A new force is in town at Nanyang Technological University.

Day 1

I am currently on the plane to Singapore, and I am really looking forward to getting out of Germany for a few days. The last week has been cold, wind blustery days that beg for a hot fire and two or three cups of their famous hot and spicy Gluhwein. It beats hot chocolate any day of the week. This tube ride it going to take me 12 hrs to complete, and I am afraid that with my nervous shaky leg, I just must tear this whole plane apart. Sitting in one spot for 12 hr has to be in the top ten tortures for this animated man. The food is good though--I get served special meals on the plane that is beating the pance off of what they give anyone else. I went on Singapore airlines website and ordered the special seafood meal that turns out to be salmon with dill sauce. I dont know how airline chefs do it, but its far away better than what I could ever cook. I do everything I can to kill time. Books, movies on tiny airplane screens, fidget, broken conversation with Germans next to me, 2 min conversations with the stewardess, and fidget some more. My god how much longer can I stay in this prison at 30000 feet? We are traveling at 1000 kph, yet my tea never sloshes over, nor does my beer. Note to self, flying on Singapore airlines, they give you all the free drinks you want. I think my german neighbor is on her 4th blood mary. This is such irony, having free drinks on singapore airlines, as I later findout the typical drinks costs about 10-15 dollars in Singapore. Since I am precognisant, I have one more Tiger beer.

Coming off the airplane, the first thing that hits me is the thick blanket of humidity. I feel the sweat pores awaken for the first time in months. I dont they will be up for the production needed. I head straight for the restrooms. I have to freshen up and wash my face and pits. Ahh thats better--I feel the lethary slip off and the five senses back on 100% power. Now just where is my old and beatup luggage? I find it is waiting for me. Wow. Thats efficiency. This whole airport is. Before leaving, I go through customs, declaring nothing. My backpack and luggage is x-rayed, just like everyone else and now I am free to go.

I breathe a mouthful of fresh cool AC air on the subway--time for me to navigate this little island and find my hotel. Only 10 min from the airport I was told. I get off the subway and back into the island oven. No map, just intuition for me. I walk here, I walk there--ask directions, more walking in the opposite direction, ask again, go north, ask for a map, not possible. I've never seen so many 7-11's in any location. More walking, more sweating, skin gliding inside my clothes. On a bus, its cool and I dont want to get off. Finally, I find the street of the hotel by riding a random bus, and 2 hrs later, I find my hotel.

No early checkin she tells me, it costs 10 per hour. I found the cheapest hotel in Singapore, away from downtown in the Malaysian district. Its clean, smells good, and the AC works. Thank god. It even has a bar across the street called the 51 Jazzy. I will make a visit later, I think. A cold beer is going to do down easier than water than Newton's apple.

I take a walk to the city and after three subway stops, I realize what a bad plan this is. No one is walking on the sidewalks here--everyone is waiting at bus stops and subway stops. In the Malaysian district, the sweaty white man sticks out. I get a few stares and some people are saying strange things to me, but I walk on. Enough sight seeing, Im getting on the subway too.

I pass the day with bad navigation, and a large tourist map. Its pretty much useless unless I am trying to find McDonalds and their new McCholesterol Double Big Mac. I find an open square and contemplate strategy. My look isnt working. My hair is too long, and has just become a sweat sponge. It needs to be cut. The goatee is great for the cold wind in Marburg, but feels like a pocket of red glowing coals here in Singapore. I think on about the goatee, but the head hair has to go.

My stylist-in-training doesnt know how to shave a man, so only the hair gets cut. I feel slightly more in style with my new pointy, spiky, gel sculputred hair cut. Let the catwalk begin.

The night has fallen, and I am refreshed from my air-conditioned nap. To get over the jetlag I fought to stay awake as long as I could, I cant sleep on airplanes, but it was a struggle around hour number 30. After 2 hrs of sleeping though I am ready for that cold tasty beer I told myself I was getting at the 51 Jazzy. Let the night begin.

I walk into the loud and dark bar and notice asian girls everywhere with miniskirts or daisy dukes on. Well, at least scenery isnt bad. The bar is packed and a band from Thailand is setting the place on fire. Not a table is open. As befitting the asians, they are doing the she-bang song, made famous on American Idol. I get over my single guy bar phobia and walk up to another guy sitting alone and ask if I can share his table. He shrugs and I sit down. What happens next is a little shocking to me, to a guy always has to work a little to get the girls talking to me (but hey that work I kinda like). A cute skinny little vietnamese girl comes over to me-looks me in the eye, smiles, and decides to sit. On me. Either I have one hell of a new hair cut, or something else is going on in this place that I am wholly ignorant of.

