tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87035138510783170712024-03-05T04:07:12.700-08:00The Wandering LodgesThe Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-77819445461798198872012-02-19T06:48:00.001-08:002012-03-06T00:31:21.937-08:00For Ellie <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px;">I was sure my sister was having a baby boy.</span><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>520</o:Words> <o:Characters>2969</o:Characters> <o:Lines>24</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>3646</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>11.773</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotShowRevisions/> <w:DoNotPrintRevisions/> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:UseMarginsForDrawingGridOrigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">For the last couple months of her pregnancy, she endured more painful swelling and discomfort than she ever had during her previous two pregnancies. Those both ended up being girls, so baby number three just HAD to be a boy! I was sure of it! <i>He's tormenting his poor mother already, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">I would think to myself, hating the fact that my sister wasn't feeling well, but somehow smiling just the same as I pictured a highly energetic little guy rolling around in her belly, wreaking havoc on her poor legs. </span><i>So typical of boys...</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">But what I mistook for a spry, mischievous little boy was actually a sweet and very sick little girl.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">Baby Ellie was born eight weeks early, and even though the doctors and nurses did everything in their power to keep her alive—even though my family, friends, and people I had never even met prayed ceaselessly through the night and all the following day—Ellie was unable to overcome her illness, and passed away less than forty-eight hours after she was born.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">There is really no way to describe—or in words to do justice toward—the feelings associated with the death of a child. I've lost other family members in the past, but they were my grandparents. When they passed away, I grieved, but I also took great comfort in knowing they left us with hundreds of wonderful stories to tell—stories that continue to keep them alive in our hearts, and several of which still make me laugh out loud to this day.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">But what about Ellie? She passed away without any stories to tell. And that, for me, is the most tragic aspect to her death. It's something that claws at my chest and presses against my heart. It's what makes me suddenly burst into tears, usually at the strangest and most inopportune times (like while watching Dagny give high fives to an Indian couple seated next to us on the train).<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">I try not to ever ask, <i>Why did this happen?</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> Beyond the medical diagnosis (it turned out Ellie had Fifths Disease), I think this is a dangerous question to contemplate. The reason is as simple as the answer: </span><i>We don't know why.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> The death of an innocent child never makes any sense. To ponder the question beyond that means risking a terrible fall into depression—the kind where a person can view God or even life in general with a sense of hostility. So even though I am devastated over the loss of my niece, I also make sure to take daily comfort in knowing that my sister is okay. Her health, as it turns out, was also in jeopardy during the time of Ellie's birth. And as strange as it may sound, I am so incredibly thankful that Ellie passed the way she did—surrounded by family, comfortable in my sister's arms, and lovingly adored by hundreds.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">A lot has happened in the past six weeks... a trip to Thailand, a visit from my parents, Chinese New Year... but I'm not ready to write about any of it. Not yet. A few times I've tried, but my fingers always seem to fall limp on my keyboard before I even type one sentence. When I plug in my camera to download my photos, I immediately unplug it again. I honestly don't know when I'll be ready to post another blog entry. Maybe when it doesn't hurt so much to breathe. Maybe when my world doesn't feel quite so consumed by Ellie's absence from it. Maybe then... but not right now.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">Right now is for Ellie, a tiny rose bud in her mother's arms, unable to bloom, but still breathtakingly beautiful in all our eyes. We will love you always, sweet Ellie.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><i>Now I lay me down to sleep,</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><i>I pray the Lord my soul to keep;</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><i>May angels carry me through the night,</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><i>And wake me up in Heaven's light.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-48174200828245669442012-01-05T20:08:00.000-08:002012-01-05T20:08:24.934-08:00Happy New Year2011 will certainly go down as being one of my most adventure-packed years on record. It's difficult to wrap my head around all that has occurred in just twelve months... Sipping coffee while watching Charlie Sheen implode on the Today Show seems like ages ago! Ahhh... I do miss those mornings. Thank goodness we still have the Kardashians to make fun of.<br />
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The holidays this year were quite overwhelming for Brad and me. It all started with a trip back to the States for Thanksgiving, which included lots of food, lots of rain, and lots of catching up with friends and family. We were frequently asked if it felt strange to be back... and for the most part, it didn't.<br />
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Of course, there was the initial shock of seeing so many Caucasians when we first landed in Chicago. As I glanced pie-eyed around the terminal, the first words to leave my lips were: "Everyone's so big!" Yes, I do mean overweight, but I <i>also</i> mean tall, broad-shouldered, and, for lack of a better term, big-footed. I've grown accustomed to living in Singapore, where my 5'6" height could place me in a premier basketball league (even without any hand-eye coordination), clerks shake their heads when I tell them I wear a size 9 shoe, and my 128-lb. frame gets ushered to the XL and XXL racks in clothing stores. Even Dagny seemed a little overwhelmed by the Chicago crowd. While waiting for our flight to Cleveland, she looked cautiously around at everyone seated by the gate (not at all her usual, bubbly self), then after a minute or two, she let out a gleeful shriek and ran straight into the lap of the only Asian woman in the entire terminal. No joke. The look of shock on the woman's face was priceless, and Brad said it might be time to hang a mirror up in Dagny's room... Does she know she actually has blonde hair and blue eyes?<br />
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Other obvious differences: It felt odd to be in a car again (I waited almost two weeks before deciding to attempt driving... don't worry, everyone is still alive and my mom's car is un-dinged) and more specifically, it was a little unnerving to see so many SUVs on the road!<br />
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But all the daily aspects of Stateside life soon became routine. Sprawling suburban neighborhoods with backyards and barbeque pits were once again normal, walk-in pantries stocked with Fritos and Dr. Pepper no longer made my hands tremble, and I stopped drooling over the Jetsons-esque dishwasher in my parents' kitchen. After a couple of days, it started to feel like I'd only been in Singapore for a few weeks, instead of 8 months.<br />
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I didn't like this feeling. Not one bit.<br />
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Perhaps it was because it took me a long time to achieve a sense of place and belonging in Singapore—to find familiar "me" spots, friends, new comfort foods, and an understanding of the community around me—a time during which I actually <i>felt</i> the weight and drain of every passing week, day, hour, minute. There were times when Brad would say something like, "Can you believe we've already been here 3 months?" and I would burst into tears, certain it was closer to three years. But when I was back in the States, my life in Singapore suddenly felt like a distant and barely experienced dream. Everything I worked so hard to attain was gone in an instant. The "battles" I faced and pulled myself through were nothing more than foggy memories. And like I said, I didn't like it.<br />
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Our three weeks in Ohio passed in something of a blur. There was food. Lots of food. There were several trips to my personal Mecca (also known as Target). There were two failed trips to see Santa Claus... Dagny was seriously freaked out, mostly by his beard. Have I mentioned Asians don't have facial hair? I never really thought about that fact or noticed much until I witnessed Dagny's reaction to mustaches and beards over Thanksgiving.<br />
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When it came time to leave the States and head back home, I had mixed emotions. On the one hand, I was ready to get back to Singapore. Believe it or not, some of the biggest hurdles I had to overcome have become some of my favorite aspects to living here. Like me not having a car. It actually bugged me that we had to drive <i>everywhere</i> in the States. I missed walking. I missed public transportation, eating outdoors, and interacting with people from all over the world. Whether waiting for the elevator in our apartment building, riding the train, or perusing the wet market, everyone in Singapore is always chatting, always smiling, always waving to Dagny or simply nodding hello to me as we pass one another on the footbridge. But back in the States, I felt a little hollow when it came to interacting with other people. Or rather, the lack of interaction with other people. The space between neighborhood houses seemed standoffish to me at times. At the grocery store, everyone arrived in their own car, with their heads bent over their own agendas, and no one stopped to speak with one another unless it was with someone they already knew. Granted, it was the holidays (we're all in a hurry, right?) and it was winter... in Ohio... which meant cold rain was falling about 80 percent of the time. Not exactly prime conditions to chat someone up in the parking lot.<br />
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I definitely missed the "people" quotient to life in Singapore. Though I'll admit, when the tenants above me are renovating their apartment and the ones below me use curry and garlic in EVERY meal they make, the idea of a house surrounded by a yard and a thicket of trees is certainly appealing.<br />
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Okay, now for the flip side to the excitement of going back to Singapore... I really didn't want to leave my family. My sisters each have two kids and are both pregnant with their third, and my sister-in-law has a boy who is just 8 months younger than Dagny. To see how much the kids grew while we were away was astounding. To hear them talk and play and laugh was magical. And to leave them felt truly, utterly selfish on my part. Not to mention our parents... I'm not sure I can accurately describe how wonderful it was to be with them again. The burdens I had to shoulder in raising a toddler this past year while trying to adjust to life in a different culture simply flew away when I was with them. Everything felt relaxed. I had no idea how magnificent it would feel to have someone cook for me and occasionally watch Dags while I enjoyed a cup of coffee and a book.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQhgpyMI7KyBztM-ZELSdI-0RTkBy2EiNWMmNzE91yoBgsiUTIien9NZW44L04j-zcp_Jt4NQGjdWK7s9zNHIPl-jtbXMrkbF3O31KIxOu__qA-UFhO0cpNG8ANccIE3Q4k31d4Di-Kk/s1600/3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQhgpyMI7KyBztM-ZELSdI-0RTkBy2EiNWMmNzE91yoBgsiUTIien9NZW44L04j-zcp_Jt4NQGjdWK7s9zNHIPl-jtbXMrkbF3O31KIxOu__qA-UFhO0cpNG8ANccIE3Q4k31d4Di-Kk/s320/3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny with four of her five cousins. I love the matching Christmas pj's tradition my sister started!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLeBOHpZHBelneBOzrsz2cOZuC8Uea4Spsa5kBPsn51toyCTy1it9M1tLK2uLyc27DvI9zPNZo8YeP1m-Oi79M2_B5WRcsmxxXl3UzcX5oe6mWDUPacnZv1VaJPnwi7IbWSBeBy0CVm0/s1600/4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDLeBOHpZHBelneBOzrsz2cOZuC8Uea4Spsa5kBPsn51toyCTy1it9M1tLK2uLyc27DvI9zPNZo8YeP1m-Oi79M2_B5WRcsmxxXl3UzcX5oe6mWDUPacnZv1VaJPnwi7IbWSBeBy0CVm0/s320/4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was so much fun and also a little hard to see Roxy again! She tried to hug Brad and me the same way a person would when she saw us. It broke my heart all over again to leave her, though I know she's having a wonderful time living with Grandma and Grandpa.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO2wiRYsHDWKyNX4K2zhkfltwd8BTeuKsaLt7owwCJqX5o1L48UAJ5-STFUNSG3Ycy7yRfIl0h7dl-gAlq-WUxmHU4JB7WOdtr9Dr1GpH4vP63GmuCz982-rf2-N0U_YVAjKaRLLvqC9w/s1600/DSCN0563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO2wiRYsHDWKyNX4K2zhkfltwd8BTeuKsaLt7owwCJqX5o1L48UAJ5-STFUNSG3Ycy7yRfIl0h7dl-gAlq-WUxmHU4JB7WOdtr9Dr1GpH4vP63GmuCz982-rf2-N0U_YVAjKaRLLvqC9w/s320/DSCN0563.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny and Grandma reading bedtime books. Dags doesn't wear footie pajamas in Singapore, so I took full advantage of the cuteness while in the States!</div><br />
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Christmas in Singapore was beautiful, though it felt a little odd to be experiencing it in a sundress. The lights and decorations were breathtaking, and one night we took Dagny to the Tanglin Mall "Blizzard." Every night at 7:30, the square outside the mall is filled with screaming and laughing kids (and adults) being covered in what looks like very pillowy snow, but is in fact soap bubbles. Dagny wasn't quite sure what to make of it all, but she loved looking at the Christmas trees and reindeer that lined the surrounding streets.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7tmyTgF_Do1xfMQuPKyTUBS-7UFOov2flgO7OeyYyYLOMzPUgPpLpfosEcznJJRHuQ3wfnaFhXYU2pLgOD-fyi2eu36reey2MOOG_tKI27zV2sHp2oo7aPGOnieYCH90mko39HXR412s/s1600/IMG_1686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7tmyTgF_Do1xfMQuPKyTUBS-7UFOov2flgO7OeyYyYLOMzPUgPpLpfosEcznJJRHuQ3wfnaFhXYU2pLgOD-fyi2eu36reey2MOOG_tKI27zV2sHp2oo7aPGOnieYCH90mko39HXR412s/s320/IMG_1686.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny getting pumped up for the blizzard.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7DEu1Mj-u49Sz_UvIvOpivPVmcrPP7QNR7cPcrR9F609bhDPQ0B69dwd347vuuxnEUi8ZZx64_D7-Yuz0YquYqYTI4eeKqel17Q-9daQgXka2vlfvHzGbYBXd-alH5ecAUIRuAN5_sww/s1600/IMG_1691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7DEu1Mj-u49Sz_UvIvOpivPVmcrPP7QNR7cPcrR9F609bhDPQ0B69dwd347vuuxnEUi8ZZx64_D7-Yuz0YquYqYTI4eeKqel17Q-9daQgXka2vlfvHzGbYBXd-alH5ecAUIRuAN5_sww/s320/IMG_1691.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Giving daddy a big smooch under the mistletoe.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocWuNLSNnEh1z8uiVBK058RZGOsMeGLUOwBN6y8evXy1xgfOEEAS9iEgIfNqTLwqsQyeZnhJbTeHxR3j502CCSChHjt_PI_F6Jmq6yejxS2GXnRNgSqbJZZIWKGKuw0zMemF39bH6DDg/s1600/IMG_1692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocWuNLSNnEh1z8uiVBK058RZGOsMeGLUOwBN6y8evXy1xgfOEEAS9iEgIfNqTLwqsQyeZnhJbTeHxR3j502CCSChHjt_PI_F6Jmq6yejxS2GXnRNgSqbJZZIWKGKuw0zMemF39bH6DDg/s320/IMG_1692.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtRCUcPl5T4eoAxOmCvAlKdtPYlOoVhJxPy22a2kinhFyU-v8BylZg8kkFiNxD0f9RJSaCHp-3RZF2gkW3f9PQS3eKfJCf4KrAJ-drY7jfQD-XmDilp_mvE2W6b1ejz2UQPD1Ouf2VCg/s1600/IMG_1696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtRCUcPl5T4eoAxOmCvAlKdtPYlOoVhJxPy22a2kinhFyU-v8BylZg8kkFiNxD0f9RJSaCHp-3RZF2gkW3f9PQS3eKfJCf4KrAJ-drY7jfQD-XmDilp_mvE2W6b1ejz2UQPD1Ouf2VCg/s320/IMG_1696.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqhiiS1gfWhmChF3oCMQAZuOpkmGQOdb6VWzERr1R1c3IaVu0wUjptk5UZlf08AR0m8OmjL7coLvd3f_ckVaYk6eePcrTrjpDyUCirkQAQXXarhPisyhmEHWkpAeyehV4XzZVbSDI9o4/s1600/IMG_1700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzqhiiS1gfWhmChF3oCMQAZuOpkmGQOdb6VWzERr1R1c3IaVu0wUjptk5UZlf08AR0m8OmjL7coLvd3f_ckVaYk6eePcrTrjpDyUCirkQAQXXarhPisyhmEHWkpAeyehV4XzZVbSDI9o4/s320/IMG_1700.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A blizzard on the equator... this is a first!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitcPcXTLe_OnqdHsOY9fOrExWzcTaP9qufWt2qSW09GdmrBrMNTtfL0BSAnNkOPcPknO7wrjY9do0Lk1KcucWfSixpxqwGKlKoOh2Aql718yB_nxtlxHLnFfrybQSuMREH7QTKqNsaMk8/s1600/IMG_1709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitcPcXTLe_OnqdHsOY9fOrExWzcTaP9qufWt2qSW09GdmrBrMNTtfL0BSAnNkOPcPknO7wrjY9do0Lk1KcucWfSixpxqwGKlKoOh2Aql718yB_nxtlxHLnFfrybQSuMREH7QTKqNsaMk8/s320/IMG_1709.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It may look like snow, but it definitely doesn't taste like snow.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvdmilprTCaBVBqMtGJp2a1q_aQfhtl9V5Ym-VN0MHLBjnmmTKaLVT299v1M4iaJ4Vl3DvF2nBlIgYpKOzzNKj7ctN7o19qcoMrYapObNv3j2rd0Wx6xG0qMONbSHOM5LmiAXqAXoM7M/s1600/IMG_1711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvdmilprTCaBVBqMtGJp2a1q_aQfhtl9V5Ym-VN0MHLBjnmmTKaLVT299v1M4iaJ4Vl3DvF2nBlIgYpKOzzNKj7ctN7o19qcoMrYapObNv3j2rd0Wx6xG0qMONbSHOM5LmiAXqAXoM7M/s320/IMG_1711.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This girl came prepared, goggles and a swimsuit!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TiMtmt0WfkvKv-cO77bwY-mGvy61m9CgHvmIFwN0pvl0chZKTKaDJ4hREileL032xqUp-afVY40GVz3d-Q6rgYCIrTGqx9ZInO-nPZEmyGKHLFndklueEC9ncpqwtIdhqLf4oCrtfSU/s1600/IMG_1677+11-17-30.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TiMtmt0WfkvKv-cO77bwY-mGvy61m9CgHvmIFwN0pvl0chZKTKaDJ4hREileL032xqUp-afVY40GVz3d-Q6rgYCIrTGqx9ZInO-nPZEmyGKHLFndklueEC9ncpqwtIdhqLf4oCrtfSU/s320/IMG_1677+11-17-30.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny's not thrilled with her "snow" hat.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznfjHbRzOxrt0buAjSB4ub95YaHFoUbxGhYcGRhzrNT4zTEbyW3gGLYQMQ3N2iBMHagX0ZcAFO7KYfUzXo1kMvviUqJa1KbhvZtl_FqhEJAdPoDS_l5hgPAYm1nWPIUwQIxRKThPCx1M/s1600/IMG_1684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznfjHbRzOxrt0buAjSB4ub95YaHFoUbxGhYcGRhzrNT4zTEbyW3gGLYQMQ3N2iBMHagX0ZcAFO7KYfUzXo1kMvviUqJa1KbhvZtl_FqhEJAdPoDS_l5hgPAYm1nWPIUwQIxRKThPCx1M/s320/IMG_1684.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lights along Orchard Road.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibcxlQrc0zxBJABLyT4hp5oozAgiOz8Fd0Hir5jjvLZjAFy0ce6AUxCQN1L_yDyxmfMNG1Xtn1z2ibxUsACCYTBC-_YO-Z1U5WSJLF7gvFAtX2Blx3-0NqtHbeMexXhIkm_0Uk31lppQ/s1600/IMG_1713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibcxlQrc0zxBJABLyT4hp5oozAgiOz8Fd0Hir5jjvLZjAFy0ce6AUxCQN1L_yDyxmfMNG1Xtn1z2ibxUsACCYTBC-_YO-Z1U5WSJLF7gvFAtX2Blx3-0NqtHbeMexXhIkm_0Uk31lppQ/s320/IMG_1713.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLEStM3MfYLfB7t_4hW0QwJ9118uWMnArRD6s_VN_UL88ueoLMrftFKFN6oVeZ5ZFctd6xTohIXTznYKq6jTRRbl2OLXCTVvEK-FJ9U5g-vZpKXRIGJXqJksD6YwUzva-A2cD8IFFHQ4/s1600/IMG_1716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLEStM3MfYLfB7t_4hW0QwJ9118uWMnArRD6s_VN_UL88ueoLMrftFKFN6oVeZ5ZFctd6xTohIXTznYKq6jTRRbl2OLXCTVvEK-FJ9U5g-vZpKXRIGJXqJksD6YwUzva-A2cD8IFFHQ4/s320/IMG_1716.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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On Christmas day, we had a wonderful potluck dinner with other expat friends in our apartment complex. And get this: we ate outdoors! I'm not sure I've ever had Christmas dinner outside before. Everyone brought traditional food that they grew up with, which gave the whole layout a new sense of both adventure and pride. I was so excited for people to eat the corn pudding and carrot soufflé that Brad and I grew up with. (Both were big hits) And I added in a little of our Southern living with a pumpkin pecan cheesecake. It was also delicious, but let me tell you, it is not easy finding pecans in Singapore!<br />
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As expected, Christmas day was both fun and depressing. It was difficult being so far away from our families, in an apartment without a stocking-lined chimney or abundantly lit tree. Our tree this year only stood a foot tall, and didn't have any lights or homemade (and WAY overly glittered) ornaments dating back to preschool. Still, I am incredibly grateful to our new friends and their children for making Christmas feel a little more like Christmas than it would have if it had just been Brad, Dagny and me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEm7rKnUVqxe1ahvIZneTvdQuRZAcPMWXA7uVGGImZiT11SK3QCvDQbZt8T0GwDvPQFQntH7IF3a21RjiFCjkKHRetf1IemoiPp_CpQo1RzhTunCi_HKT2aoAZDMIfTR8GIoecItx8qY/s1600/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEm7rKnUVqxe1ahvIZneTvdQuRZAcPMWXA7uVGGImZiT11SK3QCvDQbZt8T0GwDvPQFQntH7IF3a21RjiFCjkKHRetf1IemoiPp_CpQo1RzhTunCi_HKT2aoAZDMIfTR8GIoecItx8qY/s320/1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A Christmas Eve stroll on the beach.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiFFzYRp4U-o7Fh3AOHW3BMlyuLcpM-RQ2r9ahnQfoto9KEcX6VxsiTxhpoOycaBCsM-loy02ix6nKxXdEsFqT9H3wyerFbmaj7jyUrj8ByPPBQfwvUOcCvYfozf75SLRe3KkTLkasDQc/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiFFzYRp4U-o7Fh3AOHW3BMlyuLcpM-RQ2r9ahnQfoto9KEcX6VxsiTxhpoOycaBCsM-loy02ix6nKxXdEsFqT9H3wyerFbmaj7jyUrj8ByPPBQfwvUOcCvYfozf75SLRe3KkTLkasDQc/s320/2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny opening her Christmas presents. Of course, she was WAY more excited with the box than anything in it.</div><br />
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We hope you all had a wonderful holiday season, and wish you all the best in the new year!The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-67818760899021578622011-12-11T23:26:00.000-08:002011-12-12T05:00:13.832-08:00Deepavali"Hi. My name is Lauren, and I'm a sporadic blogger."<br />
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"Hi, Lauren."<br />
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"It's been six weeks (or so) since my last post and— wait, why are you all gasping and shaking your heads like that? ... I've been busy— I swear!!!"<br />
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Honestly, it HAS been a very busy couple of months, though not of the particularly "blog worthy" kind. I've been scouting out nursery schools for Dagny, getting her involved in play groups, and readying the family for our return trip the States. The past few Friday nights, I feel like I should be collapsing on the couch with the kind of triumphant exhaustion that comes with saying, "This week I saved the whales, found loving homes for 40 orphans, and solved the US debt crisis" ... when in actuality, I'm telling Brad, "I located a new place to hang the laundry so it doesn't get soaked by the afternoon monsoons, found a local nursery school where the tuition doesn't rival what I paid to attend Ohio State, and taught Dagny how to put on her own sunscreen." See? Aren't you all glad I decided NOT to blog for a while?<br />
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Okay, now take a sip of coffee, wipe that sleepy river of drool from the side of your mouth, and prepare yourself for a fun expedition to the Deepavali festival in Little India! (Yes, like so many of my blogs anymore, this one is being written retrospectively... <i>very </i>retrospectively... since Deepavali actually took place back in October)<br />
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Deepavali (also called Diwali, or the "Festival of Lights") is a celebration of the Hindu faith, the "lights" referring to displays of clay pot candles and fireworks. I'm told the fireworks are ignited in order to ward off evil spirits, but I'm beginning to think all Singaporeans, no matter their religion, just really love fireworks and will use any holiday as an excuse to set them off. <br />
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Celebrants of Deepavali wear colorful clothes and oodles of jewelry (mostly bangles). The dress alone made me feel like I'd stumbled onto a fantastical party located at the end of a rainbow. The air smells like fruit and flowers (which is nice, since sometimes the Little India crowds coupled with the heat can produce a far less pleasant fragrance) and locals are passing out lots and lots of sweets, which means Dagny (with her winning smile, huge blue eyes, and unusual copper-blonde hair) is on a sugar high within five minutes of our arrival, thanks to all the freebies the shopkeepers can't wait to push into her chubby little cheeks.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">We actually made two separate trips to the festival, once in the afternoon, a week or so before Deepavali (Little India is decorated for most of the month) and another time in the evening, on the actual day of Deepavali, in hopes of watching the lighting of the candles and fireworks once the sun went down. The first visit was great. The second was a bit of a mistake.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">The first time we went, Dagny and I didn't have too many crowds to deal with, and were able to peruse the shops without being jostled. I bought a few items for my family back in the States, but found I much preferred to just wander around while eyeing jewelry and fabrics from a distance. Why? Well, there's a funny thing about Little India... nothing is marked with a price tag. So when I ask the woman running a shop how much something costs, she has me wait while she hollers for her husband, who magically appears from behind a wall of fabric, glances me up and down, and tells her what to charge me. Which, as it turns out, was about three times more than the Indian woman beside me is being quoted for a nearly-identical item. I know, I know... I'm supposed to haggle. The shopkeepers expect it. But that doesn't mean I'll ever be comfortable with it. And each time I told a shop keeper that I would think the purchase over and maybe come back, they would immediately, without fail, lean toward me and whisper a new "special price," just for me. Wow, really? JUST for ME???</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">As you can see, I really don't like haggling. I don't respect the practice from either side of the shop keeper's table.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Once Dags and I were done exploring and perusing, Brad joined us for lunch, and I'm glad he did. Brad's been to India, and knew just what to order us to eat (I can be picky when it comes to curry). We had a pretty amazing spread, loaded with chickpeas and colorful pastes that I'm not sure I could have named even while I was eating them, never mind nearly a month later. There is no customary flatware at the table, which I'm used to here in Singapore, but there also are no chopsticks. There's just naan, an absolutely delicious kind of flatbread (we ordered garlic, cheese, and plain). To eat, you first dollop some food onto a banana leaf (this is also a popular way to eat fish in Katong, a Malay district near my apartment). Then you rip off a piece of naan and pinch the food with it. Clever. And also pretty fun! Brad challenged me to eat like a true Indian, which is with just one hand (the other hand is used for, ummm, <i>sanitary</i> purposes throughout the day, and therefore is not considered proper to handle food with). I didn't think this was going to be too difficult, until he informed me that I also had to tear my naan with just one hand. The Indians seated around us made it look so easy... but it's NOT! Give it a shot next time you're eating dinner and find yourself bored.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">The second trip Dags and I made to Little India for the festival was on the actual day of Deepavali, and Brad was out of town. Well, this turned out to be a very short-lived adventure. The district was PACKED! I finally had to fold up Dagny's umbrella stroller (which is as tiny as they come) and carry it over my arm because there was no room in the streets for it. The crowds were pushy and the drivers of delivery trucks just honked and honked and honked at the immobilizing masses. It really wasn't much fun. I found us a couple of quieter side streets to wander, and one nice little perch where we hung out for a while to people watch, but within an hour, we were weaving our way back to the MRT station.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSF6idt5PZsE68Hwlfjkz97lnxELoFIHh0Jccf78TnJ-bH5MuvhKwTiYeFUZvV37JQYoReHe3zeLP9XOXenoRQNEtGfIWh_3CcDUOhrnW1fyq5XVs1ui8srUkqBhLjZcFkCm1NnszwiN4/s1600/journey+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSF6idt5PZsE68Hwlfjkz97lnxELoFIHh0Jccf78TnJ-bH5MuvhKwTiYeFUZvV37JQYoReHe3zeLP9XOXenoRQNEtGfIWh_3CcDUOhrnW1fyq5XVs1ui8srUkqBhLjZcFkCm1NnszwiN4/s320/journey+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny stopping to admire some pools on our way to the MRT station.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNLLRFxdNw9ud2W5JKiN6WX5RLRHWDXyGfZ1AB9v7WjTGRi3eE9teaa3CNXJEM6aYfQtNqp3KkHua2k_A1u7sjecEB1ZY6YbO5NH2nlg-MrcweC-e0POQquPfI0QNwk1nwZmcglM0L5k/s1600/journey+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikNLLRFxdNw9ud2W5JKiN6WX5RLRHWDXyGfZ1AB9v7WjTGRi3eE9teaa3CNXJEM6aYfQtNqp3KkHua2k_A1u7sjecEB1ZY6YbO5NH2nlg-MrcweC-e0POQquPfI0QNwk1nwZmcglM0L5k/s320/journey+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3gmkX5hvr2-pthWkUNJB8d1V2EKVtXACCRfmLCIBMbzqx2An8h1wFMhqPOpkaRjxjHX2WFiulznDaOqV_G7zU2syOg0oWAJfai0CMCeki0s9Jsop__PSSiptNXoqvuyihvyHDTuEsJA/s1600/india+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh3gmkX5hvr2-pthWkUNJB8d1V2EKVtXACCRfmLCIBMbzqx2An8h1wFMhqPOpkaRjxjHX2WFiulznDaOqV_G7zU2syOg0oWAJfai0CMCeki0s9Jsop__PSSiptNXoqvuyihvyHDTuEsJA/s320/india+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Little India at the start of Deepavali... stores and stalls setting out trinkets and flowers.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-IT7RSfRrgF_XwJC5aeGXTwdctzePzdCWwxN8ytocN7a6DodjCQX1t2brSROa4dteKONSJ5Fu59h1G3GujGFWhrl_e7K5CLWa6LwneN7oKVU6S8Cvm98aH7EXw4QdLM0CTQS2-FuWr0/s1600/india+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7-IT7RSfRrgF_XwJC5aeGXTwdctzePzdCWwxN8ytocN7a6DodjCQX1t2brSROa4dteKONSJ5Fu59h1G3GujGFWhrl_e7K5CLWa6LwneN7oKVU6S8Cvm98aH7EXw4QdLM0CTQS2-FuWr0/s320/india+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFldzqYP6O6gnQaUoQOfhgiAqIuviPAh2jFGeAxArIDlPnph2AO9MWjxO0FkCUfJQhPix0PlJHFx-dSK8blggjn3ghrPcUwOg4MLfnrZwTWUA5wPFC3N5KoFPa7hjaoC50eiCKiWaNKxg/s1600/india+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFldzqYP6O6gnQaUoQOfhgiAqIuviPAh2jFGeAxArIDlPnph2AO9MWjxO0FkCUfJQhPix0PlJHFx-dSK8blggjn3ghrPcUwOg4MLfnrZwTWUA5wPFC3N5KoFPa7hjaoC50eiCKiWaNKxg/s320/india+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQLponskDlfdhhyphenhyphen_Vb81xv56IUiGKnJRdeAyLFBTULrzQ54_W56uwGfkpqr3aA1mykrhjqRvupzqf0EpS3pTHMFP9lIteL9Sic63DcU8lygJbMuS2WldAjmqZv6td3ZvkUF_0rWpn5ZI/s1600/india+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQLponskDlfdhhyphenhyphen_Vb81xv56IUiGKnJRdeAyLFBTULrzQ54_W56uwGfkpqr3aA1mykrhjqRvupzqf0EpS3pTHMFP9lIteL9Sic63DcU8lygJbMuS2WldAjmqZv6td3ZvkUF_0rWpn5ZI/s320/india+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Anyone in the market for some replicas of Indian gods and goddesses?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxPrbdX5vot7FATyTsG_GcnxQm8WDU9xU-FuwgAWu_FWA3J8eS4hYvHFd8H6IlIwg9rJbxJLbc5JtEL-cjap22wUy1N1YZHnbHfHeVHWkr6O5fVPjxv4FylgTNKlragZ-IDY1zfMXbj0/s1600/india+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxPrbdX5vot7FATyTsG_GcnxQm8WDU9xU-FuwgAWu_FWA3J8eS4hYvHFd8H6IlIwg9rJbxJLbc5JtEL-cjap22wUy1N1YZHnbHfHeVHWkr6O5fVPjxv4FylgTNKlragZ-IDY1zfMXbj0/s320/india+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I complain to Brad that I hate department stores because I find them to be overwhelming. There's so much to look at, I don't know where to begin hunting for, say, a dress. But, <i>wow</i>... Nordstrom's seems a whole lot more navigable to me now.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3pPcPf6IxGmK5X9ysuAiTMaa7_J6xAzLJrY5dehNqi21x3aKQUoFOaFZlsPRmjcPRjMGViqfNHh07YC30qaslslQWrVC3XfI5QgDYVODRdeoQ5L5CN_yXUPuBMcCNBqa_OuE0s8idNZQ/s1600/india+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3pPcPf6IxGmK5X9ysuAiTMaa7_J6xAzLJrY5dehNqi21x3aKQUoFOaFZlsPRmjcPRjMGViqfNHh07YC30qaslslQWrVC3XfI5QgDYVODRdeoQ5L5CN_yXUPuBMcCNBqa_OuE0s8idNZQ/s320/india+6.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I was tempted to ask to see the strand of flowers at the <i>very</i> top... no, a little more to the left... now the right... oooh, or maybe that one ten feet over...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoOPYZtlM_pqn_1fdBQUi5KaiJnm05isgZJRPSr8C3IlYLmNLmnt6oKC_k1PX7oup9NvD1u62BKbEtg5jui4BSfScuOIUpFCQbBeadqmTir_1porwFySEibp16JbDWX6zUzLMjW1l2tc/s1600/india+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXoOPYZtlM_pqn_1fdBQUi5KaiJnm05isgZJRPSr8C3IlYLmNLmnt6oKC_k1PX7oup9NvD1u62BKbEtg5jui4BSfScuOIUpFCQbBeadqmTir_1porwFySEibp16JbDWX6zUzLMjW1l2tc/s320/india+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">At one point, I got a neck cramp. Seriously. And believe it or not, I actually bought one of these for Dagny's bedroom. I have no idea how I picked it out. In the swirl of colors and bells and swinging tassels, I think I just pointed vaguely upward and said, "I'll take that one."</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4pGij4XC7_Wv7PKzeQGaVRP60d95qUR01m3O-2BgN7LKEPXUU-JRQIvTVRHrMsif69pcVx9G9u3qIWu2wq4EVk1QDqP9ZDwggB0gfoWg42hPcxPBJrzwWXgFtNdQmNm04K57_4jFMOw/s1600/india+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH4pGij4XC7_Wv7PKzeQGaVRP60d95qUR01m3O-2BgN7LKEPXUU-JRQIvTVRHrMsif69pcVx9G9u3qIWu2wq4EVk1QDqP9ZDwggB0gfoWg42hPcxPBJrzwWXgFtNdQmNm04K57_4jFMOw/s320/india+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBXSqL9GSoB-hO8r_R76uDjsYgrGzHM95_k2GqpXS-ZVoseeQZh-PpiJ3wGZI5etbTydPz4SOLBOktvY0NfxUP8KXyzG_2CkMP4Oo3_V9Nb4SM38iXP1vMDJjbYS595ylD5fhDAFqrBU/s1600/deepavali+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBXSqL9GSoB-hO8r_R76uDjsYgrGzHM95_k2GqpXS-ZVoseeQZh-PpiJ3wGZI5etbTydPz4SOLBOktvY0NfxUP8KXyzG_2CkMP4Oo3_V9Nb4SM38iXP1vMDJjbYS595ylD5fhDAFqrBU/s320/deepavali+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A very kind shop owner giving Dagny her first set of Deepavali bangles. She was in heaven.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGSit7OOwB24qtZm99mU49ws-xf3_AYVqhM6VqZVP3gfjL0ZwmnDxesSofLsJXuGOGtq1b6qfA8PUJKIkDmkI_ZHApsX-vND5ofIJURiMvtX5lLLP3pk_1100jVpiUv58GX9zMYzAveM/s1600/deepavali+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGSit7OOwB24qtZm99mU49ws-xf3_AYVqhM6VqZVP3gfjL0ZwmnDxesSofLsJXuGOGtq1b6qfA8PUJKIkDmkI_ZHApsX-vND5ofIJURiMvtX5lLLP3pk_1100jVpiUv58GX9zMYzAveM/s320/deepavali+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Deepavali in the evening. Getting a little crowded.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjea0fuB5KEY9xpb9ILCXZuOaQX5VSF03NzoCFti68NS4iPo3NMoV4gs00yfsI6tq_MVgE8NCEZ5t9uFLM9jBnTkflsM4_EZSpUZFmdFKbCd5iaGe5bXL7ZbVBXVXt8kLjJ4ApQsgOxwq4/s1600/deepavali+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjea0fuB5KEY9xpb9ILCXZuOaQX5VSF03NzoCFti68NS4iPo3NMoV4gs00yfsI6tq_MVgE8NCEZ5t9uFLM9jBnTkflsM4_EZSpUZFmdFKbCd5iaGe5bXL7ZbVBXVXt8kLjJ4ApQsgOxwq4/s320/deepavali+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Soon after ditching the stroller. "Mom, where did all these people come from?"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjJOpAXdlOCVR7zTpeONyHYPUJrtcwsf-UMffETt8o-XGYnLQFLv-8XIcoP8BX44nXk0TqnKuTt5kneASE7O7v9RBe5BLl3s35O3QQ-Afc_vi8sc5hNAapfwLpz1zobMFr2MOcQ-RA7Q/s1600/deepavali+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjJOpAXdlOCVR7zTpeONyHYPUJrtcwsf-UMffETt8o-XGYnLQFLv-8XIcoP8BX44nXk0TqnKuTt5kneASE7O7v9RBe5BLl3s35O3QQ-Afc_vi8sc5hNAapfwLpz1zobMFr2MOcQ-RA7Q/s320/deepavali+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">A SIDE NOTE: I actually wrote this blog back in November (believe it or not!), but my site was one of the many Blogger sites that was plagued with an inability to upload photos for a while. Brad, Dagny and I have since made our pilgrimage back to the US and are once again home, safe and sound (though still jet lagged) in Singapore. More about our trip later...</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-79209319237060626842011-10-24T07:41:00.000-07:002011-10-24T07:41:17.658-07:00To The Ladybug!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"To the Ladybug!" is a relatively new phrase here in the Lodge household. I shout it every time we all three pile into the car to go somewhere (which is only once every few weeks, so I continue to say it with gusto). Brad would prefer I used a more manly name than "Ladybug," but when we're driving around town in a tiny, BRIGHT red Mazda with black trim, I'm not sure there's a more appropriate label to be found. And besides, Dagny giggles every time I say it, so of course the name is as good as etched in stone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brad had to be in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, last Monday, so we decided to turn his meeting into an excuse for a little family getaway. It's not always easy traveling with a toddler, but sometimes you have to throw headaches and dreams of "packing light" to the wind and (as Nike would say in all their infinite wisdom) <i>just do it. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So <i>just do it</i> we did... and in the Ladybug, no less! Some of our friends here thought we were a bit crazy for attempting such a venture, and warned us to take plenty of money to pay off the cops that were sure to pull us over for "undisclosed reasons," but nothing so scandalous took place and I'm really glad we decided to drive... it gave us a wonderful opportunity to see the Malaysian countryside, which is quite a bit different from Singapore. First, Malaysia is surprisingly mountainous in areas. Secondly, there were palm tree plantations stretching over rolling hills as far as the eye could see, which was pretty cool to look at (Malaysia is a major exporter of palm oil).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The traffic was a little different than in Singapore, as well. SO MANY MOTORCYCLES! I mean, seriously, they were EVERYWHERE... zipping up the medians, weaving between cars, buzzing and darting this way and that. And in closer to KL, several stretches of highway had no painted lane lines! Yikes! There were times when we were careening along at 120 km/hour with two cars to our right and two trucks to our left, all merging and angling without any clear idea of who belonged where and just praying all the way that we wouldn't hit any of the motorcycles flowing around us like red blood cells through a vein. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But Brad did GREAT! In my best Rain Man impression: He's an excellent driver. The trip took about 5 hours in total, including an incredibly long wait at customs, a few scheduled rest areas and one unscheduled stop along the side of the highway to clean baby vomit out of the backseat of the car. Poor Dags-a-roo. Note to self: Never again buy milk from a Malaysian roadside rest stop.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9n_c3VB18anUzBSYmebVKtEbJ4oqdPKrbp7MQrrQtDWYPgR5pX5Xx7GOMi9K-4tVJ_cXET0pm2Meh3P31egzt1FyFnOPKPgJ2G38r6UfLSnvWbstJryUJX02IO8yOA593dtuJIeqGJ4/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9n_c3VB18anUzBSYmebVKtEbJ4oqdPKrbp7MQrrQtDWYPgR5pX5Xx7GOMi9K-4tVJ_cXET0pm2Meh3P31egzt1FyFnOPKPgJ2G38r6UfLSnvWbstJryUJX02IO8yOA593dtuJIeqGJ4/s320/1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Crossing the bridge from Singapore into Malaysia.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKThCbCNTMCE8_CKVb0Yg1gH29LHqP9GgiOHaf1nZJbAeoEbSundoozlU597Wb7uu5L97sdZHSlS7un19xy6B_zAF3ODcbIAV-lKoXap1Ur3owjkuci_yZ5-TquafHYqco9KndnwgI-Y/s1600/1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKThCbCNTMCE8_CKVb0Yg1gH29LHqP9GgiOHaf1nZJbAeoEbSundoozlU597Wb7uu5L97sdZHSlS7un19xy6B_zAF3ODcbIAV-lKoXap1Ur3owjkuci_yZ5-TquafHYqco9KndnwgI-Y/s320/1-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">No laughing... I know these are pretty terrible! I kept trying to capture images of mountains, but every time I would try to take a picture with my phone, it would never actually register the shot until a massive tree entered the frame, totally blocking my scenic view!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJ7MKdrLd4ZOXMsWNIr4eVSCsFKZPGcOoBOniaLpB9XoBQ6Jz5mLXY2lQwdWRvzmYltqzWL6PY6hYrEUgjB9ML0FlajksoZTHZXNC0b9PU6gb0G_TP2OLHCbFj95CWsoqmrIWLnSkoQg/s1600/1-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJ7MKdrLd4ZOXMsWNIr4eVSCsFKZPGcOoBOniaLpB9XoBQ6Jz5mLXY2lQwdWRvzmYltqzWL6PY6hYrEUgjB9ML0FlajksoZTHZXNC0b9PU6gb0G_TP2OLHCbFj95CWsoqmrIWLnSkoQg/s320/1-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Palm trees. Lots and LOTS of palm trees.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Li5yK829KDz1ZmbX1X_yzNrNxKd0lK2GcO14wh7KfZLLLUec6AeCn7kx6teAHorO9TS26zocHQtC5tYjkvjYRoRHXWXJei0GgraHHLiLCyihJa4epZI66NpwFIbKKrUPJ6Ez6W1udTQ/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Li5yK829KDz1ZmbX1X_yzNrNxKd0lK2GcO14wh7KfZLLLUec6AeCn7kx6teAHorO9TS26zocHQtC5tYjkvjYRoRHXWXJei0GgraHHLiLCyihJa4epZI66NpwFIbKKrUPJ6Ez6W1udTQ/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Palm oil plantation. At several spots, we could see where some of the plantations workers lived... very cool looking shanties on stilts, tucked in among the trees.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our GPS decided to crap out on us once we reached Kuala Lumpur (which is a very modern and very cool city), so for the final leg of our journey, Brad and I had to set our sights on the impressive Petronas Towers near the heart of downtown, knowing only that our hotel was somewhere close to them, and simply tried to weave our way to their doorstep like a mouse in a maze. It's strange to say, but we actually had a lot of fun that last half hour. Even with a naked toddler in the backseat and trash bags full of vomit-soaked towels around my feet, we were all three laughing and screaming (in a good way) by the time we rolled up to our hotel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our hotel. Wow. As it turns out, things cost a whole lot less in Malaysia than Singapore, and Brad and I found ourselves welcomed into the lap of luxury for four days upon entering Traders Hotel (of the very posh line of Shangri-La hotels).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_xHyF-9K2vQPCggHWOYoCL4PJhTPE6xn4cTahtRI4xo8hCFhzx1QJybOIbPuovbgLBc6Tlrw3A6q8SWPWrCJxz3GALwPNYCQ28WUvw_3x8VczDb1R-XXQ84wI1HXTtHuaQPz9MLsbo0/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_xHyF-9K2vQPCggHWOYoCL4PJhTPE6xn4cTahtRI4xo8hCFhzx1QJybOIbPuovbgLBc6Tlrw3A6q8SWPWrCJxz3GALwPNYCQ28WUvw_3x8VczDb1R-XXQ84wI1HXTtHuaQPz9MLsbo0/s320/3.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This was the view out our hotel room window. Those are the Petronas Towers... until 2004, they were the tallest buildings in the world. Look familiar? They were in the movie <i>Entrapment</i>, with Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta Jones.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61bjb3fyZbLALcKlysOJctUUznULadqQqZMmh9wYsbVEC7Feljv57upb3dtomafaZlEAhX74nblpsHbDZVAhAHTw0Ge3808-ouJlqip8mXgWJ8AxpBQfdP_AcmhTZqWbtYaexpqK5-Qg/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh61bjb3fyZbLALcKlysOJctUUznULadqQqZMmh9wYsbVEC7Feljv57upb3dtomafaZlEAhX74nblpsHbDZVAhAHTw0Ge3808-ouJlqip8mXgWJ8AxpBQfdP_AcmhTZqWbtYaexpqK5-Qg/s320/4.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The night view. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Thank you for staying at Traders Hotel, Mr. and Mrs. Lodge. Would you like a large slice of awesomeness with your stay?" Yes we would, thank you. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiXlHv1l-uy9ufJ6bBUQC5_KPmzVx9swaeL95M5pnp8w0C4mkh7oXNEQbhH_MeMd9604OTRW4eAGoZEkShrKX1TLGlxO_lCBR1jtDvcxPL6TWR1-bqq6CSdUXXY0DtxSnpPLIK8Seo_M4/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiXlHv1l-uy9ufJ6bBUQC5_KPmzVx9swaeL95M5pnp8w0C4mkh7oXNEQbhH_MeMd9604OTRW4eAGoZEkShrKX1TLGlxO_lCBR1jtDvcxPL6TWR1-bqq6CSdUXXY0DtxSnpPLIK8Seo_M4/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And who could ever leave little Dagny Pie out of "the awesomeness?" That's a MASSIVE playground and splash pad just below us. Spent a good bit of time there.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkURfw3thl8zKlkQfgSaoWGMBy7TekH2k086kOQSE8NtGRQgk8hffys0lO0QEWEigO_3BaZ90wDv7FNL3mpcNHxfnUOvHy1GfJ8HvMttMhx48cS7PaGzO-zl1uz3ttCZiBmLkFFmI1KU8/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkURfw3thl8zKlkQfgSaoWGMBy7TekH2k086kOQSE8NtGRQgk8hffys0lO0QEWEigO_3BaZ90wDv7FNL3mpcNHxfnUOvHy1GfJ8HvMttMhx48cS7PaGzO-zl1uz3ttCZiBmLkFFmI1KU8/s320/6.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dags on the swings. This was just two hours after painting the backseat of the Ladybug a lovely shade of white and tangerine. What a trooper.