It's been over a year since we left Singapore, we are settled back into our Colorado lifestyle and loving it..... but we miss Singapore! Despite the population density, the city "energy", the heat, the humidity, there are so many aspects of the town, and Southeast Asia that we really miss.
So, as a way of reminding us of our former temporary home, we decided to export these blog pages into a book - hope you enjoyed it!
Singapooch
A family journal in Singapore
Monday, January 5, 2015
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Epilogue
Part 4, with many chapters left to be written. Air travel has opened up this world to so much accessible exploration. And, we have taken full advantage of it while based in Singapore. This past month, rolling through the spectacular mountains north of Beijing, running parallel to the portions of the Great Wall rarely seen, and waking to camels in the eastern Gobi grasslands pacing to the
speed of our Mongolian train, created an awe in us as we became aware that this was to be a different experience from a regular holiday based on air travel. We were best prepared for Mongolia where we knew what
we wanted to do and how we wanted to do it. The Gobi surpassed all expectations yet Ulaanbaatar surprised us with the vibrancy of the Mongolian urbanites and the intimacy of Mongolian Buddhism. We bumbled into our weeks in Russia with little preparation other than train tickets and an equal number of days off the train winging it. Yet, we stumbled onto a vast pristine wilderness, hundreds of miles of golden aspens and birch, jaw-dropping palaces and churches, and wandered through a forest, practicing the time-honored Russian tradition of picking wild berries and mushrooms. We also traveled across 8000 km of Trans-Mongolian and Trans-Siberian rails, likely built and maintained by the enemies of the Soviets between 1919 and 1960 who were imprisoned in forced labor camps. Our faces were not buried in books as we expected but in the windows looking at a world we could not imagine. We think we saw many of these gulags that had evolved into small towns along the route. And we
coasted out of Russia across the Baltic Sea through the striking archipelagos of Finland and Sweden on a Russian ferry where we were the only Americans on board. We certainly could have continued on the surface of the planet, but public transit options became sketchy and we wanted to begin the second chapter of Part 4.
We are thankful
of new friends we made in Singapore who have enriched our life, and of old
friends who have launched brand new dimensions within us. Singapooch is
home to about 140 posts during our time in Asia and our return to the US. We
have been astonished at the approximately 10,000 page views over the past three
years. Thanks to all of you who have travelled along with us and enhanced our
experiences with your comments.
In Tim Burton’s
1988 movie ‘Beetlejuice’, the Deetz family moved into the house of the suddenly
deceased Maitlands. The Deetz’s battled
with the ghosts of the Maitlands’ for most of the movie only to reconcile at
the end into a productive coexistence. We’ve changed from our
experiences – hopefully for the better- and in many ways we are both the Maitlands and the Deetzs – we are moving back into a house that was occupied by people who no longer who they were. We will work hard to take the best of the Daly’s who lived in this house until March, 2011 and the new Daly’s moving in from equatorial Asia. There will be adjustments, but we are grateful to all our friends who make us feel like nothing has ever changed and have taken us as we are.
experiences – hopefully for the better- and in many ways we are both the Maitlands and the Deetzs – we are moving back into a house that was occupied by people who no longer who they were. We will work hard to take the best of the Daly’s who lived in this house until March, 2011 and the new Daly’s moving in from equatorial Asia. There will be adjustments, but we are grateful to all our friends who make us feel like nothing has ever changed and have taken us as we are.
Why is Ricky Not Smiling?
No, toothy smile?? |
After never
having to have any serious dental work performed because of her lifetime of excellent
home care, Ricky needed a dental implant.
