Singapore & Malaysia : Toxic Haze & Hunting The 1-Finger Zen
Summer Shugyo 20.X.3 pt.II
Leaving China may have gone smoother if I hadn't been up all night drinking and then snuck out of a hostel I hadn't paid for at 6am for the airport, still drunk, but I doubt it. I made it to the airport with time to spare, my carry-on and checked bags properly sorted; the perfect recipe for a smooth trip... unless it's China. Finally it was time to check my checked bag in. As it went through the security scanner the scanner went off. Surely the only time a detector in China detected anything. “Is this your bag?” Yes. “do you have any prohibited items?” No. “We must search your bag.” Of course they had to, I would expect nothing less from China. “Ah. Here is the problem; This lighter, you cannot have it”
Firstly: One is allowed a lighter in their carry on, and they even made it so starting that year you could even have it on your person. You didn't even NEED to put it in your checked bag anymore. Secondly, this wasn't just a lighter, it was a zippo. I explained that even if it was in top shape it would be fine in my checked bag, but it wasn't in top shape. I needed to replace it's guts, and as such the flint-striker didn't work, there was no wick, and no fuel. There was absolutely no danger. China didn't give a shit. The guard explained to me that you can't have a lighter of any kind traveling with you, checked bag or no. “It's an incendiary device.” I hit him with logic and reason, but like most the rest of China, he was immune. “It's an explosive device, we must take it; you can't have it.” No, YOU can't have it. I explained that this particular zippo was from around World War II and was gifted to me from my grandfather. “You can't have it.” YOU can't have it! Back and froth we went, until I told him he could take the worthless guts if I could keep the shell, since the shell was the valuable part and it needed new insides anyway. He acquiesced, and I was finally allowed to move on, ofter he filled out some paperwork stating he found an “Incendiary device” and I was dismissed with a warning. On to the carry-on bag inspection!
As I slogged through the carry-on baggage check the Chinese carry-on-bag-checking-machine detected something it didn't like, and so I was again subject to the search and questions game. “You wouldn't happen to have an umbrella in here would you?” I do. “Ah. I bet that's what it is. No worries, you should be good once we take it out, but policy dictates we search your bag now.” That's fine, or so I thought. “What's this?” Flint. “What is it used for?” It's for the forest. If you hit it with steal it makes a spark. “An incendiary device; we have to take this.” OK. The man then informed me he had to file some paperwork to show he had commandeered something. As he was doing this he saw that not 10 minutes prior I had been flagged for a DIFFERENT incendiary device. Now they were convinced I was making a bomb. Great. I was then escorted to a special area for a thorough search, paperwork filing, and passport seizure so they could red-list me. Black listed would be a banning from the country, this was a probationary-styled thing. Then came all the questions. While one group of people were doing this to me, the other was reviewing all the surveillance footage of me in the airport up to that point: A couple hours of me sleeping on benches, occasionally jolting awake to sprint to the toilet. Clearly the work of a mastermind terrorist. After they had decided tat they had scanned my passport enough and wasted my time they let me go in time to make my flight. As I was waiting to board the plane, one of the disheveled confused looking guards from before came running up to me from the opposite side of the airport. “We forgot to get some information from you passport. We need it back please.” I begrudgingly handed it over, pitying their unprofessionalism. What if I had hurried away? They never would have found me. I probably should have done just that. Over all I had been inspected for hours! At this pint my hate for China was so red-hot I couldn't even find words. I had been reduced to only being able to express my dislike through guttural sounds of exasperation and grunts. At least I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to put up with this where I was going: Singapore! By way of the Philippines.
At least the flight was nice. For the first time ever I wasn't sat next to fat/old/sick dying people, and the plane wasn't 60% crying babies. In fact I was sat next to a beautiful philipina girl and her aunt-like friend. Amanda was her name, and she was very much a female philipina version of me. An international competitive gymnast who enjoyed adventure and taking pictures of herself doing handstands in places people frown on doing them. We spent the flight swapping said pictures and stories, and her aunt spent the flight playing with my electronic translator. I hear it retails for a couple hundred dollars, but I had snagged it for 6$. She seemed to really get a kick out of it and for the next few months at least would definitely get more use out of it than I would, so I gave it to her. She was ecstatic, and I was out only a 6 dollar doodad. Worth it.
Landing in the Philippines I had a day layover in Manila to look foreword to. Amanda tried to take me out for pancakes, but the ATM was broken and she didn't have enough time to hunt down another; She had real life things to worry about and I had airport staff to confuse and argue with. As I was trying to check out of the Philippines my passport wouldn't scan properly. “Did you check in with a a Filipino passport?” … No? “The computer is telling me you did.” I didn't... “Do you OWN a Filipino passport?” … No, but I'll take an extra one if you've got one lying around. “No, it's weird. I'll let you through, but you've got to check in with a desk on the inside.” No problem. The inside guy then told me to go back to the desk I had just come from, which included me needing to get stamped back into the Philippines. They sent me back and forth a couple times before they got themselves sorted … or mostly sorted. They wound up stamping me in more times than out, so I think technically I'm still In the Philippines as a Filipino citizen, and somewhere else at the same time! I'm pretty sure the passport was scanning crazy because of all the things China was doing to it while they where red-listing me. At least I had escaped. Smooth sailing from here on out! Or so I though, until I saw the news on the way there.
