News from the Boat_India

Well, this took a really long time… I think I just needed to come to terms with the fact that India simply didn’t live up to my expectations. The reason for that is probably a combination of high expectations, bad planning, and bad luck. I still had a good time, but India just didn’t “rock my world.” That’s okay. Not every country can be my favorite country in the whole world.

That said, I went into India with zero planning. My first day was taken up by a field trip for one of my classes where we visited a street theatre performance and a village of traditional artists. Sounds cool, right? The only problem was that the theatre show was condensed from 7 hours into 20 minutes, for our convenience, and then we sat there for four hours with nothing to do. It was still cool to see the traditional art and the costumes, but still… I probably could have thought of a better use for my time. Like a Bollywood movie! A friend and I went to see “Robot” that night. “Robot” is the newest blockbuster. It’s about a scientist who develops a robot that develops feelings for the scientist’s girlfriend. And then there are random dance numbers in the desert (by a lagoon), bad CGI, evil Germans, and – most memorably – talking mosquitoes. It probably didn’t help that it was in Tamil with the occasional “That’s so cool” thrown in in English, but still. It definitely puts the more outrageous Hollywood action flicks in perspective.

The next day, we took a two-hour rickshaw ride to Mamallapurum, a city that houses 22 temples, including two out in the ocean that were discovered in 2006 when the tsunami sucked all the water away from the shore. I saw a few old temples and carvings (“old” as in 1400 years old, which sort of puts our version of old to shame) and Krishna’s Butter Ball, a sort of circular rock that sits on a slope. No one can explain why. Apparently the British brought in seven elephants to pull it down because they deemed it dangerous to the public, but no luck – it just stayed right where it was. I couldn’t resist giving it an experimental push myself, but when we left, it was still where it was supposed to be.

More temples the next day when we took the bus out to Kamcheepurum. As we were informed, it was a really nice bus – it didn’t have windows, so we got free air conditioning. But it was cheap, a grand total of 50 cents for a two hour ride, and being the only white people on a bus full of Indians was certainly cool to see. Hindu temples, on the other hand, are bizarre. If I had to come up with a word to describe them, it would have to be *kitsch*. Not necessarily in a bad way, but really, Hindu temples look like someone covered them in superglue, took the toy chest I had as a kid and upended it over the building. Pastel-colored figurines of hundreds or even thousands of Hindu gods cover every tier. The inside is not much better – here, the statues are bigger, but to the Western eye, they’re still pretty unbelievable. Of course non-Hindus are not allowed to enter the inner sanctum, but the outside of the temple is enough to give a taste of just how different this culture is to anything we’re used to.

Sadly, I wasn’t very lucky with the food. Even the traditional meal I had in Kamcheepurum (meaning you eat it all with your hands) wasn’t particularly tasty. But very environmentally friendly – your ‘plate’ is a palm-tree leaf that you roll up and throw away when you’re done, and instead of bringing you individual dishes, everybody just digs in from a shared platter. It made me sad though. I spent so much time hoping for really spicy Indian food, and all the restaurants we ended up at had strangely bland dishes.

*
Bear with me, people, we’re already halfway through my tale of dissatisfaction. Now comes the crazy part: How to see the Taj Mahal in forty hours.

1) Get on an early plane. As in, seven o’clock in the morning early. But be alert. Indians show no mercy to the sleepy-eyed traveler, and if you keep a respectful two feet distance from the counter, they will cut in front of you.

2) Get to New Delhi, 200 km away from Agra and the Taj, at 10 am only to learn that all the trains to Agra that run that day have already left. Luckily, your hotel (that you booked at the New Delhi airport twenty minutes ago) has a cab service that will get you there before it closes at 5:30. And it only costs about $120 round trip. So you can pay for it even when your fellow traveler’s ATM card doesn’t work. So far, you’re still on track.

3) Fight with the hotel manager over the phone because he wants you to pay the 5000 rupees for the cab in advance. Give in when he threatens to have the cab driver turn around and drive back to the hotel. You’re still good, though. If you leave right away, you’ll still have an hour at the Taj.

