The Expat-Socialite Wife Diary: Do I fit in?

Expat-Socialite Wife 1:  So where do you girls go for lunch?
Expat-Socialite Wife 2:  Well, here in Bangsar... I like La Bodega... Chilli's if the kids are with me...
Expat-Socialite Wife 3:  Oh, Alexis!   Plan B or Ben's also not bad.
Expat-Socialite Wife 1:  Where do you go for lunch, Mrs TM?
Me:  Oh, I go to the hawker centre on top of the car park near Bangsar Village 1!  You know, it was called Jolly Green or something before?  Anyway... I can  ta pau the chap fan for less than RM5!  Rice, meat, vege and tempeh!


(Complete silence and blank looks from all other wives)

Epic.

Fail.

Totally.

There is a reason for dress codes

I was reading this article about dress codes and boy, I fully agree.

About 2 weekends ago, our little family packed up and drove home to Mummy's hometown for my cousin's wedding. It's really cool now to see my generation - my cousins and hopefully my own brothers - start getting hitched. The wedding was in a nice restaurant in our little town and everyone was there. I remembered when I was little and my uncles and aunts were getting married. My grandparents would be there, carrying the littlest cousins around and showing them off to relatives. That day I sat there and watched my mother do exactly the same thing with our son.

I'd forgotten my glasses so I couldn't see more than 2ft from where I was sitting. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise because most of what I saw was so erm... weird... that I felt like dashing out to the car (which was parked quite a walk away) just to get my glasses so that I can verify that my eyes weren't playing tricks on me.

It's a WEDDING. Come on. Don't wear jeans. Don't wear miniskirts. Don't wear black-black clothes because my uncle is terribly pantang and would freak out. It wasn't just the guests who were guilty. The emcee from restaurant was wearing a long cardigan that just skimmed her bottom and fishnet stockings. People were wearing things like tights and long tunics. It was an afternoon wedding so no need to don the ball gowns but at least put on a decent dress. Dear Hubby said it was Hickstown Fashion Week.

I think the winner has to be the young lass who was wearing a lovely short cream lacey number... with black underwear for all to see. WAH. *covers Connor's eyes with my hands*

Seriously people. Get a clue.


Note: A small-town Chinese wedding (reception to you Westerners) is usually an 8-course banquet with VERY loud karaoke (guests are encouraged to get up and sing) and a very loud, bubbly hostess provided by the restaurant who will babble on and on saying properous things for the newlyweds. The wedding toast is very simple - lift your glass and yell YAMSENG! at the top of your voice. If you are puzzled, don't worry. My English husband still is... after 5 years of being part of a Chinese family.

An Indonesian wedding in Jakarta's Rumah Maroko

On Friday afternoon, Dear Hubby called to say we'd received an invite for a wedding of one of the partners in his company and he wanted very much to attend. OOH. I was pretty pleased because I wanted to experience what an Indonesian wedding was like. (Perhaps the word "Indonesian" here is not the correct one as Indonesia is very diverse. I think the wedding was Javanese in nature... not quite sure. I wanted to ask around but the music was so loud proper conversation wasn't possible.)


Anyway the invite said it was going to be held the next day in Rumah Maroko (Morocco House). By coincidence, the place was featured in that day's Jakarta Globe. Wah. Look very grand hor. Then it hit me - what on earth am I going to wear??? Although I've lost almost all of my pregnancy weight, I'm not back to the shape I was pre-baby and can't quite yet squeeze back into my old dresses. Luckily I'd kept a dress from my fat days (yes I was erm... chubby at one point in my life, so I know how it feels like to be not size 8 and not pregnant) and slipped it on. Loose but wearable. Phew. Moral of the story - forget not thy (fatty bum-bum) roots.


The next day, Madam Not-Quite-Yet-Fit-Back-Into-Old-Clothes Expat went off to get her hair done. I knew everyone would be glammed up for the event and I knew that I hadn't a hope of out-glamming the ladies of Jakarta but I had to look like at least I'd tried. And yes, dear readers, the hairdresser gave me a hairdo that made me look a little like those Jakartan high society Imelda Marcos lookalikes kik-koking in their high heels. I think Jakartan hairdressers only know one style of blow-dry. ;) Connor actually looked doutbfully at me when I arrived home and cuddled him so I knew I must look very different.


It was a 40 minute drive from our house in Kemang to Rumah Maroko in Menteng. The janur told us which street had the wedding party. A janur is an ornament woven out of coconut fronds and is usually placed at the entrance of the street where the wedding ceremony is taking place. I think my syntax is all wrong in that last sentence but I don't know how to fix it. Anyway.... it's just like the bunga manggar we have back home in Malaysia.