Turns out there was a huge fire (in Malaysia, I think) and it was mixing with all the south-east Asian pollution to form SUPER POLLUTION! A poisonous haze had enveloped the country and was now killing the sick and elderly and endangering the health of the priorly healthy. I'm pretty good at showing up places at just the right time...
After I had navigated the humidity and poisonous air I made my way to a hostel that I had heard through the grapevine was pretty good. They were full up, but after talking to the desk-man for a bit he offered me the roof. I love sleeping on rooves! Of course that guy had a deal. A spectacular view, refreshing breeze, and all the poisonous haze I could breath: What's not to jump at? I settled in and hit the streets. Meandering around the city-state I tried not to break any laws, or at least not get caught doing so. Tough on account of almost everything being illegal. The running joke is that Singapore is a fine city; “Fine” in this case meaning a forced financial recompense for a legal violation, and they can be quite weighty. Spitting, littering, jay walking, and chewing gum carry fines worth hundred and sometimes thousands of dollars. Even being in POSSESION of chewing gum without a doctor's prescription (!?) is against the law. Drugs are another matter; You pay with your life. People are routinely hung to death on possession of marijuana, let alone heavier drugs. Their logic being that if one posses the drugs they are a link in the drug running trade, which is punishable by death. Fair enough with them lying in the golden triangle of heroin traders, but random pee tests of people in an airport who test positive for weed they ingested before arriving in Singapore STILL getting executed is a bit much. Singapore is going for the whole “utopian society” thing, which to me is an oxymoron. It does have it's enjoyables though. 'Sporeans enjoy having the world's largest concentration of millionaires, one in four I believe, and I hate to say it, world's best airport: there's even a butterfly garden in the thing!
Eventually I found my way to the Singaporean Chinatown markets and got myself a couple of new headbands/bandanas. While out and about I met a German guy and we went out and partied the night away. The next days I spent kicking around parks and landmarks like the symbol of Singapore: The Merlion. I also journeyed to a Buddhist temple supposedly containing the tooth of the Buddha; They won't let anyone run tests on it though. Questions of authenticity aside, it is a beautiful place.
Of course this while time the haze crisis was getting worse and worse. Singapore, on more than one day, was shut down. As a result, doors and windows had to be shut, and many businesses didn't even open. I did as the locals do: Spent the whole day in a gigantic shopping mall! Shopping is one of their favorite pass-times (they're rich, remember?), as well as watching movies. I love movies, AND not suffocating in air, so I spent the day the 'Sporean way. All that sitting around and being inside caused me to rebound hard in the opposite direction once the outdoors where clear enough to play in. I wandered my way to Bukit Timah, one of only 2 patches of urban primary rainforest in the world. My plan was to make it up to the summit of Singapore, barefoot with some flip flops in case, of course. It had been awhile since I was in the rainforest but I was quickly reminded that everything was made of spikes and that it is a spiky colorful diverse energetic place. Huge lizards, flying lemurs, lots of monkey, giant plants, and a butterfly orgy where just a few of the things to cross my path. That particular forest is so rich one botanist claimed there are more plant species there than the entirety of North America. Naturally I got lost in there. I was looking for “Macritchie Reservoir”, I decided I would take a short cut... it took me 6 miles out of the way, and into a huge colony of monkeys! I hitchhiked back to the bus stop to the city with some guy who could not accept that I wasn't Brazilian. I decided I would go back to base, the hostel, and grab my hammock and return to the rainforest to enter a photo contest the hammock company was having. By the time I got it, it was too dark to do. I tried again another day, planning to go on to the “tree top walk” and get the pic there. It was closed. The next time I tried I was monsooned out. Fine, I'll go somewhere else!
Drifting around Singapore through the hot equator temperatures and 99% humidity, I couldn't wait to get to some of it's illustrious martial arts/ fighting gyms. Unsurprisingly, the places are much like the rest of Singapore: Unnecessarily nice, and correspondingly expensive. I'm more of a basics -broke kind of guy. I'm sure if I was there during a more touristy time and I had a buddy deep on the inside I would like it though.
Meanwhile, back at the hostel I was beginning to think that it might be a not-so-secret gay oriented hostel. My first clue was the fact that it was jam packed with super flamboyant barely clothed guys, bringing back more of the same. My second clue was only slightly less obvious. The hostel had 3 computers for people to use the internet on. These were located in a public open area anyone could just wander in and out of. Anytime I was using one computer, the other two were being used for gay singles websites. One time I wandered in and there was a guy looking at a Google-image search collage of wangs. A cornucopia of cocks. An abundance of bones. There were a lot of dicks on the screen is what I'm getting at. That was about the time I put everything together and had a penis epiphany. I was mildly uncomfortable, but it was OK; I'm sure I made them uncomfortable too. I had a night terror one night and woke up screaming in a fit of survival rage. I must be rough to room with...
