieces when all the Hispanics disappear? The newspaper article said that many of the hotels in Jakarta get booked this weekend because the families can not fend for themselves without their servants, which ultimately cost $65 a month, on average, for each live-in helper.

The fireworks and parties went on through the night. When I awoke to the prayer calls on Saturday morning, the streets were desolate. It is a great weekend to explore the usually crowded, hustling and bustling third world city. The people I encounter are in the best holiday wear headed for the feast.

The Muslim religion is based from five pillars: 1.) There is one God, the almighty Mohammad. 2.) The fast for one month during Ramadan. 3.) A pilgrimage to Mecca. 4.) Oms to the poor and 5.) Prayer – like five times a day! Not only that, but loud speakers blare through the city to remind them to pray, five times a day!

The people here haven’t eaten for a month (from sunrise to sunset) and everyone is so happy in the streets, yelling ‘Hello’ as their whole family passes by on the motorcycle. Did you know a family of six can fit on a motorcycle? I made it to the old town on my walk with the old harbor lined with scooners and the Dutch town square where the buildings are rotting away and the canals are full of floating garbage. The streets are very impoverished, but there is something beautiful about the shanties I pass in the streets.

After a long stroll through the afternoon, I headed back to my hotel in a bajaj, motorcycle with three wheels and tin can around it. My room looks over three mosques. The rooftop pool is a sort of oasis in Jakarta. With the amount of 8+ earthquakes in the area lately, I wonder how safe this top-heavy structure really is?

Hanging with the Dutch James Bond

The wonderful thing about traveling by yourself is that you are invited into situations that would not normally offer themselves if you were with a companion. As I lay by the pool with the nannieless families, the only other Caucasian I have seen besides looking in the mirror this morning, plants himself next to me with a pleasant, “Hello, how are you today?”

As I leave the pool, he pipes up to introduce himself and break the ice. His name is Hans, he is Dutch and works in the oil business. He is not married, because the Dutch do not marry anymore, but has a live-in girl friend and eight year old son with her. He seems harmless, so I stay a while longer, happy to have met someone else who speaks English.

He invited me to join him and a business associate, Stephen the Aussie, for dinner this evening. I accept and meet them in the lobby for a drink prior to heading out to Jakarta at night. They both seem very reputable and we have all exchanged business cards and had wonderful conversation.

Unfortunately, when all the hired help leaves Jakarta, all the restaurants close down too. We are stuck back at the hotel to spend the rest of the evening with a few bottles of wine meeting my new friends. Some how, this turns into an impromptu job interview, as the two of them are launching a new business together, providing oil platforms and storage for petrol for companies around the world. They are traveling from Jakarta, to KL, then to Malta, then Moscow and back to Malaysia and Jakarta again, all this month.

I am hesitant to get involved in their venture, knowing nothing about oil, except how to fill up my car at Shell.

“Neither one of us knew anything about oil either when we got involved. It is just like any other business, it is all about making relationships and fostering them through time.” Stephen was formerly in the mining business and Hans was a Dutch spy. What does a Dutch spy spy on? This question unleashes a series of made for Hollywood stories that I am amazed with and could write a story on his stories alone.

As a soldier, Hans has been shot through the air 30m (almost a hundred feet), covered in others blood and body parts from a mine explosion which caused him not sleep for a good five weeks. During this time of insomnia he explains that the body releases adrenaline and hormones that make the brain acutely aware. He could sense the movement of insects around him and became more in tune with nature. During this bout with sleeplessness, he became addicted to morphine and suffered the withdrawals to end the dependence, which landed him into a mindset that the Dutch CIA profiles to be a spy.

Unlike the FBI agent I went on a date with a couple years ago, Dutch spies are more than happy to share their experiences with strangers. Regardless, even with the exciting stories, I have enough respect for myself not to fall into James Bond’s traps to get a girl into bed. Stephen is leaving for Perth in the morning and we all agree to meet for breakfast to see him off. While I am sleeping, Hans is up all night, tragically bothered by the American girl that ignored his advances and spent the night performing background checks on me.

So I am back in Singapore now, back to the grind. Next week, maybe Saigon if I can get passport pages and a Vietnamese Visa.

September 2007

2007-09-30T03:13:00.000-07:00

Where in the World is Kelly?

In the past 3 weeks I have been from Singapore to SF to Nashville to Charleston to Chicago back to SF, weekend in Yosemite, back on a plane to Singapore, then to Phuket, Thailand last weekend, back to Singapore, fly out to San Francisco tomorrow and fly to Mexico, Puerto Vallarta, on Friday. Total hours in the air this month = approximately 75.

In Nashville I visited my friend Samantha. We had time for a nice dinner in her new home and lunch on the Vanderbuilt campus. Her neighbor took me on a fantastic bike ride through the Nashville country side, past Minnie Pearl’s old home, the CEO of Shoney's mansion, and many country music stars’ homes that I did not recognize the names. It is a beautiful area! Sam is still recovering from knee reconstructive surgery.

