Night views

Last night the Passengers passed the time with colleagues on Boat Quay along the river. The quay features a seemingly endless string of eating and drinking establishments. So far I have sampled the first and second locations, but time remains. The rows of waterfront tables turn their backs on the modern central business district and look out onto a number of grand colonial projects. The scene above presents one of the old iron bridges in front of the purple nightlights that illuminate the textured and modern Esplanade center. Here are some more views.

The grand Fullerton Hotel, seen rising above the 1868 Cavenagh Bridge, was built as a post office in 1928. It became a plush hotel in this decade. Its wedge-shaped courtyard inside now provides a stunning atrium.


The first columns of the sprawling Asian Civilisations Museum's building were erected to house the colonial bureaucracy of Singapore since the 1860's. The ACM opened on the site in 2003.

Singapore Overview

Here are some more perspectives from the Passengers' life in Singapore's Central Business District. Welcome to a very shiny and clean urban jungle. These shots were taken from the sky terrace in our building on the 44th floor. Above is the city's newest architectural showpiece, the Esplanade, a performing arts center.

On one side we overlook the freshwater river estuary, Marina Bay. The Esplanade is at left and the National Stadium floats on the right.

To the right of these rises Singapore's most recent epic undertaking, the Sands supercasino, scheduled to open early next year. Perhaps the city-state can compete with Macao, but the venture involves some incredibly interesting personalities. Construction at Singapore super-sites runs around the clock, seven days a week.


Another side faces the skyscrapers of the Central Business District, where all the banks operate.

The backside of the apartment building faces the Port of Singapore, one of the world's busiest shipping centers. I love watching the tugboats maneuver the cargo vessels in and out from underneath the cranes.

Kopi ≈ Coffee

Coffee to go in Singapore, that's “take away” in British, gets a nifty carrying sling. No awkward cardboard cartons to balance. This is not, however, a Singapore Sling.

Singaporeans like coffee. All the malls are saturated with coffee shops in the same way that London and New York merchants compete for those who crave a jolt of black liquid. But the mall outlets are mostly Asian or Australian versions of mega coffeetailers like Starbucks or Café Nero. Here, the favored local variety falls outside of the array of Italian and Italian-inspired beverages. The national way to ingest caffeine is called Kopi, a strong, thick brew served out of long spouted chrome pitchers that look a little like watering cans.

The most popular variety is Kopi Si, dark roast coffee mixed with a healthy dose of sweetened condensed milk. It can also be had as Kopi O – without the milk but still plenty of sugar. These recipes arose out of the drink's working-class origins. The sweet additives could cover up the faults of cheaper beans or inconsistent roasting processes. However, Kopi Koso roughly translates from Malay as “empty coffee” and it has no such sweetners. Currently, I am drinking Kopi Gao, a double-thick iteration of Kopi Si. Mine has a splash of sweet milk, and I am not sure I can contemplate the potency of undiluted Gao. This cup alternately makes my eyes squint and spin. Never pay more than S$1.50 (about 1.00 USD) for a cup.

British newspaper update: The Sunday Times has named Singapore a serious food destination.

Now It's a Story (to Americans)

Labour MP David Chaytor claimed for a mortgage he already paid off. He says it was an error, albeit one that took eleven months to notice. And haven't we all taken a sabbatical from our outstanding debts now and again?

The New York Times today offered its summary of the British scandal involving a raft of dubious expenses claimed by Members of Parliament. The story has been simmering away for days in the UK, furiously bubbling over each day with every new revelation of incredulous reimbursements from the Daily Telegraph. The initial story ran two weeks ago and targeted government, i.e. Labour Party, MPs. The Telegraph has cleverly kept pole position on the story by waiting through a few days of outrage after each story before publishing more expenses claimed. Conservative and later Liberal Democrats each received time under the media klieg lights, and now the country’s entire political class is sweating uncomfortably.

This post does not mean to offer pointed opinions about British political behavior. That can be saved for another time. Rather, the ongoing story points up the character of British newspapers and the way developments in the UK are treated by American publications.

