Singapore: Vegas on the outside, London on the inside, and Dubrovnik as a sister city

Our time in Asia finished in one of the world's financial capitals and impressive cities: Singapore. I didn't know very much about Singapore before we got there and it surprised with me of how similar it felt to other cities that we have visited. Especially Las Vegas in Singapore's buildings and newness, London in Singapore's ethnic diversity, and Dubrovnik, Croatia in Singapore's power as a city-state. So this blog post is about the similarities to those cities.

Singapore, like London, is rich with ethnic diversity. Ethnic Buddhist and Confucian Chinese, Hindu Indians, and Muslim Malaysians comprise the majority of Singapore's population. Walking around Chinatown or Little India, you feel as if you could be in any of those countries.

In fact as far as our "India" experience, Wilson had the gastro-intestinal experience that many travelers unfortunately experience in India. This gastro "experience" appeared 7 hours after eating chicken masala in Singapore's Little India. Setting aside Wilson's gastro experience, the sensation of being in India while actually in Singapore is exciting.

Diversity enclaves, such as Singapore's Little India, offer multinational experiences within a limited geographic area. London also offers these diversity enclaves. Only to a greater extent. There, it is easy to stumble upon non-UK comunities and in East London, I have wondered through foreign smelling markets trying to buy vegetables that I didn't recognize. Singapore is a little like London on the inside -- international diversity amidst commuters in cuff links.

Singapore is also a modern city -- clean and efficient subways, beautiful and interesting skyscrapers, and green spaces surrounding the cities water ways. Singapore's modernity and how new it feels recalled Las Vegas for me. Like Las Vegas, much of Singapore has been built or re-built within the past 50 years. Even Hindu and Buddhist temples that have inhabited the same real estate for centuries are not as old as they calim because they have been rebuilt. Singapore seems to be in a frequent state of rebirth, all the new sparkly buildings as a prime example. Singapore and Vegas not only share sparkly buildings, they also share casinos, hot weather, and light and water shows for free at night.

And despite the newness and modernity akin to Vegas and the diversity akin to London, Singapore could be a sister city to Dubrovnik, Croatia. Dubrovnik is an incredibly beautiful city in Croatia that was a powerful city state for centuries. Dubrovnik's power for over half a millennium was during a time of powerful city states throughout Europe. Now, the powerful city state has diminished to a select few. And Singapore is certainly one of them as one of the world's 10 most economically powerful cities.

 

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Finally Surfing in Bali

I am posted up at a really nice resort on the Bukit, the nub of land at the far southern end of Bali. Right now, it is not looking good for my preferred denouement here in Bali. My hope had been to close out the trip with a handful of days surfing, and the weather is not cooperating.

This part of the Bali is known for its excellent surfing (but I am here in the surfing offseason), and recalls the landscape around San Diego. It is spectacular -- beaches interspersed with sheer, sharp cliffs all topped with verdant green shrubs. Oh yeah, there is a 6,000 foot volcano in the distance. To make it even more reminiscent of California, there is a golf course to the south of the resort, with one hole that is as nice as any in La Jolla or Carmel. The specific beach I am hanging out on is called Balangan.

Back to the weather. The last several days have been pretty stormy, with tropical rain burst coming down in sheets at times, and more worryingly with a ton of wind. Wind tends to really screw up surfing, because it breaks up the swell and makes it difficult or impossible to surf. For the last three days, it has sadly been the latter of those outcomes. So I have read a bunch, gone for long runs, done yoga and generally lowered my heart rate in anticaption of our return Stateside.

I have resigned myself to not getting to surf, and have had to practice acceptance in the face of this possibility. Then on my last full day I wake up to find blue skies, almost no wind and the swell starting to come in to the beach. The difference in the waves from just 24 hours ago is pretty amazing, with the choppy, confused waves replaced by uniform, regular intervals of larger waves thumping onshore at 6-8 second intervals. This might work!

I rush up to my room, change into my board shorts, pop in my contacts and slather on sunscreen. A few minutes later, I have secured an ideal surf board for my skill level and booties to navigate the reef on which the surf is breaking and am off into the water.