Charleston too was astounding and I will now stop making fun of people in the south for their accents and relations to siblings. I was very impressed with the culture in the colonial town. Even my taxi cab driver back to the airport, Billy Bob, was reading a book on Islam. His views on religion were quite enlightening and I was happy to experience people in the Bible belt who accepted different views on life.

My purpose for going to Charleston was to see the other half of the building in construction. They are building the process manufacturing skids for the project in a former gas sphere warehouse, along a river near Charleston. They will put this half of the building onto a barge, then into a container ship at the port, and sail it through the Panama Canal next February all the way to Asia.

Phuck-et

This weekend I went to Phuket (pronounced poo-ket, not f*&k-it), Thailand for a little break and to inquire about a wrinkle treatment I read about on the internet called FPL. Fluorescence-Intense Pulse Light is an anti-aging wrinkle removal technique that produces results without any need for surgery, anesthetic and with no side effects. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

When I met with the dermatologist, I was happy to find out that my wrinkles are not from aging, but from a muscular contraction caused by smiling too much throughout my life. Not a bad problem, right? Well, the down side is that the only known treatment for it currently is Botox. I never thought I would become a Botox patient, but after traveling so far to find my fountain of youth, and for a quarter of the price as in the US, I gave it a try and let a Thai woman inject my face with Botulism.

Botox was not my only reason for escaping to Thailand for the weekend. We rode over 30 miles on a mountain bike to Patong Beach and went sea kayaking through the limestone islands off the coast, all the way to James Bond Island, where Goldfinger was filmed back in 1974. Craig was with me on this trip and we got some much needed rest and relaxation for the weekend on the beach.

Head Hunters

Last night we did a tour of the Asian Civilizations Museum in Singapore by a woman who is also an architect and once worked for Genentech. They moved here from Berkeley a year ago and her husband in the head financier for the National University in Singapore. She spends her time as a dossier at the museum and taught us about the mélange of cultures represented here in Singapore, from the head hunters to modern business men. They have an amazing collection of silks, jewelry, swords and human skulls. It is fascinating how the Chinese, Indian, Middle Eastern and European countries are all represented in one country. Even more fascinating is that Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, Christians, etc. can all live in peace on one little 40-mile island.

Que Pasa

Upon my return to SSF, I spent 20 hours at home before departing for a trip to Puerta Vallarta, Mexico for a board meeting for the SF chapter of the International Society of Pharmaceutical Engineers, ISPE. It is a great group of people that I have been working with over the past ten years on numerous committees to network and educate people in the biotech industry. We do a Board of Directors retreat each year to help plan the next year's events, while bonding over tequila and tacos. Unfortunately, this year I did not make friends with a Playboy Bunny to hang with our group, similar to two years ago in Cabo where most the men in the group were appreciative of my personal networking skills.

July/August 2007

2007-07-30T18:19:00.000-07:00

Bags

My life is about bags now. I live out of a suitcase in Singapore, my office rolls on wheels, my backpack is for the outdoors, and during the week I have the aerobics bag, the rock climbing bag, the mountain biking bag, the yoga gear, and various bags for overnight stays in SF.

Life takes Visa

So I found out the week before leaving that Singaporeans take death VERY seriously. If there is a fatality at the jobsite, they throw the owner of the property in jail. I am the only full-time employee and owner representative for Genentech in Singapore. I hope I will do well in Chinese Prison.

Ferry to Indonesia….25 dorrar

Room at exclusive five-star hotel on white sand beach…120 dorrar

Foot reflexology with happy ending…25 dorrar

Getting your ass out of Chinese Prison…..Priceless.

Life takes Visa – Singaporean prison takes Visa, so I am told.

Yes

So in Singapore, there are many different meanings to ‘yes.’ ‘Yes,’ I would love to that for you, ‘yes,’ if I feel like it, I might do it for you, and ‘yes,’ I’m just saying this to appease you and there is no way in hell I want to help you with that thing you need. And ‘yes,’ I do not know what the 'F' you are saying, but I’m shaking my head and saying yes. My problem is figuring out how to read the body language to figure out the real answer.

Last week I waded through twelve inches of water to get to my office. The sky broke open at rush hour and the streets were literally rivers, stair cases cascaded, and new lakes appeared in the fields. The black sky and display of thunder and lightning was amazing. I miss storms. All I could do is laugh as I entered the office drenched in a silk suit. Why did I even bother to shower this morning? Now I know why Singapore is so clean. With a power washing like this every once in a while, no wonder.

http://www.nirwanagardens.com/default.aspx

This is where I spent my weekend. Less than an hour ferry to Indonesia. It rained A LOT, but I have to say that I really enjoyed watching the storms. There is a warm wind and good smell in the air. When the sun did come out, I was way too hot. I did about two hours of yoga on the beach under a thatch roof hut while it rained around me and I still was able to take long walks on the white sand beaches in between the torrential downpours and mountain biked up the only hill I could find.

Earthquake

While I was enjoying the beaches of Indonesia, I called my Mom and Dad, who have informed me that I may now live in Berkeley. A small quake hit California and the epicenter was 400 feet from my house!