I am getting alot of looks too. I am only white guy in see of black hair and yellow skin. I get the feeling their is fresh meat in the air, and it is coming only from me.

My new friend stays sitting on my lap for a minute or two while wiggling to the music. There is no wiggle back from me. I am too scared wondering where my wallet is currently and how the hell am I gracefully going to exit the situation. She looks back and smiles, and I smile feebly back. I thinks she gets I am uncomfortable, so she gets up and walks away. I think I need a little education.

My table partner (he's Indian) now has two girls with him, one on each leg, and his arms around both. Naturally you can imagine the size of the smile on his face. I interupt him though and ask him if he can answer a few questions. He says sure and we go back to smoking room. So I ask him how all this works, and I tell them this is my first exposure to the asian culture. He laughs a little bit but gives some straightforward advice. "Everyone gets a bitch on his arm, she's hired by the bar to make sure you are happy, and to pour you beer and keep you drinking. They are not prostitutes, rather working girls." I ask them whats the difference. Something about how they dont walk the street, but only work in here (the bar) and at the end of the night they goto your hotel, if the price is right. Its hard for to see the distinction, but thats probably my ignorance.

But we go back out into the melee and I learn all I have to keep from giving the wrong signals is to give a shake of the head when the come up and smile at me. Some go away but some continue to stand by me, and talk in broken english, and forever pouring you more beer. The try to get you to do beer slams with them using a cup about 5 sizes smaller. Pretty sneaky these girls. Turns out at this bar, all the girls are Vietnamese. Thats interesting I think, considering the past.

The attention is getting to me though, something I think would never have been possible. Too much attention from the ladies? Its like having too much money my ignorant self thought. But i see a pool table in the corner and decide a i need some singaporan bonding time. Besides that, I need to pace the drinking a little.

I meet two guys playing pool, both from Singapore and strike up a conversation and make instant friends. I tell them what a culture shock this whole thing is and they laugh the whole time. They tell me that this place is rather tame and I should go with them and I will see more interesting spots in Singapore. Being rather brave and a bit foolish I said lets go! They laugh and said why not. It is now 2 in the morning and the bar is closing anyway, with taxi's left and right picking the newly found lovers of the night. We are all hungry and I suggest they pick out a local favorite--they pay for the taxi and I told them I will pay for the late night meal.

They speak in chinese to the waiter and I have no idea what is being ordered. They ask me if I like spicy food. I boast that it is not a problem with me. No stupider words have ever been said. Our meal comes out quick along with some tea to drink. It is rice porridge, spicy black bean frog legs, and an oyster omelett. The whole thing is called Frog porridge I learn. Mix the spicy frog legs with the porridge, breath out dragon fire, douse with Tea, and repeat. Wipe watering eyes and sweating forehead when necessary. My god, if it hurts now, its going to be twice as bad later, but I keep this thought to myself. And I was wrong, it was three times as worse later.

The real tour of the working girls begins, and I know this is something I am never soon to forget. The girls are about a meter (3 feet) apart, stacked like this for 7 or 8 blocks straight. Almost shoulder to shoulder, dressed to impress, and reveal all they have to offer. I get a sense its a competitive environment down here with all the ladies looking for work. But there is plenty of males down here looking too. Every block is a new ethnicity; thai girls, indonesians, indians girls wearing saris, malaysians, and many, many more. Most imported like everything else here in Singapore. It feels titillating at first, all these girls wanting your attention, in reality, just wanting your money. But a slow revulsion sets in as I see all these girls working the night way, nothing more then fleshpots, where if my logic is right, they are already done with the fourth or fifth customer by 4 in the morning. I am tired and even this is no longer interesting, sightseeing a sad bit of life some people have to endure, and forever grateful to have options and opportunities that those I just stared at never did.

As I write this back at the hotel, eyelids heavier by the minute, I wonder if I can post this blog. I wonder what my small audience will think of it. Am I immoral, cause I decided to go out, look at the ladies of the night, see them face to face? Will I be judged one way or the other? Why did I feel such revulsion in the face of so much vice? It was another lesson in life, where I learned something about myself. No matter the judgement of others, I learned a few things, about me and those around me.

After a few days of pondering I have decided to post afterall. I hope you enjoyed my little adventure.

Mo