Dos and Don'ts in the Middle East

5 Dos and Don’ts in Middle East
Dos
1) Bring a digital camera to take photographs. It is really a good tool to break the ice and make friends.
2) "Tabao" little presents and snacks to reciprocate their generousity and kindness. Syrians are really hospitable and friendly people. You can expect to get free food and drinks at the souq and even at the little dessert shops, just by standing around and watching them. We've got free sweets, peanuts, drinks, and even a slice of soap free.
3) Bring a headscarf in your bag when you go out. It would be useful when you need to enter mosques as some mosques would require you to “cover-up”
4) Follow the flow... if you see the locals queuing for food, just follow. It's guaranteed to be good. At least our experiment did work. Try the authentic Syrian pancake- it’s pancake with cheese doused in honey. It’s especially nice when it’s piping hot. Sweet!
5) Chopsticks make wonderful gifts to the people. They are curious about the Chinese way of using chopsticks and it’s a great way to start a cultural exchange teaching them how to use the Chinese chopsticks.
6) Interact with the people and make friends, you’ll get a lot more insight into the country, the people and even crude jokes about their own country and their cultures.
7) Lie about your marital status. It’s best to tell them that you’re married, or has a boyfriend who is working in Singapore. This would help to avoid any unnecessary propositions to kiss-and-hug. Trust me!
8) If you need to use the toilets or the washrooms, ask them for the W.C. They would know how to direct you, terms like toilets and washrooms do not ring any bell.

Don’ts
1)Don’t use the Okie sign. In Singapore, it means okie, but in Iran, it means asshole and it’s very, very rude to show the Okie sign.
2)The good sign (“hao”) that we are ever so comfortable using means “Fuck You” in Iran. A great cultural shock for us as we had been using the okie sign
3)Don’t ever, ever try your luck to get your visa done at the border between Turkey and Syria. We had to wait for 12 hours and according to the staff at the border, some people had waited for 1-2 days and it was very common to do so. If you are travelling to Syria, go either by air or get your visa ready in Istanbul.

Last Night in Damascus & A Proposition for a One-Night Stand

It was our last night in Damascus. WeiChean and Arlina were too lazy, too poor and tired to go out for dinner. We had joined the excursion with the local Syrian teenagers that Chef Amir had organized the day before and it was very enjoyable as we had a good taste of a typical day in the life of Syria.

We have had dinner at Admir’s restaurant before. The food was not excellent, it was too bland for the Asian palate. I decided to go to La Roche Restaurant to visit Admir, the chef for the last time as a little gesture to thank him for all his help and making the arrangements for our taxi transfer to the airport the next day. My kind intention was not reciprocated in the way I would like though, unfortunately.

Admir, according to Arlina was 38-year-old, though he looked definitely older than that. I ordered a nuts-soup, chicken-thigh with melted cheese and a strawberry juice. Despite that fact that he has been working as a chef for many years, his culinary skills are still not up to mark unfortunately. The only reason why I went to his restaurant was because that was my little way of thanking him for helping us make all the necessary arrangements for our airport transfer, the excursion yesterday and the complimentary tea in the morning.

I went to the restaurant at about 9pm and we chatted about many things. He shared his dreams of opening his own restaurants, and poured his heart about how his last girlfriend chose not to marry him because her father works in the catering business and she saw how her mom suffered, when her dad could not be with the family on special occasions and public holidays due to work. I shared about my family members, how my twin sister is a mother of two now and what he can do to help improve his business.

During the conversation, he asked me if I had a boyfriend. I let my guard down and said admitted no.
”Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never experienced love before, but why?” he asked.
He gave some sound advice, about how I should open up my social circle, meet new people and keep my options open in Singapore. To me the advice he gave was very fatherly.

Then things started getting a little bit strange. Admir asked if I would like to drink some alcohol as he has some left from the excursion. I declined politely and told him that he could drink if he wanted, but he said, he wouldn’t want to drink it alone if I was not keen to drink.

He asked if I would accept his offer since it was my last night in Damascus.
”We can be together and come back tomorrow morning,” he suggested, advancing nearer to me, conveniently placing one arm at the back of my chair.
I panicked, but manage to act cool, and said, “Thank you for the offer, but no.”

“By why? come on!” he requested.

Arlina and I had been talking about preserving and protecting our chastity during our trip from all the cheekopeh Iranian men, and I had never expected this Syrian man to be like the Iranian ones.
I said, “ oh, I prefer to keep it.” Admir pointed with his index finger at me and inched closer, “Believe me, You don’t want to keep it and I don’t want to keep it.” He obviously did not understand what I meant.

“Sorry no, I’m leaving tomorrow, I said.”, I said in a somewhat cool manner but my mind was scrambling for an excuse to get out of his restaurant.
“Come on, next month, I will be very busy and you will be very busy. Tonight is the best chance for you and me. He gave a very intense stare and I looked away, pretending to be busy with my camera. I need it and I think you need it too,” I didn’t dare look at him in the eyes but I knew he was looking for an answer from me. “No thank you, I am a conservative girl,” I said,and pretended to be very busy.
I started to side-track to many irrelevant topics, showing him photographs of other restaurants in Turkey and photographs of all the food items I’ve taken during my trip.

Thankfully, a new customer came in to order his meal. I seized the chance to pack my notes, my camera and made my quick escape out from the restaurant, when he was in the midst of talking to his customer.
“You leaving now?”
“Yes, yes, I have many things to pack in the room and it’s getting late. The girls are waiting for me. We’re leaving tomorrow and I still have many things to pack.”
He made his last attempt once more.

“Okay, you pack your bag, then you come back here. We will come back tomorrow morning.”

“No thank you, thank you and see you tomorrow morning, I said as I trailed away back to the hotel, feeling cheated of my kind intentions.

Syrians are very hospitable but the overall experience was slightly marred by this incident. Arlina said I was asking for it, as I had gone to the restaurant on my own, without the girls. Weichean said that he might have misunderstood my dinner visit to mean that I was interested in him. My conclusion and the takeaway lesson from this experience: Never reveal your single identity to the foreign men, just lie to play safe. And don’t be too friendly to the men, sometimes the men just don’t see it as genuine friendship but as a special invitation.

A Day Excursion to the Waterfall & Farm in Hama, Damascus, 4th May 2007

After a whole day of shopping at the souq in Damascus, we tried to get a travel agency to arrange a day trip out of Damascus, but were told that as it was the low season, it would not be easy to do so. We went to a few agencies but our attempts were futile.

Just when our hopes were fast vanishing, we went into this nearby restaurant, just 5-minute walk away from our guest-house. The owner, Admir told us that he had a group of Iranian students who were going for a excursion to the nearby waterfall and farm the very next day and asked if we were keen to go along. Each person had to pay 900 Syrian pounds, about US$20, inclusive of the transport, breakfast and lunch. We were more than happy to join the tour as we were just pondering about what to do with ourselves the next day.

After a month of sight-seeing, it was really good to get this opportunity to immerse ourselves into a typical day of the Syrian people. The excursion showed us the simple fun that Syrian people enjoy and their leisure activities. There were a total of 35 people, most of the participants were between 19-26 years old, and this excursion was organized to allow them to get to know more people, a little like our SDU in Singapore. It was fun just watching the dynamics of the different clichés, and observing the moves that the Iranian men made to the pretty French gal who was working in the French embassy.

