If I were a cannibal, I'd surely live in Borneo.

Isn't that what you think of when you hear "Borneo"? I think that comes from a scene in some vintage Little Rascals short where the main attraction at the fair is a "Wild Man from Borneo!!" and he eats a guy. Something like that. Anyway, I just got back from there, and I didn't meet any cannibals. Or at least noone fessed up to it.

So picture SE Asia: there's China, then below is Vietnam and Cambodia, next to them is Thailand, beside and below Thaland is peninsular Malaysia, and then Singapore rests in Malaysia's...vagina, I suppose. Geographically speaking, of course. Fly an hour or so due East of Singapore, and you're on a large island called Borneo. The Northern part is Malaysia's, the Southern part is Indonesia's, and a little pimple on the top is Brunei Darassalam, an uber-wealthy oil-rich Muslim nation that discourages tourism and alcohol. I didn't want to go there anyway. In Malaysian Borneo, the Eastern chunk is the state of Sabah, the Western is Sarawak. Within Sabah lies the tallest peak in SE Asia, Mt. Kinabalu. It's 4095 meters, or about 13,500 feet, same as Grand Teton in Wyoming. Canadian Dave and Swiss Tassja and I set out to conquer the thing in a day, and once we'd decided it was do-able, we weren't having it any other way. This opposes the national park's policy that all trekkers take two days to climb it, and recommend an additional day for acclimitazation at the base. We found this a bit too pussy-like for our adventurous palette, told the guide we wanted to do a simple day-hike, and went on our merry way.

The rules of the "day hike" are that you climb until 2 pm, then turn around and go down. The rules the summit trek are that you climb to a rest house the first day, stay, spend your money, sleep, and wake up at the crack o' dawn while it's still clear out to reach the summit. The rules of our day hike were to hike fast, reach the rest house at 3000 m at 1, beg the mandatory guide to take us further despite impending rain, reach a safety checkpoint and negotiate with the guide to let us climb to the summit, and show him a good time. Our way won: we made it to the top in just over 6 hours, climbed down to the resthouse, and planned to rent a sleepingbag and crash uni-bed style until the early am when the rest of the hikers summited, and mosey on down. As it happened, the weather was phenomenal, and the clouds that were pouring on the girly men at the resthouse were opening up to bright blue skies at the top. Once we were back at the resthouse, we sat and ached and ate the best Maggi noodles ever (Asian equivalent of Ramen). Apparently our willingness to sleep together on cold wood floors at 3000 m (and the fact that we had zero ringgit...for real) was endearing, and the guides set up a mattress with pillows and blankets for a less turturous sleep. It was great.

It's worth noting that we stayed at the New Horizon hostel in Kota Kinabalu, and it was the best hostel experience ever. Not only are folks in Borneo the world's nicest people IN THE WORLD, but a woman named Hazmillah who ran the new hostel was the best of the best. She worked for the tourism board, so had all the tricks and info. The place was simple, clean, comfortable, and convenient for everything. I think if I'm ever lost in any country, I'll just call her up: "Hazmillah, I'm in Egypt. There's a phone booth to my left and a blue hotel to my right. Where to now?" And she'll know.

k, now I have a funny story. The trip was supposed to be 2-part: first, exerting mad effort and climbing a mountain in Sabah, then going to Sarawak for 3 free nights at Hilton's only jungle resort, a luxury historic longhouse deep in the jungle. Free because I have a snazzy credit card that I tend to use, and they reward me for my consumerist habits. To get to the jungle Hilton, we flew from K(ota) K(inabalu) to Kuching in Sarawak, and took a cab to the Kuching Hilton. My itinerary specifically stated the we then take hotel transportation to a jetty, then a boat to the jungle hotel, and it all takes 3.5 hours. As it turns out, it's not hotel transport, it only leaves at 8 am, and it's not free; rather, 100 ringgit/S$50/$30 USD per person each way. Our budget could only accomodate "free", mind you. So they nice little hotel guy offered to switch our reservation to the Kuching Hilton, which was totally ok. They upgraded us to a riverview suite, we cracked open the Johnnie Walker and our packets of Maggi noodles (budget=free) and laughed at our fortune. A few sips in, the desk called and said the rewards point values weren't equivalent, and we could only have 1 free night in the Hilton. Damn. So we hang out at the pool, walk around Kuching, and try to be resourceful. Like most immature efforts at resourcefulness, ours ended in the bar.

Picadilly's is a chic little pub, owned by Alex the Malaysian insurance salesman, operated by Paul the English civil engineer, frequented by William the successful Chinese Malay lawyer who spends each evening from 4 until 1 sauced off his little Asian behind, and enjoyed by Iyke, Uche, Chaca and Sweetness, four Nigerian computer engineering students. And we met them all. From the pictures, you can see that William (Bill) is quite the character, and a dancer as well. They were all great guys, bought us several drinks, then convinced us to bail on our reservation to stay overnight at Bako National Park and accept their offer to put us up in a hotel for the night.

The next day, we were booted from the Hilton after attempts at negotiation, assured and denied a room at the Holiday Inn, offered and rejected a discounted room at the Borneo Hotel, then finally offered a FREE room at the Borneo Hotel. We took that last one. In thanks, we made a pilgrimmage back to Picadilly's to meet the crew again, and had one hell of a time. Not only are they all extremely friendly (reinforcing my understanding of Sarawak hospitality), but generous, fun, intelligent, and interesting as well. Such kindness definitely made an impression on me, and to be so lame as to quote the title of a certain Haley Joel-Osment movie, I plan to "pay it forward" the next time such an opportunity presents itself.