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Outside of going to Indonesia (which doesn't really count, since Bintan is more or less just a resort island), I've never visited an Islamic country before. It's really quite amazing... I'm not accustomed to seeing religion dictate the everyday aspects of a person's life. Everywhere in KL, the women wore long skirts or pants, scarves and head coverings. Many were dressed in full burkas. One of my favorite moments of the weekend was watching Dagny run around with a little Malay girl on the playground, playing follow the leader up ladders and down slides. The girl's mother stood next to me, dressed head to toe in a black burka. I couldn't even see her eyes. We spoke no common verbal language, and neither did the girls, but we still all somehow found a way to communicate. The mom and I would point and laugh and gesture. The girls hugged a lot. I feel like there's a profound statement in there somewhere, wrapped up in a strange but beautiful moment that I can't really put into words. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Another Islamic aspect to Malaysia is there is no pork (at least none that is served in any restaurants or local markets) because of the kosher lifestyle and belief that it can contaminate one's body via the air.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But the prayers to Mecca were by far the most amazing aspect of the Islamic culture. While we were playing on the swings our first night in KL, hidden loud speakers all over the city suddenly blared to life, and prayer chants filled the air. It was so amazing, listening to the beautiful sounds while the Petronas Towers glowed silver above us and the sky turned the most fairy tale shade of purple I've ever seen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brad noticed the goofy smile on my face, and said, "Enjoying yourself?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Totally. I love the prayer chants." He didn't say anything in reply, just nodded and kind of... <i>smirked.</i> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"What?" I said. "You don't think they sound pretty?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"No, I do," he replied, still smiling in that cryptic way. "Very pretty."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Then what?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Nothing. I'm just glad you're having fun, that's all."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, at 5:00 the next morning (and every morning after), I was jolted awake by that very same, though far-less melodious sound. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"What the—? What <i>is</i> that? The tv?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Prayer chants," says Brad, and even though it's pitch dark in our room, I can actually <i>hear</i> that same smile from the night before in his voice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Yuuuuup." (smile... grin... ear to ear... Cheshire Cat style)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We spent Sunday at an incredibly fun place called Aquaria. Dagny's eyes about popped out of her head when we walked inside, and came face to face with a wall of piranha and thousands of other fish of all shapes and sizes.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZoYEdIBF3CkKRxpKdlIua0wPFM_-VLB4Bc8scTavy0Md6VNB-CoXD4zASR0TpaZkjI3TMtD89bWVoUSbt01k3OKwNCT9iwGpRPi137_YnBJeTMRuWkJl56Yodz87lLe7S6D0BvTK21eg/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZoYEdIBF3CkKRxpKdlIua0wPFM_-VLB4Bc8scTavy0Md6VNB-CoXD4zASR0TpaZkjI3TMtD89bWVoUSbt01k3OKwNCT9iwGpRPi137_YnBJeTMRuWkJl56Yodz87lLe7S6D0BvTK21eg/s320/7.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny and Daddy at the Touch Pools, petting a bamboo shark. Wow, go Dags!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfEXInrNOF5Rkjw4WkCvvYDr4GxZ6rMn6-VionGXFgsDDiNSJdpN95R69tnrmrOdCXd70-x256moHq-jColAYlB3nfItvL9vxk0De3UNl0FVSAhPH0ZXLWxOW4uf9JQ-r4CTInWvaG1s/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfEXInrNOF5Rkjw4WkCvvYDr4GxZ6rMn6-VionGXFgsDDiNSJdpN95R69tnrmrOdCXd70-x256moHq-jColAYlB3nfItvL9vxk0De3UNl0FVSAhPH0ZXLWxOW4uf9JQ-r4CTInWvaG1s/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is actually NOT a beaver! It's a water rat... or for anyone who has seen the Princess Bride, an R.O.U.S. from the Fire Swamp.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0e_pqlyg03NQjyNbrcFMoxTqb3_xmL_iZKMF7R1KDlFEVACPr-DdFlTfRSOoshS0IlGCoJAjBO4ufUNzyj8-Gdr9qO4j5co9N7XsXIgNu00WOn7I9jHbuoAFnWahYYvdSwwYbfabn_u4/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0e_pqlyg03NQjyNbrcFMoxTqb3_xmL_iZKMF7R1KDlFEVACPr-DdFlTfRSOoshS0IlGCoJAjBO4ufUNzyj8-Gdr9qO4j5co9N7XsXIgNu00WOn7I9jHbuoAFnWahYYvdSwwYbfabn_u4/s320/9.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny and Daddy popping up inside the sea otter exhibit!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_BjQqDSdJHQeN6qIMTS7nkCoMZHn1TLRSrqB-tDzdWnPzuUBlT_7WXdY0FpZuywNANXJ_q7elCMzcEeMYVs-VZLluL53K-bwk44Cn2hLt-9YidIue65gCBdjxRH2zNMMxL7VCoQWvO0/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN_BjQqDSdJHQeN6qIMTS7nkCoMZHn1TLRSrqB-tDzdWnPzuUBlT_7WXdY0FpZuywNANXJ_q7elCMzcEeMYVs-VZLluL53K-bwk44Cn2hLt-9YidIue65gCBdjxRH2zNMMxL7VCoQWvO0/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">High fivein' a gecko.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqbBsRjmxyf5wILaR2K8DR4tjthq8nSNNSLvF5hqRTDamLznaEF5nhLEJGs_VF9inlhuKiXsi6ug0T0B2RQsiGLxMKVVbIy3cJU5rk6TGseu7V5bbtutfIl5wm-JK1eNmoviavLLd0Qs/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqbBsRjmxyf5wILaR2K8DR4tjthq8nSNNSLvF5hqRTDamLznaEF5nhLEJGs_VF9inlhuKiXsi6ug0T0B2RQsiGLxMKVVbIy3cJU5rk6TGseu7V5bbtutfIl5wm-JK1eNmoviavLLd0Qs/s320/11.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Hello, Mr. Coatamundi. Would you like to come back to Singapore and be my new bedtime snuggle buddy?"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu69wMv5al3AC0o6nGi-ZPzdpH-KIBbnXw1vWX1aRDeh4HOrY6j_eT9_Z7Ks6B6aIhhCiKQpXk5TskPiBnRKlrchJri4A5f8oFgEwmz1aYel-tzRo6_Tw_lZpD-Bi6AAJ51B_WqwOOPuQ/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu69wMv5al3AC0o6nGi-ZPzdpH-KIBbnXw1vWX1aRDeh4HOrY6j_eT9_Z7Ks6B6aIhhCiKQpXk5TskPiBnRKlrchJri4A5f8oFgEwmz1aYel-tzRo6_Tw_lZpD-Bi6AAJ51B_WqwOOPuQ/s320/12.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny very appropriately wore her new fish sundress from Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Kim and Uncle Geoff.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LuPDi6Gr91N-SKHtaSA_7JSiwj__j9FYwp-b3ffqoKAjV6aQUw6E0oq-H8Rz-ViZysUe8c8_sevpRxtpuMbefPhviJFkIb4PpmLqYvtI9ev1-38ZSEtZ1D_BSQyp81Yc13Acl0HkVVk/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LuPDi6Gr91N-SKHtaSA_7JSiwj__j9FYwp-b3ffqoKAjV6aQUw6E0oq-H8Rz-ViZysUe8c8_sevpRxtpuMbefPhviJFkIb4PpmLqYvtI9ev1-38ZSEtZ1D_BSQyp81Yc13Acl0HkVVk/s320/13.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The underwater walk.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqYiZE2sFEFbspQjLBtT5JlBcGJMXpLl4eABAvt5Lw607t2Sj75OuK-vc-6SjKAWfQHHW_jZpAhj81hL9PnAMrmQhH0MmmPEahU8qIzT68_q2PJJkE8-0KdiCjSPrPSudbBidCgTkhgI/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqYiZE2sFEFbspQjLBtT5JlBcGJMXpLl4eABAvt5Lw607t2Sj75OuK-vc-6SjKAWfQHHW_jZpAhj81hL9PnAMrmQhH0MmmPEahU8qIzT68_q2PJJkE8-0KdiCjSPrPSudbBidCgTkhgI/s320/14.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny didn't say peep (nor did she blink) the entire way through.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6iRQYrrrNZImUZWxAPzE15aHnpLPBqj2vwJO8oQkHL8agG_O1d0T-RUTCOmOctC1pqd91QKEvy6UPUuUU2y8boCsY2t8PVuH3r_FRfJwOLWjXQdBC-S6Z-YLa6_zdCsj52FhBEusGa6M/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6iRQYrrrNZImUZWxAPzE15aHnpLPBqj2vwJO8oQkHL8agG_O1d0T-RUTCOmOctC1pqd91QKEvy6UPUuUU2y8boCsY2t8PVuH3r_FRfJwOLWjXQdBC-S6Z-YLa6_zdCsj52FhBEusGa6M/s320/15.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfy0f7RdLBHt5JavldyYEyowDdYH1d3y70jRlo2qUrpuPVKA4XiCAwf5Xgt73Rj7Pxs0fqXf6LjM5PykLZSHlFcWTXoYr1-RCpofzYlsKr1-2N50Lj_F54pfwPIxDRT2V8se0KWBKOdz8/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfy0f7RdLBHt5JavldyYEyowDdYH1d3y70jRlo2qUrpuPVKA4XiCAwf5Xgt73Rj7Pxs0fqXf6LjM5PykLZSHlFcWTXoYr1-RCpofzYlsKr1-2N50Lj_F54pfwPIxDRT2V8se0KWBKOdz8/s320/16.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJt4mEE9NICbM1nMdrj0EPC9uu5VHE5VlMJ_2goAyIJLosKbuLErZqpyZQ2MimdKp-vf-aUKwCrObU9IgH6r3mzo_g1XHNxm6Yj_D83_PbhhjQKJhyphenhyphenOaK8tvaeAOVx8jb4TCVJGs6is4/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJt4mEE9NICbM1nMdrj0EPC9uu5VHE5VlMJ_2goAyIJLosKbuLErZqpyZQ2MimdKp-vf-aUKwCrObU9IgH6r3mzo_g1XHNxm6Yj_D83_PbhhjQKJhyphenhyphenOaK8tvaeAOVx8jb4TCVJGs6is4/s320/17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Out to dinner outside the Petronas Towers.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdMCuBBz5P0naes4tJ-h01nJ55NAc3Vg57yQA8Txxn-tD4NqPxJ5EVP1XkfRhTFkJ4UnwWkuz6q2N-1eSicengl5AW4XV4Ptv6RUsFhlzBsccsaDlIeQv44VYtKfns7RNQ1LCh6_nQhc/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdMCuBBz5P0naes4tJ-h01nJ55NAc3Vg57yQA8Txxn-tD4NqPxJ5EVP1XkfRhTFkJ4UnwWkuz6q2N-1eSicengl5AW4XV4Ptv6RUsFhlzBsccsaDlIeQv44VYtKfns7RNQ1LCh6_nQhc/s320/18.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny konked out after a long and fun-filled day. She had a new friend from Aquaria to keep her company (and apparently still some ketchup on her cheeks for midnight snacking). How's that for a lady-like pose?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hmmmm.... What else to say about KL? Not much. We actually spent a good bit of time around the hotel, eating free food and drinking delicious wine that was (gasp!) <i>affordable!</i> We don't have a bathtub in our apartment in Singapore, so Dagny enjoyed multiple bubble baths while we were there (ahhh, the simple pleasures in life). And Brad even treated me to an hour's massage, which was fantastic... nothing like my last massage. I'll admit, I was a little leery upon entering, when instead of asking about any medical conditions I may have, they asked what my astrological sign was so they could taylor a massage to my designated star chart. I actually paused before answering... Should I lie and say Gemini or Aquarius, in hopes that I receive a massage that is soothing, like air or water? Or do I tell them the truth, admit I'm a Capricorn, and hope to the heavens they don't do a "goat prance" on my spine?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I ended up telling them the truth, and the massage turned out just fine. At one point, I actually caught myself drooling and nodding off to sleep.</div><br />
The drive back to Singapore was lazy and storm-ridden. And uneventful, which was nice. I'm so glad Dagny and I had the opportunity to accompany Brad on his little business trip, but like I said before, traveling with a toddler isn't always easy. And one generally uses the term "vacation" very liberally when doing so. We were all three pretty tired by the time we got home, and ready again for our own beds and, though beautiful, no prayer chants at 5:00am.The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-48857034609804588022011-10-19T03:23:00.000-07:002011-10-19T03:41:04.846-07:00America Seems So Young<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Status:</i> I'm missing autumn, especially when I see pictures of my Stateside friends going apple picking or Halloween costume shopping. It's a strange and kind of funny sensation, but I've discovered that my seasonal body clock continues to tick whether I'm part of a seasonal change or not. The weather here in Singapore hasn't changed at all since the summer months, and yet I feel an urge to put on jeans and eat more carbs. Weird.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So I seem to have fallen behind on my posts again... hiccups in the fabric of time seem to be constant anomalies when it comes to motherhood. When I could swear I've been sitting at toddler playgroup with Dagny for the better part of an hour, I look at my watch and realize it's only been ten minutes. And when I think it's only been a couple of days since my last post, I log on to my computer and discover it's actually been a couple of weeks. Oh well. I do the best I can.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Brad, Dagny and I had a great time in Kuala Lumpur the past four days, but I'm actually going to save detailing that trip for a later post. I will TRY to write about it this weekend... yup, sorry... TRY is the best I can do right now!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Instead, I'll play a little catch up by highlighting Dagny's and my Adventure Wednesday trip from last week to the Asian Civilisations Museum (if you make it through the entire tour like we did, you'll see why it topped our "List of Must-Sees"). It was a hot morning, and crazy-humid, so I was a bit cranky when, after two train transfers, we wound up lost. I'm not a fan of iPhone 4, or at least the GPS feature, which is pretty much imperative to my existence here in Singapore. The little locator pin bounces me around all over the city, at one point on our trip even trying to convince me I was standing IN THE MIDDLE of Marina Bay... as in, walking on water. Hmmmm...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But, as I've said before, sometimes the journey ends up being half the adventure. I wander streets I normally wouldn't have found, traverse weird tunnels I never knew existed in hopes of getting someplace familiar, and on occasion, find some truly remarkable stuff. For instance: on this particular trip, I got us crazy lost and ended up cutting through a park where I found this unbelievable tree! I have never seen anything like it before, and Dags thought it was pretty cool, too.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTAA8Ih1DKwqHWbEboIHeUtTkpetcQx0F9WQ8NqlXxXE4L3Gbl3hx70-Tsemeogi5EwYy80zmpNky9XeVptfAJAMZ_P4XndSP5hyphenhyphenlowFKHZu9DWf-a8qYqGXqbsHviAusILcKxMLVAfk/s1600/journey+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMTAA8Ih1DKwqHWbEboIHeUtTkpetcQx0F9WQ8NqlXxXE4L3Gbl3hx70-Tsemeogi5EwYy80zmpNky9XeVptfAJAMZ_P4XndSP5hyphenhyphenlowFKHZu9DWf-a8qYqGXqbsHviAusILcKxMLVAfk/s320/journey+5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is called a Cannonball Tree (quite appropriately). The top looks like any typical deciduous tree, but where the branches start, there is an unusual clumping of palm-like leaves, and then even farther down the trunk, you run into above-ground roots. Such a crazy looking tree!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7FNS4v8Qoy_cJ7xcYPJerOyk2FEbRCxxOC6k3BWcxmvgTEERW30TUW8kYxqpHv4La-6tjAOquI5oBp4OEmuB61F5W4nROVV6JDDTXhBncCAK5hYtB3VQa0pyfhrFNTGP_xcdlD8RY_Y/s1600/journey+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7FNS4v8Qoy_cJ7xcYPJerOyk2FEbRCxxOC6k3BWcxmvgTEERW30TUW8kYxqpHv4La-6tjAOquI5oBp4OEmuB61F5W4nROVV6JDDTXhBncCAK5hYtB3VQa0pyfhrFNTGP_xcdlD8RY_Y/s320/journey+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These giant fruits really are about the size of cannonballs, and are very hard.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6XTzPQk1C6j-LFa4AtTwbrb7CFqA3naTPaJvtAL1g5VrcD0UY-Op6CrEwxlYnrUV6Dn9RFCyTr_iik2t6E0EUO6eReC4KEPXKCX5F2MAO9YofwTYb19IkkcP79SXbnE2qyyq-jwJhEg/s1600/journey+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy6XTzPQk1C6j-LFa4AtTwbrb7CFqA3naTPaJvtAL1g5VrcD0UY-Op6CrEwxlYnrUV6Dn9RFCyTr_iik2t6E0EUO6eReC4KEPXKCX5F2MAO9YofwTYb19IkkcP79SXbnE2qyyq-jwJhEg/s320/journey+7.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The flowers of the Cannonball Tree are very fragrant, and are used in Hindu worship.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8P62cDTRmUhYfRUGcn25DZS436sVui5OawMhdvypbEk0g9X0DKawWwXDKc6AGH7FXhhvjP1PiEa4GDNqsvPh9iAX5asoxpgJ3ooggnbQfHeTPkKqtrm6Zbb4beC7fGtzNSJsN-qmPmek/s1600/china+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8P62cDTRmUhYfRUGcn25DZS436sVui5OawMhdvypbEk0g9X0DKawWwXDKc6AGH7FXhhvjP1PiEa4GDNqsvPh9iAX5asoxpgJ3ooggnbQfHeTPkKqtrm6Zbb4beC7fGtzNSJsN-qmPmek/s320/china+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Finally!!!! The Asian Civilisations Museum.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCpIWjkFw-rflw784e6l43iHqC2dxjVO7e7mtaU6p-idcKyQfFcUpWcr6mSImJrgmk9CwtyHl7_ymuUTqOzYnW4CIg2Gx3GXjh0H2TytvDWOgfnWxWYZx_wlyKgFCO6bKk6RnxFsaCr8/s1600/china+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCpIWjkFw-rflw784e6l43iHqC2dxjVO7e7mtaU6p-idcKyQfFcUpWcr6mSImJrgmk9CwtyHl7_ymuUTqOzYnW4CIg2Gx3GXjh0H2TytvDWOgfnWxWYZx_wlyKgFCO6bKk6RnxFsaCr8/s320/china+2.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've really developed an affinity for Buddhist art since moving here. The Buddhist faith originated in India, and spread to China around the 3rd century BC via the Silk Road. From there, it continued to flourish throughout Southeast Asia, thanks mostly to trade routes. Every region has its own traditions in their depiction of Buddha, which I love. This statue of Buddha is from Thailand and is made of bronze. The "spire" on Thai Buddha's head represents flame of enlightenment.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJiSWHBdnv6QQyM3COv3uSpIPzflKWzyRn7r6Gj1B91hwDhZVysDuXrBesldY1usFp_uDnun8bMT0i0LcageQDjJ9W_J7kIOHyfwvMtRuwumwOo9MqJ3Qh6Gn3lTl9bcM3IZYoMSs2r4/s1600/china+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzJiSWHBdnv6QQyM3COv3uSpIPzflKWzyRn7r6Gj1B91hwDhZVysDuXrBesldY1usFp_uDnun8bMT0i0LcageQDjJ9W_J7kIOHyfwvMtRuwumwOo9MqJ3Qh6Gn3lTl9bcM3IZYoMSs2r4/s320/china+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a Cambodian Buddha, and dates all the way back to the 11th century. Naga, king of mythical serpents, is protecting this Buddha from the floods. On this Buddha, the long earlobes and tight hair curls with the protuberance are symbolic of his enlightenment.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkDiG2VZQ7wxuUjt61D_bRPkV-QACrtJf4ba_1wtdY4P3-htkWLcGrKAidHWn-_azDdOjfGnF8iQSv8UHOoZCyqYAYnMmyYp9tCte9kIudHuOFu3G7BAuRudXtrt-GB4YcBV-kSP7terk/s1600/china+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkDiG2VZQ7wxuUjt61D_bRPkV-QACrtJf4ba_1wtdY4P3-htkWLcGrKAidHWn-_azDdOjfGnF8iQSv8UHOoZCyqYAYnMmyYp9tCte9kIudHuOFu3G7BAuRudXtrt-GB4YcBV-kSP7terk/s320/china+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">On the left is another Cambodian Buddha, which dates all the way back to the 7th century! Dagny and I started a game at this point on the tour... to see if we could find the oldest artifact in the museum. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxKUjv9VHTMZBAG47SNzECuV1NScoj-D4QL3227IX_uxunZftIbtu44jTdPBVmM-swzic5EMrT44dM-iFtkWCxn2tiZhZW9zm_uGG0gePFhVS9VAY07w-tbk9XPC1UCQHSCvpImBu1KI/s1600/china+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxKUjv9VHTMZBAG47SNzECuV1NScoj-D4QL3227IX_uxunZftIbtu44jTdPBVmM-swzic5EMrT44dM-iFtkWCxn2tiZhZW9zm_uGG0gePFhVS9VAY07w-tbk9XPC1UCQHSCvpImBu1KI/s320/china+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These are called Mukhalingam, and they represent the Hindu god Shiva. That is a third eye at the center of their foreheads, and they also have the elongated earlobes and tall top-knot (or jatabhanda) as signs of enlightenment. These have been carbon dated to the 8th century. Sorry, fellas... you were close.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSP1E1iUHt_Kk-NEhyUj7cNgeTBZQD-pGE1rw1rcDXKxasG522s2VIQqGskDphXUk2ZG2_JeT0tPeHgoy3KBbFrKpYsLlyXzDH2RSPZOBGqC7NXfIFTF9JJdmYiYzza6UQSdMyJjM6Ms/s1600/china+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcSP1E1iUHt_Kk-NEhyUj7cNgeTBZQD-pGE1rw1rcDXKxasG522s2VIQqGskDphXUk2ZG2_JeT0tPeHgoy3KBbFrKpYsLlyXzDH2RSPZOBGqC7NXfIFTF9JJdmYiYzza6UQSdMyJjM6Ms/s320/china+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm diggin' these gold earrings on the right. Yowsa!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJmWP_xrrn_U7y4d14z7MjyicRAhB7l_EEJdwEwXS_PUsNr5CJ-sdWzFHkAgoacOi4YmzeLx7Re3IyDoDNraf3Qln8So_FUhK5JCn2_kjyNjlVhyseBuGMLEqpREHHjJ6qfte8-HbV-A/s1600/china+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJmWP_xrrn_U7y4d14z7MjyicRAhB7l_EEJdwEwXS_PUsNr5CJ-sdWzFHkAgoacOi4YmzeLx7Re3IyDoDNraf3Qln8So_FUhK5JCn2_kjyNjlVhyseBuGMLEqpREHHjJ6qfte8-HbV-A/s320/china+7.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We have now moved on to North Vietnam... it was very cool the way the museum was laid out, with different rooms dedicated to different regions of Asia. Each exhibit opened with a description of what life was like there before, during, and after Chinese influence... everything from writing and cultivation of rice to language and religion.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOE52eG-Fw3vz0m0SxmuJM16fyWTKsekWmYbVoO-k28YZaLt_zKc-IH0sEZaFdpa8dXsp9d21-AbxaOaChpZcO4vl7JKIPHBjaRZdAbyXkT9UgBBflm4I_KCTqcHrbySXaqcCyqcxF0LE/s1600/china+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOE52eG-Fw3vz0m0SxmuJM16fyWTKsekWmYbVoO-k28YZaLt_zKc-IH0sEZaFdpa8dXsp9d21-AbxaOaChpZcO4vl7JKIPHBjaRZdAbyXkT9UgBBflm4I_KCTqcHrbySXaqcCyqcxF0LE/s320/china+8.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Vietnamese Buddha.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4VtuFdISaNpS7xjozJV7jEFuAzbMK5q3E8Hr70gwdeZdtEkfi4PdVnfsT7XX5VG3PXEY1ICSl8seH2eJDDFL1Rn3azQpE8yFcQuHRUFwYjh1NUfH6Y2AHjjQZXi1X_mYlhGHI7QM644o/s1600/china+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4VtuFdISaNpS7xjozJV7jEFuAzbMK5q3E8Hr70gwdeZdtEkfi4PdVnfsT7XX5VG3PXEY1ICSl8seH2eJDDFL1Rn3azQpE8yFcQuHRUFwYjh1NUfH6Y2AHjjQZXi1X_mYlhGHI7QM644o/s320/china+9.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The multi-armed Quan Am, which is a female version of Buddha that was very popular in China during the Song Dynasty (960-1279). She had the power to alleviate all forms of suffering.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLXEBhIwxir4UAas1EGR2YFOASaeobWPJeodW-nfEsoOEWBjPGtGvzZ4M_r3ktMeFflRi72qj66PnaSrrB-rgPqrRtzgI8iD6cFWZqumEhDgb3wwrvuW5MYAvVUpafqf8onxeEByIWYsA/s1600/china+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLXEBhIwxir4UAas1EGR2YFOASaeobWPJeodW-nfEsoOEWBjPGtGvzZ4M_r3ktMeFflRi72qj66PnaSrrB-rgPqrRtzgI8iD6cFWZqumEhDgb3wwrvuW5MYAvVUpafqf8onxeEByIWYsA/s320/china+10.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hilltribe jewelry from Thailand. Earrings and neckrings with a "soul lock" hanging from them. Silver jewelry was a way of investing a family's wealth to be passed down as heirlooms.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvX8acT8znKQEWaCiv_VEOnfhU_3PmUiskz7bIXW6EsQy62dsN_NXSyDVZ2TH7QR1XrYePuZ1Bl0QyvLRtHj_FcsQB6NhzIAmVXbqmPDTFDjZhh1KiTCLJkhCP9aDDqYd9aec_eHgLkU/s1600/china+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvX8acT8znKQEWaCiv_VEOnfhU_3PmUiskz7bIXW6EsQy62dsN_NXSyDVZ2TH7QR1XrYePuZ1Bl0QyvLRtHj_FcsQB6NhzIAmVXbqmPDTFDjZhh1KiTCLJkhCP9aDDqYd9aec_eHgLkU/s320/china+11.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Okay, this guy was seriously cool, and pretty big. It is a Makara processional vehicle (or the head of one). It is a very rare surviving piece from Hindu culture in Malaysia.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86O2E8KMpnYNvtv-l3n0iYSPrsQ4cgTMiQhb-N0d4d0FAWfjB8Tmy4U52cqgF702-IrmyMrA4eS8Mk2ZXywePg5DVT1of-_VMe9dSrPkGpf-3JA0SyR8PmrR_I_OzgyW7hG_nHMcdu2I/s1600/china+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86O2E8KMpnYNvtv-l3n0iYSPrsQ4cgTMiQhb-N0d4d0FAWfjB8Tmy4U52cqgF702-IrmyMrA4eS8Mk2ZXywePg5DVT1of-_VMe9dSrPkGpf-3JA0SyR8PmrR_I_OzgyW7hG_nHMcdu2I/s320/china+12.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These wooden masks depict Aso, a powerful Dayak dragon goddess of the underworld. Dayak Malaysian mothers used to wear these to scare their children into obedience. Hmmm... I wonder if that would fit into my mom's "Parenting With Love & Logic" program. Maybe we could call it "Love & Logic & A Little Bit of Pants Wetting."</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6czlAhF5BYq8A6AwhCCxTNbD381U4cg3Wry-GmiJ3lEFEiLaKc5xv_NGl3Na5JVbWJ7F4FuhsvP1j9W8wFetxAUekUY9DPhxqvrlhRaxA6m1t47za-m1m5WJJ2hoGtw9ladtg-11DbhU/s1600/china+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6czlAhF5BYq8A6AwhCCxTNbD381U4cg3Wry-GmiJ3lEFEiLaKc5xv_NGl3Na5JVbWJ7F4FuhsvP1j9W8wFetxAUekUY9DPhxqvrlhRaxA6m1t47za-m1m5WJJ2hoGtw9ladtg-11DbhU/s320/china+13.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hilltribe headdress. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqePb-A03kv6_HrPWiBdpoS0YdWLrTyfRuooS7iWymFNhbIzSLira-pHcjuDN3RdcJNp5ZfNAGWqyBjaud2OjmiUNK-n9cZrwwn4MvzJbAXdYam0d9OKsuDaiIUFu4vjyaDodY5Zi0bLk/s1600/china+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqePb-A03kv6_HrPWiBdpoS0YdWLrTyfRuooS7iWymFNhbIzSLira-pHcjuDN3RdcJNp5ZfNAGWqyBjaud2OjmiUNK-n9cZrwwn4MvzJbAXdYam0d9OKsuDaiIUFu4vjyaDodY5Zi0bLk/s320/china+16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Belt buckles! For real! The one on the far right was as big as my midsection. I totally want to go to Texas now wearing one of these, and saunter up to some guy in a saloon-type bar with a giant "Everything's Bigger In Texas" belt buckle on his pants and be like, "You call <i>that</i> a belt buckle? I guess some things are even bigger in South Niam."</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgxFsBox1v1H3V4je5DwAjla3naigfyxj6wrI2Y3adiBtI_-chvXRN0CkeMDp6qSMXcEJOxe3j6I9ctlW1IoBQvYtLhgeEgHzloXIlgLYxaZ-Vfp0dBTPmMLJpfNvoIGRBl7ghilMHmg/s1600/china+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgxFsBox1v1H3V4je5DwAjla3naigfyxj6wrI2Y3adiBtI_-chvXRN0CkeMDp6qSMXcEJOxe3j6I9ctlW1IoBQvYtLhgeEgHzloXIlgLYxaZ-Vfp0dBTPmMLJpfNvoIGRBl7ghilMHmg/s320/china+17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Okay, these two pictures are for my loyal guy readers... weapons! Unfortunately it was so dark in this part of the museum that the pics didn't come out too well. These swords used to belong to Sumatran princes, and the keris (the wavy-bladed knife) originated in Java. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqL3HSw3N8bbrjJGoytbZaHYTrLkpJe4j-20mIsrtsP2N64bvy8xQGh4TB0b9DnsCgFxJfJiA86fwFOsZLG8Yq7H5f6EFUnBZq3FH5DzvRATowvSyPiIvGFaZCQV42RWHCb8c1Unc1OrQ/s1600/china+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqL3HSw3N8bbrjJGoytbZaHYTrLkpJe4j-20mIsrtsP2N64bvy8xQGh4TB0b9DnsCgFxJfJiA86fwFOsZLG8Yq7H5f6EFUnBZq3FH5DzvRATowvSyPiIvGFaZCQV42RWHCb8c1Unc1OrQ/s320/china+20.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I mean, seriously, how bad a$$ are these things??? I imagine Stephen King's infamous evil magician, Flagg, carrying a keris.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFDrT0wt-cX9jmSjluQLnQl4tNTlZrR_qUZ1C6MHzyuuGsv3CDKogvvP8T0XLGgCYuCi1WeZ-4zCc8zulvu00rv7H1_apvdp3W6qvlWCFC6EAAedxnehzyOzZg3blasTxaltyg3m3QFYQ/s1600/china+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFDrT0wt-cX9jmSjluQLnQl4tNTlZrR_qUZ1C6MHzyuuGsv3CDKogvvP8T0XLGgCYuCi1WeZ-4zCc8zulvu00rv7H1_apvdp3W6qvlWCFC6EAAedxnehzyOzZg3blasTxaltyg3m3QFYQ/s320/china+22.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If only you could all see these in person... they stand about 12-feet tall! Dags was totally enthralled (thank goodness... it could have easily gone either way: enthralled or horrified). These are used in the Taiwanese and Chinese Mazu Festivals, in honor of Mazu, the Goddess of the Sea.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And now for the biggest treat of all... the main reason Dagny and I ventured out the Asian Civilisations Museum in the first place. We wanted to view the temporary exhibit of the Terracotta Warriors! Yes, this was beyond amazing, to see up close and personal a little of the astonishingly beautiful and sophisticated art from the very militaristic and highly controversial First Emperor of China.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7wsJ0PsuwG4wo_lTbbtUIs3YKt0Z9AbWCZbBNG9zQefgGcrH6X_Ab_DiwGLtZhXQBQjdJI8xYWs08lLVD_s8h8KcYn03dgaEALfXNavWrY-0KxCHvH4BLeEWcfV7EcNveOfyxB0H4is/s1600/warrior+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7wsJ0PsuwG4wo_lTbbtUIs3YKt0Z9AbWCZbBNG9zQefgGcrH6X_Ab_DiwGLtZhXQBQjdJI8xYWs08lLVD_s8h8KcYn03dgaEALfXNavWrY-0KxCHvH4BLeEWcfV7EcNveOfyxB0H4is/s320/warrior+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2HOqpWwenFGC8s4ZooJAOAfOYuWDldKgyZ_bOAoQm2uT9yHYY8OQc0RiaZxTIZySUaZ9Fm7scaoiYKOleUH4lQFyewfdj-I3CjOr62OGeZ6UTYOfIDit3AUaknQRT3JtCy83KU7CIMA/s1600/warrior+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_2HOqpWwenFGC8s4ZooJAOAfOYuWDldKgyZ_bOAoQm2uT9yHYY8OQc0RiaZxTIZySUaZ9Fm7scaoiYKOleUH4lQFyewfdj-I3CjOr62OGeZ6UTYOfIDit3AUaknQRT3JtCy83KU7CIMA/s320/warrior+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Everything used to be painted in vibrant colors.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5MIrqTfom7lTDLfZ_zDA4NvNJD89a9U_DeQNtd-7TZn0NIQ0x6sG0WZTbNkRGs-kO7hsk3-PsEuELGhfwXClE-xxmEhQjF23E-s6MAeQZ8Bcdl7OS1f_q_6tRVTwGiO66asWpoTvPVk0/s1600/warrior+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5MIrqTfom7lTDLfZ_zDA4NvNJD89a9U_DeQNtd-7TZn0NIQ0x6sG0WZTbNkRGs-kO7hsk3-PsEuELGhfwXClE-xxmEhQjF23E-s6MAeQZ8Bcdl7OS1f_q_6tRVTwGiO66asWpoTvPVk0/s320/warrior+4.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEW9vOwvRk0ibg5RvBhTH83K9FcSpJiOQPYmwGevwvDk5LJkJEx7l22o5lJoyrPEfjAtFwrbpNhXWwARMDwoK-ZMrNvB8ofZH-AIJ4pwEXgA3tCFPEwVSTW4JqHepvyALa1XFoGCw0-c0/s1600/warrior+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEW9vOwvRk0ibg5RvBhTH83K9FcSpJiOQPYmwGevwvDk5LJkJEx7l22o5lJoyrPEfjAtFwrbpNhXWwARMDwoK-ZMrNvB8ofZH-AIJ4pwEXgA3tCFPEwVSTW4JqHepvyALa1XFoGCw0-c0/s320/warrior+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These are all life-sized, and have features of rank and function.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD14wbwTzoEwYApixjkykP4mYFTAnDvvQsLJZdHIn_zBU3XZS_DlVNPxmFMr7u2hoL3m6Mjj0dB64lSPAB0QsQVy17uOIoiXLYpEnrhYPHs0KPJe3fnthcDlo2ZITJtu0LrJxj4_JHRYM/s1600/warrior+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD14wbwTzoEwYApixjkykP4mYFTAnDvvQsLJZdHIn_zBU3XZS_DlVNPxmFMr7u2hoL3m6Mjj0dB64lSPAB0QsQVy17uOIoiXLYpEnrhYPHs0KPJe3fnthcDlo2ZITJtu0LrJxj4_JHRYM/s320/warrior+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">In the four pits at the dig site (not here, obviously), over 7,000 soldiers and more than 500 horses and multiple chariots were unearthed. Again: LIFE SIZED!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So as it turns out, the Terracotta Warriors were the oldest artifacts we found in the museum, dating back to 200 BC. Leading up to them, Dagny found a small Buddha statue from the 5th century, but the room was too dark to get a very good picture. It's funny to think that one day, Dags will go on a class field trip to Williamsburg, Virginia, and will probably say something to the tour guide like, "I'm sorry, you actually think the cotton gin is considered <i>old?</i>"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2lZmk_OW5TA7ELmPKwKQSub-ddE8Ug4aEzewoSC9wwPLsYDLYjWPhQnPu8DUjbUJD837Xxz_F-VjD5E7-tkKZ-3So6JMWJn8-2tmQIsnk_Kz5_Bf2gWtGM9ubte5-Xfimv8BP8HFwMo/s1600/end+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl2lZmk_OW5TA7ELmPKwKQSub-ddE8Ug4aEzewoSC9wwPLsYDLYjWPhQnPu8DUjbUJD837Xxz_F-VjD5E7-tkKZ-3So6JMWJn8-2tmQIsnk_Kz5_Bf2gWtGM9ubte5-Xfimv8BP8HFwMo/s320/end+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Heading out of the museum with my adventure buddy. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPIWLZo4LpvvsmjbV4zzTlLPDvwydM26wYO3DgxHi6Je9cIchxSlWgdkkMFApHX-zaxf0yw7LoplshI3MxBD_RaadgrWqsjIijm3OFMh_xG-2_i3HnORnYjiiANd997Uf74D8xWgMflUI/s1600/end+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPIWLZo4LpvvsmjbV4zzTlLPDvwydM26wYO3DgxHi6Je9cIchxSlWgdkkMFApHX-zaxf0yw7LoplshI3MxBD_RaadgrWqsjIijm3OFMh_xG-2_i3HnORnYjiiANd997Uf74D8xWgMflUI/s320/end+2.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCxcb6AtlgD_36UmSKKwGnWAjH7lXTJR0DAK-4LYwMQs9ZXxKwAjVCBMhUDUnyQlFkZ8MA5CzDmZp6zl9q_KfYpeB_RiEbrzWchSiSYJFbOJxiXZUG34NXdAHdesmUNpnLdjp4Vw6BcY/s1600/end+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCxcb6AtlgD_36UmSKKwGnWAjH7lXTJR0DAK-4LYwMQs9ZXxKwAjVCBMhUDUnyQlFkZ8MA5CzDmZp6zl9q_KfYpeB_RiEbrzWchSiSYJFbOJxiXZUG34NXdAHdesmUNpnLdjp4Vw6BcY/s320/end+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dags wasn't too sure about this guy at first, until I petted him and showed her he was very friendly!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was another fabulous day, and we learned a lot! Hopefully you learned a little bit, too!</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-68353657702117717242011-09-28T23:25:00.000-07:002011-09-28T23:25:14.174-07:00Oooh, Look What I Found!<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Brad’s been out of town since last Sunday and will be gone until late Friday night. Lucky guy is back in the States, eating red meat, drinking affordable wine and visiting friends. Oh, yeah… and attending multi-day conferences and long business meetings. <i>Semi-</i>lucky guy. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After a week of staying up late, watching crappy television while chatting one-on-one with Dagny's toys (only to be disappointed by their less-than-stellar conversational skills and lack of laughter at my awesome jokes), I decided to do something productive and slightly more sane with my time... Like organize my iPhoto albums! <i>Whoo-hoo!</i> But as fortune would have it, while I was sifting through some pictures last night, I found a fun batch that I had set aside to place in my blog, and then completely forgot about! These are from about two months ago, but better late than never…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was Saturday, and the morning started with our usual round of chores. Now I assure you, this involved no coercing on my part whatsoever, but two of Dagny’s favorite activities are Swiffering the floors and doing laundry. Here she is, slaving away on our balcony.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22l9tgS7yVH3qRQSwnm-6qmiolsbffVwpGfp4Kce66YwBG2FAx9_LCPvG-6NCm4PdV9AM0ZergU6aknmFdGdGFWBa8msXmIIMvPaeJ3ET1XJnly1nGk9_Fv-axCUNGOe4XxC0Hn4jOZ8/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj22l9tgS7yVH3qRQSwnm-6qmiolsbffVwpGfp4Kce66YwBG2FAx9_LCPvG-6NCm4PdV9AM0ZergU6aknmFdGdGFWBa8msXmIIMvPaeJ3ET1XJnly1nGk9_Fv-axCUNGOe4XxC0Hn4jOZ8/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"One day a handsome prince will come for me. Hopefully the glass slipper won't be ridiculously small... I have such big feet already!"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWU_xgYWbtQviUHxUQJNjhVJmbMf1nzMMmGlnqaTvfcnwTVh6qgZ3Gt0Vx89WrcryW0oREKFQEL9tFJiOF6_0t0dMXkeXb6t8C8W_iGt3iFt7_iL_B9znqytIflVHjpj2MgL8-xhr2D4/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWU_xgYWbtQviUHxUQJNjhVJmbMf1nzMMmGlnqaTvfcnwTVh6qgZ3Gt0Vx89WrcryW0oREKFQEL9tFJiOF6_0t0dMXkeXb6t8C8W_iGt3iFt7_iL_B9znqytIflVHjpj2MgL8-xhr2D4/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Would you like me to also fold what's on the drying rack, Wicked Step— er, Mom?"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once our chores were done, we headed to MacRitchie Reservoir, where there are miles and miles (or kilometers and kilometers) of trails to hike. Sure, there are some parks and playgrounds around our apartment, and even a beach nearby, but Brad and I were ready for a day in the woods!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmUDFh_SS1Z2YQoCWmiZ0xOvfqHRxfM5tqt55fiKjfQ5s5sOI5T-VeHavJ8iL5gmsmy30TguI3ad5HGZLVT5FuIgSTvwTBhakV526Jmf3ymrm-dBNof5kAnZSQE2nzH9K-CHNMz7T-8E/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmUDFh_SS1Z2YQoCWmiZ0xOvfqHRxfM5tqt55fiKjfQ5s5sOI5T-VeHavJ8iL5gmsmy30TguI3ad5HGZLVT5FuIgSTvwTBhakV526Jmf3ymrm-dBNof5kAnZSQE2nzH9K-CHNMz7T-8E/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Heading out!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hsoExzPa7YVNcN_aygSau-5QsoBhehRemYgTv4rfETQ1-d_1hyphenhyphenYhPuu1v15r_3mHMiZx5vtTXnEEsXfHwGRk41cwz0PNzt87ABBqqi1RxpIrdzDLyUJ0OB8nV_R_1WCL5FsE-FinYeA/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5hsoExzPa7YVNcN_aygSau-5QsoBhehRemYgTv4rfETQ1-d_1hyphenhyphenYhPuu1v15r_3mHMiZx5vtTXnEEsXfHwGRk41cwz0PNzt87ABBqqi1RxpIrdzDLyUJ0OB8nV_R_1WCL5FsE-FinYeA/s320/4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Very cool trees... the stuff of fairy tales and haunted forests.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIfXt5m8LXCqxSxMIwiTR_CEv_ivSb1ar4Xl9v7XFf0WRP84ntWrsjBqVJ5onwt95Ll6rNIfrLFBIVWQAtCEu3B6XSDedcVAWb65a58K3qzMAg-h10dBgHIT3UO5YFayXP82VG3mP5o4/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIfXt5m8LXCqxSxMIwiTR_CEv_ivSb1ar4Xl9v7XFf0WRP84ntWrsjBqVJ5onwt95Ll6rNIfrLFBIVWQAtCEu3B6XSDedcVAWb65a58K3qzMAg-h10dBgHIT3UO5YFayXP82VG3mP5o4/s320/5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Adventurer vest with pockets for collecting pebbles and leaves? Check. Minnie Mouse water bottle? Check. Hiking shoes? Check. Everything in coordinating shades of Diva Pink? Checkity check.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Believe it or not, the trails were kind of tough! Of course, we aren’t used to hiking with a 22-lb. kid on our backs, nor are we accustomed to slogging through a rainforest in 95-degree heat and off-the-chart levels of humidity. But I was pleasantly surprised that on an island that appears relatively flat, there were some pretty impressive climbs.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The forest was very dense, and filled with all kinds of sounds I wasn't used to hearing… squawking and strange chirping and shrill monkey calls. About 20 minutes into our hike, we encountered our first bit of wildlife… sunning itself on the trail in front of us was a 3-foot monitor lizard! As soon as he saw us he slid off the trail and none of my pictures of him hiding beneath the lush plants came out very well. But it was fun to see (and a little scary!). He was definitely much bigger and more dinosaur-like than the lizards I’m used to seeing around the apartment!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our destination was the Rainforest Canopy Trail, which ended up not being quite as close as it appeared on the park map. But we enjoyed every step of our hike, and Brad and I got such a kick out of showing things to Dagny and watching her reactions to the world around her. And the long, hot, and hilly climb was definitely worth it... Who wouldn't be excited by the chance to walk across swinging bridges in the treetops of the rainforest? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXdZfnXoVrH_9S4Uxj9IVvjPOXpqCtxr8L2zFzlY9kBlN91UWM6YbtTsh8vIl7KMd65YCyUSGftN4JqkP8mft5VWhbPZGS6MD0Oy53WFtTvuKUzYGfDUNn8fBoKlLfQ3nUvl0MWPnfMc/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXdZfnXoVrH_9S4Uxj9IVvjPOXpqCtxr8L2zFzlY9kBlN91UWM6YbtTsh8vIl7KMd65YCyUSGftN4JqkP8mft5VWhbPZGS6MD0Oy53WFtTvuKUzYGfDUNn8fBoKlLfQ3nUvl0MWPnfMc/s320/6.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Canopy bridge. We were probably about 75-feet up from the ground.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkondRQfh30em-yOcUuDsyYAvPebfOAMyyg_pQfz_EF0bQgUl1KhQMTocHAHyB692oqFc3_fuYQGmjRvMb58dVDw2uVh_3kxGzeOxcerqo-t8kQ3SWQWSiU9M53fMHhRK_30jcff6dGc/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkondRQfh30em-yOcUuDsyYAvPebfOAMyyg_pQfz_EF0bQgUl1KhQMTocHAHyB692oqFc3_fuYQGmjRvMb58dVDw2uVh_3kxGzeOxcerqo-t8kQ3SWQWSiU9M53fMHhRK_30jcff6dGc/s320/7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oW0IY4s__qNPglNf6cbSFnSkYgekO6jS_XRwpWPZ6vY9q7SNhnwu0NHkNaYBL0BG6Tk5xDBHWTdCRmIM_eJ0askB6LPbg7IQcItCtrJKGJGQftWxLvnPZ1UNJMTmTid7GGk8sSmY3Yc/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oW0IY4s__qNPglNf6cbSFnSkYgekO6jS_XRwpWPZ6vY9q7SNhnwu0NHkNaYBL0BG6Tk5xDBHWTdCRmIM_eJ0askB6LPbg7IQcItCtrJKGJGQftWxLvnPZ1UNJMTmTid7GGk8sSmY3Yc/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I almost missed seeing this guy! I was so focused on the bridge and clinging (yes, clinging) to the handrails that at first I didn't notice him sitting not 15-feet away from us, staring at me and probably thinking, "What a wuss."</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Zre1GZmomN6s_fYnPm6pRhLIs-7thYHTJEJRjq4JRpwdXJO6WQ3I-vSC_wYhSr0AhOoudjKH9snE9D2XDthuq8DPE0Jt7zx2wSlmD2HbSuNO88Mva7a51iJC8Tzgn932chOs-Xn2ILc/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Zre1GZmomN6s_fYnPm6pRhLIs-7thYHTJEJRjq4JRpwdXJO6WQ3I-vSC_wYhSr0AhOoudjKH9snE9D2XDthuq8DPE0Jt7zx2wSlmD2HbSuNO88Mva7a51iJC8Tzgn932chOs-Xn2ILc/s320/9.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">View out to the reservoir from the bridge.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All in all, the hike took us about 5 hours. We were exhausted by the end! About fifteen minutes away from the parking lot, as Brad and I were walking and discussing where we should stop for ice cream on the way home, the usually-still trees around us started rustling. Then they started whipping frantically back and forth. And then came the cackling shrieks of monkeys. And then came the monkeys themselves, dashing across the trail in front of us and hopping up and down in the trees beside us!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And as I fumbled for my camera, I just kept thinking, “These are WILD monkeys! Dozens of them! I’m like Jane Goodall!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPELBp7SHCisneDWi-vg5HD-TUWl9McbKAn0-7wbWrgsWyZCIwb0hqSdasixKljmfX0Yry5EniWhhlj50vH4y9KxgGXp6oi9C5ks0qZUjrihOwUOUrg9svuE4J8-waWVS87su07rIi2no/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPELBp7SHCisneDWi-vg5HD-TUWl9McbKAn0-7wbWrgsWyZCIwb0hqSdasixKljmfX0Yry5EniWhhlj50vH4y9KxgGXp6oi9C5ks0qZUjrihOwUOUrg9svuE4J8-waWVS87su07rIi2no/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">See the monkey sitting on the fence to the right? He darted right between Brad and I. Dagny kept pointing to all of them and making monkey sounds. SO. CUTE!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIoERViTadfJev4sQBnJ9HR09qzGk0PhIuC_lHAfuJxugiFayZN-2b9tCeO-uj2WuNE_oDLmiEfi0jFyn10QZtQp7ACuR65clPh-Mw6k6_c3EF-KcG-8AfyrHhPL5TUSU2VoTF9zGp2o/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIoERViTadfJev4sQBnJ9HR09qzGk0PhIuC_lHAfuJxugiFayZN-2b9tCeO-uj2WuNE_oDLmiEfi0jFyn10QZtQp7ACuR65clPh-Mw6k6_c3EF-KcG-8AfyrHhPL5TUSU2VoTF9zGp2o/s320/13.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Monkeys everywhere!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHG9_P7rY2YBRaGdwDXES68JdPKhdx5aczgtFb0BfW1uE-DNyFPjAst340Od0v9dfzuiZHJa8H1q8gyiMVHMDu8dLJcsYl-EVZyGy5VKW3Bom1boci-nYiXa5w6Es6XOACrWv0h-Fw2o/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHG9_P7rY2YBRaGdwDXES68JdPKhdx5aczgtFb0BfW1uE-DNyFPjAst340Od0v9dfzuiZHJa8H1q8gyiMVHMDu8dLJcsYl-EVZyGy5VKW3Bom1boci-nYiXa5w6Es6XOACrWv0h-Fw2o/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Some of the babies could have fit in the palm of my hand. I love this little guy. I would have named him Diablo, with those cute horns of his.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQk8tslLzjRnTBdb1H8cmvetBJXiirjF_n-nzLKngiZXpstXDY2DZwRjhG0o_cvOPqNBTshFCO7QXpZwzFLxBUHZnnpV8aeCedHbe00H_SWB47k-jJSlMysTjcz2eEZc9jeEiIqUupSDI/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQk8tslLzjRnTBdb1H8cmvetBJXiirjF_n-nzLKngiZXpstXDY2DZwRjhG0o_cvOPqNBTshFCO7QXpZwzFLxBUHZnnpV8aeCedHbe00H_SWB47k-jJSlMysTjcz2eEZc9jeEiIqUupSDI/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlco-DdkKwD8YG6ch302aonhbsmcVLOXiOVGz3QdEbf5QjFxU29Q-RoAr70B8bNUFhCnLkNxJ1VBd2jiquLtVMA_PtTnRdTmh4mhFU0qSV9pAHLq4F1LZW_ue8rwMoPnJDEQB3aNpH_DA/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlco-DdkKwD8YG6ch302aonhbsmcVLOXiOVGz3QdEbf5QjFxU29Q-RoAr70B8bNUFhCnLkNxJ1VBd2jiquLtVMA_PtTnRdTmh4mhFU0qSV9pAHLq4F1LZW_ue8rwMoPnJDEQB3aNpH_DA/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">When we got home, Dags put on Daddy's hiking boots and started walking around the apartment. She must have had a good time, too, and didn't want the day to end!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here are a few more pics that never made it into a blog post, but I love looking at. They are from National Day, which was quite a while ago (August 9<sup>th)</sup>. It has now been 46 years since Singapore first established their independence from Malaysia! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We kicked off our version of celebrating National Day by going to the TOP of Marina Bay Sands (the super-cool hotel/casino that looks like it has a cruise ship perched on top of it). The elevator ride alone was pretty amazing... we rocketed up almost 60 floors in just under 10 seconds. I was a little wobbly when we stepped off at the top. And once I found my stomach again (which bottomed out around the 20th floor), we found our way over to the terrace bar for a drink of the most expensive, but most delicious Chardonnay I've ever had. They charge about $30/glass, but part of that must also be for this impressive view...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoko2fiVMyKTzSfXzxT9rIk_Bxg8sPhzFEi417LoLVMSG7ZSzKl1XaThpOfwqj0MMuccyVnCUHeHyOGfHnT76POAUmIvvZh-iz8s2rgO_zBA1psRI0eRdF0de-mwWV7_2NZBDTzy1wclo/s1600/new+post+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoko2fiVMyKTzSfXzxT9rIk_Bxg8sPhzFEi417LoLVMSG7ZSzKl1XaThpOfwqj0MMuccyVnCUHeHyOGfHnT76POAUmIvvZh-iz8s2rgO_zBA1psRI0eRdF0de-mwWV7_2NZBDTzy1wclo/s320/new+post+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Daddy and my darling diva. The girl loves anything pink, pouffy, and covered in bows. And watch out, future boyfriends... this one has a serious affinity for jewelry!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGDcGK1z4Wv_MPdjFF_AMI2wHN-E68P43jm_jgVNomptlbwZS57SVQBKeKSaD2iiiZEAHKkacSrkcs6v3cqp74hFsJEFkNR2IWCovK02V_iIyxmIjhsf17tWg-HWJn7q5vIh1VMrlm10/s1600/new+post+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGDcGK1z4Wv_MPdjFF_AMI2wHN-E68P43jm_jgVNomptlbwZS57SVQBKeKSaD2iiiZEAHKkacSrkcs6v3cqp74hFsJEFkNR2IWCovK02V_iIyxmIjhsf17tWg-HWJn7q5vIh1VMrlm10/s320/new+post+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A view from our table at the bar. Our apartment is "sitting on the head" of the guy in the red shirt.