Popagandhi

Quick one before I jump into a plane –

I was just at a small wedding in Manila. One of my oldest friends in the world got hitched to a lovely Pinoy girl here, and will soon whisk her away to Australia and all that. Great, very happy for the couple; very pleased to see him too, because I only get to see him every few years.

But then I was stuck for a few hours in a small room with two tables (I told you it was a small wedding) in a Chinese restaurant in downtown Manila. At one table was the Filipino family, full of wonderful and lovely people I spent some time with. Present at the other table: the family friends and relations, mostly Hokkien-speaking Chinese people originally from Singapore. The Hokkien-speaking drove me mad (because I speak and understand it quite well and why is it that these conversations are always so inane?), but what really got me was the chauvinistic Chinese Singaporean men and their distasteful ways.

They saw fit to use me as an example of a ‘young Singaporean woman who’s picky about men and who puts her career first and won’t stop until I’m 30 and then by then it’s too late I can’t have a family because I’ve missed the boat’. All that, in the context of how Singaporean women are so picky and Filipino women are not, which is why they prefer Filipino women. For being more submissive.

Wow, that’s a lot of assumption for people who have only met me for 20 minutes. And a lot of gall for people who are guests in someone else’s country to dare to speak of its women in that fashion, with those very women present. Especially when it isn’t true (Pinoy women are FAR from submissive!!). Saying it in a different language doesn’t make it better. It’s not about being picky; it’s that I have taste, career, and choice. It’s not like people who thoughtlessly refer to the entire female species as the “weaker gender” (how old-fashioned) would ever get it.

I spent a lot of time being angry — I know people are stupid, I know it’s pointless arguing. The gall! The cheek! The hypocrisy! (All the MCPs who were going on about female submissiveness were also, in the same breath, discussing the finer points of having more than one family, one in a different country. And then also lecturing me, somewhat, on family values.)

But I’m just reminded of how the reason I never have to tolerate people like that, what more marry men like that, is that I get to choose. And I get to infuriate men like that whenever they appear, because I can.

As the incisive @illyrica puts it: “picky” = “insufficiently grateful that an actual man is willing to bestow validation upon your worthless life by choosing you”

I thank God every moment for the empowerment that is not needing this validation, not needing men, not needing to pick through this garbage, and indeed for not needing to pick. At all.

for more angry feminist ranting: why i am still a feminist

Bah. Manila was great fun (five days so far; more on that city soon), jumping into a plane to Singapore, and then into another one to Bangalore.

Yemen is all over the news these days for all the wrong reasons. Those of you interested in that sort of thing would do well to read Waq al-Waq as a necessary companion blog to Western reporting on Yemen, which does tend to come across as uninformed and inaccurate most of the time.

I still miss that country greatly and think constantly about what a wonderful experience it was, to have had the chance to see it. Here are some of the beautiful people I met.

keeps the writing block at bay

The Torino Express, Beirut
Downtown Beirut was swanky. Saifi Village was strange. I had to duck into a hair salon and get my hair cut by a gay man in Ashrafieh to avoid the guy following me on his scooter, and the other guy trying to sell me drugs. All I wanted was a steak. Walking around Beirut, glamorous, fashionable Beirut, the party capital of the gay Middle East, where everyone, straight, gay, and in-between, was artsy or beautiful or a bit of both, was mind-bending. Here was a United Nations tank, soldiers armed with rifles. Here was a pockmarked building, riddled with gunshot wounds, the architectural reflection of Beirut’s own wounded but eternal soul. In the fashionably frumpy quarter of Gemmayze, I joined the artsy young Beirut set for a night. Saturday nights in Gemmayze’s many hole-in-wall bars and clubs felt right; in early 2009, this was where Beirut’s heartbeat was to be found. Every couple of years, that changes, according to my friend Dana. Like many Lebanese, she left the country as a teenager because of the war. Never quite settling elsewhere, she joined the permanent Lebanese diaspora in Montreal and then in Dubai. I cannot imagine what it’s like to call such a beautiful, vulnerable strip of land “home”; it must be hard to juggle so many identities. “The New York Times Travel page just ran a story about how ‘Beirut is back’. Bars, clubs, it’s so hip now, yada yada,” I said. “Oh, please. Every five years or so the New York Times “rediscovers” that “Beirut is so different from the Middle East” and “and how we’re a party town,” she scoffed. “It’s a surprise only to them. Every five years or so somethings blows up, the shit hits the fan. Then we’re okay, and we make the New York Times again. And again.” Meanwhile, a gorgeous gay Lebanese man held hands under the table with his strikingly handsome French partner, while Dana ordered us more beer and whisky and expounded at length about how weird it is that Middle Eastern culture places so much importance on what’s been between her legs. I remembered what a foreign correspondent once said about this city being every old-school foreign correspondent’s dream: you could interview the Hezbollah at lunchtime and count on foie gras, wine and beautiful people showing at your parties after, on the other side of town. I love this place.