Our dear Dave moved on in the morning, and Tassja and I went to Bako for 2 days of great hiking on our recovering legs. The jungle is a wild, wild place, as are the macaques, orang-utans, proboscis monkeys, bearded pigs, flying lemurs, and various other crazy wildlife that inhabit the place. I'd carry on but this post has likely worn you out already. The pictures say a little, at least.

So WOW, what a trip. I'd like to add that our final day's travel back to Singapore went like so: long morning hike, boat ride, bus ride, walk, cab ride, flight, cab ride, bus ride, Malaysia immigration, bus ride, Singapore immigration, bus ride, train ride, cab ride. HOME.

C'est tout, et je retournerai en deux jours. Deviendrez surexcite!

Nostalgia + Hangover = Useless

Thursday, 12th of April. 3:34 pm. Eastern hemisphere. Continent of Asia. 1 degree N of the equator. City-state of Singapore. Civic District. Singapore Management University. Li Ka Shing Library, 2nd floor, group study area, back wall. Curled up in a big chair, just...waking...up...

I have a final in 1 hour, 26 minutes, to complete a term's work in Analysis of Equity Investments. 2 hours, open note, quantitative problem solving using concepts from the course. Pass/fail, like all the rest in the bevy of the deliverables under an exchange student's charge. Funny how classes at home receive varying amounts of focus and effort, but regardless, the thought of a B- is hard to swallow, and failure would almost require determination and more effort. Funnier how failure seems like a possibility now that my primary goal is not to. Funnier still is that 70% is a C- and all I need to pass every class for credit, I could receive any grade higher than a 60% on each of my exams to earn above a C-, I can nearly do that with my eyes closed, SMU grades on a curve, and I'm in the LIBRARY. STUDYING. This is futile. Not because it won't help, but because it doesn't matter. I could ramble all day about this, but the reason I'm rambling in the library and not rambling around MacRitchie Park through the canopy walk is because the small percent of my personality that qualifies as Type B is in stark contrast to the remaining Midwestern-work-ethic-infused academic. Outcome: passively combat productivity for days on end, and pass the term.

In unrelated news, I must comment that Jen Barger and my sister are the two funniest people in the world this week. Jen's Facebook status said, "Say what you want about the US, but $13 buys a lot of mice." I thought this was utterly hilarious as it implied the most preposterous metric for measuring a nation's greatness. And particularly relevant right now as I struggle to put forth a front of patriotism (waning since November, 2000) to my wonderfully feisty Canadian peers! George W. what? Let's talk mice. My sister also made the list as she signed an e-mail using 2 common elements of an e-mail closing: her name (in this case, "K1" in reference to being the first child in our family with a K-name, and it doesn't take physics to guess that I am K2) and a heart formed of the side-carrot (<) and the number 3. So it looked like this: <3K1. Then, in parentheses, the wrote (that's "less than three-thousand one.") and left it at that. I found this more than amusing...nearly side-splitting. And while you may be sniffing sarcasm in my conservatively-punctuated dryly verbose explanations, you are wrong my friend, wrong. I have found myself quoting and laughing these two silly geese for a few days now, and seem to be lonely in my amusement. Regardless, I hope you too will think of these instances over the next week and have a little chuckle at vermin and inequalities. To close this paragraph in the least logical way, a fellow student's cell phone just rang the tune of Super Mario Land on the green-screen Gameboy, you know the little ditty they play when you're waiting for Bowser to rear his ugly head and fight? Yup, that's the one.

And now, the breaking news update:
Thailand still doesn't like Singapore.
Singapore wants to pay its ministers more. This is controversial.
Malaysia wants to overcharge for its water, so Singapore will combat this with an ambitious purification process that turns toilet water to Evian.
Shares of the Singaporean bank DBS can be purchased via ATM.
Asia is HUGE.
Patricial Dunn had cancer during the HP pretexting scandal...that must've been a crappy few months.
Mee Goreng: fried noodles. Nasi Lemak: fat rice. How am I just learning this now?
Final in 34 minutes.

Wish me luck getting more than a 60...<3K2 (that's less than three-thousand two).

Besos y pesos.

Getting There

I've been doing a lot of that lately...getting there. But without really arriving. Could be my age, state of priorities and opportunities, or maybe that my infamous excitement-followed-by-half-assed execution is spreading into other aspects of my life besides wall paper removal. Regardless, here I am, in transit, and still pedaling.

A state I'm nearly guaranteed to arrive at, though, is the end of the term. I'm definitely getting there as today is my FINAL DAY of classes. To celebrate, I am attending but one of the three. My finals are a gift from the heavens: one open-note take-home exam, one open-note exam, and one exam with a note sheet. And given my effort and committment thus far, I could practically skip all exams and still pass. But my work ethic doesn't allow for such shenanigans, so I'll be acting Singaporean over the next week (the classless study week not practiced by the U) and hitting the books in preparation. And sadly, this all means I'll soon be getting to the end of my exchange semester, and leaving this lovely place. (Photo: Tassja and I at the Esplanade for a jazz concert, downtown Singapore over the river in the background.)

