What I did on my holidays

This year we were fortunate enough to be invited to Singapore.  My brother and sister in law live there.  He's something to do with banking.  As an added incentive, they told us that they had tickets for us to the Singapore Formula 1 Grand Prix.  The Boss and I are both fans (but clearly not REAL fans.  More of that later) and couldn't miss the opportunity to attend Singapore's first ever GP, the first ever Formula 1 night race and only the second GP to be held in Asia (Malaysia being the first).  So we accepted the offer and off I went trawling the net to find the best flight deals.

Our adventure started the moment that we left home.  I'm one of those irritating people that insists on switching everything off when we go on a trip.  All non essential plugs were pulled from their sockets; including the refrigerator!  I remembered this little action as we were sitting on the train taking us to Heathrow (London) airport.  I was not Mr Popular for a while. We just had to accept that by the time that we got home the fridge would probably have alien life forms in it and that nice piece of cheese might well be past its best!

I hadn't flown long haul for a few years.  I used to travel regularly for work, but latterly those trips tended to have been within Europe.  I also discovered that my passport was valid for five months and twenty five days.  "So what" you say.  Singapore requires there to be at least six months left on a valid passport for entry.  Being prone to over reaction, you will appreciate that my angst was at peak levels as we headed for check in at the Singapore Airlines desk.  We had prepared for them to respond negatively.  The Boss would continue out to Singapore whilst I came home, at least I could have switched the fridge back on, retrieved whatever is needed for a new passport.  Then headed back to London to the Passport Agency.  Queued all day; and if I was lucky received a new passport in my hand the same day.  Then it was simply a matter of changing flight and I'd be off to Singapore too.  With this in mind it was with some trepidation that I approached the check in desk.  The lady took my passport, glanced at it and said "I've only got a centre and aisle seats left".  I wanted to kiss her.  Surely they'd not let me fly all that way if there was no chance that I'd be let in at the other end?

Twelve hours ten minutes on a Jumbo jet is not the longest flight ever.  But it felt like it.  We flew overnight, what is so accurately termed "The Redeye".  We were seated near the rear of the aircraft conveniently close to the toilets.  Convenient for everyone else, as for much of the flight I found myself beside folk of all shapes and sizes waiting their turn to do whatever comes naturally.  There is nothing like the excitement of "Mr Six Brandy and cokes" finally lumbering to his feet and breathing pure alcohol fumes over you as his bladder screams for release but can't as there are five people in front of him.  On such flights there is also a need for a little leg stretching at times.  Nothing too strenuous - although I did once play a game of cricket in the rear of a German military transport aircraft - a simple stroll around the cabin will do.  There is always someone however, who has to go one better.  A middle aged man decided to practice Tai Chi or whatever it's called.  In the cramped confines of the cabin it is not possible to be quite as physical as might be the case in one's lounge or garden.  Our man hadn't quite grasped this fact and proceeded to smash one foot then the other into any stray piece of luggage, trolly, drinking glasses or passing passenger that got in his way.  You will understand I'm sure that these acts endeared him to us all.  

At last we arrived.  Time to worry about immigration.  Singapore enjoys a reputation of being something of an intolerant state towards wrong doers.  We'd already been informed on our immigration forms that if we trafficked in drugs we would probably be hanged!  So not only did I have to fret about my passport, I now had to worry about the new packet of Ibuprofen headache tablets that I had.  Would these get me a stretch at the end of a short rope?  Caned or imprisoned at least.  I don't know about you, but whenever I go through customs I feel that a large neon light illuminates above my head and says "GUILTY"!!  I approached immigration feeling that this was it, shortly I'd hear the snapping of latex gloves and places that are not meant to be visited by anyone apart from perhaps my doctor would be given a thorough examination.  So consumed was I by such thoughts that I barely noticed the cheerful and smiling immigration lady (yes, I said cheerful, smiling and immigration all in the same sentence) who took my proffered passport, found a clean page and stamped "Valid for 30 days" in it.  She wished me a good holiday and I was through.  Hooray!!