The Gum Smuggler

Gum is equivalent to Cuban cigars in Singapore. It is illegal to sell gum. The morning that I left the US, I bought 30 packets of gum at Rite Aid. I had to explain to people in line the reason for my raid on the Trident stash and then sneak it through International Customs, like a drug dealer. Nobody suspected a thing and now my Indian engineers are enjoying gum when they come to meet with me. I also give it to taxi drivers as a little tip. They love it!

And I thought California Housing Market was difficult…

Tuesday night I started my first round of apartment hunts. A couple of realtors picked me up in their swanky Mercedes and it is obvious that people in this profession are doing VERY well in Singapore. A regular Yugo can be as much as $100K here with all the costs associated.

So to rent a place here, you need a realtor who gets a commission, much like buying a home in the US. You can not just answer a Craigslist add and rent direct from a person. The first place they showed me was a beautiful 1920’s, 2000sf shop house – in the red light district for S$4000, about $3K US per month. (Note that this is more than my mortgage.) The second was also supposed to be S$4K a month and it was perfect for me – a great neighborhood between China town and the financial district, very modern design, easy freeway access and parking with a rooftop lap/ infinity pool and a gym. Eight people showed up for the viewing and by the end of the 45 minute tour, the monthly rate raised to S$6K per month ($4500 US)!

I have to bid on an apartment?!?!?! This is crazy.

Mile High Club

I guess you can officially call yourself a jet setter when you know flight schedules to Asia, currency exchange rates and your passport number better than your home phone number. Last week I was informed that I have flown over 75K miles this summer – in less than 3 months. So what does this entitle me to? Well, for one, I was upgraded to 1^st class on this flight. It is not much different from business class, except I am lying horizontally on my stomach typing on my laptop right now and the steward would probably wipe my butt if I asked him to. He even went back to economy to steal the Milk Chocolate Ghirardelli chocolates for me.

I have a new-found talent, or mental disorder. The man next to me on the plane told me he was amazed watching me sleep and eat potato chips at the same time! I don’t even eat potato chips when I am conscious. Of course there was an empty bag of chips in my bed and potato chip dust all over my clothes. I first discovered this disorder on an overnight flight to NYC last April and I woke up with empty bags of animal crackers on my lap and no recollection of their consumption. I blame it on the Ambien.

Countess Kelly is putting on the Ritz

After my sleep potato-chip eating 1^st class flight, the company had a limousine waiting for me at the terminal to take me to my suite at the Ritz Carleton. I think I may be Paris Hilton this week. My suite is huge with a chocolate sculpture with swans and giant white-chocolate spheres surrounded by truffles around a silver platter (Addressed to Monsieur Guillardi- am I in the wrong room?) My bathroom is the size of most hotel rooms, completely enveloped in Italian marble. My oversized tub looks out over the water through a six foot octagonal window. The Genentech VP called me this week to inform me that I also have use of a third office in Singapore to work out of in the Financial District. It is glassed in a skyscraper on the 34^th floor with an amazing view of the city.

Kaboom

If you are this close to China, you can guarantee the fireworks have got to be good! Gun powder is cheap and insurance is not an issue. Singapore is celebrating National Day for the second week. My mechanical engineer was forced to stay an extra weekend here for meetings, over his birthday, so I booked a quay-side table. Little did I know it was next to the barges setting off the explosives? Fifteen minutes of finale fireworks. The second night I watched it from the 31^st story of the Ritz – I was actually level with most of them. I love the smell of Napalm in the morning.

Sex in the Asian City

An Italian guy who lives in South Africa, Julius, asked me to dinner in the elevator of the Ritz. Funny it is when I look my worse that this happens. I just rode about 20 miles to the east coast beaches and alongside the airport runway, got stuck in a monsoon downpour and have not showered since yesterday morning.

When I met Juli in the elevator, he had sunglasses on and was dressed very stylish. His pick up line was to comment on how beautiful my fingernails were – probably since the rest of me looked like a drenched dog. I had just accidentally walked into the restaurant of the Ritz in the middle of a Dom Perignon champagne brunch in my sweaty spandex. He didn’t recognize me with my hair down, cleaned-up for high tea.

He works for AMB which about to be purchased by Barclays International. He is 32, has his MBA in marketing and specializes in internet banking products. How odd that I am writing a term paper right now marketing banking services internationally on the internet for my MBA class. His eyes don’t look Italian to me, maybe a bit Persian. Oh, his father is part Indian, he says.

We head out to the Quay to a dance club called Indochine – The Forbidden City. People are lounged out on Thai beds mixed with Jeannie bottle décor and chandeliers spotlighted by colored lamps. There is a room called the Ice Box, where the temperature is below freezing and you can cool down from dancing and have a vodka shot. He is still REALLY into my fingernails, which I realize he has a fetish over. As he is marveling over the beauty of my hands, which are callused from rock climbing and the hotel rowing machine, I realize that my hands are manlier than his.