Maybe from a face plant on the ski hill years ago, maybe too much rough
play with a special Labrador Retriever – the tooth could not be saved. A few weeks before our long ride home, she
got the treatment and was fitted with a temporary tooth that gave her a magnificent
smile. Weeks later, on a stunning ridge at the northern edge of the Gobi in
Mongolia, the temp tooth was more comfortable in a Mongolian vegetable dumpling
rather than her jaw. No pain, no risk
of
infection, but Ricky wasn’t comfortable looking like a Russian hockey
player. We created cover stories (‘She
lost it in a bar fight in Beijing” seemed to have the most traction), tried to
call on a satellite phone to her dentist for advice, and the magnificent
smiling stopped. Well, at least slowed
and mutated into a wide grin with lips firmly together. Five days later, Ricky was in a chair with a
Mongolian dentist who was very taken with the implant. It is not certain how many implants have been
enjoyed by the fine residents of the Mongolia capital – yet, she fitted Ricky’s
tooth with surgical SuperGlue (really, the same as regular SuperGlue). $30. Ricky asked her for some spare surgical glue,
you know, just in case. A Premonition “No,
No, No!” the dentist said. Ricky could smile again! A week
later, now in this beautiful place – and on
our 17th wedding
anniversary no less – all the work of that fine dentist in Ulan Bator was lost when
the tooth again escaped into some hamachi sashimi. Back came the sheepish grin,
and a speaking style best described as one sees when one is giving painful testimony before a
congressional watchdog committee. We
pressed on to St. Petersburg where, five days later, we found an international
dental clinic in the shadow of the Savior of the Spilled Blood Cathedral. International, except that they only spoke
Russian. We searched for regular
SuperGlue all over this city of 5 million but only found small bottles with
cyrillic writing and a
poison tag. “No,
No, No!” I said. Ricky researched Russian
for “tooth” (zoob), “glue” and “implant” – but found a less cooperative dentist
here. “No gluing, but I’ll make you a full crown for a few hundred US” was the
gist of what Ricky could understand. The
grimace and pained speech pattern continued, now coupled with a look of someone
who just suffered a small TIA. But the
beauty of St. Petersburg, sailing the Baltic Sea, a day in Helsinki, the gorgeous
archipelagos of Stockholm, and an upgraded flight to the US, occasionally
brought the magnificent smile back from time to time. Without the temp tooth,
but beautiful to me. The grimace in all
its glory returned upon landing in Newark – but for all the right reasons. I
mean, Newark! Two days after our return, so did the tooth in its rightful position.
The Scene of the Crime |
The Sun Rises for the last time on a full smile |
No, Ricky! Don't make me do it! |
Oh, this is far from a Russian Hockey player |
Sunday, October 13, 2013
The гэр of the Mongolian grasslands
The Gers at Three Camel Lodge |
The Mongolian гэр
(ger) are all over Mongolia and we saw them frequently in the Buryat (autonomous)
Republic in Russia north of current day Mongolia. These are a construction and cultural marvel. More
commonly known to us as yurts, these are called “ гэр “, pronounced “ger” in Mongolian, meaning “home”. They really haven’t changed much in over
eight hundred years and date back over three
thousand years - as long as the nomadic life in Mongolia has
been, and remains, the centerpiece of their culture. “I was born in a ger and I
will die in a ger”, from an urban Mongolian we spoke with. They are the home of choice for the
nomadic people of Mongolian who follow their herds of horses, cows, yak, sheep,
goats, lamb and camels as they follow the grasses and grazing lands. In a land like this with a harsh continental
climate (90F in Summer, -30F in Winter), the grazing
herds need to keep moving
to find enough feed. Why roam? Take the
USA as an example. In the lush
Mississippi basin, ranchers plan for two cows per acre in a managed pasture to
sustain a healthy herd. In drier Southeast
Colorado, those same two cows need about 75 acres. Go north to drier and higher climates with
shorter growing seasons,
maybe 150 acres of growing grass for those two cows.
Mongolian nomads have no concept of this math.
They have the whole of the Gobi, the sea of grasses, with lands of no
fences and no land ownership. We were
told that today over 800,000 Mongolians are nomadic herders that live in many
of the same ways already well established by the time of the clans of
Genghis
Khan in the 12th century. Their
gers up quickly, pack tightly, pulled by a yak cart (old school) or Toyota
pickup (new school), are incredibly stable and quiet in the ferocious Gobi
winds, and warm? Well, maybe. No windows to let in the cold air, but the
ventilation stack at the top center of the ger is open to vent the stove that
is the center of activity in the nomadic ger.
We stayed in five as we drove over a thousand miles around Mongolia and
visited two nomadic families (blogged in earlier posts). Our nights dipped into
the 40’s F
and we woke to gers with interior temps in the 50’s F. Our stoves were tourist accessories – used
for heating, if you asked, and not for cooking – and fueled with wood. Wood never lasted through the night and the
nomads use dried dung and coal – unfriendly oders perhaps to western
visitors. Those stoves last the
night. The construction without nails
and, as is typical with the nomadic culture, uses as much from the animals they
herd as
possible; ropes from horse manes, ties for the lattice work from cured tendons and muscle, and felt
covering from the wool from goats and sheep. All that felt keeps em quiet in
the wind! One night I awoke thinking,
“hmmm. I don’t recall putting in ear
plugs like I was wearing
on the train…”.