Last night was the 2007 Exchange Farewell Party, which would be nothing of note had I not volunteered to organize it with dear Myra and two giggly girls from Hong Kong. We were given a budget, and a mission to plan a dinner/party/program for 120-something students, details left completely up to our discretion. And with a cumulative 3 weeks of planning time, only 2 with the whole committee, we were in a perpetual pinch. The result: dinner at a restaurant near school (for convenience) called Timbre (the entire dining "room" is an outdoor patio), tee shirts for all, photo slideshow presentation, a group game, and awards given to members of the exchange class, voted by our peers. The festivities were free for all students, and as Timbre is a breeding ground for local artists, great music to follow (Photo below).The final product was indeed a success, but we dedicated our long hours to relentless and unexpected frustrations like obtaining clearance to use the SMU logo (initially denied!), poor quality products from the screen-printing company, planning ahead for the threat of rain, and my personal favorite, working nine hours on a presentation only to have the media lab computer automatically update and reboot, triggering an auto wipe of the hard drive. Hard work=gone! We threw a primitive presentation together last minute, but what a waste--especially because I had a quiz at 8:30 this morning, 2 assignments to work on, and other items on the party To-Do list. But enough of that, it's over and it was fun. To relate back to the topic though, the party was gratifying but not like I had expected. Even despite my hard work and taking the reigns from the first day, I don't feel the sense of accomplishment that should come with. Maybe that just means I shouldn't be a party planner, which is fiiiiiiiiine by me. Still getting there...

Work. My Portfolio Management prof offered words of wisdom to the class and charted different paths from various undergraduate degrees to either GJ (good jobs) or NSGJ (not so good jobs), and ways to move from the latter to the former (MBA from certain schools, lots of luck, etc.), and details of what are GJ and what are NSGJ. As it turns out, I'm in great position as one of the 2% that gets an undergraduate degree in business or quant subjects (finance=the combo) and goes directly in to a GJ, specifically one of the high paying, ultra sexy GJ. I wanted to raise my hand and ask how I can ensure that I don't drop of the edge of the whiteboard and find myself dizzy in an NSGJ. Don't misunderstand, I'm in no hurry to separate from my youthful exuberance and easy going life in academia...but I would like some surety. This aweful state of "getting there" is the limbo between having my foot in the door, and not knowing how heavy the door is, whether it will break my toes or kick it open. Or even a hint of what's ahead...I'd take that! It's a rough industry because no one ever has the surety, that guarantee of stability; look at John Merriweather, Myron Scholes, and their genius cohorts who started Long Term Capital Management, the supposed hedge fund prodigy that found itself billions of dollars in debt due to unexpected market movements and enough leverage to move the market when Merriweather's dog takes a purple shit. They were giants of the industry and academia, and they fucked up big. This bodes poorly for average-Jane-S & T intern. (Photos: GJ at UBS)

So you see the theme, and it's rambling manifestation in my humble existence. Too much effort applied to figuring it out? Or is effort and preparation my only chance of competitiveness? The safe choice isn't laissez-faire.

I'm going to read some working papers on trading systems now, and damnit, I'm going to like it.

PS: Does anyone know how searchable blogs are on Google? And how to undo that if they are?

Teliologically Inaccurate...but I digress.

As the title suggests, the content of this post is out of chronological order. My last post (also completed today, so read on) finished with a mention of scuba certification, which is where this one shall pick up.

I signed up to take my PADI Open Water dive course with the SMU X-tremist club that organizes trips and expeditions for students interested in trekking, climbing, kayaking, diving, and other somewhat extreme sports. There were about an even number of exchange students as Singaporeans on the trip, so I knew a good handful of kids, and we had a good time. The classroom and pool sessions were held here on the island...you'll be disappointed to know I failed the test, but the nature of the PADI beast is to talk through the incorrect answers, preparing the failer to retake the test. Immediately following the discussion, quickly congratulate them for passing and send them on their way. So I passed, and went on my merry way.

The open water portion of the certification took place in Pulau Dayang, which means Dayang Island in Malay. The beach was stunning, the sea life was fun, and my fellow divers were all easy-going folks with great attitudes and a fun sense of humor. The instructors were a wild bunch as well, led by 30-year old Jacki who looks to be about 12. He's the least serious person I can possible think of, and can be counted on to throw someone into the water or other entertaining antics at any time. When something goes wrong though, he instantaneously puts on Danger Face and takes care of the problem, so he's great at what he does.

At Dayang, we completed 5 dives in 2 days, and got plenty of experience hooking up tanks and buoyancy devices, completing various underwater skills, and goofing off in wetsuits. It was a grand ol' time, and I'm pretty pissed that I live 1500 miles from in ocean in all directions. Regardless, I can scuba dive, and I'm psyched about it.

So I'm curious how my dreams will change as a result of being able to scuba dive. I frequently have dreams involving normal breathing while completely submerged in the ocean, a lake, a sink, a bathtub, some vat of water...and then I wake up in the middle of it as soon as my mind processes the fact that I'm breathing under water, and that just ain't right. Will I stay asleep? Will I explore the deep dark depths of which ever vat of water I'm splashing around in? If I don't wake up anymore, I'll never remember the dream because it'll be long gone by the time my circadian rise-time of 8:30 approaches, which bothers me moreso than waking up to begin with. Growl. Expect scientific reasoning on this soon.

Next post: Bangkok!