I decided to give Singapore a break and head to Malaysia on a training mission. There exists a Kung Fu master who lives in Malacca, Malaysia who is the only person alive who can do the “1-finger zen technique”. The technique consists of being able to do a 1-finger handstand on one hand, but the expression of the technique for which this man is most famous is being able to completely stab his finger through a coconut, green husk and all. I love breaking coconuts, and so I though I would go find this man, acquire his ancient technique, and then when the old man finally passed on, I'd be the only one who could do the technique. How hard could it be?
Well, for starters, the man at the train station said to me “you have chosen literally the worst possible time to go. Haven't you heard of the haze?” Yeah, I'd heard of it. No one would stop talking about it. Maybe it was because the haze level had hit 700, and 300 is when it's deemed hazardous... plus I had to navigate the economic hood-winkery of the currency conversions between the Malaysian Ringgit and the Singaporean Dollar. It costs the same quantity of money for international train tickets, regardless of the currency it's purchased in, actual value be damned! For example, the train from Singapore to the town in Malaysia I was heading to cost 200 Singapore dollars or 200 Malay ringgits, even though the ringgit is worth 1/6 as much. If you're willing to jump through some hoops you can save a ton of capital by being aware of these sorts of things. I was feeling good about myself for this and quit sleepy so I took a nap. After all it was early in the a.m, and my train stop wasn't until 4am. I woke up at 5:30am, waaaaay past my stop. There weren't any other trains going were I needed to go, so it was bus time. I bought a bus ticket from the only ticket window open at 6am, and the ticket turned out to be expired. The man would not return my money, and told me I could just jump on the next bus in 2 hours. I waited the 2 hours, but I would need to wait 3 more for the bus to show up. 5 hours of waiting! All because that dude sold me an expired ticket. I wound up needing to take a couple buses to finally get to Malacca, but it was worth it.
Malacca is a beautiful laid back port city, It's environment heavily influenced by it's extensive Maritime history, culturally very diverse, and unbeknownst to me at the time, the Malaccan straights have the worlds highest amount of pirate attacks. There was a conspicuous Galleon in the middle of town that was housing a Maritime museum so I went in. Obviously. They had exhibits on explorers like Sir Frances Drake, Magellan, Marco Polo, and so on, as well as Malacca's history and sea travel in general. I highly recommend it. Malacca is a great town not just because of all the water, cultural mixing, and tropical weather, but also because shoes must be off pretty much everywhere. I'm a big fan of no-shoes situations. The no-shoes requirement springs from the heavy Muslim influence In their culture. They have other influences to of course, such as Buddhism, Taoism, and others. I spent a whole day meandering from temple to temple studying the intricacies of the various styles of guardian lion-dogs (shitzu gao, or Shiisa). I had arrived almost a week early, so was able to afford the time. The coconut breaking 1-finger zen master regularly shoes up in the same spot every Saturday and I made sure I'd have the week to knock around the town before I tracked him down. My next order of business was jumping into a walking tour of the area. During this tour I learned of Saint Frances Xavier who was sainted for some very mediocre miracles.
Supposedly one time he was on a ship and dropped his cross into the ocean. A couple days later he saw a crab dragging it around on a beach and the crab presented it to him as a gift. That's one of his “miracles”? Then I too must be something similar. A crab DID give me the “heart of the sea” after all. Another of his miracles? He died and was buried on a beach, and awhile later some people dug him up and he hadn't decomposed. A miracle! I'm pretty sure any one put into a heavily salted environment, like a beach, and cured like beef jerky will last awhile. Miracles! Either his guy's stories weren't properly preserved through time, or people in the are set their bar very low during that time.
My time wasn't all temples, miracles, and holy whatnots though, there were other, more worldly things to enjoy in Malacca as well. The trishaws were like none I had ever seen. In many countries you'll find people-drawn carriages, either by foot or by bicycle, that you can hire around town. In Malacca they take them to a while other level though: spinning rims, giant wings, lights and strobes, boomboxes; they're peddle powered dance club Christmas trees, and they are great. I always feel a sense of comfort around the whimsical and ridiculous. Aside from braggadocio-mobiles there was also a thriving bar scene. It is a port town after all. I met some girl and we went on an extremely leisurely pub crawl one night. That night was exceptional because it featured the only beer I've never been able to finish: Camel beer. The lady and I got a whole bucket of them because they were the cheapest and strongest. I barely made it through one can, the lady 2/3. We sent the rest back. It's the only time such a thing has happened. I can't accurately describe how gross it was, but I'm certain an actual camel's pee would make a much more pleasant drink. The pub crawl eventually brought us the bar directly across from our hostel, The Shantaram, named after the book backpackers are always on about that I haven't read. As expected, it was full of extremely interesting drunken international characters who where fun to talk world matters and philosophy with until they became incomprehensibly drunk. Before they went on the other side of the fun-time drinking bell curve they warned me that Malacca was considering shutting down the Jonker Street night market. What!? No!! No night market meant no 1-finger zen technique! I could only wait and see...
