MONDAY MARCH 8, 2010
Had room service again while I twisted Steve’s arm so we’d go to Chinatown. It was awesome, like the Disneyworld of Chinatowns. Ana Rasco would never leave here. There was even a Chinese dollar store—everything 2 yan! We’re going back now to have lunch, the famous dumplings everyone talks about, then on to the airport and back to the other hemisphere.
On the way took a picture of a Chinese construction worker. They work here 24/7 and in three days we have seen stores sprout up, and sidewalks changed. It’s amazing. Anyway, the guy was multitasking: laying cement, smoking, and talking on his cell. He caught us taking the picture and he smiled.
One thing I sadly did not find here in China was the Cuban monument to EL CHINO QUE SE CAYO EN UN POZO. Poor guy fell into a well and his tripas se hicieron agua Thus the song: Arre, pote-pote-pote; arre, pote-pote-pan.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
MARCH 3-5 HONG KONG (for about 36 hours)
Arrival in Hong Kong was on time, but we (I) was delayed at Passport control. “Just a random check,” they kept repeating, as they had me waiting while people with other-colored passports went right on in to the country. Steve waited for me beyond security. I wanted to run out and yell, “VIVA CUBA LIBRE!” and get some free publicity for my upcoming book, Seagull One: The Amazing True Story of Brothers to the Rescue, available September 2010 by the University Press of Florida, but I thought better of it. We had safely passed the first inspection when arriving in Hong Kong: the thermometer check. Right after you descend the steps of the transport bus from the plane to the terminal, airport personnel wearing hospital masks look at you menacingly while holding a thermometer in their hand. If you even look as if you’ve sneezed in the past month, they will detain you and stick the thermometer in your ear. They did it to all the suspicious children that were on board with us. Here, they only want your hard currency, not your germs.
We took the Airport Express train from the airport into the city, exactly 24 minutes (it would have been almost an hour by taxi) in a spotless high-speed train. It dropped us off at Central Station which is on Hong Kong island, and we took a taxi to the LKF Hotel. I still don’t remember what LKF stands for, except it’s the neighborhood we are in (although it sounds like a disease), which is like South Beach. It was crawling with people, literally spilling out of every restaurant and bar. If this was how it was on Wednesday night, I couldn’t imagine what the weekend would be like.
Our hotel is a boutique hotel (which stands for “really cool”) and the hotel staff wanted us to know just how cool they were. The décor was all sleek and brown and minimalist. Our room was huge, much bigger than our master bedroom at home, with a huge flat screen TV, espresso machine in the room, and “Look, we use Molten Brown products.” I’ve never had a hotel employee point out to me what kind of bath products they use. What they didn’t have was a proper converter for my American rollers and hair iron, so you can just imagine the bad hair day and a half I had in Hong Kong. It was 90 degrees and 90% humidity, and I actually had to wear a ponytail the second night.
We started hopping around the bars and finally settled on Italian food, which was delicious. It was fascinating to people watch, the different nationalities of people, most of them in their 30s, just out for fun, food, and drinks on a Wednesday evening. Every place was packed!
Getting around Hong Kong is not as easy as following the streets on your map, not that I can follow a map anyway, but here, when a map reads that two streets intersect, it isn’t exactly that way. The place is full of tall, skinny high rises to accommodate the dense population. In order not to have all these millions of people on the streets at the same time mixing with tourists like me trying to read a map, it’s as if between these tightly compacted long skinny buildings you had spider webs. Keep in mind that Hong Kong is all full of hills, so you have these high rises at all different levels. Imagine these spider webs being a series of stairs and escalators—yes, escalators, going up maybe seven storeys (that’s how they spell it here) between the buildings. These you navigate between the streets, and you may enter a restaurant perhaps on the fourth level, because restaurants as well as stores have different levels. Then there are huge walkways over the busier avenues and bridges. That way you have people walking at all levels, at all times. This place is crowded! But it works, traffic flows, it’s amazing. So as we walked up and down stairs and escalators, flowing with a progressively louder and more animated bunch of young professionals (Steve and I looked old-er), we ran into a Salsa Bar! OMG, Lily B., it looked like a class at Salsa Lovers down on Bird Road. I mean, these Chinos were moving and twirling and doing “la hermana por el brazo” moves. The music was blaring, people were crowded on the dance floor grinding out to salsa music, knowing how to do it. On stage were: the only black guy in Hong Kong, who looked like a Miami Dolphins right defensive tackle, wearing shades, and the only Latin-looking guy (Steve definitely doesn’t count) in Hong Kong, wearing a hat and beating a bongo. I was taken away to a tropical island (must have been the sweat dripping down my back) and thought of Celia Cruz:
Ese Chinito
Tiene tumbao
Y me lo dice
Con su mirada vi-rao
Tiene tumbao, tiene tumbao
Ese Chinito con los ojos virao
Anyway, I’ll further refrain from writing dance lyrics and being politically incorrect. Their moves were awesome, but they definitely needed more hip action.
“SAME-SAME”
The first time on this trip someone said to us, “same-same” we were being ripped off for a cab ride to Art’s neighborhood in Bangkok. When he charged us ten times more for the cab fare than he should, I said, “but that’s how much it costs to get to the airport.”
“Same-same.”
Sure buddy, it’s the same-same to you, but to me it’s moving the decimal point over.
Well, the previous night I, being penny-wise and dollar-foolish, decided to buy an Octopus card. That’s what they call the MRT here, the rapid transit system, and the card said, and the airport attendant (I think) said, that it could be used for three days on all public transportation, and unlimited, and I would get HKD$50 back at the end. Great! Well, we go to get on the Star Ferry Thursday morning (after a very cool breakfast in our cool dining area on the coolest 27th floor of the LKF building) and the Octopus doesn’t work. Thinking this is a Communist plot against Cubans in particular, I start discussing this with the Star Ferry female employee, who was so nice and told me I had to cross over to the other side and speak with someone at the tourist information desk. “But it’s supposed to be for all public transportation,” I said. “But they told me at the airport, but it’s NOT FAIR!”