I hadn’t. We liked them enough to
talk over whether we want one for some property we have in southern
Colorado. You can spend well over
$10,000 for ones constructed in Montrose, about 2,000 euro for ones from Scandinavia,
or we can return to Ulaanbaatar and buy a kit for $1,000 and ship it back! I am not quite sure how our homeowners
association may take to this…..
the Basics - partitioned floors and lattice |
No nails - all secured with cured tendons |
sections secured with tendon ropes |
The structures is supported by horse mane rope strengthening the round walls |
The center roof support stove vent on the south |
85 roof beams come from the center cap |
and radiate out to the top of the lattice walls |
Outside - wrap with felt, secure with horse ropes, and load down with rock weights |
Inside - a quiet heaven |
Monday, September 30, 2013
The Soundtrack of the Journey
The Fiddle with its master |
In Mongolia, the most respected traditional instrument is
the horse-head fiddle, or morin khuur.
With a sound much like the violin-cello family (they come in several
sizes), they have 2 strings, tuned a perfect fourth apart, and are played with
a bow and an intricate style of fingering along the fretless neck, which has a
hand-carved horse’s head at the top. It’s
a beautiful sound and a treat to hear one played by an expert. Through our associates in Mongolia, we had
the honor of listening to a young, yet highly-trained fiddle player. We were driven to a back
door of the main
symphonic hall in Ulan Batoor, and led up about four floors using a back staircase
to a small room. A young man,
impeccably-dressed, came into the room carrying a magnificent cello-sized
horse-head fiddle. He sat down and
effortlessly demonstrated the range of the instrument and his ability, his
fingers flying up and down the neck.
Much of the music intentionally imitated horses running, enhanced by an
amazing and unusual fingering technique on the
instrument’s neck. We were mesmerized by the playing, when
suddenly we heard an eerie sound accompanying his playing. He began singing, using the Mongolian technique
of khoomei, or throat singing, where two tones are emitted at the same time. We were lucky enough to enjoy throat
singing
accompanied by the horse-head fiddle a couple more times, in a ger on the
steppe later that week, and again while wandering around a Buddhist temple the
day before we left Mongolia. A very
unique and beautiful tradition.
the master in performance |
a Fiddle Orchestra |
A fiddler and throat singer |
In Yekaterinaburg, music quite familiar to us unexpectedly enhanced
our experience at the Church of the Spilt Blood. This is a beautiful Russian orthodox church
built to honor the family of Czar
Outside the Cathedral of Spilt Bood |
Nicholas II, who were slain by the Bolsheviks
in 1917 where the church is located.
Recently, the entire family was canonized, and inside this church they
were portrayed as saints, with renaissance-style haloes painted around their
heads. While we wandered in the rooms
displaying relics related to the family’s deaths, a haunting rendition of Schubert’s
Ave Maria floated into our consciousness.
Next door, there was an informal concert in progress, with vocal solos
and readings performed, all out of respect for the royal family. The Romanovs are still much loved by a sizable
portion of the Russian population, and this experience accentuated that for us.
Outside the Grotto |
Tsarskoye Selo, the summer palace, was the home of Russia’s
royalty since Alexander I in the 1700’s.
The focal point of this large property, about a half-hour drive from St.
Petersburg, is the Catherine Palace, with a 365-meter-long façade and miles of
gold filigree, mirrors, marble and amber, including the Amber Room, with
amber-covered walls. We visited the
Palace and then strolled around the expansive grounds. We entered “The Grotto”, a round, stucco building
facing one of the property’s lakes. This
building is known for its incredible acoustics, due to the interior’s shape and
materials used, I suppose. We entered
the building and our associate, Maria, spoke briefly to a few men milling around
inside the building. I thought they were
caretakers, or something. Then they
lined up, five abreast, facing us, and started singing an old Russian tune, cappella. I was stunned – the pure, perfectly-blended
sound flowed through me, my eyes welling up. The sound, the surroundings was
overwhelming. It was magic.