Wrapping My Mind Around an Island

Really, that's what I'm trying to do. And there's a lot of island in there, so thank god I was fortunate enough to be born with a severe defect resulting in my skull being made of extremely flexible stomach...not only does this wrapping become easier with time, but it includes a rancid odor for FREE! Slap-happy? No. Hung over? No. Should I be? Definitely, hence the glee.

This post is a long time coming, as the past few weeks have been somewhat noteworthy.

Note: I finally took some pictures of the apartment, but I was feeling so ambitious as to remove all the 19th century hand-carved teak Chinese furniture pieces, elaborate tapestries and plush cashmere carpet so you could, um, see what it would look like stripped down, and not stun you with its grandeur. For your own benefit, of course. Mine is the yellow door.

First, the basics. Singapore is hot and humid, usually sunny, particularly friendly, and refreshingly clear in the evenings so the bright lights are sharp like a conservative Las Vegas made completely of stars and really powerful food (plasma?) coloring. My competitive advantage in Singapore continues to be my geographical awareness as I've taken to walking everywhere. Who knew that Clarke Quay was three blocks from Boat Quay which is across the S'pore River from the Esplanade which is just down North Bridge Road which means I can walk there in about 50 minutes! Excelsior! I should not be so astounded as anything in the city of Singapore is three blocks away from anything else. That is not accurate, but that's not here nor there. Another grand discover is that I have finally found Fort Canning Park. Lo and behold, it is a mere three blocks from SMU. And what a pleasant green space it is, perfect for passing hours with my most recent library acquisition, For Whom the Bell Tolls. Regrettably only my second Hemingway, I am in debt to him for rescuing me from the shallow appeal of Equity Markets in Action. Classes are still going well; I outscored my first Portfolio Management quiz with my second, and after using Kenny's technique and convincing myself of a truly dismal outcome, this was a pleasant surprise.

Fun stuff: I'm scuba certified!

CNY Break

Chinese New Year is a giant celebration in any Chinese-populated nations, and the festival is spread out over the month preceeding and through the weeks that follow it. The old aunties are practically trembling with excitement because all their relatives visit for reunion meals, give auspicious gifts and generally promote prosperity through traditional irrational superstitions.

But with the holiday comes hordes of people, turning high-energy but completely managable Singapore into a clusterfuck of endless queues, more people in the way than ever before, and enough traffic to make my daily commute to Starbucks more treacherous than Frogger. To escape such antics, I joined five friends on a CNY break to Tioman Island, Malaysia, where the only evidence of the New Year is in the room rates the resort has managed to inflate for the big night.

Amigos on the 4-day vacance-bleu, from L to R: Anisha (UVA), Myra (UPenn), Erfaan (UVA), Jonas (Norway), moi, and Paresh (UVA).

So geographically, Singapore is at the tip of Malaysia, and the two are connected via highway. Tioman is a three-hour drive from the border, then 90 minutes by ferry off Malaysia's East coast. In preparation for the taxi voyage, we went out to Cafe Iguana, the favorite bar with 1/2 off happy hour and giant pitchers of everything, until the wee hours, savored just over an hour of shut-eye, and met up with the crew in town. The cab ride was supposed to be 2 hours but actually took 4. The fault was mutual as we were an hour late for our cab (Malaysia's are the world's oldest cabs in use, I swear)--obligatory McDonald's stop--but the cab driver's nasty habit of falling asleep with his eyes open at the wheel somewhat hindered our progress because he sacrificed his concept of speed when he hit REM in Johor Bahru. Once we got to the Mersing jetty, we waited impatiently in line for the 11:30 ferry which arrived promptly...at 1:15. Mersing doesn't fail to meet Asia's characteristic dirtiness specification, which has become quite comfortable and even pleasant to me now. Shops are poorly kept, in disarray, coated with scum...people smell badly and stare often, but are incredibly kind and take pains to help you find your way.

At the jetty, unsure of which end of the line was the front, we greedily edged further and further toward the suspected gate, only to find out that the entrance was in fact behind us, and the boat was full anyway. Damn. Enough bitching, we got on a boat eventually, it was packed, and the water became bluer and bluer as we came closer to Tioman.

We stayed at the Berjaya Resort, a 5-star golf course resort, because it was available and actually reasonably priced at $40/person. Berjaya monopolizes the beach near the town of Tekek, so it really doesn't have to do anything very well to get the business it needs. The pool was beautiful, the beach was lovely, the room was comfortable, the landscaping was well-done, and the surroundings indeed tropical, all of which more than made up for the lame food and disinterested service. Or maybe they were pissed that we made personal investments in Jack Daniels and juice from local shops down the road.



During the days, we had buffet breakfast, sat at the beach or by the pool, walked into town, or took a boat taxi to other parts of the island for snorkeling. I passed up a jungle trek (why oh WHY would I do that??) but had a hilarious day with Myra, so no real loss. At night, we played hours of Never Have I Ever which morphed into Truth or Dare, drank more, dipped skinnily, or took a boat taxi to other towns for bars and hookahs. I haven't been so relaxed or stagnant for months.

I loved the weekend and the trip, especially the people, but resort life inspires sloth-like instincts to emerge. Now that I'm back, I've dedicated the coming weeks to physical activity and buffet avoidance. As I type, I'm in my PADI scuba certification class (we're on break, worry not), and will return to Malaysia next weekend for open water dives.

Rock on. Back to class, Beer out.

