Here, There, and Everywhere

1969 Corvair Monza: The Testing of the Patience

2011-09-08T22:32:00.000+08:00

MHH bonds with the Yellow Bomb

At nearly midnight in the parking lot of the Boise Airport, after more than ten hours of delays in Singapore, Hong Kong, and San Francisco, MHH finally got his first look at the Corvair. He circled it excitedly, poked around inside, and exclaimed repeatedly how fantastisk it was.

Now, driving an old car draws a lot of attention, a reality that had never crossed my mind. Around the time of the Orchard incident, I entered a parking lot which had two sets of very stiff speed bumps over which I crept at a snail’s pace, causing a pileup of cars behind me. I cleared the bumps, parked in a remote and deserted section of the lot, and then looked over to see the mini van from behind me on the speed bumps pull up right next to me. I tensed as the window slowly slid down. Was I going to get yelled at? Or shot? ‘What year is your Corvair?’ The sweet voice of a middle aged woman drifted from the van. I started laughing.

So when a guy in a large truck paused next to us in the airport car park, I didn’t panic. ‘’68 or ’69?’ He yelled.

‘’69,’ I called back.

‘Ha! I told you!’ He slapped his buddy on the shoulder, pleased to have won their little bet.

Posing at Lake Abert

Thirty-two hours later, we were cruising across arid eastern Oregon on Hwy 20. Coming from the tropical confines of Singapore, the dry, open desert and rock formations of the West seemed gloriously vast and foreign even though I had driven this route many times.

I introduced MHH to my favorite places from family road trips of the past such as the Burns Safeway; the Hwy 20-395 junction at Riley; Wagontire, where Oma had spent nights on her way to visit us; and Lake Abert, a large and bleakly beautiful alkali lake I only recently learned was called Lake Abert.

After lunch at Tall Town Burger and Bakery in Lakeview, the Corvair refused to start. You’ve got to be kidding.

‘You know, MHH, even though it’s an automatic, I read something in the manual about being able to push-start if you can get it going 20-25 mph…’

‘You read the manual?’

‘Why, yes, I did.’

‘You really are strange sometimes, Potato Woman. Well, don't just stand there, start pushing.’

If you happened to be driving out of Lakeview on Hwy 140 in the early afternoon of July 3^rd, you just might have seen us attempting and failing enormously at this exercise. Sigh.

MHH then peered into the engine cavity, decided that the battery cable connectors should be replaced as they were very old and corroded, and set off on foot to check the nearby Chevron for some tools.

If you drove past at this time, you might have seen a forlorn girl baking in the sun next to a Corvair with a raised hood. You might have even waved. At what point do you decide to wave at someone having car trouble? I wondered. The rear engine must be confusing.

MHH trudged back 45 minutes later armed with a pile of tools and parts from True Value, and in a showing of skills I didn’t know he possessed, changed out the cable connectors. We crossed our fingers—

The car still wouldn’t start. ‘Let’s ask for a jump,’ I said, just wanting to get out of there, to be anywhere but that spot on the road in Lakeview where people continued to wave at us as if we had simply been gazing into our trunk and digging through our luggage for over an hour.

We flagged down a likely fella driving an old rig that looked bound to contain jumper cables. Sure enough, he had cables and was willing to give us a jump. A good ol’ boy of few words, he smiled in quiet amusement as he set the cables, then motioned for Morten to start the Corvair. It turned over, and over, and over, and over—and finally, like a child being forced to wake from a deep sleep, came to life with great resistance.

Elated, we thanked the quiet man and quickly put Lakeview in the rearview mirror, driving straight through to Klamath Falls, which is where I was born and where both of my parents are from.

Visiting Oma

I wanted to visit our old house and my Oma’s old house, but as our 5pm deadline to reach Jacksonville had been tightened by the Lakeview incident, I settled for a drive-by of Oma’s house. If you saw two people with a yellow Corvair skulking around outside your house in the late afternoon of July 3^rd, it was only MHH and I, and I lived in your house in 1985. You’ve kept it up nicely, and your 4^th of July decorations looked great.

We arrived in Jacksonville with no further incidents. Though we were already late for the 5pm family reunion dinner, a change of clothes was essential after eight hours without air-con in vinyl seats. My mom, dad, and sister, who were all sitting in the same room together, kept calling and texting me independently of each other, wondering where we were, if we were coming, and how long we would be. And now how long? How about now?

