Diary of an Expat in Singapore (5 page)

When you were at school, your field trip may have been to the museum to see a documentary on the rainforest in Malaysia. The expat kid’s field trip is to the actual rainforest in Malaysia. Nothing fazes him. He wears mosquito patches at the playground against dengue fever, carries a water bottle in case of a sudden drought, and he’s probably seen a cobra in the school drain. And, even if it’s a little one, we are still using the term
cobra
. You sometimes wonder if the expat kid is really a kid or a Navy Seal in training.

When you don’t see your Dad at home, you wonder if he’s in China or Japan.

Most kids who don’t see their dads (or moms, if she’s the working spouse) at the dinner table might ask: “Where is Dad/Mom?” Not the expat kid. He asks if he’s in China or Japan – hoping the latter because that’s where all the cool toys come from.

You’ve probably travelled in business class at least once. Your parents realize this was a huge mistake.

It usually works like this: in expat households all over Singapore, one spouse travels while the other calculates air miles. The working spouse hears “New York,” and thinks of the 24 hours he’ll be spending on planes. The air-mile spouse hears “New York,” and thinks of free trips, upgrades, and stays at the Sheraton. The expat kid hears “New York,” and asks: “Are we travelling business?”

Swedes: Most likely to be training for a triathlon.

The Swedish expat does not have a maid, swims in icy waters, builds his own house, and spends an inordinate amount of time in saunas drinking pure grain alcohol. He may or may not have invented Ikea. Swedes like spending their afternoon with the kids there (whether they need to buy something or not) and are especially proud of the meatballs sold at the canteen. If you accompany them on a fun outing to Ikea (how do you spell oxymoron?), you will be expected to eat them as well. This was before the horse meat incident. Should you bring the Swedish mom in your condo soup for her sick child, prepare to wait a bit… as she sends you home with a batch of cinnamon buns… she just cooked from scratch.

Persians: Most likely to be marinating lamb chops in Manolo Blahniks.

Most popular at condo barbecues and potlucks, the Persian expat knows his meat. And no pull-out sofa for their guests – they put them up at the ritziest hotel in town. For the Persian expat, Bintan is roughing it. If you are invited over for dinner: dress up. And don’t forget a sleeping bag for the kids – it’s going to be late.

Italians: Most likely to be carrying sweaters.

People credit the beautiful Italian scarf industry to expert craftsmanship… actually, it’s their fear of drafts. Upon entering a room, the Italian expat is prone to inquire: “Can you turn the air con off?” The Italian expat is, on the one hand, happy to find
pandoro
(traditional Christmas cake) here in Singapore, on the other hand, slightly aghast to discover it costs 20 times as much as at home. Unrelated, the Italian expat wonders why Singaporeans like their noodles overcooked.

Brits: Most likely to talk about the weather.

Not all Brits discuss the weather, go to the British Club, and watch soccer. That’s a gross exaggeration… I know at least one who prefers field hockey.

Full disclosure: When I first arrived in Singapore, I wanted to send my children to the British School. And yes, it was just so they could get a British accent. I am that shallow. But who else can make the word
butter
sound so posh? A doorman in England sounds more cultivated than a professor at Harvard.

Irish: Most likely to be playing rugby.

Not even microsporidia (awful parasite lurking in the muddy fields after rain) will discourage the Irish expat from having his kids play rugby. Italians wouldn’t think of going near a field with that sort of potential danger. But the Irish expat is not totally unprepared… hence the eye drops.

I have to admit to a soft spot for Ireland. Maybe it’s because I lived in Dublin years ago, as a first-time mom, above Bewley’s on Westmoreland Street. My almost pathological love for the city is probably viewed suspiciously even (especially) by my Irish expat friends. I just can’t help it. Oscar Wilde, Yeats (both brothers, the poet and the painter), James Joyce, Father Ted, Graham Norton, Guinness, the different types of rain. I love it all. Especially the sense of humour. To this day, when I think how my Irish expat friend, Therese, after being told a long and confusing story, whispered to me, “Well, there’s seven-and-a-half minutes I’m never getting back,” I can’t stop smiling.

Japanese: Most likely to be wearing large hats.

It took me about two years of living in my condo to realize that I was either living in downtown Tokyo or that I was in a Japanese-listed condo. It was the latter.

One thing you notice when living with the Japanese is how seriously they take sun protection. Forget about wearing wide-brimmed hats outdoors, if you really want to be Japanese, wear long gloves on the tennis court.

Indians: Most likely to be comparing schools.