Next: Homemade Vodka/Russians Dance for Me in the Oldest City in the World

Staying

Beirut: 17 April
Pension Al-Nazih Very small, not much atmosphere, but clean and friendly (once you get to know them). Two dorms — one female, one male, 5 beds each. US$12/night. Total: 6 x US$12 = $72

Damascus: 23 April
Al-Rabie Hotel Ramshackle old house in old Damascus, situated in one of the oldest houses in the city (and we know Damascus is… very, very old). Charming little place, though practically creaking. Dorm with 4 beds. 600 Syrian pounds. Includes breakfast. Shisha/hookah available in the lobby. Hard beds. Probably best place to meet travellers (of all stripes: general demographics were between 21-55, Europeans, Japanese and Australians. Families.) 1 x 600 SYP = US$13

Al-Haramein HotelJust down the row from Al-Rabie, carved pretty much in the same vein; same type of house, clientele, and services, prices. Shower in basement: if you never saw yourself precariously tottering down several flights of stairs in a several centuries old house, you will, at the Al-Haramein. I’d still pick this over Al-Rabie, only because the Al-Rabie’s beds were rock hard and it was pretty noisy at night.2 x 500 SYP = US$22.60

(Stayed with my Syrian-Russian friends, the wonderful Kayyali family, for the rest of Damascus. 2 days turned quickly into 2 weeks, with their home-made vodkas, Russian farm parties, and superb Syrian hospitality.)

Palmyra: 26 April
Wow, what a shitty town. What a shitty town so close to fabulous ruins. That’s why anybody even comes here, I guess (and why the town got so shitty). Law of Circular Destruction in the developing world (think: Vang Vieng, Laos).

Baal Shamin Hotel Set a little behind the main strip, I booked for a dorm bed in a 4-bed dorm but as the only guest, had the hotel to myself. Not that it was much of a hotel. But you can always count on the manager (Ali? Mohammed?) making a pot of shai every time you come downstairs, and sitting you down for shai, TV and small talk. 2 x 300 SYP = US$13

Kraks des Chevaliers: 28 April
Bebers Hotel the only hotel here as far as I can see. Amazing views right cross the castle. Met a tour group in Palmyra (I don’t do tours, but if I did, I’d do an Intrepid trip. I’ve crossed paths with lots of Intrepid groups all around the world, and their guides are friendly types and unusually obsessive about what they do), so off I went to Kraks with them. The group had come from Cairo overland and were going through Syria on the way to Turkey, overland, too. Sort of what I was doing, minus the company. Shacked up at the Bebers with this bunch for the night. Asking price for a double room was 1000 SYP — drove a not-so-hard bargain to 800 SYP, including breakfast. This would be my only “proper hotel” on the entire trip! Appreciated laundered sheets, presence of air-conditioning (though I didn’t need one, it was good to know I could), and uproarious English-speaking company. (Europe) biker types were the other people at the hotel, they’d ridden into Kraks at dusk and seemed to be on a long bike journey. Note to self: learn to ride a bike so you can do this, too. 1 x 800 SYP = US$17.40

Aleppo: 5 May
What happened to Aleppo? I didn’t stay here as I was running out of time and needed to get on the twice-weekly train to Turkey. But do yourself a favour. Go, no, RUN, to Aleppo. Don’t stay at the Baron Hotel, but go to the bar. Walk around the grounds. Take a photo of the “telex room” as you’re going to the loo. Sneak a peek into the guestbook (though it’s usually locked up), to discover names like Agatha Christie and Lawrence of Arabia.