“Same-same.”
I was wrong, the card was only for MRT transportation and not everything else. We walked around Kowloon, which is on the other side of Hong Kong Island, and where all the heavy-duty shopping is. Actually, there’s heavy duty shopping everywhere. Down in the underground passageways of the MRT there is Gucci and Lowve. Amazing. Went to the Hong Kong Historical Museum and the display halls were fascinating. They recreated streets and buildings. Thank God the Museum of Art was closed on Thursdays, because I really needed a foot massage. We went into this random place, lured by the neon flashing foot sign. That’s how my feet felt. I got a foot massage and a manicure (Chinitas do nails in China!) and Steve got a full-body massage. They had deals here, and packages, and you could combine services, and they were offering discounts. We both insisted on only 50 minute treatments (it went in 50, 75, and 100 minute treatments). The words to describe this foot massage can only be used in Harlequin romances, it was so good. It only started off a little weird, when they had me soak my feet in a bucket with what smelled like Pinesol. I guess I did need disinfecting. But after that, it was pure bliss. During one particular moment of ecstacy, the owner came in and said, “You husband extend 25 minutes, you want extend 25 minutes?” And I said no, thank you. Well, husband must have been in a huge state of ecstacy when they gave him the bill, cos we later realized they had charged us both DOUBLE. They had charged us both for 100 minute treatments.
“Same-same.”
Now that I had happy feet, we went to The Peninsula for high tea. Beautiful hotel, beautiful lobby, and beautiful sconces. Steve had the best Club sandwich of his life. We enjoyed this repast while listening to a quartet.
We were so tired after the massage and the tea that we had to go rest at the hotel. Drinks before dinner then off to eat in the neighborhood, and once again, the bars and restaurants and clubs were packed.
There must be good food in Hong Kong, but we didn’t eat it (The Peninsula tea didn’t count). We walked into the Yung Kee Restaurant, where the ambiance was hopping, and it was full of locals. This must be good. We waited a few minutes for a table, then were taken to the third level of the restaurant and put in a room—by ourselves. There were warning bells going off somewhere. First, it smelled like rancid oil. But we put that aside as we watched all these huge groups enjoying a variety of dishes on the lazy susans they put in the center of the table. Our table didn’t have one. We kept peeking out of the door to see what other people were eating. We ordered the specialties: roasted pork and roasted goose. It was delivered too soon, and cold.
“I’m sorry, could you please heat this up?” They took it away. It came back smothered in some brown sauce. Cold.
“I’m sorry, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” I insisted, while Steve said, “Just let it go, let it go.”
The waiter called in a reinforcement.
“That’s how we serve here, not hot,” she said. “Same-same.”
We actually walked away from the meal. From now on The Yung Kee restaurant would forever be the Yuck-Kee restaurant.
FRIDAY, MARCH 5, 2010
After another super cool breakfast in our swanky boutique hotel, we took the Peak Tram up to The Peak, and the views are everything they say they are. The tram ride up, in a wooden tram is great, and you go back down the same way in the same tram, so you’re like falling backward. People live up there, mostly ex-pats it seemed, and they were all doing the circular walk Steve and I were doing, walking their dogs and children in strollers. The circular one-hour walk is full of signs along the way explaining the trail and all the trees. Steve read every single sign.
After the wonderful morning at the Peak, we checked out and took the Airport Express train back to the airport. The wonderful part was being able to check our bags on this side of the bay so we didn’t have to lug them on the train with us. The services here are so efficient and timely; they make everything so much easier. Had lunch at a great restaurant in the airport, so we did finally have a great Chinese meal in Hong Kong.
Arrival in Hong Kong was on time, but we (I) was delayed at Passport control. “Just a random check,” they kept repeating, as they had me waiting while people with other-colored passports went right on in to the country. Steve waited for me beyond security. I wanted to run out and yell, “VIVA CUBA LIBRE!” and get some free publicity for my upcoming book, Seagull One: The Amazing True Story of Brothers to the Rescue, available September 2010 by the University Press of Florida, but I thought better of it. We had safely passed the first inspection when arriving in Hong Kong: the thermometer check. Right after you descend the steps of the transport bus from the plane to the terminal, airport personnel wearing hospital masks look at you menacingly while holding a thermometer in their hand. If you even look as if you’ve sneezed in the past month, they will detain you and stick the thermometer in your ear. They did it to all the suspicious children that were on board with us. Here, they only want your hard currency, not your germs.
We took the Airport Express train from the airport into the city, exactly 24 minutes (it would have been almost an hour by taxi) in a spotless high-speed train. It dropped us off at Central Station which is on Hong Kong island, and we took a taxi to the LKF Hotel. I still don’t remember what LKF stands for, except it’s the neighborhood we are in (although it sounds like a disease), which is like South Beach. It was crawling with people, literally spilling out of every restaurant and bar. If this was how it was on Wednesday night, I couldn’t imagine what the weekend would be like.
Our hotel is a boutique hotel (which stands for “really cool”) and the hotel staff wanted us to know just how cool they were. The décor was all sleek and brown and minimalist. Our room was huge, much bigger than our master bedroom at home, with a huge flat screen TV, espresso machine in the room, and “Look, we use Molten Brown products.” I’ve never had a hotel employee point out to me what kind of bath products they use. What they didn’t have was a proper converter for my American rollers and hair iron, so you can just imagine the bad hair day and a half I had in Hong Kong. It was 90 degrees and 90% humidity, and I actually had to wear a ponytail the second night.