The next day I snuck into a hostel and had a free breakfast and used the washer for free. Free! I met back up with the lady and we did some cultural stuff. An underwhelming Muslim museum, a temple where the custom is getting on your hands and knees and crawling under a table to be blessed with luck and intelligence. People did it to be blessed with those things to pass tests and such. One person said “want to crawl under?” My response: “No thanks. I'm smart.” The final attraction of the day was some rich Malaysian guy's toy collection/ movie memorabilia collection. I then found out that at some point in time I had lost track of time and gained a day. Another day to play! Even with the extra day, before I knew it it was Saturday night. Time for the Jonker Street night market and the 1-finger zen technique!
The moment was upon me. Every Saturday night Malacca plays host to the Jonker Street night market. At the end of the bazaar there sits a permanent stage, and at a certain time each Saturday the kung fu master takes the stage and demonstrates the 1-finger zen technique. He would jam his finger through that coconut, I would absorb his secrets, and then we would talk of breaking coconuts and become coconut breaking bros! That's how it was playing out in my mind anyway. I was so excited!
Walking pas an alligator in a drainage ditch on the side of the street I entered the market, a hustling bustling hub of street stall commerce. Unfurled from the rooftops of the buildings of Jonker Street forming the border of the market were giant banners of the kung fu master, reaming his finger through a coconut. I was definitely in the right place. I flowed through the massive crowd flitting from booth to booth trying exotic nibble and looking at merchandise of various quality At one point I was approached by a lady with a clip board explaining that the Jonker Street Market was in danger of the government shutting it down, despite it being a vital source of tourism and revenue. She was gathering signatures for a petition to save it. I gladly signed it, using a nom de guerre, but a names a name right?
The night wore on and I still hadn't seen my coconut dominating kung fu master yet. I walked over to an old lady manning a booth directly below one of the banners depicting my target. “When is this guy coming on?”, I said pointing to the banner. “He'll be late.” OK, I though, I'll just kill some more time. I wondered around and came back, no ancient techniques yet to show for my efforts. “How much longer will this guy be?” “He'll be late.” Obviously, but it was already late. I needed some times so I could plan myself accordingly. “How late? What's the holdup?” I pressed the elderly lady for information. “He's in China teaching some kung fu masters. He'll be back in three weeks.” China!? I just came from there! We probably passes each other in the air! I didn't have 3 weeks to wait around, as I had to be in Australia for a wilderness survival/ leadership training course for a couple months in the outback, and it started before ol' kung fuey would be back... Well, I'll be back. I'm not letting that one go.
Now that the rest of my evening had been begrudgingly freed up, I wandered around looking for ways to fill it. I found a stall with a poster of a goat on it, selling goat's milk. Their slogan enthusiasticly read “tastes just like human milk!” Well, this is happening, I though. I ordered a bottle. A glass bottle with just a bit of plastic wrap on the top to keep the bugs out, served at Malaysian room temperature, which is about the same temperature as a sweaty crotch. It was palatable, though I don't know if I would make a habit of drinking it. In my extended stay at the market I met an English girl and a German girl and we got some drinks that didn't come from a mammal, swapped stores, and watched randoms singing on the stage that should have been for coconut stabbing but had been taken for karaoke instead, in front of hundreds of people. A good night, though not the one I was hoping for after a week in Malaysia.
In the morning I took a bus back to Singapore, plotting my return to steal the 1-finger zen technique. Once I got back, I gathered myself and made for the airport; I was off to Australia for the aforementioned wilderness survival/ leadership training course for the next couple of months. Even though I liked Singapore, the laws and rules were crushing and I was eagerly looking foreword to being rid of the fines constantly waiting to fall on me and crush me like the sword of Damocles. I spent my time at the airport admiring all it's “best airport in the world” features like the butterfly garden. “Ahh. Maybe airports aren't all bad.”, was the thought I had before the airlines went out of their way to prove it wrong. As I passed the final security check to board the plane their expert searching uncovered several items which supposedly were prohibited, despite the fact they made it through every other airport and had ENTERED Singapore just fine. They tried to confiscate my items, but I explained that I needed all the things for the place I was going an the course I was in. They didn't care. “Nothing can be done.” Of course something can be done! What if my things were given to the crew and returned to me in Oz? They asked the crew, the crew said that it wasn't their responsibility. What if they took them and put them in the cargo hold like they do when the overhead bins are full? “We need to ask the captain.” They did. He said “Nothing can be done.” I find blind following of rules quite infuriating, so I was more than a bit livid. I could not wait to get he hell out of the airport now. The best airport in the world is still a hell hole, its just a beautiful hell hole; truly the shiniest turd.