4) Take a break-neck cab ride to Agra. It’s too terrifying to sleep, so you watch the minutes tick by with growing dread. But you’re *still* good. The cabbie is trying his damndest to get you there in time (although you’re kinda starting to wish he wasn’t).

5) You make it. It’s 4:45, you’re two kilometers away from the East Gate. Your cabbie stops at a money-exchange. Then he stops to pick up a guide that you somehow manage to get rid of, because at this rate your money is barely even enough to pay for a ticket to the Taj, let alone dinner or a guide.

6) Get through security when the sky is already turning orange. There are tourists everywhere. But that’s okay – it’s beautiful enough to make up for it.
Breathe in, breathe out – this is worth it.

7) Fight to get back to the cab through a slew of postcard and magnet sellers, all fifteen year old boys who tell you how sexy you are and ask if you like the Kama Sutra. Stop at another ATM, where your fellow traveler’s card still doesn’t work, fight with the cabbie until he takes you to a restaurant that isn’t ridiculously overpriced. Take a 4.5 hour ride back to the hotel. You’re about ready to crash, but the AC is so cold that once you do happen to fall asleep, you wake up sore and cramped up.

8) Fall into bed at the hotel and sleep for eight hours.

9) Try to check out and realize that you, again, don’t have enough money. Have a clerk walk you to several ATMs that don’t work before you can finally pay the hotel fee.

10) Take a rickshaw to the Lotus Tempel, an absolutely gorgeous building, stark white under a clear blue sky. Aside from the one guy who tries to touch your face with his wet hands, people are really nice here. When you enter, a man sings a psalm that echoes through the entire chamber.
This was a good decision. This is worth it.

11) Take a rickshaw back to the airport. Find out that your flight is delayed for an hour and a half. Fly for two hours. Spent another hour and a half fighting your way through Chennai traffic before you finally, finally make it back to that familiar string of lights in the darkness. You’ve been gone for 40 hours. 28 of those you traveled. 8 of those you were asleep.
The other 4? So worth it.

*
So that was that. In retrospect, I feel like I should have spent less time looking at old buildings and more time trying to experience the culture, as I had originally planned. I heard so many wonderful stories about Indian hospitality, about people who randomly got invited to Indian homes, that I feel like I missed something fundamental. In my experience, India is loud and dirty and everyone wants your money. Even the Taj and the Lotus Tempel weren’t totally satisfying because as awesome as they are, they’re just buildings. They’re beautiful buildings, yes, but when it comes down to it, I would rather have had that connection with another human being than taken a picture and crossed something off my bucket list.

Not that I want to ruin anyone’s day, or convince anyone not to go. India was strange and wonderful and yes, mystifying. If anything, that gnawing feeling that I have in my gut whenever I think about this country makes me want to go back even more – because I can’t help feeling that there has to be more to India than what I experienced.

Lots of love from 27˚ 3.7N/166˚ 35.9E.
Alexa

India pictures are here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=252395&id=834707681&l=3129f5fdd1

News from the Boat_Vietnam

Okay, everybody: Hell Week is coming up fast and I’m rather fond of my sanity, so I’ve given up on translating anything for now. Sorry. Just trying to survive.

And as a quick side note to all you smartasses that feel the need to point out how bad my German has gotten: I’ve been in the States for three years now. The average German I speak there is an hour a week on the phone with Helga (it averages out to just under 9 minutes a day, in case you were wondering). Since I’ve been on this trip, the amount of time I’ve spent on the phone speaking German has gone down to an hour and a half *total*. (That would be around 1.258 minutes a day, FYI.) And the amount of German emails I get during a semester, not counting Helga and Volkmar, averages out to about, say… five? So yeah, my German has gotten pretty bad. Believe me, I know. But it’s not going to start improving any time soon, so for the love of God, stop telling me about it.

***

71 days into our voyage, the good weather finally abandoned us. Turns out, that whole “rainy season” business? It’s not rain like we know it. It is literally water pouring from the sky for hours. It’s “I can’t take pictures because I get water on my lens every time I try,” it’s “I’ll buy this crappy poncho that I know won’t last a day because otherwise I don’t see how I’m getting home,” it’s “I don’t think I’m going out tonight because I’ll be soaked to the bone before I get to the shuttle bus.”