Gathering for the concert in Stockholm |
announcing the chorale |
Once more, yesterday afternoon in Stockholm, we were walking
around the old part of the city when we heard a choir coming from a Stockholm Cathedral. They were rehearsing for a concert two hours
hence. We had no plans, so we attended,
and it was wonderful. We don’t make a
habit of going to choral concerts, but in this case, the choirs were
exceptional, and the acoustics, once again were astounding, as the voices, singing a range of music from
contemporary to Brahms resonated off the cavernous walls of the cathedral. It was a full house.
Across the Baltic Sea
A big ferry |
We left Saint Petersburg to board a ferry to Sweden. Now, this could have gone one of many
ways. I (Chris) had planned for an
austere, bare bones, but comfortable trip for two nights across the Baltic on a
Russian ferry. What was emerging was a
new approach to a ferry system; the Baltic had been without a ferry service serving
Saint Petersburg for 15 years until this new one began in 2010 – the Saint
Peter’s Line. A western, “market based”
approach with Vegas-style burlesque shows, casinos, and huge capacity – serving
Russians. Late September meant fewer
choices yet smaller crowds so we ended up
with the best of both worlds - a ship with all the comforts of a big scale
ship with crowds at about half capacity - and all in Russian. Bonus: Travelling on the weekend meant the
European Russians were as occupied with televised football (soccer) as Yanks are
with the NFL and college games on weekends. We had the ship to ourselves
anywhere out of range of an onboard satellite television. We found no other English-speaking passengers
– and while the ship staff did speak English far better than we spoke Russian,
it was clear (and only right) that they catered to their Russian
clientele. No Issues. Except when
we began seeing lots of
references to Finland and we were convinced that we had gotten on the wrong
ship. Glasses of champagne only heightened our confusion and concern. Sure, Saint Petersburg to Stockholm was less
than 400 miles, so two nights and 38 hours of steaming probably didn’t add up –
but we really don’t do much math while using public transportation
internationally. We asked the staff in
simple English if we were stopping in Helsinki – and we got looks
deserved of the
idiotic question we asked – well, yes! Steaming
across the Baltic was beautiful. “Archipelago” hadn’t had much meaning for us
growing up on in the Mid-Atlantic states and living for 30 years in Colorado –
here we sailed through the definition of the word – the Baltic Sea and the Gulf
of Finland are studded with thousands of islands. We found a quiet lounge that looked forward
from the bow and, like on the trains, we were pasted to the window – watching
the narrow navigation channels between small islands and rock outcroppings, the
dim lights on the larger islands, the sailboats making the last trips of the
waning summer, and the commercial traffic that keeps the Baltic an active and
vibrant sea-faring region. Six hours in
Helsinki was a huge bonus! A beautiful
city by the sea, rich in 14th century architecture, hosting a
wonderful farmers and local crafts market on a clear and crisp Saturday morning.
We found restaurants focusing on varieties of
fresh pickled fish that were filled with families and friends in their “Sunday
best” enjoying multigenerational meals overflowing with warmth and
laughter. We re-boarded the ferry for twelve hours to Stockholm and
found ourselves in another archipelago city – with ten times more islands guarding
the city than Helsinki. Stockholm is
larger and for the first time in a while, we felt like we
were in a well-established
western democratic city. We enjoyed a larger historic center and a
concert in a cathedral with a history dating to the 13th
century. A well-established and
seemingly well-respected arts community thrives in
Stockholm side by side with
a strong tourism sector that sells the Swedish equivalent of the American rubber
tomahawks. We began this journey together on an equatorial island
surrounded by the South China Sea. We
crossed the Eurasian continent as we transversed
Mongolia and Siberia. And, we returned
to sea and the far north archipelago in the Baltic Sea. Later this week, we return to the top of the American
continental shield just below Hoosier Pass.
A good end.
a quiet moment staring ahead |
Helsinki's farmers market |
Knitting and Selling in Helsinki |
Steaming through the Swedish Archipelago approaching Stockholm at dawn |
Dueling Ferries |
Blankets are standard issue at Stockholm's Gamla Stan outdoor cafe's |
Gamla Stan - Stockholm's 13th century old town |
a cool sunset |
Thursday, September 26, 2013
St. Petersburg is a hellava thing
Tsarskoye Selo - the Summer Palace |
Hidden Corner at the Hermitage |
We avoided the tourist buses. Even this time of year, the shoulder season, they
were filled with people with twenty years even on us! We went on our own, frequently alone, but
often in the company of a St. Petersburg native with passion for their city and
a uniquely Russian perspective.