Singapore and Malaysia were fun, but now I was missing a large portion of supplies and I still didn't have my meeting with the 1-finger zen technique. Now, it was off to Australia to try not to die in the outback for 2 months, and if successful, finally graduate from university...
How hard could it be?
-Nash
Firstly: One is allowed a lighter in their carry on, and they even made it so starting that year you could even have it on your person. You didn't even NEED to put it in your checked bag anymore. Secondly, this wasn't just a lighter, it was a zippo. I explained that even if it was in top shape it would be fine in my checked bag, but it wasn't in top shape. I needed to replace it's guts, and as such the flint-striker didn't work, there was no wick, and no fuel. There was absolutely no danger. China didn't give a shit. The guard explained to me that you can't have a lighter of any kind traveling with you, checked bag or no. “It's an incendiary device.” I hit him with logic and reason, but like most the rest of China, he was immune. “It's an explosive device, we must take it; you can't have it.” No, YOU can't have it. I explained that this particular zippo was from around World War II and was gifted to me from my grandfather. “You can't have it.” YOU can't have it! Back and froth we went, until I told him he could take the worthless guts if I could keep the shell, since the shell was the valuable part and it needed new insides anyway. He acquiesced, and I was finally allowed to move on, ofter he filled out some paperwork stating he found an “Incendiary device” and I was dismissed with a warning. On to the carry-on bag inspection!
As I slogged through the carry-on baggage check the Chinese carry-on-bag-checking-machine detected something it didn't like, and so I was again subject to the search and questions game. “You wouldn't happen to have an umbrella in here would you?” I do. “Ah. I bet that's what it is. No worries, you should be good once we take it out, but policy dictates we search your bag now.” That's fine, or so I thought. “What's this?” Flint. “What is it used for?” It's for the forest. If you hit it with steal it makes a spark. “An incendiary device; we have to take this.” OK. The man then informed me he had to file some paperwork to show he had commandeered something. As he was doing this he saw that not 10 minutes prior I had been flagged for a DIFFERENT incendiary device. Now they were convinced I was making a bomb. Great. I was then escorted to a special area for a thorough search, paperwork filing, and passport seizure so they could red-list me. Black listed would be a banning from the country, this was a probationary-styled thing. Then came all the questions. While one group of people were doing this to me, the other was reviewing all the surveillance footage of me in the airport up to that point: A couple hours of me sleeping on benches, occasionally jolting awake to sprint to the toilet. Clearly the work of a mastermind terrorist. After they had decided tat they had scanned my passport enough and wasted my time they let me go in time to make my flight. As I was waiting to board the plane, one of the disheveled confused looking guards from before came running up to me from the opposite side of the airport. “We forgot to get some information from you passport. We need it back please.” I begrudgingly handed it over, pitying their unprofessionalism. What if I had hurried away? They never would have found me. I probably should have done just that. Over all I had been inspected for hours! At this pint my hate for China was so red-hot I couldn't even find words. I had been reduced to only being able to express my dislike through guttural sounds of exasperation and grunts. At least I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to put up with this where I was going: Singapore! By way of the Philippines.
At least the flight was nice. For the first time ever I wasn't sat next to fat/old/sick dying people, and the plane wasn't 60% crying babies. In fact I was sat next to a beautiful philipina girl and her aunt-like friend. Amanda was her name, and she was very much a female philipina version of me. An international competitive gymnast who enjoyed adventure and taking pictures of herself doing handstands in places people frown on doing them. We spent the flight swapping said pictures and stories, and her aunt spent the flight playing with my electronic translator. I hear it retails for a couple hundred dollars, but I had snagged it for 6$. She seemed to really get a kick out of it and for the next few months at least would definitely get more use out of it than I would, so I gave it to her. She was ecstatic, and I was out only a 6 dollar doodad. Worth it.
Landing in the Philippines I had a day layover in Manila to look foreword to. Amanda tried to take me out for pancakes, but the ATM was broken and she didn't have enough time to hunt down another; She had real life things to worry about and I had airport staff to confuse and argue with. As I was trying to check out of the Philippines my passport wouldn't scan properly. “Did you check in with a a Filipino passport?” … No? “The computer is telling me you did.” I didn't... “Do you OWN a Filipino passport?” … No, but I'll take an extra one if you've got one lying around. “No, it's weird. I'll let you through, but you've got to check in with a desk on the inside.” No problem. The inside guy then told me to go back to the desk I had just come from, which included me needing to get stamped back into the Philippines. They sent me back and forth a couple times before they got themselves sorted … or mostly sorted. They wound up stamping me in more times than out, so I think technically I'm still In the Philippines as a Filipino citizen, and somewhere else at the same time! I'm pretty sure the passport was scanning crazy because of all the things China was doing to it while they where red-listing me. At least I had escaped. Smooth sailing from here on out! Or so I though, until I saw the news on the way there.