Feeling refreshed but slightly harried, we hopped back into the car, pulled onto the main drag, and promptly died. You've got to be kidding.

My patience for the Yellow Bomb was very slim at this point, so I walked to the restaurant and let MHH sort out the car. The dinner with my mom’s whole family was very nice, and MHH showed up shortly, having stashed the car somewhere off the road.

Everyone smiling and looking at the camera with eyes open--amazing!

MHH and John retrieved the car after dinner. More peering into the engine compartment revealed some loose pipes that MHH secured with a zip-tie so they would stop interfering with this other thing that needed to move. That may or may not have been a problem, but the car started, so I was happy though still somewhat distrustful.

We didn’t have to drive much the next two days, so we were able to concentrate on having a good time hanging out with the fam.

Later, MHH and I talked about how driving a car like ours is really driving. You have to have your foot on the gas and both hands on the wheel. You don't drive to adventure, you drive for adventure. You really get to know a car like ours.

Yes, we were getting to know the Yellow Bomb, but it was not without the testing of the patience.

1969 Chevy Corvair Monza – The Story Continues: Leaving my husband, surviving the DMV, and dying on Orchard Road

2011-09-03T23:04:00.000+08:00

I moved out of the US in 2006 and every summer since, I have experienced the phenomenon of ‘expat woman migration’ in which large numbers of expat women vanish for the summer months and I sit twiddling my thumbs waiting for fall.

This summer, having finally become the wiser, I planned a migration of my own—and booked my flight ticket to the US a full three weeks before MHH’s. This was a big deal for one of us.

‘MHH, how would you feel if I went to the US a few days before you?’

‘Sure, that’s fine, honey.’

‘Are you sure? Because I don’t have to go early. It might be nice to travel together.’

‘It’s really okay.’

‘Okay…you know, if I went a week and a half before, I could be there for my niece’s birthday…’

‘Yeah, that’s fine.’

‘Really?! You would be fine for that long without me?!’

‘You might not remember this, but I actually used to live on my own before we met.’

‘Yeah, I guess…you know if I went three weeks before, I could go do this thing with my sister…’

‘Potato Woman, just go.’

So after filling the freezer with pre-cooked meals and reminding him at least five times to water the plants, I went.

My 1969 Corvair, licensed and ready for summer driving

Getting the Corvair out of storage and licensed was my first order of business. My brother-in-law John took me down to the DMV, a very generous gesture as anyone who has ever been to the DMV or DOL will know.

Here is what I learned from this experience: it is pointless trying to register a car if you don’t actually have the car with you; it is difficult starting a car when the battery is not connected; a wretchedly busy DMV is vastly improved by entertaining brother-in-laws and nice employees.

Since the Corvair had been sitting for a while, I had Rick (Fobes Automotive) check it over, and he said it was good to go. A couple days later I had it back at Rick's for a new fuel float, but he had that fixed in short order.

One day as I was cruising into town, the Yellow Bomb decided to die at a red light. I turned the key—nothing. I turned the key and pumped the gas as Rick taught me—nothing. The light turned green. The guy behind me honked, and I got out of my car.

‘THE LIGHT’S GREEN,’ he mouthed, making wild pointing gestures at the light.

‘MY CAR DIED,’ I mouthed back, pointing at my car and drawing my finger across my throat.

‘OH.’ Getting the point, he maneuvered around me while I tried the key once again.

To my surprise, the engine chugged to life, so I gunned it around the corner into the Gem Stop parking lot before it could change its mind about running. It is there that I sat concentrating really hard about what one does when one needs a phone but doesn’t have one. I concluded that I would need to Interact with Real People.

Inside the Gem Stop, after doing some Interacting, a customer offered to loan me his phone. No one answered at home. No one answered in my dad’s office. I returned the phone.

The cashier offered me use of the store phone, a clunky device sprouting Wires and Cords, and as these mysterious strings were rather short and restrictive, the guy had to stand holding the Phone Base and dial for me while I leaned over the counter to reach the Phone Receiver.

Dad finally answered and gave me some advice. The cashier wished me luck as he stashed the stringy phone back under the counter.

In the end, I replaced the battery.

Here is what I learned from this experience: when your mechanic recommends getting a new battery, you should not wait for the current one to die; Les Schwab batteries do not fit 1969 Chevy Corvair Monza battery boxes; Car Quest batteries do fit, they install for free, and they know that Corvairs have rear engines; having a mobile phone is useful, but Interacting with Real People is really not too bad.