He begins telling me how much in love he is, how I look like a movie star and how he deserves a special kiss from me. Oh please. He is planning our life together and I have only known him for a few hours. He tells me of Italy and his relatives in Rome, how beautiful South Africa is and that I must come visit someday. Will you grow your fingernails really long so you can dig them into my back? Now I am creeped out. I’m getting a bit tired of the flattery. What do you admire most in a man, he asks. ‘Honesty,’ I reply. He tries to invite himself back to my room, but I leave him at the elevator lobby and probably see him at breakfast breakfast.

He has not had his morning coffee yet and is rather quiet. I ask him more questions about Italy and what he will be doing in Bangkok. As we exchange contact information, he looks down sadly and is embarrassed to tell me something.

“I feel so close to you, and yet, when I asked you what you admire most in a man, it is honesty. Kelly, I have not been honest with you. In fact, I have been everything but honest.”

By this time I’m really not interested in him anyways, but it was nice to have someone to share dinner with on a Sunday night. I am ready for him to tell me he is married and has six wives or something.

“I lied to you in the elevator when I said I was Italian. In fact, I am not South African either….I have been to Rome once. I am actually Pakistani.”

“Why did you feel you had to lie to me?”

“I was afraid an American girl would not like me due to my background and wanted to have the chance to know you better.”

I did not care. I told him about how I posed as a Swede in Egypt for two weeks for fear that people would hate me for being American in the Middle East.

Oh, he was 28, not 32 too. He still calls my cell phone a few times a week to listen to my voice.

Hungry Ghosts

This month is the ritual of the Hungry Ghosts. Older Chinese people have made offerings to their dead relatives on display in shrines in front of their homes and businesses. Have you ever seen rotten.com – it’s kind of like that. There is also this Korean fruit around here that just smells like death and one street of row houses used to be Death Houses, where the homeless used to go to die, since it was bad luck not to die at home. In addition to food, they are burning money for their dead relatives to spend in heaven. If heaven is full of Chinese malls, put me on the fire express.

Kelly’s got Hot Pants!

Saturday, I took a gondola to the adjacent island of Sentosa. I thought that it was an amusement/nature park, but there are many nice white sand beaches. I didn’t think of bringing a bathing suit and was boiling in my street clothes. I set out to one of the beach shoppes to find a bathing suit. I though I was small compared to most people, but not in Asia. I ended up with hot pants and a top with bra cups too small, so they pushed all my cleavage up to my throat. At least I can sunbathe comfortably now.

I set up base in a cabana at the Café del Mar, sipping mohitos and reading my book. Whenever I overheated, I could take a dip in their pool. I went on a walk down the beach and started doing some yoga in the sun. Keep in mind that I do not know many people in this country. I come out of a downward facing dog and look up to find four coworkers from SF who are here on a business trip standing in front of me, including my boss. Not a good time for hot pants and the breastifying top.

Monkeys and Lemurs and Cobras, oh my!

This morning I rented a mountain bike and joined three Brits for a ride in the Bukit Timbah Nature Reserve. I’m lucky I went with these guys or you would have heard about the American girl who got lost in the jungle and is being raised by monkeys. The trails were gnarly. Very technical due to the wet roots, humidity, mud, snake watch and mean monkeys screaming at us as we flew by. I got to see families of monkey above, including newborn babies.

Some areas we would ride through high grass with a black cobra population, so the object is not to put your foot down. Of course I hit a ditch and flew over the handle bars into a somersault. Never saw myself recover from a fall so fast, part due to embarrassment and part to the fear of encountering a cobra or python in the brush.My body was drenched from head to toe from the sweat and humidity. My hands were so wet that it was difficult to operate the gear changer.

After the ride, I was invited to the British Club for a pint with the group. This is a country club for pasty British men who like to golf. There were many very nice people there who have been living in Singapore for up to 10 years. They had good advice for the newcomer. Tuesday, I have been invited to attend a luncheon at the Indonesian embassy where the ambassador’s wife will be hosting a group of American and British women. Might be a good opportunity to make some friends.

June 2007

2007-06-30T01:27:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

May 2007

2007-05-28T16:43:00.000-07:00

S’pore

This is the first day of the rest of my life. Sunday night SFO International. My first Business Class flight on Singapore Airlines. No waiting in line. My baggage is tagged with priority to be offloaded first. I am escorted to the business lounge where I may enjoy an open bar and a variety of refreshments of my choice overlooking the tarmac. Six other Genentech colleagues join me.

We get our own private boarding gate to enter before departure. I have my own private pod with a reclining leather chair that operates in a multitude of directions to a full horizontal recline. I can’t even figure out how to work the chair or the remote. The personal TV has over 100 stations with movies in English, Chinese, Japanese, French, and probably even Swahili if I look hard enough. There are four beautiful Singaporean women dressed in silk gowns who all call by name.

Not more than an hour in the sky, they are already feeding us (at 2am) on table cloths with real silverware and china. I am sure a terrorist can formulate a weapon out of my fork much easier than that tiny bottle of lotion they made me throw out in security because it was not in a zip lock bag. Waldorf salad, lamb shank, grilled vegetables, dessert, followed by a cheese tray. Everyone gets fuzzy slippers, a real pillow with silk sham and an actual blanket – not the felt paper from economy.