Extraordinary Selections from the Mundane Collection

As the title implies, this post is dedicated to the day-to-day activities of Beer in Asia, not the infinitely exciting adventure that I've been chronicling. And not because the mundane is particularly (contradictory) exciting, but because I'm not leaving for another trip until this weekend. Woe. Is. Me.

As the digital clock reminiscent of a scoreboard counts the seconds to 10:10 am, I am seated behind a curved lecture table that frames the seminar rooms (or networked seminar rooms, or classrooms, all of which are numbered #.#, ensuring exchange students' tardiness for weeks) in my Portfolio Management course. Today is presentation day, during which 7 groups will present their strategies for replicating the S & P 500 using 5 stocks as dictated by our prof for the StockTrak trading simulation project. This presentation markets the commencement of active trading on StockTrak, and is a relatively short (10 minute) explanation of our technique used to produce a market-tracking portfolio. But being Singapore, we are all in at least business-casual attire with gorgeous Powerpoints and pages upon pages of complex Excel spreaksheets.

Our group did rather well in terms of working smart, not hard: we chose a simple technique that required minimal work for our results. Our presentation was simple but concise, and as it happens, our portfolio correlates well with the S & P compared to those of other groups. Not the best, but we're content. And the prof abstained from cut-ya'll-down questions, or instructing certain spreadsheet alterations that disclose enormous calculation errors to the class, all of our mouths watering, hungry for the fresh meat of public incompetence. Schadenfreude, anyone?

Portfolio Management is a particularly fun class because the prof is sarcastic, no-bullshit, and openly derisive when necessary. I find great pleasure in watching/being the target of such roasting, and it mixes up The Reading of the Powerpoint, a national holiday celebrated semi-weekly by my Equities Analysis prof.

Other daily filler: I am a regular at Starbucks. They know my drink, my name, and have taken my picture. It is somewhat embarrassing, but (not so) secretly I love it. What's really embarrassing though is that I average 2 trips to the restroom per visit, which involves exiting Starbucks, walking down outdoor stairs into a seafood buffet restaurant, turning into a dirty cooridoor occupied by the same dirty restaurant staff, and using the loo in what seems to double as teenage girl bathroom smokers headquarters. When I return to Starbucks, I request a brief but invasive full-body scrub with hot water and espresso-machine cleaning agent to remove the scum film that has laminated me. Tasty.

Oh, what else? Ah yes, my most recent pleasurable activity was taking a nice hot walk in the sun to a friend's ritzy flat, about a 50-minute stroll away (speed-walk if you know me). He happens to have a lovely pool and some fellow int'l students and I enjoyed it for a while, went to the supermarket, and enjoyed a pool-side barbeque with more friends. What was going to be yet another night at the venerable Cafe Iguana (happy hour after midnight, half-priced margs and tequila!) resulted in The March of the Penguins with a side of vodka-cran. Nice touch. The night after, we went to watch the 6 Nations Tournament, France v. Ireland rugby match, at Muddy Murphy's pub. France pulled it off in the last few seconds, which is great because they're better looking anyway. I definitely prefer rugby to American football any day. And if they start fighting, better yet. Regardless, the Irish are a rowdy crew, and pubs with cultural leanings overcharge on the beer.

Class is over, so I'm out. Cheers to sunshine and raw food, besos y pesos.

Oh What a World

In advance (like always), I should give notice that this post is influenced by mood-perfect music, beautiful weather, post-trip nostalgia, a completed Kerouac, and notice of two class cancellations for tomorrow. So if it seems too sweet to be candy, it may be...but dried fruit at very least, and I prefer that anyway. I did, however, finish the post the following day when I had returned to my usual mild sarcasm. Read on.

What's the word for when some stimulus transforms your state of being at one point into immediate contentment? Contenting, maybe. Regardless, the most "contenting" element in my life is music, in terms of ease and frequency of such a transformation. For example, following a morning flight, a minibus ride and a brief stroll to my bungalow in Thailand on Friday, I left to explore town while my hut was readied. After walking 150 m down the road, a sunny cafe on the corner was playing Jack Johnson (Walk Alone--my favorite), offering a set breakfast for 99 Baht, or about $2.25. I sat down with one of those softish zen grins, tapping my toes to Jack telling me about the man I think I'm in love with--because who's to say he's not the gifted one? All he ever does is walk alone, but man can only walk so far. All he ever does is look inside, but he don't need no will to hide.

To match the music, the espresso was sweet, the milk light, and the sugar raw. I've never had sweeter pineapple, and if I have, I've already forgot about it because this pineapple was perfect. And the Thai are wonderful. I fancy my experience as genuine because there's a difference between a tourist's handshake and a traveler's. I hope mine is the latter, but if it's the former, I guess no one would really tell me because I'd be more likely to buy some chintzy dime-a-dozen street item from them, so I guess it's a crap-shoot...but I digress.

I spent a considerable amount of time in my five days with arms outstretched for prolonged periods seeking neat little rock holes for which to poke my fingers and support myself against a cliff. As it happens, those holes are hard to come by; but getting used to this, I became (and still am) rather quite thrilled about the prospect of scaling a face of rock in search of good-enough crags and edges to support a limb on the way up. Yes, I went rock climbing. In fact, I went rock climbing in Railay, Thailand, as mentioned before in an entry. It was fabulous, I loved it, the guides are strong, hilarious, resourceful Thai men, I loved them, we drank beer, and went to bed happy. To our respective beds, that is. Really, it was quite the little vacation.