Coming up: MHH comes to the US and we go driving!

1969 Chevy Corvair Monza

2011-09-01T13:25:00.000+08:00

This is the story of the Yellow Bomb:

MHH and I have often talked of how convenient it would be to have a car in the US when we visit my family, and every visit seemed to reopen the discussion. After several years of circling the subject and a zillion internet searches, we finally settled on a beautiful creamy yellow, all original, 1969 Chevy Corvair Monza with just over 13,000 original miles.

We bought it sight-unseen, hoping we could trust the pictures and the word of the seller. My parents were highly skeptical, as were others, but when did that ever stop us?

We parted with our money in July 2010, and shortly thereafter the car was transported from Long Island to Idaho. Several weeks after the arrival of the car, it was determined that the title sent from New York had been lost in the mail/wrongly-addressed/mislaid by the elderly owner (we will probably never know which). It is my sage advice that you never do anything that would necessitate procuring a duplicate title, namely losing the original title, as it is a giant pain in the behind to both buyer and seller. Five months later, the duplicate title arrived and the car was officially ours.

Technically the car is mine, but that's a small detail I hardly ever mention.

Me and my yellow bomb

I first met my car when I visited the States in November 2010. My dad, whose carport it had been occupying since July, dubbed it 'the yellow bomb', a not-so-subtle reference to the car color as well as dad's opinion that we had bought an old junker. Physically it was gorgeous, but in truth it was running a bit roughly, or not really at all, so we took it over to local Corvair mechanic Rick Fobes of Fobes Automotive. He gave me and my dad a tour of his shop, and I left my car for repair. He rebuilt the carburetor, gave it a tune-up, and had a friend and Corvair expert check it out.

Turns out that our gamble had paid off. Everything checked out as factory original--from the spare tire to the headrests and everything in between. We had acquired a very fine example of a wonderful American classic!

The rebuilt carburetor turned the little Yellow Bomb into a whole new car--I think even dad started coming around to it. Unfortunately I had to leave the US before I had a chance to try it out. After I left and the repairs were finished, the car went into a storage unit for the winter, mom and dad got their carport back, and MHH and I started planning our first road trip.

And that is the story of our Yellow Bomb.

A little help to get started

On the lift at Rick's for inspection

A shop full of cool cars

Summer 2011 road trip coming soon!

June Milestones, plus a little May and July

2011-06-29T02:19:00.004+08:00

June is a month of weddings. My grandparents, parents, and sister all got married in June. I, of course, had to be different and got married in May.

My grandparents were married 63 years ago on June 13, 1948. They are still just as cute as they were on their wedding day.

On June 20, 1971, in a beautiful lime green ceremony, my parents said 'I do'. That was 40 years ago, but they're still smiling just as big, and dad now wears hair on his face instead of on his head.

Ten years ago on June 23rd, my sister and some guy none of us had met before drove to Reno and got married in a little wedding chapel. Fast forward to the present, and we can't picture them without each other. They're still just as weird as the day they met.

On top of all the anniversaries is my niece's birthday. She turned five on June 22nd and is a pretty little pink butterfly princess. I think she gets that from her father, because she sure doesn't get it from her mom or aunt.

And shortly into July, my nephew turns nine. He loves reading, running, biking, playing video games, and doing typical boy things.

Bighorn Mountain Wild and Scenic Trail Run, June 15-19

2011-06-24T06:33:00.007+08:00

Man, it’s good to be in an Idaho summer! I had almost forgotten what it feels like to be warm without being sticky. It’s just past nine in the evening right now. The sun is low in the wide blue sky, the air is warm and still and sweet with the scent of farmland, and I have the house to myself for the night as my parents have gone away to celebrate their 40th wedding anniversary.

A dear friend of my from Singers (you know who you are!) suggested I make blog updates about my summer in the US, and since she is wise and full of good ideas and advice, I’m going to do just that. Here is my first story:

I arrived in the US on the evening of June 13th. Early the morning of the 15th, my sister Emily, her husband John, and I tucked ourselves into their Xterra along with a mountain of camping and running gear and zipped across Idaho (highway 20 across Idaho is fantastic!), cut through Montana, and touched down 13 hours later in Dayton, Wyoming.