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpJ9v4dMinkjmnb_NR0AjF8WWRqN5PRnjQgsxU6rcLhyyc3Evc2xsUAVU62NGjV4JZskd7yHQkFhBkgYSiGdQiGGLAan3g81Gn27XYS2HMnmVPswN4Avfh2P2_zw7f-NqMOZxieptbm08/s1600/new+post+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpJ9v4dMinkjmnb_NR0AjF8WWRqN5PRnjQgsxU6rcLhyyc3Evc2xsUAVU62NGjV4JZskd7yHQkFhBkgYSiGdQiGGLAan3g81Gn27XYS2HMnmVPswN4Avfh2P2_zw7f-NqMOZxieptbm08/s320/new+post+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Walking around Marina Bay after our drink. Some of the sidewalks have these great "misters" to help keep everyone cool.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxWNuhJm2xEKR5SmjaYzQR8KinSEzLKyVV3hYeb1yac8foYzwFdHXUks-v6LmF3D7PGb3y3xKSfN1GkgJYAnGG3tVX15vwHY02zfg4ymJryNfaIXgfwwBfedtPB2vCySXET97ev_vdyQ/s1600/new+post+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxWNuhJm2xEKR5SmjaYzQR8KinSEzLKyVV3hYeb1yac8foYzwFdHXUks-v6LmF3D7PGb3y3xKSfN1GkgJYAnGG3tVX15vwHY02zfg4ymJryNfaIXgfwwBfedtPB2vCySXET97ev_vdyQ/s320/new+post+4.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Early evening in downtown Singapore, also taken along Marina Bay.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiOe14SsuwQsntwVqD_u90Qv_5xSu6PFvYgGV_zz9Bs7SjXAKB7jbtRDjcs16GhSzdWnKU5pHw3RNFiRzklikqF9aWAO1A1un11dY4sD3a3Yv4wPryGEagJ34SjtnBwiZyT4ZKAMnPmnY/s1600/new+post+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiOe14SsuwQsntwVqD_u90Qv_5xSu6PFvYgGV_zz9Bs7SjXAKB7jbtRDjcs16GhSzdWnKU5pHw3RNFiRzklikqF9aWAO1A1un11dY4sD3a3Yv4wPryGEagJ34SjtnBwiZyT4ZKAMnPmnY/s320/new+post+5.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Not sure who this guy is, but he made a friend.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrX396S-4gBZvwDhHCt8tsnmX73OvBT90aDqUxGSO4tfevdduAo-eXG6dsVb-0_lWONvZO7mkSImRnQyxukzYyddFQR3dpv9PHJOoNYct5fVEqbj_H-_rfZd2GJwIGuuxWvoV7olUpdg/s1600/new+post+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrX396S-4gBZvwDhHCt8tsnmX73OvBT90aDqUxGSO4tfevdduAo-eXG6dsVb-0_lWONvZO7mkSImRnQyxukzYyddFQR3dpv9PHJOoNYct5fVEqbj_H-_rfZd2GJwIGuuxWvoV7olUpdg/s320/new+post+6.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Walking home from the celebrations.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCRWCnnIW4UX9S1h_tKAfILXuE9MFLlWQ7H9U16X8sKB0esM0GXUSZwy4YkYHNGfHNQ7nklqygytewhmADhJIVBD5L49ZBd91OM-d3E2YwD-YvQEvIncVOR7so0_op80sNdy4NKcPDSo8/s1600/new+post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCRWCnnIW4UX9S1h_tKAfILXuE9MFLlWQ7H9U16X8sKB0esM0GXUSZwy4YkYHNGfHNQ7nklqygytewhmADhJIVBD5L49ZBd91OM-d3E2YwD-YvQEvIncVOR7so0_op80sNdy4NKcPDSo8/s320/new+post.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Lodge Family in our matching Singapore polos. They didn't have one in Dagny's size, so her t-shirt says "Singapore Love."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-86057090991213267322011-09-23T22:59:00.000-07:002011-09-23T23:15:25.555-07:00Would You Rather Meet Willy Wonka or Buddha?<div class="MsoNormal">This past week was pretty rainy, which was actually kind of nice. I don’t think I realized, even with my sunglasses on, how much constant sunshine can strain a person’s eyes. The cloud cover was refreshing, and my eyes finally felt like they could relax and breathe for a few days.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But the rain did limit some of my Adventure Wednesday options. Sometimes the on-again-off-again storms hit with the ferocity and visibility of a dense waterfall. So obviously Dagny and I wouldn’t be doing anything outdoors, or anything that required extensive walking outside.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fortunately there is an entire city that exists beneath Singapore.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">No kidding, there are miles and miles of malls and store-lined hallways, extending five or six stories below ground. It took me a while to get used to it… the feel of a mall with no natural light, no windows… walking around like a lost mole in a never-ending maze. None of the malls or underground “links” are on a grid system… they wind and twist and take you up ramps and down escalators and just when you think you know where you are, you pop your head out of ground like Bugs Bunny, look left and right, and realize you have NO idea where you are after all. (And, if you’re sticking with the Bugs Bunny theme, you may say something like, “I knew I should have taken a left at Albuquerque.”)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikYDXpZ64Ioc7-DMmrrq3SRh-xbT2tlUnM78Zp3HXzRiqjL3JUsehOfFBvCLGGgC3TjTnIaWFXIY2hfqmLN9k2_L95JIlvhtTb_yfh373_Pg3SWjsY5HJidbOrb8bI2KtAo6j_1yewtOk/s1600/leftturnatalbuquerque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikYDXpZ64Ioc7-DMmrrq3SRh-xbT2tlUnM78Zp3HXzRiqjL3JUsehOfFBvCLGGgC3TjTnIaWFXIY2hfqmLN9k2_L95JIlvhtTb_yfh373_Pg3SWjsY5HJidbOrb8bI2KtAo6j_1yewtOk/s1600/leftturnatalbuquerque.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, on our saturated Wednesday this week, Dagny and I ventured into the subterranean malls. And believe it or not, I actually got us to our intended destination! There wasn’t going to be anything cultural about this particular adventure… today was a day out for Dags, and was appropriately dubbed “Willy Wonka Wednesday.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We went to a mall that is just for kids. Dagny rode carousels and a knock-off Thomas the Train. We wandered in and out of stores in search of new shoes for her and a birthday present for her baby cousin, both of which were fruitless ventures. I know anyone reading this probably gets sick of me talking about how much things cost here, but let me assure you, it’s not nearly as aggravating as actually having to deal with it on a daily basis! Out of curiosity, I jotted down some Toys R’ Us prices here, and compared them to Toys R’ Us back in the States… A $15 toy in the US costs about $60 here. So poor Dags didn’t get any new shoes, and her poor cousin still does not have a birthday present.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We spent a long time in Bookaburra, a very cool kids bookstore. We sat in a corner and read all the totally captivating books that are covered in sparkles, have purse handles sprouting out of them, and smell like peppermint candies. Then we put them back on the shelves, and I bought Dags a few ratty books out of the Used Book bin in the back of the store. She didn’t seem to mind.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After the mall, we pigged out on ice cream and other not-so-healthy foods. Then we went to the grand opening of Garrett's, a gourmet popcorn stand. Now, let me tell you, Dagny and I are popcorn FREAKS! We raced each other to the bottom of a bag of warm cheddar and caramel corn, which stained the underside of my fingernails orange for the next two days. <i>Ahhh, heaven</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95roKxpY_eqKl_9VKDJjuUGVfOpyb0DlKtkjNipHzMSuxbg3VbaRzp8qurRp0QfUGYe8VC-hsTT4KVXbMYAg9Faq_o_onrLVmOq6rbvMD1Qo_FG-A3DulUqathIWhujfA_6v1qkg6Zlk/s1600/popcorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95roKxpY_eqKl_9VKDJjuUGVfOpyb0DlKtkjNipHzMSuxbg3VbaRzp8qurRp0QfUGYe8VC-hsTT4KVXbMYAg9Faq_o_onrLVmOq6rbvMD1Qo_FG-A3DulUqathIWhujfA_6v1qkg6Zlk/s320/popcorn.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On our way home, we popped into Peekaboo, which is an indoor climbing gym and play area for kiddos. After two hours of crawling around in plastic tunnels, riding down spinny slides and wading through colorful ball pits (with a stomach full of energy-less, fatty-fat food, mind you), we were finally spent, and headed home. I had a salad and water for dinner that night.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5tBCHM-BBNajg1UeX6St1TMjXXL2PPq_x7Q14Y8NggHI1so-gxxAxyN3wXasmmg1SdL9KPQfScqsLe4BWYSLPHPEn59J79Uv3IFacqVKhUJg35UC6ux9cDKUv4qNY0icZYVVzPsVPmVI/s1600/peekaboo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5tBCHM-BBNajg1UeX6St1TMjXXL2PPq_x7Q14Y8NggHI1so-gxxAxyN3wXasmmg1SdL9KPQfScqsLe4BWYSLPHPEn59J79Uv3IFacqVKhUJg35UC6ux9cDKUv4qNY0icZYVVzPsVPmVI/s320/peekaboo+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Climbing through Peekaboo.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxDhXC4I5S2N4xJ1GkJ5EfvZx8DYSZRXkVkVwdR0nCU3htalz1uN0YDiGNKMzlXjEFfCBg8pIOVokA0biAIkSz8xIUuLic_RX0BxFm0OSTX5bpEC-t1eKJZgS3B80t4XzXI-AtSwq48E/s1600/peekaboo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGxDhXC4I5S2N4xJ1GkJ5EfvZx8DYSZRXkVkVwdR0nCU3htalz1uN0YDiGNKMzlXjEFfCBg8pIOVokA0biAIkSz8xIUuLic_RX0BxFm0OSTX5bpEC-t1eKJZgS3B80t4XzXI-AtSwq48E/s320/peekaboo+2.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your... oh wait, sorry Dags, you don't really have any hair yet."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, so let’s hit the rewind button to another Adventure Wednesday, from a couple of weeks ago…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Buddha Relic Temple and Museum! Now for some reason, my guidebooks don’t give this place very many stars, and I don’t understand why. Dagny and I LOVED it!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The temple is located in Chinatown, and is impressively tall and expansive. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OYz0I62Cc6AXvRYQVgLQmKZLd8C95HSGPlptvJM8ywbydwoTMyIepGPYF0rjWoTF6MSK9706tvoyfjm-ZINoQ9oIDT_OWlOYxoXtuAEumueiakAm-yqo8o4bpFLoRYNjn05fsTjtwZE/s1600/t+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OYz0I62Cc6AXvRYQVgLQmKZLd8C95HSGPlptvJM8ywbydwoTMyIepGPYF0rjWoTF6MSK9706tvoyfjm-ZINoQ9oIDT_OWlOYxoXtuAEumueiakAm-yqo8o4bpFLoRYNjn05fsTjtwZE/s320/t+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBa_1cmH1W1tmlOVN8dZVSFnmSRioaO0-HioEQenwblXphip_UkgQcYLf8zq3t3oXadU4TbFESx0vuQcfu5gALCsjs4sxwXwCDjBMRKSWoH4OVEYrBxFM9pfYXrRYpDGrv9jI8iZ5Dwo/s1600/temple+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBa_1cmH1W1tmlOVN8dZVSFnmSRioaO0-HioEQenwblXphip_UkgQcYLf8zq3t3oXadU4TbFESx0vuQcfu5gALCsjs4sxwXwCDjBMRKSWoH4OVEYrBxFM9pfYXrRYpDGrv9jI8iZ5Dwo/s320/temple+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hanging lanterns and strings of bells that sound so beautiful when the wind blows.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUkfCZ6cdC4aBF83QMFwJH6FfUjWu1D-Cxki0lMaXCTGEZo-lW5htheFM3yD0b7We2iMn39gr3eLWflFjYPzg4gLCHnVaWAAfEcaeKab6vZy_NZ058Vv3RrnKnhX3np8bKBQGNWTalD2w/s1600/t+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUkfCZ6cdC4aBF83QMFwJH6FfUjWu1D-Cxki0lMaXCTGEZo-lW5htheFM3yD0b7We2iMn39gr3eLWflFjYPzg4gLCHnVaWAAfEcaeKab6vZy_NZ058Vv3RrnKnhX3np8bKBQGNWTalD2w/s320/t+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A giant and ornately designed "cauldron" (I'm sure it's actually called something else) outside the main entrance. Those are joss sticks burning, in groups of 3 (one for earth, one for heaven, one for mankind). If a loved one has recently passed away, you may only see two joss sticks. Some temples have strict rules against this, and state that 3 must be burned at a time, though I'm not entirely sure why. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9_65V1howp4X62kDZJU2W072jVZ8rJI_EWGzaVElSv0XRCmaLQxCrkBHgcsIgGI2qJYkAb7Q2wzBkUUj7tjW19bCC8GiTXhQ7pZRc7On4GLV9HOhmE1kfRHiFkQ-4ncaiUW6PwzJ9cA/s1600/t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9_65V1howp4X62kDZJU2W072jVZ8rJI_EWGzaVElSv0XRCmaLQxCrkBHgcsIgGI2qJYkAb7Q2wzBkUUj7tjW19bCC8GiTXhQ7pZRc7On4GLV9HOhmE1kfRHiFkQ-4ncaiUW6PwzJ9cA/s320/t.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The doorway into the temple. A lot of temples and Asian houses have a raised doorstep like this. Even most apartments around here have a small lip to step over upon entering... From what I've been told, it has to do with a superstitious belief that a person's foot should completely clear the threshold upon entering a house. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbCJx0E7GYrmeRIbu6bctVWmzNb_lq8soe8cgh2kJgJEST-b-YoDj3rQ9wjl08kaI8oYeFQ8l2EZ9GYTfaQVqxyS5Xwaak04CSqnnJAn6oAVnKIEivoXEW6yQmF2AF_QPfiFEWOz_IDc/s1600/t+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbCJx0E7GYrmeRIbu6bctVWmzNb_lq8soe8cgh2kJgJEST-b-YoDj3rQ9wjl08kaI8oYeFQ8l2EZ9GYTfaQVqxyS5Xwaak04CSqnnJAn6oAVnKIEivoXEW6yQmF2AF_QPfiFEWOz_IDc/s320/t+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Prayer service (again, I probably have the appropriate name for it wrong) was going on when we entered. The temple was gorgeous inside, as you can see. <i>Very </i>colorful. Monks were seated at the tables, their heads bent over books while they chanted and hummed into microphones. Buddhist followers were seated in rows of chairs along the side, occasionally chanting along in the same way Christians sing refrains during church services. The chanting is so amazing... very deep, monotone, and relaxing.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Ie3zgiTYqQ3W2fBj7sxW0R07Dtkavdkm-_kAA6kvi8o2Df3JrFsZ7-K98F-RBCDhVmzwCysnrMVk9hyphenhyphenOISvSmfT2zk107HrIYmw79Jc9IbnWfe8IQYnVcrD2Zphlz_T9_t079YQloJs/s1600/t+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Ie3zgiTYqQ3W2fBj7sxW0R07Dtkavdkm-_kAA6kvi8o2Df3JrFsZ7-K98F-RBCDhVmzwCysnrMVk9hyphenhyphenOISvSmfT2zk107HrIYmw79Jc9IbnWfe8IQYnVcrD2Zphlz_T9_t079YQloJs/s320/t+5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">An entire wall of small alcoves filled with different statues of Buddha lined one side of the temple. I liked this one, with the flower.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMGHhk_CRSTR5PM7vi2o0J0rMWN2nGIdAPDuoyrEb_Zhf40_bf21HMYxxMj7Rk52QHZwKw8G6BRlwLdHV0JbU_PVgg1arLliYYwe2zNr-UCzd5Y7phBdsrEyN3LN2pAmuhX_8KvxREZvQ/s1600/t+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMGHhk_CRSTR5PM7vi2o0J0rMWN2nGIdAPDuoyrEb_Zhf40_bf21HMYxxMj7Rk52QHZwKw8G6BRlwLdHV0JbU_PVgg1arLliYYwe2zNr-UCzd5Y7phBdsrEyN3LN2pAmuhX_8KvxREZvQ/s320/t+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I mean, seriously, who could possibly walk into a place like this and <i>not</i> be wonderfully overcome by the beauty of it?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKiP_gtkq6Z2ye06bqZORStGXSwxnM65kYg-kJ4OcmR2RaGx4rnEA1N9pr_Kf6pbEhqGxhR5rnt1dK0ibbMkIRlxJ0_Ei5LLM281r3o_i9wjk9QC9i1WG1pyMbtQ1xqGcFtWTNM1BIejs/s1600/t+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKiP_gtkq6Z2ye06bqZORStGXSwxnM65kYg-kJ4OcmR2RaGx4rnEA1N9pr_Kf6pbEhqGxhR5rnt1dK0ibbMkIRlxJ0_Ei5LLM281r3o_i9wjk9QC9i1WG1pyMbtQ1xqGcFtWTNM1BIejs/s320/t+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After staying a while to watch the prayer chants in the main temple (Dagny was totally enthralled, and very well-behaved through it all), we headed upstairs, into the museum. Again, Dagny did great, but I had to keep us moving (as anyone with a toddler understands). So I unfortunately didn't get to read very much about the items on display, nor discover in too much detail how Buddha came to achieve Nibbana (also called Nirvana, in other parts of the world). Maybe another day, sans Dagny, since the museum did have a pretty cool layout for visitors to "wander in the same steps" as Buddha once did.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNth7Ik_S7cxkrL_NKCZYDaCUZUBR89AJuDjOTmqYA7Lh0akjNOXr1OofuNu_TpaHgMOxCrLAlSzjUPhjTkzwMbJf11GwrQoudkJEQA4oIhhCa5_s5oK82kUJNZwBLJrriIIULTaJI6E/s1600/t+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNth7Ik_S7cxkrL_NKCZYDaCUZUBR89AJuDjOTmqYA7Lh0akjNOXr1OofuNu_TpaHgMOxCrLAlSzjUPhjTkzwMbJf11GwrQoudkJEQA4oIhhCa5_s5oK82kUJNZwBLJrriIIULTaJI6E/s320/t+8.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There are days I wish I had this many arms.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8GT97s8Waxjk_KehB34wMMPBIkG3zJWsaXjHBfhxYpuUi06JYjhmG2Xbu3by1EXouStNaE7cwElsbuZbntXb8dr5g-EO2tVIx40kcTPF_9zzST9AYfPo_gbIwhOPq_gbYsgrrQkdAKY/s1600/t+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8GT97s8Waxjk_KehB34wMMPBIkG3zJWsaXjHBfhxYpuUi06JYjhmG2Xbu3by1EXouStNaE7cwElsbuZbntXb8dr5g-EO2tVIx40kcTPF_9zzST9AYfPo_gbIwhOPq_gbYsgrrQkdAKY/s320/t+9.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There were literally <i>hundreds</i> of statues of Buddha throughout the museum, which covered three floors, all situated above the temple. Who knows... there might have even been thousands, of all different sizes and appearances. But this one was my favorite.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At the end of the museum tour, we finally got to see what we'd come all that way to see... not that the prayer chants and endless Buddhas weren't spectacular enough, but Dags and I wanted to see the <i>Buddha Relics</i>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, it is claimed that <i>actual</i> relics from the living Buddha are housed here. Now, I unfortunately have no pictures to share from this room, because photography was strictly prohibited. So you'll have to just take my word for it when I say: It was incredibly cool to see, and a little bit odd.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All along the walls, behind a thick pane of glass, were very ornate vessels, sculpted from gold and covered in a variety of precious and semi-precious stones. In the center of each was a (usually) teardrop-shaped piece of glass, about the size of the palm of my hand. And inside the teardrop were remains of everything from Buddha's teeth and bones to pieces of his brain and internal organs. I can honestly say they did not look anything like what I imagined... some looked like grains of sand, while several others looked like clear glycerin beads. Buddha's blood looked like tiny yellowish marbles, and his brain looked like small pearls. If there was an explanation for where the relics were found, or how they came to be in these vessels inside this temple, I couldn't find it. But then again, the basis of all religions is faith, is it not? Maybe there isn't supposed to be a thorough explanation... Maybe part of finding Nibbana is realizing some questions are not meant to be answered, and the swiftest path to happiness is to just <i>believe.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On our way out of the museum, Dagny seemed particularly enthralled by a semi-large statue that smiled down on her, one hand raised as if saying hello while the other cupped a lotus flower. She looked at it with a very intense look on her face, and finally pointed to it, saying, "Dat? Dat? Dat?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"That's Buddha," I replied.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And she smiled so big the corners of her mouth nearly touched her ears, and then she combination giggled and screamed, "Boo-dahh!" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was shocked. The only words she'd spoken up until then were Mama and Dada. Word number 3: Buddha. I laughed when she said it, and as we got on the elevator to go back downstairs, I told her, "I think your grandparents would probably have preferred <i>'Jesus!'</i>, but whatever, we'll go with Buddha." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span id="goog_32822989"></span><span id="goog_32822990"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xApyOwgqdhCpD0gBNm6dHSZoNdpFI1VModMrp8O4HXK_ozLG3K42EBPVyJEKYr9YZKV4fy0L3JLPn2jrbOPbXUB98W4IUZj_mcDhUT9LNglZZj5oNmTT0MFVLYP7eDbbW059T77yKb8/s1600/wednesday+break.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xApyOwgqdhCpD0gBNm6dHSZoNdpFI1VModMrp8O4HXK_ozLG3K42EBPVyJEKYr9YZKV4fy0L3JLPn2jrbOPbXUB98W4IUZj_mcDhUT9LNglZZj5oNmTT0MFVLYP7eDbbW059T77yKb8/s320/wednesday+break.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Enjoying a Splat (fruit pouch) after our tour through the temple and museum. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So where would you rather go, and who would you rather meet? Wonka or Buddha? My suggestion: Visit them both. How often, as busy adults, do we take the time to go either place? ... To look at the broader, more universal picture of life and our fleeting path through it ... Or to go the opposite direction, thinking only for the moment, only about fun and immediate gratification, and living like a kid again?<br />
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Yes, definitely, <i>definitely</i> take time to do both.</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-20486380204497643932011-09-20T06:07:00.000-07:002011-09-20T06:14:39.334-07:00Adventure Wednesdays!<div class="MsoNormal">I’ll admit, sometimes I need a little motivation when it comes to living out my dream of being a dedicated adventurer. Every day I walk great distances in even greater heat and humidity, navigate crowded trains, and am forced to assimilate to Asian culture when, to be quite honest, I sometimes just don’t want to (I mean, seriously, what red-blooded American mom <i>wouldn't </i>occasionally become frustrated by a grocery store's lack of macaroni and cheese and applesauce, but over abundance of prawn crackers?). So, <i>yes,</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> there are times I don’t get wonderfully excited by the idea of exploring… of stepping even farther outside of my already teetering comfort zone.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But (please the excuse the analogy here, since it might sound kind of corny), I’ve found that learning to live abroad is a lot like learning to mountain bike. When I first started mountain biking, I was terrified. I fell a lot, and the more I fell, the slower I tended to ride. For some reason, the more cautiously I rode, the more I fell. It was a vicious cycle (no pun intended). Eventually, I avoided any trails that had rocks and roots on them… which kind of defeats the purpose of <i>mountain</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> biking. But then I learned that the faster I rode, the better I did. If I took the obstacles head on and pedaled hard as I approached them (rather than riding my brakes), I remained upright on my bike and—</span><i>wow!—</i><span style="font-style: normal;">discovered that mountain biking was actually pretty darn fun! Are the trails still scary at times? Yes. But now they’re navigable. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The more time I spend in Singapore, the more I realize this same basic principle applies to life abroad: Fight your initial urge to slow down, and instead take a swift and direct path straight into your new surroundings. And go figure, the more I do it, the more comfortable I become with life here. Is it still scary and frustrating at times? Heavens, yes. But it all becomes increasingly more navigable.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, to overcome my days of trepidation, a couple of months ago I initiated “Adventure Wednesdays.” Every Wednesday (NO EXCUSES!), Dagny and I head out to explore a new part of the island. Sometimes I have our adventures planned out days in advance. Other times, I pull out my Singapore guidebooks over a Wednesday morning coffee, while Dagny slurps soggy Cheerios beside me, and make a split-second decision as to where we will be heading that day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6rpCh6aVDLL8UAkVfzbE64ZqoaNvpuVpGcXUbDTvU5JoZJRxTdL1x3yAv3Myrd3YSkEu2ddXlz0RWEdhJDvtSWOp5nxxse_aWDfHytvTzIRFjJ2Ztq1gmIWlR1v7jLkD9WmuhpWQX0Q/s1600/wednesday+trains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6rpCh6aVDLL8UAkVfzbE64ZqoaNvpuVpGcXUbDTvU5JoZJRxTdL1x3yAv3Myrd3YSkEu2ddXlz0RWEdhJDvtSWOp5nxxse_aWDfHytvTzIRFjJ2Ztq1gmIWlR1v7jLkD9WmuhpWQX0Q/s320/wednesday+trains.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Heading out on a Wednesday morning train. I took this picture because I thought it was kind of funny how everyone in my train car was tuned into their phones or iPods at the same time. Very little talking on the trains here... except Dagny. She makes sure everyone knows she's aboard.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some Wednesdays, I’ll admit, are pretty low key. I’m not entirely sure the actual destinations would even count as “Adventures,” but anyone who knows how directionally inept I am will probably nod their heads in understanding when I say the journeys to the different locations are certainly adventurous enough.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An example of a low key adventure: On exceptionally hot days, Dags and I sometimes set out to find cool new splash pads and fountains to play in. These are quite possibly a mom’s best friend. Unlike a pool or playground, I don’t have to constantly waddle, climb, swim, or scurry after Dagny. There are no intimidating metal ladders or scary deep ends to worry about, which of course are two things my daughter is helplessly drawn to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We found this fountain over in Marina Barrage a couple of Wednesdays ago…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNetU2GMDWn7g4b4NiASf7P37N5HGQCASz5ngAcETRsznCq1Tvg7aHoLADmID49vpDCUKvlmz85xaTgjnukTcY5VF1ypehHWf8VbVNPuPVpZhgem_epDjrQ1lMWHo-NlhQqZdVoK7m7s/s1600/fountain+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNetU2GMDWn7g4b4NiASf7P37N5HGQCASz5ngAcETRsznCq1Tvg7aHoLADmID49vpDCUKvlmz85xaTgjnukTcY5VF1ypehHWf8VbVNPuPVpZhgem_epDjrQ1lMWHo-NlhQqZdVoK7m7s/s320/fountain+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny with her friends Camden and Marrietta. Dags is the one in the sombrero.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtWiiSDFzMF58dqNuAy-V8-rayNtdlWtLNf-QFYqXaCYrJyxH1WVd72pKv05lZEXTU6H5NhiCnbeqfv8JAfAt6cIyXY6HtY_VMb9TCRq1CZymiXu1ftWoPVbibmCB2tTSDCBLJDLVib4/s1600/fountain+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtWiiSDFzMF58dqNuAy-V8-rayNtdlWtLNf-QFYqXaCYrJyxH1WVd72pKv05lZEXTU6H5NhiCnbeqfv8JAfAt6cIyXY6HtY_VMb9TCRq1CZymiXu1ftWoPVbibmCB2tTSDCBLJDLVib4/s320/fountain+2.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXet0muWZ97BFilQUJmGIMggu3xtCCF6LkFuu87KCB1yQz3wA0qBbovdtGtqOuaLZ4bn2QW5eh4FqJEp_lDNUMzV5OyxQQ2WFk-fxEMH3q12EnnScmTC2-48c1XRbWWX4Wz0n1gVv6gLI/s1600/fountain+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXet0muWZ97BFilQUJmGIMggu3xtCCF6LkFuu87KCB1yQz3wA0qBbovdtGtqOuaLZ4bn2QW5eh4FqJEp_lDNUMzV5OyxQQ2WFk-fxEMH3q12EnnScmTC2-48c1XRbWWX4Wz0n1gVv6gLI/s320/fountain+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I can only imagine what Dagny was babbling about to Camden... "You think peas are bad, my mom tried to get me to eat crawfish the other day. I was like, Mom, you must be <i>crazy!"</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some Adventure Wednesdays turn out to be total busts, though this has fortunately been a rare occurrence. For instance, I read about Malay Village and their expansive fish market in one of my guidebooks. The write-up touted it as a great place to check out truly authentic, Singaporean culture. Well, when I got there, the fish market was shut down, and Malay Village didn’t appear to be doing too well. Most of the storefronts were boarded up, and the few people who were there stared at Dagny and I with looks of confusion—and more than one or two frowns. I could tell the shopping district used to be quaint and picturesque, but now it looks (and smells) a little more like a shantytown. The paint was peeling off the buildings, sections of wrought iron fence were propped toward the sidewalk at menacing angles, and the alleys were full of headless manikins. <i>Kinda</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> creepy. Needless to say, we didn’t stay long.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoZCyamdZEdPzBq8-4s2_N05BhKhCmeDd-gwg98S7VD6MX3Yo3vEuWkZb_BdX1SQTuQv9zNQ9N-2r9AGvMvEyT4P2g5Us-B4Z8iEzB791Hoyq2SDeb_cEO6b0z07d2mAE6YP6liR-Crw/s1600/hr+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoZCyamdZEdPzBq8-4s2_N05BhKhCmeDd-gwg98S7VD6MX3Yo3vEuWkZb_BdX1SQTuQv9zNQ9N-2r9AGvMvEyT4P2g5Us-B4Z8iEzB791Hoyq2SDeb_cEO6b0z07d2mAE6YP6liR-Crw/s320/hr+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Malay Village. Probably won't be heading back anytime soon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Another Wednesday, Dags and I ventured into Little India, which, as it turns out, is not so little. Disembarking the train, I really did feel like I was entering India, sans the immobilizing crowds (or what I suppose India is like, from listening to Brad’s stories and watching episodes of <i>Outsourced</i><span style="font-style: normal;">). The buildings were painted in a rainbow of vibrant colors. Shop doors were standing wide open, and racks of beautiful saris and beaded purses covered the sidewalks out front. There was barely enough room for me to eek through even without my monstrous BOB stroller, so most of the time Dagny and I had to walk in the street. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ7fLKfrqBtRjPv4ES7ioxBeZn7xLS5hJM_s-qMh7wncaARZHNqNSUjt6Wdodf7kcQD2lZSFRZC-0jWaL0s3sGWnYeWV7pLU6xKZBLlwrBMZ_xSrVYAXyv9PQAg7O4XVUXUTg3Dy2nIcU/s1600/li+first.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ7fLKfrqBtRjPv4ES7ioxBeZn7xLS5hJM_s-qMh7wncaARZHNqNSUjt6Wdodf7kcQD2lZSFRZC-0jWaL0s3sGWnYeWV7pLU6xKZBLlwrBMZ_xSrVYAXyv9PQAg7O4XVUXUTg3Dy2nIcU/s320/li+first.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ehnpo5P99ZFNaCbX1bP5ODTHN2FExf_mbOd1JS1b1kcQRdVGCjy9Wl9DaOyVqR8FPAlU0i_z8NOirRAFUIbkQNQHZdWMyJC2ujUfbQboRfo28EVhOvR-ph4yJgULDIV3EVXI_6LTsdQ/s1600/li+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ehnpo5P99ZFNaCbX1bP5ODTHN2FExf_mbOd1JS1b1kcQRdVGCjy9Wl9DaOyVqR8FPAlU0i_z8NOirRAFUIbkQNQHZdWMyJC2ujUfbQboRfo28EVhOvR-ph4yJgULDIV3EVXI_6LTsdQ/s320/li+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Colorful buildings. This was the less populated part of Little India. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYPsaP-WZJgTSEqSsNVPfQBn5YiRd4avfayj2a9JLFLjxA8UxudIUPHCDi9IA8aEw0MO774icjoNx6meBhSMXCCRUP0w_ChqDWpne1HkB8HxAgXr5-hSzSwboA7-Mst20F1FR_mtJQPq4/s1600/li+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYPsaP-WZJgTSEqSsNVPfQBn5YiRd4avfayj2a9JLFLjxA8UxudIUPHCDi9IA8aEw0MO774icjoNx6meBhSMXCCRUP0w_ChqDWpne1HkB8HxAgXr5-hSzSwboA7-Mst20F1FR_mtJQPq4/s320/li+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtx11U9u_AKV9TmPr0anwHwZH14OwDupF4yWDnZefHJ1Q347B9Y-qjVUrCvm_FcnubU5_GsAVuNvY2KPQ167SWcZZb5NMlEdC0I1Cb5dtiWopFiEIrXDOTWDeyTVgSmGWWotZIY9kYLPU/s1600/li+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtx11U9u_AKV9TmPr0anwHwZH14OwDupF4yWDnZefHJ1Q347B9Y-qjVUrCvm_FcnubU5_GsAVuNvY2KPQ167SWcZZb5NMlEdC0I1Cb5dtiWopFiEIrXDOTWDeyTVgSmGWWotZIY9kYLPU/s320/li+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Each of the stores sold very similar items—a lot of statues of Indian gods and bins full of colorful wrist bangles. And everywhere I went, I heard Indian music. What fun! Not many of my adventures come with an upbeat soundtrack playing in the background. Makes me feel like I’m in a movie or something. And I’ll tell you what, it’s next to impossible <i>not</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> to kind of dip and shimmy as you walk when Indian music is blaring up and down the street.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh50zZEcOppbNMq-erWLq3MIvqMOTqbqab2_vHvFoPnPZ_alWm1S3Nr32FWEpe_GucxbVTrJw495WROOLvrxB4yOg0nCIVE8FG3vCSEWvVC9RjG8_v0Y_mpohZC9_rT2Vh_I_NslI34ucI/s1600/li+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh50zZEcOppbNMq-erWLq3MIvqMOTqbqab2_vHvFoPnPZ_alWm1S3Nr32FWEpe_GucxbVTrJw495WROOLvrxB4yOg0nCIVE8FG3vCSEWvVC9RjG8_v0Y_mpohZC9_rT2Vh_I_NslI34ucI/s320/li+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This really isn't a very good picture of the stores, but I'm including it anyway. The narrow side streets with shops and vendor carts were much cooler, but they were also full of delivery trucks at this time of day, so I couldn't seem to get any good pictures of them, either.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think one of the things I was most impressed with was the number of different restaurants I saw. Back in the US, an Indian restaurant is usually just labeled as “Indian.” But in Little India, my options were much more specific… Northern Indian, Nepalese, Tibetan, Bengali, Punjabi… the list goes on. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dagny and I planned a visit to the Hindu temple Sri Veeramakaliamman (Yep! I told you I would make it there! Now say the name ten times fast). I’ve attached a picture of the front because my written description would fall <i>way</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> short. It’s pretty spectacular.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH45GpIsa7Iszemo96CFXz18_AgxGT2Ut2OnHcAAeTDuFgVUVGthC4r6FBNiZ3AM8ef3uH72oqFo9QjjX5aKdVib9V6-GJWhyphenhyphenLLI2vOkaizcyvgAwMLcgELFG6hwp_GcGxl4TVut4wANk/s1600/li+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH45GpIsa7Iszemo96CFXz18_AgxGT2Ut2OnHcAAeTDuFgVUVGthC4r6FBNiZ3AM8ef3uH72oqFo9QjjX5aKdVib9V6-GJWhyphenhyphenLLI2vOkaizcyvgAwMLcgELFG6hwp_GcGxl4TVut4wANk/s320/li+4.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfSZSLr2tv1msSZ0OineKoGoInIkHXo2V0UUgoKIiAkT5X1MqM2nonKDD39ex6etkFt0dQO7d0JpXQpaDZf24O5ANbRyBjQ8vNxK0fUatpFnz8n69O4shyphenhyphenORfQjmuSSkgI-d6gXR5rbM/s1600/li+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfSZSLr2tv1msSZ0OineKoGoInIkHXo2V0UUgoKIiAkT5X1MqM2nonKDD39ex6etkFt0dQO7d0JpXQpaDZf24O5ANbRyBjQ8vNxK0fUatpFnz8n69O4shyphenhyphenORfQjmuSSkgI-d6gXR5rbM/s320/li+5.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">But the sidewalk was as far as we got on our expedition. It turns out I wasn’t appropriately dressed to go inside. No, I wasn’t wearing a bikini top or a t-shirt that read “Jesus Rocks”—it was simply a sleeveless shirt. We’ll make it back one day, with more pictures to share and hopefully an interesting story or two, so if you can’t say Sri Veeramakaliamman yet, don’t worry… you still have a little time to practice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before leaving Little India, I stopped by a henna stand. I thought the result was artful and kind of cool… for a few hours. The ink lasts for about a week, and every day of that week I kept thinking I had something like mud (or overflow from a baby diaper) on the back of my hand.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2Ll0WofSrTIQVLjz2tUid46DRCBI7lyduQsIbAjviMdmKGd9_VWEJHvf2OaEG40speWmy6tRmfQkBvRMs-rHmm35oO1maiOLudAYxK9tQECBa5w8rDIkY38nnN2eQsW-uY7v4gVmlX0/s1600/li+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2Ll0WofSrTIQVLjz2tUid46DRCBI7lyduQsIbAjviMdmKGd9_VWEJHvf2OaEG40speWmy6tRmfQkBvRMs-rHmm35oO1maiOLudAYxK9tQECBa5w8rDIkY38nnN2eQsW-uY7v4gVmlX0/s320/li+8.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was a wonderful day, and I look forward to going back, hopefully with Brad this time! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2TJCcg6KKQ4VNUqI-NRJ35UGsVR4apKN3VZbLfBCtzW9BJ1VumMa4421nOmrNpopfdRVin9prazsmN9IZVU3fgvoI_t4pqH42F4OOBKEiKEL-raYnsb9eAMqzoE8E3GTem1CdPsqzKdQ/s1600/li+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2TJCcg6KKQ4VNUqI-NRJ35UGsVR4apKN3VZbLfBCtzW9BJ1VumMa4421nOmrNpopfdRVin9prazsmN9IZVU3fgvoI_t4pqH42F4OOBKEiKEL-raYnsb9eAMqzoE8E3GTem1CdPsqzKdQ/s320/li+7.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dags at the end of our Little India trip.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I actually have another Adventure Wednesday to write about, but I’m beginning to see that this entry is already getting a bit lengthy. Come back in another day or two to hear all about Dagny’s first word (aside from Mama and Dada) and to find out what Buddha’s brain looks like.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yep… that’s right… <i>Buddha’s brain</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. For real. Can’t wait! <o:p></o:p></span></div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-17306082056148707902011-09-12T20:21:00.000-07:002011-09-12T20:21:46.687-07:00Festivals<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">There are so many things to love about a country that officially (and equally) recognizes the world’s four major religions. My favorite aspect is that there always seems to be a festival somewhere on the island to attend!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">First, I got to experience Hari Raya, which celebrates the end of Ramadan. I unfortunately don’t have any pictures to share from the event, which is really too bad because some of the clothing I saw was absolutely gorgeous—kind of makes me wish Christians celebrated holidays in more festive clothes! I was told the best place to go was Geylang, which is a part of Singapore I hadn’t been to yet, so I was pretty eager to check it out.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The crowds were thick. Beyond thick. I had even more trouble than usual navigating Dagny’s stroller… and it wasn’t just the thousands of people that made it difficult, but the stages, food stands, and vendor carts that covered the sidewalks and spilled into the streets.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Most of the festivities had actually died down by the time I got there (they started sometime during the night), but I was still surprised to see so many people out and about, looking both happy and sleepy. Dagny and I received a lot of stares… we were the only Caucasians I spotted in Geylang all afternoon. Which is why I didn’t take any pictures. I love getting to be a part of different religions for a day, and as much as I want to catalog what I see with my camera, I don’t want anyone from that particular faith or nationality to think I’m taking pictures because I think their way of life is bazaar. Hopefully that makes sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Anyway, everyone was wonderfully pleasant and loved Dagny—especially the young Muslim men, which surprised me since I don’t know too many guys in their late teens or early twenties back home who would make such a huge fuss over a toddler.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I stuck around Hari Raya only for a couple of hours, until I got sick of lugging the stroller up and down stairs and in and out of careening traffic. I’m glad I got to see a small slice of Muslim life, though!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">For the past couple of weeks, Singapore has been celebrating its Mid-Autumn Festival (also known as the Moon Festival). It’s a popular lunar harvest festival celebrated by the Chinese. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">To kick off the celebrations, I bought a pack of moon cakes—the official food of the Mid-Autumn Festival. I had a choice of either red bean or jade (there are many more flavors to choose from, but the stand I went to only had these two on hand). Red beans here aren’t like red beans back in the States… they’re sweet. But I was more interested to know what jade tasted like. The reason is kind of funny: when I was a kid, my mom had a jade plant that I was obsessed with. When she wasn’t looking, I would occasionally pluck one of the plump leaves (sorry, Mom) and take it to my “sidewalk apothecary,” where I would mix it into concoctions with dandelion milk and smashed crabapples. I wasn’t dumb enough to ever taste what I made, but seeing that people actually <i>do</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> eat jade plants here made me very, very curious!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5DXjpQNKeWsqyE80JTzqIJG6up5sHyxQvlvB-LHMV7XGU-6kKuO8rHwD49q_aQEYdayIlpRZf7Ooevhl9ubtZg9w-AUz9gDLc741hN7gG_xiqxoML2eLYfhMwEUBck1UJD8c-YxVnyI8/s1600/cakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5DXjpQNKeWsqyE80JTzqIJG6up5sHyxQvlvB-LHMV7XGU-6kKuO8rHwD49q_aQEYdayIlpRZf7Ooevhl9ubtZg9w-AUz9gDLc741hN7gG_xiqxoML2eLYfhMwEUBck1UJD8c-YxVnyI8/s320/cakes.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A picture of my jade moon cakes. While I was chewing it, I thought it was so-so. Then the aftertaste kicked in... it just kept filling my mouth with more and more pungency. I guess jade's not really for me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Next up for the Mid-Autumn Festival was attending the Lantern Festivals in Clarke Quay and Chinatown. Both were very different, and tons of fun. First was Clarke Quay… I used to wonder why “happy hour” drink specials were so early, and subsequently who in the world ever went out for drinks and dinner while it was still light out. Now I know. It’s people with toddlers, and <i>yes,</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> we absolutely deserve a deal on drinks by five o’clock in the evening. So while Brad and I enjoyed “happy hour” wine at the Vintry (al fresco, of course), Dagny played in the splash fountains right beside us. It was fantastic! A built-in aquatic babysitter so mom and dad could actually relax and talk for a little bit. And I’m beginning to think Dagny remembers Roxy more clearly than I probably give her credit for… she loves chasing after balls we throw into the fountains for her, and carries them back to us in her mouth. We always make sure to rub her tummy and toss her a treat!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHQaabfK_2vLOF8abdQax5Z7dVnIa9DhNzJNtLPUj1K5G2YiZRXKqJIK-qWb4I_k66GUCZ3VNeqGOlpIn-CS9sxIgWUWHxVtny8rJY611bN6X7ydB-bsM4eDPtIYOfYuons_xY4QUHEU/s1600/lf+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHQaabfK_2vLOF8abdQax5Z7dVnIa9DhNzJNtLPUj1K5G2YiZRXKqJIK-qWb4I_k66GUCZ3VNeqGOlpIn-CS9sxIgWUWHxVtny8rJY611bN6X7ydB-bsM4eDPtIYOfYuons_xY4QUHEU/s320/lf+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bridge in Clarke Quay decorated for the festival.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXzU-OZ513xAWQnlr431wsidA6scShLpIQxrpSuZajao35pYhR0K9fUH5Ki6Xz-gqCmBeek24_D4k7C4mluBIesMXkZVgYql5LMoCg-czDrPpyU-R1eyaASEK7cctdrogyP22YVPD-h0/s1600/lf+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXzU-OZ513xAWQnlr431wsidA6scShLpIQxrpSuZajao35pYhR0K9fUH5Ki6Xz-gqCmBeek24_D4k7C4mluBIesMXkZVgYql5LMoCg-czDrPpyU-R1eyaASEK7cctdrogyP22YVPD-h0/s320/lf+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lanterns by day. Very detailed!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6ILrHAjK5tl7XRhMHpUqem0ucgXalJXcPbJ6nTbwn4BwuHmkGrssa9JZ7cqvIwO-fCyYdrhG3tbQUzJdQOrsuUWNE4gg64T-5k87Jwrl8uR3RqiPSUgAeEJDydIkXcMjEfRrcm4JUrA/s1600/lf+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6ILrHAjK5tl7XRhMHpUqem0ucgXalJXcPbJ6nTbwn4BwuHmkGrssa9JZ7cqvIwO-fCyYdrhG3tbQUzJdQOrsuUWNE4gg64T-5k87Jwrl8uR3RqiPSUgAeEJDydIkXcMjEfRrcm4JUrA/s320/lf+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">One of the food stands set up along the river.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">We ate on the go, sampling Mongolian, Hokkien, and Taiwanese food at different vendor stands set up along the river. And I had a blast buying trinkety stuff for my nieces and nephews. When darkness finally fell, we watched all the lanterns blaze to life, and it was truly remarkable!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_6AywDY-5PwuScp8fe0_tM9eXTF26O3Jk72ZAnrHhs4Vh7yfYwqzDAHZ7RVRzK1lVeMFSnVytI13G1FSbBPm8nTSvQDDxjbUt7Nj9LCFuveT67G2mqkLSQciIdUorv_fr58VOSoHkag/s1600/fest+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib_6AywDY-5PwuScp8fe0_tM9eXTF26O3Jk72ZAnrHhs4Vh7yfYwqzDAHZ7RVRzK1lVeMFSnVytI13G1FSbBPm8nTSvQDDxjbUt7Nj9LCFuveT67G2mqkLSQciIdUorv_fr58VOSoHkag/s320/fest+5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This lantern received first prize in a contest. I was clapping and cheering because it was made with Coke cans, and my family has a long history in the Coca-Cola business!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4N6vd_I3K8er26ZEUMv10HnkQaWqjwZpDrXd0XtY0AyyuRH_RXoLuG4xEdnSu5tQuIZXIH9yU59HfIC-53C3O7eqi9NzFNh4wDqMUuxOLBytbCO5XOF-zC46XpeyN-Yb7Enl4x6DA1sI/s1600/fest+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4N6vd_I3K8er26ZEUMv10HnkQaWqjwZpDrXd0XtY0AyyuRH_RXoLuG4xEdnSu5tQuIZXIH9yU59HfIC-53C3O7eqi9NzFNh4wDqMUuxOLBytbCO5XOF-zC46XpeyN-Yb7Enl4x6DA1sI/s320/fest+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mUmy2y9Dwe2RrUTCnoT_DQfyQeAvB2KF26l27PdJF7wqjTiMIYYQ_ROOiiox7oRYIGyCEF3-IM7poSesDUFwbDfS_7xJGaXIogxZUJTo5Et3Qy2Z1uRrCQiPrOVyXdJ2BUiKvCoMZF0/s1600/fest+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4mUmy2y9Dwe2RrUTCnoT_DQfyQeAvB2KF26l27PdJF7wqjTiMIYYQ_ROOiiox7oRYIGyCEF3-IM7poSesDUFwbDfS_7xJGaXIogxZUJTo5Et3Qy2Z1uRrCQiPrOVyXdJ2BUiKvCoMZF0/s320/fest+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Second place lantern. Also very cool.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhettLvEVKqeXB6IFI3J9uNlf7sTh5IgU5s201ru0mL2NX1OsxP7ZZXB8dQ2QO5jom_oUbbHiKoHoIJLR2FtJSjR7aUP1VlAazEovJGI9eL4FjSc7uyisfZN7hA56SgTTb8KykkE7STy4s/s1600/lf+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhettLvEVKqeXB6IFI3J9uNlf7sTh5IgU5s201ru0mL2NX1OsxP7ZZXB8dQ2QO5jom_oUbbHiKoHoIJLR2FtJSjR7aUP1VlAazEovJGI9eL4FjSc7uyisfZN7hA56SgTTb8KykkE7STy4s/s320/lf+4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lanterns by night.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjCRW69Hts5-fcKurXSuLKr4s5-bfHjwFAJBAxebqYYPXf80Xx8B54_TgijrTJkYvn2JfGMacDGL7yGgrG1KS09VAeb7kI0hNyU7QCCR53DcFeCgh2WNqXFiev-AMXBLSuDoHw0wvpoE/s1600/lf+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjCRW69Hts5-fcKurXSuLKr4s5-bfHjwFAJBAxebqYYPXf80Xx8B54_TgijrTJkYvn2JfGMacDGL7yGgrG1KS09VAeb7kI0hNyU7QCCR53DcFeCgh2WNqXFiev-AMXBLSuDoHw0wvpoE/s320/lf+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A couple of cute kids who wandered into my picture.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaklg7Z4pumUGl8DEVIlMce54yceBS9FaRE1Kc_dnouMSV_4cswXghyphenhyphen9AMgOjJ5N29veU6Vt6bdSF2OHU_nXBxBcmHj21jgDylRZEPur_5ZsgammMCUCjZKkbgm2wd55O14Y9MLUMUvI/s1600/lf+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaklg7Z4pumUGl8DEVIlMce54yceBS9FaRE1Kc_dnouMSV_4cswXghyphenhyphen9AMgOjJ5N29veU6Vt6bdSF2OHU_nXBxBcmHj21jgDylRZEPur_5ZsgammMCUCjZKkbgm2wd55O14Y9MLUMUvI/s320/lf+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm impressed.