The waves are pretty nice, perfect temperature, and I relish the feeling of being on a surfboard again. To be clear, I am a pretty average surfer. But, it is a sport I always enjoy and have anticipated getting on a board at some point in our travels. Truth be told, if I had not gotten in the water these last two days, I would have headed home a tiny bit disappointed.

Why do I enjoy surfing even though I am not good at it?

- It humbles me: in my mind, surfing should not be so hard. Once I catch the wave, all I have to do is pop from my stomach to my feet and enjoy the ride - easy. But it sure is hard in practice. Flailing on something that seems theoretically easy serves up a nice dose of humility.

- Any success is treasured: I go into all of my other beloved sports with expectations. Being 'good' at them means I better do them well, and if I come up short to those expectations I get disappointed and frustrated. With surfing, any success is a huge win.

- I get scared: it is nice to get scared every once in while. Not too many things in life are scary, but that changes when I am out in big crashing waves and not sure what will happen. I worry about getting trapped in a big wave or hitting my head on the reef below the water, along with a latent concern with jellyfish not helped by reading a couple of articles about them in this part of the world. Did you know a box jellyfish sting kills a hardy person in between 2 and 4 minutes? Yeah, me neither. Worrying. Feeling that fear creep in reinforces my relationship to this great big world and fires neural pathways that don't get lit up too often.

Once I get comfortable, I catch rides pretty regularly. The scenery of Balangan is even lovelier from the water, with the vivid primary colors of the white beach, green landscape and blue sky/water combo. My first couple of rides pitch mr off at the transition from horizontal to vertical, but then on the 3rd I nail the transfer and am on my board, turning a little left into the wave. Yes! This and the other few rides are quite long, and treasured. I am so present in that moment, which is another aspect of sports generally and surfing specifically that i enjoy.

The waves are large enough to entertain, and scare, but pleasant enough to give a nice long ride. I spend a couple of blissful hours catching, and not catching, waves until I am tired, thirsty and feeling the effects of the equatorial sun on my face and back. And very happy.

Catching a few waves, even in my mediocre fashion, has been just what I wanted to end my time in this country. I have loved it here for a lot of reasons, and am so glad to have finally made it to this part of the world. Below are a few of my favorite pictures from the last two and half weeks, which only got unlocked from my camera today. This place photographs well.

Highlight pics

 

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Changing things up - Solo travel

New Year's Day

I write a hundred yards from the stormy Indian ocean, in southern Bali. It is peaceful, despite the powerful storm that just blew through and deluged inches of water.

Muriel is stirring up to greet the day thousands of miles away, in southern Thailand. She will spend the day climbing on those stunning limestone cliffs in Krabi Province.

1st day of international travel

This new, temporary reality is one that was the product of different preferences for our last month of travel in Asia. We have now been apart for more than two weeks, splitting up on New Years Day in Malaysia, where Mu returned north and I headed south towards KL and Indo. We reconnect in Singapore on the 19th before our flight back home.

Our separation was a sad moment, made all the more poignant for the degree of closeness that we have cultivated from this grand adventure. A closeness of the physical proximity and also that of knowing each other better than ever mentally and emotionally. But, we both were excited about what was in front of us too. Mu wanted to push herself fully in climbing and I wanted to explore a part of the world that I had anticipated for years. These 18 days are the longest that we have ever been apart.

331st international day of travel

 

The distance feels both close and far, I don't have a cell phone (it got stolen last month in Thailand, boo) so we have not spoken since we split up. That is kind of weird. But, we have exchanged emails and messages often and that works pretty well. Also, with the ubiquitous low cost air carriers we knew that if things went wrong it was easy to get a cheap flight and meet up. A safety valve of sorts.

One realization of traveling solo after being together with my life partner almost constantly for almost 18 months is the degree to which comparative advantage take place in a marriage an/or travel pair. Comparative advantage is the economic theory that drives our global trade regime. Comparative advantage basically calls for the specialization of economic units at the production of things that they have an advantage relative to their trading partner. This is a relative relationship, not absolute, and is usually the dual result of endowed attributes and productivity investments. For instance, the US generally has a comparative advantage in technology innovation, while China has one in manufacturing. Hence the trade flows that define our consumer existence.