I must add that I prefer the Thai food in the States. The curry and tom yam is better in Thailand, but the Americans have done a helluva job giving pad Thai just the right amount of spice, peanut and slipperiness to be puurrrrrrfect. And spring rolls, contrary to my earlier belief, are only Thai if they're fried. Eeewww. Next destination: apparently Vietnam. Again, I digress.

My bungalow, the Laughing Gecko in Ao Nang, was excellent. A Thai-Canadian couple has run the place for 8 years: the Thai man graduated from law school, lived in Germany for 15 years, has run 2 prior bungalows, and speaks fluent Thai, English, German, Swedish, and a few others. Patricia, his wife, grew up in Toronto, became a hairdresser, and met Nui while traveling when she stayed in his bungalow. They have two awesome kids with huge energy: Nayana (9) and Charlie (4). So much fun! The accomodation was extremely simple, but every night all the guests ate a beautiful Thai meal prepared by Nui, drank beer and exchanged stories like family.

Spring break is coming up in a few weeks. This would usually be a good thing, but because Singaporeans have a strange penchant to study (Canadians even call it Reading Week. What the hell?), all my profs have the expectation that I, too, am studious. While this is a complete falsity (and I waited too damn long to book any flights/hotels/trips so it's all sold out), I will be fulfilling those expectations by spending most of the week in ol' Singapore. Tassja and I might take a few jaunts to Bintan and Batam in Indonesia because they're only an hour away by ferry, but otherwise I'll be a-workin.'

More later as things happen...

Mission: Pad Thai, Mai Thai, and Muay Thai

'Twas a grand weekend, indeed! Before I begin, my longwindedness is a fact, so prepare thyself.

Last week, I heard tell of 15-20 exchange students taking a weekend trip to Phi Phi island (pee-pee) off the coast of Thailand, 35 km from Phuket (Poo-KET). For the non-painfully-pop-culturally savvy, The Beach starring Leonardo diCaprio was filmed at this gem of an island (2 actually, but one is uninhabitable on account of gnarly terrain...see picture), and it is known as one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Well-known Phuket was tsunami-ravaged, and though restored, its 'get your slutty on' collegiate male-focused tourist attractions have downgraded its appeal to the world traveler in most publications. Phi Phi, though, has yet to feel the inevitable onslaught of Hiltons, Hyatts and hooligans (though we're all relatively hooliganish so I suppose it's a wash).

So the story goes: Nastassja and I decided to join the other students on the beach a day later because of classes, so we arrived into Phuket at midnight on Friday. We took a mini-bus to Phuket Town to grab some drinks and grub (it was Friday night afterall), then planned to take a touk-touk or cab to our hostel, 20 minutes away. On the way to town, the minibus mysteriously stopped at a shoddy little travel agency where were greeted by the venerable Shman. Our first Shman had the body of a football player with lean legs and an upper body shaped like a yield sign. Wearing spike heels and a perky little bra, he/she told us in a breathy voice to get out of the van to wait for another bus to take us to town, and added that she wasn't going to kill us. Well in that case...

So we disembarked, met her colleague, and waited patiently with 8 or 9 others for the second bus. The colleague was unique, and took fewer pains to look the part. About 5' 6", this one had badly bleached hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail in a bright scrunchy...all haired pulled back with the exception of a pair of face-framing mutton-chops, that is. No bra, no fancy shoes, just man-clothes and the voice of Marilyn Monroe. Faaaaaahbulous.

The second bus came, dropped everyone off at their hotels, then heeded our request to go to town. He dropped us off, and only then did we realize that not a touk-touk or taxi stirred in the quiet night, no restaurants were open, and we were in Thailand. Being a resourceful pair of trampers, we had booked the cheapest hostel in sight in case something went awry. We decided to sacrifice our $3.80 USD a piece and do the obvious: walk into the nicest hotel around and ask to stay for free. So we did, saying we were students, had veeeerrrry little money, had just arrived, and were leaving tomorrow morning. After speaking with several hotel representatives, we were tucked in to the lobby couches with easy access to the hotel restrooms to perform our morning ablutions.



Said morning came too quickly of course, notwithstanding the fact that I forgot about the time change and woke us at 5:30 instead of 1 hour later. Not realizing this, we packed up and found a cab to take us to the harbor to board our ferry to Phi Phi. The old driver came down to 100 Baht ($2.50) from 280, drove us to the harbor, told us not to stay because we were, "two babies, no no no no...bad, ts-ts-ts-ts-ts-ts-ts (insert awkward/violent, somewhat suggestive hand gesture), two babies in dark is no good, no good." He brought us to the market in town where we bought awesome sweet rice food wrapped in banana leaves, then back to the harbor. What a guy.

It's worth noting that I have never been disappointed by food in a leaf. I had my first taste in Peru and ever since then, if you wrap flaming shit in a leaf, I guarantee it will be a culinary delight.