Idaho landscape

Craters of the Moon

Montana-Idaho border

What’s in Dayton, Wyoming? Not much, really. A park, Foothills Motel and Campground (‘Motel’ being the loosest of terms), Crazy Woman Saloon, the Tongue River...but most of all it’s the site of the start/finish line of the Bighorn Mountain Wild and Scenic Trail Run which both John and Emily were signed up to run--John the 50K and Emily the 100 mile. No, that’s not a typo.

We unloaded into our cabin at the Foothills Motel and Campground (I still can’t figure out if we were in the motel part or the campground part) and crashed for the night.

Thursday morning, we drove into Sheridan for brunch with our grandparents who have lived there for many years. That they live in Sheridan is one of the main reasons my family started to run the Bighorn, and it was really great to see them.

We spent the next few hours driving around and scouting trails before the rest of the Boise area trail runners pulled into town and the runner registration opened. After a group meal at The Pony and a tick extermination, it was time to at least try to get some sleep. The five of us women packed into the cabin, two guys pitched a tent outside, and John slept in the car.

Would rain ruin the race?

The raging Tongue River

Road to Tongue River Trailhead

Runner registration

Weigh-in

She's alive!

Chip check = good

'There's mud here, here, here...'

Downtown Sheridan

Dinner at The Pony

Theresa, Christie, Emily

Friday began with the 100 mile informational meeting (from which I remember ‘shoe-sucking mud pit’) followed by the 100 mile race start at 10am. After getting some lunch and registering John for his race, John and I drove up into the Bighorns to the Dry Fork aid station where we would see Emily come through.

The 100 milers show some leg at the pre-race meeting

The Whole Crew

Dressed for success

Still shiny and clean

At the starting line

Pre-race national anthem and prayer

See you tomorrow night!

View from Dry Fork aid station

Emily looked good coming through mile 18 just before 3pm on Friday afternoon. She came back through mile 25 around 5pm, still looking cheerful, after an out and back to Twin Buttes. I wouldn’t see her again until 12:25pm Saturday. I dropped John back at the campground and then drove to my grandparents’ where I had dinner, a wonderfully quiet night in their guest room, and a tasty breakfast. Then it was back up to Dry Fork.

Smiling at mile 18

Dennis finds his chi at mile 25

Dry Fork aid station

Still smiling at mile 25

Is there mustard on that wrap?!

Heading out into the long night

The 50 mile and 50K races started at 6am and 8am Saturday. I decided not to go to those starts. Emily had given me a rough ETA of 11:30am for mile 75 at Dry Fork, so I arrived just after 11am, unsure of how accurate she would be. I saw one of the Boise 100 milers, and he had just dropped (DNFed in ultra-speak). I had already missed the other two speedy Boise 100 milers, so I settled into a camp chair with some snacks, my camera, and grandpa’s binoculars to watch runner after haggard runner struggle up the hill into the aid station.

A little past noon, I saw Emily’s turquoise bandanna and red spiderman sleeves come trotting down the valley. She had made it through the night! After hearing stories of her night at the Bear 100, I was a little worried about how I would find her, but she was in good spirits and only slightly stiff body as she came into mile 75 at 12:25pm. She commented on the search and rescue vehicle that had been heading up the valley as she was coming in (‘I hope that wasn’t for John...’), weighed in at the medical check (‘There’s no WAY I’ve gained 20 pounds--my hands aren’t even swollen!’), refreshed her water pack, and started out to Twin Buttes one more time. I returned to my chair.

Thumbs up at mile 75

'Our scale DOES seem to be a little off...'

About 1:20pm, the search and rescue ATV trundled back into Dry Fork--with John in the passenger seat.

‘Dude!’ I exclaimed as he tried working himself out of the vehicle.

‘I know,’ he said ruefully, wincing as he tried putting his right foot to the ground. Two aid station workers helped him hobble to a chair. I helpfully documented the ordeal with my camera.

Fortunately, it was only a bad sprain. Unfortunately, it meant the end of John’s first ultra run. He sat in the car while I watched for people I knew.

The rescue

'Marge, I'm thinkin' 'bout killin' you raht 'bout now'

'Does THIS hurt?' *poke*

Only a short time after the ATV had come in with John, it was dispatched again, and when it returned just past 2:30pm, one of the Boise 50 milers got out. She had been having muscle cramps and had also turned her ankles several times and just didn’t feel it was wise to keep going. I packed her into the car with John and kept scanning the hill for Emily, who I was expecting at any second. Through the binoculars I spotted a guy by the side of the road just as he bent over to vomit. As I watched him spew like a fire hose, I realized it was do or die, and that guy was dying.