Wah. It was impressive - a white dome rising up above the rest of the houses lining the quiet street. We signed the guest book and entered Rumah Maroko. The corridor leads to a large room with a huge chandelier hanging from its ceiling and a trio of musicians playing Moroccan music in the corner. We are ushered through another door and it opens out to a set of steps which lead out to an open air courtyard. There was a buffet line in the courtyard and a live band was accompanying a female vocalist who was singing love songs. I looked up to see the night sky and a solitary cloud and looked downwards towards the guests.


Wah. WAH. W A H.

Look at all that hair, baby! Fuyoh... I bet LOTS of hairspray had been used! Looked like the set of a new game show - Who Wants To Be Imelda Marcos. I'm sure plenty of the attendees were Who's Who in Jakartan high society as our host is a society man but I hadn't the faintest idea who they were. Apparently Indonesian Tattler was there to cover the wedding but no one approached us to pose for photies. I guess they recognise hoi polloi when they see 'em. Maybe I should have asked the hairdresser for more hairspray.

The invite said the reception starts at 7pm but when we left at 9pm, there were people who were just arriving. According to our driver, this is perfectly acceptable in Indonesia. Our host, the groom, greeted us when we arrived and accepted our congratulations and urged us to have a bite to eat. We joined the queue at the buffet and tried a bit of everything. Okay.. I like a lot of things in Indonesia but one thing that has yet to win my heart is the cuisine.

Halfway through the reception, the groom disappeared and then re-appeared minutes later with his beautiful blushing bride (the only woman there beside me without big-big hair but then she had a head covering on) as the emcee announced their entrance. The happy groom then made a speech and we all clapped and cheered.

Then the karaoke started and we decided to leave. We'd brought Connor along, left him with the maid in a quieter part of Rumah Maroko and decided it was time to get him home. So we sought out our host to congratulate him again and said our goodbyes.

This was quite different from our own wedding. We had a traditional Chinese wedding and we spent most of the time sitting at our guest-of-honour table, doing the yamseng rounds and going up on stage for yamseng and cake-cutting. I barely got a bite to eat and never got to talk to any of our guests.

We had a good time and it was really our first night out together alone since Connor was born. Rumah Maroko is open for events such as weddings, birthday parties... perhaps a product launch? You can check out their website at www.morocco-andalucia.com

Happy Birthday, Indonesia!

Yesterday was Indonesia's 63rd Independence Day, so today's a public holiday here. Most people I know have taken advantage of the long weekend and gone off to Bali or Singapore for the long weekend. We stayed put for the weekend because we're due to fly off to the UK tomorrow for approximately 2 weeks to visit my in-laws.

What I wish for Indonesia... well, based on what I've seen here... I wish for the children of Indonesia more social equality, more opportunities to better themselves and a chance to improve their lives. I am sitting here in the McD's of Kemang where well-to-do children are enjoying a McD Happy Meal (something I rarely got to enjoy in my own childhood) and I am thinking of the street children who happily played football in the lane outside our compound with my hubby yesterday and wondering if they'd ever gotten into a McD, let alone tried a Happy Meal. Not that a Happy Meal is everything but I hope you get my drift.

It is interesting that the Jakarta Post (my daily paper) asked its readers to comment via SMS if they had a reason to celebrate or mourn on Independence Day with regards to the nation's affairs. I cannot imagine a similar thing happening in Malaysia on our Merdeka Day, some chief editor would lose his head, I'm sure!

Happy birthday, Indonesia. May you have many more.

Being Expat-ised 101: Social skills at expat parties

When I first started dating Dear Hubby, there wasn't much of a culture shock. After all, we two were mad Liverpool fans and therefore of one heart already, we knew exactly when we wanted to hold hands and exactly when we wanted to jump up and cheer, we loved eating dinner seated on the couch, plates on laps, eyes glued to Sportscenter on ESPN.
But when he started introducing me to his social circle, I suddenly realised that I had a whole new set of social skills to learn. All the social skills that had kept me going at mamak stall sessions suddenly didn't seem enough to survive an expat party!