The New York Times usually waits on the sidelines before alerting its readers to the latest hubbub from media across the Atlantic, whether in Britain or in continental Europe. Generally, American newspapers only offer daily coverage for stories within the US unless the international matter obviously touches on the country’s interests. Maybe this represents another example of American ethnocentricity, though recent New York Times coverage of the endgame to Sri Lanka’s civil war offers a meritorious exception. Mostly, the delay ensures that precious column inches are not wasted on piffle from self-important news outlets, but with yesterday's resignation of House Speaker Michael Martin the story has produced substantive results. A late entry from the New York Times tends not to add information to the story but attempts to summarize the matter from a deliberately outside perspective, often as a way to call attention to a larger national debate or to play with cultural stereotypes. The editors have sometimes sought these ends even when the actual substance of the story might be in doubt.

These summaries from abroad can offer an outsider’s perspective, but the clamor created by the MP’s expenses story demonstrates the ability of the UK’s media diversity to stir up the national consciousness. Britain has a large number of so-called national newspapers, papers available in every city in the same edition. These include several taste-bating “Red Tops” specializing in tabloid journalism and titillating photography and serious-minded broadsheets. The broadsheets target readers along different parts of the political spectrum with the Telegraph on the right and the Independent on the left. Generally, all these papers, even the Red Tops, all report on the same major events, but they diverge in how each one values an individual story or which facts are highlighted. All the other publishers scrambled to headline the scoop of a business and ideological rival because the story was accurate, timely, and compelling. The United States, by contrast, has only USA Today as a national newspaper. The Washington Post and the New York Times, of course, publish for an effectively nationwide audience, but the collection formed by these and even a few lesser big-city banners hardly creates the diversity of viewpoints that somewhat paradoxically enhances the moral and investigative sensitivities of print journalism.

The editorial agendas at each newspaper and the concerns of their target readerships shape the day’s headlines and the presentation of stories. At the same time, a publication must maintain credibility as a worthwhile news venture if it hopes to shift public opinion towards its ideological perspective or sustain its profits. Without verifiable facts and timely reporting readers will look elsewhere for information, and the overall mission will fail. American cable news might actually benefit from more openly espousing any political leanings so as to diminish the group–think that requires every channel to report live on celebrity court appearances or searches for missing white girls. Of course, the British media also endlessly reports on searches for blonde children.

Update: The New York Times made its summary even more comprehensive on Sunday, all the way back to 1832.

Arrival in Singapore

Greetings now from Singapore. I made it to this city-state/island nation on Friday afternoon. It’s an absolutely fascinating place teeming with trade, business, population, and humidity. The island is smaller than Luxembourg but has significantly many more citizens, around 3.6 million people from all over Asia, mostly of Chinese and Malay extraction. Then, there are roughly 1.2 million expatriates and non-residents. All the imported Western talent and commercial wealth might make it a little bit Asia Lite, but there remains plenty to discover this summer.

I will offer more facts and figures and personal impressions later, but pictures are way more interesting. Above is the silhouette of the skyscrapers that hold our apartment, and below is a crazy funk troupe crowding the pavement along Orchard Road on Sunday. Tang's, the department store, can be spied behind the group's bass enabler.

Marmite Ad

I have spent very little time in London during this trip through England. However, while returning from Leeds to the Home Counties, I traveled along the Victoria line to get myself south of London. On the journey I spied this clever, kinematic advertisement overhead in my Tube carriage.

For the uninitiated, Marmite has been a staple of British life for over one hundred years, the dark, sticky spread made from brewer’s yeast has provided cost-efficient loads of B vitamins and salt to the public for decades, preferably spread thinly across toast at breakfast. I find it a fascinating taste and a great aid against hangovers, but many native Britons find the food’s texture, concept, and taste revolting. Australians vainly promote Vegimite to Marmite haters as a milder alternative. I can hardly tell the difference between the two, and the argument seems only to concern the Poms vs. those "from a Land Down Under." Americans generally abhor the product in all its forms.

