Chapter 4
So I think I’ll be (twenty) six now for ever and ever.
“Hey campers!”
Kelsi Okun uttered this familiar refrain before setting out on any given action-packed adventure with a band of bought-in participants (Emma! Charlie! Rachel! Myself!).
This piece will mostly be about food. And friendship. And the collision of the two, because in my world they are complimentary and inextricable.
Singapore was the perfect 48-hour playground for a reunion. Kelsi and Emma were coming off of two weeks in Japan and Korea. I flew in from New Delhi. Charlie arrived the following morning after twenty-four hours of travel from Boston via San Francisco.
I’ll give an honorable mention to quarantine with Kelsi and Emma for making us intimately attuned to each other’s preferences, dividing and conquering the first hawker market in Little India with minimal verbiage, understanding head nods, and the resulting optimal balance of vegetarian fare.
Our first full day started with the sweatiest run around the MacRitchie Reservoir. Once Charlie touched down, we began a seemingly endless parade through the sleek, air-conditioned enclaves of the ArtScience Museum and Marina Bay Sands, and the abundant green spaces, swelling to life in Singapore’s unrelenting humidity.
In a cosmic coincidence (optimal macro timing, as Charlie would say), we descended on Singapore on the same day that Taylor Swift began her six-show stint at the National Stadium, the only South East Asian stop on The Eras Tour. My only Singaporean wish (aside from a lower cost of accommodation) was to hear the surprise songs in her acoustic set live before piecing together the videos on Twitter several hours later. We reached the waterfront during the Folklore set (TLGAD to be exact). Armed with a picnic of pandan cakes, we listened to final hour of the concert with near perfect sound quality. This was the karaoke experience of dreams for our last night in Singapore (and the surprise songs: Mine x Starlight and I Don’t Wanna Live Forever x Dress).
Malaysia was full of brilliant food and questionable transportation infrastructure, as we arrived in Kuala Lumpur six hours later than expected and in the absolute middle of the night. As such we passed the time between our first meals by walking the streets in pursuit of kopi (coffee made with robusta beans and condensed milk), glazed ceramic souvenirs, and murals tucked in the alleyways of aging colonial buildings.
Our first sit down meal was Nasi Lemak at Village Park, a local favorite and apparently the best way to enjoy Malyasia’s national dish. So began the group’s love affair with the complex and unforgettable flavors of good sambal. I will be forever in favor of whole roasted peanuts beside savory plates, especially fried chicken and rice.
Meng Kee. Neon green plates of fish, fruits, and vegetables emerged at rapid speed and casually clattered onto blue plastic tables as we hunkered under umbrellas among a hundred other diners. Even with intermittent rain, the grilled fish and the bean curd were exceptional, and the vegetables held their own.
We spent one night in the city of Ipoh. Thankfully the group was aligned on sweet treat culture (enjoy at any time of day to keep energy and morale high; extra points for finding items containing pandan, red bean, and black sesame; negative points for anything with durian — sorry). I believe we enjoyed the ones from Lam Fong Biscuits.
Noodles at Restoran Tuck Kee. Seeing American portions upon entry, we panicked and immediately downsized down our order once we were seated. There is no better feeling than swirling a raw egg yolk through a glossy plate of hot noodles. These were salty, balanced, and irresistibly good.
Custard and White Coffee for Breakfast (from anywhere really, these were from Kedai Kopi Sin Yoon Loong). After a scenic morning run along the river, Kelsi and I lingered outside of a local white coffee spot drenched in sweat, the only tourists inside. After looking lost, I traded a soggy bill for a plastic bag of iced white coffee.
Ipoh is known for its white coffee which entails roasting beans at a lower temperature for a smooth, smoky taste (and a higher caffeine content). It’s then served with condensed milk, hot or iced. I enjoyed my second cup of the day in a mug beside an egg tart drenched in caramel and served with a soup spoon. Sometimes all it takes a little sugar high to get you safely on the bus headed for Penang.
Penang was an unexpected charmer. Did my Kindle get stolen by a monkey, along with Charlie’s passport, Invisalign, and wallet containing most of our cash? Yes. However, with glorious sunsets, sensational dessert options (hi, Four Beans), a reasonably priced haircut (I have bangs now?), and curries that easily rivaled ones I had in India, I am so sold on this city (even if my Kindle has tiny bite marks on it).