After a 3-hour bus ride, we finally reached the waterfall. It was very interesting strolling around the waterfall and watching the varied activities of the Syrian people. Many families were relaxing on their picnic mats, with home-cooked food and nan (bread). In the same stream, sights of children playing of the water, a family washing their rice and fruits along the riverbank, and another family washing their dishes. Along the riverbank, young Iranian teenagers smoking shisha (waterpipes), another group happily dancing in sync with the with loud Middle-eastern music blasting from the speakers they brought from home. I was invited to drink a cup of chay (tea) from a three-generation family who was enjoying a picnic and took shots of their lovely grandchildren who were more than happy to pose their candid smiles for my camera. Arlina, Wei Chean and I helped Chef Admir to prepare lunch, cutting the bread into halves, spreading butter and jam over the bread and cooking the sausages over the barbecue-fire. Breakfast was served at close to noon and we were starved by then.

The next stop was the farm, which was another 2-hour drive from the waterfall. There was nothing much to do for us at the farm, besides a quick tour of the farm to look at the new facilities and the ducks and geese they kept. We lazed around in the Bedouin-tent and talked to some of the participants of the excursion. There was a 26-year-old lawyer who spoke very good English. He was one of those who were carrying a torch for the French gal and we could see sparks flying though it was the first time they met. Together, we chatted from topics like things we like about Syria, housing in Singapore, Indonesia maids, bomohs to gay and lesbian relationships in Singapore. When Wei Chean told him that Singapore in the capital for gay activities in Southeast Asia, he was shocked, and we bemused. The friendly Syrians also taught us how to play an interesting card game using just Jacks, Queens, Kings and As. It was a test of our alertness and was really enjoyable and fun. Thankfully, there was a Syrian guy who was very slow in his reflexes and I managed to clear my cards before him.

Lunch was served at 6.30pm and our stomachs were growling by then. It was a sumptuous spread of salads, chicken and jacket potatoes. However, having lunch at 6.30pm was a little strange for our Singaporean stomachs. After dinner, everyone was just relaxing in the Bedouin tent. Some of the Syrian teenagers decided to dance and soon, there were about 8 of them dancing to the music. The dance steps were very interesting, like a cross between tap-dancing and Middle-Eastern dancing. We were happily nestled on the sofa set, admiring the skilful dance moves of these youngsters. Chef Admir came out with two huge plates of desserts, bite-sized muffins coated with chocolate sauce and sliced pineapples and they were completely wiped out in no time.

Aleppo, Syria

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Of Souq, Karfels and Free Snacks and Heaps & Heaps of Generousity

A week in Syria in Aleppo and Damascus was short, but the Syrian people have touched our hearts deeply through their little gestures and generousity. Their genuine warmth and smiles made Syria one of the friendliest countries that I’ve ever visited, far more so than Iran.

As we walked along the streets, people smiled and said, Al-sarmal-lay-comb-Welcome! They may not speak English at all but the English term, Welcome, seemed engrained into their minds, even the old shopowner who didn’t utter a word of English.

Syrian people are dessert and pastry-lovers. There are many small bakeries and shops selling the authentic desserts and snacks. On our second day, we were attracted by the delicious spread of snacks nicely displayed in the shopfront. Unable to resist the temptation, we went into the shop to buy a few snacks to whet our appetite. We chose about five snacks and went to the counter to pay for our selection. The shop attendant placed the snacks into a nice box, and to our pleasant surprise, they said, “No, Free!” We were thankful and went out of the shop, with a “melting-heart”. “The people are so nice, can die, make my heart melt” we chorused.

On the same day, we went to the largest souq in Aleppo and had some very interesting conversations with some of the shop owners there. We were offered free bread when we stood by the side to watch them prepare the bread, Weichean was given a small slice of soap by a passer-by. I was offered nuts by the shop-owner at the tailor shop while Weichean and Arlina were busy bargaining for cheaper buys. Maybe it was because it was rare to see three Asian gals travelling in Syria on their own, but the hospitality was heartfelt.

Making Friends at the Souq in Aleppo, Syria
We were in the souq talking to a bunch of young shop owners who were relatives. They have about 17 shops in the souq, all selling carpets, scarves and jewelleries. It was really fun talking to them, hear them “bitch” and bicker with one another. One of them even had a Singaporean boyfriend previously.
I was talking to the gay shopowner when his “gaydar” sensed an attractive foreigner walking passed the shop, eating his kebab and became completely distracted. He stood up from his seat, and said, “In my next life, I wished I’m the sandwich.”
I laughed, and his brother said, “You see, my brother is gay. Very obvious. And I’m straight.”

“Not for long, retorted the brother, as he puffed the smoke from his shisha casually.

One of them, the youngest 19-year-old, was totally infatuated with Wei Chean, “She’s so beautiful, so fucking beautiful.” “She’s too old for you, I told him jokingly.” “Missus, age does not matter, size does. If I love somebody, I will plan for our future.”

Arlina and Her Mistaken Identity
Arlina could possibly be a closet lesbian. At least the Syrian men in both Aleppo and Damascus thought so.
"You are gay. I can see it through your eyes,” said one of the cousins at the shop further down the stretch of shophouses. Arlina tried very hard to change this mistaken identity but without much success, even when she said, “I like boys! I like boys very much.” He refused to believe her and insisted that Arlina should meet his girlfriend who is bisexual. “I show you photographs of her.” Within seconds, he came back with photographs of his girlfriend and asked Arlina if she fancied her. “But I like boys, girls no feeling,” she stressed.
He remained convinced that Arlina was gay.

Just then, another of the cousin came, and he said, “My sister was normal before she met this girl. Once you meet her and you let her touch you, you will change.” The situation was so absurd I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Okay, you give her 15 minutes. Just meet her for a while, I will call her on the phone now, you talk to her, and chucked the phone to Arlina. Arlina sulked and refused.

“Today after work, we go for a party. I will get her to come, and with us, we go for a party, okie?” I knew where and what he was talking about. These private parties can turn out to be rendezvous parties for the young Syrians and sex would probably be somewhere in the agenda. I quickly said something casually, “Oh, we have to go to the mosque later today.”

“I asked you to join us for a party and you said you want to go mosque,” He signed and said. My answer to his question was way out-of-context, but we quickly made our exit before things became dodgy.

Four days later, the 26-year-old lawyer we met in Damascus during the day trip excursion at the waterfall said the exact same things about Arlina interestingly. “Yes, I think you’re gay. Because I can see it in your eyes.” Arlina was hopping mad and insisted to know why. “Maybe not now, but definitely five years from now, he said, with much conviction”. That left Arlina speechless, and me, the bystander, bemused. But one thing for sure, I know my old pal long enough to know that she is perfectly straight, and perhaps for “cheeko” than any of the “cheekopehs” we have met along the way.

My First Hammam Experience in Turkey

Getting Scrubbed by an old Turkish Man and Experiencing the Hammam in True Turkish style

Getting myself, scrubbed and foamed and massaged by an old Turkish man in the hammam, with my guide next to me, was a somewhat embarrassing yet unforgettable experience.

