"He said he’d shoot anyone I pointed at for $50"

No one talks about this, so it shocked me: the level of misogyny is so strong—and accepted—that it’s normal to be spat on or tripped by a man while walking down the street.

The police keep people in constant fear. Officers slap women and children on the street for no reason. Men get shoved into cars and never seen again. Our guide Jimmy was taken right outside our hotel while waiting for us. We spent hours arguing with two big men at the station who demanded $500 to let him go. We finally settled on $70. The holding cell had about 300 people, all covered in wounds, some literally dying. Jimmy spent two days in the hospital from the beatings. A year later, we helped him and his family move to England.

My Black colleagues weren’t allowed into clubs. I’m white but a fuller-figured woman, so locals mocked, teased, and even threw things at me daily on the street—sometimes spitting too. Making friends with locals was impossible; they really dislike foreigners.

I’m Hungarian-American, so not the typical loud, uninformed Yank, yet in Australia I was treated just like one. Americans are called “seppo,” short for “septic tank”—a harsh insult I heard every day. The disdain for Americans was so intense that after three months, I asked to be transferred.

I thought it was paradise, but it’s really a developing country. The beaches are beautiful, but the streets aren’t safe—robberies and sexual assaults happen often.

About safety: a uniformed man with an AK-47 stopped me on the street and said he’d shoot anyone I pointed at for $50.

My wife was groped multiple times on the street while I was right beside her. Once, we noticed about ten men following us, so we ran into a hotel where they called us a taxi.

Someone tries to sell you weed every five minutes, which gets unbearable after two days. If you buy, they tip off the cops, who arrest you and demand a fortune to let you go.

At a bar, I was suddenly punched in the jaw and kicked on the ground for minutes before attackers were pulled off. They said I "stole" a man’s girlfriend, though she came to dance with me. When I called the police, the bartender warned me everyone would say I started it. Two bouncers tried to escort me out, but I ran into the street shouting until enough witnesses showed up and they let me go. Paramedics treated my injuries, and the next day police took my statement at the embassy—but I could tell they didn’t care, even though the bar had cameras. Singapore’s safety reputation is famous, but now I know it’s because cases like this get ignored and don’t make statistics. I barely see out of my left eye now, and my balance is gone.

I worked there for six months. As an Eastern European, I was looked down on. My English colleague was openly hated due to our countries’ history, and even French-speaking Canadian coworkers were treated condescendingly. Rats run in the streets, and I never felt safe at night—such is Paris.

Photos: istockphoto.com