Turns out there was a huge fire (in Malaysia, I think) and it was mixing with all the south-east Asian pollution to form SUPER POLLUTION! A poisonous haze had enveloped the country and was now killing the sick and elderly and endangering the health of the priorly healthy. I'm pretty good at showing up places at just the right time...
After I had navigated the humidity and poisonous air I made my way to a hostel that I had heard through the grapevine was pretty good. They were full up, but after talking to the desk-man for a bit he offered me the roof. I love sleeping on rooves! Of course that guy had a deal. A spectacular view, refreshing breeze, and all the poisonous haze I could breath: What's not to jump at? I settled in and hit the streets. Meandering around the city-state I tried not to break any laws, or at least not get caught doing so. Tough on account of almost everything being illegal. The running joke is that Singapore is a fine city; “Fine” in this case meaning a forced financial recompense for a legal violation, and they can be quite weighty. Spitting, littering, jay walking, and chewing gum carry fines worth hundred and sometimes thousands of dollars. Even being in POSSESION of chewing gum without a doctor's prescription (!?) is against the law. Drugs are another matter; You pay with your life. People are routinely hung to death on possession of marijuana, let alone heavier drugs. Their logic being that if one posses the drugs they are a link in the drug running trade, which is punishable by death. Fair enough with them lying in the golden triangle of heroin traders, but random pee tests of people in an airport who test positive for weed they ingested before arriving in Singapore STILL getting executed is a bit much. Singapore is going for the whole “utopian society” thing, which to me is an oxymoron. It does have it's enjoyables though. 'Sporeans enjoy having the world's largest concentration of millionaires, one in four I believe, and I hate to say it, world's best airport: there's even a butterfly garden in the thing!
Eventually I found my way to the Singaporean Chinatown markets and got myself a couple of new headbands/bandanas. While out and about I met a German guy and we went out and partied the night away. The next days I spent kicking around parks and landmarks like the symbol of Singapore: The Merlion. I also journeyed to a Buddhist temple supposedly containing the tooth of the Buddha; They won't let anyone run tests on it though. Questions of authenticity aside, it is a beautiful place.
Of course this while time the haze crisis was getting worse and worse. Singapore, on more than one day, was shut down. As a result, doors and windows had to be shut, and many businesses didn't even open. I did as the locals do: Spent the whole day in a gigantic shopping mall! Shopping is one of their favorite pass-times (they're rich, remember?), as well as watching movies. I love movies, AND not suffocating in air, so I spent the day the 'Sporean way. All that sitting around and being inside caused me to rebound hard in the opposite direction once the outdoors where clear enough to play in. I wandered my way to Bukit Timah, one of only 2 patches of urban primary rainforest in the world. My plan was to make it up to the summit of Singapore, barefoot with some flip flops in case, of course. It had been awhile since I was in the rainforest but I was quickly reminded that everything was made of spikes and that it is a spiky colorful diverse energetic place. Huge lizards, flying lemurs, lots of monkey, giant plants, and a butterfly orgy where just a few of the things to cross my path. That particular forest is so rich one botanist claimed there are more plant species there than the entirety of North America. Naturally I got lost in there. I was looking for “Macritchie Reservoir”, I decided I would take a short cut... it took me 6 miles out of the way, and into a huge colony of monkeys! I hitchhiked back to the bus stop to the city with some guy who could not accept that I wasn't Brazilian. I decided I would go back to base, the hostel, and grab my hammock and return to the rainforest to enter a photo contest the hammock company was having. By the time I got it, it was too dark to do. I tried again another day, planning to go on to the “tree top walk” and get the pic there. It was closed. The next time I tried I was monsooned out. Fine, I'll go somewhere else!
Drifting around Singapore through the hot equator temperatures and 99% humidity, I couldn't wait to get to some of it's illustrious martial arts/ fighting gyms. Unsurprisingly, the places are much like the rest of Singapore: Unnecessarily nice, and correspondingly expensive. I'm more of a basics -broke kind of guy. I'm sure if I was there during a more touristy time and I had a buddy deep on the inside I would like it though.
Meanwhile, back at the hostel I was beginning to think that it might be a not-so-secret gay oriented hostel. My first clue was the fact that it was jam packed with super flamboyant barely clothed guys, bringing back more of the same. My second clue was only slightly less obvious. The hostel had 3 computers for people to use the internet on. These were located in a public open area anyone could just wander in and out of. Anytime I was using one computer, the other two were being used for gay singles websites. One time I wandered in and there was a guy looking at a Google-image search collage of wangs. A cornucopia of cocks. An abundance of bones. There were a lot of dicks on the screen is what I'm getting at. That was about the time I put everything together and had a penis epiphany. I was mildly uncomfortable, but it was OK; I'm sure I made them uncomfortable too. I had a night terror one night and woke up screaming in a fit of survival rage. I must be rough to room with...