Arlina and Weichean had their first taste of Turkish bath in Istanbul. I gave it a miss because of the untimely “auntie’s visit”. My final chance came when we were in Cappadocia. On the last day in Cappadonia, I decided to sign up for the Turkish bath on my own since the cave hotel had no heaters and I had yet to try the traditional Turkish bath.

After dinner, I roamed the streets in search of my Turkish bath. Most of the agencies I approached were unable to arrange the bath session as I was the only participant. I walked up and down the streets and finally managed to book my Turkish bath at Cappadocia Tours, with the help of the owner, Ertan, who was willing to bring me to an authentic Turkish bathhouse, which is about 12km away from Cappadocia, Finally, I thought and I agreed instantly.

“The massage will be done by women right?,” I asked, almost innocently. “No, by men,” he said. “Really? I was shocked, having second thoughts of going to the bathhouse.

“Come on, you are in Turkey. Think about it, the family has been doing the hammam business for many generations. Many Turkish people, women, children and men go there. Don’t worry,” Er-tan reassured me.

“What the heck, do what the Romans do, and now that I’m in Turkey, follow what the Turkish people do”, I thought to myself. “Okay”, I said, “I’ll trust you,” I confided in Ertan and he smiled and nodded, “Thank you, don’t worry, no problem.” I paid the 35 Liras, about S$50 and arranged for him to meet me at 8.15pm at the Nomads Cave Hotel.

I took a slow walk back to the Cappadocia Cave Hotel and went back to the room to get my toiletries. “Hahahaa…somebody is going to pay money to get molested again,” jested Arlina when I told her about the male masseur. “If I don’t come back in one hour, please remember that I’ve arranged for the hammam bath at the Cappadocia Tours,” these were my last words to the gals.

Ertan was 26 years old and he shared his plans to go on a six-month backpacking trip in Southeast Asia, including Thailand, Cambodia, Malaysia and Singapore end this year. I told him about my travel experiences in these countries and told him the taboos in some of these countries, what to look out for, the nice sights to see and all I knew about these places.

We soon reached the hammam. When we first entered the hammam, I was a little hesitant. There were two men, one in his late thirties and another in his sixties and a teenage boy. I was given a checked-cloth to change in, and was directed to one of the changing rooms. Once I came out of the room, the old man locked the changing room, and tied the key to my right wrist.

He brought me to another room, the main hammam room, where there was a small wooden sauna room, a big marble slab/table in the centre, and two rows of taps at the side. There were three men in the room, they took a quick glance at me and continued with their bath activities. I sat next to the taps and doused myself with hot and cold water. Ertan followed shortly. “You can also go into the sauna, just knock on the window if it’s too hot for you,” he said. There were two other teenage boys in the sauna room when I entered. The room was hot but bearable. I stayed there for about 10 minutes before I coming out to pour hot and cold water onto myself. The marble slab in the centre of the room looked very tempting, should I try and experience and lie down there with the rest of the people, or should I just skip it? I had a mental debate and decided that I should lie there just to feel how it was like. The marble floor was surprisingly warm and comfortable. I lied there for a while, counting the number of holes on the top, and breathing in the hot air in the hammam.

Soon, the thirty-something year old hammam staff beckoned me to go to the next room. It was a relatively small room, with the marble slabs on each side of the wall. One Turkish man was having himself foamed and massaged by the old Turkish man. Ertan was very nice, he stood outside the room, and reassured me that he would be waiting for me outside. Within a minute, he got sick of waiting outside, and sat next to me, watching as the man scrubbed the grim and dirt from my body. “I should have a camera here to take photographs”, he joked. “No, I will not allow it, no way,” I retorted, with some embarrassment. After about 10 minutes of scrubbing, which was not as hard as I thought it would be, I was asked to go to the next table, where the old Turkish man was waiting.

I was asked to lie facing downwards as he lathered soup onto my body. It was a hard-to-describe feeling having an old man, a complete stranger, massaging soap onto your body. I kept my eyes open at first and I was confronted with the big bulging stomach of the old Turkish man and his bushy underarms. It was strange to see face-to-face with the Turkish man, looking down at me, with his armpit hair revealed. I tried closing my eyes, but felt a sense of insecurity, thus I decided to keep my eyes open. When he was done with my back, I was asked to turn to the front. I must say that they are very professional. He only “covered” the areas that were exposed and did not attempt to touch the “out-of-bounds” areas at all, and I was thankful for that. So, I decided to close my eyes. The session was soon over and I was asked to go back to the hammam room to take a shower. I went back to the hammam room but couldn’t find the shower room. I decided to just alternate the hot and cold water from the running taps as my shower.

It was a refreshing and a different experience indeed, but I wished they had added more strength and force when they scrubbed and massaged, like the way they treated the Turkish people. Personally, I thought 35 Liras which is approximately about 50 SD dollars, is a pricey price to pay though. I went back to my guest-house, feeling cleansed and ready for a good night’s sleep. Thankfully, I did not have to “combat” the icy water in the Nomads guesthouse that night.

Cappadocia, Turkey

- Of Huge Penises, Underground City, Horse-Riding in the Valleys and My First Hammam Experience

The Nomad Cave Hotel is housed in one of the traditional “pigeon-holes”, stone formations formed by the volcanic ashes. The room is literally "carved" from these formations. It was low season and Cappadocia was relatively tranquil and quiet. The room was comfortable, but the only problem was that there was no heater in the room and no hot water in the shower.

Cappadocia was reputedly one of the best places in the world to take the hot-air balloon, but a 45-minute ride costs 125 Euro pounds, which is equivalent to 400 Singapore dollars. We decided to skip the experience and opt for horse-riding in the valleys instead.

Horse-riding through the valleys

The one-hour horse-riding session through the Rose Valley and some other valleys cost about 20 Turkish dollars and was an interesting experience. My first horse-riding experience was in Australia about seven years ago but this was a different experience. In the short one-hour ride, we’ve learnt many things about these horses.

My horse, Anika was a very lazy one, who was always in search of green pasture to graze. She didn’t mind being the last in the group, as long as she got her greens. Flowers were equally acceptable to her. Pulling the leather straps to nudge her had absolutely no impact when she was enjoying her grass as she would not budge an inch, not even a milli-inch. I've tried "counselling" Anika in English, in Singlish and "sayang" her mane, and thankfully it worked a little.

Wei Chean’s horse was very obedient to the master of the stallion and would follow him wherever he went. But the Salem-horse lookalike would go berserk at times and strike a 45-degree up-slope gallop pose when he felt like it. That was scary, even just looking at the horse perform his stunts. Thankfully, Weichean managed to maintain her balance on the horse.

Arlina’s “bat-man” horse was quite hard to manage at first, but Arlina soon found a special way to “communicate” with “bat-man” with her (ah-ah) meaning yes, and (osh-osh), meaning no. She managed to cruise through the valley with ease, through her constant ah-ahs and osh-oshs and her usual song-rattling and that amused our guide so much that when we returned to return the horses, he praised Arlina for “singing very good.”