So here we go, my first attempt at writing Being Expat-ised 101: Social skills at expat party (based on my own experience)

1. How do you do?
Strangely enough, I've yet to meet a Brit who says that despite what repeated viewings of My Fair Lady has taught me. I used to feel perplexed when I met new people - do I just shake hands or do I kiss them on the cheek or what? *blur* I've had embarrassing situations where people want to kiss/shake my hand and I end up trying to do the exact oppposite. Adoi.
What I've learnt is that ALWAYS LET THEM START THE GREETING. If they hold out their hand and the other arm is at their side, this means shake hands only, no kissy-kissy. If both arms come out, prepare for kissy-kissy but sometimes it doesn't happen, so don't lean your body in until they do. If kissy-kissy does happen, always wait for them to offer other cheek before attempting to mwah-mwah dahleeng! them on both sides of their faces.


2. Table manners
Numero Uno - learn how to chew with your mouth shut. It's so disgusting otherwise. Yuck.

And the cutlery. Oh god, where do I start? To this day, I can't tell the difference between a salad fork and the soup spoon. Last year in Scotland, I attended a series of company do's with Dear Hubby's Top-Top Boss. Very anxious not to make Dear Hubby look like an idiot at dinner, I'd actually checked up on cutlery and table etiquette online but of course, all of that flew out of my head once I sat down at table. As with saying hello, let others start first. If they pick up the fork on the left for the salad, do the same. So always take your time with your napkin while keeping your eyes peeled.
This backfired on me one day when EVERYONE took their time with their napkins and insisted ladies started eating first. I was like, "SHIT! Cannot la!" This is where you must trumpet your Asian superiority to cover up for your ignorance and so I picked up a random fork and said in my most charming voice, "You know... we Chinese just have one type of chopstick, none of this salad fork and butter knife thing - how on earth do you Brits keep track of it all?" And then it turned out that these Brits weren't too sure either and one of them admitted, "I just watch what others do actually." Alamak.

3. Watch your drink
If you're like me, you'll probably manage a max of 3 vodka lemonades before you get extremely sociable and happy. So be careful, watch your drink. This is not the mamak stall where 10 teh ais won't do anything except keep you awake all night. Mix your own drink if you can at parties or tell your host exactly how you like your drink. You won't remember you were being an asshole but everyone else will. Always eat some fat before you drink, it helps slow down the absorption of alcohol into your body. If you're really worried about your drink, do what I do sometimes - pop some innocent, small mints into those little meds bags you get from the docs. Once you arrive at the party, ask for a glass of water and in full view of everyone, pop your "medication". Then announce you are on painkillers/antibiotics and can't drink. Ta-dah!!!

I hope this is of some help to any aspiring SPG reading this. :)))

(For definition of SPG, go here)

What's it like being an expat wife?

I met up with my bunch of girlfriends on Sat for brunch. We're quite a close bunch, we'd all worked in the same company, suffered through endless Budget Reviews and meetings together, had tiffs with Legal and Sales together and so have come to formed a sisterhood, bound together by our mutual corporate suffering.

They've all continued on with their careers, some have moved on to different companies, I'm the only one who has opted out of the rat race. I was asked, "So what's it like being an expat wife?" Erm.. very hard to say... as I've never been any other type of wife, so I don't have a basis for comparison. Hee.

I think most people confuse expat wives with tai-tais. Tai-tais are wives of the wealthy, they have real money, they can really afford to spend their days doing nothing but going to spas, pedicures, manicures and salons. They can afford to waltz into designer boutiques and waltz out with bags and bags of merchandise. They get chauffeured around in lux cars that actually belong to them and play mahjong with gold-plated mahjong tiles. Okay, maybe I'm wrong about the last bit.

Expat wives are different. We find ourselves in unfamiliar foreign countries as we follow our husbands, often left alone with the children while hubby works hard at the office. Sometimes we get lucky and end up in a country where hubby gets a driver, nice housing allowance and maids. Then we get to be a little bit like tai-tais but it only lasts till hubby's next posting.
I don't know about other expat wives but I certainly don't have an endless budget to spend on bags and clothes and what-nots. Staying expat means a chance to save up as much as we can just in case hubby gets sent to expensive Europe and UK to work and pouf! - there goes all our money.

Expats tend to stick together because it's convenient and it's a relief to see others who know what you're going through. It can be quite lonely when you arrive in a new town and you don't know a single person, you miss home and all the familiarity of it and when you find people who are in the same boat, you find that you attach yourself to this group. You identify with them. I do see some expats try to make friends with locals but it can be difficult sometimes with the cultural and language gaps. Sometimes it works... like Dear Hubby made friends with me, the local in KL, and we ended up getting married! Haha!

Some expat wives work, some don't. Most of those I know fill their time by volunteering at local charities and at the schools their children go to, so it's not exactly as if they all spend their time sipping margeritas by the pool. I know of some who love the adventure and travel but I also know of those who get so homesick that hubby has no choice but to ask for a transfer back to their home country.