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfReBAe5R-bM3vTw4HL21V-2GHigktUKhYir8oqvdVnAIW1a0zjZpoRLZnA5ke9INIbwZ2QC_NDtOuta7VbRHBoM-vCFLyQ5fkX1SDSMbbVO418U4DIi2k7iiyih5GQ755EasBU-GVtM/s1600/lf+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfReBAe5R-bM3vTw4HL21V-2GHigktUKhYir8oqvdVnAIW1a0zjZpoRLZnA5ke9INIbwZ2QC_NDtOuta7VbRHBoM-vCFLyQ5fkX1SDSMbbVO418U4DIi2k7iiyih5GQ755EasBU-GVtM/s320/lf+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_trKp-7XqGrjf7ZFn6i9w5uoz4n-vkTfnDkFZQVL0qg0_H6c1gXuSJSI8Z9P13WM3tNoxtKkjI5aU8iR6AjW2cripMMUCtFo4hqSUabeyL7bBOd8wyjIsn2I_3SC167oBjHovfr0g7e0/s1600/lf+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_trKp-7XqGrjf7ZFn6i9w5uoz4n-vkTfnDkFZQVL0qg0_H6c1gXuSJSI8Z9P13WM3tNoxtKkjI5aU8iR6AjW2cripMMUCtFo4hqSUabeyL7bBOd8wyjIsn2I_3SC167oBjHovfr0g7e0/s320/lf+8.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All up and down the river are lighted floats. Now I know where the term "parade float" comes from!</div> <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRT4usFTzcWss-QECUsAeRX9oq8rL0DPxtIRW5qJ_JjMSSvjGoeZUHlQ9bKN4D5A_FLWbIoU9gXsULUtAqJbmK4WByM1-THnQxQhUuWMYzc4PoNLLNIWECaa_s-GhD5iD59xUdWKe_tw0/s1600/lf+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRT4usFTzcWss-QECUsAeRX9oq8rL0DPxtIRW5qJ_JjMSSvjGoeZUHlQ9bKN4D5A_FLWbIoU9gXsULUtAqJbmK4WByM1-THnQxQhUuWMYzc4PoNLLNIWECaa_s-GhD5iD59xUdWKe_tw0/s320/lf+10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny was handed a balloon with an LED light in it. That kept her entertained for the evening!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCNZolZDKwJyx7WeSunyEP9lT1dfclOFZ6UdN5ocOsftLFNf8ZaKK40eNdCS0BPPox2ltFarg2LahUNho0KaiH4MPx_rjKpts9stZQDnDdYYT81Q6w6aa656jVktn3f61cacghWtXhFg/s1600/lf+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCNZolZDKwJyx7WeSunyEP9lT1dfclOFZ6UdN5ocOsftLFNf8ZaKK40eNdCS0BPPox2ltFarg2LahUNho0KaiH4MPx_rjKpts9stZQDnDdYYT81Q6w6aa656jVktn3f61cacghWtXhFg/s320/lf+11.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This year is the Year of the Rabbit. Next year: The Dragon!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtwgdQmqUig0rI1J7sk20hnXpWj-yeylZyZo5SAgPHolHP6RLZ7Smm8kbjHHCCKERNN92PkjTGSbJbcJXI3wlb5SjLPLVjfdWgdFGdKuXRKPN17vjW3oC2-jg4FmyNPT92KUrfAfUBHE/s1600/lf+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtwgdQmqUig0rI1J7sk20hnXpWj-yeylZyZo5SAgPHolHP6RLZ7Smm8kbjHHCCKERNN92PkjTGSbJbcJXI3wlb5SjLPLVjfdWgdFGdKuXRKPN17vjW3oC2-jg4FmyNPT92KUrfAfUBHE/s320/lf+12.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYzgGTJ9ZwZ_HW_bRfB6_j5p0x0HnQNYGqExW3NM5NbQ9ojLjROoezi2oV7yUY5NFpAT9AMFJR8msnFUuM5pGauj8w8dLIxDpz7ITEvvBYOw68XpiptM2c7201a4EriQtmO-J_DnAPDU/s1600/lf+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYzgGTJ9ZwZ_HW_bRfB6_j5p0x0HnQNYGqExW3NM5NbQ9ojLjROoezi2oV7yUY5NFpAT9AMFJR8msnFUuM5pGauj8w8dLIxDpz7ITEvvBYOw68XpiptM2c7201a4EriQtmO-J_DnAPDU/s320/lf+13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0unvaqKgjm4bE9YBtp8XeBTFmr8jHoDBX_32FaQikKfv7p1xlXEfYyJ5PAlQI9XaBvZ28MsvazefYtmPiywNgJ4S4sOE4s-ON1gFaUxSRUFCS5b5gnlXG9atXZE-bbJPY7Gqx-R-kTaE/s1600/lf+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0unvaqKgjm4bE9YBtp8XeBTFmr8jHoDBX_32FaQikKfv7p1xlXEfYyJ5PAlQI9XaBvZ28MsvazefYtmPiywNgJ4S4sOE4s-ON1gFaUxSRUFCS5b5gnlXG9atXZE-bbJPY7Gqx-R-kTaE/s320/lf+14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The only picture of Brad and I from the evening. We didn't realize until we got home that it looks like we're entering the Inferno... oh well.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xV07BQMK534vHRuUgqrKlcH1F-mjahiHlwTPnXBxel_9kpuFb01jTTX41_0m4VrY1pmDrDpaDGxpEwbaZrrI63RItLBe64zpqhwTqwyYb2vAPTLp2L2-fw6gQ7Q9j3Cd8L6ryeR_qHk/s1600/lf+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_xV07BQMK534vHRuUgqrKlcH1F-mjahiHlwTPnXBxel_9kpuFb01jTTX41_0m4VrY1pmDrDpaDGxpEwbaZrrI63RItLBe64zpqhwTqwyYb2vAPTLp2L2-fw6gQ7Q9j3Cd8L6ryeR_qHk/s320/lf+15.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I commented to Brad, "It looks like we're entering the tunnel of love!" And not two seconds later, some guy comes up to Dagny and plants a huge kiss on her mouth—a<i> grown man</i>, not another cute little toddler. I thought Brad was going to deck the guy.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wT20SLB3bwXXx1usJ7U-OllkOaz8xVg3C2-N6qF2E89pzaLFB-cNCw1CcjSd1ztTdeDkrNf7KBC2IjpzzBwZwf5DEt6LYqzfmuo3-Jt9x1OBoRCwJ86fYGUafwkpTEa5GskHPvu4Kvo/s1600/lf+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-wT20SLB3bwXXx1usJ7U-OllkOaz8xVg3C2-N6qF2E89pzaLFB-cNCw1CcjSd1ztTdeDkrNf7KBC2IjpzzBwZwf5DEt6LYqzfmuo3-Jt9x1OBoRCwJ86fYGUafwkpTEa5GskHPvu4Kvo/s320/lf+16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG31r0fL-FzytYKfcAGha6iOm8OxOtVoUtaqLFusiXkr5Sujby9dtKms35JaR8JSk9703B_vjbESvF1EINf1D1xQ_BXTZoVDOptWYWZ6miK-2Ga7XrZeUKzjy2dCR8L4HzL1x3hDUjwAQ/s1600/lf+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG31r0fL-FzytYKfcAGha6iOm8OxOtVoUtaqLFusiXkr5Sujby9dtKms35JaR8JSk9703B_vjbESvF1EINf1D1xQ_BXTZoVDOptWYWZ6miK-2Ga7XrZeUKzjy2dCR8L4HzL1x3hDUjwAQ/s320/lf+17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've seen this guy a few times around Singapore now! He dances to drum music and swings these ropes of wooden beads around his body... some of them are close to 15-feet long!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The Chinatown Lantern Festival was a lot more crowded… or maybe it just felt that way since the streets are so narrow. I bought some more fun and funky Asian stuff for the nieces and nephews while one Chinese person after the next stopped to have their picture taken with Dagny. She attracted even more attention than usual that night… I bought her some new sandals at Carrefour that afternoon, and didn’t realize until we got to Chinatown and she jumped out of her stroller that they squeak like puppy chew toys when she walks. And boy, do they squeak loud. And boy, does she LOVE it! Bounce, bounce, bounce… squeak, squeak, squeak. While everyone else was laughing, I was digging in my purse for some Advil.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNniv8SX4dVr5bAGkvYwV3QgbkS_Xm2AXOwuwbl3CePqPeXKeUeCyk6hu7c8nn-_jsREvbMoZZ7XJfwGpJxkLTd6xTJVxAQMHknn9OaZey-AMzDTBln7PM6lxGhskutaXDzZ6D0v8BsA/s1600/DSCN0404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNniv8SX4dVr5bAGkvYwV3QgbkS_Xm2AXOwuwbl3CePqPeXKeUeCyk6hu7c8nn-_jsREvbMoZZ7XJfwGpJxkLTd6xTJVxAQMHknn9OaZey-AMzDTBln7PM6lxGhskutaXDzZ6D0v8BsA/s320/DSCN0404.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38V5DS_4nMUHCmvqnBwNUD77rwLDrhW8G2CJcxN9Q930QxBCCZkFf5CXCOPnyWcRqsuUNNwQLzg9QgjPeynpisvt4MFqIFj_Ou7Bk1pJ8ZLy4cis6mo7YTtUNp301u_VkpZPqykz2F_4/s1600/DSCN0405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh38V5DS_4nMUHCmvqnBwNUD77rwLDrhW8G2CJcxN9Q930QxBCCZkFf5CXCOPnyWcRqsuUNNwQLzg9QgjPeynpisvt4MFqIFj_Ou7Bk1pJ8ZLy4cis6mo7YTtUNp301u_VkpZPqykz2F_4/s320/DSCN0405.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDJXO2eBj5rZSap051yRYWx-8rOrq_S9nejyZ93-HTQ7iufA3iWGlvY2KklFUsHihOMJodsgmXQlkmmLtv27r9a9P_Op4f5OE9ZHVBowzjgElWgLyiqzNszeYHk7oAvfJTrYy9NcgdNc/s1600/DSCN0406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfDJXO2eBj5rZSap051yRYWx-8rOrq_S9nejyZ93-HTQ7iufA3iWGlvY2KklFUsHihOMJodsgmXQlkmmLtv27r9a9P_Op4f5OE9ZHVBowzjgElWgLyiqzNszeYHk7oAvfJTrYy9NcgdNc/s320/DSCN0406.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdmsuGM6fnXxrALaDRHNNoekhru-rs1a-ChmSwT7YSQwUCx_loNkWiY1x2KjkV8C45VtYETGI8iVa38hdPc3v3nsPrkq4jaCu8s15eKALkeZhfmkrlg-nyaysjrHLmIJRhlEYUz_YEh8/s1600/DSCN0407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfdmsuGM6fnXxrALaDRHNNoekhru-rs1a-ChmSwT7YSQwUCx_loNkWiY1x2KjkV8C45VtYETGI8iVa38hdPc3v3nsPrkq4jaCu8s15eKALkeZhfmkrlg-nyaysjrHLmIJRhlEYUz_YEh8/s320/DSCN0407.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Entering Chinatown off the MRT. I felt like I was entering Disney World!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeeqW8NILY3tfzjj0SA5vfbaefPVN3rsMgrZGj-WkUBv8ZwhJ7LEhygVI1Cd5xvXo5OvSIKysupt5v6zzbFb4jFVY79-wWzwx9z1Jw5BfUReniJKzd_kZZC3UFxxvyUadeoDd1gnLJJ80/s1600/DSCN0408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeeqW8NILY3tfzjj0SA5vfbaefPVN3rsMgrZGj-WkUBv8ZwhJ7LEhygVI1Cd5xvXo5OvSIKysupt5v6zzbFb4jFVY79-wWzwx9z1Jw5BfUReniJKzd_kZZC3UFxxvyUadeoDd1gnLJJ80/s320/DSCN0408.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These lanterns were all painted by local school children.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPNeovZqSZRztyDU2Qc9Za_ohgz7dMHi6uGLupm-sOR10g0KoVLWi5tNLBtYefgtLCBN1yiVef-ihnd7Tw9rRXuliTvdNgpR2R8N3lUut-n4F_tKrWV84fRFTeDRf0q0RRnTglLutobps/s1600/DSCN0409.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPNeovZqSZRztyDU2Qc9Za_ohgz7dMHi6uGLupm-sOR10g0KoVLWi5tNLBtYefgtLCBN1yiVef-ihnd7Tw9rRXuliTvdNgpR2R8N3lUut-n4F_tKrWV84fRFTeDRf0q0RRnTglLutobps/s320/DSCN0409.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZUh3EFj8PfctUhEAdmNElFdOAd7y4sXkGEpDhEJwMlGCQlYd9tsKQq1Hn1yM-2gf-SlGtIIBUL54dY9JC3XHkKk95TQEFHiGUZKTok0LCU4jkwKp2e11mdUhA4zhm5kS4Q-9ANhzlqI/s1600/fest+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZUh3EFj8PfctUhEAdmNElFdOAd7y4sXkGEpDhEJwMlGCQlYd9tsKQq1Hn1yM-2gf-SlGtIIBUL54dY9JC3XHkKk95TQEFHiGUZKTok0LCU4jkwKp2e11mdUhA4zhm5kS4Q-9ANhzlqI/s320/fest+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Again, we went to the festival early, and left right after the lanterns were lit, when the sidewalks became almost too jammed to move. The food there was amazing! I absolutely DEVOURED a plate of Singapore street noodles, also called kway teow. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLAJTof5Jltlm0ROrofw0wk1p7sJPSoQxn6WJScP3z07Rc5X03vtCDdnmYesHBuTaI_iYN850x53EtA4lOuYiC-ahK7zZkr9xbCu6kpvuml-HlGDKKFjZ_IYcaIf1ROR_tX0UIZ2aga0/s1600/fest+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLAJTof5Jltlm0ROrofw0wk1p7sJPSoQxn6WJScP3z07Rc5X03vtCDdnmYesHBuTaI_iYN850x53EtA4lOuYiC-ahK7zZkr9xbCu6kpvuml-HlGDKKFjZ_IYcaIf1ROR_tX0UIZ2aga0/s320/fest+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Kway teow.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaGCzRK6KI7f4rvMhW_oxIit4GD5NEcy393TQdt0yvAab0RYrObYwJPqQefl4eIEx22rxNKuWitBiew2N9ax_3sErIjOty1j_J_1cqXXSF0BFz9qmymhZRwPdwrgXQbhh4Z_QeUsPkZs/s1600/fest+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaGCzRK6KI7f4rvMhW_oxIit4GD5NEcy393TQdt0yvAab0RYrObYwJPqQefl4eIEx22rxNKuWitBiew2N9ax_3sErIjOty1j_J_1cqXXSF0BFz9qmymhZRwPdwrgXQbhh4Z_QeUsPkZs/s320/fest+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Singapore's own Tiger Beer. It's actually pretty cheap in Chinatown!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYwtLIzPn1Qw0qUv9ohG7XzDibTr8_woWFlmGRF_eGNONJr4srDiYCNIZulQ4ZAW_3SidAVrKcEe-h4OJZT99HQhfF0nUkCymg3oN6ruHVVElhlz7VbvCOKEaypw7NojjNw-pfaQudJ8/s1600/fest+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYwtLIzPn1Qw0qUv9ohG7XzDibTr8_woWFlmGRF_eGNONJr4srDiYCNIZulQ4ZAW_3SidAVrKcEe-h4OJZT99HQhfF0nUkCymg3oN6ruHVVElhlz7VbvCOKEaypw7NojjNw-pfaQudJ8/s320/fest+4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dags hanging out with the hostess. There are ENORMOUS live black crabs in those cages behind her. Not pictured: aquariums of live bullfrogs, bigger than Brad's hand... choose your own and they'll prepare it for you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The kway teow was some of the best Asian food I’ve had yet… though it’s difficult to really say for sure, since I’ve tried a lot of wonderful stuff that can’t necessarily be compared. Like last weekend, I went to Newton Hawker Center and made an absolute pig of myself on barbeque stingray (gotta watch out for an abundant amount of cartilage when eating these), mammoth crayfish and even bigger garlic prawns (literally the size of lobsters!), an entire plate of carrot cake (which is like a casserole and, funny enough, has NO carrots in it… it’s made with fried radishes and rice), steamed kai lan in sambol chile (very spicy, a little like spinach in texture and taste… and yes, Brad and I had a good laugh over the fact that we were eating “Kai Lan,” Dagny’s favorite Asian cartoon character), and finished it all off with a bowl of shaved ice topped with black jelly (looks like licorice Jell-O, but doesn’t taste like much of anything… just really sweet) and a kind of palm fruit (about the size of a grape, all white, also sweet… if you have issues with texture, you might want to avoid this one… kind of like trying to eat an eyeball, though much more delicious). So that was a bit of a sidetrack there, basically just to point out that there are A LOT of different things to try here, and most of them are fantastic.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Up next (and hopefully in just a few days, if I find the time): Dagny's and my ADVENTURE WEDNESDAYS!!!</span></div><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-1342994276210967882011-08-22T22:21:00.000-07:002011-08-23T02:15:27.439-07:00A Weekend GetawayThe week started out a little rough. I’ve only been sick once since having Dagny—a bout of food poisoning in Charlotte that hit both me and Brad like a truck (I don’t think there’s any other way for food poisoning to hit a person). Fortunately, our part-angel neighbor watched Dagny for us while we screamed our final farewells to each other from two different bathrooms in our house, certain we were going to die. (We obviously didn't) But this week started out a little too similarly for my liking, with a stomach bug and no God-sent neighbor to pawn my daughter off on. Aaaand Brad was in China for the week. Of course.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">But we made it through! The weather worked in my favor for two of the days… it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">poured</i> rain, so Dagny didn’t experience her usual urge to play outside. And the cable company seemed to be on my side for those two days as well, airing a Tom & Jerry marathon that kept Dags glued to the TV. I’m convinced those doctors who say children shouldn’t watch <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any</i> television before the age of five don’t have any children of their own. I don’t know what I would have done without Tom and Jerry. I have half a mind to name my future children after them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, so my week wasn’t exactly fun, and like I said, Brad was in China for five days. I don’t think there’s a person out there who returns from a business trip to China saying, “Wow, that was fantastic! The smog in Shanghai was so revitalizing!” That said, we decided we were due for a long weekend getaway in Bintan, an Indonesian island with gorgeous white sand beaches. We were told it’s Indonesia's family-friendly version of Bali.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The weekend starts out with a ferry trip to the island (another reason it’s such a popular destination here… you don’t need to fly!). I was a little nervous as we approached the boat, what with the crew lining the gangplank so my baby and I don’t get pitched into the bay while the ferry rocks violently side to side in front of me. I’m not much of a water person. Or a roller coaster person. I’m not even a big fan of turning around too fast. This was going to be interesting.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For the most part, the ride was fine. And it was pretty cool heading out of Singapore, passing between freight ships that were like floating cities towering above us. It was only a 55-minute trip to Bintan, and the water there was sheltered and calm compared to the port we left.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Following a bumpy, windy bus ride (I’m imagining a margarita and a couple of Advil waiting for me at check-in by this point) we arrived at Bintan Lagoon Resort! We were greeted at the lobby entrance by Indonesian dancers and drummers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpXWPyb7Fqyyzz2Msb_Btcsn58QPp3ZyJFBsOmoD0UHNR9gp9ybHE-0pJytOxKzS86R5whMiWlskSKajJQB7ZJcYk5Oy4IgCjBbswmkGDrwS5FrPFZkv6xqFvujiVo1HiEGyMjg5XEKq8/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpXWPyb7Fqyyzz2Msb_Btcsn58QPp3ZyJFBsOmoD0UHNR9gp9ybHE-0pJytOxKzS86R5whMiWlskSKajJQB7ZJcYk5Oy4IgCjBbswmkGDrwS5FrPFZkv6xqFvujiVo1HiEGyMjg5XEKq8/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We wanted to get a picture of Dagny with the dancers, but she was a little freaked out (can you tell?). I suggested Brad sit with her on his lap. I don't think the words were entirely out of my mouth before he was eagerly plopping himself down between these two! Way to take one for the team.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1pmbOA74i3UhN_UQXGlZrH5LbdPUN9VzeWPQccNEjOWybiXGXPZvA3tDJIB1F58sOF7Z4AxRZQswl-PypXxOfaC02MBJzFdBdDfTrWaY8Zj7ekaJykl7j-DsKqggwM5tX5HzYNx9FTM/s1600/1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1pmbOA74i3UhN_UQXGlZrH5LbdPUN9VzeWPQccNEjOWybiXGXPZvA3tDJIB1F58sOF7Z4AxRZQswl-PypXxOfaC02MBJzFdBdDfTrWaY8Zj7ekaJykl7j-DsKqggwM5tX5HzYNx9FTM/s320/1-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bintan Lagoon Resort. Not too shabby.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLca4nz2fOnjrwdoWkCNYRZ-eMxdj8xrVHniqrsxPggi7iv7Yg3Jp_Ks2RDE6b7AvvJHKuSTCkmq3E_343H7DF2zUuDVQagWRklFV5LduIE2o6ycoN3SQtkoNP38dTAOYgxEgiq6XLDOE/s1600/4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLca4nz2fOnjrwdoWkCNYRZ-eMxdj8xrVHniqrsxPggi7iv7Yg3Jp_Ks2RDE6b7AvvJHKuSTCkmq3E_343H7DF2zUuDVQagWRklFV5LduIE2o6ycoN3SQtkoNP38dTAOYgxEgiq6XLDOE/s320/4-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our room. Dagny LOVED the couch/guest bed in the corner, and turned it into her own gymnastics mat.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The view from our balcony. When your daughter sacks out at 7:00pm, you realize balconies with nice views are an absolute MUST on vacation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dinner our first night was a lot of fun. We attended a buffet with seemingly endless amounts of Indonesian and Asian food, but it was set up a little differently than buffets in the States. In the center of our table was a heating element with a large bowl of spicy soup broth on top of it. The soup is kept at a rolling boil, and you pick raw and uncooked items from the buffet and cook them to your liking at your own table. Most cooking is done this way here, where all the food is cooked in one giant pot. Well, Brad and I had a blast playing chef! I think it’s best to approach meals like this the same way you would approach a Play-Dough kitchen as a child… you just have to give yourself over to being adventurous and view it as a great big vat of experimental fun! There was a lot of stuff to choose from (whole eggs, prawns, noodles, fish balls, crab legs, anchovies, fish strips… the list goes on), most of which was delicious but some of it was a fight to swallow. I think the highlight of our dinner was watching Dagny try chopsticks for the first time, entirely of her own will. Actually, it was just a chopstick (singular), which she stabbed at her food with, and when none of it stuck, she molded her rice in a ball around the end and stuck it in her mouth. I wish I had a picture of the pensive look on that little one’s face as she tried to make sense of it all!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Another difference between restaurants in Asia and the US is how loud the atmosphere is here. Meals in Asia are typically large family events and are far from formal. For the most part, people are seated at round tables to make conversation easier. And there is no need to feel self-conscious at any point during your meal—even if you’re making a mess with your chopsticks, sweat’s dripping off your face because most restaurants are open-air and the majority of the food is incredibly spicy, and your place setting and lap are covered in prawn and crab shells—just take a deep breath and look around you… and you’ll find most tables are a bit of a mess, and no one really cares. And the locals understand their way of life is different and a little difficult for Westerners, so you’ll find they give you a lot of credit and encouraging smiles just for trying their food, using their chopsticks, and saying “Hello” and “Thank you” in Chinese. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, besides most meals only coming with a set of chopsticks and a porcelain spoon, I’ve found shellfish a bit of a challenge to eat here—they all arrive with their shell on (yes, even fried prawns, which sort of makes me wonder what the point of all the delicious batter is if I just have to peel it off?). I find I eat a lot less here than at home, because it takes me quite a while to actually get my food in my mouth! What still blows my mind to this day is to watch locals put a crab claw or entire prawn in their mouth, chew it up with teeth that must be part iron, and then spit out the little pieces of shell. I’m not that hardcore yet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Most of our second day was spent at the pool and the beach. The pool had a swim-up bar… need I explain further? Kinda funny: I ordered a margarita, and had to explain to the bartender how to make it. He didn’t have any margarita mix, so he used fresh squeezed limejuice (yummy!) and finished it off with a splash of vodka. Ummm, okaaay. It was actually pretty good, and I’m still surprised I didn’t fall off my stool and drown in the water once I finished it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9elvKA8pQDpHNp_9XvMNUdAXe_Rw9-dciE3Hn3hXD2gXrRLv0eGwUl_DhhcFFG6Mbc-jvSP42xWRB9ldYatJFwL7HOlGwGtZwg9TwytfL2C0vkcYEBhghIOCUm0p_j_vQrV2MbYPem8/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9elvKA8pQDpHNp_9XvMNUdAXe_Rw9-dciE3Hn3hXD2gXrRLv0eGwUl_DhhcFFG6Mbc-jvSP42xWRB9ldYatJFwL7HOlGwGtZwg9TwytfL2C0vkcYEBhghIOCUm0p_j_vQrV2MbYPem8/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Who's that sexy chick?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUm3tWhLzMIyCh-O8tvULUvA761iGZ3Xwoh7GcyVHnTxOyvOn1BKaQagqU36gSc3mmF2d4Zbx1cXbncL0JN1krhhKw10nm-_0jF8BxuHI1rCOc4bfeKYKEoMaE9K3FAqr8RunrYl2iJPY/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUm3tWhLzMIyCh-O8tvULUvA761iGZ3Xwoh7GcyVHnTxOyvOn1BKaQagqU36gSc3mmF2d4Zbx1cXbncL0JN1krhhKw10nm-_0jF8BxuHI1rCOc4bfeKYKEoMaE9K3FAqr8RunrYl2iJPY/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygBGnzB_A7vJm9bE9EEr9ysgBwlhMHMDyCHzRmzPAT4xZHZxWwO1LyY214ZbN3Iy3gGPJvx7g1qdqhBegdlbmqkKmeAF2zAWQThAM9i4xXHsLzHyg2Ngk_7zBuv3kpSFRBy_B3nJbwFc/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygBGnzB_A7vJm9bE9EEr9ysgBwlhMHMDyCHzRmzPAT4xZHZxWwO1LyY214ZbN3Iy3gGPJvx7g1qdqhBegdlbmqkKmeAF2zAWQThAM9i4xXHsLzHyg2Ngk_7zBuv3kpSFRBy_B3nJbwFc/s320/12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny made friends with these two girls at the pool. They were so cute together! A fantastic lesson that friendship can transcend language barriers (since these girls only knew Chinese and Dagny only knows baby Venutian). They played for over an hour, and put flowers in her hair (and my hair, too).</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFK2qS4i_cOIBQOJgALeiRPmp2Fn9WJk_5bBIY7FiFEAgTphc6lLzs5o99UHdx3j9X1KwGIOjq_d_XXydX_tCagjyYYFu1pHI_0xPPfSYb02DIfoK5TNVzY41nER-SCvWvVBLVMYeD7LQ/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFK2qS4i_cOIBQOJgALeiRPmp2Fn9WJk_5bBIY7FiFEAgTphc6lLzs5o99UHdx3j9X1KwGIOjq_d_XXydX_tCagjyYYFu1pHI_0xPPfSYb02DIfoK5TNVzY41nER-SCvWvVBLVMYeD7LQ/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Beaches here (in both Indonesia and Singapore) amaze me… they are completely empty during the day! Asians tend to think Americans are a little nutty for wanting to sit out in the excruciating heat while toasting their skin a gorgeous shade of cancer. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgxK2EclcvXPYMn3qEN6bFb-2V56lhKbC1JvMHuNS4mAYUeIhSzU_0mNi5DM69eRcUb3R5-YA3IbPADexpUxuCrUTD2YRB9P1w7qUwnPxWtgKvF7KPRizRhCrd0YAbAh3UZBWoIkNHCo/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvgxK2EclcvXPYMn3qEN6bFb-2V56lhKbC1JvMHuNS4mAYUeIhSzU_0mNi5DM69eRcUb3R5-YA3IbPADexpUxuCrUTD2YRB9P1w7qUwnPxWtgKvF7KPRizRhCrd0YAbAh3UZBWoIkNHCo/s320/5.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlIFki8scrPby-TCV2OC2ulvDnkX9Ae6zCoE9PN_9HSg89u3pXZbIU_TdZv6hPc29wVrToD2KHaB0P6ecPbaVPKUoF4SzO4EjZPOJZIAwj1PS4mhWTnskM3jwrqWnaHJJ67K8C2bUngk/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlIFki8scrPby-TCV2OC2ulvDnkX9Ae6zCoE9PN_9HSg89u3pXZbIU_TdZv6hPc29wVrToD2KHaB0P6ecPbaVPKUoF4SzO4EjZPOJZIAwj1PS4mhWTnskM3jwrqWnaHJJ67K8C2bUngk/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After a fun day of playing in the pool and on the sand, this one is all tired out.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXcQc0g0Rudlkfc3obOkz7o4qyfXUptZvCSqrcryC2DrHWX5HCuYQNSW805q-M6G04grlYjIfrPOLZeu25DK57BVjSheYZ3U45CwenYRIlzF5Or5zf_FjAsK0YPEmHzKeCSLbFtW__sI/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrXcQc0g0Rudlkfc3obOkz7o4qyfXUptZvCSqrcryC2DrHWX5HCuYQNSW805q-M6G04grlYjIfrPOLZeu25DK57BVjSheYZ3U45CwenYRIlzF5Or5zf_FjAsK0YPEmHzKeCSLbFtW__sI/s320/7.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Aaaand... about two minutes later on the way back to the room.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE7feBssDPXOqaT6JxhY6LsyFrqaIluHjjgfixLtiMGUGntub7vdNzs0FvVokGgyPFbAWWcbwfQNUzUzyt0ZaQSF-Gzd5VeNmyBixroBP22_5Uhmy3aqqGUuE1xtyosK3TeuRyvgT6WRQ/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE7feBssDPXOqaT6JxhY6LsyFrqaIluHjjgfixLtiMGUGntub7vdNzs0FvVokGgyPFbAWWcbwfQNUzUzyt0ZaQSF-Gzd5VeNmyBixroBP22_5Uhmy3aqqGUuE1xtyosK3TeuRyvgT6WRQ/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Following a brief nap, Dagny was ready for an extended evening on the beach. There was a little "party" our hotel was hosting on the sand, with a DJ and fire dancers. We got a nice spot right by the water. Yeah, that's a sippy cup of milk in the picture... this is how we roll.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0I5LAifQ0MYTqAVoiURP4tqaa2E3i47BMRYKXpaRRxlN4Zo06SIp7-oxBLvfBa86MIXBlsYwGDCunjLbX5zJxK0xz_ChXujQxSaZQnUfgJEtf3XmvOQ587G9SwlmmeeYcNMuV3XeVQdE/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0I5LAifQ0MYTqAVoiURP4tqaa2E3i47BMRYKXpaRRxlN4Zo06SIp7-oxBLvfBa86MIXBlsYwGDCunjLbX5zJxK0xz_ChXujQxSaZQnUfgJEtf3XmvOQ587G9SwlmmeeYcNMuV3XeVQdE/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dags LOVED the beach party! At one point she stood up and started dancing, which is basically just deep knee bends and arm waving. Brad and I call it the "Hot Potato In My Diaper" dance.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVlA25hEG2Q8sUJqGdWYnZc_TZndwbTK6i0FAQ9OlUp_jBp07KMqpb4YjvjrG0tq2R9phGGee6ljR4QyDD9AxfK9Vvoa3BsULhHm5uGVFwdiyOIGV2eMD7KvpYoZYqc_BAZlJHh1HTBx8/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVlA25hEG2Q8sUJqGdWYnZc_TZndwbTK6i0FAQ9OlUp_jBp07KMqpb4YjvjrG0tq2R9phGGee6ljR4QyDD9AxfK9Vvoa3BsULhHm5uGVFwdiyOIGV2eMD7KvpYoZYqc_BAZlJHh1HTBx8/s320/10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">View of the ocean.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP96XK2jXPyMZkM4Bqca_Xl0NjK2GljcqIyAMnUqfuWqlaRRyUOOdZUaKwf9zFEFAH8ko0oouRvpFURFbuL6vfhfJZaRIW4efMMAQ2Yy5krNuxMR5LiAkdN5fqsrtjUKD1KNwXnydfoSg/s1600/IMG_1579.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP96XK2jXPyMZkM4Bqca_Xl0NjK2GljcqIyAMnUqfuWqlaRRyUOOdZUaKwf9zFEFAH8ko0oouRvpFURFbuL6vfhfJZaRIW4efMMAQ2Yy5krNuxMR5LiAkdN5fqsrtjUKD1KNwXnydfoSg/s320/IMG_1579.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is the life.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jlx2SQMDFUS7meDAsye0fiU-TVR2wSgwGQCrg_UE7Ci_AIjpOVmZs2eTwrCk4j1_6bwD0dgc0Pzfs8U1Mhdxg1FXWFoKQGtTYINLupJ6-Ef16GA4NK7c5BjQ8HMyO31Ezn7BeLvIsMA/s1600/IMG_1582.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jlx2SQMDFUS7meDAsye0fiU-TVR2wSgwGQCrg_UE7Ci_AIjpOVmZs2eTwrCk4j1_6bwD0dgc0Pzfs8U1Mhdxg1FXWFoKQGtTYINLupJ6-Ef16GA4NK7c5BjQ8HMyO31Ezn7BeLvIsMA/s320/IMG_1582.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"OMGoodness gracious! That guy should NOT be wearing a Speedo, Mommy!"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcFrjIOd-4opeQCFeGK-4baDeBtb3WKxf-ky8FuEingq0R17h5HX5KWMhuGvzWz9bkI1TsyWZf48K2gO0sgybRve5gLeDGBeIC7BoJYkys8ryDI-briT6YBgCwdUu8vlhALoh10F2PN8/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcFrjIOd-4opeQCFeGK-4baDeBtb3WKxf-ky8FuEingq0R17h5HX5KWMhuGvzWz9bkI1TsyWZf48K2gO0sgybRve5gLeDGBeIC7BoJYkys8ryDI-briT6YBgCwdUu8vlhALoh10F2PN8/s320/16.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After three gorgeous days on Bintan, it was time to go home. And we were all ready. When you're advised not to drink from the taps, it turns out you can be charged ridiculous amounts of money for bottled water ($10/bottle, in fact). After a few days, staying hydrated starts to break the bank!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaidFCqp-Ax77f3clrXCGKyy6iIbKlpeqbyTUMFGXxBO2DSCRDLX2nfi-CT75ohlkGAlNB_LGXYazBpkFAYfDGavD8hCdnf4IdDCud6p90EWjJy8V5D0ckAUbbiDSqfFXjBO0jgQ3qVpo/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaidFCqp-Ax77f3clrXCGKyy6iIbKlpeqbyTUMFGXxBO2DSCRDLX2nfi-CT75ohlkGAlNB_LGXYazBpkFAYfDGavD8hCdnf4IdDCud6p90EWjJy8V5D0ckAUbbiDSqfFXjBO0jgQ3qVpo/s320/14.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">All "funned" out. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAS5d_CaBWfztiMWb4XH5vkCXDt3eT10dVMzvfEv05Tx_aJU1cgwDBtW2JZ9caGx2mwJaPmVENP3AAjiiVq7JNpr0UQUsWTK1EBVoM2GSUEelkPnu_AveCfXMQAoML0ewCMg7JMvY3KU/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoAS5d_CaBWfztiMWb4XH5vkCXDt3eT10dVMzvfEv05Tx_aJU1cgwDBtW2JZ9caGx2mwJaPmVENP3AAjiiVq7JNpr0UQUsWTK1EBVoM2GSUEelkPnu_AveCfXMQAoML0ewCMg7JMvY3KU/s320/15.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-54421384638645486772011-08-09T07:05:00.000-07:002011-08-09T07:05:41.730-07:00The Monkey Wants My Baby<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">This week’s post begins with a correction and a confession. First, the correction: In my last post, I mentioned Dagny and I like to visit the coy ponds in the morning. Oops. They are actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">koi</i> ponds, filled with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">koi</i> fish—not modestly shy water. And now, my confession: I have most likely misspelled and will continue to misspell a lot of words in my entries. I’ve never been a particularly good speller to begin with, and let’s face it, very few things I hear during the day are written down for me. I’m working with a very wide, strictly phonetic net here. There have been times I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have</i> asked (usually for blogging purposes) how something is spelled (like ohta), but even that doesn’t always deliver stellar results. For instance, just last week I made my first ever trip to the dry cleaner… it was located in the apartment complex across the street from us, hidden somewhere in a labyrinth of buildings and walkways (the complex is monstrous). On my way in, I asked the guard at the gate where I needed to go…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Towa jkhay,” he says. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Tower J?” I ask.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Jkhay.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Tower K?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Jkhay.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Oh heavens, we’re getting nowhere—and fast. Then an idea hits me. “Tower J, as in…" But I cannot, in that moment, think of a SINGLE word that starts with the letter J. Believe it or not, my brain (which I’m convinced likes to play very cruel games with the rest of me) starts screaming, “Jabberwocky! I dare you to say Jabberwocky!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally, after a moment of awkward silence, I finally say (with copious amounts of relief and pride), “Jakarta!” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Go me</i>. Everyone here knows Jakarta, the capital of Indonesia. “Okay, J as in Jakarta, or K, as in…” Oh, you must be kidding me. K… K… K… “The, um, middle… letter… in Jakarta.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And now you know why my spelling stinks, and why I probably won’t do a darn thing to remedy it at this point.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This week (though I guess by now, it was last week) was kicked off with the Hungry Ghost Festival. This week, according to Taoist and Buddhist beliefs, the gates of Heaven and Hell are opened, and the deceased return to earth to walk amongst us. Queue the creepy music from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Twilight Zone.</i> Being a total Halloween nut and lover of ghost stories (NOT horror stories!), this festival immediately caught my interest. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Heading out of our apartment Monday morning, I’m hit with the rich smell of incensed smoke, and a thick haze that has nothing to do with the humidity (for once) saturates the air. All up and down our street, people are tossing burning stacks of Heaven and Hell money into metal drums, and are planting glowing joss sticks in the ground. Wax from burning candles streaks the sidewalks, and several times I see paper replicas of everyday items go bouncing down the street gutters, engulfed in flames, like scary tumbleweeds from an old Western. Kudos to you if you remember my trip to funeral row, where I got to see the making and selling of these paper items. The week of the Ghost Festival must be similar in scope to America’s Black Friday for those vendors.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Also, all along the sidewalks and in the parks, prayer and offering tents have been set up. The reason everyone is burning money, laying out food, and praying is to keep the wandering spirits appeased, so they (especially the ones from Hell) will return happy to their realms at the end of the lunar cycle. If the gates close while the spirits are still wandering in search of food and money (and apparently a little respect), they will be trapped on earth as ghosts, until next year’s festival.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-MCyCddaLPiHiIaSbqrWTjNZl_eywUDMkrXPaUUY8nbPvud4RQ8eKIKQYzM8Mk-jX3phcYdrkkjPduPNyrCcEMR1cxaNUINrhDbSrFyw5k58Qth9AfkS6E0_Q47PzHQCwQDdyA61MJ4/s1600/wet+market+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-MCyCddaLPiHiIaSbqrWTjNZl_eywUDMkrXPaUUY8nbPvud4RQ8eKIKQYzM8Mk-jX3phcYdrkkjPduPNyrCcEMR1cxaNUINrhDbSrFyw5k58Qth9AfkS6E0_Q47PzHQCwQDdyA61MJ4/s320/wet+market+1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Melted wax and ashes covering the sidewalks.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmGWeB2yNcO8z_vmwV6BTeDFZo3bv9KWjIFh3Nrh2VO1tHS5iMqBJANO-Ozc1MNirHMryolEoJwLnmR11WblISL0PCLtQaVLcVvIp6fCbhmgDe3uPds3ziGMwwkSLwXNInbnsUm_CJCM/s1600/wet+market+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmGWeB2yNcO8z_vmwV6BTeDFZo3bv9KWjIFh3Nrh2VO1tHS5iMqBJANO-Ozc1MNirHMryolEoJwLnmR11WblISL0PCLtQaVLcVvIp6fCbhmgDe3uPds3ziGMwwkSLwXNInbnsUm_CJCM/s320/wet+market+2.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hell money and paper replicas that can be purchased for the Ghost Festival.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKz4A2BLAwJwQMLMklEzrQ74uyjJuslpqmuVDcaRwW7HC1lRm7miUAxRo37-tkkTrXE3wVgJdCrv3fHnZA7QwEyp_Bo8gGtG1uVxVepVo0u8QFdIVe0wrLHu00x_BpFtG7yRI0tebvNT4/s1600/wet+market+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKz4A2BLAwJwQMLMklEzrQ74uyjJuslpqmuVDcaRwW7HC1lRm7miUAxRo37-tkkTrXE3wVgJdCrv3fHnZA7QwEyp_Bo8gGtG1uVxVepVo0u8QFdIVe0wrLHu00x_BpFtG7yRI0tebvNT4/s320/wet+market+4.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Offering tables similar to these can be found all over the city... pictured here are candles, joss sticks, and plates of food (mostly vegetarian).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I recently bought myself a Singapore cookbook. Every morning, Brad and I pick out what we are going to attempt to cook that night, and then I head to the wet market and grocery store, and we all three get adventurous. We set up assembly (or disassembly) lines in the kitchen… Brad’s really good at popping heads off prawns, which is nice, because I hate doing it. I get kind of gaggy when the brains burst all over my hands in a brown gooey mess. But I’m really good at removing the mud vein. While here, I learned how to use a wood skewer to slide them out with ease, without having to slice the prawn open (or “butterfly” them, which is the “lazier” approach). Believe it or not, the cooking has been going pretty well! Several times I’ve had to Google an ingredient, having no idea if it’s a fruit, vegetable, spice, or something that used to breathe and walk, but all in all, the results have been amazingly good. And healthy! And, most surprising of all, increasingly vegetarian. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gasp!</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Every time I go to the wet market, I learn something new. This week, I realized I can use my cuter-than-cupid daughter to my advantage. All I have to do is take her out of her stroller, put on her little monkey backpack with the long tail that clips to my shorts, and… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bam!</i> I no longer have to seek out the vendors… they come to us! That’s right, Dagny giggles and blows kisses and waves to all the elderly Chinese folks, and I immediately find people offering me great deals on veggies, and free bags of peanuts and tea biscuits. Is it wrong to be exploiting my daughter this way??? I kind of think <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no</i>, because she has an amazing way of making everyone she meets deliriously happy. She doesn’t care how old anyone is, what their nationality is, or whether they can walk or are restricted to a wheelchair. She loves, hugs, high-fives, and blows kisses to everyone she meets. This week, she approached an old woman who was hobbling with a cane, took her free hand, and started walking through the aisles of the market with her. The woman was just beside herself. She couldn’t speak English, but kept stroking Dagny’s arms and kissing the top of her head. And then she led us to a stand run by a friend of hers, who gave us over a pound of fresh prawns for only $6. Thank you, Dags! Dagny actually does this kind of thing a lot… takes the hands of random people and babbles to them for a little while, then blows them a kiss with a big “Mmwaah,” and is on her way again, off to entertain someone new. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimk0FfS1uRCvjAS8-t17GBfLfTV_i_pxcBaTGnG1v5JPojJwL7fzXftEe-gnTWUIoKMf_qSGc_o_DZqwq_hL43jOhyphenhyphen495c8YPNxxLv5SUHL43N3-02T-NyxF1jItXXoElLZDtQAxtBGGg/s1600/wet+market+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimk0FfS1uRCvjAS8-t17GBfLfTV_i_pxcBaTGnG1v5JPojJwL7fzXftEe-gnTWUIoKMf_qSGc_o_DZqwq_hL43jOhyphenhyphen495c8YPNxxLv5SUHL43N3-02T-NyxF1jItXXoElLZDtQAxtBGGg/s320/wet+market+3.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny working the wet market.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This week, we finally decided it was time to lease a car. Brad’s new business facility is on the north end of the island, and takes an hour and a half to get to by train—or else is a $30 cab ride each way. The car makes things a lot easier for him. And as for me, during one of my most recent cab rides, my driver had to slam on his brakes four times, kissed one bumper, and ran two VERY red lights! All this with Dagny wrapped in my arms, seated on my lap. After that, I was ready for a car, too… but I warned Brad I don’t ever want to actually drive it. I’m not ready to attempt driving on the opposite side of the car, on the opposite side of the road, in a country where even the locals openly admit they are among the worst drivers in the world. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZFcsy7NvuFIuZ4NZbJDHjI1A7_HxhvT9lug2Dk8OcRDoXeARDUTqILCSLxSCYyxMHOOVk8ZDmZ6LP3EZDFDY86QXYM0_OoMp0K-Obu6f1w0sJGVd41plTtWvAasw5I0UOJRCS93_DXE/s1600/car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoZFcsy7NvuFIuZ4NZbJDHjI1A7_HxhvT9lug2Dk8OcRDoXeARDUTqILCSLxSCYyxMHOOVk8ZDmZ6LP3EZDFDY86QXYM0_OoMp0K-Obu6f1w0sJGVd41plTtWvAasw5I0UOJRCS93_DXE/s320/car.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Brad's first day of driving. Proof positive I'm a total dork, since I felt the need to mark the moment on film.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmClzMsOh0bAp41EGURN08OK6F10_E0XBFMVP77mVnAgx05O2DxsdTeUG4FyqJ87krYFV0tymOrUpMzi9Txe0MERxtnQJtKpkxYYmFH1Hz4vayYXASARaTIhSvhsxUrCw_SHyZItFy5vw/s1600/car+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmClzMsOh0bAp41EGURN08OK6F10_E0XBFMVP77mVnAgx05O2DxsdTeUG4FyqJ87krYFV0tymOrUpMzi9Txe0MERxtnQJtKpkxYYmFH1Hz4vayYXASARaTIhSvhsxUrCw_SHyZItFy5vw/s320/car+2.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Mom, Dad? Why is everything backward? Can't we just take the train?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I also splurged for a bike this week, so now I can take Dagny to the beach more easily… just a quick, ten-minute ride on my bright purple jalopy. Yes, jalopy… or whatever the equivalent word would be for a bike. Even though this bike is brand spankin’ new, it sounds and rolls like the bike from the movie “Friday.” It creaks, clatters, and whenever I need to shift gears (which thankfully isn’t very often, since Singapore is pretty flat) I have to get off the bike and manually adjust the chain. But this isn’t really a big deal, since I have to stop about every twenty minutes anyway to re-raise the seat. Want to know what kind of a bike $100 gets you? A big piece-o-crap, that’s what.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s a picture of Dagny in her new bike seat. I think she looks like one of the mushroom guys from Super Mario Brothers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Oo-NgJxyFG1MGqohpzdpTJoO3KSKGpXJl4HcBcfi1qhWBZ_J05_egdYqWbKeXDyFIrX-kvDip5jyrR_LqV90eUQ_uLnmNUqCGr6Ghb-PWgHW2KfOTz3b_FUzNp26pxGzrCxHTOnI9Ak/s1600/bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Oo-NgJxyFG1MGqohpzdpTJoO3KSKGpXJl4HcBcfi1qhWBZ_J05_egdYqWbKeXDyFIrX-kvDip5jyrR_LqV90eUQ_uLnmNUqCGr6Ghb-PWgHW2KfOTz3b_FUzNp26pxGzrCxHTOnI9Ak/s320/bike.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With our new car, we took our first family trip to the zoo this weekend. The Singapore Zoo is touted as one of the finest in the world, and now that I’ve seen it—or maybe <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">experienced</i> it is more accurate—I have to agree. We bought a year pass, which was a good thing because after spending almost four hours there, we only saw about twenty percent of the exhibits.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This. Zoo. ROCKS!!!!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BJU6nkMmRf_uZqWRbWxL-VuZ5Jji-VLsukCv5QHvPo9-WKTjEXnAUidPMw606G3CuxvYFEqBbj3sHr5x4WWMP157eN2En_ZGv-y-1yrcV_f1fCAryE61GC8lWrRBv586gEW4wn_wTWE/s1600/zoo+sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6BJU6nkMmRf_uZqWRbWxL-VuZ5Jji-VLsukCv5QHvPo9-WKTjEXnAUidPMw606G3CuxvYFEqBbj3sHr5x4WWMP157eN2En_ZGv-y-1yrcV_f1fCAryE61GC8lWrRBv586gEW4wn_wTWE/s320/zoo+sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We spent most of our time exploring the primate enclosures. Now this just blew me away… the monkeys are “free range!” This means they swing in the trees over your head and drop onto the park signs beside you, staring with amazingly human eyes as you walk past. Dagny was in heaven, giggling and pointing at all the monkeys as we walked through. Some were pocket-sized, and even the toughest-looking visitor couldn’t look at them without saying “Awww,” while others were obviously quite large (like the orangutans and chimps).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8b1vpQzAcTQV_FngaLjEwQA86mR-Y1KrwA0_zrH9R80MopEAcbxvz0htCN3WL2xTqyEXDMmJrjzZsWizElVCOx1xj0J0f86U5K-rx_iCB6S-RWnmRz-YAv-2UJENsBUTqCyl7p-rB90/s1600/zoo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8b1vpQzAcTQV_FngaLjEwQA86mR-Y1KrwA0_zrH9R80MopEAcbxvz0htCN3WL2xTqyEXDMmJrjzZsWizElVCOx1xj0J0f86U5K-rx_iCB6S-RWnmRz-YAv-2UJENsBUTqCyl7p-rB90/s320/zoo+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZDXVM4ZtV1fAN1uqXJCkLu1QviYubyv_ppYefTKFfq9pGZFgA65n7kTmpvKE0nYcqDnu1KW5ESStpwTwqtBflk5pmIZfe2PJugTO4qJ6mfjsNm4oFbk6i7o_cjOgmZ18jvyFsL39jdo/s1600/zoo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZDXVM4ZtV1fAN1uqXJCkLu1QviYubyv_ppYefTKFfq9pGZFgA65n7kTmpvKE0nYcqDnu1KW5ESStpwTwqtBflk5pmIZfe2PJugTO4qJ6mfjsNm4oFbk6i7o_cjOgmZ18jvyFsL39jdo/s320/zoo+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzOsCZIW1BN9_wUez49pU9spHRLXgRku3PWwpYd_gVfM2kR0k6yVN7tXtHefX3g1987lCFgJFQLNMUWvSTLucR79sZzL7d17PhrE8oRmNlC7xhdap3-ZsJDd_K7Fe3rLZ3t9hyphenhyphenyefcBI/s1600/zoo+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzOsCZIW1BN9_wUez49pU9spHRLXgRku3PWwpYd_gVfM2kR0k6yVN7tXtHefX3g1987lCFgJFQLNMUWvSTLucR79sZzL7d17PhrE8oRmNlC7xhdap3-ZsJDd_K7Fe3rLZ3t9hyphenhyphenyefcBI/s320/zoo+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxA3UVpll4C0iYzDYxRt0BTVTACz311_e8ydjB_uKZGDatEbKm4xVhW7Em-J5yHL7udJIohUGCppJPrLz5x_XKjrGi1eh9BMPBVKfpIK-1GY7nfYPZ4ZUCqa5H3xH9pHqTjVEqHKeqcc/s1600/zoo+monkeys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxA3UVpll4C0iYzDYxRt0BTVTACz311_e8ydjB_uKZGDatEbKm4xVhW7Em-J5yHL7udJIohUGCppJPrLz5x_XKjrGi1eh9BMPBVKfpIK-1GY7nfYPZ4ZUCqa5H3xH9pHqTjVEqHKeqcc/s320/zoo+monkeys.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Along one of the paths, I let Dagny out of her stroller (with her monkey backpack on) and let her walk for a bit. Suddenly, a small clump of visitors in front of me start pointing and yelling something in Chinese. I immediately tense, because they are gesturing at something over my head and behind me. And then, two seconds later, a feisty little monkey comes flying off a pavilion rooftop and smacks me square on the head with a tree branch. The other visitors, who all have their cameras out, think this is fantastic… something tells me I’m going to appear in several home video viewings this week. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But the best part is that the monkey won’t leave us alone. He (or she?) is fixated on Dagny. I don’t know if it was the monkey backpack she was wearing, or if maybe her cuteness transcends species, but it followed her down the path and into a picnic pavilion. Its eyes darted between me and her, and it occasionally reached a paw (or hand? My dad and I are in disagreement on this) toward her, never aggressively, but with such affectionately wide and wondering eyes that one of the visitors says to me, “The monkey wants your baby.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHf00KsMagqxe8eMwPEI9CxNwGijvLuZrMsMlDaXc3zdE13OdWvxmj9nkTxLRRyEGEXypQnxcgzvJatqar_Db1akIof11Pv_ed6mqBryQcLEwoggVxYo-GdedLV4YKhXAxDu11MqurA3c/s1600/zoo+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHf00KsMagqxe8eMwPEI9CxNwGijvLuZrMsMlDaXc3zdE13OdWvxmj9nkTxLRRyEGEXypQnxcgzvJatqar_Db1akIof11Pv_ed6mqBryQcLEwoggVxYo-GdedLV4YKhXAxDu11MqurA3c/s320/zoo+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dags with her monkey backpack on.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3tNvITu23fCiwnDzfc2eajFXHjYVAbOK_eQn9Sj4rg3IINxd-tBrhyphenhyphenA_Zt5iRdRGrZL4iZUDLhBZEY45HcIFuvLeymn9BYWWW8jjmXfaQeptFzcfA0xtmTLSPdszoO20KdBzUwPz274/s1600/zoo+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3tNvITu23fCiwnDzfc2eajFXHjYVAbOK_eQn9Sj4rg3IINxd-tBrhyphenhyphenA_Zt5iRdRGrZL4iZUDLhBZEY45HcIFuvLeymn9BYWWW8jjmXfaQeptFzcfA0xtmTLSPdszoO20KdBzUwPz274/s320/zoo+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Just moments before the "monkey attack."</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZM9clOEy_1tf3SWn5sbWycJOHbOKSR1ZNnKBTSbH8GFIOSCMIIjpsltmY3zADSwu9qL0_2yiErktOd963QfGEQ2ygODA0gFc17dVvJS3k20ZP0ShU5MRIozesYwPwaOQrpW7Tp87nZAU/s1600/zoo+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZM9clOEy_1tf3SWn5sbWycJOHbOKSR1ZNnKBTSbH8GFIOSCMIIjpsltmY3zADSwu9qL0_2yiErktOd963QfGEQ2ygODA0gFc17dVvJS3k20ZP0ShU5MRIozesYwPwaOQrpW7Tp87nZAU/s320/zoo+9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Inside the picnic pavilion... this is the little guy who follows Dagny around for about ten minutes, and won't take his eyes off her.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJsnqdfoTcd-RVEGrJEsBwt2Y9oPQVrr55-aZzFbPo6FfUWduJ3-jUdiJKpNq7VsvBflPQ5PTFXpWE_wqAaXdXfOP6rvnvBGgHaCJBc4I2fZhBXOQyaqzi4mvvIzmRsIZX0B7rWLs5Gk/s1600/zoo+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJsnqdfoTcd-RVEGrJEsBwt2Y9oPQVrr55-aZzFbPo6FfUWduJ3-jUdiJKpNq7VsvBflPQ5PTFXpWE_wqAaXdXfOP6rvnvBGgHaCJBc4I2fZhBXOQyaqzi4mvvIzmRsIZX0B7rWLs5Gk/s320/zoo+10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6snUlqpMVqr4g1eW68HXzL7kGH66r4AohcyCHkYHZbqKprFwQyvIySzPVMf8hRIcVZoEdL0y6LVwVxcx4UREQUBaFonxhB_YRxYqkkQPfQzITjM-dXr_6BMx2m_IOprmzcx-ekTAH20M/s1600/zoo+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6snUlqpMVqr4g1eW68HXzL7kGH66r4AohcyCHkYHZbqKprFwQyvIySzPVMf8hRIcVZoEdL0y6LVwVxcx4UREQUBaFonxhB_YRxYqkkQPfQzITjM-dXr_6BMx2m_IOprmzcx-ekTAH20M/s320/zoo+11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He occasionally reaches out a hand and tries to climb down to her, but then he catches sight of me and returns to the rafters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffVdvDFzWdAebgC2dTP7sa4Nx4kZO5et5cBc-wXGhmMOoc2MDkfBV0hyphenhypheni8G0Zw-Bs9Weyol9_ur1IiZdcrxh5w7R0c79ivQBwEsKDz7mYqhk6BoCvGJDb6p6HkrPmTbdaGo1EOWG0V5I/s1600/zoo+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffVdvDFzWdAebgC2dTP7sa4Nx4kZO5et5cBc-wXGhmMOoc2MDkfBV0hyphenhypheni8G0Zw-Bs9Weyol9_ur1IiZdcrxh5w7R0c79ivQBwEsKDz7mYqhk6BoCvGJDb6p6HkrPmTbdaGo1EOWG0V5I/s320/zoo+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Daddy and daughter in front of a monkey jungle gym. As you can see, Dags is having the time of her life!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLnuce_SLr21UBZK0IkzHVFP188ZHr173MOOfctAkRvzZU3xypArpnoZnPrkrWmFufABnyhCDusCwtVHjZ94D3hkTyWxEfkK6F_uaUmpCY9sjAKmj9jXoWshLYKvzw7OH-0oBz0TwndpA/s1600/zoo+jeep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLnuce_SLr21UBZK0IkzHVFP188ZHr173MOOfctAkRvzZU3xypArpnoZnPrkrWmFufABnyhCDusCwtVHjZ94D3hkTyWxEfkK6F_uaUmpCY9sjAKmj9jXoWshLYKvzw7OH-0oBz0TwndpA/s320/zoo+jeep.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The car Brad <i>wishes</i> the leasing agent gave him.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipW_BbKqu4QVqcQKGWjgRuA35Yr4ecL54hrX2qb7oPRNW6mNmcwvdypVZL_nn6Rg18egoaCLQcCgDTZXGvB9cCx1mg8b7nuDxTgjjGnkbNe5gXLMPJXgJceLVmb_3GPwByd8okJrpglxc/s1600/zoo+last.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipW_BbKqu4QVqcQKGWjgRuA35Yr4ecL54hrX2qb7oPRNW6mNmcwvdypVZL_nn6Rg18egoaCLQcCgDTZXGvB9cCx1mg8b7nuDxTgjjGnkbNe5gXLMPJXgJceLVmb_3GPwByd8okJrpglxc/s320/zoo+last.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Here's hoping you all had as fun and relaxing a weekend as we did! And a final reminder from our friends at the zoo: the family that grooms ticks out of each other's hair together, stays together. </div><!--EndFragment--> The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-80902647333629654602011-07-29T22:01:00.000-07:002011-07-29T22:01:08.615-07:00Another Day, Another Mile—Or Ten<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Over the past three months, Brad and I have adopted a fun tradition: labeling the odd things we overhear or witness as “quotes of the week” or “images of the week.” Images of the week have included a goobery American expat with a fierce-looking sunburn wearing cut-off jean shorts (imagine <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Village People</i>) and Teva sandals with socks; an 80-some-year old Chinese guy dancing and hip-thrusting in the park to Jay-Z’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“99 Problems But A B**ch Ain’t One” </i>(and with a tinge of sadness and humor, I realize that as his age, there’s probably a lot of truth to that); and pretty much any one of a hundred or so people who line the riverbank every morning doing Tai Chi—especially the ones who are able to “harness” their chi and start quaking all over with their eyes eerily rolled back in their heads. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And then, of course, there are the quotes of the week. Brad was in Japan all week, and emailed me his from Tokyo: “That bowl of pink sauce is for dipping your ox tongue in.” And mine comes from a cab driver who, after I told him where I needed to go, asked if I was Australian. Oddly enough, this isn’t the first, second, or even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">third</i> time a local Singaporean has asked me this. I sound <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nothing</i> like an Aussie. When I tell him I’m an American, he shrugs and says, “We Asians all look the same to you, and you all sound the same to us.” We both laughed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Over the past two weeks, I’ve received wonderful emails from friends and family, generally asking the same two questions: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You haven’t posted in a while… is everything okay? </i>And, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What is a typical day there like?</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In many regards, these two questions fall hand-in-hand. So in answer to the first question: I’m doing okay… most days. Things have been a little rough here, with Brad traveling a lot and Dagny having lingering issues from her bout with scarlet fever. She wakes up every couple of hours screaming during the night—from what I can only surmise are nightmares—and refuses to take naps during the day. I probably don’t need to explain in any detail how exhausting this becomes after a while. And I think every mom out there knows what I mean when I say that right now is one of those times when I find myself wondering why I slaved for a 4.0 GPA in high school and went to college at all, just to find my days and nights devoted to diapers and Dr. Seuss. There are wonderfully rewarding aspects to motherhood, but there also LONG stretches of time when you forget what your own thoughts sound like, or if you even have any personal thoughts and opinions left at all. So I’ve amped up my search for some help, to no avail. Babysitters here charge $20-$30/hour, and part-time preschool or daycare runs 5 days a week—which I don’t want. I’ve met dozens of other expat wives here, and they all say the same thing: “You’ll eventually give yourself over to having live-in help. You’ll realize the way of life in Singapore pretty much forces you to do so.” This sentiment simultaneously frustrates me and makes me all the more determined to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> go the live-in route.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, so what exactly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> the Singapore way of life? What <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> a typical day like here? Up until now, I’ve never responded with much in the way of detail to this question, basically believing that my days are fairly tame—borderline boring—and not really worth chatting about. There are, of course, some peculiar little differences. For instance, there are still language hurdles from time to time, even though most people speak English. The thing is, it’s not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">American</i> English… for the Singaporeans, it is something called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Singlish</i>, and for the multitude of Aussies and Kiwis here, it’s… well, just sort of odd. One afternoon, a mom from New Zealand told me she bought too many “nappies” at the store and wondered if I wanted some. Thinking “nappies” was short for napkins, I said, “Oh, no thank you. I stopped buying them years ago. I pretty much only use paper towels now.” And she gives me this incredibly confused look, and we just kind of stare at each other for a second before another woman at the pool puts two-and-two together for us and says to me, “Nappies means diapers.” Ohhhh… </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And I run into other strange little nuances on a daily basis, for example:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzGmQx_4qcK0Jyp5nQniBFphCDEkfg5WQxvrw0Rme3lwf5_p8hXouHSMwdf2FuNpDZFXjQFwCih3VmpN_QyxhxQWU-PB5D8dHQ4zRTtoHSJd8E_oEtOpmCKCTdbvS_iPxpqdwPGVfkwY/s1600/IMG_0150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzGmQx_4qcK0Jyp5nQniBFphCDEkfg5WQxvrw0Rme3lwf5_p8hXouHSMwdf2FuNpDZFXjQFwCih3VmpN_QyxhxQWU-PB5D8dHQ4zRTtoHSJd8E_oEtOpmCKCTdbvS_iPxpqdwPGVfkwY/s320/IMG_0150.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is what some of the public toilets look like. Ladies, start toning your quads. Notice no toilet paper? There’s one communal role on your way in… take what you need and hope it’s enough.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB6r9Ow_f-ZfRhVV2X4tge2a5BE1Oag_ZQK2yV88-1Wp3-NKhRWjj4ZUB-hB4403qFMMxNMxC2rJX7lUzV0wckYOZSn2Fs7MLat3F3terBamYkfif_6kSKdlZE6ZkPNqIcAU-cEwJXz78/s1600/IMG_0152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB6r9Ow_f-ZfRhVV2X4tge2a5BE1Oag_ZQK2yV88-1Wp3-NKhRWjj4ZUB-hB4403qFMMxNMxC2rJX7lUzV0wckYOZSn2Fs7MLat3F3terBamYkfif_6kSKdlZE6ZkPNqIcAU-cEwJXz78/s320/IMG_0152.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s no Dr. Pepper here. Oh, how I miss my Dr. Pepper! But they do have this stuff… Kickapoo. What cracks me up is what it says at the bottom: “Original USA Joy Juice Recipe.” Ummmm… Does anyone back in the USA <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ever</i> remember drinking something called Joy Juice?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, back to the rundown of a typical day… It starts with coffee (a strange Middle Eastern brand because Starbucks is $25/bag… and you thought it was overpriced in the US) and a load of laundry. Our washing machine is tiny and since anything you wear basically needs to be peeled off your skin by the end of the day, laundry becomes a daily chore. And since we don’t have a dryer, I go the pilgrim route of hanging them on lines with clothespins. Next come the dishes. Endless. Freakin’. Dishes. No dishwasher or garbage disposal, so I find myself bent over the kitchen sink for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">far</i> longer than I would like. I know, I know… it’s not like I’m having to lug my laundry and dishes down to the river and wash them with leaves and rocks as I squat on the shore, but it all still takes some getting used to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Another aspect of apartment living here that takes some getting used to is the cleaning schedule. There are no seals on the windows and doors, so you wake up every morning to floors and countertops covered in humidity-soaked grit. Likewise, there is no AC in the bathrooms, only screen-less windows, which invites in lots of mildew, mold, ants, cockroaches, and salamanders. So yes, just like the laundry, the apartment needs to be cleaned pretty much daily. This has served as a breaking point for many-an-expat wife.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaE3G138k3SJMKAh_fuAR17TC5QNcZBxsHHSh7BqgOJIOUVL9Lq8p8jfDEbPaTuKg1MlKq_gFSkGhvCNtRBE1jZIY6rtPx_Z6txEsx2x-b7lh73zyf8lfflyopdpFoAnDrSeIAOxRhlk/s1600/IMG_0146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaE3G138k3SJMKAh_fuAR17TC5QNcZBxsHHSh7BqgOJIOUVL9Lq8p8jfDEbPaTuKg1MlKq_gFSkGhvCNtRBE1jZIY6rtPx_Z6txEsx2x-b7lh73zyf8lfflyopdpFoAnDrSeIAOxRhlk/s320/IMG_0146.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny enjoying breakfast with a baby salamander... or is it a HUGE salamander climbing the apartment building next door? You be the judge.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hands down my favorite part of my day right now is the morning, after I put in a load of laundry and mop the floors, when Dagny and I set out for an hour or two to explore our peninsula. She gets to lead, which takes us to some pretty fun, but also pretty weird places. One day she found a hidden picnic table beneath a beautiful grove of palm trees. Another day she led me to the underground dumpsters. It’s a crapshoot with her.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCI1aGrMEzAv4ToPnzMllmotnBoE7ho1yBLCwaKnCn48t_7nF5kFvXBMWkN_jWsjlOENCp2vTTrKDxO2jEOwiAj-Pd8qug6_-BBKL0k-8bH4j2WcWlclVnlK2mZrILA7kwv4nXZkg5rns/s1600/IMG_0158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCI1aGrMEzAv4ToPnzMllmotnBoE7ho1yBLCwaKnCn48t_7nF5kFvXBMWkN_jWsjlOENCp2vTTrKDxO2jEOwiAj-Pd8qug6_-BBKL0k-8bH4j2WcWlclVnlK2mZrILA7kwv4nXZkg5rns/s320/IMG_0158.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Follow the leader.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPRzB3Ughl0EI8BG9SBQ9jZlMvlO87I9bwtq9a8FkGjujNsq0pQQA9bH_PQe2zsx9J1sEO3mbss18mW1xZW5e2qV1z7buMM3GZB00_gy4e3d2MrBkpAjG0QDZH2mZrmdPJ688LIQvdW4/s1600/IMG_0160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPRzB3Ughl0EI8BG9SBQ9jZlMvlO87I9bwtq9a8FkGjujNsq0pQQA9bH_PQe2zsx9J1sEO3mbss18mW1xZW5e2qV1z7buMM3GZB00_gy4e3d2MrBkpAjG0QDZH2mZrmdPJ688LIQvdW4/s320/IMG_0160.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny likes to clear all the flowers, leaves, and palm fronds (pictured here) off the path while we walk. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-0enJ-CFPTmtrX59ck1p9ag0dBqFQlVflAr2PDTeCTSHQhzqNrzZ-Cgjrr-I_mmkI8tx8Dnf4-TlDProuwyXYwxitAr7EpMWka4uz6Xe1a_qCH9TfkWI7Bs6kmJr62OsARM289_nHmY/s1600/IMG_0144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-0enJ-CFPTmtrX59ck1p9ag0dBqFQlVflAr2PDTeCTSHQhzqNrzZ-Cgjrr-I_mmkI8tx8Dnf4-TlDProuwyXYwxitAr7EpMWka4uz6Xe1a_qCH9TfkWI7Bs6kmJr62OsARM289_nHmY/s320/IMG_0144.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Not so easy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We always end up walking past the coy ponds, and if we get there early enough, we sometimes get to feed them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8NLKzL1Im-Bqpi42ALZ7Clb1uBJxrdo-VTnV_RQq82SXXAGwsqtti7bLqkCPK6nSOgATIN6tVzOxFTyc5En15JTXAwqZi8fLy2zhZb4df6MgU2BJp6i09wP8om0gRmxj52SHZN7e6Ro/s1600/IMG_0175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8NLKzL1Im-Bqpi42ALZ7Clb1uBJxrdo-VTnV_RQq82SXXAGwsqtti7bLqkCPK6nSOgATIN6tVzOxFTyc5En15JTXAwqZi8fLy2zhZb4df6MgU2BJp6i09wP8om0gRmxj52SHZN7e6Ro/s320/IMG_0175.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzV2GHbbpwH_-vt4jIP_YrijN4EsZaYWEFjQ_2wq66nb5XA7LZupEyyFxNFdM3u3yoxhoMcwYwyE1Cu5SPnJXI4PLrg2oDKohYejrgt_nBO-lBzoNHcfvtXhj_hAuqbDkhB_NsTb01Z4U/s1600/DSCN0229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzV2GHbbpwH_-vt4jIP_YrijN4EsZaYWEFjQ_2wq66nb5XA7LZupEyyFxNFdM3u3yoxhoMcwYwyE1Cu5SPnJXI4PLrg2oDKohYejrgt_nBO-lBzoNHcfvtXhj_hAuqbDkhB_NsTb01Z4U/s320/DSCN0229.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is a reflexology path… they are everywhere here. The wide, more rounded stones are for beginners. The smaller, more jutted ones can be a little more difficult—and painful. But after you walk over them, your legs feel kind of tingly and rejuvenated.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1YbU98ElMNuosRZUmARmqSrDm0K4Pl0FW0FOIBPBgJf9jmA3uZjU1KR6Xqp1YM4j2HPgDBBopBBfUOKK63ukt8E6wUW3Yx-MTOk7kKqVwyZczj0phPdeF6fuVChQTeQKx7vuHaEYEb8/s1600/IMG_0156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK1YbU98ElMNuosRZUmARmqSrDm0K4Pl0FW0FOIBPBgJf9jmA3uZjU1KR6Xqp1YM4j2HPgDBBopBBfUOKK63ukt8E6wUW3Yx-MTOk7kKqVwyZczj0phPdeF6fuVChQTeQKx7vuHaEYEb8/s320/IMG_0156.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">We usually walk the fitness trail that winds through our complex, stopping at all the different stations for Dagny to play. She’s already tackling the balance beam and tries to do pull-ups on the parallel bars, which is hysterical.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gWs8OMA9J5t_hPwnmXip-RYlNQzFEn3jd9X2Inh4TiQihPomdAJ6jg0OiY0Bg4zrXuQy6NgZBy2-kytljv2HDyk9CJhFpsGGKsPbRh3f9fc4ADGbowyOMI3YmSllvg2Mk5eVnrel6fY/s1600/IMG_0165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gWs8OMA9J5t_hPwnmXip-RYlNQzFEn3jd9X2Inh4TiQihPomdAJ6jg0OiY0Bg4zrXuQy6NgZBy2-kytljv2HDyk9CJhFpsGGKsPbRh3f9fc4ADGbowyOMI3YmSllvg2Mk5eVnrel6fY/s320/IMG_0165.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGlOYAa2xDNGZRKLgQVfsd4MkNHvqN1At3gahkeHRro9jM_13KVI16hy1aXRkDAY3t1qSWrXDfdEnd6QCF54xtBriW8cQoXv-cAKcyDxDZ-4Hsv9AgvTaI7PJxyH60OzqNF9VIcA7qH18/s1600/IMG_0168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGlOYAa2xDNGZRKLgQVfsd4MkNHvqN1At3gahkeHRro9jM_13KVI16hy1aXRkDAY3t1qSWrXDfdEnd6QCF54xtBriW8cQoXv-cAKcyDxDZ-4Hsv9AgvTaI7PJxyH60OzqNF9VIcA7qH18/s320/IMG_0168.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">This is the upper-level baby pool, and behind the pavilion you can see the playground. By the time she turned 18-months, Dags had this playground officially conquered. She can climb the ladders and go both down and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">up</i> the slide. Same with the waterslide at the pool… my little adventurer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And then the day moves on. A couple of mornings a week, Dagny and I visit the wet market, which is a 3.5-mile roundtrip walk from our apartment, entirely accessible by the bike trail that runs alongside the river. The wet market is like a local farmer’s market. I wouldn’t necessarily say the food there is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cheap</i>, but it definitely costs less than anything you would find at the grocery store. You can find a pretty big selection of flowers, fruit, vegetables, and fish here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjcem60EFsTyduuPcprC1zvdlVv6Skk2WLiRjAjRVQ-pGMaF1qqdkX14MpfjZ8-j2RNhA6DecE48YMX9GkkqSsuhT9XAJhw1t8OkJqKP3CGYo9fxH19hlGRcMNr84wNg_weVy5OS6RzI/s1600/IMG_0178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYjcem60EFsTyduuPcprC1zvdlVv6Skk2WLiRjAjRVQ-pGMaF1qqdkX14MpfjZ8-j2RNhA6DecE48YMX9GkkqSsuhT9XAJhw1t8OkJqKP3CGYo9fxH19hlGRcMNr84wNg_weVy5OS6RzI/s320/IMG_0178.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pictures of a typical wet market. There is a roof, but no walls.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDddWZCb-WEZ5R7GCj_nEcR6q7xrPbFli4QZB7mBQh8Gnvq6zp9lv2KQZd832OLBRcbUcPqi_t64-Zow3qiHHhG_7qlCZdbHE9kggwOqHdwSetVwLGnDQakfBd0ZzZ9Nz3mJdNDC-kko8/s1600/IMG_0179.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDddWZCb-WEZ5R7GCj_nEcR6q7xrPbFli4QZB7mBQh8Gnvq6zp9lv2KQZd832OLBRcbUcPqi_t64-Zow3qiHHhG_7qlCZdbHE9kggwOqHdwSetVwLGnDQakfBd0ZzZ9Nz3mJdNDC-kko8/s320/IMG_0179.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOTVsa1i_7x6A2hZbXUwb8UGFfhJXX5QZLWxfqtZDP5a8i0x2Zufv60RM1FBG6PmyHmZu8dsClP_o4PbpAltRGcjy9cFxaWInWKCA1FTZHogzyhu16rOdt5ektlOaLVBEzZifcpdUI-c/s1600/IMG_0180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOTVsa1i_7x6A2hZbXUwb8UGFfhJXX5QZLWxfqtZDP5a8i0x2Zufv60RM1FBG6PmyHmZu8dsClP_o4PbpAltRGcjy9cFxaWInWKCA1FTZHogzyhu16rOdt5ektlOaLVBEzZifcpdUI-c/s320/IMG_0180.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a hawker center that is next door to the wet market (in case you were wondering what a hawker center looks like when I talk about eating lunch there). Again, there aren't really any menus, you just point to something that looks and smells edible. Generally the food is really good (and really cheap) but you definitely need to go with an open mind. It was only 10am when I took this picture, so it wasn't very crowded, but by lunchtime it is packed. A difference between hawker centers here and food courts in America is that everyone sits side-by-side at the tables, whether you know each other or not.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, visiting the wet market takes a little getting used to, for several reasons. First, I find it’s best to breath through your mouth and not your nose while you’re there. The smell of raw fish on one end of the market competes with piles of durians on the other, which, as Brad and I have already explained, smell awful. Imagine rotting vegetation soaked in gasoline… that’s what durians smell like to me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Another thing that takes some getting used to is that many of the fruits, veggies, and fish are different here than what we are accustomed to seeing back in the States. And the mystery surrounding the strange fish or spiny fruit you’re staring at is intensified by the fact that there is very little, if any, signage (and any placards you do find are usually written in Chinese).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The third thing that takes some getting used to is bartering. I’m terrible at this. I generally just pay what the people running the stands ask, even though I’ve been told prices are hiked up for anyone white. Now last week, I was buying some lychee for a picnic for Dags and I, and the man wanted to sell me a kilo for $5. I told him that was way too much, meaning I didn’t want an entire kilo of lychee (that’s about 2 pounds). But he thought I meant the price, and said, “Okay, how about $2?” So my first attempt at bartering was a success, and I didn’t even mean to barter! For our picnic, Dagny and I ended up walking away with fresh kiwi, papaya, lychee, and a 6-pack of sami rolls… all for $5.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here’s a pic of Dags mowing down on lychee and sami rolls. Sami rolls are basically tubes of fried honey rolled in sesame seeds, and lychee tastes a lot like grapefruit (in my opinion).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiub4FoD02-LHITjCDpSb6BGPuWAVteQreIEuMdPAEmHvlbPxIunE0dGevwO9eOt6bcrf2oqVB8xoTvYb_u9-2t8qPENBuxgscrOf_ctaWN24ZnywlJgxoZkGTKJwkhVHUsEQlUyfDe5k/s1600/IMG_0182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiub4FoD02-LHITjCDpSb6BGPuWAVteQreIEuMdPAEmHvlbPxIunE0dGevwO9eOt6bcrf2oqVB8xoTvYb_u9-2t8qPENBuxgscrOf_ctaWN24ZnywlJgxoZkGTKJwkhVHUsEQlUyfDe5k/s320/IMG_0182.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sidebar: Okay… notice the whole “kilo” versus “pound” thing mentioned above? This is another aspect to living abroad that takes some getting used to. Weight is in kilos and grams, measurements are all in centimeters, the clocks are on a 24-hour read, distances are in kilometers, and temperatures are listed in Celsius. I’m finally starting to get used to this, but for a long time my brain literally hurt from doing constant conversions (p.s. - I didn’t go to college for math). When I got home from Dagny’s wellness checkup at the doctor, Brad asked how much she weighed and how tall she was. I told him I had no idea… The doctor might as well have said she weighed 11 googlemapoos and been 50 kerfloppies tall.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once we get back from exploring and visiting the wet market, Dagny and I have lunch, clean a little more of the apartment, and then usually duke it out over whether or not she’s going to take a nap. She usually wins. By mid-afternoon, we can be found lathering up in sunscreen, outfitting ourselves with water bottles, and heading out to run errands. This is another glimpse at “the Singapore way of life.” Taking public transportation everywhere is nice, but it also takes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">forever!</i> First we have to walk ¾ of a mile to the MRT station, make a transfer or two, walk to whatever store or playgroup meeting place we need to go, and then amble all that way back home again. I have to be choosey about what I buy and when, as I need to be able to carry it all back with me. I think that's the biggest issue for an average mom to contend with here: errands that were once so simple and took at most an hour back in the States take up an entire afternoon or more here.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoxtjJNR5LIDzhwI8VTVwcUe-hBA7u4AoG2vJgwekEgrVfQLPfo5Zz1DV4kIWeqQAyT_foUz-zYYscrKGBUlPd3EVU8o4zjX7GPhNQsQcmI4ePZwHji6vXoyt2_-5Y4iIgMThxpYaapQ/s1600/IMG_0189.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoxtjJNR5LIDzhwI8VTVwcUe-hBA7u4AoG2vJgwekEgrVfQLPfo5Zz1DV4kIWeqQAyT_foUz-zYYscrKGBUlPd3EVU8o4zjX7GPhNQsQcmI4ePZwHji6vXoyt2_-5Y4iIgMThxpYaapQ/s320/IMG_0189.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Making a stop during some errands in Boat Quay for Dags to cool off in a fountain. Fortunately, they have a lot of these "splash pads" all over the island for kids so they don't get heat stroke.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">By late afternoon, once the sun has dipped behind a few of our buildings and the pool isn’t quite so hot and glinting, Dagny and I usually head to the pool for an hour. This is also fun, but never relaxing. She’s obsessed with the slide, playing on the stairs, and sprinting (as much as an 18-month can sprint) back and forth between all the different pools. Any conversations I attempt to have with other moms or nannies who are there end up being pretty disjointed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">After swimming, we change our clothes, I load Dags back in her stroller, and we head to the grocery store (another mile and a half, round trip). This is a nightly routine because food goes bad quickly here, and again, I can only transport what I can carry. The evening walk is usually pretty nice though… I really don’t mind it. The river glows red at sunset, the patio diners are coming to life, and kids are out riding bikes and laughing all along the boardwalk. It’s a beautiful atmosphere.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dags trying out her new scooter one evening. Believe it or not, this girl can really get going on one of these! She's not real good at steering yet, though, and frequently ends up in the bushes. We had no idea she had any interest in scooters until she swiped a girl's at the playground one day and took off on it! When we went to buy her one the next day, the salesman at the store said she was much too small... it was for 3-year olds at the very youngest. But then she hopped on the floor model and started scooting around the store and I thought we were going to lose the clerk... He starts shouting, "That's amazing! That's the smartest baby I ever seen!" Okay, I personally think that <i>might</i> be pushing it a little, since she can't speak three languages and already do math like most of the local 18-month olds here (no joke), but she definitely does kick some serious diaper bootie on a scooter!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once we are back from our evening walk, Dags has dinner and then we read books—sometimes for almost an hour. The girl is a straight-up "cardboard-page-turnin', iPad book tappin', snuggle down with a smile and a story" bibliophile! I love it... what parent wouldn't? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t usually start making dinner until after Dagny goes to bed, because it requires my full attention. I’m working with food I’ve never eaten—never mind cooked—before. On the days I’m feeling adventurous, this is great. But on the days that I’m worn out and just want to plow through a plate of something simple (like lasagna or burritos), there is none to be found. I’ve stopped making grocery lists because, just like Dagny’s little quests around the property, going to the store is a total crapshoot. Crackers aren’t big here, so if they have Ritz or Goldfish on the shelves for Dags, I snatch them up—because sometimes weeks will go by before they have any in stock again. There have been times that the store is out of anything familiar for her, and I’m left looking at my options and wondering, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Would Dagny eat seaweed crisps? Or puff-dried baby shrimp?</i> Maybe she would, who knows? I’m never brave enough to buy them… but last weekend she ate an entire plate of scallops in pear sauce, fried rice, and kang kong (a veggie kind of like cooked spinach)… so maybe she would have surprised me with the Asian variety of crackers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Speaking of food and grocery stores, below Dr. Pepper on my “missed items” list, add Mexican food, red meat, and cheese.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That about concludes a typical day here. I’ve already balded a pair of running shoes with all the miles we cover in single day (I kind of wish I had an odometer for the BOB so I would know just how much ground Dagny and I have covered in our 3 months here). I’m on the search for a new pair of shoes, but have given up for the time being… I’ve gone to 7 different stores now, and when I tell them I wear a 9, they look at me like I’m a martian and tell me the largest size they carry is an 8. Apparently I’m a freak of nature over here. Cirque du Soleil is currently in town at the Marina Bay Sands, and when Brad saw the ad on TV, he suggested I go look them up and see if they have a spare set of clown shoes I could borrow… So even though we are having moments of wanting to click our heels together and scream for the Wizard of Oz to let us go home, you can all rest happy knowing we still have our sense of humor firmly in tact!</div><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-73163780099090140042011-07-17T07:20:00.000-07:002011-07-17T07:20:29.283-07:00Green Eggs & Ham... And Squid<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Guest author - Brad<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Hello faithful readers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like many of you, I look forward to Lauren’s near-weekly recounting of our adventures and misadventures here in Singapore. With her encouragement, (and hopefully judicious editorial support) I will try to entertain you with some of my epicurean exploits. Two quick disclaimers: first, I’m not half the writer Lauren is, and second, if you are squeamish or vegetarian, this might not be the post for you.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">I should start by saying that I am lucky to have one of the most interesting jobs I can imagine. As part of my job, I get to travel throughout Southeast Asia meeting with our customers, distributors, and potential future partners in search of ways to develop and grow our business. Nearly everywhere I go I am fortunate to be met by gracious hosts who enthusiastically introduce me to their culture – which almost always includes a banquet full of traditional dishes and local specialties. Last week in Kaohsiung, Taiwan I was treated to a very memorable Teppanyaki meal on the 77<sup>th</sup> floor of the Tuntex Sky Tower. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Teppanyaki is a Japanese style of cooking where the meal is prepared in front of you similar to the <i>Hibachi Grill</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"> in the US. The meal started with a warm salad, which consisted of a tomato slice covered with a raw egg and mixed greens in a bronze bowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bowl itself is mounted in a wooden base, which allowed a flame to warm the bowl and thus cook the egg while you eat. Next there was a soup course followed by a plate of grilled mushrooms. For seafood we had cod, oysters and live lobster; (live that is until the cook split it down the middle, slapped it on the grill, and waited for the legs to stop moving). Each course was artfully prepared in front of us and presented on individual plates. The meal continued like this for more than two hours before finally concluding with red bean crepes… or so I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved to a more comfortable room to enjoy coffee and crepes; there we were each served a huge platter of mangoes, watermelon, pineapple, ice cream, and puff pastries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a meal!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</tbody></table><!--[if gte vml 1]></o:wrapblock><![endif]--><br clear="ALL" style="mso-ignore: vglayout;" /> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">The Asian approach to dining is slightly different than western customs. Even though western restaurants are trending toward louder dining environments with tables packed close together, loft-style hardwood floors, unfinished ceilings, and kitchens that open to the dining room, it would still be considered a boorish offense for your dinner party to make a scene by being too loud and obnoxious. Most restaurants here however have several small private banquet rooms, which facilitate both private conversation and boisterous laughter and hullabaloo. Your wine or beer will be constantly re-filled and several toasts will be made throughout the evening, thus making private dining rooms more of a practical necessity than a luxury. Rather than order individual meals from a menu, the host will order several dishes for the entire party to share. Without fail, the host will order way more food than should or even <i>could</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"> be consumed in one sitting. Most dishes are placed on a turntable in the center of the large round dining table; some will be served directly to your plate. Don’t expect a pretentious place setting with multiple forks spoons and knives, as you are likely to only have a set of chopsticks and a porcelain spoon. Occasionally there is a small bowl on the table that is meant for washing your hands… or it could be soup. I can never tell so I just wait to see what the others do with it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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</div><br clear="all" style="mso-ignore: vglayout;" /> <div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Most of the food I’ve encountered in Asia has been quite delicious even though its appearance or the surrounding ambiance may have been less than appetizing. My advice is to keep an open mind, try (almost) everything, and if it helps, pretend you’re on <i>Fear Factor.</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"> In case you never get the chance to sample the local cuisine for yourself, here are some highlights.<o:p></o:p></span></div><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Thai BBQ Chicken – Delicious, but be prepared to get the whole chicken minus the head. After poking at it ineffectually with a chopstick for a few minutes (remember no forks or knives) I just picked it up with two hands and bit into it like a hungry savage. Spitting vertebrae and bones on your plate is perfectly acceptable.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Sashimi – Albacore, Ahi, and Salmon are my favorites. For those of you that don’t know, Sashimi is very fresh raw fish (like sushi). Small bite-sized pieces would seem practical, but for some reason it always seems to come in 5cm or longer strips that are more than a mouthful. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Hairy Crab – These little guys are found in the cold waters north of Japan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t found a type of crab that isn’t absolutely delicious, but these guys look like no other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their shells are covered in little hairs that are actually soft to the touch. Looking for a pet but think a dog or cat is too high maintenance?<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Sea Urchin – My first encounter was rough - I think it was served raw and it tasted like cold salty rubber. The second time I tried it, it was served on cucumber with soy and wasabi. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Goose & Duck Livers – These seem to vary from good to gag-reflex depending on how they are prepared and what type of sauce they are in. The majority of what I’ve sampled has been quite good, so go for it.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Bak Kut Teh – This is a traditional Chinese/Hokkien soup that literally means “Meat Bone Tea”. This was a staple diet of 19<sup>th</sup> century laborers and is still quite popular throughout Malaysia and elsewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll find lots of kitchens hidden in alleyways and out of the way spaces where traditional Bak Kut Teh and rice is the only thing being served.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first introduction to Bak Kut Teh in Malaysia started with the waiter bringing a pot of boiling water to our table so that we could sterilize our own dishes and chop sticks. This didn’t do much for my confidence, but the food itself was actually very good. It is essentially boiled pork in a broth soup with a complex variety of Chinese spices. <o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Street Food – If you come to Singapore, definitely eat at a Hawker Center.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are no frills, outdoor food courts with some of the cheapest and most authentic recipes on the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Singapore government closely monitors the vendors to insure sanitary and hygienic practices. The same is not true throughout the rest of Southeast Asia. I highly recommend a walk down a crowded food street to absorb the sights sounds and smells of the local street food scene, but I would not recommend eating there unless you’re trying to loose 4-5 pounds in the next 24 hours.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Durian – Sometimes referred to as the ‘king of fruits’ the Durian is a large, thorny fruit, known for its distinctive odor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most people find the odor repulsive and describe it as everything from rotting onion to dirty gym socks. Even with its pungent odor, it is considered a delicacy and is found in many expensive deserts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have sampled durian and thought it tasted quite good, but not good enough to put up with the odor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll stick to ice cream, thanks.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