North Tour
Goreme Open-Air Museum, Causin Old Village, Fairy Chimneys, Cappadocia Wine Factory, Penispolis Valley

“I’m going to bring you girls to see the largest penises in the world”, said Max, our guide. Max has been a guide for many years. It was our first day tour in Cappadocia and we were brought the UNESCO-known sight, Goreme, We also tasted some of the wines that were made in Cappadocia in the wine factory as part of the tour, visited the Open-Air Museum and the Fairy Chimneys and other sights.

Our guide, Max, decided to give us a steal for our money and brought us to Penispolis, where the sandstone formations looked very much like huge penises. It was a slow stroll but theview from Penispolis was quite awesome. One of the young cheeky Aussie even “posed” with his new-found “confidence-stick” as his girlfriend shook her head and smiled.

Max said, “I probably enjoy the tour more than you do,” as he showed us all the interesting stone formations in Cappadonia and shared stories about a beautiful Turkish girl who ran away on her first day of her marriage and became a hermit. Nobody knew why she ran away and she remained very much a mystery to many Turkish people.

South-Tour
Rose Valley Hiking, Underground City, Pigeon Valleys
The one and a half hour trek at the Rose Valley was a very pleasant one. We had lunch at the same venue, near the Goreme, a wonderful spread of salad, tomato soup with macaroni and pottery beef stew. The Underground City was my personal favourite. It was amazing to see how advanced the people were in the old days, to see how the secret dungeons were all internally linked to other tunnels within the city. There were special partitions for stables, for cooking, for storage of water, a well and a very good air ventilation system. Within the Underground City, there was even a church for the people to do their prayers. So how did the people “do their business”, I asked out of pure curiousity. Our guide said that there were no toilets within the Underground City and people who dispose their “waste materials” outside of the city. It would take loads and loads of civic consciousness and heavy fines to keep the Underground City clean and waste-free, if it was used in today’s society, I thought to myself.

Doors were made of concrete stone carved into circular shapes, like the “rolling” doors. Each door weighed a hefty 400 kilograms and when the enemies neared, the residents of the Underground City would just shut the stone doors to block the invasion of the intruders. According to Max, there were as many as 7000 people living in the Underground City at one period.

The engineering that went behind the creation of the Underground City was simply amazing, considering that the Underground City was constructed more than 4000 years ago,

These tunnels were only discovered by farmers in 1995 and excavated by archaeologists shortly after. It must have been a really exciting excavation for the archaeologists to discover this complete underground city. It was also during these two tours, South and North tour that we befriended 32-year-old Seiko, from Kyoto who was travelling in Turkey on her own. She was a small, petite lady, but a feisty and adventurous one. Though small in build, she has been to the United States and even India on her own last year.

Olympus, Turkey

-Of Treehouses, the Meditteranean Sea and Unexplored Ruins

Olympus is a great place for outdoor activities such as kayaking, canoeing and rock-climbing. Too bad we were there during the low season.

The two nights we spent in the Kadir’s Tree Houses were super comfy. The mattresses were very good and the comforter ultra plush. We had the choice to sleep in a shared dormitory treehouse, or a bungalow next to the treehouse with attached bathroom. Having travelled for many hours, we opted for comfort over the authentic treehouse.

We decided to just chill out and relax in Olympus since the Mediterranean sea and explore the ruins were just a few kilometres down the road.

The next morning, we strolled to the Mediterranean Sea and the sea view was awesome. Wei Chean and I climbed to the top of a cliff and were rewarded with a breathtaking view of the Mediteranean sea. We left Arlina mid-way as her height-phobia prevented her from climbing further.

Many tourists were happily relaxing and sun-tanning themselves along the coast. Wei Chean and I were busy admiring the interestingly-shaped pebbles. I chose some really pretty stones, as a little gift for my supervisor, Lena who had graciously approved my one-month leave and covered my duties during my absence.

The Meditterranean sea was breathtakingly stunning, we picked stones, played in the clear blue water and explored the nearby ruins which reveal the civilizations way before our times.

There, we met a shopowner who had retired from Tirestone after working there for 25 years and decided opened a little shop selling his specially made jewelleries and his wife's clay items. The shop was a simple shack, with bamboo curtains, basic but nice. He could speak simple English. One of the necklaces caught my eye, it was a slice of dried lemon, with some luminous colouring. I hesitated, thinking I could buy it the next day if I really wanted it. Too bad, I've "missed the boat" though. I went to his shop which was just around the corner three times the next day to be greeted by closed curtains.

We also met a Malaysian gal and her Australian husband who had just been to Cappadocia. They had taken the hot-air balloon in Cappadocia and said that though it was expensive, it was worth the money. I was more interested in parasailing or paragliding but it was equally expensive. We decided that we would find other more economical ways of entertaining ourselves.

Lazing around at Kadir’s Tree Houses was equally enjoyable. Hearing the knocking and drilling sounds, the happy whistling of the workers, while sipping tea amidst the Persian cushions and carpets in the wooden shed is blissful.

Turkey, Istanbul- Kite-flying with Chisen and Dad

Kite-Flying at Istabul- The bond between a doting father and his sweet daughter
Nobody would have planned this into the itinerary, but I had my first experience of flying a kite in Istanbul by chance. We got tired of the touristy Grand Bazaar and decided to take a slow stroll along the waterfront in the morning.

It was very tranquil and nice just enjoying the sea breeze and taking a relaxed walk away from the tourists. I spotted two persons sitting amongst the rocks. The father beckoned me to go over and join him and his daughter who were flying a kite. Without hesitation, I hopped across the rocky stones to where they were seated, and took over the string and the kite. Watching the little green kite soar in the air, I tried to make small talk to the father and daughter duo who couldn’t speak English.

Wei Chean and Arlina soon joined me in the “charade” game again. We managed to get their names, Osman (the father) and Lisen (the daughter). Lisen was a friendly yet shy little girl. When I tried to speak to her in English, she smiled and said in an almost adult manner, “Turkish yes, English no.” And when she spoke to me in Turkish, I said, “English, yes, Turkish no.” Though language was a barrier, her shyness soon eased off. As we were walking along the waterfront, little Lisen was so sweet, she plucked a little flower and placed it on my ear.

I was trying to tell him that eating in Istanbul was expensive through simple English and hand gestures. He might have understood, and walked us to the well-known fish market where there are numerous fish restaurants. We were quite broke and did not want to go to any expensive restaurants for lunch. In the end, we suggested having lunch at a roadside kebab stall which costed less than 5 dollars per person. The lunch was not a luxurious one, but a very heartwarming one. Through the little gestures of the father and little Lisen, we could feel the strong bond and love between them.

After lunch, we continued to walk further to one of the must-see attraction in Istanbul and Lisen continued her kite-flying attempts with her dad at the big square just outside the university building. Osman is a single parent. Two of Osman’s friends came to meet us and drove us to another popular sight to see famous tombs. They even offered to send us back but we turned down their kind offer and told them that could make our way to the guest-house ourselves. We bade farewell and promised that we would email the photographs to them.

Though we did not see any important sights or attraction, the few hours with Lisen and her father was very well-spent and memorable. From complete strangers to acquaintances, we were glad that we made friends with little Chisen and her dad, and of course, the little green kite.