We started hopping around the bars and finally settled on Italian food, which was delicious. It was fascinating to people watch, the different nationalities of people, most of them in their 30s, just out for fun, food, and drinks on a Wednesday evening. Every place was packed!
Getting around Hong Kong is not as easy as following the streets on your map, not that I can follow a map anyway, but here, when a map reads that two streets intersect, it isn’t exactly that way. The place is full of tall, skinny high rises to accommodate the dense population. In order not to have all these millions of people on the streets at the same time mixing with tourists like me trying to read a map, it’s as if between these tightly compacted long skinny buildings you had spider webs. Keep in mind that Hong Kong is all full of hills, so you have these high rises at all different levels. Imagine these spider webs being a series of stairs and escalators—yes, escalators, going up maybe seven storeys (that’s how they spell it here) between the buildings. These you navigate between the streets, and you may enter a restaurant perhaps on the fourth level, because restaurants as well as stores have different levels. Then there are huge walkways over the busier avenues and bridges. That way you have people walking at all levels, at all times. This place is crowded! But it works, traffic flows, it’s amazing. So as we walked up and down stairs and escalators, flowing with a progressively louder and more animated bunch of young professionals (Steve and I looked old-er), we ran into a Salsa Bar! OMG, Lily B., it looked like a class at Salsa Lovers down on Bird Road. I mean, these Chinos were moving and twirling and doing “la hermana por el brazo” moves. The music was blaring, people were crowded on the dance floor grinding out to salsa music, knowing how to do it. On stage were: the only black guy in Hong Kong, who looked like a Miami Dolphins right defensive tackle, wearing shades, and the only Latin-looking guy (Steve definitely doesn’t count) in Hong Kong, wearing a hat and beating a bongo. I was taken away to a tropical island (must have been the sweat dripping down my back) and thought of Celia Cruz:
Ese Chinito
Tiene tumbao
Y me lo dice
Con su mirada vi-rao
Tiene tumbao, tiene tumbao
Ese Chinito con los ojos virao
Anyway, I’ll further refrain from writing dance lyrics and being politically incorrect. Their moves were awesome, but they definitely needed more hip action.
“SAME-SAME”
The first time on this trip someone said to us, “same-same” we were being ripped off for a cab ride to Art’s neighborhood in Bangkok. When he charged us ten times more for the cab fare than he should, I said, “but that’s how much it costs to get to the airport.”
“Same-same.”
Sure buddy, it’s the same-same to you, but to me it’s moving the decimal point over.
Well, the previous night I, being penny-wise and dollar-foolish, decided to buy an Octopus card. That’s what they call the MRT here, the rapid transit system, and the card said, and the airport attendant (I think) said, that it could be used for three days on all public transportation, and unlimited, and I would get HKD$50 back at the end. Great! Well, we go to get on the Star Ferry Thursday morning (after a very cool breakfast in our cool dining area on the coolest 27th floor of the LKF building) and the Octopus doesn’t work. Thinking this is a Communist plot against Cubans in particular, I start discussing this with the Star Ferry female employee, who was so nice and told me I had to cross over to the other side and speak with someone at the tourist information desk. “But it’s supposed to be for all public transportation,” I said. “But they told me at the airport, but it’s NOT FAIR!”
“Same-same.”
I was wrong, the card was only for MRT transportation and not everything else. We walked around Kowloon, which is on the other side of Hong Kong Island, and where all the heavy-duty shopping is. Actually, there’s heavy duty shopping everywhere. Down in the underground passageways of the MRT there is Gucci and Lowve. Amazing. Went to the Hong Kong Historical Museum and the display halls were fascinating. They recreated streets and buildings. Thank God the Museum of Art was closed on Thursdays, because I really needed a foot massage. We went into this random place, lured by the neon flashing foot sign. That’s how my feet felt. I got a foot massage and a manicure (Chinitas do nails in China!) and Steve got a full-body massage. They had deals here, and packages, and you could combine services, and they were offering discounts. We both insisted on only 50 minute treatments (it went in 50, 75, and 100 minute treatments). The words to describe this foot massage can only be used in Harlequin romances, it was so good. It only started off a little weird, when they had me soak my feet in a bucket with what smelled like Pinesol. I guess I did need disinfecting. But after that, it was pure bliss. During one particular moment of ecstacy, the owner came in and said, “You husband extend 25 minutes, you want extend 25 minutes?” And I said no, thank you. Well, husband must have been in a huge state of ecstacy when they gave him the bill, cos we later realized they had charged us both DOUBLE. They had charged us both for 100 minute treatments.
“Same-same.”
Now that I had happy feet, we went to The Peninsula for high tea. Beautiful hotel, beautiful lobby, and beautiful sconces. Steve had the best Club sandwich of his life. We enjoyed this repast while listening to a quartet.
We were so tired after the massage and the tea that we had to go rest at the hotel. Drinks before dinner then off to eat in the neighborhood, and once again, the bars and restaurants and clubs were packed.
There must be good food in Hong Kong, but we didn’t eat it (The Peninsula tea didn’t count). We walked into the Yung Kee Restaurant, where the ambiance was hopping, and it was full of locals. This must be good. We waited a few minutes for a table, then were taken to the third level of the restaurant and put in a room—by ourselves. There were warning bells going off somewhere. First, it smelled like rancid oil. But we put that aside as we watched all these huge groups enjoying a variety of dishes on the lazy susans they put in the center of the table. Our table didn’t have one. We kept peeking out of the door to see what other people were eating. We ordered the specialties: roasted pork and roasted goose. It was delivered too soon, and cold.
“I’m sorry, could you please heat this up?” They took it away. It came back smothered in some brown sauce. Cold.
“I’m sorry, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” I insisted, while Steve said, “Just let it go, let it go.”
