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.

Leaving for the Middle East

I've been down with bad flu for the last two weeks. Went to see the doctor consecutively for two weeks, but the flu bug still doesn't want to leave me alone. Hope I'll recover soon. :)

It has been a while since I went for a long trip. The last long trip was last September, when I went to Northern Thailand for my first solo-trip.

I'm grateful to my kind sweet boss who was kind enough to let me go for a month and cover my duties. MUAKS!!!

Arlina, Weichean and I will be catching the 3am flight at Terminal One, Changi Airport. All my barang barang have been packed, medicine, cough syrup, notebook, gifts for my soon-to-be, new-found Iranian friends. I wonder whether there will be many changes when I come back, at work and at home.maybe I'll marry a sheik and not come back.hhahahhaa..told Christine that I'll send 3 camels to her as a parting gift, if I should decide not to come back to Singapore. Also told my fellow colleagues in the office that they might catch us on BBC if we are captured by the Iranians.

This trip may not be life-changing, but it will certainly be an adventurous and fun journey to remember! See you in May 7. Will be touching down on May 7 and resuming work on May 8.

Baby SHermaine's First Birthday

Little Shermaine trying her hands at my camera.

Yesterday was Little Shermaine's 1st birthday. Time really flies and the little one has been with us for a good 365 days now. Sister is expecting another one end this year. With these little bundles of joy in the family, life is never going to be the same again.



Some shots of the cheeky gal.

Yawn!!

Little Shermaine

Peas & Marbles Story

I was checking my emails when I chanced upon this email that my fren sent to me.

Mrs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. Sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"

"Not zackley. but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had an occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts, all very professional looking.
They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.
Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.
Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles:

A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself. An unexpected phone call from an old friend. Green stoplights on your way to work. The fastest line at the grocery store. A good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys right where you left them.

Chinese New Year and A New Godson

This year's Chinese New Year has been quite fun and it's nice to meet up with so many cousins, nephews, nieces and my ultra-huge extended family. And I've a new godson this year!

My uni buddie, Huihui has just given birth to a little baby boy, at 11.59am two days before Chinese New Year and her little one weighs 3.345kg. The sight of his first grandson was enough to keep Huihui's dad smiling from cheek to cheek throughout our visit. The intended Mongolia trip with Huihui would have to take a backseat now that there's a task that's more important for the first-time mom. I'll have to find new travel mates to fulfil my Mongolia trip dreams, hopefully in the near future. :)

Interesting quotes

I was just randomly surfing the website when I came across these quotes which I thought were quite interesting and some funny.


"Oh shit, he's even dumber than I thought"



A problem is only as big as your imagination. Fortunately, so is the solution.
Forget what everyone around you thinks you can do. The only person who truely knows you is you. If you aren't sure whether or not you can do something, all the more reason to try.

Laughable Quotes
Two lions broke loose in the zoo and were eating a clown. One lion said to the other ... "Does this taste funny to you?"
Unknown

Whenever I see an old lady slip and fall on a wet sidewalk, my first instinct is to laugh. But then I think, what if I was an ant, and she fell on me. Then it wouldn't seem quite so funny.
Jack Handey, Deep Thoughts

Jakarta Birthday Trip- Girls' Night Out in Jarkarta 16 December to 18 December 2007

This year's birthday is a special one. Arlina and Weichean suggested going somewhere out of Singapore to celebrate my birthday.

Though it was a really short weekend trip, we still managed to maximise our time in Batam and in Jakarta, doing all the "girlie" stuff, going for spa, shopping, eating and roaming the streets. We stayed in a squeaky clean guest-house in Jalan Jaksa. The trip was short, but nonetheless memorable and fun.




10 things that made this trip memorable

1) Weichean getting oogled at by the Indonesian men on Day One when she wore her sexy tube top and Day Two, when she wore her see-through lacy dress which left much to the cheekopeh Indonesian men's imagination.
2) The walk around the slum-area near the railway station on the last day in Jarkarta. Unfortunately, Wei Chean couldn't come along coz she was running a little fever. The slum area serves as the home for many Indonesians who left their villages to come to Jarkarta in search of greener pastures. There, we met a green chick and a pink chick, literally, two children from Papua New Guinea, friendly residents.
3) Three grown-up gals sleeping together in a king-size bed in the ultracheap yet squeaky clean guesthouse (S$12 per night).
4) Yummy Cemara gado gado which is best served cold, with bitter keropok, cucumber, beansprouts, "longtong rice", nicely immersed in fragrant cashew nut sauce.
5) The talented musician-beggar who sang beautiful Indonesian folktunes outside the shop while we enjoyed our authentic gado gado
5) The spa treatment which costs about S$80, including one-hour massage, milk bath and a cup of hot ginger tea. Weichean and I shared a tub, while Arlina enjoyed her privacy in the room next door.
6) The unforgettable meal at the roadside stall. It was a meal of excitement and loads of activities. Indonesian teenagers suddenly surrounding us with their make-shift instruments and drum-sets, singing enchanting Indonesian songs with their loud and powerful vocals. A beggar lady, with a baby slinged over her shoulder in a sarong, poking Arlina on her back asking for money as she ate her satay. Another uncle carrying stacks of books and travel guides from table to table, trying his luck for a potential buyer to bring the books home.
7) The bright pink and green chicks we chanced upon in the slum area. These poor chicks must have been "dipped" into the agar-agar colouring that the Indonesians use to make their jelly.
8)Roaming the little lanes in Blok M, the residents' shopping paradise with Arlina and Weichean
9) Taking the domestic flight (Lion Air) from Batam to Jakarta at about S$270. The wordings on the plane- Fly is Cheap.
10) Taking the little transport vehicle which is the equivalent of the tuk-tuk in Thailand.

Thank you girls, for making this year's birthday an unforgettable one as I neared the big three-zero.

Dying Young - Unpredictabilities of Life

An sms came in yesterday at midnight. Xiuping, my secondary school classmate smsed me.

A friend has passed away suddenly. Reason: Breathing difficulties. He is only 30 years old. Leaving behind his 2-year-old daughter, his wife and a little one in his wife's tummy who will never have the chance to call him daddy.

I may not know him very well but it's still very sad to hear that someone you know has left the world so suddenly.

We knew each other by face for more than a decade. He was the left-marker of his secondary school SGT NCC. Tall and suave, he caught the eyes of many teenage girls then. I was the left-marker for my school. Our paths crossed again about 4 years ago at Clarke Quay. He came up to say hi and asked if I was from Cedar. We exchanged contacts and promised to keep in touch. We never really did, except for a few occasional emails.

The last time I met William was about 2 years ago at a friend's wedding. He was with his newly wedded wife then and both looked happy and in marital bliss. We chatted for a short while, he introduced his wife to me and then went back to our own circle of friends. That was the last I saw of him.


I've just seen his photograph in The Straits Times obituary page. His cheery disposition is vivid in the papers.

Life is so unpredictable. You never know what the destiny has for you next. I feel sorry for his wife and his children and hope time will heal their hearts.

Rest in peace, William
May your family find strength to overcome this challenging period.