My B/SIL were there to meet us.  Being the debonair Englishman that I am I was wearing light chinos, a thickish short sleeved shirt and a lightweight jacket.  The 33 (92 F) degree heat completely poleaxed me and in a second I went from smart to soggy.  The air conditioned taxi was a welcome relief from my approximately 45 seconds exposed to Singapore heat and I resolved to change into something more comfortable the minute that we arrived.

The first thing that struck me as we drove away from the airport at Changi (more of Changi and it's sad history later) was how broad the freeway was and how beautifully landscaped with sealing wax palm trees (no I don't know why they're called Sealing wax.  Maybe that's what they were used for) and what I think were Bougainvilleas with pretty orange blossom lining the roads.  This soon changed though as we entered the outskirts of Singapore itself with its rows of apartment blocks interspersed with old colonial houses and headed for the little cul de sac that was to be our home for the next fourteen days.

My SIL loves bright colours so I was not too surprised to see that the outside of their house was a subtle shade of orange!  I also noticed that there were bars at all the windows. Apparently burglaries don't happen often - whilst we were there a break in and theft from a car made the national news - but it is not unheard of.  Better safe than sorry.

Our room was large, air conditioned and had a small balcony.  The view from which was the rear of a brothel!  I wasn't allowed to go over and investigate but we did meet some of the girls over the following nights as they left the premises for a smoke.  Meeting them was just so desperately sad.  Barely a single one seemed over the age of 20 - our own daughter is 19.  Mostly from other countries and working in the only way that they could to send money home to their families who probably thought that they all were maids in the houses of rich Singaporeans and the many ex-pats that live there.

That evening my SIL cooked our first and last home cooked meal of the visit.  This is not a comment on her cooking, she's very good, but why cook when you have a series of restaurants offering good and cheap food on every corner?  But that night we were beat and struggled to stay awake after our flight.

The following day we headed out for our first adventure.  We went into town and after a sumptuous lunch beside the Singapore River, we climbed aboard a river boat to see the centre of the city from the water.  Singapore is an eclectic and marvelous mix of old and new architectural styles.  In the 18th century Sir Stamford Raffles persuaded the local chief to let the British lease the island which at that time was mostly jungle as a way for us to get a toe hold on the spice and silk trade that was mostly monopolised by the Dutch.  They were extremely upset with the British for this action and in retaliation we stopped wearing clogs, banned mice from living in British windmills and made Ajax a cleaning powder rather than a football team.  Even today, secondary jungle is never far away.  Raffles set up a trading post which has grown over the centuries to the commercial powerhouse that Singapore now is. From the river however, everything looked peaceful and prosperous.  Huge skyscrapers - proclaiming the names of banks familiar and not so familiar - towered over old shophouses. These are open shops downstairs with apartments above where the owner and his family live(d).  These are mostly restaurants today.  For most of the trip we were the only passengers and could spread ourselves out to get all the best vantage points for our photographs. Singapore was preparing for the GP so everywhere we could see grandstands and the extensive lighting network that would allow for the night race.  In the mouth of the river, Marina Bay we saw the famous Merlion.  A mythical creature half lion and half fish that is Singapore's national emblem.  He is possibly the most photographed image and we contributed to that by taking a few shots of him as he spewed forth water from the bay below.  Moving back upriver we came across the Fullerton Hotel.  Formerly the central post office it is now a luxurious hotel.  Inside you walk over a bridge below which lies a large pond filled with Koi Carp.

That night we ate our first Singaporean meal.  We found a chinese restaurant where we could sit out on the street and watch diners and passers by.  Singapore has three principal cultures - Malay, Indian and Chinese - all these are represented everywhere and each has an area of the city designated just for them.  The plates just kept coming.  Beef, pork and chicken in bean sauces.  Gorgeous livid green vegetables and my favourite, fried baby squid.  These were hard and in a soy sauce, almost toffee like and luscious.  I'm happy with chopsticks so I wasted no time in getting to grips with these little delights.  Steamed rice and large bottles of Tiger beer helped to ease the whole lot down and I was a very happy boy.

I'm not going to give you a blow by blow account.  If you've got this far then I salute you.    But it was on our second full day that I decided to have a pair of linen shorts made for me.  We went up to see my BIL's tailor in Holland Village, a solidly ex-pat area where the local accent is mostly Australian with a little German thrown in.  Now these two great nations are united by one major item - BEER!  Holland Village has a street of bars from which the gentle cries of "For F*cks sake Mate; and noch ein Bier" echo down the lanes.  We joined them later in a few gentle beers followed by a bill the size of the cost of the Federal bail out package.  

