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Java, Indonesia and Singapore
SIN-Each Airport destination in the world has a three-letter abbreviation for its location. LAX LEX ATL. It's funny that SIN is the abbreviation for Singapore, a country prided in the fact that its citizens are the most law abiding in the world. This is impressive considering that the rigorously enforced laws range from no spitting, no feeding birds, no jaywalking, and the imposing hefty fine for not flushing. (That simply has to be the worst police patrol of all.)
Years of stringent laws have successfully weeded out the riff raff in their country, and they wish to keep it that way. So when I arrived in Singapore wearing my best, I still expected the worst. If only I had the white cotton suits of Miami Vice, I could have played the role to a "T". Instead, I opted for the Duke Boys southern draw, "Honest Boss, we didn't know that was in the General Lee." For arriving with me aboard Pakistani Air was contraband that I was attempting to smuggle into this island-city-country called Singapore, a place known by most for canning an American youth.
The contraband had been stashed in my bag since leaving the US, a country where the cost is low and the selection the best in the world. Any consumption on my part always had to been done in secret, for once the general public saw my unique selection they would expect me to share. "You can only get this in America," I would say with the arrogance of a dealer. For what I was smuggling into Singapore was one pack, that's five sticks of Wrigley's best, Big Red. That's right, chewing gum. I could persuade only one citizen to discuss the issue for fear of Big Brother listening in, but what I learned was that gum had been banned from the country for several years because of the mess caused by irresponsible chewers. Ban it solves it. No more Bazooka, Hubba Bubba, Bubblecious, or any suckers with the banned substance buried inside. No chance of getting a little closer or doubling your pleasure or fun in this country. That is until I, a Big Red
Bootlegger, hit their city. Not since prohibition has a country yearned for a little taste in their mouth, and I had the cinnamon sensation to quench it.
Singapore is a 30-year-old country that has built its economy upon the business of reselling things. A port city, it serves as a major hub to the rest of the world, and over the years has come to be known as a "shop till you drop" paradise. I'm giving them five more years to finally connect all of their well-over 200 malls together, in an attempt to have one continuous air conditioned building along with the title of the world's largest mall. If you think America is obsessed with shopping malls, well Singapore has mastered the mall obsession. Maybe the reason for this is because of the distinct obsession with America one feels while walking around in the city.
I found an IGA grocery store in the basement of a massive mall, with a selection I have not seen since being in the U.S. I ran up and down the aisles in disbelief as every American item was signified with a small American flag next to the price. I ran to the cereal aisle, guiding a girl from Holland through my childhood. Lucky Charms I explained simply as cereal with marshmallows. She was impressed. That's Toucan Sam, Tony the Tiger, and the Flintstones on the Fruity and Cocoa Pebbles. They even had a cereal I never even knew existed but could only be American- Oreo Cereal. I've eaten the cookies for breakfast, but now in a convenient cereal and available in SouthEast Asia. This city is too good to be true. I went running the aisles to see how true it was, ending up in the chip section. Pork Rinds, where are the plain and barbecued versions? Honestly, I searched for five minutes without any luck. This wasn't the paradise that I thought it to be. Leaving the store I dropped a suggestion into the comment box that simply read, "Pork Rinds, a southern delicacy." Maybe I'll return next time with a bag of barbecued pig fat instead of the cinnamon gum.
Oh yeah, I was having such a good time in the safest, cleanest city in the world that I forgot to chew or sell the gum. I guess that is their plan. You love all of the other things about the country so much that you forget about rebelling against the $500 fine for chewing gum.
Before arriving in Singapore, I finished out the second part of my tour through Indonesia, on Java. An island of 100 million people was a direct contrast to the tourist island of Bali. One would think I would disappear in the crowd of a 100 million, but I stood out like a 6'2" bleached blond in a land of 5ft. Asians. Instead of being a tourist at a tourist site, I became their tourist site.
It was New Year's Day, 1420 AH. I stood on the rim of a volcano with at least 1,000 Indonesians at five in the morning awaiting a sunrise which would fail to happen in the grayed-out sky. Without the spectacle of the sun illuminating the lunar type landscape at Gunung Bromo (Mt. Bromo) the thousands of Indonesian students turned their attention and cameras on the next most interesting thing, an American and Englishman. I'm sure I was a site considering I had started that morning about 24 hours earlier leaving Bali, crossing to Java. I rode aboard a ferry, 4 different busses, and was awakened by a parade of military vehicles, a parade of political parties, a group of guys push starting our bus, and fellow traveler informing me to continue sleeping because we had just ran out of gas and the driver went hiking off into the darkness in the middle of nowhere. I arrived at a bed near the popular tourist destination at 1:00am with the instruction that the bus will be leaving at 3:30 am to give us time to hike to the volcano for sunrise. Back on the bus in the darkness of the predawn hour, I met up with an Englishman, as lost as I. We hatched a plan to catch a ride on a jeep, into Mt. Bromo instead of the hour-long hike. Bargaining is a way of life in SouthEast Asia and the ability to walk away was a skill to help drop the price. Unfortunately, on unskilled bargainers, our walk away plan procured us nothing in the way of transportation except for two horses. (the villagers called them horses and I would be polite in referring to them as the runts from a litter of ponies.) If I had loosened the stirrups to the proper length, the runt pony would have had six legs for stability. The saddle didn't even contain a "holy cowhorn" I usually grip for better stability on Western style saddles. Sure enough, the six legs and the "holy cowhorn" would have been of great use as I heard an Old English accented scream come from behind. Both the horse and my new found partner had their butts planted firmly on the ground, which makes me think it wasn't an English style saddle either. Since the crowd was not being entertained by the sunrise, the Englishman and the American became the entertainment. "Hello Mister" echoed through the volcanic canyons. Slowly we moved about on the rim, from one group photo to the next, following the pleads of "Hey Mister." I'm betting that more photos where shot of the bleary-eyed foreigners than of the main attraction, a cloud covered volcano on the first morning of the Muslim New Year, April 17, 1999.