It’s *wet.*

But anyway. Have I mentioned how much I loved Vietnam? The people are incredibly friendly, even when they’re trying to rip you off. It seems like to them, tourism is a giant game. They’ll start giggling when they bargain and laugh at you when you scuttle through traffic with terror in your eyes. They even immortalize their spaghetti-like telephone lines and the infamous phrase, “Same same – but different” (the bane of every amateur barterer) on their cheap and cheaply made t-shirts.

[If you have no idea what that particular sentence is supposed to mean, don’t worry – neither do we.]

But they’re smart, too. The maze-like markets have an elaborate system of color-coded plastic bags in which sellers wrap your purchases to signal to the other shop owners how well you bartered. They’re experienced players in a game that foreigners struggle to understand – but a game is all it is. In India, shopkeepers get angry when you won’t budge on your price. In Vietnam, they roll their eyes, take your money, and gleefully calculate how badly you’re still overpaying.

Of course that’s city life. Outside Ho Chi Minh City, previously Saigon, the pace is slower. There are no scooter stampedes just lurking around the corner, waiting for you to set one foot on the road so they can rush out at you. Instead, boats of all shapes and sizes meander along the Mekong Delta. The floating markets sell fresh fruit and vegetables, people make rice paper and coconut candy (and rice wine, which is a little like vodka, only more intense), and people dig up mud from the bottom of the river to fertilize their gardens. I’d call it sleepy, but the obnoxiously loud motors make sleep pretty much impossible.

If it hasn’t hit you yet that you are actually a foreigner here, it definitely will out in the country. Forget English. You might as well be speaking Klingon for all the good it does you. Little kids in supermarkets start giggling when they see you. But no worries. Pointing and smiling will usually get you where you want to go.

Aside from the Delta, where I spent two of our five days in Vietnam, the major theme for my stay was the war. We call it the Vietnam war, they call it the American war, and the perceptions that the two countries have of it are as different as the names they give it. Mention the war to an American, and he or she immediately scowls. The reasons for that are usually fairly diverse – from “Communism sucks” to “Capitalism sucks,” and anything in between – but the reaction is generally the same.

Now, I never actually walked up to a Vietnamese person and said, “So, about that war…,” but I did see a lot of things relating to it. I visited the War Remembrance Museum, the Reunification Palace, and the Cu Chi Tunnels. Hell, I even fired an AK-47. Yes, they let tourists fire machine guns at the tunnels. There’s no pussyfooting around the issue. Yes, the war happened, and yes, they won. They don’t feel the need to apologize. From a German perspective, the Museum in particular was a hard. I’m not used to people saying, “There was a war, and *we* were the victims, and we’ll throw every shred of evidence we have of that in your face.” Three stories worth of photographs of an American G.I. holding part of a Viet Cong or plaques reading “This is where American soldiers killed two twelve-year-olds and disemboweled a ten-year-old boy” are not easy to take. Plus, they have a tank with Agent Orange – disfigured fetuses inside. I’m not saying it was bad, but it was definitely an experience seeing the other side.

The same goes for the tunnels, I guess. We were shown into a bunker where our guide held a brief speech about the set-up of the tunnels, and then said, “Now, we’ll see a video.” He neglected to point out that it was a propaganda video from the war, with black-and-white footage of cyclists, and a narrator detailing how the locals used to enjoy picnics in the scenic Cu Chi area before the evil Americans came in and dropped bombs on their unsuspecting heads. And while the rest of the visit was more about the Viet Cong side, about the conditions they lived under, the overall mood still seemed to be the same.
Not that you can blame them. I crawled the 100 meters through the tunnels, in the dark, with a gaggle of terrified girls behind me and only occasional glimpses of the guy in front of me. I hit my head and scraped my knees and tried to ignore how badly my legs were aching from the half-crouching position I was in. And this was an enlarged tunnel. Imagining actually having this be your life, with bombs and tanks waiting at the surface, was absolutely terrifying. I was sweating and exhausted by the time I crawled back out, and I don’t even mind enclosed spaces.