Despite, or perhaps because of, this strong taste and distinctive smell Marmite inhabits British culture as both a comfort food and a looking glass into British culture. The company began in Burton-on-Trent, where the English produced many a fine beer and discarded yeast was available in great volumes. Iconic jars of Marmite also provided part of soldiers’ rations in both World Wars, serving vitamins and salt to expeditionary troops. (Read Mark Kurlansky for more about armies’ unyielding need for salt.) The Marmite label and packaging have changed very little over the years, maintaing these associations, and the cheap prices and slight punitive flavor probably reminds Britons of the make-do-and-mend spirit that sustained the country through rationing, civil unrest, and gray winters.

However, Marmite has been expanding their brand in recent years, putting their flavor and imprimatur on potato chips and related snack foods, like cashews. Plus, they have developed a number of brand partnerships and alternative flavors for those who want their yeast extract to taste just a little different. But trust me, the Marmite flavor trounces both champagne and Guinness.

Now I am off on a thirteen-hour flight to Singapore.

Fieldwork that Was

Saturday is my last day here in Ripon. The work has been uneven. The gusty weather has bothersome but remarkably free of rain. The church building remains a real puzzle, but I am not the first visitor baffled by the constructional history of this building. The process reminds me that art history mostly trades in speculations offered with varying levels of certainty. Rest assured, I will come away carrying more ideas and information in my brain than I brought with me. Also the church staff, librarians, and passersby have been wonderfully helpful and generous at every turn. My next research destination will be Leeds so I should conclude this leg of my journey with a number of photos from this location. Besides, unstable weather may be bad for fieldwork, but it makes for fun photography and good swing bowling.

Life in the North Yorkshire Dales

I had to cross several time zones, but I have finally made it back to the Midwest. Actually, these days I am even further from the Midwest than usual. I am in Ripon in North Yorkshire to do research on the big stone church here. The city is an historic market town on the River Skell; the monastery that later became Ripon Cathedral goes back to the seventh century. However, most of the urban fabric, including the market place, dates only back to the eighteenth century.

It's a remote place by English standards. There is no train station; I arrived by bus from Harrogate. The nearest university is probably aways south in Leeds or York. Both of those are considered relatively new institutions. The University of Leeds is barely one hundred years old. Again, English standards. Historically, Ripon arose from agriculture and livestock around the Yorkshire Dales. Now much of its economy relies on tourism. In addition to historic charm Ripon has a well known racecourse. The city lies between the Yorkshire Dales and the North Yorkshire Moors National Parks, which makes it a good stop for literary folks chasing Brontes or Shelley or even James Herriot.

The tourism means the town has plenty of places to eat, but Ripon does not really bustle. I had to visit three pubs before I found one serving food after 7:30 tonight. Hotels are plentiful, but none of the major chains operate here. They are down in Harrogate with the International Centre. The agricultural history and its separation from the British mainstream give it a familiar feel to someone who grew up in the rural Midwest. The shops here are provincial. Even if daily newspapers and television link everyone into the latest fashion and music, those cultural touchstones don't travel very well. Urban fabrics and urban sounds are not quite suited to the lifestyle here. Likewise, the food has been good so far, but it is based around an agrarian diet where meat is plentiful and local, not a convergence of multiple cultures. I had my second pie (fish) for dinner in as many days. I am also on a first-name basis with several of the hotel staff already, and the library has kept a pile of books waiting for my return tomorrow. They are not carefully catalogued on a reserve shelf. The librarian simply stacked them atop the Help Desk with a note announcing my return tomorrow. Occasionally, locals ask why I left New York to spend a week here. I came here for work, but all those hometown qualities mean I don't go stir crazy here. I try to concentrate on the niceties that are cultivated by a more static environment. A preacher once described his hometown to me. "It's a great place to be from," he intoned. It's not glamorous, but being from somewhere teaches a lot about how to live somewhere.