Minute after minute passed with no Emily. Aid station workers told me the trail from Twin Buttes had been swept, and only four 100 milers were still out there. The 4pm Dry Fork cutoff was looming. I walked 10 minutes up the road hoping to meet her, and FINALLY she came over the crest. She had donned her wind breaker, and her face was drawn--I could tell she was flagging. It was about 3:30pm, mile 82. She now had just three hours to make it 13 miles to the next cutoff. I was worried, as she had just taken three hours to do the previous 7 miles. I hated having to break the news about John.

Eking out a smile at mile 82

A pep talk to carry her through the last 18 miles

By this time, we still hadn’t seen the last two Boise 50 milers. At just a few minutes to the 4pm Dry Fork cutoff, we had a sad feeling they probably wouldn’t make it. I drove John and Theresa back down to the campground so they could clean up and then sent a flurry of text updates to people who were waiting on edge for some news.

Grandma and Grandpa were already at the park for the finish-line picnic, so I found them and gave them some updates. It was nearing 6pm and I was getting restless--was Emily going to make the 7:30pm cutoff at Tongue River Trailhead?! Cars were not allowed out to the trailhead, so I got a wild hair to find someone whose bike I could borrow. The guy I asked hesitated only slightly--probably assessing my ‘crazy’ factor--but then got right on board with the idea, even calling his wife over to loan me a women’s bike instead of his giant men’s bike and strapping a bottle of water to the rack.

And so began my furious 5 mile ride out the dirt road to Tongue River Trailhead. I passed quite a few runners and cheered them on with such sentiments as ‘You’re almost there!’ and ‘Way to go, good job!’ and was met with varied reactions. Some gave signs of victory and triumph, some managed to crack grim smiles, some simply trudged on in delirium.

I reached the trailhead at 7:06pm with no sign of Emily. The aid station workers said people were starting to sweep the trail down from the previous aid station. I crossed my fingers that she would stay ahead of them and chatted with another woman who had run out to meet a friend. A couple of runners chugged down off the trail into the aid station. At 7:23pm, I heard some whooping and saw Emily charge out of the trees into the clearing with her arms raised in celebration. Yes! Several 50 milers trailed behind her.

I was so happy to see that face come out of the trees!

Now it was just five miles to the finish, cutoff 9pm. We hit the dirt road as a motley group of five. The three 50 milers refused to leave Emily on the homestretch, and I wobbled along on my borrowed bike, texting, answering frantic calls from John (‘Did she make the cutoff?!’), and taking pictures. About two miles from the finish, one of our friends appeared on the horizon, a fresh and cheerful face set on motivating Emily to the finish in time.

It looks as if the banana didn't sound very appetizing

There were signs of encouragement all along the homestretch

I zipped ahead with about a mile to go, sure at this point that she would make it. My grandpa was waiting at the corner of the park. The bike loaners were also waiting, hoping I turned out to be an honest person. A fair number of people were still established along the finish line--people who understood, people who knew the importance of their presence at this very time and place--and as Emily came running around the corner into the park just before 9pm, murmurs of a runner approaching grew into wild hooting and cheering as people realized she was one of the last 100 milers to finish. And she was smiling.

Running on sheer determination--so sad it's blurry!

Licensed weapon carrier

Emily's groupies

Grandma and Grandpa stuck it out to the end

Yeah, I guess my sister's alright

100 mile feet

The pancake award breakfast Sunday morning was the perfect way to end what was for some a very long weekend. I got to see and meet many inspiring people along the way, such as 53-year-old Dennis from the Boise group who finished 25th overall and 3rd in his age group in the 100 mile; 84-year-old Bob who blasted out 50K for 1st place in the ‘89 and under’ category; the cute Italian couple who ran 100 miles side by side; the sweet Japanese couple who have run the Bighorn 100 eight times; and of course my sister--just don’t ask her about the buckle!!!

Those were some good pancakes

Rusty Spur Club inductees - those who ran sub-24 hour 100 miler

Dennis cuddling up to his 100 mile 3rd place 50-59 rock

84-year-old Bob with his 50K 1st place 89 and under rock

Finisher's jacket and buckle--THE BUCKLE!!!