The bathrooms are spotless because the ladies in the silk dresses clean the pee off the floor. I watch no less than seven movies that night and read half of ‘Blink,’ a good book about thinking without thinking. I can do yoga and Pilates in my pod. Transferred planes in Hong Kong at sunrise, but nothing was open yet.

The airport in Singapore is lined with orchids. It is very clean and safe feeling. Our posse from Genentech includes two men over 6’6” and me with the yellow hair. We stand out in the crowd of Asians, especially on the mass transit, which we take into town to the Hotel Intercontinental. The landscape is lush and green. Even the housing projects are Cabrini-clean.

In half an hour we change and are in a taxi to Bovis’ office. The office of our general contractor is very Ikeaesque overlooking the Polo fields. I rapidly realize there are not many women in construction here. I am the only girl in the boardroom, and I’m at least ten years younger than everyone. There are two expats from Ireland working for an Australian construction company in Singapore. As we review the estimates, I am trying to do the exchange rates between SNG$, US$, Australian $ and sometimes even the Euro. All measurements are in meters. I know they are speaking English, but don’t understand words like ‘fly-tipping’ and ‘lorries.’ One guy on the team is named Kee Shin Keong – which sounds like Cheech and Chong whenever they say his name. I’m not the only one in the room smirking each time.

Our project is an Ecoli plant to manufacture one of our breakthrough drugs, Lucentis. Lucentis is made from a human antibody fragment and works by keeping new blood vessels from forming under the retina. People with a certain type of eye disease, new blood vessels grow under the retina where they leak blood and fluid. This is known as the "wet form" of macular degeneration. Lucentis is used to treat the wet form of age-related macular degeneration to prevent blindness.

We try to force ourselves to stay up until 10pm, so after the meetings, our Genentech team went to Newton’s Circus where there is a large open patio surrounded by street vendors. We got a little taste of everything to wash down our giant Tiger beers. Little Asian men are flashing us with fake Rolexes taped to their chest and Raybans down their pants.

2:45 pm Monday our time/5:45am Tuesday their time, I make it down to the gym. We are two degrees from the equator and it is pitch dark until 7am. Today’s meetings went for 12 hours! I was fighting to keep my eyes open and not trying not to puke as the waves of nausea came and went. Luckily we got out of the office for fresh air and to visit the site. As I roam in my OSHA approved open toed sandals, I am warned to watch out for Cobras and Black Mambas in the brush. This threat is balanced off by the fact that they have monkeys in the trees.

Driving back to the office, we pass what they call Bubble Gum Jail – where they sentence you to if you are caught chewing gum, which is illegal in Singapore. It is actually a Chinese prison.

Countess Keen

So when I signed up for my Singapore Air online, the information sheet has a list of prefixes containing Mr., Ms., Mrs., Miss, Dr., Professor…and if you scroll down far enough you will get to Baron, Count, Countess…hey countess, I know how to count, I can be a countess! So for kicks, I entered Countess. Now all my confirmations come addressed to Countess Kelly Keen and they even address me in flight with Countess Keen. My brother says they put one too many “o’s” in the word for me.

Kava & Kiwis

2007-01-01T15:58:00.000-08:00

This is an update from a trip to Fiji & New Zealand a year ago - gathered from emails sent to friends.
BULA!

Imagine a world where everyone looks like Shirley from 'What's Happening.' That would be Fiji. I am 3 hours behind, but a day ahead most of you and will be one of the first to experience the New Year - just behind the International Dateline! I'm also having serious afro envy.

I thought my hostel was on the beach, but instead has 'beach access'...20 minutes down the road! So I set out on foot to find it with kids passing me by playing football in the road and all the cars yelling BULA out to me. At least the walk was beautiful through the sugar cane fields and under the landing planes. A young guy approached me and asked where I was headed. When I told him my plans to attend the beachfront, he laughed and told me I can't go there alone because it is full of drunk guys. He offered to be my chaperone. He looked harmless so I allowed him to accompany me. I couldn't pronounce his name so I called him 'Joe.'

He showed me the 'sleeping giant' in the mountain and explained how time are hard for the Fijians right now since the political upheaval has scared all the tourists away. Sure enough, when we got to the beach, it was full of drunken Fijians, naked kids and pot dealers. Not the luxury retreat I was hoping for. They were yelling things to us in Fijian, which I know was making Joe uncomfortable.

I needed to find an ATM, so Joe told me where the main town was and again offered to accompany me for getting a Fijian fare on the taxi rather than tourist prices. It was kind of cool having my own private tour guide and all I had to do was buy him cigarettes. He showed me an Indian temple and then took me for a unique experience in a local bar, playing the Fijian drinking game, BULA. Fijian beer bottles are about 1l. Everyone shares a glass and you yell BULA and clap you hands 3 times before drinking your shot of beer. I was the only white person in the bar and got to join in on all the reindeer games. I don’t even think Joe was old enough to drink in the States.

Next we went to a Kava ceremony with Moses where I got to be the Queen, but that only means they wanted me to buy a $300 kava bowl. So I was drunk by 3pm, on a kava high and Joe wanted me to go back to the beach with him to watch the sunset and try some more Fijian traditions. That is where I departed back to the hostel, before I ended up in Fijian jail.