The theory certainly applies our travels. and being solo means I have to step out of my specializations and do it all. Mu is amazing at extending herself to find out info, she will talk to anyone too. Then, I have an innate sense of direction, and can usually get us to where we are going based on my intution. So, this means Mu is usually sussing out a confusing situation from locals and I am the one to get us back 'home' in the middle of the night in a dark scary place. Now, Mu and I have to attend to both independently. This decreases our efficiency, but stretches ourselves - which is undeniably a good thing.

One last benefit from this time apart has been the space to do some thinking about life, this adventure, and what is next. When traveling as a pair, we tend to use our time so fully in recreation, culture, eating that there is not tons of time for reflection. Well, nothing is better for reflection than being alone. There is no conversation to fall into, even if you would be well served to do some thinking at that moment. In this respect, it has been fortunate that our solo travel has come at the end of our trip, allowing us to decant our memories and learnings in quiet, and undirected, self reflecion.

Overall, I think these last few weeks has been an enjoyable experience for both of us. We have gotten most of what we wanted out of our time apart in terms of climbing goals or places visited. All of which will it make all the sweeter when we reconnect in Singapore and go back to living our dream together.

 

 

 

 

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Looking for the original Wilson via Indo.

Earlier today, I walked through a restored Dutch fort left over from colonialism that honors Indonesia's quest for independence in the aftermath of World War II. It had an interesting approach with 30 dioramas charting this history. Yes, like 5th grade but also like the Natural History Museum in New York, walking visitors through the revolution.

There were also a bunch of pictures depicting the era of independence from 1945 to 1949. The pictures were black and white and most were pretty boring, honestly. A few though really captured the era, with its layers of social class and earnest quest for freedom. These photographs quickly had me thinking about my grandfather who served in this part of the world as a doctor in WWII. I realized that these were a small window into that experience, as the photos were taken within months of his time in the South Seas among relatively similar cultures. The same omnipresent heat, the same agriculture, similar diet, the same goal of expelling the axis Japanese.

I know from my grandmother, Nana, that my grandfather, the original Wilson who I am named after, spent quite a bit of time in Papua New Guinea, stationed in an region called Bougainville Island. I toyed with the idea of getting out there, but it doesn't seem like a great place to visit. My understanding is that they are quite similar, since the islands are part of the same tectonic ring with similar topography from the active volcanoes that created the land in this part of the world. So Indo will be as close as I get to this part of the original Wilson's past.

As a result of this train of thought in the museum, I realized why I feel a deeper emotional connection to this area.

The reality is that I have been looking for connections to the original Wilson whenever I can my whole life, since I never met him. In fact, my dad never met him as he passed away from cancer before my parents met. This search has infused increased to places that were important to him, such as our family's beloved camp on Lake Kezar in Lovell, Maine (pictured above) and Rio (pictured below).

I am so lucky to have spent lots of time with my other three grandparents and love spending time with my grandmother in Baltimore. But there has always been that hole in my family tree, probably exasperated due to the closeness I have with the other three.

Thankfully, I have some of his personal effects and enjoyed looking at them every once and awhile, including his medical tools and two of his old cameras. These objects, and connections, are some of my most prized possessions. In fact those pictures I posted of the tsunami were taken using his old Nikon camera that I took around the globe on my travels before moving to the current Nikon DSLR.

We also have an incredible silk handkerchief from his time in WWII that I had professionally mounted and looks amazing even with its delicate nature and 60+ years. This handkerchief map was made by the Royal Air Force. It folds down to nothing and weathered the harsh climate along the equator. Super ingenious. Our section of the map shows parts of Indonesia, which probably helps explain the connection I have been feeling once arriving here. Even though I am about 1000 kilometers to the west of that map as I write this.

Being named after a family member who passed away before I was born has led to a ongoing internal question - how much am I like him? I know intellectually that I am composed of about 25% of his genes and DNA. But I have always hoped that being named after him, honoring his name, makes for a larger connection. I look at his pictures on display at my grandmothers's apartment and hope that I look like him. But I am bad at seeing those kind of similarities in a vacuum. Much less in my own face. My understanding is that I share his body type, which makes me happy.