I decided to give Singapore a break and head to Malaysia on a training mission. There exists a Kung Fu master who lives in Malacca, Malaysia who is the only person alive who can do the “1-finger zen technique”. The technique consists of being able to do a 1-finger handstand on one hand, but the expression of the technique for which this man is most famous is being able to completely stab his finger through a coconut, green husk and all. I love breaking coconuts, and so I though I would go find this man, acquire his ancient technique, and then when the old man finally passed on, I'd be the only one who could do the technique. How hard could it be?
Well, for starters, the man at the train station said to me “you have chosen literally the worst possible time to go. Haven't you heard of the haze?” Yeah, I'd heard of it. No one would stop talking about it. Maybe it was because the haze level had hit 700, and 300 is when it's deemed hazardous... plus I had to navigate the economic hood-winkery of the currency conversions between the Malaysian Ringgit and the Singaporean Dollar. It costs the same quantity of money for international train tickets, regardless of the currency it's purchased in, actual value be damned! For example, the train from Singapore to the town in Malaysia I was heading to cost 200 Singapore dollars or 200 Malay ringgits, even though the ringgit is worth 1/6 as much. If you're willing to jump through some hoops you can save a ton of capital by being aware of these sorts of things. I was feeling good about myself for this and quit sleepy so I took a nap. After all it was early in the a.m, and my train stop wasn't until 4am. I woke up at 5:30am, waaaaay past my stop. There weren't any other trains going were I needed to go, so it was bus time. I bought a bus ticket from the only ticket window open at 6am, and the ticket turned out to be expired. The man would not return my money, and told me I could just jump on the next bus in 2 hours. I waited the 2 hours, but I would need to wait 3 more for the bus to show up. 5 hours of waiting! All because that dude sold me an expired ticket. I wound up needing to take a couple buses to finally get to Malacca, but it was worth it.
Malacca is a beautiful laid back port city, It's environment heavily influenced by it's extensive Maritime history, culturally very diverse, and unbeknownst to me at the time, the Malaccan straights have the worlds highest amount of pirate attacks. There was a conspicuous Galleon in the middle of town that was housing a Maritime museum so I went in. Obviously. They had exhibits on explorers like Sir Frances Drake, Magellan, Marco Polo, and so on, as well as Malacca's history and sea travel in general. I highly recommend it. Malacca is a great town not just because of all the water, cultural mixing, and tropical weather, but also because shoes must be off pretty much everywhere. I'm a big fan of no-shoes situations. The no-shoes requirement springs from the heavy Muslim influence In their culture. They have other influences to of course, such as Buddhism, Taoism, and others. I spent a whole day meandering from temple to temple studying the intricacies of the various styles of guardian lion-dogs (shitzu gao, or Shiisa). I had arrived almost a week early, so was able to afford the time. The coconut breaking 1-finger zen master regularly shoes up in the same spot every Saturday and I made sure I'd have the week to knock around the town before I tracked him down. My next order of business was jumping into a walking tour of the area. During this tour I learned of Saint Frances Xavier who was sainted for some very mediocre miracles.
Supposedly one time he was on a ship and dropped his cross into the ocean. A couple days later he saw a crab dragging it around on a beach and the crab presented it to him as a gift. That's one of his “miracles”? Then I too must be something similar. A crab DID give me the “heart of the sea” after all. Another of his miracles? He died and was buried on a beach, and awhile later some people dug him up and he hadn't decomposed. A miracle! I'm pretty sure any one put into a heavily salted environment, like a beach, and cured like beef jerky will last awhile. Miracles! Either his guy's stories weren't properly preserved through time, or people in the are set their bar very low during that time.
My time wasn't all temples, miracles, and holy whatnots though, there were other, more worldly things to enjoy in Malacca as well. The trishaws were like none I had ever seen. In many countries you'll find people-drawn carriages, either by foot or by bicycle, that you can hire around town. In Malacca they take them to a while other level though: spinning rims, giant wings, lights and strobes, boomboxes; they're peddle powered dance club Christmas trees, and they are great. I always feel a sense of comfort around the whimsical and ridiculous. Aside from braggadocio-mobiles there was also a thriving bar scene. It is a port town after all. I met some girl and we went on an extremely leisurely pub crawl one night. That night was exceptional because it featured the only beer I've never been able to finish: Camel beer. The lady and I got a whole bucket of them because they were the cheapest and strongest. I barely made it through one can, the lady 2/3. We sent the rest back. It's the only time such a thing has happened. I can't accurately describe how gross it was, but I'm certain an actual camel's pee would make a much more pleasant drink. The pub crawl eventually brought us the bar directly across from our hostel, The Shantaram, named after the book backpackers are always on about that I haven't read. As expected, it was full of extremely interesting drunken international characters who where fun to talk world matters and philosophy with until they became incomprehensibly drunk. Before they went on the other side of the fun-time drinking bell curve they warned me that Malacca was considering shutting down the Jonker Street night market. What!? No!! No night market meant no 1-finger zen technique! I could only wait and see...