Shannon, Emily and The Buckle

Hiromi and Katsuyuki Hatta with Hiromi's 100 mile 1st place 50-59 rock

The Idaho Crew and The Buckle

Emily, The Buckle, and Shandra - 107th and 110th finishers of 110

Emily, The Buckle, and a cowboy mural

Emily, The Buckle, Hiromi, 1st place rock

Christmas, Singapore style

2011-03-30T04:50:00.001+08:00

As I mentioned in my previous post, Singapore recognizes holidays from several major religions, Christian being no exception. Shortly after the Deepavali lights in Little India came down, the 'Christmas in the Tropics Festival' lights and decorations went up. The 27th annual Orchard Road Christmas Light-Up, a major showpiece of the festival, stretched for several kilometers from Tanglin Mall down Orchard Road, and this year's theme of 'Starlit Christmas' was dazzling. Past themes have included 'A Fairytale Christmas' and 'The Enchanted Garden'. Eleven buildings this year competed in the 'Best Dressed Building Contest'.

The theme of 'Starlit Christmas' was represented by three sections of lights in pink, blue, and purple to signify peace, joy, and love. The Singapore Tourism Board website expounded on the color theme:

"Tiffany & Co. is thrilled to be part of Singapore’s annual Christmas Light-Up which is the highlight of the country’s efforts to celebrate the Holiday season of joy and giving. The blue theme and the blue-accented Tiffany Christmas trees along Orchard Road will serve to enhance our central message of Joy and how Tiffany has sought to enrich the lives of its customers with enduring gifts of extraordinary beauty. All our stores throughout the city will also glow in blue with the thematic window displays, echoing that blue is the color of dreams,” said Ms Hew Yee Min, Managing Director of Tiffany & Co.

The blue section along Orchard Road will see Tiffany & Co.’s three 8 metre-high Christmas trees decked in the iconic Tiffany blue boxes and white bows to mark the magical moments this Christmas.

One night in mid-December, MH and I took our cameras down to bask in the neon glow. As this was an occasion for both photography and shopping, the Singaporeans were out in force. After a dinner of delicious dumplings at Din Tai Fung, we strolled along shoulder to shoulder with the locals and enjoyed Christmas, Singapore style.

Deepavali and Life After Death

2010-11-12T02:14:00.008+08:00

As Singapore comprises four major religious/ethnic groups, the yearly holiday calendar exemplifies true Singaporean equality by highlighting festivals and holy days from the Muslim, Christian, Hindu and Buddhist faiths.

About a month before the actual holiday, Little India was outfitted with several kilometers of lights in preparation for Deepavali, Hindu New Year. As it is known as the Festival of Lights, Serangoon and Race Course Roads were fittingly lined with colorful light arches as far as the eye could see.

Even though MH was out of town, I dragged myself out alone on the eve of Deepavali as I didn't want to miss out on this interesting cultural display. After reviewing several different bus routes, I settled on the 48. My bus stop is the first stop the bus makes as it comes out of the terminal, so I always get a seat, and I get to see the ebb and flow of a bus route from the very beginning.

I put on an episode of This American Life to pass the time. It was called 'Life After Death'. As I sat listening to the story of a kid who was killed by lightning and of his friend's guilt for thinking he had summoned the deadly storm, the bus filled up around me. Most of the riders were Indian, people from all walks of life heading to the festivities to celebrate. Traffic was thick.

The podcast moved on to tell of a young man who struck a girl with his car, killing her. He was not at fault, yet that seemed only to advance his guilt. The bus was packed now. I stared into the traffic, deep in a life and death reverie. The Chinese woman in front of me held a linen handkerchief over her mouth and leaned into the window. The bus did smell a little ripe. However, as soon as the Indian man sitting next to her got up, she put her hanky away. Maybe the equality only runs calendar deep.

An hour by myself on the crowded bus listening to stories about death left me feeling less than upbeat. The crowd and heat I faced on exiting the bus did nothing to improve my mood. The crush of people, Indian men to be more specific, was spectacular. I stuck out, well, like a white girl in a sea of dark men. Fighting my way down a side street drove away all intentions I had of using my tripod. At one point I was clotheslined by a guy who was attempting to make passing room for a woman with a stroller. I sighed inwardly and waited with resigned patience, wondering how it was I had come to be pressed tightly against three Indian men, the door of a stalled car, and a rack of plaid shirts. Cultural enrichment, was it? The stroller finally passed, rolling over my foot, followed by the woman who trod likewise on the same foot.

