THE SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK NOOS

Question 1:
When driving from Singapore to Malaysia you must:
a) Get a Gurkha to take your photo at the border
b) Have at least 3/4 of a tank of petrol
c) Crack jokes to the immigration officer about the terrorists hiding in the boot
d) Be at least this tall (indicates roughly 1.2m) to enter

Ok, before anyone gets all narky about the discrimination against vertically challenged people; there are no height restrictions when entering Johor Bahru. So, if you answered d) you may not be smart enough to participate in today’s Noos. Click away now!

But on with the story…

I scored an invite to Crazy Val’s mum’s house for lunch on Christmas day. This entailed a skip across the Causeway into Johor Bahru, Malaysia. It seems so weird to skip to another country on Christmas day, get the passport stamped and then come back, but hey, that’s the kind of exotic life I’m leading now. My exotic life. Oh, how the exotic Noodle lives!

Two years here and I’d still never done the trip into Malaysia, so this jaunt was an attempt to rectify this grave oversight AND score a family-type Christmas gig. Even if that family was not my own.

Singapore and Malaysia are only separated at JB by a bridge. There are lots of signs before the checkpoint. One of particular note is a rather puzzling image of a fuel gauge with the needle at 3/4 full. Meaning? Well, there is a $500 fine if you get caught with less petrol than that. Can’t have those bargain-hunting Singaporeans ducking into Malaysia for cheap petrol!

So, if you listed b) as your answer in the quiz, you may collect 1,000 ringgits. Read the rest of this entry »

The TV is trying to tell me…something. I’m sitting here, the countdown for departure to the new world has begun, and for some reason the TV has taken it upon itself to let me know all about the dangerous territory I’m heading for. If I am to believe everything that I see on the tube—which of course I do since it is the supreme educator of educators—this is what I know.

According to the National Geographic channel, if I want to get eaten by a bear, I need to pack my rucksack for, well, Montana or some such place. Bear county. To fit in with other Americans in this instance, I must wear inadequate clothing for a hike, leave food scattered around my campsite, get way too close with my Nikon, then stupidly run like the clappers screaming and such when the lumbering beast decides I look pretty damn tasty. I can do that. I can make myself look pretty tasty.

The Discovery Channel informs me, in its own way, that if I want to roll the dice with the Richter scale I should go to LA. Yes, I should go to this City of Angels, this ‘Hollywood’ I’ve heard so much about, and rent an apartment in a building with what is known as ’soft foundations’. Then, should my number come up, I might get crushed in my sleep when the whole lot pancakes down on me in The Big One. Ah, I didn’t want to go there anyway. Read the rest of this entry »