I had planned to go out for a breakfast donut before leaving for the airport, but, packed and ready, I changed my mind. I was cool and clean, and after a trip around the corner I would be hot and sticky. So I took an air-conditioned taxi to K.L. Sentral Station (also air-conditioned) and the brand-new KLIA Express delivered me to the airport in half the time the bus would have taken (but for RM 35 instead of RM 20). In time, in fact, for me to switch to an earlier flight. This was obviously standard practice -- I took a numbered slip from a special machine, and headed for counter L7. I was surprised, but pleased, to find that despite my economy class boarding pass I was seated in business class. I even checked to
make sure that numbering didn't start over in economy. On a 40 minute flight there was no food, of course, but I appreciated the extra space.
At Singapore airport big signs (in English) described the options for reaching town, in ascending order of cost: bus, train, shuttle, taxi, London taxi or limo. I opted for the shuttle and was whisked into town at up to 70 m.p.h. along a flower-bordered highway. A faintly blue sea, dotted with big ships, was just visible beyond a golf course to my left, high rise apartment buildings rose to my right and spawned others, some with quaint pagoda-style tops. My hotel (the Inn at Temple Street) was in a Chinatown again, but a Chinatown restored and prettied up. In a renovated shop-house, my room had heavy wooden furniture, and the adjoining bathroom was decorated with cream and green tiles. Downstairs the dining room was brightened by long mirrors, and floor-level blue light panels. I noticed the use of mirrors in other shop houses, doubling the apparent space in the long, narrow buildings. The simplicity of black and white color schemes also helped.
K.L. was clean, but Singapore was cleaner. the streets were immaculate. Of course, we all remember the penalty for graffiti, right? Littering will cost you S$1,000. I can't imagine the penalty for urinating in the street, so common in India. The only place I saw litter, ironically, was on Changi beach, along the water line. Further up the beach blue litter bags formed a regimented line. Even the industrial parks looked clean. Although I saw some single family and semi-detached homes further out, it looked like most people lived in high rises, with shops and cafes on the ground floor and covered bus stops just outside. Most of the buildings looked freshly painted -- unlike Malaysia, where dingy concrete prevailed.
High rise hotels and glitzy shopping malls crowded together downtown. The island is quite big, but I could imagine it groaning under the weight of glass and concrete. Of course, if global warming raises the sea level by much, the whole place will disappear.
Getting around was quite easy, and will be even easier when the new northeast subway line opens in December. I bought an EZ-Link card (S$5 deposit, minimum S$10 value) -- a smart card you just tap on a pad at the start and end of a ride on either train or bus. The deposit and any unused value are refundable. As in K.L. the underground stations had glass walls and doors between the platform and the tracks, with mosaics or painted lines indicating where doors would open. For once my guide book helped with buses -- I matched the numbers of those going to Chinatown with those going to my destination. As a last resort there were taxis, but they were hard to find. I did a lot of walking, my blister stayed with me and my feet started complaining. I planned a "down" day instead of taking the ferry to Kusu Island for a Taoist festival, but then I went to Changi prison for the World War II prison museum and (reproduction) chapel. It was short on actual exhibits, relying mostly on photos, the guides, and a video, but still grim. I hadn't realized that much of the civilian Chinese population had been massacred when Singapore fell.
Singapore is known for its fabulous food, and I duly indulged. I started with fried noodles at my hotel, and wondered why people that choose to eat with chopsticks also eat so many noodles... At one extreme I ate chicken rice in a food court for S$3, at the other I splurged on a three-course spread with wine at an Italian restaurant for S$80. (Since 13% tax and a 5-10% service charge are added to the bill, it's easy to run the price up). While there were Chinese restaurants in Chinatown, there was also a "foreign" section -- Japanese, Javanese, Brazilian, French and the aforementioned Italian. There the salad, with greens, mozzarella and anchovies was delicious, but the wine and truffle sauce, while good in itself, overwhelmed the sole it was supposed to accompany. The piece de resistance was dessert -- zabaglione. In the U.S. zabaglione seems to be a strange kind of custardy cake, but in Europe, and now in Singapore, it is a delicate, delectable pale brown Marsala-flavored froth that any self-respecting god would be happy to call nectar. I savored every spoonful, slowly. (I have been known, in desperation, to make zabaglione myself, but it is, like risotto, labor-intensive.)
I also indulged in high tea at the in the high-ceilinged, white-columned Tiffin Room at the Raffles Hotel. The savories came from both east and west, but the desserts were strictly western. After raspberries and cream I devoured scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream -- my arteries cringed but my taste-buds swooned. The Tiffin Room was across the lobby from the Writer's Bar, but I imagine few writers could afford to stay at the Raffles today since rates start at S$650 a night. The Somerset Maugham and Noel Coward suites run S$950. And I doubted that it added to the ambiance to have the lobby continually invaded by hot and sweaty tourists eager to have their photos taken.
I had planned to stay four days in Singapore -- a compromise between what there was to see, and the cost of staying there (I had found a good deal on the Internet on my elegant and atmospheric hotel, but it still sent my daily average way up.) I started with a bum-boat ride round the harbor -- cool breezes and high-rise hotels and businesses -- which also took care of the City of Lion's signature statue, the merlion -- fish tail, lion's head, energetically spewing water. The boat dropped me at Clark Quay, a heavily restored tourist trap. Across the river Boat Quay is similarly restored, but filled with restaurants instead of shops.
That evening I made the trek out to the zoo -- an hour by train and bus -- for the Night Safari, featuring nocturnal animals. I rode the tram, walked a few trails, and especially admired the tigers.
The next day I moved on to shop houses and temples -- a particularly ornate Chinese temple kept me occupied for some time photographing intricate paintings and gilded carvings. Little India was celebrating Navarathiri (Singapore's version of Durga Puja) with evening music and dance, and preparing for Deepavali (aka Diwali). It also provided the best masala dosa and lassi I'd had since India, even though the dosa was called thosai.
I spent so long in the Asian Civilizations Museum that the guard asked me if I was doing research. No -- I was just enjoying the wonderful Peranakan costumes, jewelry and furniture. The Peranakans, or Straits Chinese, are descended from the first wave of Chinese immigrants and the local Malays: the men are known as babas and the women as nyonyas, and nyonya cuisine is a local specialty.
I cooled off in the underground City Link mall. I people-watched along the shoppers' heaven known as Orchard Road, where I noticed an odd new fashion -- faded lines down the front and back of denim skirts and pants -- but happily none of the baggy pants mysteriously still "in" in the U.S.
I'm not a shopper, so the superabundance of shops was no attraction to me, but as in K.L. it would be easy to spend a fortune. (Of course, I splurged on food instead.) Price differences were extreme -- S$4.50 for half a liter of "smart" water in the Raffles City Mall, or S$1-2 for one and a half liters of purified water in Chinatown.
I enjoyed Singapore, but it was just too clean and tidy and prettified. Like Disneyland, it felt a little unreal. An expat Aussie I met in Melaka felt the same, saying: "Asians live there, but it isn't Asia." Or maybe it's the future of Asia?
After four days I caught an almost-empty express bus north to Melaka.
Originally sent from Tanah Rata, Malaysia, Oct. 14th about Singapore, Oct. 6-9, 2002
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