The waiter called in a reinforcement.
“That’s how we serve here, not hot,” she said. “Same-same.”
We actually walked away from the meal. From now on The Yung Kee restaurant would forever be the Yuck-Kee restaurant.
FRIDAY, MARCH 5, 2010
After another super cool breakfast in our swanky boutique hotel, we took the Peak Tram up to The Peak, and the views are everything they say they are. The tram ride up, in a wooden tram is great, and you go back down the same way in the same tram, so you’re like falling backward. People live up there, mostly ex-pats it seemed, and they were all doing the circular walk Steve and I were doing, walking their dogs and children in strollers. The circular one-hour walk is full of signs along the way explaining the trail and all the trees. Steve read every single sign.
After the wonderful morning at the Peak, we checked out and took the Airport Express train back to the airport. The wonderful part was being able to check our bags on this side of the bay so we didn’t have to lug them on the train with us. The services here are so efficient and timely; they make everything so much easier. Had lunch at a great restaurant in the airport, so we did finally have a great Chinese meal in Hong Kong.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Singapore cont'd
I wanted to buy the girls sarongs off the street on Serangoon Street because Art told me to, but Steve was too hot, so we went to the hotel for an a/c break. It seems this March 2 was the hottest on record in Singapore history – 40C which is about 101 or 102, because if a Cuban baby has “cuarenta de fiebre” it’s time to call in the grandmothers.
Good thing we came back to the hotel because it was time for a manicure, particularly since the nails on my right hand were now curry-colored. I couldn’t justify the $45 manicure at the hotel, so I had to do them myself. And this was supposed to be vacation!
Dinner at Iggy’s at The Four Seasons Hotel in Singapore was out of this world. Ten courses, and as each plate got bigger and funkier, the serving size got smaller and smaller. Their thing at Iggy’s is to break down the food almost to its chemical components, then they work with it and turn it into a work of art. So back in the kitchen, which was open and we could see the chefs in there, plating the food and occasionally taking a bite, they must have both chemists and artists, because it is the most complicated and beautiful food I’ve ever eaten. “Please enjoy,” our server said to us every time. He didn’t say it when he bought us the bill, though. It would not have been so bad if we were stuffed into a comatose state, but we were merely “satisfied.” Back in Miami, we would have gone home after that dinner and had café con leche y tostadas. Actually, it was amazing food, so beautiful, so delicate, so the OPPOSITE of lunch. We didn’t have to use our hands once! We were in the private dining room of Iggy’s, an l-shaped wood table where there were two other couples, but at discreet enough a distance that we wouldn’t talk across the table and say: “what was that I just ate? It sure was purty.”
The Four Seasons in Singapore must have been a Marriott or something, cos girlies and Fernandez family, it looked exactly like the hotel in Atlanta we stayed in for Pablo’s wedding. Except it was fashionably decorated and we would not have gotten away with having a cooler full of snacks in the lobby.
Steve was too tired to go to the Botanic gardens so we turned in early, and a little hungry.
WEDNESDAY MARCH 3, 2010; Singapore
I could really use a bottle of Febreeze right about now.
Forgot to mention that the first night we did the tourist thing (as if everything else we’ve done has not been “the tourist thing”) and had a Singapore Sling at the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel. I almost slipped at the bar, and it wasn’t because of the drink. Here it’s like at Outback or the other place where you throw the peanut shells on the floor. I guess it’s the only place in the city where you’re allowed to toss stuff on the floor, and boy, do people may a go of it!
In the morning, went to the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd right down from our hotel to pray for a bit, and yes, Jesus was in the tabernacle but the church was so ugly didn’t even take a picture of it. Thank God the prayers still count.
From there we visited the Sultan Temple in Kampung Glam, which is next to Little India. There was a field trip of little girls, all about 7-9 years old, that wonderful, perfect age when little girls know they are on top of the world and can do anything. They each and every one had a digital camera and were snapping away during their visit. In the mosque, we were not allowed in the prayer area or even to touch the carpeting.
Went around the shops and bought some silk scarves. The pashminas here are only about $10, just like in Miami, except they say they are 80% pashmina wool (or so they say). I would have bought tons but it is SO DANG HOT! I didn’t even want to touch them. Plus, I found this really cool little box that when you open the top, a snake comes out and bites you. I thought Ryan would really like that one and could share it with those cootie-infested girls at preschool.
The tour at the Museum of Asian Civilization was wonderful, basically covering the religions of Singapore. The museum used to be the registration house for the city, and our German tour guide emphasized the importance of Stamford Raffles who basically developed the city into what it is now. It was interesting how the winds had everything to do with people of different cultures and religions sailing into Singapore for trading opportunities. The winds didn’t change for six months, so they had to stay, and that’s how people laid down roots here, and why Chinese Buddhists, Indian Hindis and the Muslims. Christianity was not mentioned at all, even though Raffles, who developed the town, was a Christian. The reason, she said, is because Christians are only 3% of the population here. I guess it would take someone to donate several million to the museum before a section on the Christian influence would become part of the tour. When she mentioned that Hinduism was the oldest religion in the world, I begged to differ. “What about Judaism? Hasn’t Judaism been around for almost six thousand?” She answered that she thought it was Hinduism. So, in my new role as Defender of the Faiths, I looked it all up. As usual, I was exaggerating by about 1,000 years. Seems she was kind of right, since the Hindu text, the Vedas, was put together in 1500 BCE. However, Abraham was born in 1800 BCE, so officially, God spoke to him first. However, Moses didn’t put the Torah together until 1400 BCE, and that point is considered the beginning of Judaism. That should teach you to write everything down the first time you hear it!
So later during the tour, she took me aside and told me where the nearest synagogue was.