Turkey (Istanbul, Olympus, Cappadonia)

Of tulips, sandstones sights, tulip cups, apple tea and one cool chick!

Coming from Iran into Turkey, we suffered from a slight cultural shock on the first
day when we arrived at the airport, like country bumpkins on a virgin trip to the modern city. Everything seemed so advanced and modern in Istanbul compared to the inward-looking Iran.

Women without their headscarves, big signboards shouting international brands and rows and rows of beautiful tulips lined the streets in Istanbul. These were some of the common sights in Istanbul, but sights that you can never see in Iran.

In Iran, most women are either completely clothed in the chadors (a black cloth that covers them from head to toes), or at least their heads would be covered with black scarves. . At the airport toilet, we saw some sexy Iranian women letting their hair down, literally, and boy, they look gorgeous. Having “tudungfied” ourselves for the last two weeks in Iran, it was exhilarating to know that we did not have to “take cover” behind the scarves in modern Turkey.


One Cool Chick- Lilian Moro, 38 years old biker on a 3-year bike expedition around the world

We met the coolest babe, a 38-year-old biker from Switzerland at the Orient Hostel. She is a window display decorator and had quit her job for this trip. She has been travelling to many parts of the world, including China, India, Middle East and many many little-known places on her bike over the years.

She was on her three-year bike expedition around the world, starting from Turkey. She had saved for about 5 years for this trip, working part-time and saving all the money and was waiting for her 62-year-old dad, who was on his way from Switzerland to be the pillion rider on her bike for a month. It was amazing to hear about all the arrangements and planning she had to do, getting horse carriages in Pakistan to carry her bike from the border to another part, having to dismantle her bike into different parts to clear the custom, and assembling them back.

Lilian had heaps of interesting stories to tell and is a really nice and down-to-earth gal. Her infectious laughter, which often ends with a snort is very endearing. We liked her the moment we met and chatted with her for a while and I think she enjoyed our company too. We chatted for hours about the toilets in China, the men in Iran, the headless chicken she axed which still managed to run quite a far distance and many others.

She also related one incident when she caught her mom dancing in a frenzy manner in the middle of a field in India, to protect herself from the vultures which were looming above her head to show that she was still alive. She also worked as a diver’s guide and told us about how one of the people she brought into the ocean missed the wonderful view of the shark which was within was 2-metres from him when he was distracted by Lilian’s action of taking out her survival. knife.

We've met many interesting characters in Turkey.

Mr "Of Course"
Mr "Of Course", a Kurdistan restaurant owner who could speak Mandarin as he used to have a Taiwanese wife. He's 38 years old and has a family business. Besides the restaurant, the family also have a hotel that is within walking distance. Mr "Of Course" caught my attention as he spoke fluent Mandarin. I was roaming along the streets while waiting for Arlina and Weichean who had gone for their "virgin" Turkish bath and massage.

Mr "Of Course" has very outstanding features and his restaurant had a good spread of Turkish dishes which was very tantalizing. After Weichean and Arlina's massage, we went to his resturant for dinner.

Mr "Of Course" came over to our table to chat with us and we invited him to join us. He had worked in Singapore for many years as a chef in Hilton Hotel. Mr "Of Course" had very strong opinions of everything, some not so politically correct, but nonetheless, entertaining. We were like little girls asking for his comments about people for entertainment sake.

"Turkish women- very lazy.
How about Malay people?, we quipped.
"Malay people, always Al sal malai come, but they don't buy or eat. They always cook and eat at home."
"Iran people, they know nothing about Muslim faith. Believe me.no good."
"How about Kurdistan people?" We told him about the cute Kurdistan baby and the handsome children we met in Tehran. Kurdistan people very good-looking.
"Of course, he said." "Our bodies are perfect," he added, as a matter-of-factly.
Mr Of Course told us stories about his little rendezvous fling at the airport and the gay attempts he encountered. "Me talk, "don't disturb, go away. I looking girl".
Fidelity somehow seems to be non-existent in Middle East. Often, we hear stories from the Iranian men about their "girlfriends", that it's good to have more girlfriends.

"Gonzales" Father
Gonzales is the name of the popular Garfield in Istabul. I can't recall the name of the owner now, but he owned a little shop that sells trinkets and clothing in Istabul. He was very friendly and spoke good English, and best of all, not "cheekopeh". We chatted for a while and found him to be very comical and animated.

Though I'm a cat-phobic, I can't help but feel bemused by his love for his pet through the numerous stories he shared about his cat. Asked how he got Gonzales, he grinned cheekily and said that he had actually "stolen" Gonzales from his neighbour as he found Gonzales very cute. His neighbour had even asked him whether he had seen the lost kitten but he feigned ignorance. His neighbour soon found out and took Baby Gonzales back, but Gonzales would always come running back to his shop. Every time his neighhour brought him back to his shop, Gonzales would be back in the "cat thief"'s shop in no time.

"Gonzales is now very old and lazy, nobody wants him," he told us about his "son" affectionately> He told us how he accidentally "burnt" Gonzales when he tried to give him a shower. Cats normally howl when they are forced to shower,as they don't like water. He thought that the howl that Gonzales made was "normal", only to realise that Gonzales was howling because of temperature of the water. There were many stories about his beloved cat that he shared with us, from how he had to rush him to the doctor for his injured paw, how Gonzales had many girlfriends in the neighbourhood,to the "cat party" with many jumping cats in his shop on an evening that he chanced upon, and Gonzales' first girlfren which died when she was pregnant amongst others.

Gonzales' dad is currently studying in University and laughed when he told us that he had spent almost 8 years in university as he kept failing. He wanted to come to Singapore to study,but lamented that Singapore only wants the very intelligent students and he only had Ds and Cs to flaunt. His "niceness" and warmth was very easily felt and we were completely at ease with him. He also had some vintage dresses and tops, some of which were altered by his sister. Wei Chean ended up buying one of the ethnic tops from his shop at about S$50.


Ocean Seven Restaurant
We had intitally thought that Ocean Seven was a pun on Ocean Eleven, but it turned out otherwise. Ocean Seven, interestingly, is owned by seven brothers, whom all sported long hair. According to the youngest of the seven, his mom loved them having long hair as she had no daughters and made all the boys grow long hair so that she can comb and tie their hair for them. Eating in Istanbul was heavenly compared to Iran. Their dishes at Ocean Seven were very delicious and we had a very enjoyable meal there.

Singapore Passport - Tak Boleh! Getting Stuck at the Border Between Turkey and Syria

I know how it feels to be in detention- it’s ultra-boring, and worse, when you do not know when you will released. I had my first taste of this at the border between Turkey and Syria.

We arrived at the border station at 12 noon, with our heavy backpacks, and our specially taken “tudung-covered” photographs, ready to cross overland from Turkey and Syria, for our final leg of our trip.

It was indicated in the Lonely Planet that for countries which do not have a Syrian embassy, the visa can be made at the border. Alternatively, the visa can be made in Istabul at the Syrian embassy but it was closed during the weekend when we were in Turkey.

