(Dec. 28) On another 14 hour flight. This one’s from Hong Kong to Chicago. At the moment, however, it’s hard to think about anything but a very young, and very unhappy, passenger whose screams may break some windows before he’s done. My hope is that the steady drone of the engines will soothe both his and my jangled nerves. The flight plan for United 896 appears to take us over Russian air space. I presume the Russkies are expecting us.
Our vacation is over. Months and months of planning and coordination and, in a flash, it’s done. Isn’t it always the case? But, the memories of this one will last a long, long time. For Lily and me, traveling with Jesse and Alex once again (and Laura now too) reminds me how wonderful it is to do that, although no reminders are needed. Jesse is fast becoming a very accomplished guy: a 3.95 g.p.a. in grad school, an internship upcoming with the State Department in Mexico City, a graduate degree in June, and nuptials in September. A crowded agenda. He is so grounded and well-prepared for whatever lies ahead. His days as troublemaker par excellence are rapidly vanishing in his rear view mirror. He is master of his fate, and I love that about him. When he mimics someone’s voice, when telling one of his wonderful stories, he sounds like a stereotypical Russian, no matter what the nationality of the person he’s depicting. I find it hilarious. He and I are ruthless hearts players, and it is not uncommon for newcomers to our games to indicate that maybe they aren’t quite ready for this experience. But, we enjoy ourselves immensely.
And Alex? Here’s a guy who’s been traveling for a year. From Tierra del Fuego to Swaziland to Vientiane to Perth. And soon, Kathmandu and Mumbai. Mountain trekking, skydiving, shark cages, bungee jumping, safaris, and scuba. He has not been short changed in this adventure. What was once a kid with learning challenges and self-esteem concerns is now an emerging man of the world. When once reading was a painful exercise for him, he now devours books during his frequent solo journeys to the middle of nowhere. I know I am biased, but Alex may be the funniest person I know. Many people make me smile; Alex makes me laugh. Out loud. What could be better? Together, Jesse and Alex take great pleasure in pointing out my foibles, both physical and behavioral. It is one of the constant drumbeats of our time together. Lily is spared this; she’s their mom, after all. I, however, am fair game, and that’s fine by me. They kid because they love, right?
For the days we spent together in Indonesia in our shared scuba experience, I found myself watching not just the amazing marine life, but Jesse and Alex too. They would probably be embarrassed to learn this, but experiencing these fabulous underwater jaunts with them and Lily, together as a family, was at least as amazing to me. It provided one of those quintessential “pinch me” moments.
So, this adventure is now history. In this family, though, it is always about the next trip. On to Provence, I say!
Friday, January 1, 2010
Singapore, the New Cool
(Dec. 27) Move over New York. You too, San Francisco. There’s a new, cool dude you can learn something from. It’s Singapore. It’s modern, it’s colorful, it’s lush, and it is very, very cool. It is a city that reminds you of the old tale of the blind man trying to describe an elephant -- it depends on what part of the body he touches that reveals the creature’s appearance. The trunk, the leg, and the tail -- they all tell very different stories, and Singapore is much the same. It can be a modern, jet set-worthy, splashy shopping experience. Gucci, Prada, Rolex, Dolce and Gabbana, Calvin Klein, Louis Vuitton, even Starbucks. You get the picture. It has wide boulevards lined by a gorgeous canopy of trees and dotted with marble benches for the weary shopper. But, it is also a city that pays tribute to the best architectural elements of British colonialism. Beautiful white-washed buildings all flowing with graceful arches and large, welcoming courtyards. This style is typified most elegantly by the Raffles Hotel, now in its 123rd year. But, Singapore is also a city devoted to its ethnic neighborhoods -- Malaysian, Indian, and Chinese. Here, the streets are narrow with small shops and restaurants seemingly piled one atop the other as is so typical for so many parts of Asia.
It is a crowded city. Make no mistake about that. After spending almost all of our three weeks in relative backwaters with no roads or cars, sharing sidewalks with what strikes me as one-third of the planet’s population was unnerving and alien. The chaotic flow of pedestrian traffic, often elbow to elbow, paints the same picture for me as the hysterical movements of ants whose nest you have just unearthed. Nothing like post-Christmas shopping to get the juices flowing, I guess. And, the heat -- formidable. Not that it is any hotter than Thailand or Indonesia, but it’s amazing how it wears on you when you can’t shuffle around in nothing more than your swimsuit.
Lastly, a word about the food. It reflects its people: Chinese, Malaysian, and Indian. Every nook and cranny offers a fabulous diversity of cuisine. Having gorged ourselves for weeks on Thai and Indonesian food, Lily and I stopped for a change of pace -- middle eastern fare offered up by one of the many open-air sidewalk cafes. My grilled lamb was delicious, but the shawarma Lily had was to die for. Maybe one of the tastiest treats of the entire trip. I went so far as to inquire in the kitchen how they made it only to learn that the chef whose recipe it was had died some months earlier leaving it in the hands of a supplier to deliver the goods to the café. With a shrug, the current chef smiled and suggested that it was no doubt some combination of the 4 Cs that did the trick: curry powder, cumin, cardamom, and coriander. I will experiment when I get home.
Singapore: whatever you want, it’s here.