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</span></span></div><ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc"><li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">Stinky Tofu – This should win some kind of award for the world’s biggest understatement. Calling this fermented tofu ‘stinky’ is like calling the Grand Canyon a ditch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Stinky’ is how I describe Dagny’s diapers; this stuff is an all out assault on your olfactory senses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is as if the aforementioned Durian was wrapped in a sweaty gym sock, soaked in formaldehyde, and shoved directly into your nose thorny spines first. I got within 1m of this stuff at a street kiosk before my eyes started to water so much that I had to hastily retreat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll never try the stuff, but I am fascinated that there are humans out there willing to be around this stuff at their food stands several hours everyday. Amazingly that must mean that there is a legitimate market for this wretched product.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows, it might taste like pumpkin pie but I’ll never get close enough to find out.<o:p></o:p></span></li>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">The last thing that I wanted to describe for you deserves a paragraph of its own. As an appreciative guest, I do my best not to be a high maintenance, finicky eater. When asked if I can take seafood, I generally respond affirmatively with the caveat that I do not care for squid or octopus. For some reason, both here and in the US, these words trigger the same reaction. “Oh calamari is very good… try some, you’ll like it” or “The squids are in season right now and are fantastic, just try some, you’ll like it.” Last week, mere minutes after stating that I did not care for squid or octopus the very first thing put on my plate was a six-inch whole squid. I looked at the squid… my chopsticks… and my host and said, “What am I supposed to do with this?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nonchalantly replied, “You just bite into it.” I’ve read Dr. Seuss’s <i>Green Eggs and Ham </i></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">to Dagny several times - I know how these pesky Sam-I-Am types operate, they just don’t take no for an answer. So I looked down at the plate and decided that the head of my squid looked slightly less disgusting than the tentacles. (Remember, there are no knives, so the middle wasn’t a viable option.) I picked up the whole thing up with my chopsticks and proceeded to bite the head off (or what I'm guessing was the head... who really knows for sure?), cleaning the cartilage spine with my teeth as I pulled it from my mouth. Somehow I managed to <i>eventually</i></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"> swallow it while I watched black ink ooze out of its body onto my plate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For all of my friends out there reading this that might one day play Sam’s role and cajole me into <i>trying </i></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;">squid… I’ve tried it… guess what? Still really gross.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">My only real advice for dining in Asia is to bring and open mind, a zest for adventure, some pepto-bismol, and most importantly be smart about what you eat and what you refuse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re actually far more likely to get sick from ice made from contaminated water in your Coca-Cola than the boiled Chinese tea you were offered first.</span><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-77101040130658039582011-07-11T23:41:00.000-07:002011-07-11T23:41:20.154-07:00Fevers, Surrealism, and Giants... Oh My!<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I can finally breathe again. It wasn’t until Saturday morning that I realized I hadn’t really breathed all week. Dagny fell ill with what the doctor believed was scarlet fever—I’d already been worried (not overly so) in the days leading up to her appointment because her fever was steadily rising while her appetite and playfulness steadily diminished. But then to hear the doctor say the words “scarlet fever”… that’s when my lungs started only taking in very shallow amounts of air.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There is no worse feeling than having a very sick child—I know that now. For the past 18-months, I’d been blissfully unaware, living day to day with a daughter who only had a couple of runny noses (and those were due to teething, not being sick). So it wasn’t until last week that I had my first real dose of Frantic Mother With A Sick Child Syndrome—this is where a mom finds herself torn between two very ugly worlds… In the first, she is every pediatrician’s nightmare, jumping the gun and rushing her child to the hospital at the first sign of fever or discomfort. In the second, she is her own worst nightmare… the mom who is missing important signs and isn’t taking the right steps to make her child better. Roll that in with an inability to understand exactly what hurts on your baby, an inability to make her feel better with a kiss and some Tylenol, and an inability to get any sleep, and you’ve got yourself one bleary-eyed, emotional wreck of a woman.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fortunately, the medical system here is AMAZING. When I called the doctor, they told me to bring Dags in right away… they knew I would be coming on the train or taxi, so they didn’t stress me out any further by assigning me an appointment time. They just said they would see me when I got there. And when I arrived, I only had (brace yourself) ONE medical information sheet to fill out! Dagny’s name, address, and a blank line to list any known allergies or medical conditions. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The doctor was incredibly kind and good with Dagny. On my way out the office, a prescription was already waiting at the counter for us, and the nurse even had her first dose of painkiller ready to go for the cab ride home. And this is perhaps my favorite part of all: they bill everything at once to the insurance company… prescription, tests, visit… all of it. I was speechless! A year after Dagny was born, the hospital was still billing me for items vaguely labeled “Miscellaneous Supplies.” The receptionist laughed when she saw my face, and said, “You must be from the United States. All Americans are amazed when they see how easy we make things here.” Umm… yes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">easy</i> is an understatement.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Actually, I take back what I just said… the billing system is my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">third</i> favorite part of the medical system here. The first was that when I got home and filed Dagny’s report, I realized (looking at the clinic’s information) that they took me in after they were technically already closed for the evening. Maybe it was because they knew there was a scarlet fever outbreak on the island and Dags fit the bill. Or maybe they’re just that kind. And my second favorite thing about the clinics here: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">doctor calls you with all test results within 24 hours!</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rest of the week wasn’t easy, especially with the remodeling that is STILL going on in the apartment above us. It’s been three weeks now, with the crews working all day, Monday through Saturday. The apartments are only 1000-square feet… do the math, and you’ll understand my frustration, which turned into Frantic Mother outrage when the workers kept waking my poor, feverish daughter up from her naps by jackhammering marble. One time was actually kind of funny… she woke up Thursday afternoon shrieking and I went in her room to find her standing in her crib with a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">If-Looks-Could-Kill</i> scowl on her face, expressing her anger in her adorable Dagny babble while pointing at the ceiling… with her middle finger. That’s my girl.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But by Saturday, Dagny’s antibiotic had kicked in and she was starting to feel better. By lunchtime, she had rolled her stroller to the front door, climbed in with her sippy cup, and was shouting “Go, go, go!” We’ve been living like Rapunzel in her 14-story tower all week. I quickly second her demands to Brad. We collectively decide 48 hours on the antibiotic is probably good enough—we aren’t going to further infect an already-infected island—and we head out for the afternoon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Brad and I want to keep her in air conditioning, so we decided to visit the Art & Science Museum in Marina Bay. Soooo cool… and only one stop away on the MRT. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EEcZ5g3lj1l0-iWxYa9cDMMToKnsQDrJ819lOe6VqqbebarYoZQ-XnEDR5aFSFwU9lHlXzb2yOTyg-Dsh7j4UgvO7oKLk13u_WUMMVBwHu-Vnv5LtxNqSve84ZScKLU9gS3zyXWqAyM/s1600/DSCN0221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EEcZ5g3lj1l0-iWxYa9cDMMToKnsQDrJ819lOe6VqqbebarYoZQ-XnEDR5aFSFwU9lHlXzb2yOTyg-Dsh7j4UgvO7oKLk13u_WUMMVBwHu-Vnv5LtxNqSve84ZScKLU9gS3zyXWqAyM/s320/DSCN0221.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Marina Bay Merlion. He may be smaller than the one on Sentosa Island, but this guy shoots water. Pretty cool.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNsswf1jgC7eAGczT2p7FGd0-qMNNRJorbImS3KQWgyzTWORvjo8Np6zC-jNKBXZnm-XLLV36d8TXEJ-5G0-j5bEUk81Qcz7DQ6-tOX4pBQkKureTG6mburJicpL9YLiW0CqP2FraJss/s1600/DSCN0222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNsswf1jgC7eAGczT2p7FGd0-qMNNRJorbImS3KQWgyzTWORvjo8Np6zC-jNKBXZnm-XLLV36d8TXEJ-5G0-j5bEUk81Qcz7DQ6-tOX4pBQkKureTG6mburJicpL9YLiW0CqP2FraJss/s320/DSCN0222.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Military ships practicing for National Day.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQ7fatEdMEqnhIgWyO_PkPJMlI08y8C6fPcs8x4TlSAAlWpGWz0RlgZejbKs9QvqPyLb8gRRhbWyj7mC-_gnzX-cLr4py0G5q6PNC2KxPcvO_P7p87m1o18Y9z9yWQWcveHTeQgepjcI/s1600/DSCN0223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGQ7fatEdMEqnhIgWyO_PkPJMlI08y8C6fPcs8x4TlSAAlWpGWz0RlgZejbKs9QvqPyLb8gRRhbWyj7mC-_gnzX-cLr4py0G5q6PNC2KxPcvO_P7p87m1o18Y9z9yWQWcveHTeQgepjcI/s320/DSCN0223.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Marina Bay.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtlDL34fxF3LMKWh8qq04794uvW54R4ymACKRyP9_2C9MsuE64duRvCzTWGWRHNqsNDm8CEAgSzxQa1SSu4ra1u-psaHzldzIXjGa2H9coib4gK8Ri23-e7AvzLfpotfyuWvcyeIp0t4/s1600/DSCN0224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtlDL34fxF3LMKWh8qq04794uvW54R4ymACKRyP9_2C9MsuE64duRvCzTWGWRHNqsNDm8CEAgSzxQa1SSu4ra1u-psaHzldzIXjGa2H9coib4gK8Ri23-e7AvzLfpotfyuWvcyeIp0t4/s320/DSCN0224.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Art & Science Museum. It was designed to resemble a lotus flower.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgResEiqkb7YfzAnwWBhcDu2qukJUwtf1NTFqeI_Y-FAFmO0ZTKC5hrp-08ahqaBABfkvBr8nXVb-dZH2y6zPPmXL3EnXz0_0lSYx6NA9RWFTui9oYCDmjzS3IGhgRst0mLgUCnme4AH50/s1600/DSCN0225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgResEiqkb7YfzAnwWBhcDu2qukJUwtf1NTFqeI_Y-FAFmO0ZTKC5hrp-08ahqaBABfkvBr8nXVb-dZH2y6zPPmXL3EnXz0_0lSYx6NA9RWFTui9oYCDmjzS3IGhgRst0mLgUCnme4AH50/s320/DSCN0225.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Brad and our little trooper crossing the bridge over Marina Bay.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMGc2rtBJEOOaGaVn5CmZVpvS3xsz0W5iISr8Sqln1Td4prOvCq0uSz16A75jzas6GsZ5qaTLynn0ekeDjBXZYowJejLlnARkWNXsaOGAYLuKMEAXkYjL3STUDCfaqjU6S8GBE3bx79s/s1600/DSCN0227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMGc2rtBJEOOaGaVn5CmZVpvS3xsz0W5iISr8Sqln1Td4prOvCq0uSz16A75jzas6GsZ5qaTLynn0ekeDjBXZYowJejLlnARkWNXsaOGAYLuKMEAXkYjL3STUDCfaqjU6S8GBE3bx79s/s320/DSCN0227.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Not every place is stroller-friendly. We actually do this quite a bit... go muscles!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We visited two and a half exhibits while we were there. The first was the one I’d really been dying to see: Salvador Dali. I’d seen an exhibit of his at the Cleveland Museum of Art several years earlier, but this one was totally different. The one in Cleveland highlighted the paintings he created during the Spanish Civil War, while the ones here in Singapore dealt more with his contemplations on sex and religion. What an exhibit to take a kid to, right? Actually, Dagny LOVED it—sure, Dali paints some pretty lurid and nightmarish pictures, but he also uses a lot of bright, vivid colors. I’m guessing that’s what held Dagny’s attention. If not, I should probably think about getting her in to see a child psychologist and resign from the 2011 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mother Of The Year</i> contest. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyN-dr3ygY_x6ayOU2vwlrV5hFC-zKCaTB6okDiuuQQhyphenhyphenoYfI3UA7Ha7wRAhZ7TZPLJYuP2y-aV2TTCkxoRGxbTHVu-NWG5fPQlOnLYi6-z5iLvwtWs-XNJ_bZ2eKbOQcLSd6yd05cvR4/s1600/IMG_0137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyN-dr3ygY_x6ayOU2vwlrV5hFC-zKCaTB6okDiuuQQhyphenhyphenoYfI3UA7Ha7wRAhZ7TZPLJYuP2y-aV2TTCkxoRGxbTHVu-NWG5fPQlOnLYi6-z5iLvwtWs-XNJ_bZ2eKbOQcLSd6yd05cvR4/s320/IMG_0137.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The fam in front of an interactive, melting-clock-turned-melting-human exhibit in the Dali gallery. No flashes were allowed, but take my word for it... we looked pretty hot. Dagny thought it was hilarious. With her already-huge head, she looked like a float from the Macy's Parade.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The second exhibit we went to was called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Shipwrecked.</i> About ten years ago, divers discovered a sunken ship off the coast of Singapore filled with ancient Chinese money, gold, and pottery from the Tang dynasty. Dagny loved this exhibit, too, because the entire gallery was designed to make it look and feel like we were under water. We even let her out of her stroller, and she was so good! She held her daddy’s hand the whole way through and babbled our ears off while pointing at all the treasure.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The half an exhibit we walked through was Van Gogh—not any of his original art, but a tech-savvy audiovisual tour. I’m not a fan of Impressionist art, and we didn’t want to keep Dags out too long on her first day back, so we cut that one short.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia4E9ZfEaRLvDySKQU3d5HtmKltOcvuiQGD4AXZVOKrWDvr0-J_gVl1MAaPNMJN6KXGKn6ikxd4OmHIT_YOzJjERVh0Dx6c1C_y4UElq6mpC1UMvpBpl7z-kNPReK40GGvNgTudq4G43I/s1600/IMG_0138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia4E9ZfEaRLvDySKQU3d5HtmKltOcvuiQGD4AXZVOKrWDvr0-J_gVl1MAaPNMJN6KXGKn6ikxd4OmHIT_YOzJjERVh0Dx6c1C_y4UElq6mpC1UMvpBpl7z-kNPReK40GGvNgTudq4G43I/s320/IMG_0138.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dagny running through the museum plaza. I would love to know what she's thinking when she's waddle-running around, looking down at her feet and laughing hysterically.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Everything since then has been pretty low key. Brad is in Taiwan all week… sent me this picture of his dinner last night. It’s called hairy crab, and although he said it wasn’t great, it was definitely better than the sea urchin and duck liver he had for lunch.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FdhZEpcpQeycplmmJBQajVCSfqTDm-1397fV_4BYT_CN4zYkP4-wwm1APw_Po1nLTAdqbRkMV1RV8nO_tJxKs228hiaC3jq565wiP08h-5QO0IDxiPZ0-aP5Z8xh6Vw_75HAcMuiIAg/s1600/IMG_0142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FdhZEpcpQeycplmmJBQajVCSfqTDm-1397fV_4BYT_CN4zYkP4-wwm1APw_Po1nLTAdqbRkMV1RV8nO_tJxKs228hiaC3jq565wiP08h-5QO0IDxiPZ0-aP5Z8xh6Vw_75HAcMuiIAg/s320/IMG_0142.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today is one of those rare days where there is a nice breeze coming off the water. The sky is a gorgeous, cobalt blue, and full of pillowy, swiftly moving clouds—so our peninsula jumps back and forth between sun and shade every few minutes. Dagny and I took advantage of the slightly cooler, more bearable weather this morning to play outside. It was also nice to soak up the relative silence, since for the past eleven days, we had been dealing with an invasion of netballers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One of the things I enjoy here is watching sports that aren’t played back in the US. Badminton and table tennis are totally entertaining, and though I don’t understand cricket, it’s still fun to watch. I think rugby may be my new favorite… it makes American football look girly by comparison. Plus, the game I watched was between Australia and New Zealand, which is apparently the international equivalent of Ohio State versus Michigan. It was intense!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But women’s netball… uggh. It reminds me of one of the games our high school gym teachers used to make up, like angle ball or boku ball. Actually, it’s almost exactly like angle ball. Despite being the lamest sport I’ve ever seen played, it draws one of the most wild—and annoying—crowds I’ve ever been around in my life. It really was an invasion, and since the tournament took place in the soccer stadium across the river from us, we were pretty much right in the heart of it all for eleven days. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have no idea who won the championship, but have come up with my own set of awards for the participating countries:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1. Most Obnoxious On A Subway: NEW ZEALAND</div><div class="MsoNormal">2. Most Likely To Ignore All Posted Signage: JAMAICA</div><div class="MsoNormal">3. Most Likely To Receive Sponsorship From Sherwin Williams For Ample Use Of Body Paint:</div><div class="MsoNormal"> SOUTH AFRICA</div><div class="MsoNormal">4. Most Likely To Run Into A Stroller Or Cause An Accident Because They Are Too Preoccupied</div><div class="MsoNormal"> With Their Wigs And Capes: NORTHERN IRELAND</div><div class="MsoNormal">5. Most Likely To Keep Singing And Chanting Long After A Match Is Over—And Usually In A</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Crowded Place: AUSTRALIA</div><div class="MsoNormal">6. Most Freakishly Tall Women I’ve Ever Seen In My Life: ENGLAND</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thank you for visiting, players and fans. Here’s hoping the world netball championships only take place every four years, like the Olympics.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFFVPH0VlddpW5u_1pBm4_wmvIxEwmE_r6Pc0EyOMhPEKL6P3e0TbapdnyYEd2Blg_EIo7eBIvnNpT4R4I2iSq8q8e7A63hPJHTKaL1J99Ogm9H0gDL7uwGFz1WUaCy1-Uesu0pbq2yw/s1600/IMG_0140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPFFVPH0VlddpW5u_1pBm4_wmvIxEwmE_r6Pc0EyOMhPEKL6P3e0TbapdnyYEd2Blg_EIo7eBIvnNpT4R4I2iSq8q8e7A63hPJHTKaL1J99Ogm9H0gDL7uwGFz1WUaCy1-Uesu0pbq2yw/s320/IMG_0140.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Bye bye, everyone! Or as my buddy Kai Lan says, <i>Zaijian!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-51398161074340799602011-06-30T23:57:00.000-07:002011-07-01T06:24:01.258-07:00The Gripping Life of a LodgeThis past week was fraught with more hurdles… fortunately, having survived so many at this point, I find myself much better equipped to laugh rather than cry in the face of insanity. Or curse. Or both.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It turns out the United States is a vault. We don’t realize it when we live there, but once you are outside it’s borders, getting a view in is a lot like trying to sneak a peak at a celebrity through the tinted windows of their limo. Thank you Osama and your lovely team of 9-11 a$$holes. I’m trying to pay the last of my utility bills from Charlotte online, but am not granted access to government or utility sites. We are trying to set up bank accounts here, but in an effort to crack down not only on terrorism but the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">funding</i> of terrorism, the US government has made it next to impossible to wire money from an American account to a Singaporean account (or maybe it actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> impossible, as we have yet—4 banks and over 20 phone calls later, most of which take place around midnight our time—figured out a way to achieve this seemingly simple task).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And to rub salt in our wounds, at the end of a long day and sometimes even longer night of chasing our tails, when all we want to do is collapse on a comfy couch, there is none to be found.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“That’s it!” I holler to Brad on Saturday morning. “As soon as Dagny wakes up from her nap, we’re getting the rest of our furniture!”<br />
<br />
I head out onto our balcony/laundry area when I notice smoke curling around the edges of the trash chute door. Carefully opening it, I'm hit full in the face with a thick, choking cloud. I slam the door shut and rush inside.<br />
<br />
"Wake up Dags!" I call to Brad as I begin frantically dialing the front office.<br />
<br />
"Allo?" says a man on the other end. His accent is very thick.<br />
<br />
"Uh, hi. Our, um, trash chute is on fire."<br />
<br />
"It what? Fire in your apartment?"<br />
<br />
"No, no! Our building's trash chute. I'm in tower C."<br />
<br />
"Fire in kitchen?" Oh God, this is going to take a while. Brad has come out of his office and is looking back and forth between me and our laundry area—which is completely filled with smoke—with wide eyes. When at last I get the message across that it's the trash chute I'm talking about, the man says, "It could be fumigation."<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry, what?" Now it's my turn to be the one totally lost.<br />
<br />
"Every month we fumigate trash for bugs." Our apartment has a knack for posting completely useless information on the bulletin boards, but for some reason, <i>this</i> little tidbit wasn't deemed important enough to mention?<br />
<br />
"Oh. That must be it," I reply, and notice that the apartment is now starting to smell increasingly like pesticide. "Thank you," I add, a little sheepishly.<br />
<br />
"No problem. Okay, good, we call police for you now." And then his end of the line goes dead.<br />
<br />
Uhhh... he's going to <i>what? </i>"Is everything okay?" Brad asked as I stare at my phone.<br />
<br />
"Yup," I reply. "But let's go ahead and get Dags up now anyway." (and get the hell out of here before the police show up at our door!)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Furniture shopping for us up to this point has been interesting (not really—it’s actually been very boring) and full of hemming and hawing (which I hate). We’re here in Singapore for three years, at the end of which we will be leaving most of our purchases behind. So we don’t want to buy anything too expensive, but at the same time, three years is pretty substantial, so we don’t want to get anything too cheap or that we have to “put up with” for the sake of cost. Our answer? Ikea. So we load up our backpack with water and snacks, and strike out for the giant warehouse full of Scandinavian particleboard dorm room furniture. Sound a little like the preamble to an expedition? Well, as it turns out, it was…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The past week or two I’ve been SO proud of myself because I’ve successfully figured out the MRT. Not that it was too challenging to begin with, but for a girl who isn’t accustomed to public transportation, this was a big deal. And what’s even better—I LIKE the MRT! When it comes to trains, Asians know what they’re doing. The MRT is clean, fast, and reliable. And most importantly: it’s cheap! This is HUGE in a land where everything but rice costs a fortune (you think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not). So we decide we’re going to take the MRT to Ikea.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two trains later, we get off at our appointed stop and wander aimlessly for close to twenty minutes, trying to find Bus Station C. We pass Bus Stations A and B, but the next two stations in the complex are D and E. What the—? I’m sure someone, somewhere, is screwing with me… someone with a video camera. Our search isn’t helped by the fact that it’s the weekend, so the crowds are thick and exceptionally pushy. Yes, Singaporeans are very kind, but it’s every man, woman and child for themselves in a crowd. There’s really no concept of personal space here, so if you leave six inches between you and the person in front of you, someone to your left or right will take that as an invitation to dart in. But unlike the US, when people here are elbowing and pushing through each other, it’s not an act of aggression or annoyance. It’s just the way it is. The same guy who cut off Dagny in her stroller sits and plays with her 30 seconds later on the train. I’m mystified.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So we finally find Bus Station C. We have to exit the MRT and hawker stand complex and cross two roads to get there (why <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wouldn’t</i> a person assume, sans any signage, that this is what you have to do?). To my surprise, the next bus to arrive is the one we want, with the bus number clearly emblazoned across the front. Things are starting to look up…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is my first time on a bus here. The local expats seem to avoid them, preferring MRTs and taxis, and now I can kind of see why. They’re crowded (everyone gives me the evil eye when I board with a stroller) and smell a little like 7<sup>th</sup> grade gym class, where approximately half the kids don’t realize yet that it’s time they start wearing deodorant. Add to that everyone is standing with their arms raised, the bus isn’t air conditioned, and it’s 95-degrees out. Mmmmm… funky. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The bus jolts to a start and sways out into traffic. Brad, Dagny and I nearly cause a domino effect in the aisle and quickly grab onto the handrails. The metal is warm and has that combination gritty, slimy feel to it. I’m not a germaphobe, but even I’m grossed out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bracing himself like he’s getting ready for a football tackle while holding Dagny (who’s giggling up a storm because she thinks this ride is FABULOUS), Brad hollers to me over the clanking engine, “Where do we get off?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I look down at the careful notes I took off Ikea’s website. “Bus stop A.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We approach our first stop, about 150 yards down from where we got on, and I check the bus sign. Stop 162. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">162??</i> Why are there numbers and not letters? I ask Brad, who of course has no idea (just like I tend to ask him what a character in a movie is up to at the beginning, when like me, he’s never seen it before).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“They’ll turn into letters later on,” he says, trying to sound reassuring, but I detect a question mark at the end of his statement, not a period.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So the bus barrels on, weaving through traffic and stopping every couple hundred yards in slam-on-the-brakes fashion, as if the driver was halfway past the bus stop when he realized it was there. And every stop continues to be a number, not a letter. And I’m starting to feel bus sick.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A little while later, we pull up to a stop marked 83A. “There’s an A in it, should we get off?” I ask Brad. The bus is growing increasingly crowded, and I’m hoping beyond hope he says “yes.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Instead he says, “I don’t know.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We deliberate whether or not to get off for too long and the bus starts moving again. “Hey, look!” Brad says the instant we pull off the curb. “Ikea!” Our view out the far window of the bus blocked by all the people wedged in around us, we missed the usually un-missable, giant blue and yellow store.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Don’t worry,” Brad says when he sees the semi-panicked look on my face. “The bus will stop in another hundred yards and we’ll get off there.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Only the bus doesn’t stop. Instead, it veers left, away from Ikea, and starts climbing a long, curving ramp onto a—</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Omigod! Omigod! Omigod!” I holler to Brad, my palms pressed to the window. “We’re getting on the freeway!” You would think our driver was ferrying our bus onto the River Styx. And to me, it felt that way… This bus ride was turning into a death sentence. I just wanted <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">off!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The bus drives. And drives. And drives. And with every passing mile, Brad and I actually start to laugh harder and harder. Because only so many things can start to go wrong in an afternoon before it becomes straight-up hilarious.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Finally the bus stops and we jump off, to find ourselves in Serangoon. Anyone with a fantastic memory may recall me having been to Serangoon once before, when I visited the Crocodile Farm. I’m really not a fan of the area.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Of all the places—in this entire county—to get dropped off,” I mutter as we load Dagny into her stroller.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are surrounded by HDB flats (government built housing) and are getting strange looks from the locals. They know we don’t belong here. We wander for close to a half hour until we find an MRT station. Actually, it’s a kind of branch of the MRT that picks up workers and takes them to the main lines. We have to wait for a couple of trains to come and go because they are too crowded, and we get boxed out of the little space available by hurried riders who are lining up behind us. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Now</i> the pushy crowd mentality, however unintentional, is starting to get to me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At last we shove ourselves into a train, and three transfers later find ourselves back at home. With no furniture. Never at any point on our route back from Serangoon did Brad or I even bother to ask one another if we wanted to attempt to re-find Ikea. We’d been walking or riding on public transportation for four straight hours. We were done.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’ve given up alcohol here because it’s just too expensive, but that night we splurged on a six-pack of Singha beer. Yes, isn’t it sad that buying cheap Thai beer is now a splurge?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day, I wake up revitalized. Brad has to work but I want to make a go of the whole Ikea thing again, and I assure him I can do it on my own. This time I’m going to try the <i>other</i> Ikea, which requires more train transfers to get to, but appears to be reachable without riding any buses. I’m done with buses.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I reach my stop and unload Dagny (who has turned into my incredible travel buddy), I realize I might have misread my map at home a little. Yes, according the Ikea website, there is a bus I’m supposed to catch from the MRT station to the store, but as I’ve already stated (with my hands planted firmly on my hips), I’m not riding the bus anymore. Plus, it seemed the store was a pretty short walk from the station.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wellll… pretty short ended up being a little over a mile. But, an hour and fifteen minutes after leaving the apartment, Dagny and I finally alight at Ikea! (I love that people use the word 'alight' here... "Alight at the next stop" instead of "Get off at the next stop," so I've decided to try it out... How's it sound? Too snooty?)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I get what we need pretty quick. At this point, I’ve been on Ikea’s website enough to know exactly what we want. And perfect timing, I wrap up the shopping trip just about the time Dagny’s decided she’s had enough of her stroller and starts to become the dreaded toddler in the store. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now anyone whose been in an Ikea knows how the showrooms are designed, and that they are cleverly set up so you have to go through ALL of them to get to the checkout. Well, as I’m heading out, I see the area rug we’ve been eyeing online but keep deciding is too expensive is on sale! I look all around for a cart while falsely promising Dagny we are leaving “so super soon,” but of course there are no carts or dollies to be found. Or staff, for that matter. So I’m left with a split-second decision to make… The rug department is smack in the middle of the showroom lineup, which means I: 1) forget about the rug, or 2) race to either the beginning or end of the store, grab a dolly, head back into the “Ikea city,” and then race to the finish line with a VERY unhappy little one in tow.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A few minutes later, I’m making my way toward the checkout area, and having said “screw it” to both options, am pushing a stroller with my hip, holding my initial purchases in my one hand, and hoisting a 44-lb. rug on my shoulder with the other. Once I reach the checkout line, a woman behind me says, “The things we have to do as moms, right? We’re like wonder women.” And the woman behind her says, “You could be your own circus act!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, fast forward to fifteen minutes later, I’m in a cab with Dagny on my lap and the rug wedged into the backseat beside me, one end of it propped up by my head. I’m totally beat but relieved to finally have the last of our stuff for the apartment. And at last Dagny has quieted down and seems to be enjoying the taxi ride home. Actually, she seems a little too quiet. I kiss the top of her head and say, “You all tired out, kiddo?” And she responds by promptly throwing up all over my lap.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And again my mind is saying, “Omigod, omigod, omigod!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now this next part may sound totally heartless, but let me preface it by saying that Dagny was fine. She wasn’t choking or freaking out. That said, I will admit that the first two things to go through my mind as I looked down at all the vomit were:<br />
1) Wow, Dagny didn’t chew <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any</i> of the noodles she had for lunch, and<br />
2) If eating or drinking even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">water</i> on public transportation here, including taxis, is punishable with a $1000 fine, what am I going to be slapped with for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">vomit?</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While my left hand functions as a ladle for Dagny’s stomach contents, I use my right to fish out my cell phone and call Brad. I’m not sure my driver realizes Dagny has puked yet, so I want to keep my conversation discreet. When Brad answers, I say, “Hey, hubs, how’s it going there?” Before he can answer, I continue, “We have a code orange down here. Can you meet me by the cab drop-off in about five minutes with some paper towels and a trash bag?” Dagny glurps up another round into my lap. “Make that a code red,” I correct. “We’re going to need a lot of paper towels and a couple trash bags”—she heaves a third round, which I attempt to catch in my right hand with my phone now pinned between my ear and shoulder (how much can a 17-month old stomach hold???)—“and add to that a bucket of water and some cleaning supplies… vinyl friendly ones.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So my cab driver ended up being incredibly kind, and when I tipped him for the ride, he kept bowing and thanking me (there isn’t usually any tipping in Singapore). I was blown away… my daughter threw up in his back seat and totally stunk up his ride and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he’s</i> thanking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me???</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, so I’m sure anyone reading this is totally glued to the screen by now, completely blown away by the riveting life I lead. I didn’t want to let too much time slip by before posting again, so what the heck? Might as well post the truth and grant myself a little therapy in the process!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I will conclude with at least some fun photos to look at (if the description of Dagny’s dazzling digestive pyrotechnics didn’t do it for you). These are all photos taken in the immediate vicinity of our apartment, so you can get an idea of where we are in our day-to-day lives.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We live on the tip of a kind of peninsula bordered by two rivers, in an area called Kallang, just south of one of my favorite areas to eat and explore, Katong. Kallang and Katong… kind of sounds like a toddler going through the pots and pans drawer, doesn’t it?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5EJZDBpX4pHSdZ9OVr1fx7zxnXaJPTSYQWxY668C5vh3DLztg50hAZALo0R0CEuHKiE6hZIQ81NiVYE2kIHMjjF7nSiLqxpm6m8bMa-buCkzovWfm6JHlpVuKhpgk6Wg17MhgmDayj2Y/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5EJZDBpX4pHSdZ9OVr1fx7zxnXaJPTSYQWxY668C5vh3DLztg50hAZALo0R0CEuHKiE6hZIQ81NiVYE2kIHMjjF7nSiLqxpm6m8bMa-buCkzovWfm6JHlpVuKhpgk6Wg17MhgmDayj2Y/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is the walking path around back of our apartment. On the far side of the river, you can see the Singapore Flyer, the world's largest observation wheel (or was as of two years ago). We haven't ridden this yet, but definitely will at some point.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6odh3aBO4ouLCgTE6Nhg-mZxNf31z77nIL7HbpNPPWQ40gdw66qQ8efSSp2mTAWvhpfIpjEuY5EZ4bkDzhlHp6J_E1NsTBWtSHiISSUWzdQD4bZm0Jm6YDJ4xn2T0lYKC9vEyX6bnxo4/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6odh3aBO4ouLCgTE6Nhg-mZxNf31z77nIL7HbpNPPWQ40gdw66qQ8efSSp2mTAWvhpfIpjEuY5EZ4bkDzhlHp6J_E1NsTBWtSHiISSUWzdQD4bZm0Jm6YDJ4xn2T0lYKC9vEyX6bnxo4/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This picture of an observation tower is taken from the peak of the walking bridge across the Geylang River. Those are our apartments on the left.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9S-X5zW_i508DUZk6pbMj7DLFJRtbt9b0fBciVbcxR2NGlmOzHOIXBc4U45aPAcV15Et3W8r0N_6PE43vYr6bNhjclzdvqbvFgMDIQZMZPLH_TMihDaEXQTbbEFEg4IuSpLxTsvfLUPU/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9S-X5zW_i508DUZk6pbMj7DLFJRtbt9b0fBciVbcxR2NGlmOzHOIXBc4U45aPAcV15Et3W8r0N_6PE43vYr6bNhjclzdvqbvFgMDIQZMZPLH_TMihDaEXQTbbEFEg4IuSpLxTsvfLUPU/s320/3.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The walking bridge leading from our apartment across the Geylang River. Behind it is the soccer stadium (there is an international badminton tournament currently going on... Brad and I have been brushing up on our badminton trash talk, most of which uses the word "shuttlecock" at some point). Our grocery store and a hawker center (which we frequent for lunch) are on the other side of the stadium.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzGGRX6uMRzZkPojRLz_RHPBFllpRmRyLDMaZO-wWtHp51aoiiLEa81hgyn4JscJtJ_GuuBc8nFg1uZ8cRE8jN-c6QeJxwsDb_gV5JM33cTQyimjE8RrB6D_qDFUWC4VJRGmry6yZWjKE/s1600/IMG_0130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzGGRX6uMRzZkPojRLz_RHPBFllpRmRyLDMaZO-wWtHp51aoiiLEa81hgyn4JscJtJ_GuuBc8nFg1uZ8cRE8jN-c6QeJxwsDb_gV5JM33cTQyimjE8RrB6D_qDFUWC4VJRGmry6yZWjKE/s320/IMG_0130.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Teochew, one of my favorite lunches at the above mentioned hawker center. All this <i>very</i> yummy food for only $3. Most dishes (also delicious) are between $2 and $4.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumPkleSc3XVxb25F70WOe9OhGd3io5ZbMYWCn8GRvT6PQC_MPhTqQUHq5P7dwDZ7XUbw0c43ZBYwDeCvH5t19s9k6R4p7f9JWyM-WWuZrWTjGgU_94WSU7L6Q0HoO2GaQ1zJ2jJyg-eM/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumPkleSc3XVxb25F70WOe9OhGd3io5ZbMYWCn8GRvT6PQC_MPhTqQUHq5P7dwDZ7XUbw0c43ZBYwDeCvH5t19s9k6R4p7f9JWyM-WWuZrWTjGgU_94WSU7L6Q0HoO2GaQ1zJ2jJyg-eM/s320/4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The walking bridge, heading back to our apartment.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6ZnAhONCwHl8sGUAdjQpEx0bGb1OmAQOuM8ub_fJnd5u-xIugMh1CxKSItTiqka29G79vy4ko5o4Cbljy5xDhpxWw4c4tbt8GAgf-pbAxya5VTIO7C1rgt7ETli_mSyydFnSiw-90MY/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV6ZnAhONCwHl8sGUAdjQpEx0bGb1OmAQOuM8ub_fJnd5u-xIugMh1CxKSItTiqka29G79vy4ko5o4Cbljy5xDhpxWw4c4tbt8GAgf-pbAxya5VTIO7C1rgt7ETli_mSyydFnSiw-90MY/s320/5.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a dragon boat team practicing on the Geylang. These guys (and girls) are amazing. It's impressive enough that they are out in the heat of the day, but they aren't just lazing along the river... you should see them! They paddle like Jaws is after them!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4WQOhqZQ6csUshcrg_rSVgIXFQf_3ZQsGw3iW5d0gL6a93dWoDfqT_m2IN0LQC0bUNI10yc1jWqA0aC0xa8ysC3XhCCBsbD6dnW0ocxYwqyNf4glFQiYDK6B9sJ0Zx0xBD-O9hpWKhHM/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4WQOhqZQ6csUshcrg_rSVgIXFQf_3ZQsGw3iW5d0gL6a93dWoDfqT_m2IN0LQC0bUNI10yc1jWqA0aC0xa8ysC3XhCCBsbD6dnW0ocxYwqyNf4glFQiYDK6B9sJ0Zx0xBD-O9hpWKhHM/s320/6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A group of boys playing cricket in the park outside our building. I could watch cricket for hours—days, even—and not understand the rules of this game.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG5ioavR1b3I9hRbWf0XTYM9UmCOakfTA0TPR48sR_p96YmemuBlgO1BewrTMwgOhREFM4uw_UX74oJNJXojCmU5HyzMhMRFDHtNDINaFdBp729SZ0i9Nfgpj6v7QyRaCZlgDB24fvmTA/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG5ioavR1b3I9hRbWf0XTYM9UmCOakfTA0TPR48sR_p96YmemuBlgO1BewrTMwgOhREFM4uw_UX74oJNJXojCmU5HyzMhMRFDHtNDINaFdBp729SZ0i9Nfgpj6v7QyRaCZlgDB24fvmTA/s320/7.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Dags playing at the park. Everyone say it with me: "Awww..."</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Remember my post when I talked about the ENORMOUS snails that come out at night? This is the shell of one that didn't make it back to the bushes before the early birds went hunting. That's Brad's foot beside it.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The entrance to our complex.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">More entrance.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLT56vU8QNVBJ9ifHsR2YEpBRcNfsPM19gbKK43mYMM-M5888aMAJfsaHzI_Yt-Msc2Yw6T2dOtdQneaCAm9iEkovZq27hG2vTBC6TFo6KGY7RliA4eSb-mBDjEWTc8vZ_Vs2x9ww2jQQ/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLT56vU8QNVBJ9ifHsR2YEpBRcNfsPM19gbKK43mYMM-M5888aMAJfsaHzI_Yt-Msc2Yw6T2dOtdQneaCAm9iEkovZq27hG2vTBC6TFo6KGY7RliA4eSb-mBDjEWTc8vZ_Vs2x9ww2jQQ/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our swimming pool. Now I don't mean to brag, but... Well actually, yes, I am bragging. Our pool is AWESOME!!! And Dagny loves it (what kid wouldn't?)</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is the baby pool. Those colorful arms usually have water shooting out of them. In the back is the slide. Dagny is already one of those kids who rides it in a constant circle... up the stairs, down the slide, scramble out of the pool, up the stairs, down the slide, scramble out of the pool... and on and on.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our building! Our apartment is the one on the far left, second from the top.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our view of the Geylang River and the stadium from our dining room, Brad's office, and Dagny's room.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The view out our family room and master bedroom.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The view out our front door (that building is the Marina Bay Sands, the new and super cool hotel that is in pretty much all the tourism pictures you see of Singapore)</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Our first furniture, courtesy of Ikea! I feel like there should be three bowls of hot porridge in this picture, too.</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These hooks were all over the apartment when we moved in. They crack me up (for obvious reasons). I know the Chinese view the turtle as lucky, but if you ask me, frogs may have something going for themselves, too.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And now, your moment of Dagny...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg898XCRKcgxq2kiLWyQaDTF-lKVHfzi5RIdXcpWl8yt2IiYt3kb_FET8Fi5G7PznrdTQ6-RqdKZY27Ukta2pzDaPG6KydFF4_RRHcog65IWeypUs1mVeQ3Q3oYPwUfxG0kvEN3rdSKaPU/s1600/IMG_0133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg898XCRKcgxq2kiLWyQaDTF-lKVHfzi5RIdXcpWl8yt2IiYt3kb_FET8Fi5G7PznrdTQ6-RqdKZY27Ukta2pzDaPG6KydFF4_RRHcog65IWeypUs1mVeQ3Q3oYPwUfxG0kvEN3rdSKaPU/s320/IMG_0133.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"I pledge my eternal loyalty to you, Kai Lan... yes, yes, I have mom and dad believing the carefully coded messages you are sending me in Chinese actually mean 'up, down, happy, sad, and snow'..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-14493995583562038402011-06-22T22:18:00.000-07:002011-06-22T22:18:25.418-07:00Happy Father's DayThis weekend was about as laid back as they come. I don’t have much to write about, so instead I’ll just post some pictures with a little commentary.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">We decided to celebrate Brad’s second Father’s Day by going to Sentosa Island. It’s just off the southern tip of Singapore, and following a quick train ride from our apartment to Harbour Point, was accessible via taxi, monorail, cable car, or boardwalk. We opted for walking across the channel on the boardwalk (though the cable cars looked like fun, too!).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhli271hdVQ5g3TZTclhXSJ5EW4lpjdhWa2aIsksh0ljI1t-5vkGCg_B4Q_1KvjxhTRddHbCkTM6ZyiaLbtndsx9dDGTTVbFCW08ZT_Ew9cTqZr_g7dezJx5Ly81CP5LIXAphKj8ORnZdU/s1600/IMG_1406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhli271hdVQ5g3TZTclhXSJ5EW4lpjdhWa2aIsksh0ljI1t-5vkGCg_B4Q_1KvjxhTRddHbCkTM6ZyiaLbtndsx9dDGTTVbFCW08ZT_Ew9cTqZr_g7dezJx5Ly81CP5LIXAphKj8ORnZdU/s320/IMG_1406.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Crossing the boardwalk from Harbour Point to Sentosa Island.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMK6eSwau4Bpp8Qvx4XYpuQZcx9YKOZvp21nJSvqS_VLiNfTNO4GREjhhoTJL-6fXOF2cMyzqweXLGjsNhab2BTt1w3cnuE0LPsqLmA1-fQZuDBFKDD-KTWnStmvVDdt4nq0t4cuOAbhc/s1600/IMG_1407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMK6eSwau4Bpp8Qvx4XYpuQZcx9YKOZvp21nJSvqS_VLiNfTNO4GREjhhoTJL-6fXOF2cMyzqweXLGjsNhab2BTt1w3cnuE0LPsqLmA1-fQZuDBFKDD-KTWnStmvVDdt4nq0t4cuOAbhc/s320/IMG_1407.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The grand entrance to Sentosa. Looks a little like Hollywood, doesn't it? This is a resort island, with a casino, a Universal Studios, and plenty of bars. So in a way, it is a lot like Hollywood.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lay0aQVabqBliaDPsxQwBSv0v0EpqNh2tJDXIpC3hyHiHX2pMDMVzTdQGS8ucKbZDqcPIFetllN1KRnxnQyjD2FMdGrvi-FHB5aQzYYkVJyoAuUT4V7NXIVzrSpMjhzo4lWw1EyVNO8/s1600/IMG_1416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lay0aQVabqBliaDPsxQwBSv0v0EpqNh2tJDXIpC3hyHiHX2pMDMVzTdQGS8ucKbZDqcPIFetllN1KRnxnQyjD2FMdGrvi-FHB5aQzYYkVJyoAuUT4V7NXIVzrSpMjhzo4lWw1EyVNO8/s320/IMG_1416.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">One of the candy trees outside Candylicious, the massive store whose motto should be, "So Long Atkins, Hello Diabetes." Guess who was completely enamored with these? Hint: She's about the size of an Oompa Loompa.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Behind and above the trees you'll see canopies to offer a little break from the sun and heat, a lot like the ones in Clark Quay. Very nice!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolh436Ai-1reIK7Ntx1du5bQNbkIcjbTCTXngawXZu3w_wqEGCwwyWavmkg-5_4rw4jJQJi3NJ4mhngEfXLDN4C7qYL27ZKN7Rz49yPiyqVVzvqgpZl-FVRdpUMiUGE_Wj65l1cZDHVA/s1600/IMG_1417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolh436Ai-1reIK7Ntx1du5bQNbkIcjbTCTXngawXZu3w_wqEGCwwyWavmkg-5_4rw4jJQJi3NJ4mhngEfXLDN4C7qYL27ZKN7Rz49yPiyqVVzvqgpZl-FVRdpUMiUGE_Wj65l1cZDHVA/s320/IMG_1417.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Dagny chomping on a lime. Already the little actress, she ate it down to the rind because every time she made a sour face, mommy and daddy would laugh.</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I really have no words for this picture. Are any needed?</div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">The Merlion near the center of the island. This guy is HUGE! (See the teeny tiny people at the bottom?) There is a staircase to the top and you can get your picture taken from inside his mouth, his teeth framing you with a view of Sentosa behind, which sounds like a cool Christmas card pic for another day—not today. Like I said, it was a laid back weekend, and climbing that many stairs (the Merlion is 37 meters tall) sounds like anything but relaxing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The lion is a proud symbol of Singapore. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Singapore</i> actually means Lion City. So what's the story behind the Merlion? Well, all explanations I found reported a Malay prince spotted a lion while hunting on his first trip to Singapore (though zoologists say it was more likely a tiger, since there are no lions here). The prince decided the creature was a good omen and named the island Singapura... And there the story seemed to end.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Okaaay... what about the fish tail?" I ask someone. They shrug and point to the ocean surrounding us. The prince arrived by boat. I'm trying to make the connection and fill in the holes, but all in all, I think their Merlion story could use a little work.