Administrative Notice

I've been having difficulties with Phanfare, which is why I haven't uploaded any photos in a while. Their support line has been helping me troubleshoot, so hopefully I'll be able to add more pics in the next few days. Stay tuned!

Singaporean T-shirt Slogan, II

Don't be serious I'm chill now

Aggravations in Any Language

One night last week I walked into the master bathroom to find water pouring from the light fixture above. "That can't be good," I thought.

Turns out the water heater was busted. Fortunately, when you live in a serviced apartment, you simply place a call to guest services, and it is replaced within 24 hours. 

Of greater concern is what this event portends. 

You may recall Pat's water heater experience in Paris in the winter of 2000. He had been interviewing at universities across the U.S. for two and a half weeks; I had arranged to meet him at the airport and fly back with him for a visit. We returned to his apartment to find a notice from the fire department taped to the front door. Inside, the windows had been broken and the electricity was shut off since les pompiers had to break in to turn off the water. (Why no one had figured out how to contact the landlady in that time is a mystery.) The burst water heater had flooded everyone below, forcing the restaurant on the ground floor to close and exploding a large box of couscous in the apartment of Pat's dreadlocked jazz singer neighbor, known for distilling his own gin.

You may also recall our leaks from ice damage in Boston the week before our departure. It seems we have no luck with water.

I had less luck with online grocery shopping. Cold Storage offers a service much like Peapod at home. Since grocery shopping with two kids in a stroller isn't always (ever) enjoyable, I thought I'd give it a try. Even though I checked the box that said, make no substitutions and do not call me, I got a call the next day to inform me which items (about half) were not available. I agreed to some substitutions and awaited my groceries the following evening.

When they arrived in the latter part of the three-hour window, I was annoyed to see on the invoice that they substituted the items I had asked them to omit but not the ones I had requested. Stupid me did not check the actual items but waited until the delivery man left to unpack the box. In fact, they got (most of) the physical items correct, but not the bill, which meant they overcharged me by ~$20.

For some reason, it took four phone calls the next day to straighten the whole thing out. The interesting part of the exchange was the polite--deferential, even--tone that the customer service agent always maintained, despite my exasperation as she explained the impossibility of my requests (exchange the proper items, refund my money). Pat, who has had more experience with administration and bureaucracy here, explains it like this: They'll basically say to you, "We'll f*** you up the a** and charge you extra; thank you, and have a good day," but they'll say it in such a nice way that you'll say thank you right back and even ask for a receipt.

I'll be schlepping the groceries along with the kids from now on.

Excursions, II

The language section of our Lonely Planet guide book reads: "You're unlikely to spend much time in Singapore without finding yourself at some point staring dumbly at someone, trying to work out what on earth they are on about." I came pretty close to this experience when I tried to take Sam on a half-hour boat ride last week.

I walked up to the river cruise kiosk just as a boat was pulling away. "How long until the next boat?" I asked.

"You buy ticket, boat in 20 minute time." (At least, that's what I think the old man said. I'm afraid I can't do the exchange proper justice.)

Okay. But what if I leave and come back and miss the next boat, would the following boat then be 40 minutes from now? (The brochure says they run every 15 minutes.)

"You buy ticket, boat in 20 minute time."

Right. So should I wait until I get back to buy a ticket?

"You buy ticket, boat in 20 minute time."

So whenever I buy my ticket, no boat will appear for 20 minutes?

"You buy ticket, boat in 20 minute time."

Sigh.

It was late in the morning, I had errands to run, and there was no way Sam was going to hang out in the heat for 20 minutes. We left and I tried again the next day.

As we walked up to the kiosk the following morning, I had not seen any boats coming or going. I asked when is the next boat.

"You buy ticket, boat in 20 minute time."

Of course. 

It was earlier in the day and I was prepared with Sam's snacks, so we waited. Twenty minutes came and went. Finally, a boat pulled up. I collected our things and we moved toward the landing. The young assistant ran out to stop us, explaining they needed to clean the boat. We waited. I saw no cleaning happening. Another boat pulled up, unloading a Japanese tour group. Again, we were not permitted to board. (There was one other tourist waiting with us.) Sam was now jumping impatiently as his whining escalated. Then, both boats pulled away. WTF?!

I took Sam to stand outside the kiosk and let them listen to his whining, now bordering meltdown. I politely said, "You said it'd be 20 minutes..." The young assistant rushed out, Okay-okaying me, and called over one of the boats that had been tied up to the quay this entire time. Double WTF?!

