Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Good Sport
by venitha
As the sun set on the long and lazy day that we returned to Singapore from India, our proud accomplishments included napping, unpacking, napping, laundry, and napping.
"What do you think about going for sushi tonight?" Jim asked.
Aha! Proof that the man can indeed read my mind.
"That's just what I was thinking! But..."
In unison: "We have to take showers first."
Jim was a good sport. "I'll get right on that."
In spite of Jim's understandable inclination to have everything we owned fumigated after two weeks in India, our bodies had somehow eluded the radar. As Jim disappeared into the bathroom, I wondered if the miracle of a shower would be enough. I felt a bit like I should be taken in for detailing.
In less than an hour, however, we were squeaky clean, popping edamame beans into our mouths, and using chopsticks laden with salmon maru to toast to the things we love about Singapore. Yes, believe it or not, there are things I love above Singapore.
Near the top of the list is this marvelous ability to go out for conveyor-belt sushi, with two great places just a short walk from our apartment. On the night we arrived home from India, however, atop the list, towering far far above even the sushi: the ability to drink the water.
Full and happy and meandering our short route home, which had mysteriously grown longer in our two-week absence, we were joking and smiling up the underpass escalator, when our giggles were stifled by one thing I decidedly do not love about Singapore: each and every person riding down facing us was staring stonily at us and not smiling.
"We're not in India anymore, Toto," I told Jim, and he nodded soberly in agreement. In India, I stared at everyone. Everyone stared at me. All of us smiled. I felt happy and welcome and accepted. In Singapore... ugh.
"What the hell..." I was too tired and too discouraged and too depressed by this experience to go off on my usual rampage.
As ever, Jim was a good sport. "You've got to take the bad with the good."
venitha
"What do you think about going for sushi tonight?" Jim asked.
Aha! Proof that the man can indeed read my mind.
"That's just what I was thinking! But..."
In unison: "We have to take showers first."
Jim was a good sport. "I'll get right on that."
In spite of Jim's understandable inclination to have everything we owned fumigated after two weeks in India, our bodies had somehow eluded the radar. As Jim disappeared into the bathroom, I wondered if the miracle of a shower would be enough. I felt a bit like I should be taken in for detailing.
In less than an hour, however, we were squeaky clean, popping edamame beans into our mouths, and using chopsticks laden with salmon maru to toast to the things we love about Singapore. Yes, believe it or not, there are things I love above Singapore.
Near the top of the list is this marvelous ability to go out for conveyor-belt sushi, with two great places just a short walk from our apartment. On the night we arrived home from India, however, atop the list, towering far far above even the sushi: the ability to drink the water.
Full and happy and meandering our short route home, which had mysteriously grown longer in our two-week absence, we were joking and smiling up the underpass escalator, when our giggles were stifled by one thing I decidedly do not love about Singapore: each and every person riding down facing us was staring stonily at us and not smiling.
"We're not in India anymore, Toto," I told Jim, and he nodded soberly in agreement. In India, I stared at everyone. Everyone stared at me. All of us smiled. I felt happy and welcome and accepted. In Singapore... ugh.
"What the hell..." I was too tired and too discouraged and too depressed by this experience to go off on my usual rampage.
As ever, Jim was a good sport. "You've got to take the bad with the good."
venitha