Almost equally memorable was that I got to shoot a gun. I’ve wanted to for ages, and there they were, with every machine gun imaginable. The whole thing was probably fairly sketchy, but they had ear muffs at least. And they were definitely needed. Aside from being really, really loud, shooting an AK-47 was also easy. Frighteningly easy. If I, a 5’8’’ hundred-twenty pounder, can fire a gun that dangerous that easily, I don’t even want to imagine the damage an experienced fighter could do.

The whole experience wasn’t necessarily bad, but it was certainly different. Like I said, I’m not used to looking back on a war with pride. I guess they’re entitled. Everybody likes to be proven right (whether or not they actually are, is not for me to decide). And I certainly found it valuable to see the war from their perspective. I just don’t think people should gloat about successfully killing other people.

Lots of love from 35˚ 4.2N/139˚ 41.9E
Alexa

[It was totally awesome though. :)]

Andre Ramadan (English)

Some of you may have already heard, but for those of you who haven’t: On November 6th, my fellow Semester at Sea student Andre Ramadan died of “unknown medical causes.” I’d only met him briefly and didn’t know him very well, but I’ve spoken to people who did, and, well. It’s like a storm cloud is hanging over the ship. People are only just starting to believe that he won’t be coming back.

We held an interfaith memorial service today, followed by a ‘sea burial’ in which every member of the community throws a flower overboard. My thoughts go out to Andre’s family and friends who were expecting to see him get off the ship in San Diego, whole and happy and full of amazing stories. How do you deal with that?

Andre Ramadan (Deutsch)

Manche von euch haben es vielleicht schon gehoert, aber falls nicht: Am sechsten November ist mein Semester at Sea Mitreisender Andre Ramadan wegen „unknown medical causes“ verstorben. Ich hatte ihn nur fluechtig kennengelernt und kannte ihn nicht gut, aber ich habe mit Leuten gesprochen, die gut mit ihm befreundet waren, und, naja. Es ist, als wuerde eine Gewitterwolke ueber dem Schiff haengen. Es wird uns nur langsam klar, dass er nicht wiederkommen wird.

Heute hatten wir einen ‚interfaith memorial service‘ gefolgt von einem Seebegraebnis, in dem jedes Mitglied der Schiffscommunity eine Blume ueber Bord warf. Mein Beileid an Andres Familie und Freunde, die erwarteten, ihn heile und lebendig und voller unglaublicher Geschichten in San Diego wiederzusehen. Wie geht man mit so etwas um?

News from the Boat: Singapore

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Coruscant. Or, at the very least, something that looks just like it. From my window, I can see several of the blue and white skyscrapers that mark the cruise terminal, as well as an overhead cable car that connects mainland Singapore with the island Sentosa – the Disneyland for adults. TV screens all over the city not only play trailers to upcoming movies and ads for attractions around the city, but also the accompanying soundtrack. The malls (and there are a lot of them) have not only everything the Western shopper could desire, but also everything the Asian population enjoys. Pedestrians don’t cross the street, they use underpasses – underpasses that are three stories deep, house everything from Starbucks to Apple Stores, and are big enough to get lost in (which we did, repeatedly). Asking white people for help doesn’t do much good: They’re usually tourists themselves. But the locals are all fluent and gracious enough to help you out, or at least mutely point you in the right direction.

For my American friends who rave about the public transportation in the Bay Area, the Bus and MRT (Metro) system were the cause for boundless wonder. Buses that run on an actual schedule? Clean trains? Or, even more amazing for the SAS-hardened traveler, fixed prices for taxis? While I wasn’t raving at every turn, I have to admit that I was impressed as well: While fairly similar to the BART system, meaning scanners at the entries and exits, the Metro is designed to be a lot more user- and eco-friendly. The ticket machines have a touchpad where you select your destination on a map of the entire transit system (--> no double and triple checking that you have the right number or dollar amount to take you where you want to go), and after you pay, it spits out a small plastic card that you return at your destination at the same machines in exchange for 1 Sing Dollar – no tree-killing here, no sir.