Random observations:
The hotel staff in Asia are always so elegantly dressed. It had been ages since I’ve seen women wearing pantyhose. And it’s just as hot here, or even hotter, than in Miami so that’s no excuse. The uniforms at all these hotels are just lovely, and the Asian women really know how to do makeup. It’s always perfect and they are experts at mascara. Also, on all these trips, there has not been one single male flight attendant.
On the way to the airport we noticed so many American fast-food restaurants: Carl’s Jr., Swensen’s, 7-11’s everywhere, Friday’s, etc. Oh, and did I forget to mention, girls: a seven-storey (yes, they spell it that way here) Forever 21! The shopping here can only be described as orgasmic for those who love it. It’s as if you took Bal Harbour, Rodeo Drive, Aventura Mall, and Worth Avenue and exponentially replicated them, piled them on top of each other, and placed them in a square mile. It’s like a Las Vegas of mega-upscale malls. We lasted about 40 minutes there. I blamed it on my allergies. Lots of people wear masks here and they look at you askew if you’re sneezing.
Another observation is that the moving sidewalks here are called travellators, and they speak to you, telling you when to get off, to take hold of the handrail, and to be aware of when you are approaching the end. Travellators treat everyone as if they were stupid and blind. I thought this as I tripped over the end of the travellator. On to Hong Kong!
Good thing we came back to the hotel because it was time for a manicure, particularly since the nails on my right hand were now curry-colored. I couldn’t justify the $45 manicure at the hotel, so I had to do them myself. And this was supposed to be vacation!
Dinner at Iggy’s at The Four Seasons Hotel in Singapore was out of this world. Ten courses, and as each plate got bigger and funkier, the serving size got smaller and smaller. Their thing at Iggy’s is to break down the food almost to its chemical components, then they work with it and turn it into a work of art. So back in the kitchen, which was open and we could see the chefs in there, plating the food and occasionally taking a bite, they must have both chemists and artists, because it is the most complicated and beautiful food I’ve ever eaten. “Please enjoy,” our server said to us every time. He didn’t say it when he bought us the bill, though. It would not have been so bad if we were stuffed into a comatose state, but we were merely “satisfied.” Back in Miami, we would have gone home after that dinner and had café con leche y tostadas. Actually, it was amazing food, so beautiful, so delicate, so the OPPOSITE of lunch. We didn’t have to use our hands once! We were in the private dining room of Iggy’s, an l-shaped wood table where there were two other couples, but at discreet enough a distance that we wouldn’t talk across the table and say: “what was that I just ate? It sure was purty.”
The Four Seasons in Singapore must have been a Marriott or something, cos girlies and Fernandez family, it looked exactly like the hotel in Atlanta we stayed in for Pablo’s wedding. Except it was fashionably decorated and we would not have gotten away with having a cooler full of snacks in the lobby.
Steve was too tired to go to the Botanic gardens so we turned in early, and a little hungry.
WEDNESDAY MARCH 3, 2010; Singapore
I could really use a bottle of Febreeze right about now.
Forgot to mention that the first night we did the tourist thing (as if everything else we’ve done has not been “the tourist thing”) and had a Singapore Sling at the Long Bar at Raffles Hotel. I almost slipped at the bar, and it wasn’t because of the drink. Here it’s like at Outback or the other place where you throw the peanut shells on the floor. I guess it’s the only place in the city where you’re allowed to toss stuff on the floor, and boy, do people may a go of it!
In the morning, went to the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd right down from our hotel to pray for a bit, and yes, Jesus was in the tabernacle but the church was so ugly didn’t even take a picture of it. Thank God the prayers still count.
From there we visited the Sultan Temple in Kampung Glam, which is next to Little India. There was a field trip of little girls, all about 7-9 years old, that wonderful, perfect age when little girls know they are on top of the world and can do anything. They each and every one had a digital camera and were snapping away during their visit. In the mosque, we were not allowed in the prayer area or even to touch the carpeting.
Went around the shops and bought some silk scarves. The pashminas here are only about $10, just like in Miami, except they say they are 80% pashmina wool (or so they say). I would have bought tons but it is SO DANG HOT! I didn’t even want to touch them. Plus, I found this really cool little box that when you open the top, a snake comes out and bites you. I thought Ryan would really like that one and could share it with those cootie-infested girls at preschool.
The tour at the Museum of Asian Civilization was wonderful, basically covering the religions of Singapore. The museum used to be the registration house for the city, and our German tour guide emphasized the importance of Stamford Raffles who basically developed the city into what it is now. It was interesting how the winds had everything to do with people of different cultures and religions sailing into Singapore for trading opportunities. The winds didn’t change for six months, so they had to stay, and that’s how people laid down roots here, and why Chinese Buddhists, Indian Hindis and the Muslims. Christianity was not mentioned at all, even though Raffles, who developed the town, was a Christian. The reason, she said, is because Christians are only 3% of the population here. I guess it would take someone to donate several million to the museum before a section on the Christian influence would become part of the tour. When she mentioned that Hinduism was the oldest religion in the world, I begged to differ. “What about Judaism? Hasn’t Judaism been around for almost six thousand?” She answered that she thought it was Hinduism. So, in my new role as Defender of the Faiths, I looked it all up. As usual, I was exaggerating by about 1,000 years. Seems she was kind of right, since the Hindu text, the Vedas, was put together in 1500 BCE. However, Abraham was born in 1800 BCE, so officially, God spoke to him first. However, Moses didn’t put the Torah together until 1400 BCE, and that point is considered the beginning of Judaism. That should teach you to write everything down the first time you hear it!
So later during the tour, she took me aside and told me where the nearest synagogue was.
Random observations:
The hotel staff in Asia are always so elegantly dressed. It had been ages since I’ve seen women wearing pantyhose. And it’s just as hot here, or even hotter, than in Miami so that’s no excuse. The uniforms at all these hotels are just lovely, and the Asian women really know how to do makeup. It’s always perfect and they are experts at mascara. Also, on all these trips, there has not been one single male flight attendant.