The boat ride itself was pleasant enough, save for Sam declaring "All done" seven minutes into it. The driver (I wouldn't call him a captain) looked to be about as old as the refurbished bumboat and bopped along to '80's pop music. Taking both Sam and me by surprise, the assistant (I wouldn't call him a skipper) wordlessly lifted Sam on and off the boat and down and up the steps to the quay. We cruised up the river to see the famous Merlion fountain (Singapore's symbol--a lion's head on a fish's body) in the bay and then back. It's always interesting to see a city from a different perspective, especially when the river is so integral to the city's character. Sam has also decreed a "No photos please" policy. Every time we aim the camera at him, we elicit shrieks of "No no no!" which is ironic because when he sees the camera on the table, he points to it and says, "Cheeeese" with his biggest goofball smile.

On Thursday, on the recommendation of one of the front desk clerks, we took a taxi to the Jacob Ballas Children's Garden. Aimed at children 12 and under, it's operated by the Singapore Botanic Garden. Sam spent a good half hour in the sand playground, hitting the chimes and sitting on the digger. I was then able to talk him into exploring the hedge maze, which, once he grasped the concept, he enjoyed running through. We broke for snack in the outdoor café outside the park, and when we reentered, we never made it past the water section. At first, there was no one around, so we played with the old-fashioned water pumps and, after I figured out how to turn the fountains on, Sam just put his hand through them.

Then other kids started showing up, and I realized how woefully unprepared I was. The moms stripped all their kids down and outfitted them in full-body rash-guard swimwear. Big towels were pulled out. I should at least have had the sense to strip Sam down to his diaper, but I thought, "Oh, he's not really getting into the fountains. He's fine." There were some watering cans and plants laid out, and we occupied ourselves with refilling the cans at the pumps and watering (and overwatering) the plants. 

Then Finn woke up and I had to go feed him on a bench. Each time I looked up, Sam was a little bit wetter, until finally, I saw him backing into the fountain spray like you would in a shower, water pouring over his hat.

When it was time to go, I stripped him down, blotted him with the cloth diaper I carry around to burp Finn, gave him a fresh diaper, and he rode home in the cab in just his sandals.

Excursions, I

By Friday I was feeling better from my cold and antsy to explore beyond our immediate neighborhood. I was anxious about the logistics of getting a cab and collapsing the stroller, which requires removing the rear seat, while wearing the baby and keeping Sam from running into traffic, but figured I just had to do it. As with most things, the anticipation was worse than the actuality.

We headed to Jurong Bird Park, a zoo for all things avian. I expected an open reserve, like the Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary I visited in India, but this layout was probably more digestible for kids. Alighting from the cab, I was unsure if the park was open yet, but it turned out we were just the first ones there. Given Sam gets excited whenever we hear the birds around Robertson Walk, I thought for sure he would've been interested in JBP--we even looked at pictures and talked about it before going--but he couldn't have cared less. The monorail and the elevator up to the platform was the highlight for him, and he spent the rest of the time asking for more choo-choo. I, of course, was enthralled. Thankfully Pat would like to see the park, so we will return and I'll get to pay closer attention to all the exhibits we raced past.

One, albeit obvious, thing I learned when I volunteered at the zoo is that birds, especially large numbers in close proximity, stink. Yet JBP smelled like brownies fresh from the oven. It was subtle at first. Only as we progressed through the park did the scent's pervasiveness, and thus artificiality, become apparent. I couldn't locate the dispensing mechanism, so perhaps there happened to be a large commercial bakery nearby. I did question the scent selection. Wouldn't something floral or herbaceous be more appropriate? At least it wasn't barbeque chicken.

Pat was attending a two-day symposium (including a 12-course tasting dinner Friday night), so Saturday the boys and I were on our own, again. I plunked them in the stroller and walked to Chinatown. The streets were bedecked for Chinese New Year, on the 26th and 27th. I was hoping to find a certain hawker center (more on that topic later), but Sam declared his hunger well before we were in range, which meant we had to find something NOW. I think I read that a local specialty was bbq meats, and one storefront had a queue half a block long. The sign read "Pork Floss." I opted for some mediocre ramen-type place a few stores down (it was one of the few establishments that wasn't completely empty by comparison).