Teksen. After two strong recommendations for this restaurant, we strode up, were immediately seated, and ordered cold Carlsberg and Tiger beers. For the third time this trip, bean curd triumphed among the entrées for vegetarians and non-vegetarians alike, its crisp edges splitting to reveal a custard center rich with flavor. Garlicky kang kong (water spinach) was always ordered for the table, and the non-vegetarians split a memorable whole fish, served with a warm soy sauce and a salad of bright, crisp greens and raw ginger. No notes.
Roti Canai Gemas Road. This was the only destination we sought out twice, and for good reason. Crammed under a tent covering a parking lot, dal and a spicy tomato sauce were ladled over perfect layers of chewy roti topped with fried eggs, thinly shaved shallots, and a square of American cheese with its distinct sheen and distorted shape. Untouchable, really.
We arrived in Bali the day before Nyepi, Balinese New Year, otherwise known as a day of silence. The night before, teams of local children carried human-sized, terrifying paper maché demons into the main streets. The following day, all businesses were closed. People were not permitted onto the streets and electricity use was kept to a minimum, especially at night.
Confined to our villa with a stockpile of snacks (and Rachel Okun having touched down at Denpasar that morning), this group of campers seized the opportunity to leverage our talents and create our own camp schedule. Charlie led us through the Princeton basketball warm up and demonstrated impressive card tricks. Kelsi taught a Solidcore class, sliding beach towels on the wooden floor in controlled, shaky planks. Emma led us through water polo drills in the pool, using an engineer’s precision to guide us through the efficiencies of the egg beater motion. I taught my first non-evaluative yoga class in the resort’s neglected yoga studio overlooking a jungle stream, with nothing but the sound of the trees below and birds above accompanying our practice.
At this point, I’ve covered a lot of the food, and less of the friendship (I promise I’m getting there). Over each meal described above we swapped prompts and stories, sharing memories and postulating about the future. At the very least, we would share a daily High, Low, Buffalo from the previous day (your highlight, lowlight, and surprise, respectively). With packed schedules and days that seemed to bleed into the next, we often made it around the table with minimal repeats, taking stock of just how much we could pack into limited hours of daylight. You quickly learn what excites people (and what doesn’t), whether you’ve known someone for 8 years or 8 months.
Conscientious and observant friends are a gift. As soon as we collided in Singapore, we couldn’t help but shake the resemblance to the Amazing Race, referencing it at critical moments to loosen the tension or celebrate small victories. I think we collectively realized how poorly things could have gone (Was this a couples trip with two friends? Or a girls trip with a boyfriend? How would everyone react to non-potable water and limited vegetarian food at every turn?), and how confidently we evaded the worst case scenarios. Getting to know the needs of those you think you know well is deceptively intimate. I love my friends so much more for those moments.
Sometimes they know you so well, that they plan what might be the most surprising birthday you’ve experienced to date. Our last evening in Bali was March 13th, otherwise known as my twenty-sixth birthday. All I wanted was some movement and some time outside. I got to wake up and run with Kelsi, reminding myself that I can still run double digit miles. We got to create our own cloth Batik paintings and practice yoga in an airy pavilion with Alo yoga mats and a woven roof. When in Bali, right?
I was told to be showered and ready by 6. Plastic water bottle in hand, I climbed into a cab with my friends, all dressed in the best island formalwear one could fit in a backpack. We drove for twenty minutes before pulling into a modern gray driveway, watching the sun sink below the rice paddies.
“Is this the kind of place where it would be lame to bring a plastic water bottle?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Kelsi confidently responded. I chugged the last sip, so unsure of where the evening would go.
Stepping out of the vehicle we were led into a greenhouse, down a stone path, and through double height ceilings, pocket doors, and hallways flanked by greenery, steel, concrete, and stone, all expertly and angularly placed around the view of the verdant rice paddy.
We followed our guide through masterfully organized kitchens and labs with endless jars of fermenting foods, sniffed herbs from a rooftop garden, and were seated in a library bar for our first exquisite course of the evening. Little did I know there were eighteen more on their way (and a dozen drink pairings). I stared back at my friends speechless, grateful, and in awe of what was occurring. In this moment, I felt unquestionably loved and celebrated.
This five hour dinner was a remarkable and poetic conclusion to an extraordinary and serendipitous trip: with the nicest backdrop, dressed in our finest, eating the most elaborate meal yet, we slowly admitted to each other that the day of silence spent romping around the villa might have been our favorite day of all. As it turns out, we can go halfway across the world only to discover that we simply enjoy spending time together, exotic locales and extravagant experiences aside (though scuba diving, fresh tamarind jam, warm bowls of dal, meandering walks through new cities, and charming ceramics certainly help).
Dare I say, companionship lies not in the destination but the journey we share together? And the snacks shared along the way? Gah!