I'm approaching our stint in Jakarta positively, I take this as a chance to see another city, experience something different. I'm aware I could get quite bored in Jakarta if I can't find things to do but I've made the choice to follow Dear Hubby, so I'll make the best of it!

The bold and the beautiful of Jakarta

When I was wandering around in Senayan City, Jakarta, I got to observe the bold and the beautiful of Jakarta for the very first time. These are the rich elite of Jakarta, most of whom live in Pondok Indah (or so S tells me). Since I was shopping in Senayan City at around 2pm on a weekday, it was safe to say most of the Jakarta's middle class would have been at work and not wandering around with me, which would explain why I only saw a certain type of Jakartan lady out and about.

What are they like?

Without exception, they all have big hair. I mean like, BIG. If a scientist were to analyse the cause of the accumulation of CFCs in the earth's atmosphere, I hope he has taken into account the CFCs released in the vicinity of Jakarta from the excessive use of hairspray. No wonder they all gave me sniffy looks because I favour a sleeker look and my slightly allergic skin doesn't allow me to spray this and that on my hair. I can get the poufy look, no problem... but it will be accompanied by some kind of flaking as well!

At 2pm in the afternoon, all of them are carefully dressed and bejewelled and powdered and moisturised and made up as if they were on their way to a glamourous formal dinner. And they may well have been, how was I to know. For some reason, a lot of them favoured a rather gaudy look. Perhaps they are thinking more is better! Who am I to argue since I probably have less than one-thousandth of the money they spent monthly on clothes.

This particular species of Jakartan has its signature sound. If you hear the kik-kok-kik-kok of expensive high heels, you will know that a magnificent specimen is about to enter your sphere of existence. They have clearly made their choice of style over comfort when it comes to shoes.

They are usually trailed by their daughters, who are mini-versions of themselves or a maid, who is assigned the role of carrying all the shopping bags. When I was waiting for S to pick me up at the end of my jalan-jalan session, I watched expensive car after expensive car pull up at the entrance and the doors would open to reveal a glittering member of this species of Jakartan. Made me feel like I was a journalist at the Oscars awaiting the arrival of the big name movie stars.

I'd sat down at the Coffee Bean outlet in the basement to rest my aching back for a bit and had a good time observing them. I can't imagine why they're all so dressed up in the afternoon. I bet if they saw the usual crowd at KLCC or Pavilion, they would be thinking we are such slobs. They all looked like versions of Imelda Marcos really, so one might imagine that Senayan City was being taken over by clones of the Original Shoe-aholic.

I wonder what they thought of me in my jeans, tee and Nikes. Flat hair too! *shock, horror, gasp!* Well anyway, as a friend of mine suggested, "Maybe you'll come back to KL next time with big hair because maybe that's all the Jakartan hairdressers know!" God forbid.

Social life in Jakarta for expat wives

Actually, I'm wondering what I'm going to do in Jakarta. Back home in KL, I have friends that I can call up for a lunch or a meet. Now what?

I do not fit the profile of the other expat wives that are in our social circle. They are mainly British, in their mid to late 40s (I think! God.. I hope they don't kill me for exposing their ages! Hehe), some of them have children in the home and most seem to be able to drink quite a bit without falling over. I am, er... okay lah.. in my early 30s, we're still working on getting a baby and I get really happy after a drink or two. While I do enjoy their company and learning the "British way of life" from them, sometimes I feel as if I'm a tropical fish in a sea full of er... cod. (It's the only northern fish I know)

So I'm wondering if I can make friends with the locals but they all seem to be either a) glamourous and rich and snooty and use tons of hairspray b) the maids

I checked out the British Women's Assoc for a lark. They have Full and Partial membership. Full members are either British nationals or spouses of British nationals. Oh. That's me then. Spouse of British national. Then I took a look at their activities and it listed things such as "...bridge, sewing, Scottish country dancing..."

I think I'll just run off with the young handsome pool boy.

Sights: Monkey man outside a mansion

While out house-hunting last Saturday, we saw this. It was a street performer with his little monkey. The guy had a few wooden props for the monkey to "act" with. In the picture, the monkey is carrying a barbell and from time to time, he would stop and lift the weights like he's in the gym! Just as our car pulled away, the man tossed the monkey another prop; it was a machine gun. I looked back just in time to see the little monkey pick up the gun and point it at the car behind us. Too funny.

What made me somewhat sad was the street performer was sitting right outside this huge building. Check out the eagle at the top of building! It was huge!

You see it so often in Jakarta, the haves and the have-nots side by side physically but in reality, they are worlds apart.