We step off the plane and into the humid Singapore air exhausted. We had awoken in NY more then 27 hours before and taken a subway, a train, and two flights including the 14.5 hour monster from NY to Hong Kong merely to get where we stood. We still had to make our way through immigration control and customs before finding the metro that would ultimately lead us to the hostel- a daunting task at this arduous hour.
Compounding our feelings was the fact that before we left NY we were required to sign a release form through Cathay Pacific stating that we were fully liable for any return airfare should we be disallowed into Singapore. Word on the street is that Singapore officials sometimes deny entry to persons who do not have a confirmed round-trip ticket. Walking through the terminal I feel confident that we will be let through with no problems (getting the benefit of the doubt is one of the few benefits of traveling the world as an American), however, Jon's constant threats to kill me should we be denied entry did nothing to soothe my creeping uneasiness.
We eventually make our way into the country, through customs, to the metro, and speed wearily into the heart of the glittering metropolis. Disembarking the metro we stagger the 4 blocks down to the hostel, encumbered by fatigue and our backpacks we have not yet become accustomed to. We check in, rather uneventfully, save for the fact that only cash is accepted. We trudge up the three flights of stairs to our room and hastily dump our belongings and make for the showers.
The showers are outside of the air conditioned dorm-room oasis, but that is not the feature that strikes me hardest. I survey the stalls containing the shower apparatus and one element nearly sends me reeling- the shower is in the toilet. Or rather, there is a toilet in the shower. I had encountered this back when traveling SE Asia with an ex-girlfriend in the mid-2000's, however, it had completely slipped my mind until this moment. To save space and presumably piping, in many places in SE Asia, the shower paraphernalia is located in the immediate vicinity of the toilet. As such, when you take a shower you are guaranteed to hose down any and everything within a reasonable proximity (in this case the sink, toilet, and all toilet paper). As my father so eloquently put it, this set up "gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'shit and a shower.'"
I battled through the mental remorse of spraying down a day's worth of toilet paper and mustered just enough energy to collapse on my bunk. I didn't have enough left in the tank to notice but apparently the Malay guys in our room had never heard the phrase "close the door or were you raised in a barn?" Actually, I'm not sure that's even a real phrase... I'll have to defer to my mom's knowledge on the subject. Regardless, unbeknownst to me but according to Jon, these clowns come in and out all night leaving the door (which was coincidentally right next to our beds) gaping to freely allow the 85 degree heat and 100% humidity to wash over us like a tsunami of relentless discomfort.
The next morning I find myself mobile at the ripe hour of 8am. I traverse the stairs to the roof terrace to check email and other goings on. From here I snap a shot of the Arabic quarter of Singapore in the early morning light and universal cloud cover.
A few hours later Jon makes his appearance in his "mosquito proof" outfit and I can't help myself from laughing. I hand him my Fidel Castro Jameson hat and take a photo of him looking out at Singapore. He has the air of a young Safari guide or bush prop pilot you might see wasting the day away under an umbrella at some dirt airfield near Alice Springs.
As we stroll through the neighborhood later that day I can't help but think how much Arab Street reminds me of New Orleans. It's not so much the booze, obviously, but more the look and feel. And if you're interested in the booze, look in one of the side alleys off the main drag- it's one of the many thumping night life areas in Singapore.
I tell Jon I'm taking him on the basic tour of Singapore. We walk from Arab Street down to the Colonial district. We see the bay, we see the Boat Quay. From there we spot a unique building that appears to be a cruise ship marooned on top of three skyscrapers.
Downtown Singapore looms large. It feels like New York. A sweltering barely breathable mutation of New York that's somehow more clean, more efficient, and all the glitz with none of the grime. I'm immediately struck with how impressive it looks and how oppressive it can feel. It's so safe, so sterile, at times it feels more stifling than the choking humidity.
We seek brief refuge along the Boat Quay. I tell Jon it's one of the most scenic river fronts he will see in Asia. It reminds me of some of the more picturesque river sides in Europe. Except older, and newer, and cleaner, and dirtier- if that makes any semblance of sense. I can't help thinking how much I love Singapore and how much it frightens me. And how much I'm sweating... why is it so hot here? That dirty ruffian equator.
We stroll through Chinatown. It's decked out in yellow paper and red lanterns for Chinese New Year. It's the year of the snake, that seems so appropriate. Over any of the old buildings you can see the towering skyscrapers of downtown.
Jon makes an attempt at photography at a Hindu temple. This is the result.
A Buddhist temple, anime/action figure mall, and Chinatown hawker booth and we are heading north again. I have a new bracelet- my first of the Asia venture. It's hot and the Tiger beers from the hawker shop are doing little to quench our thirst. We make hay for the Raffles Hotel, the most famous in Singapore and one of the most famous in the World. We press directly for the legendary Long Bar the origin of the Singapore Sling, one of my all time favorite drinks, albeit a bit sweet in these my more advanced years.
We settle in. The prices have surged from exorbitant on my last visit to downright unbearable. We have our obligatory slings, gobble our mini-peanuts with gusto, and make for higher more palpable ground.
Singapore is a great city. It's known for many things: commercial industries, heat & humidity, western influence, great "street" food (now mostly in malls or food courts), blend of cultures, and mega-malls. We feel them all in full force within the first two days.
We move, we sweat. We sit, we sweat. We eat, we sweat. We drink, you guessed it, we sweat. Our first six meals are: Pepper Lunch (Japan), Mos Burger (Japan), Hawker noodles & dumpling soup (China), Chili Crab (Singapore), Char Kway Teow (Singapore/Malaysia), and the Pizza Hut Good Fortune Pizza (USA via Singapore). We are culture, we are full.
One of the main past times in Singapore is going to the mall and seeing a movie (there is a theater in every mall of note). Night one we see Journey to the West. It's everything that's great and terrible with Chinese slapstick comedies. Night three we see Die Hard V, only all of the serious curse words are dubbed over with the phrase "Chia-pet" which completely transforms the film from a rowdy action bonanza to more of a cheezy made-for-TV buddy comedy. The theaters are extremely loud and bitterly cold. Jon thinks it's to stop the spread of disease. I think it's to keep people from falling asleep... or perhaps to discourage theater vagrancy.
Singapore goes smoothly. Things rock to the beat as anticipated with minimal exceptions. Someone steals my sandals but inexplicably returns them. Jon needs a Hep B booster, I get an eye infection. The Malays continue to let the heat in and the beat goes on. Nights roll away; we see more malls. A building from Fritz Lang's Metropolis towers over our neighborhood. The heat presses us, daring us to submit. We see the Merlion, we meet up with girls, we drink Tiger beers, and we agree if it wasn't for the heat, humidity and prices we'd move to Singapore.
It feels good to be somewhere familiar, even somewhat so. It's a luxury I've rarely had in my Wanderlust adventures. We eat, we drink, we sleep, we roam, we watch, we interact, and we survive. And then, just like that, we must move on. We have a train to Malaysia, best not keep it waiting. We move with confidence. We've housed the Fortune Pizza. Let good fortune rain. Our luck is changing for the better...
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