Journal Entry: 9/3/17: Singapore

When I traveled in Asia earlier this year, I kept a journal rather than blogging. I decided to transcribe some of my journal entries onto this blog.

9/3/17

I just spent 2 days in Singapore with my friend T. We are now on our way to Bali. So far everything has been fabulous. Singapore is clean and high quality design is ubiquitous. Every building, every sign, every cafe -- everything is beautifully designed, typically in a modern, somewhat minimalist style. The same aesthetic can be found in the fashion. The women tend to wear solid colors (not many prints) with creative cuts and tailoring: wide pants legs, bows at the waist, cutouts, cool hemming, etc. Some women wear stripes, a few wear clothes with slogans (but these are a minority). Shoes run the gamut: kitten heels, birkenstocks, nikes, platform sandals, converse... all impeccably cared for, much like in France. High heels are extremely rare. Men's fashion is less impressive. About half are beautifully attired while the other half just look like American men.

T and I had to wait to get into the Yayoi Kusama: Life is the Heart of a Rainbow exhibit at the National Gallery. I didn't mind because it allowed me to appreciate the impromptu fashion show of regular Singaporeans in a museum.

The exhibit was fine. I love her use of colors, but am not transported by the work. One interesting feature of the exhibit was unintentional. Due to the popularity of the exhibit (read: of the infinity room), we had to queue up for 20+ minutes to see certain installations. This held true for the pumpkin room and infinity room. We also had to wait merely to progress to a subsequent gallery in the exhibit. Psychologically, this made the installations with a line seem more alluring. The art that could be accessed freely seemed lame; everyone gave it a passing glance than ran to queue up for the infinity room. I guess that's human nature.

The infinity room was a disappointment. We only had 12 seconds in the room and went in with strangers. However, I loved her Christmas trees, tulip room and large colorful paintings.

[Tulip room]

[Infinity room]

I interpret her art as joyful. However the intent behind much of her work is depressing, sometimes suicidal. How odd is that? Something that looks so joyful to me came from such a dark place inside another. I wish my nightmares were as colorful and whimsical as hers.

Garden by the Bay lived up to the hype and then some. Singaporean design abilities are showcased in the gardens, architecture and curation. I loved the use of statues in the Flower Dome. I particularly liked the statues made of distressed wood (2 hares fighting, antelope and a dragon). I'm gonna try to convince my parents to visit Singapore.

When a Language Barrier is No Barrier at All

This fall, I am studying abroad at Waseda Law School in Tokyo. I have been in Japan for exactly 3 weeks as of today. I have done a decent amount of tourism and am settling in to my classes. Tonight's post is not about any of that, however -- this post is about dance.

By a stroke of luck, one student in my law school program is a professional dancer. He has danced all over Asia and has a decent number of dancer friends and connections in Tokyo. Thanks to this student, J, I have now attended several contact improv jams. I had to trek across Tokyo for the first but the latest one was right in my backyard. I merely had to cross the canal behind my apartment and track down a lovely converted home in a garden. 

I located the dance studio, J taught a short class on contact improv, and then the jam began. 

Contact improv, short for contact improvisation, is a form of contemporary dance in which dancers improvise simultaneously. Typically, there is an emphasis on contact between dancers (this can be as simple as touching hands, or could involve lifts and acrobatics), but contact isn't obligatory. I am familiar with the dance form because I did some contact improv at Berkeley. However that was 6 years ago -- I am a little rusty!

Unsurprisingly, most the dancers spoke Japanese and little to no English. I speak English and virtually no Japanese. Because my Japanese is rudimentary, my daily interactions in Tokyo are limited to basic phrases. I can say things like "two of this dish, please" and "is this ok?" but I cannot have a particularly meaningful conversation with someone unless they happen to speak English. This is a bit isolating, but enough people speak English that the effect is mitigated (plus, the students and professors in my program all speak English).

Due to my language restriction, all I could do was introduce myself to the other dancers. Under other circumstances, I might've asked "how long have you been dancing?" or "did you grow up in Tokyo?" or "I ate too much ramen on the way here and am having some regrets." Instead, I just said "Melody desu" and left it at that. 

The language barrier bothered me more in dance class than it generally does because I knew I had something in common with the dancers. I knew I was missing out on discussions of style, technique, artistry, dancer injuries, etc. These were my people, but I could not speak to them.

But then, contact improv! I had forgotten that dance itself is a form of communication! My language isolation melted away. I danced with a woman who was curious, considerate and playful (or at least, her dancer self was). I danced with a man who was deliberate and smooth. I danced with a man who was confident and a bit of a risk-taker, but skilled enough to pull it off. I danced with a woman who was nervous but wanted to learn.  