We’ve read the tour guides, researched Trip Advisor, educated
ourselves on the Imperial history. We’ve heard the criticism, largely western,
on the opulence in St. Petersburg as a way to explain the many revolutions. What
we didn’t know was the perspective of a cross-section of Russians about this
city, through the October 1917 revolution, the
deaths of the last tsar, his
family and most faithful servants, through the early revolutionary days and the
Stalinist 1930’s, horrible WWII that took a massive toll on St. Petersburg (Leningrad,
at the time), the Cold War, Glasnost and Perestroika, the collapse of the
Communist Party in the early 1990’s, and the emergence of a market economy. The
20th Century was really the century of challenge and change for St.
Petersburg. This “well-worn path” of spectacular
architecture survived through it all. Thrived, some say, during a period of otherwise
incredible hardship throughout Russia.
at the Hermitage |
Lyudmila led us through the maze of rooms, collections, and
large tourist groups in the Hermitage and the Winter Palace museum. This place
has arguably the most impressive art collection in assuredly the most
impressive museum building in the world. This was the palace envisioned By
Peter the Great and expanded by Catherine the Great in the early 18th
century. It seems like all revolutions
begin in the square outside its gates and one was close during our visit. Chris was scolded in Russian by a tour guide,
her umbrella and flag held high so her throng of garlic and Ben Gay smelling
80-somethings could see her diminutive presence. Apparently, Chris was lingering too long in
front of a Monet and “he’s
too big for standing there so long!”, as she barged
in with her gallery. “I don’t even know
how to respond to that” – Lyudmila. Lyudmila
likes the quiet passages of St. Petersburg – the back alleys, the buildings
that you can walk through to get a momentary sanctuary from the rains and wind
and cold, and even the quiet places within the “well-worn path” in the
Hermitage. Sure, the summer is too
short, the winter gets longer just when you think it’s over, but she loves her
city and can’t imagine being anywhere else.
just any old room at Tsarskoye Selo |
Maria joined us for the Summer Palace, Tsarskoye Selo. Also a vintage of the early 18th
Century. Tsarskoye Selo was in Nazi-occupied
St. Petersburg (the main city was held by the Russians but blockaded and under
siege for 900 days). Tsarskoye Selo was
looted by the Germans. Gold leaf
frescos, the Amber Room, century old paintings by the masters – all left as
piles of bricks. There is a suspicion
that the palaces at Tsarskoye Selo were bombarded by the Russians to prevent
the Nazis from using this consecrated place as a military HQ.
Just any old Fountain at Peterhof |
Following World War II the restoration of these glorious
buildings picked up speed from the work that began after the 1917 revolution. Many Russians believe that the opulence of
the Imperial period demonstrated the strength, superiority and
dominance of Russia. Whether it’s the gold and amber-lined walls of a sitting room in Tsarskoye Selo or a bare-chested Prime Minister riding a horse bare-back, most Russians like their leaders strong, their heritage rich and displayed loudly. Stalin and his advisors saw this as a rallying cry for a badly wounded post-war Russia and took on an impressive restoration that equals (maybe exceeds) the original construction (hey, who doesn’t hate a “re-mo”). It kept up through the Cold War despite Russian leaders requiring everyone to grow food in collectives – “just in case, you know”. It continued
through the waning days
of the socialist republic but stalled out during Perestroika – the time of
incredible economic hardship for the Russian economy. Gorbachev – largely admired in the west for
his policies of openness and rebuilding - left a poor legacy among some
Russians as weakening that strong sense of national pride in a strong and rich
heritage and future. The restoration continues today giving the illusion of
Imperial elegance with cheaper contemporary material that gives the original
perhaps even more brilliance. “It’s a good and well-respected profession” fueled
by demand from the nouveaux riche in this new market economy who want the
Imperial Elegance within their own homes.
dominance of Russia. Whether it’s the gold and amber-lined walls of a sitting room in Tsarskoye Selo or a bare-chested Prime Minister riding a horse bare-back, most Russians like their leaders strong, their heritage rich and displayed loudly. Stalin and his advisors saw this as a rallying cry for a badly wounded post-war Russia and took on an impressive restoration that equals (maybe exceeds) the original construction (hey, who doesn’t hate a “re-mo”). It kept up through the Cold War despite Russian leaders requiring everyone to grow food in collectives – “just in case, you know”. It continued
In the Dome at St. Isaac's Catherdral |
St. Petersburg is a hellava thing
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)