A Friendly Visit to the Merlion

I am ignorant of many things. My inquisitiveness partially eases the symptoms of what seems, at times, a chronic condition. I observe, I ask questions, and I try to listen. Oh, do I try, but sometimes the voice in my head spews out more questions before the first one is fully answered. I often leave a place with lots of information but more puzzles to solve than when I started. My appetite whetted, I resolve to return (and often I do). My experience in Singapore was no different.

Anyone watching an ad for Singapore Airlines could come away with the impression their hospitality towards customers has deep cultural roots. It's an understatement. I arrived aboard a United Airlines 747 at nearly midnight. Tired and feeling more than a bit grubby from the trip, I steeled myself for a typical customs gauntlet as we parked at the gate adjacent to a beautiful new giant of the sky, an Airbus A380 in SA livery. Stepping into Changi's Terminal 3 was a release of first order. It's a very welcoming venue with open concepts, shiny glass, sparkling stainless steel, and generous greenery.

T-shirts in the souvenir shops declare Singapore's municipal stereotype: "It's a fine city," with stiff penalties for littering, chewing gum, and smoking in public places like theaters. No bullet-proof clothing, toy guns, pistols, weapons, or spears. Chewing tobacco, toy currency, and "obscene" materials are strictly verboten. With such restrictions on the books, one might expect a tortuous grilling and cavity search at the border. Luckily, I had left the Kevlar vest, Monopoly set, Red Man, and Jugs magazines at home, so I had little to worry about. The smiling immigration agent working the late shift made me feel like he was happy I had arrived safely. I thanked him for his service, and he offered me a piece of candy. (I would be careful where I put the wrapper.)

The chatty taxi driver discussed shifting values. His grown children were successful in Singapore, but one or two had left for jobs in Canada. "Money isn't everything, but to young people you can't explain it." The city was becoming a bit more dangerous these days. "Pakistanis," he said. Still, he assured me, there was no place like it. The hotel desk clerk knew Alaska. She used to work on a cruise line sailing the Inside Passage. We had some common favorite places, and the conversation took on a tone of instant familiarity. The sole bellman in the wee hours loaded my hands with maps and tour books and suggested a couple of organized outings. He sounded truly proud of the place. After dropping the bags, I stepped outside for some fresh air before retiring. A lone prostitute approached me and seemed genuinely friendly and polite, even when I declined her services. I talked with her a few minutes. Business was slow. A foreigner, she liked Singapore. She liked the people, and she had a comfortable life there.

In the subsequent few days, I meandered with my camera from Orchard Lane to the Esplanade, from Newton to Little India, and beyond. Invariably sweat-drenched, I would frequently find a shady spot or a shop to cool off and to observe the throngs of passersby. The entire spectrum of skin tones and eye shapes swooshed by in a cosmopolitan rainbow. Wafts of grilled meat, curry, citrus fruit, and fresh fish punctuated my walkabout. The usual urban smells of diesel and BO seemed almost not to exist, my consciousness diverted by the new, colorful surroundings.

I would ask questions, whether of a clerk or a random pedestrian, and again, strangers would smile and offer generous guidance, or even to share a meal! I noticed in Little India a certain "edge," particularly apparent from some of the young men. (Perhaps my camera or my home country's politics made me suspect.) Nevertheless, my politeness always was reciprocated.

I left Singapore intrigued, really, knowing I had just scratched the surface as a casual guest. It's as if I had been invited to dinner for the first time. What's going on beneath the smiles? What do Singaporean folks discuss among themselves? What do they really think? The mystery and confusion in my mind is a lot like my visit to the Merlion: "Just what is this beast, anyway?" The head of a lion, the tail of a fish, it always seems to smile.

http://www.visitsingapore.com/publish/stbportal/en/index.html

Far from Home, and Yet...

In late May, I dipped a toe into the raging torrent of 21st century China by visiting Shenzhen near Hong Kong. The experience was electrifying in a literal sort of way. I came away dazed and amazed. Parts of the trip made absolutely no sense to my traditional Western mind, yet there remained a strong sense of familiarity. Of the many things I saw, of the many people I met, the theme I inferred was a burgeoning consumer society in hyperdrive. Most Americans, I would venture, don't have the slightest clue of the power behind Chinese economics and their society's dynamics.

The neon lights made my head swim. Giant towers of glass and steel dominate the sky. Raw skeletons of girders and cranes pepper the pave-scape both in the city and on the fringes. They portend a near-future of much the same. The Mix, one of several high-end shopping centers, featured a Cadillac dealer's wares. I saw a $450 pair of casual loafers there, a bargain compared to the shop's more formal shoes. The Calvin Klein franchise displayed headless mannequins in suggestive -- no, nearly explicit -- poses. They were well-dressed, though. Almost invariably, people I met, businessmen and young professionals, had arrived from somewhere else in the country. Shenzhen is where the money is, and each came for their piece of capitalist pie.

I shared my amazement with a youthful, American-educated, finance professional in Hong Kong. "Shenzhen?" he asked. "That place used to be a dump!" Indeed, it did. According to wikipedia.org, "Shenzhen's novel and modern cityscape is the result of the vibrant economy made possible by rapid foreign investment since the late 1970s, when it was but a small fishing village. Since then, foreign nationals have invested more than US$30 billion for building factories and forming joint ventures. It is now reputedly one of the fastest growing cities in the world." That much I can believe. Twelve million people is a number my local contacts dropped frequently, but how could they know? I think at any given time, 12 million cars jam the wide boulevards and highways.

Instead of riding in one of those cars, I was most comfortable wandering on foot, camera in hand, usually in the steamy afternoon or evening. On foot, I could scratch beneath the glitzy veneer and catch fleeting glimpses of the struggling classes. The crowded, battered ghettos are shielded from view along the avenues by thick foliage and flowers. Armies of broom-swinging elders clean the main sidewalks and tend the greenery. Blue-uniformed children dashing to and from school charmed me with smiles and waves. At night, young boys would approach on foot. "Hello!" they would say, and then hand over a card with a sexy woman's photo and a phone number. "You want good time with her?" In the next moment, a begging woman with a baby in tow would ask for a handout. They would pester me until I rounded the corner or crossed the street into someone else's turf.

In the end, I suppose Shenzhen and its residents are real success stories; that is, if you measure success by how similar they are to us.

http://wikitravel.org/en/Shenzhen