The backpacker's hostel has many international travelers and the bar livened
up in the evening with a live band. I met a group of Australians who I drank with most the night. One guy was a contractor on the island for large resorts and the Australian company was pulling him out and ending all of their projects here based on the current political situation and lack of money in Fiji. It was interesting finding out that construction workers here are bribed with Kava to work harder. Everyone is on island time.

So I awoke at sunrise to run on the beach and hopefully beat all the drunk guys out of bed. It was a beautiful morning and I only saw one other person until about 8am. When the Fijians started waking up and coming to the beach, the strangest thing happened. Six dogs came out of the palm forest and ran with me. One had rabies and scared me to death because he was foaming at the mouth and attacking the other dogs. These dogs walked and ran with me for about an hour and barked at anyone who came near me.

I had my own security guards and even gave them names that they responded to.
Homey was foaming from the mouth, one puppy had a broken leg and he was 'Peggy' short for peg leg, the albino was 'whitey' just like me, ‘Beagley-Beagley,’ loud mouth (who wouldn't stop barking) and ‘Nipples’ – who must had just had puppies. They accompanied me all the way back to the hostel safely.

So NYE in Nadi was a blast. The hostel had a huge party with fire dancers and live band and we took part with the locals in a traditional feast where they dig an underground BBQ and roast pigs, chicken and anything else on the island you can possibly BBQ. It is sort of similar to a Lua. I brought in the New Year with the bunch of Australians from the night before, Canadians, 4 girls from Denmark, a few people from Holland and the Fijian staff & their friends. I learned a new dance, of course called the BULA.

The next morning I taxied with the Canadians to the airport. You know the
flight is going to be an experience when they make you step on the luggage
scale to weigh yourself before boarding. It was neat seeing the islands
from the air, but a little bumpy.

Flying into Savu Savu reminded me of the plane coming into Fantasy Island.
It is a short tarmac on the ocean with a hut. Airport security is a fence.

Then I traveled 36 kilometers on a dirt road though little villages to where
the Tui Tai was anchored. The children all yell BULA as I pass by and want
to slap my hand as I board a raft to the sailing ship. All together there
were about 20 passengers on board and 19 Fijian crew members. Most of us
were 30-something, but there where a few older adventurous couples who
reminded me of Carl's parents and always set off on unusual trips. (In fact
Carl, one couple was named Charles & Susan!-his parents names). There was
an Indian couple on board from LA, a girl from Rome and her husband from
Scotland and a family from Colorado with 2 high school-aged kids. Later
that afternoon, 5 more Californians boarded- 3 from SF.

We snorkeled in the morning, sea kayaked in the afternoon and that evening,
while eating dinner, dolphins swam along side of the boat. Not a bad way to
start 2007. One day we hiked a volcanic crater to the rim and SCUBA'd in
the afternoon. There were fruit bats and goats living on the crater.

The next 5 days were much the same - SCUBA diving in the mornings,
stretching on the bow, mountain biking the islands in the afternoon through
little towns and even made it to the International Dateline on one ride. I
got to stand in today and yesterday at the same time!

In the evenings we would have dinner on the boat or visit coastal villages
and end the night with the crew playing their guitars and drinking kava,
looking out at the full moon. The children in the villages are great. They
are so full of energy and they love the glow bracelets that Samantha gave me
for xmas! One night I was the town babysitter giving airplane rides and
playing tag with the little ones.

Yesterday, for our final farewell, we had another traditional Fijian BBQ on
a secluded beach and sea kayaked in the bay before returning back to the
boat for a talent show.

Today, I will stay in a village near Savu Savu with a family and return to
Nadi tomorrow afternoon for a day, before leaving for New Zealand.

Having a great time - and no need to worry Mom & Dad - it is very safe here
and the people are wonderful. I have now introduced pig yatzee and pilates
to the islands.

Still in Fiji - back from the Jungle! In Savu Savu one would think they
were in Calcutta by the Indian population. Bollywood music and the smell of
curry emits into the streets. Linga picked me up there at about 3pm as we
headed to his Aunt's village. Unfortunately one can not call ahead when
bringing visitors and when we arrived, the town was in mourning for a
funeral of a 3 year old girl who died. Not a good time to entertain house
guests. Linga's cousin, Meli had the idea to take me to the jungle to visit
his family's remote house.

Now why would I embark into the jungle with strangers? Linga was one of the
local hospitality reps on the sail boat and became my friend during the
week. He led me on some of the most fantastic mountain biking trails on the
remote islands of Fiji. Even though he is one of the scariest-looking
people I've ever met (kind of of a mix between the mom on Good Times and a
flying monkey) - he has a good heart and is gay. I don't have to worry
about him hitting on me. In addition, he has been the personal escort of
Michelle Phiffer, Xena, and the new princess of Monaco, so I was in good
hands.