After a speedy lunch (Sam ate three bites and pronounced he was "All done;" my arm probably looked like a cartoon in fast-forward, blurred in motion, as I shoveled to keep up), Sam held my hand as we walked up the main pedestrian street lined with the typical Chinatown shlock. We stopped to buy a few postcards and for Sam to dance outside the stall selling Chinese pop music. Then I plunked him back in the stroller and high-tailed it home in time for naps, stopping for a scoop of green tea and red bean at the Japanese ice cream stand on Clarke Quay along the way.

On Sunday, Pat and I were both eager to visit Little India. We consulted the front desk on the best path to walk there, a concept completely lost on the attendant. He offered to call us a taxi; he described a free shuttle from an MRT (subway) station. There was no explaining that for us, half the pleasure is the exploration in getting somewhere. We then experienced the epitome of Singaporean directions. We'd both observed that Singaporeans can be vague: "it's just up that way and then on the left over there." We presented our map, knowing we had to take the road that wrapped around Fort Canning Park, but we weren't sure where to branch off. He indicated a small road that would connect us to the major link up to Little India, but it was unclear on the map how to get to that small road. The attendant's solution: "Just go straight" through an area where nothing went straight; the roads all curved without intersecting. We shrugged, figuring we'd see when we got there. Of course, we completely missed the small road. We picked it up from the other end on the way back; it dead-ended into a 15-foot wall of hedges--where we were supposed to go straight.

Little India was quiet on a Sunday morning. We visited a temple that contained lots of individual shrines, incense, and men in white shrouds doling out I'm not sure what. The boys fell asleep, which allowed me to shop for beaded sandals and get suckered into a linen shirt to boot (for ~$10, so what?). We stopped for an early lunch--a banana leaf thali, naan, and fresh lassis--at which Sam ate surprisingly well. We then meandered through the streets, the highlight for Sam being some cows and goats that were part of a harvest festival (I think).

On a tip from one of Pat's colleagues, we stopped on the way back at Liang Court, the nearby mall where we changed money the first day. Although the stores in the rest of the mall compare to a cheap, cheesy mall in Jersey, there is a gourmet Japanese grocery store in the basement. The sushi case was the length of an entire dairy section in an American supermarket--this was no ordinary food-store sushi. We picked up dinner and tried to contain other impulse purchases to little avail. We went back two days later for more.

Random Observation

So then, isn't it just a restaurant?

Jet Lag and Other Follies

It's a well-known fact in the toddler sphere that small children thrive on routine. Change and transition, on the other hand, not so much. So, throw a two-year-old on the other side of the world, without his toys or crib or anything familiar, and a few problems are likely to ensue. Just a few.

We paid extra for the toddler package. We weren't exactly sure what it included, but we figured why not, and overall, it was a good idea. Fraser Place supplied us with a high chair, an umbrella stroller (seemingly worthless), kids' towels, two stuffed ducks (their kids theme: everything child-related here features the duck pair, Luc and Lucia), a portable crib/playpen with balls in it, a crib, and a bed with a rail. We could have requested two cribs, but since Sam will have to sleep in a bed in Paris, why not make the transition now when there's some protection on the side.

But was he ready for a bed? Probably not.

Most naps and nights he's been screaming himself to sleep and wakes up anywhere between two and five a.m. the same. Pat has started the unadvisable but desperate habit of getting into bed with him, while Finn sleeps royally in our king bed with me.

While each night we pray will be better than the previous, this arrangement has granted us some insight into the chatter that would come from Sam's room in Boston. Like a National Geographic documentarist, Pat has observed the tuft-headed sprout in his bedtime ritual. Apparently, Sam makes all the animals--now consisting of Big Bear, Little Bear, Spare Bear, and Lucia, a.k.a. "Duck," or more accurately, "Duh"--kiss each other goodnight, and then in turn kiss him goodnight. 

Last night Sam realized he can actually get out of bed and doesn't have to wait for us to answer his calls. We are exhausted and out of ideas. I don't think this is just jet lag anymore, but his adjustment (or lack thereof) to his new environment. He's been particularly difficult during the days, too: tantrums at the slightest infraction against his will; until yesterday eating nothing but his comfort food--Cheerios and milk. Perhaps now that he's starting to eat again, and Pat has started work, giving our days some shape of routine, he will settle.