Considering the size of the city, the amount of cool things to do is also astounding. Despite it being a Sunday night, Halloween was everywhere. I went on a Halloween-themed Night Safari at the zoo (supposedly one of the best in the world). We ate food from pretty much every continent, because that’s what Singaporean cuisine is, and crazy, crazy deserts like Dragon fruit and Chinese layer cake, which is basically just rainbow-colored strips of Tapioca stuck together. The night safari itself was crazy fun. The zoo doesn’t have cages, so all that divides you from spotted hyenas, elephants, lions, tigers, water buffalo, hippos, and a bunch of mind-bogglingly exotic animals that I’d never heard of in my life, much less actually seen up close, is a ditch. The ditch is deep enough to keep animals and humans on their respective sides, apparently, but it was still humbling to realize that all of those animals are HUGE. You can’t really get a feeling for it in a regular zoo or on a game safari, but seeing them laying just a few feet away really makes you realize that if we lived in the wild, we would *not* be the top of the food chain.

The Halloween decorations just made it all the more awesome. They were fairly tame, considering that there were a lot of kids around, but it was still creepy to see zombies and ghouls (or zoo workers dressed up as zombies and ghouls, anyway) emerge from the trees or appear out of nowhere to jump on our tram, and our guide had the creepiest laugh I’ve ever heard on a human being. Needless to say I had a great time even though I didn’t get to see the elusive Pontianak that our guide kept referring to, which I’m assuming is the Asian version of a White Woman – the lack of internet makes it hard to look these things up. :(

After the zoo, we decided to hit Clarke Quay, the party zone. It was obviously a Sunday night, but there were still a few people around. It was fun, but I wouldn’t really make a note of it except to say that I have never seen a party district like that: There is a roof spanning the entire area to make sure all the dressed up guys and gals don’t get rained on, an elaborate water fountain, crazy places like something called The Clinic where you sit in wheelchairs and drink your drinks out of IVs. There’s even a sign directing you where to “Q” up for taxis home. And, of course, it’s all ridiculously clean, considering that this is where the drunk people go.

Bright and early (a little too early for my taste >.>) the next morning we hit up Sentosa Island, the playground for adults. There are casinos, beaches and beach bars, shopping malls, resorts, giant candy stores, and, ah yes, Universal Studios. We didn’t go. Instead we ate at one of the top ten restaurants in the worlds, the name of which I’ve forgotten, and spent a good half an hour in a gigantic candy store. Did you know that there are pillows that look like bags of M&M’s or Hershey’s bars? I was sincerely tempted to get one, because those are adorable.

Our group split up after lunch and Amanda, Kelly and I went to ride on the Singapore Flyer, the biggest Ferris wheel in the world. It’s around 40 minutes ride in air conditioned capsules that fit 28 people. There are 28 of them. You do the math. But it was a Monday afternoon, so we got a capsule to ourselves. The Flyer is designed to follow Feng Shui guidelines, which is among the reasons why it rotates in a clockwise direction, and why everything revolves around the number 28. But you tend to forget about that once you look down and you realize that yes, you are actually pretty darn far up. Sadly not quite high enough to see the top of the three-building hotel with the infinity pool on the roof that some SASers were staying at. And we also didn’t get to go see the pool, even though I would have totally paid the 20 bucks, because we had to start heading back. The Flyer was worth it, though, if only to see the thousands of ships heading away from and towards the harbor. It’s one thing to hear that Singapore is an important trading port and another to see cargo ships covering the ocean all the way to the horizon.

Our last stop in Singapore was Max Brenner’s, a store that sells chocolate everything: Hot chocolate drinks, cold chocolate drinks, chocolate pancakes, chocolate soup, and then just plain old chocolate. There’s one in New York City, so for you East Coast chocolate fiends, it’s totally worth checking out.

So, we’ve got a city that’s pretty, friendly, and green. After a tree-planting campaign in the sixties, there is as much greenery as there are skyscrapers. Everybody has a mandatory savings account that holds 20% of their paycheck, and 80% of the population lives in government housing. Let me tell you – those apartments are nothing to scoff at. The public transport is extremely effective, and immigration was the most streamlined process I’ve ever seen.