The original Wilson set a pretty high and imposing bar - Harvard and Oxford trained doctor, a professor at Hopkins medical school, worked at the nascent WHO abroad in Rio de Janeiro and elsewhere. I am midstream in life, so it is a little hard to compare. But also, any kind of direct comparison seem like the wrong approach. I did enjoy thinking of him when I spent a summer working within the UN system in Geneva a number of years ago and figured that he would have been proud. I like to think he would be proud of this big adventure Mu and I are on now, too.

Of course, not everything about the endowment I received and feel with the original Wilson is perfect. We are all human, after all. For instance, I fear that part of that 'gift' of his DNA includes an increased risk to the types of cancer that claimed his life much too soon, of the mouth and throat. Is that part of my mortality? Perhaps.

I hope that today is the start of ongoing consideration and thought of the Original Wilson. I will never be able to create the same lived memories of watching him in the outdoors, or holding forth at a dinner party. Both of which I understand he did very well. But, for the next 2+ weeks, I will think of him living and working and serving in this climate. Seeing the rice paddies that stretch forever, or swimming in the clear warm, salt waters. I will do those same things, a family tradition passing from one Wilson to another.

If I can head home with a better understanding of his time here, it will be a huge win.

 

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Indonesia: Happens Early

• 4:21 am
• 6:17 am
• 3:32 am
• 12:50 am (yes, basically just past midnight)

Man it has been some early call times these last few days. Super worth it, but not one that matches up to my biorhythms. The reason for the early wake up and go-go approach has been a blitz across the eastern half of Java, Indonesia. I wanted to see a mix of the temples around Jogjakarta and check out a couple of the huge volcanos that provide a natural counterweight to the religious sites. I just didn't know that the plan was to start so early every day.

It is not just the places I have been visiting that are so early. The first morning, I actually awoke a few minutes before the alarm, not all that uncommon for me, with the sound of morning prayers at the mosque a few doors down from my hotel.

It recalled one of our first weeks on the road, sleeping on top of a hotel outside Petra, Jordan. The set up was kind of incredible, a bed on top of the hotel that looked out across the city towards the slot canyon that leads to the temples. The vista revealed about a dozen mosques, standing tall and proud in the spectacular setting. There, we were also awoken by calls to prayer very early in the morning, as the sun rose over the canyon walls.  Back here in Java, instead of the powerful sun as the accompaniment to prayers I awoke with weak raindrops - different but in the same family of relaxing.

In order to cover the ground these last couple of days I have taken a couple tours, which is not my favorite way of traveling. But, it was the only way I could imagine getting to Borobudur buddhist temple to see the new daylight rising with the mist across this ancient temple. And the only way to hike to the Bromo volcano in Eastern Java to see the sun rise with the smoldering volcano. And certainly the only way to hike into the Irjen volcanic crater to see the blue flame/lava contrast powerfully the night darkness.

Borobudur
This temple was re-found a handful of decades ago, having languished empty and unused for hundreds of centuries. The jungle had retaken its divine right and it took a monumental effort to clear the temple and restore it to significant glory. The glory is immense, with multiple layers depicting the path towards enlightenment. There are hundreds and hundreds of reliefs dating from the 8th century, which are captivating to wander amongst. Even though it was rough to get up to get here so early, I appreciated the effort when an hour or so after arriving I looked out on the entrance pathway and saw hundreds of people streaming towards the main temple.

Bromo
Sunrise and sunset register differently, the former grounds the mind in the fundamental relationship between earth and the sun. We turn to, and await, the grand Marshall of our solar system. With the former, that perception is mistakenly inverted. The sun is leaving our little slice of the world, where we remain even after the last rays of light have departed.

I thought about this while hiking along a massive crater, one that is so large that it holds three standalone craters or caldrons within its massive escarpment. The daylight is creeping in, but I am still a little lost and confused. I know there is a volcano out here somewhere, one that is literally smoking. But it takes a few moments to get my bearings. I turn off my headlamp and take some deep breadths up at 2100 meters of elevation. There it is, the smoke rising and giving me a beacon. Making my way up to the rim, I head for a perch to watch the sun rise with deep peace and appreciation for the hard work of hiking to this point and figuring it out.

Injen
While the sunrise yesterday got me thinking about the cosmos, this volcano had me contemplating the terrestrial. Watching sulphur gas originating deep in the earth liquify powerfully as blue lave/fire in a volcano will do that. I had never been this close, less than 20 feet, from a direct conduit to the complex and dynamic tectonic process that is taking place beneath us. It was mesmerizing.