</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Brad and Dagny making their way along the rainforest walk around the Merlion. I feel like we are a continuous ad for REI here… Always wearing either SuperFeet or Chacos on our feet, synthetic North Face clothes, my ventilated Osprey pack with the critical water bottle holders, and Dagny’s BOB. Anyone having a baby, spring for the BOB… and spend the extra $100 for the rotating front wheel. Okay, slipping out of my green REI employee vest and continuing with the tour…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">The walkway to the beach. A river of water trickles down through these cool mosaic art, um… thingys. </div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">We walked to the other side of the island from the boardwalk, to where the beaches are. That sounds a lot more hardcore than it really was. The island isn’t terribly big. We immediately found a restaurant/bar, kicked off our shoes, and settled into the sand. Here is a picture of daddy leading the little nugget to the water. What you can’t see is that behind her, two Asians are also photographing her. “Did you see her eyes?” one calls to the other, completely in awe, as though she has three instead of two. </div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes, the girls serving us were wearing bikinis. It was obviously Father’s Day, not Mother’s Day…</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I have no clue why the guy in the background is wearing a ski hat. Sure, it was cloudy, but it was still close to 90-degrees! Maybe dipping into the 80s is equivalent to a cold spell here.</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">After our break at the Bikini Bar, we continued our walk down the shore. It was a fun (and slightly unusual) mix of young adult debauchery and family togetherness, where a woman in a burka serves her children lunch beneath a loud speaker blaring Eminem. There’s a luge running down the “mountain” in the center of the island, a trapeze zone, and a wave pool. We headed to the wave pool, where we ran into this strange anime version of Jack Sparrow. Actually, he ran into us. Again, and again, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">again.</i> Dagny was very leery of him, and he just wouldn’t take “no” for an answer from her!</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there who would pose with a giant, buck toothed fish just to get a giggle out of their daughter.</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-84021462893230895602011-06-18T19:12:00.000-07:002011-06-18T19:12:47.760-07:00Have A Little Faith<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Singapore prides itself on being an exceptionally peaceful nation, and is accepting of all religions. All religions, that is, except two—which is pretty impressive when you stop to think about how many different religions are practiced in the world. I can’t recall the name of the first one, but it is practiced in remote areas of China and condones polygamy—which is why it’s not allowed here. The second is Jehovah’s Witnesses, and I find the reasons really interesting… First, Jehovah’s Witnesses do not allow their followers to carry guns, which clashes with the decree that all male Singaporean nationals must serve in the military for at least one year. Secondly, Jehovah’s Witnesses are required to complete some form of evangelicalism, and here it is considered illegal to press your faith on someone else. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One of the most widely practiced religions here is Buddhism. May 17<sup>th</sup> was Vesak Day, which celebrates the birth of Buddha. Stepping out into the streets of Singapore on that day was surreal… the once-bustling metropolis was like a ghost town! Everyone was at temple, and the few who weren’t seemed to move at a much slower pace than usual, and act a little more thoughtfully. Why? Just as people who aren’t devout Christians still frequently celebrate Christmas, Buddhists happily encourage followers of other faiths to be a part of their way of life on Vesak Day. Their suggestion (or for me, their challenge) is to not eat meat for the entire day, and to try to be a little more aware of the life around you, from the towering trees to the tiniest ant. Also, if you can—and I’ll admit, this one’s a tough one—only allow yourself to speak, act, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">think</i> in peaceable, positive ways. Yup, even while you’re alone in your bathroom, brushing your teeth at the end of the day, don’t allow yourself to think ill of the jerk who cut you off in traffic or the woman who sneezed on your child in the grocery store.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I thumb through tourist and expat magazines with articles about Vesak Day and how best to celebrate it, I realize there is something stunningly beautiful about Buddhism… not preaching fine points on how we can be “saved,” but simply pointing the way down a more fulfilling path while we are alive. I wasn’t able to accomplish the not-so-simple tasks outlined for Vesak Day (not that I’m surprised, since in my 32 years of life I have yet to make it through Lenten Fridays without eating pepperoni pizza or a chicken sandwich), but the day piqued my interest in a faith I know nothing about, so I booked myself on a tour of the (take a deep breath) Kong Meng San Phor Kark See Monastery. Whew! (Anyone who can say the name of the Hindi temple Sri Veeramakaliamman five times fast before I visit it this summer wins… um, let’s see… my respect and a whole bunch of bragging rights)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Kong Meng San Phor Kark See Monastery is an entire complex (read: HUGE) of Buddhist temples that were founded back in 1920, making it the sight of some of the oldest temples in Singapore. It is surrounded on all sides by busy roads and several of the buildings are in the process of being renovated, but the sprawling estate still somehow maintains a sense of calm. The low, musical humming of passing monks has a way of drowning out the sounds of cars and tinkering hammers. Their prayers are chanted at a frequency that reverberates slightly in your chest—like the dying out of a gong that has been rung—and makes you feel… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chill</i>. The lawns are as manicured as an upscale golf course, and thousands of colorful Tibetan prayer flags are strung up between the buildings. Notice I didn’t say, “fluttering between the buildings.” It’s another brutally hot day and the flags hang completely limp. My clothes feel about five pounds heavier on me as we walk around. I’m dripping in the shade, and when I step out into the sun, the beads of sweat on my arms and forehead begin to sizzle and pop like water added to a hot skillet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPVDtU5rWyEjqMSulj2aSKoDjAlw9eGG6W9YuYP-jKhR6NXxoSr0QPmFHgD52KOC8susyZJCca9Yv06N4Jq3gp8bBen3pET0gFOH19EzNWcKk6MVVKnQ1PIUiUZD-ZHqvDplpdzWeDf0/s1600/IMG_1291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPVDtU5rWyEjqMSulj2aSKoDjAlw9eGG6W9YuYP-jKhR6NXxoSr0QPmFHgD52KOC8susyZJCca9Yv06N4Jq3gp8bBen3pET0gFOH19EzNWcKk6MVVKnQ1PIUiUZD-ZHqvDplpdzWeDf0/s320/IMG_1291.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT250pMnxiXGgou3snweGPfxVoG9XBvTF56vfJUMGppY-z7ZaDINX0kdq4LyDsu2g_zKvvo5GFN3QUwdjUfJeqMzU9D5850sNGes6r0a7sZLh26lardaiBoEuH8Z3i9uwGcipFqowIgLU/s1600/IMG_1292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT250pMnxiXGgou3snweGPfxVoG9XBvTF56vfJUMGppY-z7ZaDINX0kdq4LyDsu2g_zKvvo5GFN3QUwdjUfJeqMzU9D5850sNGes6r0a7sZLh26lardaiBoEuH8Z3i9uwGcipFqowIgLU/s320/IMG_1292.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsiB7Sf5iRhDe4Mx05lZGaxQFNWDVSB6GHYylEw9JNMe_0w8zM3e_lH8l5lgy-ZtlNvwJrJ7XwLr82rdqMbNHFVzWSEb4KBJHBJX0M-DT9t2mwHDUlulfLfSnkAubLD1Yn4qpbJM5ZxY/s1600/IMG_1293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMsiB7Sf5iRhDe4Mx05lZGaxQFNWDVSB6GHYylEw9JNMe_0w8zM3e_lH8l5lgy-ZtlNvwJrJ7XwLr82rdqMbNHFVzWSEb4KBJHBJX0M-DT9t2mwHDUlulfLfSnkAubLD1Yn4qpbJM5ZxY/s320/IMG_1293.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The monastery library.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The temples look inviting as we move toward them. The doors stand open, and inside it looks shady and cool. Well, the shady part is true enough. The cool part… not so much. I expected the white marble floors and pillars to have the same feel of a cathedral, but this wasn’t the case. It was still very warm and humid inside, and adding to the warmth was the glow of prayer candles and the burning of joss sticks. Joss sticks are sticks of incense and are burned in groups of three… the two outside sticks represent heaven and earth, and the stick in the middle represents man. It is the Buddhist way of saying man should not live his life entirely for this world or for the next, but that he should find a balance between the two.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A healthy balance… I like that.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQNAaYZmkX11kiOxG-5BHtUdKZALiXYh4Yx5M5iEHdU02uPET1TJ9L9bwDiVZ86ms2vaQGOitO2e1c7OZefI0Ntd6hVy67gLaGzkcZ6Q0bVPKjQKrLsQmnAwneZUe8EkuW2DJdrw-RHc/s1600/IMG_1300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQNAaYZmkX11kiOxG-5BHtUdKZALiXYh4Yx5M5iEHdU02uPET1TJ9L9bwDiVZ86ms2vaQGOitO2e1c7OZefI0Ntd6hVy67gLaGzkcZ6Q0bVPKjQKrLsQmnAwneZUe8EkuW2DJdrw-RHc/s320/IMG_1300.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26FK0COiyM2yberA-ywQLMUeB211SzsCYhyQgSlvMGwldr2ZbLznwLQD1Y410X6gQi81hDTC2wWFy3I4Jl3XfYlLamzb3EgrR19D3iypTeExz0xnq-vMM7Rpr6KCTsGAe7lEuPcfhw90/s1600/IMG_1297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26FK0COiyM2yberA-ywQLMUeB211SzsCYhyQgSlvMGwldr2ZbLznwLQD1Y410X6gQi81hDTC2wWFy3I4Jl3XfYlLamzb3EgrR19D3iypTeExz0xnq-vMM7Rpr6KCTsGAe7lEuPcfhw90/s320/IMG_1297.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-JAPHFZlosJTjBgD9vneWlcF4EhX2IGKl2zOPPqtV0dsvREg3cFxwMPkt87lN_-1z5PF3SCBAwljF6midmHxATKVJC5Qrhyphenhyphenivvm-pAYC2XI_RKadf2uXgzp6PbtzZIDGnAAdtsnJ623U/s1600/IMG_1289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-JAPHFZlosJTjBgD9vneWlcF4EhX2IGKl2zOPPqtV0dsvREg3cFxwMPkt87lN_-1z5PF3SCBAwljF6midmHxATKVJC5Qrhyphenhyphenivvm-pAYC2XI_RKadf2uXgzp6PbtzZIDGnAAdtsnJ623U/s320/IMG_1289.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tibetan prayer flags.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFacMpVsjGENdlYdbddFsT3JZnJ8uejEJxoDr0dT2D-YR7MAEgg1YCV5Evjt4EhXNMvyre6TazAN8MFoVvj9tsYZ99cftgeJZHhrd-ubzEi6O_ycLUn34bn7egLvlR345LjeSG_IuBaig/s1600/IMG_1315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFacMpVsjGENdlYdbddFsT3JZnJ8uejEJxoDr0dT2D-YR7MAEgg1YCV5Evjt4EhXNMvyre6TazAN8MFoVvj9tsYZ99cftgeJZHhrd-ubzEi6O_ycLUn34bn7egLvlR345LjeSG_IuBaig/s320/IMG_1315.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlYMnSdPMmeQ_4MVo7J8gQf8CpELBrhhElJCM3x0VMOm4RyUKpdtHactudnWX6D7OOmG3jfCAXvf_CIFgSXEFjkw6-BR36QeLGLfzMjH8PPDMo76yReiGGS1g8ARhlNAnQ2zhHFuQyn24/s1600/IMG_1318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlYMnSdPMmeQ_4MVo7J8gQf8CpELBrhhElJCM3x0VMOm4RyUKpdtHactudnWX6D7OOmG3jfCAXvf_CIFgSXEFjkw6-BR36QeLGLfzMjH8PPDMo76yReiGGS1g8ARhlNAnQ2zhHFuQyn24/s320/IMG_1318.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgt15oah6X6bM3tRpns6Wa8VMG_SUYLuTf96SLJbLKwcT6LpkU5kAc-7lwtN4GZ6KdcQn3dl39iDM4-kED5CXGTX1Lwwg9BKbFNJomyZnmxzGk6mxFj0pdoPOBRVf7UVQaY9RM13ngzQ/s1600/IMG_1319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgt15oah6X6bM3tRpns6Wa8VMG_SUYLuTf96SLJbLKwcT6LpkU5kAc-7lwtN4GZ6KdcQn3dl39iDM4-kED5CXGTX1Lwwg9BKbFNJomyZnmxzGk6mxFj0pdoPOBRVf7UVQaY9RM13ngzQ/s320/IMG_1319.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The painting behind this Buddha is of a giant fig leaf.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The temples are modest places. No sleeveless shirts are allowed or shorts/skirts that come above the knee. To enter the temple, you must take off your shoes, which you do before entering anyone’s home here (god or human). People kneel on pillows on the floor, and some pray in silence while others softly chant. While each temple is vastly different in appearance, they all have a bell and a drum inside, which are rung or beat 108 times in a row to represent the 108 sins of man. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">108 sins. Wow… I’m not even sure I could list the Ten Commandments right now if you asked me to.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzfFt22PhsMi_ifS9Df9gLGRiNgzC2xoe7l4SSz4VwLSlkWteH1mOeMQczkJUshI88U-jYkpiwyBx_L8khdcI1xj71bkJfpB4naWaGDYWObB0_2v-yax84MPKPonc6MTUSEcLUscSiyM0/s1600/IMG_1308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzfFt22PhsMi_ifS9Df9gLGRiNgzC2xoe7l4SSz4VwLSlkWteH1mOeMQczkJUshI88U-jYkpiwyBx_L8khdcI1xj71bkJfpB4naWaGDYWObB0_2v-yax84MPKPonc6MTUSEcLUscSiyM0/s320/IMG_1308.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLzE4xnIRv1nJPvU3bJ8c9bYr91qQTlGvESXnlmT_N9E8STdoj-FlBCUC_HvCAEbzOzJGcICDomG59N_AmkYG6lUu6tAKo5jRMzDeqteaeI3ug1ioIGr7ewPGLYaFk8VR8jzp2qka-6k/s1600/IMG_1325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLzE4xnIRv1nJPvU3bJ8c9bYr91qQTlGvESXnlmT_N9E8STdoj-FlBCUC_HvCAEbzOzJGcICDomG59N_AmkYG6lUu6tAKo5jRMzDeqteaeI3ug1ioIGr7ewPGLYaFk8VR8jzp2qka-6k/s320/IMG_1325.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Another drum and bell.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_HzNKmwAHK39Ax8iabNRPvoXx28zo4Ot5rzwTQh9W0BF5B38-fDdEt75PMehX9ArX1G4EDtfcAMZJw-iY9oTK1yJ__9dhXYQYYxVtXWeJAM8BwabJkvbC4EviHyOE5zYyHMQun5fskQ/s1600/IMG_1322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_HzNKmwAHK39Ax8iabNRPvoXx28zo4Ot5rzwTQh9W0BF5B38-fDdEt75PMehX9ArX1G4EDtfcAMZJw-iY9oTK1yJ__9dhXYQYYxVtXWeJAM8BwabJkvbC4EviHyOE5zYyHMQun5fskQ/s320/IMG_1322.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Prayer beads, similar to a rosary.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My tour guide was wonderful, but had a very strong Russian accent (I know, I was a little perplexed as well, but let’s just roll with it) and had a habit of turning her back on me and the other tour attendees midsentence, occasionally leaving us dangling as her words got lost in the humidity and echo of marble. “And the Buddhists believe you can only achieve Nibbana, or everlasting happiness, once you…” The guide’s voice trails off as she begins walking toward the next temple sight, and I turn to the woman next to me and—probably a little too frantically—ask, “Once I what? What do we have to do to achieve everlasting happiness???” So my point here is: I will abstain from going into too much detail about the Buddhist faith, as I would feel terrible if I got it wrong simply because I misunderstood my Russian guide. I’ll just stick to the basics of, “This means this and that means that.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">For instance, different nationalities have different representations of Buddha. The next time you see one, you can sound like a theological smartypants in front of your friends by knowing these little factoids… The Chinese Buddha is the one that is also known as the “Fat Buddha” or the “Happy Buddha.” The Burmese Buddhas are usually fashioned from white, Burmese marble and have a headband. The headband is most likely made of real gold. And the Thai Buddha has a crown with a spire-like point on it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglkhBdlvQMjioCIzSFR1XEn3heenHGDqiG8Km_h2f-i6elYHi6U2KXxoTaPnqK_3UuFcqkrqllTH-TVK9-DzdoURGj6t13K_PR_inuN24ts3PZaq0_oKGHeiIaVZWFKklkuFL-E8qnxr8/s1600/IMG_1306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglkhBdlvQMjioCIzSFR1XEn3heenHGDqiG8Km_h2f-i6elYHi6U2KXxoTaPnqK_3UuFcqkrqllTH-TVK9-DzdoURGj6t13K_PR_inuN24ts3PZaq0_oKGHeiIaVZWFKklkuFL-E8qnxr8/s320/IMG_1306.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Burmese Buddha.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Most of the temples here look like traditional pagodas, which the Chinese believe have the power to turn evil into prosperity. This is why you will frequently find miniature pagodas in Chinese households or sitting on the desks of Chinese businessmen. They are extraordinary, covered in beautiful murals that tell countless stories about Buddha’s path to achieving Nibbana. What is even more impressive is that up close, you see the murals are a mosaic of tiny tiles. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are all kinds of animals and mythical creatures surrounding the doorways and perched along the rooftops of the temples. Each of these is significant for a different reason, but the only explanations I caught were for the dragon—a fierce guardian, always positioned with its head looking back over its body in a protective stance—and the white elephant. Buddha’s mother had a dream one night she was impregnated by a white elephant, and nine months later she gave birth to Buddha while holding tight to two fig trees… you’ll see a lot of fig trees around Buddhist temples for this reason. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVHzkgD5d_raC1ckFF8i9pM-znqjkJI5UN6NBuLucGRvh4K9Fid7XXeWzJVPERC81TNDiw9wsKmRguejUrZOb-zKQHvq6RUc-ZPuL9hdS-VJ5gQFbHhGZdv2yCTCjVE5Q5PlaLf26qzM/s1600/IMG_1282.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVHzkgD5d_raC1ckFF8i9pM-znqjkJI5UN6NBuLucGRvh4K9Fid7XXeWzJVPERC81TNDiw9wsKmRguejUrZOb-zKQHvq6RUc-ZPuL9hdS-VJ5gQFbHhGZdv2yCTCjVE5Q5PlaLf26qzM/s320/IMG_1282.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A lion guarding the door.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXall_MmYLmiI019Nu-TBpJJajV8ztReSboWkPJr61_2w3Q2JSra3FqSAZuUWWcXpGsS6C7cg58g3tQVSbUjsta6IUX9fE2x4ixWRpv4juDb-LazjF3yB-POkddx1k546hTbF5lx1QR9E/s1600/IMG_1286.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXall_MmYLmiI019Nu-TBpJJajV8ztReSboWkPJr61_2w3Q2JSra3FqSAZuUWWcXpGsS6C7cg58g3tQVSbUjsta6IUX9fE2x4ixWRpv4juDb-LazjF3yB-POkddx1k546hTbF5lx1QR9E/s320/IMG_1286.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrIGaBNa2fvDAYGYgfQWOtpl_Ib0dYpC96EOb2PjizABeWkok4Yw2bhqmOs9gffRazyy4Vu9qM1nghHbPi-Mc9c4bYccfCw_yrseCDmQBw9uJ9SVIS3rwseeElCT-5bszXKJQLFu7PBQ/s1600/IMG_1295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdrIGaBNa2fvDAYGYgfQWOtpl_Ib0dYpC96EOb2PjizABeWkok4Yw2bhqmOs9gffRazyy4Vu9qM1nghHbPi-Mc9c4bYccfCw_yrseCDmQBw9uJ9SVIS3rwseeElCT-5bszXKJQLFu7PBQ/s320/IMG_1295.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The white elephant.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowVAQSjGlmbo0Y9cg8eCCjV63cnMVrJmKoROUpQOTgaMEaYEGd-2s8BFN4XPCbTooCCE0FslaH7qsK3Led5VIcku_HW4s-4LBdPZqv7Dn6ocssWcEsiQyM9FAlLV0dwvcv-qY8BXihts/s1600/IMG_1304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowVAQSjGlmbo0Y9cg8eCCjV63cnMVrJmKoROUpQOTgaMEaYEGd-2s8BFN4XPCbTooCCE0FslaH7qsK3Led5VIcku_HW4s-4LBdPZqv7Dn6ocssWcEsiQyM9FAlLV0dwvcv-qY8BXihts/s320/IMG_1304.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This scary looking guy keeps evil spirits away.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0KKPb1tUbKXq0VUrfKkiZ1h666GmnVTilHiqS_iXdytVB1u00PvxkqcLbzqHERAz6TcLW3n1JTK4SYcx8WxPuEiY6tOLc3bUC9JZPbVow74vlc_smkE3KVDtpw7jBYnTRBUcj1gtiqU/s1600/IMG_1313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0KKPb1tUbKXq0VUrfKkiZ1h666GmnVTilHiqS_iXdytVB1u00PvxkqcLbzqHERAz6TcLW3n1JTK4SYcx8WxPuEiY6tOLc3bUC9JZPbVow74vlc_smkE3KVDtpw7jBYnTRBUcj1gtiqU/s320/IMG_1313.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A Burmese lion guardian.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Also dominating the facades of the buildings were swastikas. I was the only American on the tour, accompanied by twelve British women, who all looked astounded. We shifted our weight uncomfortably as our guide told us about the phoenix that was guarding one of the gates, and I’m sorry to say I have no idea what the impressive looking bird exemplifies to the Chinese because I was too busy staring at the swastikas. Okay, so it turns out these are TOTALLY different than Nazi swastikas. I kind of figured, since they’d been around since before WWII, but it still makes a person feel edgy. Here in Asia, they actually represent wheels of life. Ah yes, that’s more like it. Too bad the Nazis had to ruin the look of so many temples that are entirely devoted to peace. Stupid Hitler.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We take a bathroom break before touring the monastery’s crematorium, and this is where I had my first experience with a hole-in-the-ground toilet. I think anyone who travels to Asia needs to be able to say they squatted over a hole in a tile floor at least once… and hope they don’t get a leg cramp while doing so.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I really didn’t think it was too bad. Of course, I grew up in Colorado, where the term “Potty Grass” or “Brush Squatting” is as much a part of a girl’s vocabulary as “Keep An Eye Out For The Cairn” and “Hug A Tree.” (Please, Kristin and Ali, tell me you remember the circa 1975 Hug A Tree video we had to watch every fall in PE class!) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So the next stop on our tour is the crematorium. Three massive furnaces are roaring while the family members of the deceased wait in rows of folding chairs, staring silently at the large metal doors. Every now and then, one of them stands and makes their way to the long tables set up at one end of the building, where plates of food can be purchased as offerings to the deceased. On the farthest table, urns are waiting to have a name and picture affixed to them. All the urns are the same—simple, ceramic green squares, because Asians understand better than anyone the concept of large numbers and overpopulation. Simply put, the urns are square because they stack easier, topple less, and don’t take up as much room in the storage buildings, which is where we head next.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvE_sBHOJ08VaozYyd5te1Fs1hVlHnhyphenhyphen4ixkcXFC5IGjLLiREnh-BZvJA8E-lpiZCQDz3s_OW-Qnl1zi_FqgHMlrFZkrhPXkp0VX6H4-neJti-LuhjPNYD0w8OwicsGDY2p63NEbG34g/s1600/IMG_1279.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvE_sBHOJ08VaozYyd5te1Fs1hVlHnhyphenhyphen4ixkcXFC5IGjLLiREnh-BZvJA8E-lpiZCQDz3s_OW-Qnl1zi_FqgHMlrFZkrhPXkp0VX6H4-neJti-LuhjPNYD0w8OwicsGDY2p63NEbG34g/s320/IMG_1279.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The preparation tables outside the crematorium.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A strange feeling comes over me as I peek inside the facility, through the crack of an open window, and find myself staring at the stoic face of a Chinese woman on the side of an urn. She’s been dead for a while… I can tell because her ashes are inside one of the older urns, with the curved sides. And as I look at her, all I can think about is the fact that she used to be alive… I know, a total <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">duh</i> moment, but it made me feel somewhat empty inside. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it had something to do with being able to see what she looked like that did it to me—not the usual sense of detachment you get from just looking at a name chiseled into a headstone. Regardless of the reason, I found myself somehow wanting to know this total stranger. I kind of wanted to ask her what had made her laugh and cry when she was my age. I wanted to know what kinds of things she stressed out about, and whether or not they seemed completely trivial once she came face to face with her death. She was human, which most likely meant she’d fallen in love with someone at some point. She’d probably had her heart broken at some point, too. I wanted to ask her if she had children. I even found myself wondering if she shared my terrible habit of repeatedly putting something in the oven and then forgetting all about it until the smoke alarm screamed a reminder. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But of course, I have no idea what the answers to any of these questions are. I don’t even know the woman’s name. It’s written in characters that are as confusing to me as the feeling I’m grappling with at the moment… it’s that same feeling you get when you stare up at the stars on a perfectly clear night and suddenly feel insignificant. This woman had a story, and in it she was the main character… just like I have and am right now in my own life. But all that is gone for her—everything that was stressful and wonderful and important and heart wrenching—and now she is just one star among millions, barely even noticeable unless someone gets a clear view of her through a small crack in an open window. Her urn shares a shelf with a hundred others, and the shelves are stacked floor to ceiling, with rows barely wide enough for a person to walk between without turning sideways. The shelf units cover the entire floor of the building, which is approximately 50-meters on a side. Add to that that the pagoda-style building is five stories tall. Oh, and there are four of them on the grounds, and this is just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one</i> temple sight among dozens on a single, relatively small island in Southeast Asia. Are you beginning to understand my vast feeling of anonymity? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_wTZC43DQ4qDBaGFiI7b72O3BHXeOWAhc043EzU5g2ItAE_KHsdtBVtO4Odw0wnrCdnsnhHf6Im0Pe0BEnnhwdZu6W-XN8v0gGkoYB7FGONlqf2vOYcn9yunaqkxpcrtsIacFKdYrmM/s1600/IMG_1305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_wTZC43DQ4qDBaGFiI7b72O3BHXeOWAhc043EzU5g2ItAE_KHsdtBVtO4Odw0wnrCdnsnhHf6Im0Pe0BEnnhwdZu6W-XN8v0gGkoYB7FGONlqf2vOYcn9yunaqkxpcrtsIacFKdYrmM/s320/IMG_1305.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The tour concludes with a stroll past the turtle pond, which is a sight to see. There are hundreds of them, of all sizes, swimming and sunning themselves and climbing on each other’s backs. Turtles are considered to be lucky here, and our guide tells us if we spot the giant turtle who generally chooses to keep himself hidden in the deeper parts of the pond, it would kind of be like winning the lottery. I lean over the side of the bridge, peer into the water on both sides, but see nothing. Actually about a hundred turtles stare back at me, wondering if I’m there to feed them, but I wouldn’t classify any of them as “giant.” Guess I’ll have to hold off on buying that Aston Martin just a little longer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After we leave the monastery, our tour bus takes us to an area of town referred to as “funeral row.” Since the Chinese are very superstitious, none want to live in an apartment or house close to a funeral home, so they are pretty much all set up on one small street. There you can purchase a coffin, make funeral arrangements, and buy items to burn for your loved ones.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All of us got a pretty big kick out of this part of the tour… In Chinese culture, it is believed that when you die, you first go to Hell, and after a certain amount of time and after performing a certain number of deeds, you can cross over into Heaven. If they are Buddhists, there are different rebirths in Heaven and on Earth until the soul achieves true Nibbana (it’s complicated, and I’m <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">definitely</i> not the person to relate the information correctly). Anyway, family members who are still alive can burn money and paper replicas of everyday objects for their ancestors to use in Hell or Heaven. There are paper rice cookers and bottles of laundry detergent (apparently you can’t get out of doing chores even once you’re dead), and there are even paper dresses and houses. While we were there, they were making a scaled replica of a Mercedes to burned at a man’s funeral, because he always wanted one but could never afford it in life. By burning one for him at death, his family believes he will have a Mercedes to drive around Heaven and Hell in! So of course the tour through the shop turned into a show-and-tell among us women, seeing who could find the coolest or funniest everyday item that had been remade in paper. My favorite was the “Hell Passport Kit,” which included a first class plane ticket on Singapore Air to Hell and a Hell’s Bank Visa card to make your stay there a little more comfortable.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvk7NceOFsi-O61iIEluiXLrIGbsQfkiVwUf2U_cX-ZBInydRbOMGyrIYVsPrInwTWaAthxd18mbaFgru11elBeNoTSpFuPyp157zN6J7rdPOB4Zu_BMnNev2ovPiEjSViJe2ys2ndEA/s1600/IMG_1312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvk7NceOFsi-O61iIEluiXLrIGbsQfkiVwUf2U_cX-ZBInydRbOMGyrIYVsPrInwTWaAthxd18mbaFgru11elBeNoTSpFuPyp157zN6J7rdPOB4Zu_BMnNev2ovPiEjSViJe2ys2ndEA/s320/IMG_1312.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A paper house (in case your ancestors need a new place to stay on the "other side")</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was surreal, and I’ll admit that for a good portion of our time there, I felt like I was giggling my way through a funky Chinatown gift shop. But as we were leaving, I saw a few people sitting at tables on the sidewalk, burning Heaven Money one sheet at a time, looking both sad and respectful as they sent gifts to the deceased.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then, of course, I felt kind of guilty. I can only imagine what these people must think of Christmas… We celebrate the birth of Jesus by shoving a fat man down a chimney. And Easter? I mean, who <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wouldn’t</i> think to celebrate a person’s resurrection from the dead with a giant rabbit who hides painted eggs??? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I believe there is a higher power… a universal force… a God present around us. Life is too poetic for there not to be. But I would not consider myself to be a religious person, since I haven’t practiced or truly believed in any one religion for a long time. If I was handed a microphone (or in my case, a keyboard) and asked to be a preacher for moment, I guess my message would be this: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">None of us know</i>. I think a person could read the Bible or the Quran or the Torah, memorize it start to finish, and still not know all the answers. None of us truly know what God is thinking, or what the universe has planned. One day we’ll all be side by side with the nameless woman in the urn. And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">then</i> we’ll know.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6KPSdp-N9K2pxHVlxBeT3SXChS5q1tUXUplYILwHH3Ys1mFhrtqNW9qBAW3NnuRH9c_OZTgn0-JZhikPP9non1G606Y0YtBIfmYEfacgy_jmt3_lsdDft6W1QvdNi_43fS0VGV5SiGg/s1600/IMG_1317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6KPSdp-N9K2pxHVlxBeT3SXChS5q1tUXUplYILwHH3Ys1mFhrtqNW9qBAW3NnuRH9c_OZTgn0-JZhikPP9non1G606Y0YtBIfmYEfacgy_jmt3_lsdDft6W1QvdNi_43fS0VGV5SiGg/s320/IMG_1317.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-22909283756227843822011-06-11T21:00:00.000-07:002011-06-12T05:04:27.345-07:00Rest, Relaxation, and Mild Bruising<div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Random Factoid: When signaling for someone to come to you in Singapore (or anywhere in SE Asia), always be sure to do so with your palm facing down. Motioning to someone palm up, no matter if you do so with one finger or your whole hand, is the equivalent of flipping the bird. Don’t worry, I didn’t learn this “the hard way.”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I thought my moving week was pretty bad, until Brad told me all about his latest business trip to Indonesia… and all I can say is, W-O-W (draw it out… three syllables…). He could start his own blog that would rope in far more readers than mine! He’s been studying the Asian market and traveling here for years, so he wasn’t nearly as shocked by his findings as I was, but I still think my husband may return to the States in three years looking a little more like Anderson Cooper than the dark-haired guy he is today. Fortunately for him, I think Anderson Cooper is sexy.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I wasn’t the only one due for a weekend away from checklists and incredibly boring trips to the furniture store. We all needed some relaxation and fun. Even Dagny looked like she was ready to throw her new baby Ikea chair through the window and make a break for it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Brad kicked things off perfectly by booking me a massage at a spa! I think he might have felt a little guilty about being out of town during the move (especially after I typed about it with huge puppy eyes in my last post), but more likely he didn’t like that I sounded like the Crypt Keeper every time I tried getting in and out of bed (yeah, the back’s still out of whack from my foray into Sherpa-hood).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was greeted at the spa with a warm cup of tea and a fluffy white robe. I listened to soothing music while a very sweet woman sprinkled the massage table with lavender oil. She smiled at me (again, very sweetly) and asked if I was ready to begin…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Fast forward to three hours later. I walk into the apartment and Brad immediately asks, “How was it?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“It was awesome,” I tell him. “She worked wonders on my back.” I start to lift my purse onto a high shelf (out of reach of curious toddler hands), when my shoulders lock up and my right arm starts to shake and I nearly drop my purse on the floor. I know Brad paid a lot of money to have me pampered and the last thing I want is to appear ungrateful… <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">but who am I kidding??? </i>“I think she was trying to kill me!” I very nearly sob.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, returning to the spa… In retrospect, as I bring my afternoon back into focus, I’m now starting to see something evil in my masseuse’s smile—the one that originally looked so sweet. We begin with a full body scrub. And when I say full body, I mean FULL BODY. After having the first three layers of my epidermis ripped off by some kind of liquid pumice, I’m treated to a slathering of sea salt. Why? Why? WHY would anyone do that??? My eyes are watering as I wait to see if she’s going to dip me in lemon juice too, just to test my pain threshold. And perhaps even worse than the intense stinging is the cripplingly ticklish sensation of her scrubbing the bottoms of my feet and armpits. Yes, armpits. Like I said… FULL BODY.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She gives me a few minutes to rinse off in a shower before my massage. I look down at my body, which is completely covered in a rash and prickles like I have razor burn from head to toe. But, to her credit, my skin (what little remains) has never been softer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m quick to put the humiliating and overly invasive scrub behind me as climb back onto the table. I can’t wait to get the knots out of my back and finally get to—</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wait a second… why is my masseuse climbing up onto the table with me? And why is she kneeling on my— <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy craaaaap!!!<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now I’m no wimp when it comes to massages. I’ve had deep tissue rubs before, and like them just fine. But this was my first Chinese massage, and I have to say, I won’t be getting another one anytime soon. As far as I can tell, there was very little (if any) actual massaging. There was a lot of what I suppose they call shiatsu but I will refer to as rapid-fire karate chopping, which turned into open palm slapping (that was definitely a little weird) which escalated into punching. Yes, punching. At one point, after she’d pounded the bottoms of my feet until they were numb and had moved on to what I can only surmise was an attempt to rearrange my internal organs, I kind of wanted to ask her why she hated me so much.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe I should have screamed. Maybe I should have told Patricia the Punisher that my lower lip was bleeding from where I’d been biting it. But I kept thinking, “It can’t get any worse than this.” And she kept proving me wrong. With one foot propped on the massage table for leverage, she pulled on my arms until my shoulders popped and jumped on my back until she’d cracked every last vertebrae. Then she very kindly concluded my session by yanking on my hair.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyone who does this for pleasure is a few eggs shy of a dozen, in my opinion.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day, Saturday morning, it rained. Storms here are amazing… the sky turns the color of graphite and the windows in our apartment rattle with the thunder. One peel barely dies out before another impressive clap takes its place. While Dagny naps, Brad and I sip coffee and watch the phenomenon so many people here have told us about: the endless amounts of lightning that fork the low ceiling of clouds, but never hit the ground. Maybe it has something to do with the skyscrapers, but I believe the locals just count themselves among the blessed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The morning is relaxing, and when Dagny wakes up we go to Suntec City for lunch. It’s even busier than usual, not only because of the rain but there is an electronics showcasing as well (can I just say my favorite demo area was run by a group of guys selling pink vibrating stools to women, vowing they will lose weight just by sitting on them… Is it just me, or is this reminiscent of middle school when guys would ask girls if they could touch their elbows behind their backs?). Every open area in the 6-tower mall has a stage and a blaring sound system set up, all with men and women shouting in Chinese, trying to capture your attention above the other demo groups that are there. Dagny is in awe of one stage where a girl in pigtails and a guy in striped soccer socks suddenly break into song and dance… and who am I kidding? I’m in awe as well. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We try to get some lunch in the hawker center without success. It is such a jam of people that I begin to sweat, and while we wait in a line for laksa where, for some reason, people just continue to shove their way in front of us, Brad and I both start to feel a little nauseous from the stands on either side of us. One sells Indian food doused in curry and the other is selling fish head soup. And right behind us is a string of about 15 plucked ducks hanging by their necks from wire nooses.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After the third person in five minutes trips over Dagny’s stroller because they are attempting to text while walking, Brad about loses it and pulls us out of the hawker center.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The rain has stopped at this point, so we leave the mall and head home, where we swap out Dagny’s umbrella stroller for her BOB (or as we say, her zippy little convertible for her SUV) and go for a long, much needed walk along East Coast Park, which is only about a mile from our apartment. The sky is still cloudy but it’s not raining, which actually makes it perfect weather. The boardwalk is split in two, one side for bikes and rollerblades, the other for pedestrians. There are a lot of tandem bikes and funny little bike cars, which are basically two bikes molded side-by-side with a striped canopy covering them. We decide we’re definitely going to have to rent one at some point.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Fov5P5Gf5L8LuWqCF-fL28rxNNPoNqiJO3GSjqTEBcaqhUCFoqAgD8C8IpsnvEz5sWTuiu1sdub8nkq7wizqo9C3ub0fqrxn4P12qcq4lYv1jh56mYRTW82Tj1I7v8pnXGJJwtl7mLQ/s1600/IMG_0094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Fov5P5Gf5L8LuWqCF-fL28rxNNPoNqiJO3GSjqTEBcaqhUCFoqAgD8C8IpsnvEz5sWTuiu1sdub8nkq7wizqo9C3ub0fqrxn4P12qcq4lYv1jh56mYRTW82Tj1I7v8pnXGJJwtl7mLQ/s320/IMG_0094.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p>(Not a great picture of a bike car... I was trying to "act cool" and pretend I was texting as they came toward me)</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">The path is almost entirely shaded by trees (not really necessary today, but will be very nice during future trips), and along our left are several restaurants and bars, some touting the best seafood in Singapore (according to Frommer’s, DK and most importantly, the locals). On our right is the ocean, which is technically the Singapore Strait. It connects the Malacca Strait to the South China Sea. The sight of it is AMAZING, because it’s unlike any ocean I’ve ever seen. Stretching across the horizon, making the actual point where the water meets the sky impossible to see, is a virtually endless fleet of ships. They are all sizes, but mostly measure up somewhere between Big and Huge. Some are blocky while others are more streamlined, and some are covered with unusual towers and cranes, and from the concrete pier I stare at them and can’t help but wonder what all they are carrying. So yes, Singapore is a very industrial port. This doesn’t make the water great for swimming in, and I guess some people might think the hundreds of ships and tankers would make it ugly, but I love it! As we walk along the boardwalk, we keep stopping and saying, “Oooh, look at that ship. It’s so weird!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjO5F8-IaaGAbYfteAzMkEK9RJDdfOplfCSf-nvvx8NES5Zftyl7uN0n4pr28wiEN4dTzR26dS3TMq6f2lKbWHEkoLinwtsMHrojTloL4bFGsuKcgsZg556O0oPYUeRr6TS1_n1cIV9MM/s1600/IMG_0089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjO5F8-IaaGAbYfteAzMkEK9RJDdfOplfCSf-nvvx8NES5Zftyl7uN0n4pr28wiEN4dTzR26dS3TMq6f2lKbWHEkoLinwtsMHrojTloL4bFGsuKcgsZg556O0oPYUeRr6TS1_n1cIV9MM/s320/IMG_0089.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is only about 1/4 the number of ships that were on the water.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhug1mqtCrXG-NVRhQNvnxfEOJYuFCjeoxlzHGWzmsg7D2TzRSDh_POVbHZQiBsx6kqyvF2tJOex2vC1l_ZH1GvHX1ePrP68e069ifCnnZIibgmRggJD9MCVmrVsk6HJCC3u6kwahaunQ8/s1600/IMG_0091.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhug1mqtCrXG-NVRhQNvnxfEOJYuFCjeoxlzHGWzmsg7D2TzRSDh_POVbHZQiBsx6kqyvF2tJOex2vC1l_ZH1GvHX1ePrP68e069ifCnnZIibgmRggJD9MCVmrVsk6HJCC3u6kwahaunQ8/s320/IMG_0091.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTeWKz4xodlLFqOdMHpdPj_5HgF7vQ0PhagKhYBLcdDNZvVzNyjfuD0Lu8OZ2LvCgRT1vDy8VF8cFWY3S-TMHNCREJ1tijzEK-Hhy3dzt5FBeapNZ0IpLY4A2EMYL799KDHrfz1-ldRKY/s1600/IMG_0095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTeWKz4xodlLFqOdMHpdPj_5HgF7vQ0PhagKhYBLcdDNZvVzNyjfuD0Lu8OZ2LvCgRT1vDy8VF8cFWY3S-TMHNCREJ1tijzEK-Hhy3dzt5FBeapNZ0IpLY4A2EMYL799KDHrfz1-ldRKY/s320/IMG_0095.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The boardwalk. On the left is the path for bikes and skaters. The right is for pedestrians (that's Brad's arm and Dags in her BOB). Just to the right of the walking path is the beach. It's nice white sand, but the water looks a little sketchy.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7lyLAWRmf_uO6EfKGMC_k9PB6H4qoCo4rKI00rAexz5kHHdV7YJOzCk_ib8OPd8FZAzx_D0B_b197fiOxLU45lbOz4QzFSa5Hfd6iAa40BOTDp__sbkxxtirnNaQCNMUAyjU4R5YZTw/s1600/IMG_0096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7lyLAWRmf_uO6EfKGMC_k9PB6H4qoCo4rKI00rAexz5kHHdV7YJOzCk_ib8OPd8FZAzx_D0B_b197fiOxLU45lbOz4QzFSa5Hfd6iAa40BOTDp__sbkxxtirnNaQCNMUAyjU4R5YZTw/s320/IMG_0096.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Restaurants and bars along the beach.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We stop for drinks and dinner at a restaurant along the beach, where we eat one of Singapore’s local favorites, chili crab. Dagny insisted she wanted some, so I let her have a bite, then tried not to laugh as she spent the next two minutes scraping her tongue with a napkin. Wasn’t there a scene from the movie Big like this? She was much happier with a plate of beef and vegetable pot pie. She also kept insisting she wanted to try my Corona, but don’t worry, I don’t give in to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> my daughter’s wishes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1b62V1bm9s1rOZ2XXwgt_R3U1qxzDG3UtdUS3-1AYP6H3xwmZPRx6syhvhmXOCKFOP9YuceZ0npVT1qtvL4_HKxUMU5vlLngNu9btTk4pO6oW1f1OXYIFwS7uuvLCQIWFAFYVmotta-Q/s1600/IMG_0099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1b62V1bm9s1rOZ2XXwgt_R3U1qxzDG3UtdUS3-1AYP6H3xwmZPRx6syhvhmXOCKFOP9YuceZ0npVT1qtvL4_HKxUMU5vlLngNu9btTk4pO6oW1f1OXYIFwS7uuvLCQIWFAFYVmotta-Q/s320/IMG_0099.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">View of ocean from our table.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvOynnIDe4C4fILeuNwLUH4RheWeiDqtAiABjpO7JSO45eIcM0UKPPy1NdBhBxjaidtYi0s-4ybJcA-hxnBRYUqRAyq-0emFP2uzZPBf9XNe1Dyb01-dTkQNGX9PTbnAyo4wyPviKJbBs/s1600/IMG_0100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvOynnIDe4C4fILeuNwLUH4RheWeiDqtAiABjpO7JSO45eIcM0UKPPy1NdBhBxjaidtYi0s-4ybJcA-hxnBRYUqRAyq-0emFP2uzZPBf9XNe1Dyb01-dTkQNGX9PTbnAyo4wyPviKJbBs/s320/IMG_0100.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me and my honey bunny.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2uaG9yMDEOZ9-4Y16Ru4S6GmNIG9JjOud1tyo_MNynZvDCCU3HSeHcvZHWMwdkx10_Bo65ycV2vHAKudiObvN0mtUU5hAlGLZ7fEI4kOprmnUbPuK8zozr1lwV4Yt2gNAEGnou-iKV0/s1600/IMG_0107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2uaG9yMDEOZ9-4Y16Ru4S6GmNIG9JjOud1tyo_MNynZvDCCU3HSeHcvZHWMwdkx10_Bo65ycV2vHAKudiObvN0mtUU5hAlGLZ7fEI4kOprmnUbPuK8zozr1lwV4Yt2gNAEGnou-iKV0/s320/IMG_0107.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">An RC car race set up along the pier. At this point, the drivers had been racing for almost 3 hours! They really were incredibly fast and talented.