Mr R**, my genial tailor is very tall for an Indian and looks like a cross between a pirate and an olympic runner.  He had a close cropped beard and smile wide enough to walk on.  In a matter of seconds I had looked at linen, selected one, been measured and my details were on their way to the tailor.  All I had to do was come back in 48 hours time and pick them up.  I paid my deposit and left.  Let's fast forward to the moment of collection.  Mrs R** served me as he was busy with another customer.  She ushered me into the smallest changing room and I put the shorts on.  They felt somewhat slack about the waist.  However, she called me out so that she could see me in them.  I walked out, they fell down,  leaving me in my underwear in full view of the passing shoppers.  "They're a little on the large size" I ventured.  She made it clear that she could see that.  At this point her husband rushed over from the other side of the store.  "Who measured this man?" he said.  "You did" she replied.  As a husband I recognise and sympathise with the crushing drop in ego that follows such a statement, but in this case she was right.  I picked up the fitting, finished article a day later.

So now I am every inch the suave, sophisticated visitor.  We headed for the Zoo!  In the UK we have zoos and we have Wildlife Parks.  The former have an unfounded reputation for being somewhat dull whilst the latter tend to belong to a stately home owner desperately trying to meet the cost of tax and leaking taps.  In Singapore however, the Zoo is magnificent.  We went at night when the whole thing tuns into a night safari.  It started with a boisterous dance involving fire eating and acrobatics by the residents of a Malay village (more likely a towering apartment block).   These agile and near naked young men were assisted by three of the most bored looking young female dancers. Their heavily beaded scarlet dresses making up a little for the otherwise dull and less than enthusiastic efforts that they put into their dancing.  We resisted the Bongo Burger restaurant although I was tempted to stick my tired feet into a tank of Doctor Fish who would chew contentedly on any dead skin that I might have lurking there. 

Soon we were loaded onto a little electric tram and taken deep into the forest where we were truly amazed to see nocturnal animals happily doing their stuff for us.  It was a magical experience and my only regret is that my camera chose this moment to misbehave.  As a result I only have dark and blurred images.  However, we saw lions and tigers.  Elephants came right up to us.  A giraffe examined us closely and three hippos, lying in a muddy pool ignored us in the way only something that is bigger and more contented than you can.  We enjoyed it so much that by means of a little deception, we did the whole trip again!!  I even had a fruit bat look for dandruff on my head.  I like to think that he left unsuccessful. he was big, I know that.  On the way out we found a couple of pythons dozing on a branch.  The previous day the Boss had come across a python in the city and had worn him around her shoulders, persuading me to join in. Of course she had to get a photo of these latest serpents.  This is a side to her that I've not seen before.  I hope that she's not got any ideas of buying a snake at home.

Earlier that day my BIL and I visited Changi Museum and the Kranji War Cemetary.  Changi prison was where thousands of Allied service personnel and civilians were imprisoned during WW2.  Their treatment at the hands of their Japanese captors makes for very sobering and sad reading.  Their Indian and Chinese prisoners fared even worse if that is possible, being systematically slaughtered on the beaches on the eastern side of Singapore.  I happily confess to shedding a tear or two for those brave but hapless people who were beaten, starved and tortured, men, women and children, during those years.  Standing at the beautifully maintained Kranji Cemetery later on, one can only marvel at the sacrifice that they made.  We should never forget what they gave for us.

Back to food.  Singapore is a very clean and healthy place.  You can drink the water and even food sold on the roadside is prepared to a high standard of hygiene.  Off we went to Samy's Indian restaurant.  Here you are served you food on banana leaves and you eat with your fingers - unless you ask for cutlery.  Did we?  Oh alright, yes we did.  Rather than bringing you a menu, your waiter brings various dishes to the table and asks if you're interested.  Now western eyes being bigger than their bellies we naturally said yes to everything included something that was described as "dry lamb".  I am highlighting this dish because it was one of those mysteries that you can never quite say exactly what it was.  Meat for sure.  Dry, but not biltong like, coated in pure spice hell.  I do not know what it was seasoned with.  I do know that it burnt the lips and the mouth.  Each piece a burning hell as it traveled deep inside us.  But it was delicious. As a result of this noxious and enchanting food the following 24 hours was, apart from boiled rice and Kaolin and Morphia, a food free zone for me.  Whilst shares in toilet tissue raised considerably!  However, I can honestly say that Samy's was a gastronomic treat, just a shame that the inner P1ke couldn't cope with it.