The wonders of the last several days have been manmade and natural. And they have been amazing, awe inspiring. Now though I am quite tired, at a sleep deficit for sure. Beyond just a straight math of sleep forgone, I also find myself slightly disoriented with weird bouts of hunger or lack thereof. My body is kind of confused and I am looking forward to getting it some rest, getting back on normal biorhythms and a less hectic pace.

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Backpack Adventure: Water and Hitchiking to the Southern Tip of Thailand

 

We crawled out of our tent on the beach of Lao Liang Island to gray skies and choppy waves. The turbulent waves kinked our plans of onward travel. We had planned to take a direct ferry to Malaysia but getting to the Malaysian ferry would have required a long ride through big waves on a 30 foot long-tail boat. (For reference, a long-tail boat is a ubiquitous simple heavy wooden boat pictured below and found throughout Thailand.) Since a long-tail boat was not making that trip in this weather, we had to adjust.

But the long-tail boat ride was our only way off the island. Thus, we still need to ride through the waves for at least an hour to the closest fishing village pier. From there, we had no plans about how to make it south (through a dicey political area) to Malaysia. The only tourist option offered to us was an expensive ride north where we could then find other tourist options south. So we decided to opt for the non-tourist option -- get stuck at the fishing village pier, middle of nowhere, with no transportation and hope that a solution appeared in the form of a local bus, local boat, or even local motos.

But first we had to get on the long-tail boat and through the waves to the middle of nowhere. We bagged up our stuff in plastic bags. Then we waded out into the sea up past our waist to climb into the boat. Climbing into the bobbing boat was no easy task, as it rocked well past 20 degrees port and starboard. We had to avoid the long reach of the motor and heave ourselves and our stuff onto the boat. Once our stuff was covered with a tarp and we strapped on our life jackets, we were off.

Two guys managed the boat. The driver with the engine and rudder in the back and his assistant up front standing and holding on to a rope, looking out and providing a counter balance when the boat pitched ominously to the side while going through some of the bigger waves.

The boat ride began with a nervous energy. Its wooden frame violently hit sand as we started to go -- the shallowness required the driver to slowly edge the boat out as the assistant grabbed and manipulated fixed lines in the water to direct the boat in the right direction. All the while, we were buffeted by waves. Once we got into deeper water, the ride got worse before getting better. We made slow progress as the driver and assistant expertly navigated the waves on a case by case basis. The boat cascaded deep into the sea's bigger waves often. At worst, the boat tipped and we were enveloped by buckets of water. But inevitably we emerged each time. 30 minutes of slow motoring felt like an hour as we were deluged by the sea water and my heart stayed in my throat. Eventually the sea calmed, my heartbeat calmed, and we reached the fishing village pier.

Upon arrival at the pier, we arranged for a $3 dollar ride to the junction of a main road where we could hitchhike south. There, we quickly found a ride with a 3 car caravan of a family heading to the most southern town on the west coast of Thailand. The car that we were in belonged to a charming family. So charming that the 38 year-old dad, who is a special forces policeman, sang "Take me to your heart" in English as he drove us. He sang along to his phone and, surprisingly, he was a beautiful singer. But, keep those eyes on the road.

En route, the family stopped and took pictures of us holding water bottles. The water bottle, "Mirin", in the middle of the picture below is the family business. All three water bottles in the picture were given to us. In Thailand, people often offer us potable water (drinkable water) -- from the hostel owner to monks in a remote monastery to street food vendors. It is wonderful and needed in the heat. Especially since many places that we have traveled, potable water has to been hard to find. It is usually not available at public taps and can cost more than a meal in places like Madagascar.

 

In Thailand, potable water is also not available from public taps -- but potable water seemed abundantly available not only for us, relatively rich as tourists, but to everyone via the large 20 liter water containers that seem ubiquitous. The availability of clean water that we saw in our travels is not the same story as those told by UN statistics. As of February 2013, the UN said that the current rate of access to safe water in Thailand is approximately 25-40 per cent. That number is so low.