And speaking of settling, it's been almost a full week since our disembarkation. We've purchased unlocked, pay-as-you-go cell phones that, with a switch of a SIM card, we'll also be able to use in Paris. (Sidebar: we got to pick our numbers from a list posted by the cashiers. I selected one for Pat that is remarkably similar to my parents' home phone and therefore immediately memorized.) We visited the Botanic Gardens and walked the length of Orchard Road, Singapore's Fifth Avenue. We revisited Cold Storage and finally got a better supply of tropical fruit. We've been having fresh passion fruit, guava, pineapple, watermelon, and Asian pears everyday. And we've walked the quays.

Pass through Robertson Walk and you are on Robertson Quay. All the quays on the river are connected in a lovely promenade. Many are occupied by wine bars and outdoor clubs and lounges--vacated and moist with dew by the time we pass by. New Years Day we followed the quays all the way to the financial district, closer than I had expected. Along the way we watched a Chinese dragon performance, where two men, dressed as the dancing dragon, jumped on poles to a sustained drumbeat, and we stopped for a Chinese seafood lunch with views of the tour boats puttering by. Most mornings we walk the quays in the other direction. Because Sam is up so early and is too stir-crazy to stay confined, we are out when there is still a breeze and just a few joggers.

I've had two days on my own with the boys. Monday I took Sam to the open-play hour at a kids gym, similar to My Gym at home, on the same floor as the Cold Storage across the street. About half a dozen other moms, all Australian with husbands in the same company, were in attendance with their multiple charges. It was playground mommy dating all over again, except with an international bent (how long have you been here, what serviced apartment are you staying at, how long are you here for), and, of course, they weren't really interested in flirting with me given they're already in established mom relationships.

We stayed close to home again today since I'm battling another cold. At the Fraser Place outdoor play area (equipped with one of those Little Tykes cars that captivated Sam at Ringgold and the Clarendon playgrounds) I met a couple more moms with interesting backgrounds (a Thai woman married to a half-Norse, half-Italian, and a Singaporean who just moved back here from San Francisco).  I've also had a few trials with the washer-cum-dryer--yes, one of those clothes washers that doubles as a dryer. Utterly worthless. Like giving your clothes a two-hour steam bath. My underwear now has a smoother complexion than my forehead--that is, until I had to hang it up to finish drying. Now it's like cardboard.

One nice feature at Fraser Place is the elevator. Not because there's anything special about it, but because, speaking as a five-year resident of a fourth-floor walk-up, it is an elevator. In fact, there are three elevators, and we play the elevator race game. Sam, who now lives for elevator rides, points to one, Pat claims another, and I'm left with the third. (When it's just me and the boys, I get to choose second and Finn is left with the remainder.) Given that Sam tends to switch his vote, I believe he has the winning tally. An elevator aside: I must feel quite at home here, because the other day I wore my slippers (yes, I wear slippers, even in hot climates--they're cushiony) right down the hall and onto the mirrored box. 

Another nice feature here is all the restaurants. Because of the clientele, there is a wide variety including many western, more than I had expected. High quality take-out is very easy to do here. Our room has a booklet of delivery options, which we assumed featured the restaus at Robertson Walk. On Saturday we ordered dinner and, in order to give him an outing, Pat took Sam downstairs to pick it up, only to realize he had no idea where the restaurant was. He bought something downstairs, and let's just hope we didn't garner too much bad karma leaving an unclaimed order at the mystery location.

Singaporean T-shirt Slogan

I'm not short, I'm fun size

We Could Be in Florida

That was my first impression during the drive from the airport to Fraser Place, our new domicile. Except for the fact that Singaporeans drive on the left side of road (and that everyone is Asian), at first glance Singapore looks a lot like Florida. The color of the buildings, the foliage, the temperature and breeze all reminded me of the home of the grandmothers.

The similarities ended as we plunged into settling into our temporary home. The first day's order of business: change some money and buy some groceries. Our neighborhood consists of serviced and regular apartment complexes, many with shopping centers on the bottom floors. We headed to Liang Court to change money and back to UE2, across the street from Robertson Walk, where Fraser Place is, to our new supermarket, Cold Storage.

Navigating the unfamiliar aisles at the food store made me homesick. Our weekly trip to Whole Foods was a bedrock in our routine, not unlike some families' Sunday (or Saturday) pilgrimages. The fruit selection was disappointing (apples and oranges? I can get those in Boston; we're in the tropics for heaven's sake!). The origins of the food were surprising, too. Singapore, apparently, doesn't have much by way of agriculture. Almost everything was imported, which grates my "buy local" mantra. Hardly anything was organic, and if it was, it was most likely imported from the U.S. (I was momentarily tempted by a half gallon of Organic Valley milk, until I saw that it was S$16-->US$11.) We bought Thai milk, New Zealand cheese, Chinese pears, Australian yogurt, and Skippy peanut butter (among other things).