We were asked to go into the office to meet the officer-in-charge. He understood little English, but there were a few staff who could speak some English.
“Which country you from?,” asked one of the border officer.
“Sing-gar-pool”, we replied. He scoured through his list of countries in Arabic language, and frowned.
Sing-gar-pool”, he repeated. Maybe it was the wrong pronounciation. We tried again, “Singa-fura”. Still, he frowned. More officers came into the room, and others curiously peered into the office. We were once again, surrounded by the group of men strangers, but this time round, in a completely different setting.

One of the officers explained that they would send our details to the capital, Damascus and would need to get a reply fax from them before they can approve our visa. “So how long, do we have to wait here? One hour, two hours?”, we asked. “Maybe, by 11pm, maybe tomorrow, maybe maybe, it depends,” replied the officer as a matter-of-factly. We were told to check with the office every hour on the status of our fax.

Wei Chean managed to get her visa with her Malaysian passport within the two hours of waiting. Malaysia is a Muslim country and Mahadir had visited Syrian about three years ago. I think it’s high time we alert Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Minister George Yeo to go shake hands with the Syrian government.

”It would probably take a few hours, at most,” I thought to myself. During the first three hours of waiting, Wei Chean, Arlina and myself were still joking with one another, went shopping at the duty-free shop and chatted with curious drivers from Kuwait and guides from Turkey who were waiting for their tour groups.

By 3pm, the experience was not funny or refreshing anymore. It was very boring and frustrating waiting and not knowing how long more to wait. Everything was not within our control and the Singaporean passport, for once, is more a hindrance than an aid. We wished we had the Malaysia passport.

We told Weichean to make her own way to Aleppo and find a guest-house to stay and rest first. I sent Weichean off the station and bade farewell to her. “So sad, bye bye,” she pouted her lips and left.

It was a torturous and endless wait and Arlina and I were tired of entertaining ourselves. There were no internet cafes anyway in sight, no beautiful sights to see and no strangers to befriend as the night darkened. Our numerous attempts to check on the status of our return fax from Damascus remained futile. We could not even return to Turkey as the passports were kept with the custom officers.

“There is no system here. It is normal to wait. Some people wait for about two days,” said the Customer Service officer, one of the rare Syrians who could speak English fluently.

“Waiting for hours and hours for the fax,” that was scribbled on the counter at the border, probably by a foreigner visitor to Syria. My sentiments exactly I’ve walked through the border station, from left to right, front to back, listen to all the songs in my MP-three player and was still waiting. Arlina and I started talking and dreaming about going to Greece or Cyprus if we couldn’t get our visa into Syria. The mouse-eating scrubby-looking cat made frequent checks on us, and for a cat-phobic like me, it wasn’t welcomed at all.

It was around 7pm and there was still no good news. Arlina and I decided to have dinner first at the restaurant just across the road, before coming back to the station to wait again. We were the only women in the restaurant, as usual. There are several customers and workers in the restaurant. The dinner was US$4 per person, but it was a surprisingly sumptuous spread and a very pleasant surprise instead. My set-dinner came complete with freshly baked nan (bread), a bowl of piping hot beef stew, with potatoes and carrots, rice with two pieces of tender, succulent chicken pieces. Arlina’s chicken kebab set came with 5 pieces of juicy chicken parts and a bowl of fresh salad. We were happily enjoying our meals and took the chance to charge of handphones and MP3 player.

Suddenly, a Russian man walked over. His body was retching with the smell of alcohol and he wanted to invite us to his table for some drinks. We kindly rejected his offer saying it was alright as we had our own water. 15 minutes later, he made eye contact with Arlina and tried to persuade us to move to his table. We smiled and said no as we carried our backpacks and made our way back to the border station to check on our visa status.

“Aren’t they tired of seeing us, the two gals from morning to night? We must pretend to be very pathetic and cough aloud to attract their attention,” I told Arlina, and quickly started coughing louder than it was necessary as a border officer looked up. We were so bored, we started exercising and prancing around the station and used our teeth to shape the continents of the world using the nan (bread).

At 9pm, we went to the office to check on the fax again. On the way in, we met an English guide from Syria, “How are you ladies?” “Not good”, I said. “But why?, asked the guide. I told him the problem with our visa and the number of hours we’ve spent waiting at the border. He said that the station officer was a good friend of his and he can help check for us. He said that sometimes it helps if we can give for instance 5 US dollars per person to hasten the procedures as it was ridiculous to wait for so many hours.

I told Arlina that since the officers had said that they would give us a final confirmation by 11pm, I’m not willing to part with my 5 US dollars for bribery. It’s a matter of principle. If we had known that we can skip these usual procedures through bribery earlier, we would gladly oblige, but not after more than 9 hours of waiting. I would rather wait for another two more hours to see the outcome through the proper channel.

Besides our hourly checks at the officer, we had “sent” many additional representatives into the office to try and intervene. These are English guides, drivers, customers who could speak English and have approached us to chat. Maybe that had irritated the officers a little.

Finally, at 12 mid-night, we saw the light at the end of the tunnel. The border officer asked us to change US $34 for our visa and get the stamps from another station. A taxi-driver appeared from nowhere, at the counter, and said, “Syria, Aleppo?”, we said yes, and asked him how much it would cost,
US 10 dollars per person he said. That was the standard rate and we quickly said yes. Within 10 minutes, we received the visa and the pink form and made our way to Aleppo in the taxi.

It was a very interesting experience at the border station. Though it was 12 hours of our youth wasted, we had received much hospitality, well-wishes and free ride offers from complete strangers. Two Syrian drivers, with their limited English, offered to drive us to Aleppo for free, guides gave us their contact numbers to us, and told us to contact them if we encounter any problems in Syria. One Turkish driver even offered us a free ride back to Turkey.

My advice to all travellers- get your visa in Istabul, it will save you a lot of hassle at the border!

Three Iranian Jokes

The below jokes are not invented by me. They are all told during the road journey to the key attractions in Yadz by our Iranian guide, complete with sound effects and actions. Enjoy!

Iranian Joke One
An Iranian woman went to the doctor. Doctor says, “ Please take off your chador and your clothes.”
She says, “But I’m shy.”
Doctor says, “ But you have to take off your clothes so that I can check your body.
Iranian woman, reluctantly says,
Alright, but can you switch off the lights?”
Doctor says, “No problem.” And the lights were off within a few seconds.S
In the pitch-dark room, the Iranian woman says, “Doctor, I have taken off all my clothes. Where should I put my clothes?”
Doctor says, “Okay, just place your clothes anywhere near to mine.

Iranian Joke Two-Iranians are so polite to each others.
An Iranian woman is pregnant. Doctor says, “Congratulations, You have twins. This are the 5 tablets that will be good for your body. Please take one on each day. The lady got impatient and decided to take all the tablets at one go, instead of one per day as requested by the doctor.

One year has passed. No baby.
Five years passed and still no baby.
The Iranian woman decided to go to the doctor for a ultra-sound scan. And in the scan, they saw two elderly wrinkled men standing at the door of the vagina, “You go first”, said the first one old man, “No, no, no, you go first, said the second. And the courtesy continues.