Another 1 1/2 through the rain forest in a torrential downpour, the taxi
gets stuck in the mud and we have to push it out. We stop at a village
along the way to pick up gifts for the family. We drove up a mountain road
to the power station that supplies electricity to the island - Meli's dad
watches the site. We pull up to a long house which Meli says houses 16
people & he informs me that they have never seen a white person before!

8 children came running towards me as I exited the cab. I gave them a big
BULA and they giggled at how different I was from them. I could feel once
little girl trying to jump up behind me to touch my hair, so I took it out
of the braid to feel it and instantly I had 80 dirty little fingers in my
hair.

We went into the living room and sat on a giant mat. I quickly realized
that I had more stuff in my luggage then they had in their whole house. The
children were asking me questions about California - they all spoke English.
They wanted to know if I knew movie stars? Am I married? Where are my
kids? Do you want to bath with us? I was hoping the last was a mix up of
words, which it was - they wanted me to see their pool.

I followed them into the jungle to the power station, then up over 500 steps
(and you thought my house was bad!) to the turbines and a 2 story concrete
reservoir they call their 'pool.' My parents would never let me play at the
electric company - or run with a machete, which the oldest boy led us with
to get us through the forest.

After sunset we returned to the house where I presented them with gifts from
me and other people on the boat - band-aids, children's Tylenol, and kids
books which I read them that night. I got a break from babysitting to have
Kava with the men of the family- the women don't drink because they cook,
Linga says. Later we had a feast sitting on a mat - curry chicken,
vegetables and tarot followed by a fruit salad.

I spent the evening talking with the family and showing them pictures on my
ipod. Then gave the kids the rest of the glow bracelets - which made their
lifetimes. The two oldest girls slept in the room with me for a 'sleep over
party' and the rest of them where sprawled across the living room mat, like
the Tate murder scene. It was good I gave them glow bracelets or I would
have stepped on them when I walked out to the bathroom at night.

The children awoke me early to go back up to the power station - this time I
had to take pictures. We stopped on a platform where I taught them
kick-boxing moves, and then we headed for a river. Breakfast again was on a mat
with crepes and banana jam. After breakfast we returned to the river to
wash up and put our church clothes on.

Church was fun, but I had serious flashbacks to the Jonestown Documentary I
saw recently. No Kool-Aid for me thanks. They sing and dance and on the way
to church, I taught them a song I learned in CCD (Joy, joy, joy, joy...) I
was sad to leave them when my taxi arrived to take me back to the airport.
They followed me out of town to say good-bye!

One day in Nadi again and I leave tomorrow for New Zealand. I have been
eaten alive by mosquitoes - even on my eyelids. I'm off my adventure sail safe and sound, back on solid ground and I am still swaying. Either the room is moving or the morning Kava is kicking in.

Kiwis

So far New Zealand looks like California with less people, more sheep. Auckland seemed like a mix between SF and London & it was raining cats and kiwis when I arrived on Tuesday. I quickly booked a backpacker's trip to blow out to see the North Island.

I was picked up by the 'Stray' bus by 8am the next morning, led by Liam, the crocodile hunter's skinny replica. Liam is our bus driver & kiwi tour guide for the week. He either has ADD or a serious case of scatter-brain. He hit his head twice on the TV, drove us in circles around downtown Aukland for an hour, almost hit another bus trying to reverse uphill, then thought the bus had a 6th gear, which it obviously did not have as we slammed forward as the motor surged into 3rd gear. This is where he admits that he has never driven the bus before. He is literally crazy. Made us hug trees and talks of monsters living under bridges and in the mountains.

So I am on a bus with twenty 20-30 yr old European kids - Ireland, England, Czech, German, Dutch - no Australians are allowed on the bus because Liam says they steal sheep. We headed south through the Bombay Hills, past Liam's family farm where we had to stop for a pottie break so he could talk to his friend Sandra, then to the Pacific side of NZ to an area very similar to Pt. Reyes called Hahier. There we hiked out to Cathedral Cove and then to the Hot Water beaches where you can did a hole in the sand that fills with boiling water and fills with the surf to balance off the temperature so you can sit in a natural hot tub on the beach.

The next morning, we set off for the Tasman sea to a surfer mecca called Raglean - which looks like a mix between Santa Cruz and Mendicino. We stayed at an old hippy commune that has turned into a surfing retreat for Europeans. The decor and art is very Burning Manesque. Since I do not surf, I rented a mountain bike and climbed up the cliffs above the Tasman Sea for a long ride along the coast and into rolling hills of sheep farms.

Glow Worms

That night, some chefs-turned-surfers made us gormet pizzas before heading off on our sunset hike and glow worm excursion. The glow worms are all over the rocky terrain around the pathways. They look like fiberoptics and use the light they emit to attract bugs before they eat them with their little furry tentacles. The next morning we headed out to Waitomo Caves where I refused to pay $50 to see glow worms again under a Wisconsin Dells-type of walking tour. I hate cheesy tours, along with others on the bus who went to cafes to chill for a while. I told Liam I was setting out to hike for the day. He insisted on showing me a great place that is not so touristy.

