November 2007 -

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 - Jakarta

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

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.

June 2007

The New Majestic

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

http://www.newmajestichotel.com/


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

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

“How long is your assignment?”

“One year.”

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

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

Happy Ending

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

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

“Pai gooud.”

“No, pain not good.”

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

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

Hello Kitty

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

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

KL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The agent looks at me, and my passport…

“You travel alone?”

“Yes.”

“You work in Singapore?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nirvana

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harajuku Girls

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

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

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

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