It sounds pretty heavenly, right? Well, it is, until you consider that the only reason everything is so clean and nice and safe is because state control is ridiculously high. Female non-residents are tested for pregnancy every three months, and if they are, they are either forced to have an abortion of forced to leave – all in the name of limiting the number of foreign babies who can claim citizenship. There is a $5000 (yes, three zeros) fine for carrying flammable liquids on the subway, and let’s not even talk about the mandatory death sentence for everyone who gets caught with more than 2 grams of heroin or 15 grams of weed. There was a member of a royal family (people were strangely reluctant to tell me which one) executed for possessing marijuana a couple of years back. So yeah, not my dream city. But if it eased up on the imprisonments and ditched the hangings, it could be.

Lots of love from 07˚ 7.6N/107˚ 9.7E
Alexa

[My apologies for posting this blog before the one about India. India was hard for me in the way that the other countries weren’t, and I’m still figuring out how to put my experience there in words. But I also didn’t want to leave everybody hanging until after Vietnam, so I’ve moved Singapore to the front of the line. Sorry! I’ll try to update on India as soon as I can.]

Neues vom Boot: Singapur

Meine Damen und Herren, willkommen in Coruscant. Oder zumindest etwas, das genauso aussieht. Von meinem Bullauge aus kann ich mehrere blaue und weisse Hochhaeuser, die einen Teil des Cruise Terminals ausmachen, und die Seilbahn die das Festland mit der Insel Sentosa – dem Disneyland fuer Erwachsene – verbindet, sehen. Ueberall in der Stadt gibt es Bildschirme, die die Fussgaenger nicht nur mit Vorfilmen und Werbespots fuer die Sehenswuerdigkeiten der Stadt beschallen, sondern auch mit den dazugehoerigen Soundtracks. Die Malls (und es gibt jede Menge davon) haben nicht nur alles, was ein westlicher Shopper begehren koennte, sondern auch alles, was die asiatische Bevoelkerung gerne hat. Fussgaenger ueberqueren nicht die Strasse sondern benutzen Unterfuehrungen – Unterfuehrungen die drei Stockwerke in die Tiefe gehen, in denen man Starbucks und Apple Stores findet, und die gross genug sind, dass man sich darin verlaufen kann – was wir auch prompt mehrmals getan haben. Weisse um Hilfe zu bitten bringt da nicht viel – sie sind meistens selber Touristen. Aber die Locals sprechen alle gut genug englisch, um einem weiterhelfen zu koennen, oder einen zumindest stumm in die richtige Richtung zu weisen.

Fuer meine amerikanischen Freunde, die von den oeffentlichen Verkehrsmitteln in der Bay Area schwaermen, waren die Busse und die MRT (Metro) die Quelle endloser Verwunderung. Busse, die sich tatsaechlich an einen Fahrplan halten? Saubere Bahnen? Oder - fuer den Semester at Sea-gewoehnten Reisenden noch erstaunlicher – Festpreise fuer Taxis? Auch wenn ich nicht vor Begeisterung sprachlos war, muss ich zugeben, dass auch ich beeindruckt war. Obwohl die Metro dem BART-System sehr aehnlich ist, was die Scanner an den Eingaengen und Ausgaengen angeht, ist sie sehr viel Umwelt- und Benutzer-schonender. Die Fahrkartenautomaten haben ein Touchpad, auf dem man auf einer Karte die richtige Station anwaehlt (d.h., man muss nicht doppelt und dreifach ueberpruefen, dass man die richtige Nummer oder Preisklasse angegeben hat), und spucken nach dem Bezahlen eine kleine Plastikkarte aus, die man nach der Fahrt an den gleichen Maschinen gegen einen Sing Dollar eintauscht. Hier werden auf jeden Fall keine Baeume verschwendet.