The low access to clean water is a shocking statistic given our own experience and how Thailand has been a sanitation success story. In 40 years, from the 1960s to 2000, Thailand went from less 1% of people being able to safely dispose of human waste to almost 99.9% of Thai people having access to safe sanitation. Thailand's sanitation success story has been largely attributed to positive political will that relentlessly used funding, education, and partnership to provide this essential public service.

In contrast to sanitation, clean water access may have stalled because providing clean water is a harder public policy problem to tackle. There are ability to pay, free-rider, and leakage problems to name a few. And beyond the economic problems, I wonder about the political will of providing clean water. From a political perspective, there may not be too much pressure to provide clean water from public taps. Many middle class Thai can afford to buy clean water and, as we saw, there seems to be a few water companies turning a profit from provision of bottled water.

Like many problems in the U.S., it is so easy to be complacent when it is not your family or neighbors who need the water {or basic service]. You think that because {basic service} is abundantly available to you and people you know, then no one is lacking. But our experience in Thailand showed us that even though water was abundantly available to us, it wasn't to others.

Water taught us some powerful lessons. It, first, reminded us about the fraility of life as we were tossed about in the Andaman Sea. And second, it reminded us how easy it is to not feel or see the deprivation that others experience even in your midst. Especially one so serious as clean water -- a basic human right and key to life.

 

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New Year's in Malaysia: Cultures Pleasantly Mixing

Happy, happy new years! I love that phrase, it is one of those that I can only say in my head with a classic and hearty intention. Hope everyone had a wonderful night and an outstanding holiday season in general. Mu and I spent New Years in Georgetown on the Penang island in Malaysia, a city I had not heard of until a few weeks ago.

Despite its lack of infamy to us, the city proved to be a gem of a place. It is the site of the British landing into this part of the world. The landing, as many in the British colonial period, was via the sprawling East Indian Company. The East Indian Company took possession of Penang in 1786.

The East India Company and colonialism, in general, created a very problematic past and even a problematic present. As the legacy of colonialism's economic and political dominance (including a multitude of human rights abuses) trace forward to the present. And yet, one the threads through our travels is my love of faded colonial cities and architecture -- a shabby chic that excites me pretty much every time. Something about the dilapidated nature of these built environments hit my travel sweet spot.

We have gotten an up close and personal look at many regions and colonial approaches in the last 17 months. The French history in sub-Saharan Africa was pretty different than the Spanish in the Southern Cone in Chile and Argentina, for example. And yet there is an undeniable thread that ties together these old cities, even if they are thousands of miles apart. The city that most reminded me of Georgetown was Cartagena in Colombia. Both are tropical, sit on placid bodies of water, are very photogenic with narrow streets, have delicious street food, and let you pretend you have been transported back a few decades or centuries in time.

Pivoting from colonial times to modern Malaysia -- we had the unexpected pleasure of exploring Georgetown last night and today. It has been quite enjoyable being in Malaysia for a few days. It took a bit of thinking and speculating on our part before we hit on why we have enjoyed the being here so much. Our hypothesis? The diversity and harmony of the many cultures actively mixing in Malaysia.

Malaysia is a place that had much more diversity than I knew about. I guess there is a bit of an embarrassingly trend in this blog post that I did not know too much about the country until a few weeks ago.

The diversity is multi-dimensional, across ethnicity, language, food and religion. The most common groups are Malays (50% of the population on the peninsula where we are traveling), Chinese (28%) and North Indians (10%). This melting pot leads to religious iconography that draws from Islam, Hindu, Buddhism and Confucianism. Earlier today, we walked though a temple that was being used by both of the latter, with a throng of people celebrating the new year by paying homage to their beliefs. A similar mixing has taken place with the food as well, with a delicious mixing on display at the street food stands that serve up dinners at a ferocious clip.

Apparently, there are also some indigenous tribes in this part of Malaysia that are believed to have been in this part of the world for as long as 50k years. We have nor seen any noticeable signs of the "original people" or "orang asli" in Malay, but I will keep my eyes peeled.

It is refreshing to see this highly mixed and tolerant society in person. So many of the problems around the world can be traced to divisions along the same ethnic and religious differences found here. Yet here, the culture is better for the diversity, perhaps a model for those places in conflict.

 

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