Iranian Joke Three- Biscuits with Milk
An Iranian man was sitting alone, frowning and looking very sad.
His friend came along and said, “Why are you unhappy? Tell me, please.”
The Iranian man said, “I want to drink fresh milk. My mother didn’t give me her milk when she was young and I really want to drink it.”
His friend said, “Don’t worry. My wife has big breasts. You can come to my house and drink her milk.
Next day, the man went to his friend’s house. The big-breasted wife was at home.
She took off her shirt and offered her breasts to the Iranian man as instructed by her husband.
The man started sucking on her left breast and enjoying the milk. The wife became aroused and started moaning, and said, “ Tell me what else you want, I can give you anything, everything.
The man went on to suck her right breast, and the woman repeated, “ Tell me what else you want, I can give you anything, everything, " in between heaving sounds.
The man replied with his eye closed, “ It would be good to have some biscuits with the milk.”

Yadz, Iran - Of Teahouses, Gorgeous Courtyards and Sun-baked Walls

Yadz is a beautiful old city town complete with sun-baked tiles, a unique bazaar and little shops that sell interesting trinkets and souvenirs. Strolling around the historical town is amazing. It’s little why it’s known to be one of oldest civilizations and a UNESCO site. Some of the old houses in Yadz are stunningly spacious and beautifully decorated with ornate carvings.

There's something very rustic and romantic about Yadz and it's our favourite place in Iran.

On the first day we arrived, we were trailed by two young teenage boys. Tired of all the “cheekopeh” encounters in Iran, we decided to feign ignorance to all men and pretended that we did not see these boys. We then went into an authentic teahouse for a pot of tea (chay). The boys were hot at our heels.

Several times they tried to chat with Arlina and Weichean, but they continued to feign ignorance. Their hearts melted when one of the boys innocently asked, “Excuse me, can you please talk to us? Are Iran people very scary? I just want to practise English.”

By the time I came back from my toilet visit cum short shopping trip, Wei Chean and Arlina were already happily chatting away with these two teenage boys, Ali and Saadey.

Ali’s command of English was amazingly good by Iranian standard. He was very curious about Singapore and how to express himself in English. He was like a huge sponge, eager to absorb new information and learn new English terms. And we were of course, more than happy to share all these information and knowledge with him. We even whipped out our pens to teach them how to use the Chinese chopsticks, including his good friend, 17 year-old Saadey who stands at a towering height of 1.92cm, but couldn’t speak a word of English

”Do you have any last orders for us?,” Ali said before we parted our ways. “No, no, of course not. All the best for your studies, and you’ll better get back to your brother’s house and buy your bus tickets back to Tehran today. “Not all Iranian men are “cheekopeh” lah,” we concluded, these two young 17-year-old boys were so polite and innocent, their intention of approaching us was really just to practise English, and we had kept them an arm’s length distance for the longest time, for fear of being “cheekopehed”.

Bridging Friendships: A Lovely Date with the Esfahan Girls, Esfahan

We were strolling along the Esfahan riverbank when we chanced upon two shy but friendly Esfahan girls who spoke very limited English. Tired of getting “cheated” and playing mind games with Iranian men, we decided to be friendly with Iranian girls only. Arlina said that it’s time we girls be aggressive and make the first move as we inched closer to the Iranian girls who sat next to us along the riverbank. After much gesturing and use of short, simple words, we managed to strike a date with the gals. Feeling gleefully proud of her "achievement, Arlina said, “Who says we need to be invited to people’s house, we can also invite them out for dates?” See, we have a dinner date tomorrow?”

Dinner Date Turned Strange Iranian Men-Dancing Session (Esfahan)

We met Mr Sani at the Amir Kabir Guesthouse on the first day we arrived. The guest house is owned by his relative and spoke good English. He invited us to dinner with his family the next day at 8pm and said that he would be interested to know more about the Buddhist teachings after Weichean mentioned she is a Buddhist.

After the afternoon “scare” and the “hug-and-kiss” request, we thought the dinner appointment would definitely be the safe one for sure, not one of those, with “cheeko” intentions.

Happily, we took out the headscarves, toys and little presents we brought from Singapore from our backpacks, ready to give them to our new acquaintances who would be hosting dinner for us.

The evening started off quite well. Mr Sani was slightly late but he apologised profusely. He had deliberately rushed to the guesthouse in a taxi as there was a jam. Together, we took a taxi to his car, which was parked about 5 minutes away. “So nice and thoughtful of him, to rush down from work for strangers, like us,” we thought.

Mr Sani then brought us to his brother-in-law’s shop, to say hi to him, and then sprang a surprise visit to his sister’s house. Her house was very nice and posh, with plush carpets white curtains and a big garden. His sister was shocked to see guests, as she was not wearing her chador, but was very sweet and nice. Despite the impromptu visit, she gave us each a plate of mixed nuts, fresh fruits and some desserts. We liked her immediately as she seemed very nice. Her 19-year-old son was also very friendly and comical. He was huge and had big gestures. His mannerism reminded me very much of Lenin in the literature book, Of Mice and Men, the gentle giant who had no clues of his strength and murdered a woman by accident. We spent about 20 minutes in her house.

Mr Sani wanted us to dance, and cheered us on. He even pulled us from our seats, and swung Weichean and myself around with his nephew. It was strange, but we thought maybe it was the Iranian culture to dance and since there were no other strangers, we did not think much about it. Soon, Mr Sani said we had to go as his friend was waiting for us at his house. Strangely, he didn’t mention anything about his family or the dinner invitation he promised though.

We followed him in his chair and he drove a good half an hour before we saw his friend who was waiting at the roadside. We split into two cars, Arlina with the 19-year-old “Lenin, while Wei Chean and I with Mr Sani and his friend, who seemed very friendly though he couldn’t speak English.

When we reached his friend’s house, the wife was nowhere in sight. Mr Sani said that the wife went to another town to bring her daughter back and should be home in one hour’s time. It was about 9.15pm then. We sat around and ate more nuts and chatted. Mr Sani even joked and said that we can cook for them.

At 10.30pm, the doorbell rang. But it was not the wife.

In came a group of Iranian men in their mid thirties, whom Mr Sani introduced as his colleagues. Mr Sani had specially invited them to his friend’s house to dance for us as they are accordingly to him, very good dancers. They started to play Iranian music and wanted us to join in the fun of dancing. We declined profusely. Mr Sani said, “You don’t have to dance, just clap your hands.”

It was a really strange scenario. Image this, five men sitting directly opposite us, in casual poses, some with legs wide open. One fat Iranian man started prancing in front of us, doing the provocative Middle Eastern dance, twisting and bending his fat body, but I must admit, Iranian people can really dance though. We had to pretend to be really busy taking photographs to prevent us from getting pulled to the floor for dancing.

By 11pm, there was still no sight of the wife. While Wei Chean was showing the photographs to one of the strangers, he conveniently placed his arm on Weichean’s shoulder. Arlina plucked the Iranian’s man fingers off Wei Chean’s shoulders and we started to scout for our exit route.

We discussed amongst ourselves discreetly and decided that we better scoot. We were surrounded by complete strangers and the only consoling factor was the 10-year-old son of the house owner, whom we spent most of our time with playing computer games.