The ferry was a pleasant, sunny 90-minute trip to the island. We shopped around before boarding a small long-tail boat (traditional-style long fishing boat with a motor extending far behind like a tail) to our beach. Our resort consisted of 16 bungalows, several ocean-front and the rest in rows behind, plus a central restaurant/reception hut and bar. The private beach was just like the pictures, hence the picture:


We had reserved a back-row room for 1400 Baht/night, or near $40. Upon arrival at reception though, we learned they had made a mistake and only had an 1800 Baht ocean-front room available, and we could not have it for 1400. This is when Tassja's abrasive bargaining skills reared their fierce head. After 10 minutes of the whities telling the natives that it was their fault and we DID NOT reserve the more expensive room, that we have NO MONEY because we are STUDENTS and if they were to come to Switzerland and reserve a room but were charged extra due to the hotel's mistake, you WOULD NOT stand for it, WOULD YOU??? And also that she could call the police, which may not have been the right thing to say. At that point, he decided that we couldn't stay there for any price, but could sleep on the floor with our friends if we had to stay. He was pissed, she was fiery, and I knew the next boat left our beach in 4 hours, our friends already over-filled their rooms, and we wouldn't ever see them if we went somewhere else. So we had a quick pow-pow, and I went to work kissing Thai ass, admitting defeat, and getting our room back. And because I believe in karma, their shitty move of not making good on our reservation came back in two days when they forgot to charge us for two meals and damn-near 15 drinks we had charged to our room. Rock on.

The rest of the weekend was fun, relaxing, full of beach-time, reading, hikes into town, great vistas, drinking and eating and laughing and talking in various languages, and generally a damn good time.

Out of several semi-poor decisions made throughout the weekend, the worst was to go skinny-dipping at midnight on Sunday. Harmless, yes, but being non-natural-ocean-farers, we disregarded the crappiness of a low tide, and leapt in with naked gusto. What was earlier 4-10 feet of water when we were 50 feet from the beach apparently became 3, and what was earlier soft white sand quickly became knives, daggers, urchins, rocks and other malicious things that chomped at our feet and legs. After under ten minutes we all swam/ran/staggered out to perform self-surgery on the urchin barbs stinging our feet and nurse our bloody wounds in our underwear, Cuba Libres in hand.

But no problem, all was well in the morning (Tassja's at the hospital as I type this, seeing if her limp-inducing foot wounds are infected) and we went on our way back to Phuket, then home to Singapore.

Our cumulative respresentation was Canada, France, Ireland, Mexico, Spain, and the United States; we plan to make another exodus from Singapore later in the term.

Lucky me, I'm going back on Friday to climb rocks in Railay :) More posts to follow.

4 Month Vacation

So it begins: holistic neglect of my non-essential coursework, dwindling hours of sleep, excess scholarship money becoming more dedicated to the "important" things in life...you understand. Next weekend, 20+ exchange students are making a pilgrammage to Phi Phi island in Thailand (where The Beach was filmed), considered the most beautiful beach on Earth as it's currently undisturbed by Cancun and Phuket's tourist-targeting development. White sand, crystal blue water, mis amigos borrachos, and cheap everything. After returning Monday night, I will commit three whole days to self-actualization via academia, and then fly to Krabi, Thailand, for a 5-day weekend. I'm taking myself on a date: rock climbing in Railay, some of the most scenic climbing in the world. It's also considered some of the best, but my skill level doesn't warrant boasting about the style points I'll rack up climbing challenging walls. And of course, the icing on the cake: my frequent (and yes Dad, responsible) use of my Hilton Honors AmEx card has earned me a free night in a classy-ass hotel. Thanks to Alpha Kappa Psi, I know what to do in this situation: book one room for "a few" people, invite everyone I know, spend two days and one night exhausting every 5-star amenity, and sleep like sardines.

So that's the low-down...as it happens, my anticipated Spring Break rail journey from Shanghai to Lhasa tanked because the train is turbo popular; that sucks, but I'm going to try to get to Tibet for the week either way, after catching some of the ruckus associated with Chinese New Year.

As for the last few weeks, Singapore is really juicing up its appeal, and becoming quite the nice little city. Kyle came for four days before hitting the road to school in Hong Kong, which was a ton of fun. We did the tourist stuff I hadn't paid attention to and found a great jazz club, awesome free shows and a performing arts library at The Esplanade (SGP's performing arts venue), good eats in Little India and Chinatown, etc. etc. He also brought three days of rain, and thankfully, he must've taken it with him.
The roommates and I went out last night with a big group of students and had yet another good time, though true Singaporean spirit reared its ugly head: at the club, Tassja asked if we could pay for a shot with our free drink tickets. The guy nodded, poured two drink and two shots. We have him our tickets, and he asked for $21. Seeing this misunderstanding, we offered two more drink tickets, but he wouldn't accept them even though the shots were poured and he would have to throw them away if we didn't drink them. In the States, either we would get free shots for being women, or at very least we could expect some leniency on the rules. No dice. Also, I've been trying to pay with a torn $10 bill for days, and nobody will take it. That's Singapore: adhere to the rules under any and all circumstances. Fear creativity. Love your government. (On that note, Singaporean students do not understand the meaning of the political "left" or "right", liberal or conservative. It's wild, but they're completely oblivious. Also, you can be prosecuted for demonstrating if you're doing anything sketchy in a group of four or more.

I'll post some pictures once I find an internet connection that sucks less.

The 26th Day.

While my departure from reviewing monetary policy working papers by the dozen is surely accompanied by remorse, time has come for a brief update in the fashion of anyone who’s ever studied abroad, perfected by the venerable Danielle “Wife of Julian” Julien.