The two of us hopped on the tour bus up a hilly one lane road for 33 km (I felt like I was in the song 'take your retards to the zoo' except a retard was taking me to the zoo.) He was right - there were some fantastic hikes with natural bridges and canyons, then we did a second to a huge waterfall. Turns out, Liam is being the bus tour guide-thing on his summer break from law school. I could not imagine this guy in a courtroom someday.

In the afternoon we drove to Rotorura where it is raining again. My hostel has a climbing wall through the middle of it, but I have no belay partner. So I'm playing on hotmail until our group meets up tonight for Sheapard's Pie and a pint of something to put the UK kids at ease with a taste from home. Tomorrow I am scheduled to go 'Zorbing' - It is a giant bubble about 8' high that works something like a hamster ball. They strap you in and roll you down a hill in it. Won't be eating much for breakfast - just in case!

Next we head to Lake Taupo, which sounds like Lake Tahoe, than to Tongariro National Park where I will spend a few days to do the famous Çrossing Hike.

Zorb

Zorbing in Rotorua was the most I have laughed in years. Imagine being sent through a sphincter into an 8 foot diameter double-membrane plastic ball connected by shock absorbers, filling it half way with water and being shot downhill on a zigzag course. This is what it would feel like to be in a washing machine.

As expected, Lake Taupo was the New Zealander’s Lake Tahoe but Tramping in Tongariro National Park was nothing like California! Tongariro houses some extraordinary sites where Lord of the Rings was filmed, including Mt. Doom. The Tongariro Crossing is rated as one of the best tramps NZ has to offer. (BTW Mom and Dad, tramping does not mean I am short on cash and selling myself on the streets. It is the Kiwi’s word for hiking.)

Even though the Tongariro Crossing is one of the most beautiful tramps, it still claims the lives of some 30-40 people a year due to severe weather changes. The morning we set out was storming, but the information center said the pass would be clear by noon, an hour or two before we would actually be summiting. Most backpackers stayed back in Taupo waiting for the weather to improve, but the short-timers in Kiwiland that had to adhere to a rigorous travel schedule were optimistic that we were going to make it – me, 2 Irish girls, a German girl and a Czech boy.

“How many of you have tramped 17km before?” Liam asked us. I was the only one with my hand raised.

“How many of you have tramped 8 hours straight before?” Again I am the only one with my hand raised and the 2 Irish girls are in flat-soled sneakers.

“Okay, Kelly from California is going to make sure you all come back alive from this tramp.” Liam designates me team leader responsible for the 4 others hiking between three active volcanoes (the largest one erupted last in 1996.) I’ve only lost one exchange student in my life and luckily he showed up naked in my yard the next morning, so my odds are good.

So we set out into a desolate landscape with steam rising above the landscape from the rain hitting the thermo-reactive ground that we are walking on. The first hour warm up was steady, then we hit Hell’s Staircase – straight up using arms and legs to pull ourselves up the volcanic rock. The Irish girls complained the entire time – “F!ck this, Fuc# that, F*ck me pink. Bloody god dang mountain, I’m never doing this bloody tramp again. Hell, never going to walk again after this.”

One would think that Hell had frozen over by the temperature and wind chill going up Hell’s staircase. There were times that I was moving with all my force and not going anywhere. It was sleeting on us and every time we peaked something, there was another peak behind it.

Finally at the summit, as promised, the sun emerged and we were looking straight into Red Crater, or Hell, if you will. All that hard work for the most amazing view over the crater, Emerald Lakes and our first vantage point of Mt. Doom.

The next part of the hike only had one strenuous uphill portion then smooth sailing down, as the Irish girls started singing happy pub songs now, past boiling mud pools and thermal vents emitting steam from the earth. The last hour of the hike was through a tropical rainforest.

Our hostel that night was immaculate in the National Park, looking at the 3 volcanoes and it had a Jacuzzi in the middle of the courtyard to soak our muscles. We didn’t waste any time getting to the local pub for hamburgers bigger than we could fit our mouths around.

The next day I woke up and inquired at the desk on where to hire a mountain bike for the day. “Why don’t you take mine – it will probably fit you.” The guy offered up his bike.

“So where are you headed?” he asked.

“I’m going to ride to the ski area at the base of the volcano.”

His eyes widened, “Do you know how far that is?”

“33 km according to the map.” (that’s about 20 miles.)

“Yeah, uphill.”

“I know.”

He kind of smirked and rolled his eyes, probably thinking ‘what is wrong with this crazy chick? She’ll never make it.’

I had a grandiose thought of riding to the base, taking the chairlift partially up the volcano, and hiking the last 1200m to the top. 4 ½ hours later I made it to the ski area, but only one lift was running, to an uninspiring flat, so I ate lunch looking out at Mt. Doom and rode down (only an hour en retour.)

When I returned, the guy was impressed. “Wow, nobody has ever done that from here before.” I paid for it the next day. I could hardly walk, my bootie was so sore. Good thing I would be sitting on a bus all day.

Got back to Auckland in time for rush hour and a stroll through Prince Albert Park. I left at 4:30pm from the airport today and traveled back in time to arrive back at my office 5 hours before I left. The longest day of my life!