On the way to the airport we noticed so many American fast-food restaurants: Carl’s Jr., Swensen’s, 7-11’s everywhere, Friday’s, etc. Oh, and did I forget to mention, girls: a seven-storey (yes, they spell it that way here) Forever 21! The shopping here can only be described as orgasmic for those who love it. It’s as if you took Bal Harbour, Rodeo Drive, Aventura Mall, and Worth Avenue and exponentially replicated them, piled them on top of each other, and placed them in a square mile. It’s like a Las Vegas of mega-upscale malls. We lasted about 40 minutes there. I blamed it on my allergies. Lots of people wear masks here and they look at you askew if you’re sneezing.
Another observation is that the moving sidewalks here are called travellators, and they speak to you, telling you when to get off, to take hold of the handrail, and to be aware of when you are approaching the end. Travellators treat everyone as if they were stupid and blind. I thought this as I tripped over the end of the travellator. On to Hong Kong!
Monday, March 1, 2010
Tuesday, March 1, 2010 AM Singapore
TUESDAY March 2, 2010
Breakfast on our floor then taxi to Chinatown. Visited the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple, and lit an incense for Noi. Yes, the relic here is housed in a huge glass encased room with a stupa encasing the Buddha’s tooth. Just outside that big room is another room where there were some monks eating and studying and chanting. Later, they came and blessed people. Around that are spaces for meditation. They have a great Buddhist Culture Museum. The temple is only a few years old and it’s beautiful. The top floor has a rooftop garden and pagoda with 10,000 buddhas and the largest prayer wheel in the world.
Visited the Sri Mariamman Temple, a Hindu temple dedicated to the Mother Goddess (like a church for Mary, almost), but it was being renovated so there was not much to see. Visited the Fuk Tak Chi Museam which used to be the oldest temple in Singapore, when this area was right on the water!
We went through the cleanest Chinatown ever! I kept wanting to buy stuff and Steve kept holding me back, not giving me the required Singapore dollars I needed.
“But we’re in Chinatown!” I protested.
“We’re going to CHINA!” he retorted.
“Yeah, but, they probably don’t have Chinatowns there!” I yelled back.
“It’s ALL Chinatown,” he said. And all this just because I wanted to buy a swirly drum thing for Ryan. I needed Ana Rasco, I needed to call in a friend, a lifeline, but Steve wouldn’t lend me his phone.
I went into a Chinese herb shop because I was having an allergy attack and I bought some pills to ward off sinus problems and evil airs. I stopped sneezing but I couldn’t get rid of Steve.
Then we walked through Singapore City and all the areas we had walked the night before and kind of remembered them.
Took a taxi to Little India and had the best meal. The Four Seasons had printed a little book with suggestions for restaurants. This one was called Gandhi Restaurant (how can you lose with a name like that?) Steve just wanted air conditioning. To call this a restaurant was a stretch. It opened out onto the street, the kitchen right there in your face with a queue of people waiting for take-away. This part was not air conditioned. One of the workers motioned for us to go into the “restaurant” part. It was an unadorned square room with formica tables, packed to the last seat, of Indian men. Just men. I felt so female and pale, and unclean again. We were unclean, we were sweating like pigs. But there was air conditioning somewhere in the room. You waited until someone got up, or actually, until you were told where to sit, which was at a table with other Indian men. Unfortunately for the poor guy who was minding his own business eating off his banana leaf with his hands, we were told to sit with him. And I mean, this is not like at a food court where you might share a table but you share your own space off that table. No. Here, I sat directly across from this man, our knees almost touching. He ate with his right hand (you NEVER eat with your left hand) and played with his I-phone with his left hand.
There are no menus here, no utensils, no napkins, no specials of the day, no wine list. You are told where to sit and then given a banana leaf. This is your placemat and dish. A guy comes by with a huge platter of rice and just dumps it on your leaf. Another guy comes with these steels buckets of curry, coconut milk, vegetables, and ladles them out of the bucket and dumps these in piles on your banana leaf. You eat with your right hand, and of course, since you know YOU CAN NOT EAT WITH YOUR LEFT HAND, you keep it securely fastened between your knees. But of course, my nose itched, it started running from the Chinese herbs and the allergies and I had to use my left hand because my right hand was full of rice and curry and spinach. It was one of the most delicious meals I have ever had, and it cleared my sinuses, too. After the meal, you go to a sink that’s in one corner and queue up with all the very dark Indian men, and wash your hands in a sink, and then dry them on your pants because there are no paper towels. It was THE BEST!
I wanted to buy the girls sarongs off the street on Serangoon Street because Art told me to, but Steve was too hot, so we went to the hotel for an a/c break.
Breakfast on our floor then taxi to Chinatown. Visited the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple, and lit an incense for Noi. Yes, the relic here is housed in a huge glass encased room with a stupa encasing the Buddha’s tooth. Just outside that big room is another room where there were some monks eating and studying and chanting. Later, they came and blessed people. Around that are spaces for meditation. They have a great Buddhist Culture Museum. The temple is only a few years old and it’s beautiful. The top floor has a rooftop garden and pagoda with 10,000 buddhas and the largest prayer wheel in the world.
Visited the Sri Mariamman Temple, a Hindu temple dedicated to the Mother Goddess (like a church for Mary, almost), but it was being renovated so there was not much to see. Visited the Fuk Tak Chi Museam which used to be the oldest temple in Singapore, when this area was right on the water!
We went through the cleanest Chinatown ever! I kept wanting to buy stuff and Steve kept holding me back, not giving me the required Singapore dollars I needed.
“But we’re in Chinatown!” I protested.