To start, I have to confirm that I am indeed doing schoolwork. By my count, I haven’t been here very long, but genuinely interesting subject matter combined with the bookish, competitive nature of my SE Asian peer group is motivating. In the spirit of positive externalities, my shoddy religious foodhold may improve if I join the economics community in deifying Greenspan, Bernanke, Binder and colleagues. Reverence for the Fed chairman’s famed cryptic statements has apparently rubbed off on me as my writing is becoming increasingly nebulous. Nonetheless, I have the advantage of learning about monetary policy in a pass/fail bubble among students who intend on using the final paper to produce their baccalaureate thesis and gain admittance to some of the world’s most prestigious graduate schools. I believe Mr. T said it best: “I pity the foo!”

It is also worth noting that my Asian Monetary Policy professor wears very large pants. Sure, he’s wide in the middle, but it seems impractical that the legs of the pants remain wide down to hit ankles (which actually aren’t even that far from the waist of his pants anyway). Naturally, such an observation early on will prove quite crippling to the course’s cumulative impact, but I honestly can’t take accountability. They’re really big pants.

I’m also taking 3 finance courses that will transfer back to Carlson, but nothing noteworthy has really happened yet.

I started this trip in Cambodia with my friend Tom who’s traveling in Japan right now, then heading back to MN. Adventure 1: about 2.5 hours into the 5 hr cab ride from the airport in Phnom Penh to Siem Reap, our cab’s transmission went out. Stranded roadside in rural Cambodia, Tommy and I entertained ourselves taking pictures of the 10-12 random children living in a stilted hut nearby, then made earrings and necklaces for them with my handy-dandy jewelry tools and supplies. Then we got bored, flagged down a bus, and went on our way.



Upon arrival, we stayed in a great little bungalow with a phenomenal staff, wonderful little restaurant, and a refreshing pool…we each paid $17 a night, so naturally we were ecstatic and prudently invested our savings on beer to celebrate. We visited Angkor City, a 20+ kilometer loops of 11th century Buddhist ruins—the 8th wonder of the world. I felt 8 years old, climbing on the old stones and exploring these ancient monuments. Me and the other 3 billion tourists, that is, but it was still amazing. Other Cambodian highlights include great photos (Tom’s a photographer: www.pbase.com/tjh4904. His online galleries are GREAT), $2 ear cleaning service, tuk-tuks (a 50cc moto pulling a tourist-wagon, for $15/day) and great weather. We took a packed-to-the-gills boat back to Phnom-Penh across the largest freshwater lake in SE Asia, had the day to sightsee in the capital city, then I flew back to Singapore.

First impressions of this little bitty city-state island, hidden on maps by the dot intended to point to it: it is HOT and HUMID, usually between 80 and 90 and rains for between 20 minutes and 24 hours of the day. There are a lot of people, and they spend all their free time shopping, clubbing, and eating. Every MRT (a brand-new, super classy subway system) stop has a mall attached. The few that don’t are virtually uninhabited, and the rest of them have hordes of people. Every boast a massive food court with a variety of Asian cuisine, and very specific booth names like “pig organ stew” or “econo rice”. With that said, English is their first language, but their grammar is horrendous and spellings are from the moon. Not even England: the moon.

The buildings, landscaping and public works (botanical gardens, the zoo, museums) are all extremely well-kept and nicely designed. The citizens revere the government (a dictatorship, for real) and have a naïve respect for Big Brother’s ability to keep them nicely tucked in at night, safe from bedbugs and bad guys. The government builds, owns, maintains, and profits from its assets. In return, they’re free to tweak policy and grow the economy, all without corporate and personal income taxes. Pretty crazy, right? It works.



So Singapore is pretty cool. It’s nice to look at, easy to get around, and you can find whatever you want to buy/eat/drink all the time. My living situation is solid as well. I’m in an apartment with 4 roommates: TJ is the German who maintains his ego as a full-time job; Nastassja is Swiss, very nice and a lot of fun; Manuel is from Costa Rica, and runs the gamut between painfully shy and giddy-as-a-schoolgirl. He’s a riot. And Joyce is from Hong Kong/Malaysia, went to high school in London, college in California, speaks terrible English (that she claims is flawless), and makes up stories about trips to Switzerland, dancing in a cage, drinking bottles upon bottles of alcohol, etc etc etc. But her good intentions outweigh her ridiculousness (usually) so it all works out. And on her behalf, the girl ate two giant plates full of fish balls (cotton ball-sized balls of fish-composite, the Chinese version of Chicken McNuggets before they were all white-meat) the other night. I wanted to throw up, but it really was a feat.



Also, Kyle (a friend from the U) is visiting before making his way to study in Hong Kong! It will be great to have a piece of home/one of my close friends in town for a few days, and we’ll definitely send pictures to any Fall 2004-ers :D

A short list of miscellaneous items:
People of Chinese descent eat things that smell horrible, including durian, which is a rancid, rotten smelling and tasting spikey green fruit, about the size of a coconut. They’re not allowed in the MRT or other confined public places.

Singaporeans are extremely flexible. In yoga, I’m pretty intermediate, but these people can wrap their legs twice around their heads while clapping their hands.

Starbucks is not Starbucks is not Starbucks.

In non-Singapore-related news, I accepted a job for the summer: I’ll be a summer analyst in the Global Capital Markets group of UBS in equity sales and trading. While still a Wall Street bank, UBS is in Stamford, CT. I think I’ll live in Manhattan for the experience, so please drop me a line if you’re looking for an excuse to visit between June and August!

That’s quite an earful for now...I hope to update this thing weekly-ish, so revisit if you wish!