Traveling through an island of 100 million, the destinations invariably become one bigger city after another, with the modes of transportation getting you there offering an adventure in itself. The train quickly became my favorite way to move from city to city. Trains always enter cities through their backdoors, unlike entering on a road, where the city scenes are covered in storefronts and constant traffic. As a passenger on a train, you are the lucky one, getting treated to a plethora of merchandise at each station along the way. Hawkers jump the train and walk the aisles before jumping off to catch another train back to where they started. Since the hawkers' constant chant was as foreign to me as what they where selling, it made it easy to drift off to sleep. That was until a persistent voice woke me to the sight of a man holding a large stuffed rat-coon near my face. Thank you, but my backpack is too small to carry a stuffed rabid beast! I know you give me good price, very cheap. But America has laws against importing fur-covered lizards. If I could, I would, but since I can't, I think you should move on and scare the bajeebers out of the next sleeping passenger!
Off the train, I arrived in Yogyakarta, the most popular tourist destination in Java, except that there were hardly any tourists to be found. If you haven't heard, Indonesia has had a rough couple of years with the collapse of their economy, riots fierce enough to make their leader leave office, and slaughtering of villagers throughout remote islands. This month the country is hoping a lot of questions will be answered as it elects new leadership. Indonesia is in a political frenzy with thousands of people parading in the streets promoting their party. Traffic comes to a stand still as hundreds of cars, motorcycles, and trucks piled with people wearing their parties colors, waving flags, and chanting with a zeal only witnessed in America during championship sporting events. It's that frenzy which has prompted governments throughout the world to warn their citizens how unsafe it is to travel in Indonesia right now. But contrary to the government warnings, I heard from other travelers a more accurate depiction of safety in the country. The advice I took to heart was, "it's OK, but just don't be there during the elections." So with that advice, I was in Yogya experiencing two of the most amazing sites without the usual annoyance of busloads of tourists crowding around.
Borobudur and Prambanan, both built during the 9th century, AD, could easily be classified as two of the top five most amazing historical sites throughout all of South East Asia. Borobudur is a Buddhist temple so massive that I had to look at an aerial photograph to see the whole monument. At Prambanan, I was even more impressed with the enormous stone Hindu Temples, with one reaching a height of 154 feet. I was able to view both of these very different, colossal monuments in one long day of mouth gaping amazement.
While living in Wyoming, I always approached strangers wearing a University of Kentucky shirt in hopes of finding the common bond that two total strangers may have. In Indonesia, I approached a couple of people wearing UK shirts, only to find that I had to explain to them what their shirt meant. "Did you go to school there?" I started off the conversation. "Do you know someone from there?" I said, trying a different angle. "UK, that stands for the University of Kentucky and the wildcat is their mascot," stating while pointing to the shirt. "It's a school in Kentucky where I am from. You know, USA, Kentucky?" I explained. "Fried chicken," we say together. I guess he wasn't a basketball fan. I'm afraid that he is currently explaining that the shirt is from a fried chicken school in America, and the shirt owner would exclaim, "Only in America!"
One distinctive different between Bali and Java is their religion. Java is predominantly Islamic and Bali is mostly Hindu. In Bali, you could visually experience their religion all around you with constant festivals and offerings being given. In Java, you could only easily see the Muslim religion in the distinct style of dress for the women. The Islamic religion expects women to wear clothing to cover all of their body and a scarf to cover their head. So what the Islamic religion might lack visually, they definitely make up for vocally. In Bogor, they decide to kick their day into full swing at 4:30 in the morning with an ear rattling prayer echoing off of the surrounding mountains and straight into my $3 a night room. Awakened, I stumbled out of bed, for the sound wasn't registering with my half-asleep brain. Fire alarm, plane crash, a riot at my door! My brain struggled with the sound being amplified by a sound system equal to that of a bullhorn at a short distance in a room of silence. This goes on five times a day ranging in lengths with it always starting in a roar, as if someone jokingly turned the volume all the way up, before turning on the power. One night at 7:00p.m. the canyon below me sounded like the Old Time Gospel Hour gone seriously awry, while at least four different mosques kicked it into overdrive. A chant here, a prayer there, a song over there. It was an all out dueling of the mosques with the winner going to the children's choir trying out their lungpower, amplified by a microphone. I found it a just a tad bit ironic that on my final evening in Indonesia, I would be surrounded by the sound of religious praise, for the next day I had a one way ticket to the island of SIN.
I'm currently traveling in Malaysia heading in the direction of Thailand. From there I will try to plan out the rest of my trip to Europe via countries that have not had their embassies bombed by the US.
Until then, eat a pork rind for me, and try out the new Oreo Cereal.
Jonathan Adams |
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