I finally made it to the Campbell Lane street bazaar, took a deep breath, and stepped into the current. Stopping for pictures was out of the question. 'Life After Death' still on the brain, I pictured very vividly how easily this many people could turn into a deadly stampede. I pushed away those thoughts and let myself be carried along, concentrating instead on the vivid colors and cacophony of lanterns, lights, flowers, scarves, beads and baubles. I have to admit that the vibrant, eye-popping colors and masses of decorations cheered me up a little.

That said, I was not really in the mood to hang around. Even though I was starving and would have loved some Indian food, I just had to get out. I escaped the bazaar and walked a couple more side streets as purposefully as I could before hitting the bus stop. Traffic was better on the way home. I opted for music over another gloomy Ira Glass narrative. Happy Deepavali.

She Beat the Bear

2010-09-26T22:24:00.011+08:00

The secret satisfied smile of one who has completed something more monumental than most of us dare dream.

The Bear 100
36:49

Singapore Chinatown, Mid-Autumn Festival

2010-09-24T10:27:00.010+08:00

It's Mid-Autumn Festival time here in Asia. Known in the western world as the autumnal equinox, this day is the 15th day of the 8th month of the lunar calendar, the day of the fullest moon.

Here in Singapore, it's all about the moon cakes--people carrying around moon cakes to give as gifts, people carrying around moon cakes they were given as gifts, people carrying around non-moon cake items in moon cake bags to show that at one point they bought moon cakes at the most prestigious moon cake shop, and so on. It's also tradition to light lanterns.

One day in the early days of Singapore life, as I was sitting at the computer and gazing out over our balcony at the beautiful clear blue sky, a ridiculously loud crack of thunder shattered my reverie, propelling me halfway to the ceiling before I realized what it was. Momentarily mystified by this thunder that was literally 'out of the blue', it was not until I peeked out the front door to investigate that everything came clear, or rather, cloudy. While the SE facing the view from the balcony was as aforementioned, the NW facing view from the front door revealed roiling, seething, turbulent black clouds, rain, and streaks of lightning. I have since come to view the weather here as 'predictably unpredictable.'

So as I wandered through Chinatown the other day snapping photos of lanterns and odds and ends, I kept a corner of my eye on the indecisive sky, wondering what it was going to throw at me. At first it just played some games with the sun, but I wasn't fazed. Then it raised it's fists and threatened me, but it the end, it tucked its hands in it's pockets, spit on the ground a couple times, and left me alone. Here are some photos from my walk:

Melaka, Malaysia, Sept. 10-12

2010-09-21T16:07:00.006+08:00

-Melaka Trip Album Link

This was a holiday weekend, so we should have known better, but still we waited way too long to book our trip. An island beach getaway was out of the question, the travel agents all but laughing at my enquiries. We finally settled on the UNESCO World Heritage City of Melaka. With no roundtrip coach tickets, no roundtrip train tickets, and almost no hotel rooms available, it didn't look hopeful. I waded through countless schedules and timetables and booking sites. I even stuck a toe into the unfamiliar waters of telephoning companies without websites only to have 'ticket finish', 'no more, lah', and 'fully book,' ring in my ears. I finally found two remaining seats on a coach to Melaka (the most expensive company), a room in a nice looking guesthouse (so, what's the catch--cockroaches? filthy sheets?), and train tickets back to Singapore, 2nd class only (train station located an hour out of Melaka).

The coach ride was efficient and uneventful. Our guesthouse turned out to be clean and comfortable and ideally located. And Melaka itself was very enjoyable. We stuck mainly to the historic sites and the night/weekend market. A note if you decide to walk to the Portuguese Settlement: it's roughly 7km from downtown (farther if you at first go to St. John's Fort, jig through a small neighborhood on the way back to the main road, and then miss the large sign saying 'Portuguese Settlement'), and it's not all that interesting. We concluded that at far as traditional villages go, Kampung Morten just north of downtown is where it's at. Needless to say, we took pictures of every single sign that said 'Morten'.

The train home was more eventful than the coach. Firstly, it's an hour by taxi to the train station (RM 50, maybe less if you're a good negotiator). Secondly, it doesn't really matter how far the train station is if you're told when you arrive that even though you have a booking code, you don't have a reservation. After some wild gesturing, loud excited verbal exchanges, several phone calls (I'd like to think that I wasn't rude, but I'm not sure that the KTM agent on the other end of the line would see it that way), and one big refusal by me to accept that I didn't have tickets on the fully booked train, I stood happily with two first class tickets to Singapore. It turns out that where my original booking agent had told me to pick up the tickets two hours before departure, she should have told me to pick them up twenty-four hours before departure. Since we had not done so, and since there is no pre-pay system, they had simply let the reservation go. I don't know how they got us seats on a full train, but they did, and I can only compliment KTM customer service, if not their booking system. The train was old and dingy, even in first class, and the air-conditioner was set on 'deep-freeze', but we got home, and that was certainly better than not getting home.