I didn't need words to become acquainted with these people born half a world away from me. I can't say that I know them well, but thanks to dance, at least I know them sukoshi.

;)

Travel Buddies

I think most travelers travel for the people. Yes, you’ll get a few tourists who really just want to see some monuments and call it a day, but that’s not your long-term, bit-by-the-travel-bug, I just got home from 6 months abroad and am already planning my next trip, traveler. That’s why travelers sometimes go places that are frankly ugly or uncomfortable. It’s not about the place, per se; it’s about the people.

When I think about my favorite people on earth, a short list comes to mind. On it is a French woman I knew for 4 days in Sao Paulo, an Irish woman with whom I spent 2 days in Ilha Grande, some Canadian climbers who helped me pass 2 days in Lima, an American with whom I passed one lovely evening in Barcelona, an Australian journalist whom I accompanied to a nightclub that same night, an Iraqi war vet in the Bay area whom I circled round but never got to know particularly well, and then the more traditional choices, my sister, college and high school friends, former colleagues. But how can that be? How was it that I connected with someone on such a deep level, for a period of 2-5 days, knowing we would never see each other again? How can someone with whom I spent 15 hours be on the same list as a best friend of 15 years?

Counterintuitively, I think the shortness of the time period is a contributing factor. I sometimes find it hard to confide in a person who lives in my hometown. If I show them my vulnerabilities, I then have to see them around all the time and fear they might judge me for whatever secret I shared. And so I say to myself, maybe it’s better to keep that particular story locked up.

But when I travel, I can open up. I can tell a complete stranger about my illnesses and my fears. I can openly say what I despise and love about my country, I can say what I am ashamed of and proud of in being an American.

The reason I know it’s not just me is that I see this expressed in traveler’s blog posts, Instagram shout-outs, Facebook statutes. After we travel, we have no good way to thank our travel buddies. Why say “I want to be your best friend” to someone you’ll never see again? Why say “I love you”? It’s probably true, but what’s the point? There is no future there. We only just met. And yet those are the people who changed me. They are the ones who showed me a world other than the one into which I was born. Those people that I talked to for 10 hours taught me more about myself and this world than people I have known for 10 years.

As time passes, I remember the conversations we had in more detail than the ones I have with people on a regular basis. I remember the table setting, the flowers, the wine we drank, the way the waiter hit on us, I remember what you told me about your ex-boyfriend, I remember details of your face when I couldn’t remember a face I saw ten minutes ago in torts class, I remember that you were fearless, having broken into a new industry in a foreign country, I remember your mix of maturity and childishness, I remember your yellow shoes. And I remember changing. I remember my attitudes, my beliefs, my assumptions, my plans for the future, my priorities, my dreams, changing. I remember my world expanding in the course of a dinner.

Of course I love my fellow travelers. How could I not? They changed me. They changed my mind, my heart, my soul, even if we only spent a heartbeat together.

Lima

I'm liking Lima a lot. There is plenty to see - ruins in the heart of the urban landscape, museums, a mix of colonial Spanish buildings and modern architecture. I seem to be in the minority of the hostel crowd, though. More folks seem to prefer the countryside and Cusco.

(Governor's Palace)

(Plaza San Martin)

Today I went to the reconstructed ruins of Huaca Pucllana. This was a sacred sight in the current neighborhood of Miraflores that was used by people who lived here before the Incas. Three successive (and different) peoples used the site. The first, the Lima, carried out religious ceremonies that involved sacrificing young women. The second group, the Wari, appear to have sacrificed infants. The third, the Yschma, merely left offerings of food and drink (phew).

(The Lima appear to have ritualistically smashed pots whenever they constructed a new building)

(Reconstruction of a tomb for infants)

The site has a pyramid that is built of Adobe in such a way that it could withstand seismic activities. They call it the "bookshelf" method for reasons obvious when you look at photos. In a quake, the bricks could shift slightly without the entire structure collapsing.

It was quite cool that the ruins are right smack in the middle of this modern city.

6am musings after a night dodging mosquitoes

I have noticed that when I travel, emotions are closer to the surface. So for example when I have trouble using a bank card, even though I have several backups that are functional, I panic and worry and am depressed all day until I solve the problem. Or when I watch the sunset, I find myself tearing up.

This is absurd because Los Angeles has spectacular sunsets that don't make me cry and I regularly face setbacks worse than a disfunctional debit card. I used to think there were certain places that affected me more strongly, namely, Paris. But now I'm beginning to think it's the effect of travel.

When we are at home, the majority of our energy and self goes to our jobs, school, personal relationships. So even when we pause to look at a pretty sunset, our focus is really elsewhere. I don't think this is bad; if anything it's probably necessary. Living life takes energy, thought, planning. There isn't much left over to examine the world closely.

