Searching for the New

Most of the time I love that Singapore is so westernized. If you need an American cheeseburger, they have it. Clorox bleach? Check. Your specific brand of tampons? Oh thank god, yes. But sometimes it's entirely too easy to forget that we live in an exotic country, literally halfway around the world from home. Some days I'll be laying on the couch, reading a book and eating the very same pretzels I enjoy with such abandon back home, and I'll forget I'm not living on the third floor of an apartment complex in south Austin. At times like that, it's such a jolt to get up, stretch, and notice palm trees glaring accusingly at you from the window. "Go outside," they say. "Do something foreign, you lazy American."

My friends, as much as I hate to kowtow to wise cracking palm tress, I admit that they're right. The problem is that because Singapore is so similar to home, it's more difficult to find places that seem inherently foreign. But Mike and I decided our goal for Saturday would be to wander around Bugis Street, looking for places to remind us we're on an adventure. 

It worked right away, mainly because Bugis Street is insanely crowded, crowded in a uniquely Singaporean way. It's just an unmoving sea of dark-haired heads, everyone jostling to get the attention of vendors selling juice, food, t-shirts, food, jewelry, tourist trinkets, and food. Pushing through the masses only leads you to an equally crowded fruit market, where we saw a eye-smarting array of mangoes, star fruit, lychees, and longans. And of course, a large stand of durians, the self-proclaimed "King of Fruit." (I'm not really sure how a fruit can proclaim itself, but I fail to see how else it got that nickname.) We got some longans to try, which look like little brown nuts, and they're not bad. Sweet and juicy, but they also have an underlying flavor I can't quite put my finger on. Longans are also called dragon's eyes, because once you peel them, the actual fruit is a milky translucent color, and the seed in the center is black. They made Mike's mouth and hands tingle, so I'm not sure if he should keep eating them. 

After fighting our way through the crowd, we wandered off for awhile until we spotted he Victoria Street Wholesale Market. We've passed by this place before as it's on the way to Arab Street. It's a big complex with a bunch of storefronts facing out, all covered by a giant red canvas. We've never gone through it, because it always looked a little empty and rundown, and it smells really strongly of fish. But since we didn't really have any plans, we figured why not? 

I'm really glad we walked through the market, because this was what I'd been looking for. This is the kind of place that reminds you you're in a totally different world, full of foods you've never seen before and you can only guess at how to eat. There were giant baskets and tubs of all kinds of dried fish, dried mushrooms and chilies, bright red sausages hanging from the ceilings, big blocks of uncooked ramen noodles, nuts laid out to dry, and tons of jars of sauces. As it turns out, the dried fish smell a lot better up close than they do from far away. We've had some of the little tiny silver ones in fried rice dishes, but never the big ones. Mike, ever curious, asked one of the store owners how you cook with the fish, and she said they're for soups or for grilling. And she said you don't have to soak the fish first or anything, you just throw it on the grill and eat. We didn't get any to try this time, but maybe in the future we'll fire some up. We walked all around the complex, and even though it was Saturday, it seemed very slow. The only customers were older men and women, wandering around and looking at the wares; I saw an older lady sneaking a raisin out of a big tub of them. There was one old man who was walking around, shirtless and barefoot, carrying a bag of dried shrimp, and he seemed to sum up the whole feeling of the market.

As we were leaving, another older lady with a red umbrella was walking towards us and she gave us a huge smile and said "Welcome to Singapore!" She asked where we were from, and we said the United States. For some reason, when older people see us, they love to ask us where we're from. (But in a nice way, not in an Arizona way ohsnap!) She got very excited we were from the U.S., and she told us she loved snow, even though she'd only seen it on TV. When we told her we were from Texas, she said she has a friend who lives in Houston who works at American Express and whose name is Lorraine (hey!). She said goodbye and told us to enjoy our vacation as she walked away. Mike and I didn't bother to contradict her, it didn't seem polite to correct her and say we live here now.

Besides, the more I think about it, the more I agree with the nice lady. Yes, we live here, but we're still just visiting. We ARE tourists here, there's really no way we can be anything but that. My desire to see the foreign parts of Singapore is precisely what makes me an outsider; if you consider something to be alien, then you mark it as being not your own. The only thing foreign at that fish market was me. I don't think I'll ever say the word "home" and mean our place here, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I may be a tourist, I may be on a two year vacation, but I'd rather be earnest and naive than blasé about this experience. I like discovering new things, trying different flavors, and being surprised. If that makes me a visitor, well that's fine by me.