Antalya: 6 May
Stayed with the lovely Melissa Maples. Went to a Turkish mystic. Good fun.

Goreme: 9 May
Some of the most beautiful natural settings you will ever lay eyes on. Underground cave cities, churches, Dali-esque surreal rock formations. Went quadbiking all over Cappadocia in an All Terrain Vehicle.
Kose Pension: 10 euros for a bed in a triple room. Quiet, beautiful little house, free wifi.

Istanbul: 11 May
Second time in Istanbul. What a delightful, romantic city. Turkish food is not the same outside of Turkey — more so than any other cuisine. Turkish food in Turkey is… superb, fresh, varied, and wonderful. Turkish football. Ritin rooftop bar, lots and lots of my favourite midye dolma (very awesome one across Ritin).
World House Istanbul: 13 euros. 4 x 13 = 52 euros

Going
London-Singapore-Dubai-London: 420 GBP [plane]
Dubai-Sharjah: 100 AED [taxi]
Sharjah-Beirut: 493.65 AED [plane] *note: if I were to do this now FlyDubai.com flies out of Dubai directly, not Sharjah, and is only 150 AED!
Beirut-Damascus: US$12 [taxi, 2.5-3h] from Charles Helou taxi
Damascus-Palmyra: microbus to Harasta station (10SYP) + 200 SYP [bus, 4-5h]
Palmyra-Kraks: hitched a free ride, but otherwise 150 SYP I think and with a switch of vehicles at Homs
Palmyra-Homs: hitched a ride, so, free, but otherwise 80 SYP in a microbus
Homs-Damascus: 110 SYP [2h, VIP bus] + microbus to Al-Bahsa (10 SYP, but wave madly, point excitedly, and speak whatever Arabic you can)
Damascus-Aleppo: 200 SYP [5h, bus]
Aleppo – Adana: 1010 SYP [9h, seat on train]
Adana – Antalya: 45 TL [12h, bus] *note: Akdeniz is the only bus company that does many daytime departures to Antalya. You can catch a microbus from outside the Adana station (cross the road, in the direction of the Otogar) for 1 TL. There are a bunch of bus offices at Merkez Otogar, and Akdeniz is at No. 4. Upside of this: they will pick you up and send you to the Otogar for free.
Antalya – Goreme: 40 TL (9h, bus)
Goreme – Istanbul: 50 TL (12h, bus)
Istanbul – London: 25 GBP (yes, you read right! 25 POUNDS!!) God bless Pegasus Airlines

Syrian visa: US$33 (For Singapore passports. Issued at the border. Not possible if your home country has a Syrian embassy, in which case you need it processed there.)

I know my writing archives here are in an udder mess. I’m trying to work on it.

Since there’s been an influx of new readers over from Desicritics, I’ve decided to put together a loosely compiled list of Popagandhi posts about India, love and loss, often at the same time. Pick any at random, there’s no method or logic to the way they’re presented.

Comparing four years of India at different points in my life in Diplomats and Physically Challenged Only

An emotional response to to the Mumbai terrorist attacks, in Mumbai Nightfall/My City Burning

Monsoon nights and Indian summers in Bombay, and missing it in Singapore: The Marine Lines

Funny advertising as it can exist Only In India

My rare message of love and nostalgia for Singapore centres around the Indian-ness of My City

How I stumbled into what I do, in the Tollygunge neighbourhood of Calcutta, Then and Now

Feelings of lesbian Asian identity and memories of Sonagachi, evoked in Excavation

Lovers bid each other farewell onboard the Guwahati Express as one starts a new life in Calcutta and the other remains in Bangalore, and I peek into their lives for fifteen minutes, in Portraits Unphotographable: Neha Sahoo

I almost got left behind on a highway in the Indian desert, and lived ran fast enough to tell the tale in 7 Stories to Tell

No matter what I keep coming back to Sudder Street again and again, and keep missing my golden Bengal, Amar Shonar Bangla, where there’s monsoon masala aplenty in Calcutta and You Could Forgive the Monsoon

And the Calcutta I can’t stop talking about is also a Rough City.

Somedays, I am left Dreaming of India

Other times wondering What Am I Doing Here