While I certainly felt better than after any previous trip to Asia--thanks to business class--fatigue and weariness settled in. After nap that afternoon, Sam, in complete meltdown mode, repeated, "Bye-Bye," echoing my sentiment that maybe we were better off at home.

We spent the afternoon exploring Fraser Place, locating the pool and indoor and outdoor children's play areas. Sam's mood lightened as he kicked a beach ball around with Pat, while I struggled to stay awake with Finn on a nearby bench. For dinner, we ventured out to a local restaurant, and finally, I felt like I was in Asia: three-dollar chicken and rice plates while sitting on curbside plastic stools as cars and motorcycles whizzed by.

We kept the boys up as late as we could--six o'clock--and decided we'd better sleep when they sleep. We were disheartened to wake up and discover it wasn't even midnight yet. On the bright side, we got to hear the square below count down to midnight and then the subsequent fireworks. Happy New Year!

The Trip

At five o'clock on Monday, December 29th, we loaded five extra-large suitcases, four carry-ons, two children, and a stroller into a nine-passenger biodiesel-consuming van (from PlanetTran, an all-green car service fleet--if you're in Boston or SF, check it out!). Getting through security was a bit of a hassle--collapsing the stroller, unpacking all the electronics and liquids, removing all shoes and coats, keeping track of the children. A man in a wheelchair tried to cut between Pat and me when some distance got between us as we loaded all the gear. I'm not sure women and children trump the handicapped, but I was having none of it and put him in his place. 

Once we reassembled, we headed to the Virgin Atlantic lounge for a light dinner--grilled salmon, shrimp spring rolls, some salad, and cheese and crackers. Sam was too rammy to remain there, so we headed back up to the main terminal to let him exert some energy before the flight. In the process, he exerted something else, so I escorted him back to the lounge to use the fanciest public changing table I've ever encountered (sleek stainless steel).

Once boarded, it took some consideration to figure out the best seating arrangement. VA's business seats are lined up in slanted pods so that you can't see the person next to you. I sat next to Sam so that I could hang my hand over the wall and hold his; Pat sat across from us and gave me updates on what Sam was doing (continually unbuckling his seat belt, for example, until the attendant brought over a nifty band that fit over the belt and thwarted his monkeyness). Finn was on my lap with a special, bright orange infant belt that accentuated his girth and looped onto my belt. It was an odd sensation to take off sitting sideways.

It took some effort to get the boys to sleep, but once they did they remained so all the way to London. Pat was aided in his somnambulist efforts by a single malt. I had less success since I shared my bed with Finn.

We had three hours to kill in Heathrow. The Singapore Air lounge was larger, though not as outré as VA. We had some breakfast pastries and then took turns walking Sam around, mostly riding the people movers in the terminal (HUGE hit).

Sam charmed a British couple in the lounge, who thankfully occupied the seats directly behind us. (We had two rows of the double center seats, with a single window seat across from us on either side; that is, the layout was one-two-one.) He had less luck with the man across the aisle, who spent the entire flight giving us dirty looks and grumbling. Apparently he even complained to the flight attendants several times about how they shouldn't allow children on night flights, but to no avail since Sam had already endeared himself to the crew during his many, many trips to the galley. They cut up fresh fruit for him and offered Pat some cognac reserved for a guest in one of the suites on the lower level. (The aircraft was a double-decker Airbus 380; unlike the 747, the entire plane had two stories, and it had 12 of those new private suites.) Sam also got two little Singapore Airlines teddy bears and Finn got one, which means Sam got three.

The twelve-plus-hour flight passed slowly. Many times Sam repeated, "Bye-bye," his signal that he was ready to leave. The portable DVD player was a bust; the Sesame Street beanie babies were a hit. Thanks to the lay-flat beds, we all got a few hours of sleep. At one point Sam woke up yelling, "Bear!" Pat had left Little Bear in the rollerboard suitcase that the attendants stowed away somewhere, and he shrugged it off saying Sam could make do with Big Bear. "I told you so" came to mind.

As we descended, we saw a harbor full of tankers, proving Singapore's position as an international port. The airport was open and airy, with philodendron cascading down the walls. Immigration was a breeze, our luggage came out quickly, and our transportation was waiting for us. It was a bright, beautiful New Year's Eve morning in Singapore.