SEARCHING FOR BRAS IN THE FAR EAST

Sixteen years ago I sailed around the world with a single bra. If you don't wear a bra, try to imagine leaving for a 3 1/2 month voyage without something you need, that you wear everyday, particularly when traveling & hiking.

We embarked on the ship in Vancouver. Two hours before we set sail across the Pacific Ocean to Japan, I searched my suitcase for a bra. What the  ... Where were they? I emptied the suitcase & stared at the mound of clothes. No bras. Not a single one.

I shut my eyes & pictured my bedroom so far away. My bras were tucked inside a satin pouch on my dresser. Why, why had I set them aside? What madness had possessed me? There they were-- my lovely rainbow of bras in cotton, silk & satin-- & there they'd stay, serenely awaiting my return.

I had 2 hours to find more bras. With my 12 year-old son in tow, I raced to a downtown street, but for some reason, I found only 1 lingerie store that carried a handful of bras as an afterthought. Strange, sturdy little bras with a red, white & blue insignia in the middle that looked like a tiny Canadian Mountie. I bought 1. I'll buy more in Japan (I told myself).

Ten days & 3 typhoons later, we arrived in Osaka. I'd washed & changed my 2 bras everyday, but the harsh ship water had already faded the Mountie. As soon as I stepped on land, I went in search of a bra.

I can't explain the scarcity of bras in Osaka. Or Saigon. Or Penang. With my son at my side (sorry, Avi, hope I didn't scar you with this quest), I searched for what was apparently the most elusive item in Southeast Asia: a bra, size 36B.

Not huge, not tiny, but medium-- right? Average.

Not in Southeast Asia. Not 16 years ago, before Victoria whispered her Secret to the rest of the world. Back then, one of these stores would have seemed like a mirage:

A grim realization soon emerged. There were so few bras because the need didn't exist. By the time we arrived in Hong Kong, my 2 bras had lost their shape, the straps were fraying, & the Mountie looked like a grizzled old man. At this port, if no other, I'd find a bra. We docked at a shopping mall, for God's sake! And I had a handwritten note in Chinese: "Bra Store".

We made our way through colorful narrow streets crammed with people to a shop that indeed displayed lingerie in the window. I handed the saleslady my note. Behind a curtain, she & another woman examined me with a tape measure. After many fervent gestures & loud exclamations, one cried, "Ah! You need Queen Mama size!"

Me? Queen Mama?

With another Chinese note, & clutching my son's hand, I ventured down the chaotic streets, including one filled with birdcages & singing birds, to a tiny shop next to a man who sold squirming eels & squid.

An ancient woman read the note & nodded. She went into a back room & eventually returned with what appeared to be a small white knapsack, crisscrossed with bands & wires. "Queen Mama," she said proudly.

It gave me an odd shape, weirdly flat yet pointed, & was so tight she stretched it with a tool that reminded me of a dentist's probe.

Friends, I bought it. I'd have bought 2, but there was only the one, waiting in storage for Queen Mama to arrive.

I had many adventures during that voyage-- I crawled through the Cu Chi Tunnels, entered a Temple in Penang where the Priest threw a basket of live snakes at me, & dined in Saigon with a French woman who had spied during the war & whose young lover serenaded us with a mournful rendition of "Love Me Tender" on his guitar.

By the time we arrived in Italy, months had passed & I'd grown accustomed to my faithful 3 companions. We'd been through a lot together.

Ten minutes in Rome & I found a lingerie shop. Another 10 minutes, & I emerged with 2 shiny new bras. No Queen Mama, no Mountie. No giggling saleslady.

Almost too easy.

On my next voyage, I forgot to bring ... well, that's another story.

In a few hours I'll leave the US for 4 months. I stare down at my open suitcase.

I wonder what I'll be in search of this time.