It is a crowded city. Make no mistake about that. After spending almost all of our three weeks in relative backwaters with no roads or cars, sharing sidewalks with what strikes me as one-third of the planet’s population was unnerving and alien. The chaotic flow of pedestrian traffic, often elbow to elbow, paints the same picture for me as the hysterical movements of ants whose nest you have just unearthed. Nothing like post-Christmas shopping to get the juices flowing, I guess. And, the heat -- formidable. Not that it is any hotter than Thailand or Indonesia, but it’s amazing how it wears on you when you can’t shuffle around in nothing more than your swimsuit.
Lastly, a word about the food. It reflects its people: Chinese, Malaysian, and Indian. Every nook and cranny offers a fabulous diversity of cuisine. Having gorged ourselves for weeks on Thai and Indonesian food, Lily and I stopped for a change of pace -- middle eastern fare offered up by one of the many open-air sidewalk cafes. My grilled lamb was delicious, but the shawarma Lily had was to die for. Maybe one of the tastiest treats of the entire trip. I went so far as to inquire in the kitchen how they made it only to learn that the chef whose recipe it was had died some months earlier leaving it in the hands of a supplier to deliver the goods to the café. With a shrug, the current chef smiled and suggested that it was no doubt some combination of the 4 Cs that did the trick: curry powder, cumin, cardamom, and coriander. I will experiment when I get home.
Singapore: whatever you want, it’s here.
Night Dive
(Dec. 24) When I asked Alice, our dive master, whether a night dive would quicken or slow the pace of breathing, she said either was possible. People are either so excited or apprehensive that they use up the air in their tanks more rapidly than is otherwise the case. Or, she said, for some, breathing slows for those who find this adventure to be a remarkably relaxing experience.
Actually, I found both to be true. I freely admit my apprehensions at the prospect of descending to the ocean floor in total darkness. Wondering whether you’ll get separated from the rest of the group and feel the ultimate sensation of being lost, was in my mind not so much indulging in paranoia as it was recognition of a possibility that was uncomfortably greater than zero. We would have underwater dive lamps, of course, but their range was hardly limitless, and (definitely allowing my paranoia to take center stage) I felt the beam in mine was weaker than it should be.
And, so we descended as the sun was setting out over the South China Sea. It was Christmas eve. The drill was to stay together in a mute, marine conga line with admonitions not to bunch up too closely lest one whack a fellow diver in the head with an errant fin. There would be a dive master at the head, middle and rear of the line ostensibly to prevent strays. Well, that didn’t last very long. Not that anyone was lost, but by the end of the hour dive, most of us observed that at least at one point in the dive we had been the last in line with nothing behind us but black and endless ocean.
As we settled in to this weirdly new environment, I relaxed and began to understand what Alice meant by the likelihood of one’s breathing slowing. None of us knows what it’s like to be in the womb, of course, but this has to be a damn close approximation. Movement slows, effort eases, and each breath extends longer and longer. The 86 degree water temperature soothes and relaxes. And, the pace is slow -- very slow.
As planned, late in the dive, we form a circle on the ocean floor sitting on the sandy bottom extinguishing our dive lamps. Blackness you cannot imagine. You know there are people all around you, but you are alone, believe me. Lily, Jesse, Alex, Colin and Shanti might as well have been a thousand miles away. And then, magic. On cue, we all start waving our arms as if in some legless dance routine, and in front of our eyes appear phosphorescence -- tiny, tiny marine life that appear to you as thousands of tiny fireflies or microbursts of a thousand fireworks. Awesome.
There was no evidence of Santa or reindeer that night, but there was no question that this was a pretty amazing way to celebrate the arrival of Christmas.
Actually, I found both to be true. I freely admit my apprehensions at the prospect of descending to the ocean floor in total darkness. Wondering whether you’ll get separated from the rest of the group and feel the ultimate sensation of being lost, was in my mind not so much indulging in paranoia as it was recognition of a possibility that was uncomfortably greater than zero. We would have underwater dive lamps, of course, but their range was hardly limitless, and (definitely allowing my paranoia to take center stage) I felt the beam in mine was weaker than it should be.
And, so we descended as the sun was setting out over the South China Sea. It was Christmas eve. The drill was to stay together in a mute, marine conga line with admonitions not to bunch up too closely lest one whack a fellow diver in the head with an errant fin. There would be a dive master at the head, middle and rear of the line ostensibly to prevent strays. Well, that didn’t last very long. Not that anyone was lost, but by the end of the hour dive, most of us observed that at least at one point in the dive we had been the last in line with nothing behind us but black and endless ocean.
As we settled in to this weirdly new environment, I relaxed and began to understand what Alice meant by the likelihood of one’s breathing slowing. None of us knows what it’s like to be in the womb, of course, but this has to be a damn close approximation. Movement slows, effort eases, and each breath extends longer and longer. The 86 degree water temperature soothes and relaxes. And, the pace is slow -- very slow.
As planned, late in the dive, we form a circle on the ocean floor sitting on the sandy bottom extinguishing our dive lamps. Blackness you cannot imagine. You know there are people all around you, but you are alone, believe me. Lily, Jesse, Alex, Colin and Shanti might as well have been a thousand miles away. And then, magic. On cue, we all start waving our arms as if in some legless dance routine, and in front of our eyes appear phosphorescence -- tiny, tiny marine life that appear to you as thousands of tiny fireflies or microbursts of a thousand fireworks. Awesome.
There was no evidence of Santa or reindeer that night, but there was no question that this was a pretty amazing way to celebrate the arrival of Christmas.
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