But when one has saved up to travel, one has the luxury to let the world sink in. My fulltime job right now is to examine the world and the people living on it.

I also used to see travel as somewhat selfish, in that it meant I was enjoying myself instead if working hard at a job or education that would get me a job. But in fact when I am at home, when I am working or in school, I am occupied most the time with myself. My job, my money, my plans for the weekend, my boyfriend, my workout. When I travel, it's about the place. I am still the protagonist, but the "work" I do is to discover a place. How do I get to this part of Rio? What is the history of this city? What do people eat here? What is the economy like? How do I say "thank you"? 

Rio will be the same when I leave, but I will not be the same when I leave Rio.

Rio Tour: Considering Chickens

A few quick notes from a tour I took the other day.

The tour started in a national park (the largest national park inside a city on earth). The park is an Atlantic rainforest, which means the soil quality is higher than in a tropical rainforest. The trees are shorter in the Atlantic rainforest but there is still a high level of biodiversity. We then drove to Christ the Redeemer for views over rio. Unsurprisingly , the area around the statue was very touristy but the views were more the worth the crowds. 

We drove back down into the city into a neighborhood called Santa Teresa. We had lunch and then saw the Escalera de Selarón. A quick note on lunch - all the beef I have had so far in Rio is insanely good. Even hole-in-the-wall burger joints have fantastic beef. I ordered steak for lunch and was not disappointed.

After taking a few photos of the steps, we drove to sugarloaf mountain in time for sunset.

I spent most the day with a Scottish woman, British woman, and a French woman who know lives in Cape Town and speaks English with a cool hybrid French / South African language. She told me that Cape Town has a respectable film making industry. Apparently the American film industry uses the South African production capabilities from time to time, for a much lower price than they might pay in Los Angeles for the same service. (Mad Max was filmed in Namibia and some of the production work was done in Cape Town.)

Throughout the day I discussed socioeconomic concerns with the tour guide. He was born in a favela. He taught himself Spanish and English and is now quite highly educated from what I can tell (the tour covered a broad range of topics, from ocean and rainforest biology to history, art and current events in Brazil). He said that there is basically no way out of the favelas. There is no primary education for the children of the favelas. There IS public education in Brazil but the entrance exams are prohibitively difficult for those born into poverty. The private schools have easier entrance exams but are expensive. He said some folks in the favelas have been given iPhones (?? Not sure from whom) and get a small amount of money from the government each month and are thus content with their situation and don't try to get educated.

He drew a parallel between chickens in the marketplace and people in the favelas. He said that the chickens are not locked in cages, but they don't leave their owners because they are provided with easy access to food. The chickens are unaware that they will be slaughtered and sold. The tour guide said the people in the favelas are like these chickens, except that people are theoretically capable of logical reasoning while chickens are not.

I'm not going to say whether I agree with his viewpoints or not but I think it's valuable to write down his thoughts. My tour guide is certainly one in a bajillion - one of the very few born into a favela who end up with a lower middle class life.

This is a subject for another post but I haven't seen much evidence of a middle class here. 

First Day in Rio (late post)

June 5

I landed in rio around 8:30 this morning. I made a MAJOR rookie mistake and forgot to bring USD. I had zero cash. What a noob. Luckily there were plenty of atms in the airport. I've also noticed that most businesses here seem to prefer credit to cash, which is unexpected (though awesome). Maybe that's only true in tourist areas, however.

I took a bus from the airport to Copacabana. In the hour long ride, I saw more examples of extreme poverty than I have ever seen in one place (and I'm from LA). I actually don't think we drove by the favelas but I will confirm that when I know more. (Confirmed - favelas are in a different part of the city up on hillsides). We drove by miles and miles of crumbling mid-size high rises. Laundry lines, rudimentary water tanks and various vehicles indicated that the no doubt unsafe buildings are inhabited. One interesting observation - some of the trucks and cars parked in front of the decrepit apartment complexes looked somewhat new and appeared to be in decent condition. Made me wonder if they belonged to folks who don't live in the run-down buildings ...? Or maybe rio has a major housing problem but cars are relatively cheap? I'm speculating off a Jetlagged bus ride so take this with a shaker full of salt.

I checked in to my hostel and then took a nap on the beach. Vendors moved about, selling water, beer, hammocks, hats, sunglasses, and shrimp kebabs. Men and women of all body types wore fairly revealing swimsuits. It was kinda cool actually - there doesn't appear to be as much body shaming in Rio as in LA. 

I'm back at my hostel now meeting other travelers.  A group of us are going to a street party later tonight. I asked if there was a dress code and the dude at the front desk laughed at me. Apparently you can party in Rio in flip flops. Good to know!

P.S. FOUND A CLIMBING GYM GOING ASAP