Wenn man die Groesse der Stadt bedenkt, ist es erstaunlich, wieviele coole Sachen man machen kann. Obwohl es Sonntag Abend war, waren ueberall Halloweenaktivitaeten. Ich war auf einer Halloween-Nachtrundfahrt im Zoo (der angeblich einer der besten der Welt sein soll). Wir haben Essen von so ziemlich jedem Kontinent serviert bekommen, weil singaporeanische Kueche nun mal so aussieht, und ausserdem voellig verrueckte Nachtische wie Drachenfrucht und chinesischen Baumkuchen, der im Grunde nur aus regenbogenfarbigen Tapiocalagen besteht. Die Nachtrundfahrt selber war einfach nur verrueckt. Der Zoo hat keine Kaefige, also ist das einzige, was einen von den Hyaenen, Elefanten, Loewen, Tigern, Wasserbueffeln, Hippos und einigen exotischen Viechern, von denen ich noch nie etwas gehoert hatte, trennt, ist ein Graben. Dieser Graben ist angeblich tief genug, dass die Tieren und die Menschen jeweils auf ihrer Seite bleiben, aber es war trotzdem sehr ernuechternd zu realisieren, dass alle diese Tiere riesig sind. Man kriegt in einem normalen Zoo oder auf einer Safari nicht so richtig ein Gespuer dafuer, aber wenn sie nur ein paar Meter entfernt liegen, wird einem schon klar, dass Menschen in der freien Wildbahn nicht ganz oben auf der Hackordnung waeren.

Die Halloweendeko hat das Ganze gleich noch etwas besser gemacht. Sie war relativ zahm, vorallem weil viele Kinder im Zoo unterwegs waren, aber es war trotzdem ein bisschen unheimlich, die Zombies und Geister (oder Zoomitarbeiter, die als Zombies und Geister verkleidet waren) aus dem Wald hervorkommen oder voellig unerwartet auf unsere Bahn springen zu sehen. Ausserdem hatte unser Fuehrer die unheimlichste Lache, die man sich vorstellen kann. Ich muss wohl nicht noch hinzufuegen, dass ich sehr viel Spass hatte, auch wenn ich die mysterioese Pontianak, von der unser Fuehrer staendig sprach, nicht zu sehen bekommen habe. Ich gehe davon aus, dass sie die asiatische Variante der weissen Frauen ist, aber ohne Internet ist es schwer, so etwas herauszufinden. :(

Nach dem Zoo gings dann gleich weiter zu Clarke Quay, Singapurs Partyzone. Man hat schon gemerkt, dass es Sonntag Abend war, aber es waren trotzdem noch einige Leute unterwegs. Es hat Spass gemacht, aber ich wuerde es wahrscheinlich nicht weiter erwaehnen, wenn die Gegend nicht so verrueckt gewesen waere. Das ganze Gebiet wird von einem Dach ueberspannt, damit die aufgetakelten Jungs und Maedels nicht nassgeregnet werden, es gibt einen riesigen Springbrunnen und Clubs wie die Clinic, in dem man in Rollstuehlen sitzt und Getraenke mit Strohhalmen aus einem Tropf trinkt. Es gibt sogar ein Schild, bei dem man sich in eine Schlange stellt, um auf ein Taxi zu warten. Und es ist natuerlich alles einwandfrei sauber dafuer, dass sich hier die Betrunkenen aufhalten.

Frueh am naechsten Morgen (fuer meinen Geschmack ein bisschen zu frueh >.>) haben wir uns auf den Weg nach Sentosa, dem Spielplatz fuer Erwachsene, gemacht. Hier gibt es Kasinos, Straende und Strandbars, Einkaufszentren, Resorts, riesige Suesskramlaeden, und, ach ja, Universal Studios. Da sind wir nicht hingegangen. Stattdessen haben wir in einem der zehn besten Restaurants der Welt, dessen Name ich natuerlich vergessen habe, zu Mittag gegessen, und dann eine halbe Stunde in einem der Suesskramlaeden verbracht. Wusstet ihr, dass es Kissen gibt, die wie M&M Tueten oder Hershey’s Riegel aussehen? Die sind richtig suess. Ich war echt in Versuchung.