Highly recommended for a weekend trip.

Trip to Oslo August 2010

2010-08-10T02:07:00.000+08:00

-Olso Summer 2010 Album Link

Summer Holiday Denmark 2010

2010-08-10T00:47:00.000+08:00

-DK Summer 2010 Album Link

Weekend in Kuala Lumpur, June 2010

2010-07-20T11:34:00.000+08:00

-KL Trip Album Link

Botanic Gardens, June 20

2010-06-23T13:28:00.000+08:00

-Botanic Gardens Album Link

Bukit Timah Nature Reserve, June 13

2010-06-15T12:06:00.001+08:00

- Bukit Timah Nature Reserve Walk Album Link

30th Birthday

2010-05-27T11:22:00.000+08:00

-30th Birthday Album Link

Recent Pictures Spring 2010

2010-05-18T01:05:00.003+08:00

Click on the links below to see some recent pictures!

-JP Morgan Corporate Challenge Album Link

-Singapore Spring Random Album Link

-One North Residences Album Link

Tioman Island, Malaysia, 4.2010

2010-04-16T12:48:00.002+08:00

-Tioman Island Album Link

Xian, Chinese New Year 2010, Shaanxi Province, China

2010-03-16T13:43:00.003+08:00

This was our last trip before leaving China. We really wanted to see the terra cotta warriors, and it turned out to be a really good choice. In additions to the warriors, we saw a tomb, a hotsprings, Wild Goose Pagoda, and a little bit of the city. Of course being in China for Chinese New Year meant alot of fireworks and celebrating. I especially enjoyed watching people send flame-powered paper lanterns soaring into the night sky as wishes for good luck. I wonder how the men are faring whose lantern flew into a tree and caught fire.

-Xian Album Link

Harbin Ice Festival, 2.2010, Heilongjiang Province, China

2010-03-15T15:57:00.007+08:00

This was also a good weekend. We toured the city with its Russian influence, visited the Tiger Park, and saw the ice and snow sculptures at the Ice Festival. The giant parka/puffy vest combo kept my torso toasty, but my fingers and toes were suffering in the end. It was pretty chilly.

-Harbin Ice Festival Album Link

Wanlong Ski Trip, 1.2010, Hebei Province, China

2010-03-15T13:37:00.008+08:00

Overall a successful weekend, overlooking the fender bender and Klaus's broken collarbone--two unrelated incidents. Bitterly cold, but beautifully sunny, decent snow and good intermediate slopes.

-Wanlong Ski Trip Album Link

Back on Blogger

2010-03-15T13:20:00.002+08:00

Out of China, back on the blog.

We are at the start of a couple of years in Singapore and looking forward to it, or rather already enjoying it! It's warm, green, surrounded by water and full of culture. Currently on the search for our perfect apartment.

I'm working on updating my photos. Since we're not too far into 2010, I'm going back to January. The end of 2009 will just have to be a loss at this point.

I gave the instant powdered milk tea a chance. It's not a full regret. It's also not a decision I'll repeat anytime soon.

Hello from Denmark

2009-08-03T16:58:00.002+08:00

This blog has been involuntarily retired thanks to China's restrictions, however I am still blogging at margniator.expat-blog.net. Right now we are enjoying a typical Danish summer, meaning my shorts and tanktops are still sitting untouched in my suitcase. I suppose, though, that it's been nice, especially for Morten, to have a respite from the oppressive Beijing heat. Hope everyone is having a great summer. Look for pictures soon on my expat blog.

Chinese New Year 2009 - Idaho and San Francisco

2009-03-17T14:24:00.002+08:00

Christmas 2008, Beijing

2009-01-17T12:43:00.002+08:00

Christmas this year was quiet yet lovely. We both worked on Christmas Eve, and I worked on Christmas Day. Even so, we still found time for crispy skin pork roast and everything to go with it, presents, card games, Schuh family chili, and just some good time together. We missed our families, but we are looking forward to visiting the Schuhs here in the coming Chinese New Year holiday.