“We’re going to CHINA!” he retorted.
“Yeah, but, they probably don’t have Chinatowns there!” I yelled back.
“It’s ALL Chinatown,” he said. And all this just because I wanted to buy a swirly drum thing for Ryan. I needed Ana Rasco, I needed to call in a friend, a lifeline, but Steve wouldn’t lend me his phone.
I went into a Chinese herb shop because I was having an allergy attack and I bought some pills to ward off sinus problems and evil airs. I stopped sneezing but I couldn’t get rid of Steve.
Then we walked through Singapore City and all the areas we had walked the night before and kind of remembered them.
Took a taxi to Little India and had the best meal. The Four Seasons had printed a little book with suggestions for restaurants. This one was called Gandhi Restaurant (how can you lose with a name like that?) Steve just wanted air conditioning. To call this a restaurant was a stretch. It opened out onto the street, the kitchen right there in your face with a queue of people waiting for take-away. This part was not air conditioned. One of the workers motioned for us to go into the “restaurant” part. It was an unadorned square room with formica tables, packed to the last seat, of Indian men. Just men. I felt so female and pale, and unclean again. We were unclean, we were sweating like pigs. But there was air conditioning somewhere in the room. You waited until someone got up, or actually, until you were told where to sit, which was at a table with other Indian men. Unfortunately for the poor guy who was minding his own business eating off his banana leaf with his hands, we were told to sit with him. And I mean, this is not like at a food court where you might share a table but you share your own space off that table. No. Here, I sat directly across from this man, our knees almost touching. He ate with his right hand (you NEVER eat with your left hand) and played with his I-phone with his left hand.
There are no menus here, no utensils, no napkins, no specials of the day, no wine list. You are told where to sit and then given a banana leaf. This is your placemat and dish. A guy comes by with a huge platter of rice and just dumps it on your leaf. Another guy comes with these steels buckets of curry, coconut milk, vegetables, and ladles them out of the bucket and dumps these in piles on your banana leaf. You eat with your right hand, and of course, since you know YOU CAN NOT EAT WITH YOUR LEFT HAND, you keep it securely fastened between your knees. But of course, my nose itched, it started running from the Chinese herbs and the allergies and I had to use my left hand because my right hand was full of rice and curry and spinach. It was one of the most delicious meals I have ever had, and it cleared my sinuses, too. After the meal, you go to a sink that’s in one corner and queue up with all the very dark Indian men, and wash your hands in a sink, and then dry them on your pants because there are no paper towels. It was THE BEST!
I wanted to buy the girls sarongs off the street on Serangoon Street because Art told me to, but Steve was too hot, so we went to the hotel for an a/c break.
Sunday afternoon Feb 28 to Monday May 1 (Singapore)
Sunday afternoon (cont’d)
Every afternoon at the Oriental they bring you a meriendita to the room. One day it was a fresh squeezed juice, with orchids on the side and the other day it was a little raspberry mouse with mango on top, and orchids on the side.
From our floor to ceiling window in the room, the colors from the sunset, hitting the river and the other buildings was spectacular from our room. Sunday night went to the Sala Rim Nam Restaurant of the Oriental, across the river, and had a seventeen course Thai dinner with dancing. I wish I would have been dancing because I was so stuffed I almost couldn’t dig myself out of the pit under the table (it only looked like we were sitting on the floor). Had a hard time putting in my contacts the next morning after spending the night trying to bend back my fingers like the dancers did.
Bangkok is beautiful at night on the river, and there seems to be just as much activity, but with lights everywhere. And under that full moon you forget how dirty the water really is. Saw a huge party boat which I’m sure was full of Americans and Germans dancing bad disco, making a lot of noise, but they seemed to be having a lot of fun.
MONDAY MARCH 1, 2010
Today at midday we leave to Singapore, and I will miss Thailand, still so much to see, such wonderful people.
Did yoga again, with a Chinese instructor, and she was wonderful. Then went shopping/fighting with Steve. I hate shopping as much as he does but somebody has to do it. I HAD to find a Thai princess doll for my goddaughter because I bring her back a doll from every country. We found a great huge shop right around the corner from the hotel that had authentic Thai products. They even wrapped the Thai princess in a bamboo box.
Going back to the airport we took photos of the billboards, which are, I swear, as long as a football field. The airport continues to amaze me, the long steel and glass caterpillar terminals extending from the center—it’s fantastic. The airport terminals have more stores and shopping areas than gates. It’s amazing the high end stuff they have, the variety of items and the QUANTITIES.
Finally ate sticky rice and mango, from a store in the airport, and it was DELICIOUS. Noi, I need a good sticky rice recipe because apparently you have to buy a special kind of rice. Now I get what Pan, our guide on our trekking adventure, meant by having a “Buddha-belly” cos eating a lot of this sweet sticky rice and mango will definitely give you a gut. An enlightened gut.
The other day we even ate sushi at the airport; the quality of food is superb.
This is not your mother’s Asia. The only thing I miss is not missing America. Everything here is so modern, so efficient, so properly marked, so cutting-edge. I have yet to say: oh, well, back home we have this and that, or do it this way or that. It is so easy. I’ve been to European airports and airports in Greece and the Caribbean. They are no where NEAR as efficient, beautiful, or modern as in Asia. Everyone speaks English (that may change when we get to Shanghai) and it’s so easy to get around. It’s as if nothing is foreign even though everything is. Everything is convenient.
From the air before landing in Singapore you could see hundreds and hundreds of container ships in the harbor. I also noticed that the tops of buildings were clean. I thought the cleanliness thing was an exaggeration, but it’s not. We landed at 5pm and before 6pm we were already in our hotel room. We just flew through passport control, baggage pick up, taxi service, drive to the hotel, and check-in. No prayer-hand bows, though, and of course, the people look different: Indian, Malaysian, Chinese, a mixture of these, and others.