The next day I snuck into a hostel and had a free breakfast and used the washer for free. Free! I met back up with the lady and we did some cultural stuff. An underwhelming Muslim museum, a temple where the custom is getting on your hands and knees and crawling under a table to be blessed with luck and intelligence. People did it to be blessed with those things to pass tests and such. One person said “want to crawl under?” My response: “No thanks. I'm smart.” The final attraction of the day was some rich Malaysian guy's toy collection/ movie memorabilia collection. I then found out that at some point in time I had lost track of time and gained a day. Another day to play! Even with the extra day, before I knew it it was Saturday night. Time for the Jonker Street night market and the 1-finger zen technique!
The moment was upon me. Every Saturday night Malacca plays host to the Jonker Street night market. At the end of the bazaar there sits a permanent stage, and at a certain time each Saturday the kung fu master takes the stage and demonstrates the 1-finger zen technique. He would jam his finger through that coconut, I would absorb his secrets, and then we would talk of breaking coconuts and become coconut breaking bros! That's how it was playing out in my mind anyway. I was so excited!
Walking pas an alligator in a drainage ditch on the side of the street I entered the market, a hustling bustling hub of street stall commerce. Unfurled from the rooftops of the buildings of Jonker Street forming the border of the market were giant banners of the kung fu master, reaming his finger through a coconut. I was definitely in the right place. I flowed through the massive crowd flitting from booth to booth trying exotic nibble and looking at merchandise of various quality At one point I was approached by a lady with a clip board explaining that the Jonker Street Market was in danger of the government shutting it down, despite it being a vital source of tourism and revenue. She was gathering signatures for a petition to save it. I gladly signed it, using a nom de guerre, but a names a name right?
The night wore on and I still hadn't seen my coconut dominating kung fu master yet. I walked over to an old lady manning a booth directly below one of the banners depicting my target. “When is this guy coming on?”, I said pointing to the banner. “He'll be late.” OK, I though, I'll just kill some more time. I wondered around and came back, no ancient techniques yet to show for my efforts. “How much longer will this guy be?” “He'll be late.” Obviously, but it was already late. I needed some times so I could plan myself accordingly. “How late? What's the holdup?” I pressed the elderly lady for information. “He's in China teaching some kung fu masters. He'll be back in three weeks.” China!? I just came from there! We probably passes each other in the air! I didn't have 3 weeks to wait around, as I had to be in Australia for a wilderness survival/ leadership training course for a couple months in the outback, and it started before ol' kung fuey would be back... Well, I'll be back. I'm not letting that one go.
Now that the rest of my evening had been begrudgingly freed up, I wandered around looking for ways to fill it. I found a stall with a poster of a goat on it, selling goat's milk. Their slogan enthusiasticly read “tastes just like human milk!” Well, this is happening, I though. I ordered a bottle. A glass bottle with just a bit of plastic wrap on the top to keep the bugs out, served at Malaysian room temperature, which is about the same temperature as a sweaty crotch. It was palatable, though I don't know if I would make a habit of drinking it. In my extended stay at the market I met an English girl and a German girl and we got some drinks that didn't come from a mammal, swapped stores, and watched randoms singing on the stage that should have been for coconut stabbing but had been taken for karaoke instead, in front of hundreds of people. A good night, though not the one I was hoping for after a week in Malaysia.
In the morning I took a bus back to Singapore, plotting my return to steal the 1-finger zen technique. Once I got back, I gathered myself and made for the airport; I was off to Australia for the aforementioned wilderness survival/ leadership training course for the next couple of months. Even though I liked Singapore, the laws and rules were crushing and I was eagerly looking foreword to being rid of the fines constantly waiting to fall on me and crush me like the sword of Damocles. I spent my time at the airport admiring all it's “best airport in the world” features like the butterfly garden. “Ahh. Maybe airports aren't all bad.”, was the thought I had before the airlines went out of their way to prove it wrong. As I passed the final security check to board the plane their expert searching uncovered several items which supposedly were prohibited, despite the fact they made it through every other airport and had ENTERED Singapore just fine. They tried to confiscate my items, but I explained that I needed all the things for the place I was going an the course I was in. They didn't care. “Nothing can be done.” Of course something can be done! What if my things were given to the crew and returned to me in Oz? They asked the crew, the crew said that it wasn't their responsibility. What if they took them and put them in the cargo hold like they do when the overhead bins are full? “We need to ask the captain.” They did. He said “Nothing can be done.” I find blind following of rules quite infuriating, so I was more than a bit livid. I could not wait to get he hell out of the airport now. The best airport in the world is still a hell hole, its just a beautiful hell hole; truly the shiniest turd.
Singapore and Malaysia were fun, but now I was missing a large portion of supplies and I still didn't have my meeting with the 1-finger zen technique. Now, it was off to Australia to try not to die in the outback for 2 months, and if successful, finally graduate from university...
How hard could it be?
-Nash