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We walked home very slowly, and mostly in the dark. People driving past us probably thought we were drunk, but really we were just attempting to avoid hitting (or being hit by) the local wildlife that comes out once the sun goes down. No jaguars or monitors or anything quite like that (sorry), but we did find the sidewalk covered with frogs, lizards (the biggest one was maybe just shy of a foot long) and some of the biggest snails I’ve ever seen in my life. Their shells were about as big as Dagny’s foot (and pointed… hence the need to avoid them) and the bodies on some were about 6 inches long! I was so busy watching the pavement that I didn’t notice, until Brad elbowed me and nodded up at the street lamps, that giant bats where darting around just above our heads. I didn’t really mind them, since they were gobbling up all the mosquitoes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was only 9:00 when we arrived home, but it felt much later. We very rarely stay up to see the clock flip over to double digits anymore, and usually collapse into bed rather than climb into bed, for some reason feeling a little like we did back when we hiked the Grand Canyon (the 3 bruises I'm sporting on my legs thanks to my massage probably have something to do with it). I love finishing my days this way, where you wring every last bit of energy from your body and know you made every minute count while you were awake. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a side note, I've had several people ask if it's okay to pass my blog link on to others... yes! This is definitely okay with me, no need to ask my permission, and may I say I'm very flattered!</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-56163383071124142582011-06-06T23:11:00.000-07:002011-06-07T02:00:59.580-07:00Moving. Again.<div class="MsoNormal">To quote Judith Viorst’s children’s book, it was a “Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.” Actually, it wasn’t just a day, but a whole week. Two events occurred at once to make the past six or seven days such a downer—first, we moved yet again, this time into what will (hopefully) be our (semi) permanent apartment. Second, expat wife syndrome set it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was warned of this inescapable setback by other expat wives. At around the 4-6 week mark, the novelty of living in a new country—a new culture—wears off and you begin to yearn for a car, familiar food, and a Target store. In other words, you get incredibly homesick. The twelve-hour time difference means you go all day with no phone calls or emails from a country that suddenly seems like it is on another planet and is full of old friends who now seem imaginary. I pop out of bed at 7am and immediately check my Hotmail account for even the tiniest connection to the life I left, and then I have to steel myself against the pit in my stomach and gear up my brain for another day in overdrive… because living in a new culture means you have to think through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every</i> teeny tiny aspect of your day. And when it’s moving day, there’s even more to think about than usual.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I was transferring us from the Treetops to our new place on the coast, Brad was on business in Kuala Lampur. This is a phenomenon that has become so commonplace with us that it has actually turned into something of a joke. He’s been out of town EVERY week we’ve EVER moved! The week we moved to Minnesota, he was in Mexico. The week we moved to Ohio, he was in Atlanta. The week we moved to Charlotte, he had to be in Germany. And even as soon as we stepped off the plane in Singapore, he was almost immediately back on another one headed for Thailand. So I shouldn’t have been surprised by the news he wouldn’t be around to help, but this time it had me more stressed than the other times. More of that steeling myself against doubt and worry, and away I go…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">First stop is Carrefour. It’s the closest thing to a Wal-Mart or Target here, and I have a lot of stocking up to do. I have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nothing</i> for our new place, and as I pack up my cart with really fun stuff like an iron and soap, towels and dishes, I begin to yearn for my Tacoma. How in the world am I going to get all this stuff back to my apartment?? While Dagny plays a really fun game (note: sarcasm) where she unloads everything from the cart as soon as I load it in, I assure her (and therefore myself) we can do this. And then of course comes the point in that first mega shopping trip when you finally feel you’re ready to leave, but as you head for the exit, you realize you forgot some pretty important stuff… like toilet paper and Kleenex. Unless I want to wander aimlessly back through the super store, I’ll have to resort to the bulk goods section, which I can easily see from where I am. So a few minutes later, I’m standing in the checkout line with Dagny holding a 7-pack of Kleenex for me while I try to balance a life-sized igloo of toilet paper on top of our already overflowing cart. And I can feel my face turning bright red as I wait because I’m sure the people behind me are thinking, “Wow, that woman must spend all day on the toilet blowing her nose.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It turns out I bought WAY too much stuff to carry home in a taxi, but no worries, Carrefour delivers. Yay! (keep that “Yay” in mind for later)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Next up is confirming my moving truck and mover for the following day. I’ve already confirmed twice, but feel the need to check a third time, just to be safe. In my month here, I’ve confirmed babysitters who still didn’t show up and shuttles that never arrived. As it turns out, there is a trait I heard about Singaporeans before moving here that I’m quickly finding to be true: they hate conflict. This sounds like a wonderful trait—and in terms of national peace, it is—but it can be a real pain otherwise. Because a distaste for conflict <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">also</i> means none of them want to be the bearer of potentially bad news, just in case breaking that news would turn into a tense situation. Case and point: being assured a shuttle or babysitter was on the way when one was not.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Go figure, this once again turns out to be the case with my mover—three times confirming the appointment or not. The truck arrived, but the driver was half my size and about three times my age. He wasn’t going to be helping with my boxes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once I get my cargo loaded (thankfully with some help from a bellhop), I squeeze myself into a backward-facing jump seat, holding Dagny on my lap with one arm and propping up some boxes with the other, dripping sweat because it’s already 94-degrees by 10am. My driver is a cantankerous old man, and for half the drive he gripes about the fact that we are running late because I “was no ready.” I inform him there was supposed to be someone from the company to help me move the boxes from my room to the van, but for that particular two minutes of our conversation, he seems to have suddenly forgotten how to speak English. When he does start talking again, he takes on a more congenial attitude (probably because he realizes he hasn’t been paid yet) and asks me about Dagny. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Is a boy or girl?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Really? I mean, I know it can be hard to tell with a 16-month old, but I have her decked out in pink. Pink <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">flowers</i>. Pink flowers with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rhinestones</i>. I bite back sarcasm and inform him she’s a girl. Duh. I’m still annoyed with the tongue-lashing he gave me. And I’m dehydrated. For the remainder of the ride (since he can see I’m not up for talking about my evidently androgynous daughter) he decides to regale me with his ideas on how America can fix their economic problems. Because yes, it is. Just. That. Simple.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When we arrive at the apartment, he tells me I should owe him $120 because it took two hours instead of one, but he would only charge me $90. Now this is a shout out to my sister-in-law Kim, who gave me some much-needed lessons in growing a backbone and sticking up for myself better before leaving the States… I said no! I think it was partially based in anger, but mostly I was just too exhausted to either give into him <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">or</i> to argue with him. I informed him I was promised both a driver and help for $60, and that was all I was going to pay. He got in my face and said I should owe him some for the overtime, and I very calmly told him I was being generous with $60 because he wasn’t helping with my boxes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next thing I knew, my belongings were unceremoniously dumped in the parking lot and he was driving off with a squeal of tires. Seriously, no joke.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I load Dagny into her Kelty baby backpack and start trekking my boxes through two lobbies and up to the 14<sup>th</sup> floor. I didn’t bother looking at my watch to see how long it took me. I didn’t want to know. It felt like forever, and my back was in spasms when I was done. But I was done. And relieved. At last, I was in my awesome new place!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A place, I soon see when I step inside, where the AC is broken and there is an infestation of ants. Once I get Dagny down for her nap, I attack the ants with a bottle of Windex. I’m at a loss for what else to do. I’m waiting within my 5-hour window for my delivery from Carrefour, so I can’t leave the apartment, and I have nothing else to use against them. Surprisingly, the Windex works! I’m reminded of the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding, where the girl’s father uses Windex as a remedy for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything.</i> Maybe he was on to something.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And then I sit down on the marble floor (no furniture yet!) and wait. I also have no Internet yet, so I play round after round of Angry Birds on my iPad. Which, as it turns out, makes me very angry. I hate the red birds! They are completely useless!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Pretty soon, Dagny’s up from her nap and my 5-hour window has come and gone. I call Carrefour and am told someone will call me back in 5 minutes. An hour later, I call again, while bouncing a very hungry baby on my hip (I kind of figured I would be at the grocery store by now). At last I get through to a representative who tells me my delivery will arrive in an hour.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An hour. Hmmmm… I keep Dagny preoccupied by playing Flo Rida’s “Right Round” over and over again. Hey, don’t judge me… I know it’s a song about strippers, but she loves dancing and spinning in circles to it. And a desperate mom’s gotta do what a desperate mom’s gotta do.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An hour later, my shipment finally arrives… smack in the middle of a late afternoon rainstorm, which is like a hurricane without all the wind. My new wares get trucked into my apartment soaking wet. Great.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m as close to tears as I have ever been at this point. My last few attempts at eating local food haven’t gone well (Vietnamese is definitely not my thing), and my disposition isn’t helped at all by a visualization that keeps running through my head as I sweep up ant and roach bodies with a paper towel—an image from an email I received from my old neighbor that morning... one of a new family moving into our house in Charlotte. I suddenly miss everything back home. I want something comforting and familiar. At the very least, I want my husband back!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just when I feel I’m about to hit rock bottom and am fearful that Dagny's first clear word—thanks to me—is going to be the f-bomb, she comes waddling out of her new bedroom with three hats stacked on her head, laughing. And then I start laughing. It’s like she’s telling me—in the infinite wisdom of a happy-go-lucky child—that everything’s going to be okay. And I’m suddenly feeling guilty for having viewed her as an extra burden all week, because she’s anything but that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj75r1yh2-Fl5_6yDPN27h5RzgdxtnGzE8RnccwZuOMMOu9SbEHYVclDwh2K8sy0NRjuv_HoTzMCm-PQBhTbaE7NwK5dJ5EbL8F3cm_MapvDKcW93QyW6DOzeftWm2UDV_QZJ-MxuUrk0M/s1600/IMG_0075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj75r1yh2-Fl5_6yDPN27h5RzgdxtnGzE8RnccwZuOMMOu9SbEHYVclDwh2K8sy0NRjuv_HoTzMCm-PQBhTbaE7NwK5dJ5EbL8F3cm_MapvDKcW93QyW6DOzeftWm2UDV_QZJ-MxuUrk0M/s320/IMG_0075.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">She points to her tummy and says, “Me pee.” Which may sound like she needs to go to the bathroom, but actually, in Dagny-speak, means “milk please.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I can do you one better than a milk,” I tell her. So I load her in her stroller and take her to Burger King. Pure Americana. While we’re eating, she starts dipping her fries in ketchup. She’s never done that before and I start laughing and clapping, because to see her do anything she hasn’t done before is kind of like watching a trained monkey do new tricks. I know that probably sounds wrong, but I can’t help but look at her and say, “Omigosh, that’s so cute! You’re acting like a little human!”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdPqPnV7Tt3DCTEfuZhpSrxsSf6EnfNFLsKMxj67twcQx1LZT2rvohiDospKy1w7HnwvfPBa4-E-F2bEEIMbTSNX0jdC0nuUZobe0g8AatAsC5DdWfxz_9UXiPYYMhcyjxBAgpf9632g/s1600/IMG_0083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdPqPnV7Tt3DCTEfuZhpSrxsSf6EnfNFLsKMxj67twcQx1LZT2rvohiDospKy1w7HnwvfPBa4-E-F2bEEIMbTSNX0jdC0nuUZobe0g8AatAsC5DdWfxz_9UXiPYYMhcyjxBAgpf9632g/s320/IMG_0083.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While the weekend was still rough and plagued with setbacks (I think I've probably griped enough at this point… no need for more), there were a few fun moments. We live right next to the water now, on the Marina Channel… excellent seats to watch a few of the races for the Dragon Boat Festival that was this weekend. I wish I could have gotten to the actual festival, but no such luck. And I got to take Dagny down her first waterslide in our apartment swimming pool. Definitely a highlight.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In all my dreams of adventuring around Singapore—museums, temples, zoos, gardens—this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I’m sure Brad feels similarly when it comes to his travels to the most local and unglamorous parts of Thailand, Malaysia, and this week, Indonesia. But it is still an adventure. If it were all posh and perfect, it would only be considered a vacation, right? And while dinners on the Sing River followed by clubbing with my hubs definitely make for romantic evenings, there is something to be said for the nights we sit in beach chairs in our empty, echoing new family room, sharing our last can of Tiger beer while comparing "Most Daring Meals of the Week" and laughing our heads off as we play "Name That Crappy 80s Tune"... which inevitably turns into "Who Still Knows The Moves To That Crappy 90s Dance?"<br />
<br />
See? Even bad weeks can be good. They make for much better stories :)</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-37481906216808452112011-05-29T19:58:00.000-07:002011-05-29T19:58:53.709-07:00Botanic Gardens PicsHere they are... fairly impressive for all being taken from my cell phone (if I do say so myself!)<br />
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And here's one from the now infamous Croc Farm...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcle8UGhTsjAzgA1Wdr93a45YI9yKusA8OlsLJP-PR5-MMStV-UUqQVdHAjGhPfnL8WPSebhIsgAbu1ktT3LSC7Tm6DkZZW4l0AtlJGCb8E1IxpvOqOR5f0y6JLYB7oP4r3FZdlxMgWg/s1600/IMG_1358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcle8UGhTsjAzgA1Wdr93a45YI9yKusA8OlsLJP-PR5-MMStV-UUqQVdHAjGhPfnL8WPSebhIsgAbu1ktT3LSC7Tm6DkZZW4l0AtlJGCb8E1IxpvOqOR5f0y6JLYB7oP4r3FZdlxMgWg/s320/IMG_1358.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-90186358719379361532011-05-29T18:58:00.001-07:002011-05-30T16:25:25.151-07:00Whoo-hoo!For the sake of sanity, even the most devoted parents need a night or two away from their little ones. Before moving into our new place, Brad and I decided to take advantage of the Treetops babysitting service one more time and kick up our heels for an evening on the Singapore River… to those who have been here, the Clark and Boat Quay district, where the pedestrian-only streets are covered by massive umbrellas pumping out AC and vendors hawking kitschy jewelry are situated at 10-foot intervals.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">So. Freakin’. Cool.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The evening begins with us still pretending to be upstanding parents in their 30s, drinking wine at a beautiful little bar on the waterfront… but a couple of hours and couple of stops later, we give up the hoyty-toyty act and find ourselves partying it up at Seven Inch, an absinthe bar with psychedelic painted walls and a string of live bands. You know, the kind of environment where you have to shout to the person standing less than a foot away from you in order to be heard. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In case you’re wondering, the answer is no, neither one of us partook in any absinthe. My 16-month old doesn’t believe in sleeping in past 7:15am, and I hate to think how much even a taste would have cost if I’d been so inclined, considering Tiger beer (the Singapore equivalent of a Bud Light) costs $11/pint. YellowTail wine? $35/bottle. Excessive drinking isn’t really a problem here, as you can probably guess.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, Brad and I are having a ball, treating ourselves to vodkas and whiskeys and nodding our heads along to a pretty fun band. We situate ourselves by the pool tables and watch the groupies pile up around the stage, going scream-crazy every time the lead guitar player shakes his head and douses them in his sweat. Creepy. This band is the most current version of Sum 41, and Brad and I (as killjoy 30-somethings) snort with laughter every time the singer tries to say something profound or funny or cool—or worst of all, a combination of the three—between sets. (Of course, in first grade when we were asked who our favorite singer was and all the girls said Madonna and all the boys said Michael Jackson, I said Neil Diamond. Actually I said Needle Diamond because I was not only confused about which direction the mainstream was flowing, I was also spelling challenged as a child, so maybe I'm not the best judge of who or what band is cool by everyone else's standards.) But whatever, Brad and I are still having a blast out partying like we're back in college again. And a nice feature to watching a band surrounded by Asian groupies is that you can stand at the back of the room and still have a totally uninhibited view of the stage <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps the funniest moment of the evening for me came at the end of the band’s set, when the drummer pushed his way through a pack of screaming, clingy girls to see Brad. “I’m so glad you made it, sir!” he said, vigorously shaking Brad’s hand while moving in for one of those one-armed guy hugs. “We really enjoyed your seminar yesterday and are so honored you came to see us play!” I can’t really describe the look on Brad’s face. Blank and hysterical (for me).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, I don’t think I’m who you think I am,” says Brad. Realizing his mistake, the drummer backs away, apologizing. Then Brad turns to me and says, “Great. I’m like Professor Dumbledore in this crowd.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next day we decide we absolutely <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">must</i> do some furniture shopping, if we plan on sleeping on something other than a hard floor this week. What better place to go than Furniture Mall? Seems appropriate. But 4 floors of nothing but furniture stores can get a bit overwhelming, so we decided to take a break after only 3 stores and get some lunch.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We didn’t realize until we got back outside that Furniture Mall is in the Arab District. It is beautiful, with palm lined streets and cafes teeming with men smoking hookahs and women draped in scarves. For a brief minute I question whether or not—in light of recent and not-so-recent events—this is a safe place for three Americans to be walking around. But like I said, it lasted all of a minute. Everyone smiles and nods hello, and when we stop for some drinks (and a lunch of Indonesian beef and tofu, which our daughter gobbled down… coolest 1-year old EVER), a couple of Arab men come over and begin playing with Dagny. Several Australian women in our hotel complex have been complaining the last week or two about how inappropriate they feel it is for the Asians and Muslims to stroke their children’s hair and tickle their arms. I can honestly say it doesn’t bother me in the least. I think it’s wonderful, and a welcome change from the somewhat standoffish nature of Americans when it comes to being overly protective of their children. (When I was touring with Barnum & Bailey for my book, one of the clowns told me they aren’t allowed to put their arms around children for pictures anymore because too many American parents freak out and threaten lawsuits… so sad.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To sum up the weekend, it was a lot of fun—and in the week ahead, I can’t wait to get moved into our new place! Here are a few pictures of the Quay street umbrellas I mentioned, the Singapore River, an awesome up-the-nose shot of Brad and I partying, and the Arab District.<br />
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This poster in the restaurant where we ate lunch cracked me up—underneath "Please Stop At Two" it says "I'm On Strike." It was sponsored by the Chinese Government, go figure!<br />
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</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-87765286653918036592011-05-26T20:10:00.000-07:002011-05-26T20:10:07.805-07:00If You Step Off The Concrete Sidewalk…<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">… you will invariably find yourself in a rainforest. Sure, trees line highways back in the States, but you can usually see a good distance into the trees (unless it’s summer in the South and you’re driving past an infestation of kudzu). Here, I’m a little afraid to wander into the unbelievably lush plant life. For starters, I’m not entirely sure just how far I could wander even if I tried, as I’m instantly met by a wall of leaves, stalks, and vines that extend from the ground (which is also a mat of green) to a canopy overhead so dense that it blocks out all sunlight. Secondly, such an environment has all the feel of Jurassic Park. Yes, dinosaurs roaming the earth may seem improbable when you first think about it, but somehow stepping into the Asian rainforest, Crichton’s supposedly fictionalized ideas don’t seem so unrealistic.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, rather than venture into uncharted territory (which I’m not even sure I’m legally allowed to do, and according to the rainforest guides my family had in Belize, I should NEVER do), I’ve decided to begin my outdoor Singapore adventures in the Botanical Gardens. They are in the heart of the island and are absolutely gorgeous. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Stepping through the silver ivy gates, I immediately check the park map and rules—as you might notice by now, there are a lot of rules here, and I’m deathly afraid of breaking any of them. None of them seem too unrealistic here in the Gardens… no skateboards or bikes or flying objects allowed. As I turn around, my toes are nearly sliced off by a scooter and I notice a group of adults playing Frisbee. So maybe I’m the only one that takes the rules so seriously… nice to know some things haven’t changed since childhood.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The paths through the Gardens are a lot like all the roads in Singapore: very few are straight or intersect at right angles. And there are dozens of them—ranging from the width of a city street down to a faerie path just wide enough for one person to walk along. I call them faerie paths because they’re a little bit hidden and wind through trees with tangled trunks, curtains of ivy and neon flowers—exactly the kind of place one would expect to run into a magical faerie kingdom.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We’ve started coming to the Botanical Gardens every evening. It’s a fantastic place for Dagny to run around barefoot and watch the swans and turtles… she’s mesmerized by them. There are always a lot of people here who are also picnicking and playing, but it never feels crowded. And though I’ve walked the paths every night for about an hour for the past two weeks, there are still parts of the garden I have yet to explore… there is an orchid garden I’m dying to see, and I caught a glimpse of the bonsai and sundial gardens from a distance, but have yet to wander through them. I promise to post some pictures soon, so everyone can get an idea of just how amazing this place is.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In other exploration news, Dagny and I ventured out to the Crocodile Farm yesterday. Not quite up to par with the Botanical Gardens, and after seeing it, was more than a little shocked it was listed as one of Singapore’s Top 10 Children’s Spots.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The trek begins with a cab ride to Serangoon, where my driver (after making 2 phone calls to the Croc Farm to find out where exactly it’s located) pulls into a teeny tiny (and completely vacant) parking lot situated between a gas station and some public housing. There is a building in front of us with the window panes smashed out of it and bent iron gates across the doors. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Crocodile Farm!” says my driver gleefully—obviously relieved to at last have found the weird little spot.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From the back seat, still buckled in, I say, “Umm, are you sure it’s open?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Croc Farm! Croc Farm!” the driver repeats, now pointing to a sign that is barely legible with peeling paint that claims, yes, this is in fact the great Singapore Croc Farm. Dagny starts pitching a fit on my lap and I’m feeling car sick from the long ride, so I go ahead and get out. I don’t really have much choice at this point… my driver has already unloaded the stroller and is opening my door for me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As she peels out of the parking lot, leaving me on a hot concrete slab in the middle of the ghetto, I see a tiny sign on one side of the building with an arrow that says “Crocodiles This Way.” A few feet farther down is another one: “Watch Your Step, Don’t Be Reptile Food.” I literally cinch Dagny into her stroller so the poor girl can barely move. A third sign points the way down a completely lightless corridor to the back yard of this super-shady unit. I must have done at least a dozen glances over my shoulder, hoping my taxi driver will suddenly pull in and tell me she got the address wrong, but I’m still alone and baking out in the sun.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What the hell. I’ve come this far.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So the Croc Farm is at first incredibly scary, and then really depressing. By simply peering over a 3-foot brick wall, I find myself within easy touching distance of a 15-foot crocodile, laying with his mouth open too cool himself off, displaying his prehistoric teeth. I lift Dagny out of the stroller so she can see, and she giggles and reaches out her hand like she wants to pet it. Those who know my daughter probably aren’t surprised. We continue our tour through the back yard, peeking in on several more crocodiles, alligators, caimans, and super-creepy gharials (the kind with a needle-like snout). And they are all living on top of one another in tiny concrete tubs caked in slime and stagnant water. Yes, this is where it started to get depressing.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After about 10 minutes of walking around, I’d about had enough. Dagny didn’t want to sit in her stroller or be held, and I wasn’t about to just let her wander around—especially since the only employee of the farm was a shirtless guy who wouldn’t stop scowling at us while holding a rusty machete in his one hand.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I decide to go in the gift shop to see if someone there can call me a taxi, when I’m met with perhaps the most disturbing image of all… the “gift shop” is divided in two—on one side is a wall of glass cases displaying alligator and croc skin bags for sale, and on the other side is a skinning facility.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Still not feeling great from my windy cab ride there, now I really feel sick. I’ve worn leather before and eat meat and all that, but this is just a little too much for me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Back outside the Croc Farm, I start walking, hoping to find someplace where I can hail a taxi. Dagny and I are getting a lot of strange looks as I try to navigate us through a not-so-nice neighborhood, surrounded by not-so-pleasant smells that are making my queasy stomach really start to turn… it’s a combination of seafood from the octopus trader, the durian stand (durian is a spiny fruit that is illegal to even carry on public transportation because it pretty much smells like death), and general b.o. Okay, so maybe I’m to blame for the b.o. In the 93-degree heat, I’m suddenly realizing I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">may</i> have forgotten to put on deodorant that morning… and come to think of it, may have forgotten to brush my teeth, too. It’s a hygienic phenomenon that only mothers of children who personify Mexican jumping beans at seven in the morning fully understand.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At last I notice a woman flag down a taxi in the middle of the highway. Oh, so that’s how you do it. Feeling a little stupid for having never done this before, I follow suit, and after about 5-10 minutes of flailing my arms at anything remotely resembling a cab in the line of traffic barreling toward me, I finally catch a ride. I swing the BOB stroller into the trunk with one arm while holding Dagny with the other… I feel the need to mention this because anyone who owns a BOB and 16-month old will appreciate the adrenaline rush I was having to be able to accomplish such a feat <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And as I related all this to Brad later that night, he smiled at me and said, “Congratulations! You just had your first real Asian adventure!”</span><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-71859090443001198852011-05-21T00:35:00.000-07:002011-05-21T00:57:21.633-07:00Happy Hunting<div class="MsoNormal">Apartment hunting in Singapore isn’t like apartment hunting in the States… here it’s more like house hunting, with different real estate agents representing each individual unit within a complex, where letters of intent precede offers, and prices and contracts are negotiated. When the average cost of a 1000-sq. foot place is $5000/month, you can see why.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eager to get out of Prada-ville, when our realtor asks us where we would like to begin our search, I pipe up with, “Geylang!” In response to the confused and horrified look on her face, Brad assures our agent that I’m just kidding. And I am… sort of. Geylang is home to Singapore’s notorious red light district. Now don’t go getting the wrong idea… I’m not into the skin trade or anything, but as an artist and aspiring writer, being surrounded by prostitutes and brothels seems like a far more colorful canvas on which to paint a potential story than, say, boring ol’ Orchard Road, which has offered me nothing but the twangy sounds of talkative Australian expats and women hiding behind sunglasses that look like the windshields of their Maseratis. But Brad’s probably right: we don’t want Dagny to get the wrong idea when we tell her we want her to be a “working girl” when she grows up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sensing my detachment with our current surroundings, our agent assures me that Brad and I can’t afford anything in the Orchard Park area anyway <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span> And so we head out to the east coast…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So far I’ve mostly stuck to walking around Singapore. But now I get to experience careening around the island in the back seat of a very nice Mercedes. All the cars here are nice—by law, none can be older than about 10 years in order to curb emissions and keep the roads clear of broken down beaters. Two days of driving around with our agent, though, has confirmed for me that I will be sticking to walking or the MRT (subway) while here. Everyone drives fast. And a little crazy. Motorcycles are like buzzing flies, darting around cars and racing up between them. They’re expected to, which is the upside to owning a motorbike—but the downside is that cars can pretty much bump them into the curb if space allows for it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Back in our own car, our realtor scared the living daylights out of me as she repeatedly straddled the dotted lane lines and, on occasion, the solid divider line. And holy crap, the woman would not stop texting as she drove! A couple of times, when her text message was just too long to type out one-handed, she would turn on her flashers and simply stop her car—in the middle of the lane, mind you—until she’d finished. Yikes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The east coast turns out to be pretty darn nice, with miles of boardwalk along the shore, ample green space, and a much quieter feel than the central districts. The swimming pools are like mini-Atlantises, which is perfect for Dagny, who would play in the water from sunrise to sunset if I let her. But it still feels… not… quite… right…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then our agent takes us about 10 minutes up the East Coast Highway to Katong, and I fall in love. Lining the streets are hawker stands and independently owned restaurants, shops selling handmade crafts and—gasp—nothing American or European or Australian in nature. Katong is absolutely perfect, and after an amazing lunch of local laksa (noodles, prawns and fishcake cooked in coconut milk and chile), ohta (fish wrapped in banana leaves) and rojak (a mix of bean sprouts, cucumber, pineapple and turnips), I declare the east coast our new home.<br />
<br />
More to come on Botanical Gardens and Buddhist temples... finally, let's get to the good stuff!</div>The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-51818486704701347902011-05-20T01:11:00.000-07:002011-05-20T01:11:08.425-07:00Wow...<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">As I step out of customs to breathe in my first lungful of Asian air, I’m hit by a wave of humidity that is both suffocating and heavy, settling around my head and shoulders like an uncomfortable blanket I just can’t seem to shrug out of. Dagny’s hair instantly coils into beautiful blonde curly-q’s while mine turns into a scraggly mess of sweat-soaked frizzies. Oh well. Lesson one when traveling to Singapore: check your vanity at the terminal doors. It’s hot here. And sticky. Swap out your flattening iron for an elastic hair band and don’t bother with makeup, unless you like the melting box of crayons look. And I’m sorry to say the conditions are never going to change. Being situated so closely to the equator, there are no seasons in Singapore… only hot and—you guessed it—hotter.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The first couple of weeks in my new home were something of a blur… and not always the good kind. Navigating a baby into new eating and sleeping habits is tricky—I would liken it to having a newborn again. A very irritable newborn. As my friends and family know from past gripings, I hate the newborn phase. So, suffice it to say, I did not exactly enjoy my first week or two in Singapore.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But like all phases, there is a beginning, a middle, and thankfully an end. Around the eighth day, Dagny adapted to the 12-hour time difference, and like groggy bears emerging from hibernation, we at last stepped out of our hotel into the blinding sunlight, blinked a few times, and started looking around.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Singapore is a lot of things to a lot of people. Our hotel is located on Orchard Road, a virtual dreamland for Sex And The City addicts. It is home to a scrubbed and polished line of elitist storefronts such as Armani, Hermes, and Jimmy Choo—where Rolexes are a little more like Casios in the presence of watchmaker Philipe Patek, a company with the audacious tagline <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You Never Own A Philipe Patek, You Just Take Care of It For The Next Generation</i>. Uh-huh. So here’s the thing… I’m not really the ritzy shopaholic type. Buying SmartWool running socks and Exofficio underwear for the steamy summer months is the height of indulgence for me. And another thing: I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hate</i> Sex And The City (A show about catty women who claim to be powerfully independent and yet do nothing but talk about wanting to find a man while feeding their socio-economically retarded habit of hungering for $3000 shoes? Wow, thank you Sarah Jessica Parker for confirming every man’s stereotype of an annoyingly high maintenance woman). Anyway, back to Singapore…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In addition to the couture shops I would never dare enter with a grubby-fingered 15-month old, I found myself a little disappointed in how Westernized everything was. All signage was in English, and everywhere I turned there was a McDonald’s and a Starbucks. The only things reminding me I wasn’t exploring a new city in the US were the sea of Asians surrounding me, the impeccable cleanliness of the streets and sidewalks (have I mentioned yet that chewing gum is illegal here?), and the abundance of trees that no other city back home has—at least that I’ve ever visited. Oh, and the time I was nearly flattened by a cab because I was looking the wrong direction as I headed into the street also confirmed for me I was no longer in the States. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But as it turns out, there is a vast and exciting Singapore beyond Orchard Road. There are multitudes of shops and restaurants and temples just waiting to be explored. Hawker stands are a great way to try food from Malaysia, Indonesia and Thailand, and the fact that they are heavily regulated by the government means they’re (usually) a pretty safe bet. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I avoided the local food for the first few days, still feeling like I was battling a hangover with the time change and dealing with Dagny. But believe it or not, my little girl was actually the one—unbeknownst to her, I’m sure—to get me to at last take the adventurous plunge into trying authentic Asian cuisine. Since her usual selection of baby food wasn’t around, she starting mowing down on dim sum, tofu, sticky rice, pork dumplings, and fishcake. I was so proud of her, so I decided to take a page from her book (you know, the indestructible cardboard ones made specifically for tyrants like Dozer Dags) and also try new things. I wasn’t going to ask what it was I was being served, I was simply going to dive into the plate of food handed to me and hope for a pleasant experience.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This worked well, at first. I had some Thai fish, Cambodian chicken, and Chinese beef from Indochine that were all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">amazing</i>. Bean sprouts, papaya, and turnips were a breeze. Then came a lunch of what I believed were fried noodles and chicken…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“These noodles must have cooked in fish oil,” I comment to Brad. He nods in agreement as he tastes them, neither one of us surprised since everything here is cooked in some form of seafood.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But then he spears a few of the noodles with his fork and holds them up for closer examination. “Actually, I think these <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i> fish.” He holds out his fork to me, not at all disconcerted with his find as he points out, “See the little eyeballs?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I take a big swig of lime juice to swallow what’s already in my mouth. Then I swallow again. And again. My brain screams for my stomach to keep it together, but my stomach has ideas of its own when it comes to eating baby fish with their heads still attached. I’m not proud of myself—and I hate to admit it—but I started dry heaving at the table.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The food since then has been okay, thanks in large part to our realtor who took us to some local joints that serve up dishes that are, in a word, heavenly. More on those in my apartment hunting entry to come.</div><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8703513851078317071.post-68631091977153032422011-05-19T18:55:00.000-07:002011-05-19T18:55:58.420-07:00Heading Out<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">An adventure. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s what I labeled the “Let’s move the family to Singapore” plan when Brad first presented it to me six months ago. And it still is… though I would be lying if I said it wasn’t laced with moments of “Wow, this is a much bigger pain in the a$$ than I thought it would be” and “Is it smart to turn our lives upside down and inside out on something of a whim, especially with a baby in tow?” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But as it turns out, that’s exactly how all great adventures begin; on something of a whim, filled with risks and sacrifices and blind corners, around which unknown things await. At some point, the pros vs. cons list must be put down and the adventure seekers must simply jump in—with both feet—only half-peeking out through tense and squinted eyes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Rather than go into any detail on the six months of prep work that went into our move, I’ll simply list a few of the highlights and lowlights. Feel free to turn on some music as you read, to give it the true feel of a Hollywood movie montage. I have no song suggestions, as some of the angrier moments could be tuned to a Papa Roach or Linkin Park soundtrack, while more tear-jerking moments belong to the likes of Band of Horses and, specific to leaving my dog Roxy behind, “Friend Like You” by Joshua Radin. So here goes…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Skyscrapers of paperwork from before unknown government agencies… Endless immunizations for once unknown diseases that make my skin crawl to think about… Dealing with destructive hail storms two weeks before leaving… Selling off the material aspects of our life, some which come with many happy memories attached, like our boat and kayaks and house (especially the one small room at the top of the stairs that was painted with love, eagerness, and trembling anticipation)… Saying goodbye to the nonmaterial parts of our life, like family and friends, and begging their support and understanding… Hoping beyond hope that my faithful dog—who has a broader range of emotion than a lot of people I know—won’t think I abandoned her…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Okay, montage over, and onto the airport. Already exhausted as we ready ourselves for 32 hours of travel with a 15-month old, Brad and I hope for the best, realistically expect the worst, and once again jump in—the three of us holding hands as we head down the jet way, as a family must in times like these.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And as I lean back and listen to the sing-song safety chant of the flight attendants, I pull a map out of the seat pocket in front of me, open it up and say to Brad, “Now where exactly is Singapore?”</div><!--EndFragment-->The Wandering Lodgeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18415665003699837684noreply@blogger.com0