Arlina went to open the main door. “Lenin” asked if she was looking for the toilets. We said it was getting late and we were feeling a little tired and would like to go back to the guest-house. Mr Sani was surprised by our sudden request to leave the home, but was gentlemanly enough to send us back.

On the way back, Mr Sani and “Lenin” wanted to bring us to the nearby fastfood restaurant for dinner, but we declined.They said ”Lenin’s” mom and his wife had saved food for them and they would be able to eat when they returned home.

We went back to the guesthouse with empty stomachs, the presents and headscarves intact.
Was there really an intention to host dinner at his home? Are we being too overly sensitive about all the things that happened in the home? Are they genuinely hospitable by inviting their friends to dance for us as a welcome gesture? We couldn’t’ decipher by agreed that it was a strange night indeed.

A Hug-and-Kiss Request and A Lesson Learnt in Esfahan

We were strolling the streets in Esfahan and stopped a car to ask for directions. The driver couldn’t speak much English, but seemed very friendly and eager to help. He drove off, without giving much useful information. Minutes later, he turned his car back again and tried speaking to us. We told them that we would like to go to the Imam Khomeni Square, Ali Kappo Palace and Imane Mosque. They seemed to know and offered to drive us there.

We were grateful for their hospitality. Our new friends, Shampu and Amir were both businessmen who happened to be having a day away from work.Upon reaching, we thanked them and wanted to say goodbye but our kind “drivers” insisted on playing host. They even paid for some of the admission charges for the main sights and bought us ice-cream.

On the way, Shampu’s nephew, Rezar joined us in the vehicle. I was squashed between the driver, Amir and Rezar in the front seat. It was a very awkard and uncomfortable position, as two of us were squeezed into one miserable seat, with my bums leaning against the driver’s clutch.

Rezar was the only one who could speak English and he had to play the role of the translator. They brought us to a nice alfresco-dining restaurant which served wonderful chicken kebab and tea. Again, they refused to let us pay for our own meals. We felt indebted to them for all they had done, extending such hospitality to complete strangers like us.

With words and hand gestures, we chatted about prices of cigarettes, housing in Singapore, education policies and many others. His uncle suggested that we could stay in his apartment so that we could save our money rather staying in a guest-house.

After lunch, Shampur bade goodbye as he had some business to attend to. Rezar suggested us going to his uncle’s apartment to take a look. If we liked, we could stay there, if not, we could just be there for a while. It was hard to refuse at that point and out of gratitude, we acceded to his request.

Amir’s house was on the fourth level in an apartment that looked like a typical condominium in Singapore. Sacks of cement were lying on the floor, the lift was still not in operation and there did not seemed to be any living beings in the brand-new apartment.

As we climbed the stairs, we had an uneasy feeling. If anything should happen to us, we would definitely not be able to get immediate help. Maybe we were scaring ourselves, we thought. We caught a glimpse of a unit that was occupied, and that calmed us a little. “We just sit for a while and then “charboat” after that,” we decided.

The house was very spacious. The living room was nicely lined with Persian carpets and cushions. We sat around and Amir served us dried fruits, nuts and tea. We chatted with Rezar about his plans of pursuing his studies in Sweden, the government policies in Iran and religions. Amir’s family used to stay near the border near Iraq, and because of the war, they escaped into Iran. It was a casual afternoon conversation and the television was on. Amir was watching music videos through satellite, with Madonna and Britney Spears prancing around provocatively in their sexy tight-fitting outfits.

Rezar asked me to go into the bedroom and said that he had something to discuss with me. Since Arlina and Wei Chean were both in the living room, I followed Rezar into the bedroom.

He sat down on a pile of stacked carpets and cushions in the bedroom and said as a matter-of-factly, “My nephew (he means his uncle), would like to kiss-and-hug you. Okay?

It’s probably “safer” to be a conservative Muslim woman, whom the Iranians have more respect for, than a Chinese woman now, I thought.
“No, No, I’m Chinese. Chinese and Muslims same same, cannot,” thinking I could get away with it by using religion- Islamic faith as the trump card.

“But why? you are in Iran?,” he asked again, looking almost innocent and perplexed when I turned down his calm request.

Not knowing what to say, I repeated myself, “No, no, Chinese and Muslims, same same. Boyfriend in Singapore, boyfriend not happy, cannot. Sorry” He frowned his brows and I started to sidetrack to other topics, “When are you going to Sweden, you said your sister was in Stockholm now right?”. I continued to bombard him with pmany completely irrelevant questions just to ease the awkard situation. I made a fast exit back to the living room and communicated to the rest of gals in a mixture of Singapore slangs, Mandarin, Hokkien and English that it was time to leave.

We decided that things were getting a little strange and since we had a dinner appointment, we could use that as an excuse to go off. We told Rezar that we needed to leave soon as the dinner appointment was at 7pm (actually it was at 8pm), and we need to get back to the guest-house to rest for a while. Rezar asked us to wait for another 10 minutes, as the other friend, Shampu would be back soon and he can send us back.

”Die, if Shampur comes back, it would be three men against three of us,we would be outnumbered.” We started clearing the nuts, dried-fruits and washed the teacups. Arlina went to open the door to make sure that the escape route was clear. We told Rezar, “No, no, don’t worry, we can just get a taxi back to our guest-house from here. Thank you anyway.” Admir, Rezar’s uncle was busy on the phone throughout this time.. Thankfully, we got a cab in the next 10 minutes. Before the taxi left, Rezar asked us where we would be going the next day. “We’re not sure, we might just walk around on our own,” he gave us his number and asked us to call them if we had time tomorrow.” “Okay, thank you,” we said, and waved bye bye to him.

Like hell we will.

Venturing into the Middle East, Iran, Turkey and Syria

“What? Are you crazy, you’re going to Iran?” That’s the general response of many of my friends when I told them about my month-long expedition to the Middle East. To many Singaporeans, Iran is often associated with their nuclear policy, the unsafe country next to Iraq where war is imminent. For me, I’m curious to explore this mystery-strodded part of the world which I have seen and heard so much and see what life is like there.

The Middle-East trip turned out to be a lot more challenging as we had to decipher the good and sometimes bad intentions of the people, find quick solutions to get ourselves out of awkward situations with ease, play charade with strangers to get them to understand our questions
We visited many sights and mosques till we suffered from arches-fatigue and swore not to see arches again. We enjoyed the comfy comforter in a tree-house, endured the icy water in a heater-less cave hotel and spent an unforgettable night with the nomads in the middle of the desert.

We made friends with many locals, chatted with guides about their countries and their hopes, talked to shop-owners about their beloved cats, girlfriends and their restaurants, spoke to travellers about places they have been and eavesdropped about the case of a missing Australian girl in Syria,

The people showered us with great hospitality, too much sometimes. Free snacks and drinks offers by old friendly vendors in the bazaar, young Iranian girls chucking pieces of paper and notebooks into our faces for autographs as if we were celebrities. And even private, lewd jokes about the Iranian men and women, complete with actions and special sound effects by our Iranian guide, erm.. too much actually.

Some experiences were very pleasant, and some were rather risky on hindsight. But all in all, the one month in Middle East was truly a memorable experience. We embraced the beauty and the people of this often misunderstood cradle of civilizations.