Nachmittags hat sich unsere Gruppe dann weitgehend aufgeloest und ich bin mit Amanda und Kelly zum Singapore Flyer, dem groessten Riesenrad der Welt, weitergezogen. Einmal rum dauert ungefaehr 40 Minuten in einer klimatisierten Kapsel, in die 28 Leute passsen. Bei 28 Kapseln koennt ihr das ja mal selber ausrechnen. Aber es war Montag Mittag, deswegen hatten wir eine Kapsel fuer uns allein. Das Rad ist nach Feng Shui-Prinzipien designed, deswegen dreht es sich auch im Uhrzeigersinn, und deswegen taucht die 28 auch ueberall auf. Aber das vergisst man schnell, wenn man nach unten schaut und realisiert, wie hoch oben man eigentlich ist. Leider war es nicht hoch genug, um oben auf das drei-gebauedige Hotel mit dem Infinity Pool auf dem Dach, in dem einige SAS Studenten uebernachtet haben, draufzuschauen. Ich haette gerne die 20 Dollar bezahlt, um selbst mal den Pool zu besichtigen, aber wir hatten keine Zeit mehr. Der Flyer wars aber wert, und wenn nur, um die tausende von Schiffen zu sehen, die am Hafen an- und ablegen. Man hoert zwar, dass Singapur ein wichtiger Handelshafen ist, aber tatsaechlich Frachter bis an den Horizont zu sehen ist noch mal was ganz anderes.

Unser letzter Stopp in Singapur war Max Brenner’s, ein Laden, der jede erdenkliche Form von Schokolade verkauft. Heisse Schokoladengetraenke, kalte Schokogetraenke, Schokoladenpfannkuchen, Schokoladensuppe, und dann einfach nur gute alte Schokolade. Es gibt auch einen in New York, also fuer die Schokoladenliebhaber an der Ostkueste wuerde sich ein Besuch echt lohnen.

Also, hier haben wir eine Stadt, die schoen, sauber, und gruen ist. Die Regierung hat in den Sechzigern eine Begruenungskampagne gestartet, deswegen gibt es soviele Pflanzen wie Hochhaeuser. Jeder Einwohner hat ein Zwangs-Sparkonto, auf das 20% des Einkommens eingezahlt werden, und 80% der Bevoelkerung lebt in staatlichen Wohnungen. Und ganz im Ernst – das sind echt schoene Wohnungen. Die oeffentlichen Verkehrsmittel sind extrem effektiv, und die Passkontrolle lief absolut problemlos ab.

Klingt himmlisch, nicht? Ist es schon, bis man bedenkt, dass die Stadt nur so sauber und nett und sicher ist, weil die staatliche Kontrolle so extrem ist. Weibliche Einwohner, die keine offiziellen Staatsbuerger sind, muessen alle drei Monate testen lassen, ob sie schwanger sind. Sind sie es, koennen sie ihr Kind entweder abtreiben oder gehen – nur, damit die Zahl der Immigrantenbabies, die Anspruch of Staatsbuergerschaft erheben koennten, minimal bleibt. Wenn man mit in der Metro mit brennbaren Fluessigkeiten erwischt wird, zahlt man 5000 Dollar (ja, mit drei Nullen) Strafe. Von der Zwangstodesstrafe fuer den Besitz von mehr als 2 Gramm Heroin oder 15 Gramm Gras gar nicht zu sprechen. Vor ein paar Jahren wurde ein Mitglied einer Koenigsfamilie (aus welcher wollte mir aus irgendeinem Grund keiner sagen) wegen Marihuana-Besitz hingerichtet. Also ist Singapur nicht meine Traumstadt. Aber wenn sie die Gefaengnisstrafen ein bisschen herunterfahren und die Todestrafe abschaffen wuerden, koennte sie es sein.

Alles Liebe von 07˚ 7.6N/107˚ 9.7E
Alexa

[Sorry, dass ich diesen Blog for dem ueber Indien poste. Indien war fuer mich haerter als die anderen Laender, und ich versuche immer noch, meine Zeit dort in Worte zu fassen. Aber ich wollte euch nicht bis nach Vietnam aufs naechste Update warten lassen, also habe ich Singapur vorgezogen. Tut mir Leid. :( Ich versuche auf jeden Fall so bald wie moegluch ueber Indien zu schreiben.]