Girls, the taxi smelled exactly like popcorn rice.
Leaving the airport reminded me of the entrance to Key Biscayne, but with water only on one side: rimmed with lush palm trees and other tropical trees.
The Fairmont Hotel is very nice, very ultra-modern, and no flowers on arrival. We’re on the 23rd floor where there’s our own little fitness club (which we use to go steal water bottles from) and a lounge area where they serve amazing breakfast and have another spread in the late afternoon for happy hour (free drinks!). Our room has a small terrace and we have a great view of the city. We’re right across from The Raffles Hotel and we can see the overweight tourists swimming in the poor at The Raffles. It’s very hot here, in the 90s, but the air is cleaner and it’s less noisy so it doesn’t bother us as much.
The irons on this side of the world are the best. Big and heavy and you don’t have to press down on clothes, like the ones back home where Tanya has to press down on my clothes. I would take one home but then I’d have to rewire my house to 220 or 230 or whatever it is here.
After having drinks on our floor lounge we took a taxi to Indochine Restaurant on the water. Had the best steamed sea bass and asparagus. Then we had a lemongrass crème brullee (sp), and too much wine. We staggered back to the hotel,rounding the quay, crossing bridges, walking in front of the Parliament building, the Padang, the Cricket Club, etc., but not really remembering.
Every afternoon at the Oriental they bring you a meriendita to the room. One day it was a fresh squeezed juice, with orchids on the side and the other day it was a little raspberry mouse with mango on top, and orchids on the side.
From our floor to ceiling window in the room, the colors from the sunset, hitting the river and the other buildings was spectacular from our room. Sunday night went to the Sala Rim Nam Restaurant of the Oriental, across the river, and had a seventeen course Thai dinner with dancing. I wish I would have been dancing because I was so stuffed I almost couldn’t dig myself out of the pit under the table (it only looked like we were sitting on the floor). Had a hard time putting in my contacts the next morning after spending the night trying to bend back my fingers like the dancers did.
Bangkok is beautiful at night on the river, and there seems to be just as much activity, but with lights everywhere. And under that full moon you forget how dirty the water really is. Saw a huge party boat which I’m sure was full of Americans and Germans dancing bad disco, making a lot of noise, but they seemed to be having a lot of fun.
MONDAY MARCH 1, 2010
Today at midday we leave to Singapore, and I will miss Thailand, still so much to see, such wonderful people.
Did yoga again, with a Chinese instructor, and she was wonderful. Then went shopping/fighting with Steve. I hate shopping as much as he does but somebody has to do it. I HAD to find a Thai princess doll for my goddaughter because I bring her back a doll from every country. We found a great huge shop right around the corner from the hotel that had authentic Thai products. They even wrapped the Thai princess in a bamboo box.
Going back to the airport we took photos of the billboards, which are, I swear, as long as a football field. The airport continues to amaze me, the long steel and glass caterpillar terminals extending from the center—it’s fantastic. The airport terminals have more stores and shopping areas than gates. It’s amazing the high end stuff they have, the variety of items and the QUANTITIES.
Finally ate sticky rice and mango, from a store in the airport, and it was DELICIOUS. Noi, I need a good sticky rice recipe because apparently you have to buy a special kind of rice. Now I get what Pan, our guide on our trekking adventure, meant by having a “Buddha-belly” cos eating a lot of this sweet sticky rice and mango will definitely give you a gut. An enlightened gut.
The other day we even ate sushi at the airport; the quality of food is superb.
This is not your mother’s Asia. The only thing I miss is not missing America. Everything here is so modern, so efficient, so properly marked, so cutting-edge. I have yet to say: oh, well, back home we have this and that, or do it this way or that. It is so easy. I’ve been to European airports and airports in Greece and the Caribbean. They are no where NEAR as efficient, beautiful, or modern as in Asia. Everyone speaks English (that may change when we get to Shanghai) and it’s so easy to get around. It’s as if nothing is foreign even though everything is. Everything is convenient.
From the air before landing in Singapore you could see hundreds and hundreds of container ships in the harbor. I also noticed that the tops of buildings were clean. I thought the cleanliness thing was an exaggeration, but it’s not. We landed at 5pm and before 6pm we were already in our hotel room. We just flew through passport control, baggage pick up, taxi service, drive to the hotel, and check-in. No prayer-hand bows, though, and of course, the people look different: Indian, Malaysian, Chinese, a mixture of these, and others.
Girls, the taxi smelled exactly like popcorn rice.
Leaving the airport reminded me of the entrance to Key Biscayne, but with water only on one side: rimmed with lush palm trees and other tropical trees.
The Fairmont Hotel is very nice, very ultra-modern, and no flowers on arrival. We’re on the 23rd floor where there’s our own little fitness club (which we use to go steal water bottles from) and a lounge area where they serve amazing breakfast and have another spread in the late afternoon for happy hour (free drinks!). Our room has a small terrace and we have a great view of the city. We’re right across from The Raffles Hotel and we can see the overweight tourists swimming in the poor at The Raffles. It’s very hot here, in the 90s, but the air is cleaner and it’s less noisy so it doesn’t bother us as much.
The irons on this side of the world are the best. Big and heavy and you don’t have to press down on clothes, like the ones back home where Tanya has to press down on my clothes. I would take one home but then I’d have to rewire my house to 220 or 230 or whatever it is here.
After having drinks on our floor lounge we took a taxi to Indochine Restaurant on the water. Had the best steamed sea bass and asparagus. Then we had a lemongrass crème brullee (sp), and too much wine. We staggered back to the hotel,rounding the quay, crossing bridges, walking in front of the Parliament building, the Padang, the Cricket Club, etc., but not really remembering.
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