Now we headed for the markets.  I said earlier about the three main cultures.  Throw three religious festivals, one for each of them, into the mix and you have a very vibrant and exotic experience.  Especially at night.  For some time I had been hearing about Hari Rai.  Now I thought that maybe he was a local celebrity, apparently not (there was one that was a 17th century warrior I think).  In fact this is the term used as part of the Ramadam festival.  Largely characterised by music and markets from what I can see.  But nothing wrong with that.  I loved the hustle and bustle of these markets as absolutely anything and everything is on sale.  Gorgeous fabrics in brilliant colours overlaid with gold and silver. Artisan crafted wooden and metal ornaments.  Fancy an elephant in teak?  You can buy one there.  Acres of clothes from the most exotic saris and Indian tunics through to contemporary western fashions.  Shoes by the ton and I have never seen so many sandals (I'd just bought some but was sorely tempted to buy a lovelier pair) in my life.  Neither have I met so many men wanting to make me a suit or shirt.  The aisles between the stalls are quite narrow and usually packed with the rest of the nation going in the opposite direction to you!  From out of the shadows would come a hand attached to a beaming Indian.  "Buy a suit sir.  perhaps a shirt.  I can make one for you in 24 hours.  Very good price."  Frankly I found all this glad handing a little wearisome, but it all makes up the richness of the experience and one that I would not have wanted to miss.

The chinese markets are not so different although personally I find the silks and brocades on offer there even more appealing than those of the Indians and Malays.  My main problem is that I am comfortably built, or as Precious Ramotswe in the "First Ladies Detective Agency" books puts it "traditionally built", and most Chinese men are not.  I fell in love with a dinner suit (tuxedo) which whilst black, was made of silk with the most elaborate black embroidery on the front.  A white silk shirt was worn under this with just the collar peeping out above the high necked oriental collar of the suit jacket.  However my head ruled on this one.  I have a suit already, I don't go to too many events that require such things; and it would have taken too long for a suit to have been made for me not to mention the price.  I said don't mention the price!  About £600 ($1,200).  However, I can dream can't I?  Meanwhile the Boss was buying up shawls and purses, knick knacks of all sorts.  I carried the bags as is her wont.  I live to serve.  

Of course we could not visit the chinese quarter without a visit to a temple.  The one we visited is called the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple and is quite modern.  There are literally tons of pure gold in the temple.  I have never seen so much in one spot.  The tooth itself is housed within a huge casket crowned by an effigy of the Buddha and is revealed daily.  The atmosphere within, despite the opulence, was tranquil and lent itself to contemplation.  We moved up to the roof garden where there is a prayer wheel and each of us spent some little time quietly pondering our lives before congregating downstairs again and getting to grips with the huge Yue Hwa department store that sells everything chinese that you could possibly ever want.  More bag carrying!

Do you like the seaside?  I love it and was delighted to discover that Singapore has its own tropical beaches on a small island named Sentosa just south of the city.  You reach the island by cable car or monorail train.  We went one way and returned the other.  From the cable car you have the most wonderful views of the city and beyond.  You can catch glimpses of Malaya and Indonesia too.  The island is a bit of a theme park, but done very well.  There are tourist attractions of course, and we went up the Tiger Tower which takes you 50 storeys up over the island in something that looks a little like a ring donut.  Again, the views are magnificent.  Mostly though we pottered through the gardens down to a stretch of white sand (imported) and paddled in the South China Sea.  After such a strenuous afternoon we were forced to retire to a beach bar and sip a small beverage or two before wending our weary way home to bed, stopping only to polish off another delicious meal from one of the Hawker centres - street food vendors - en route.

The most famous hotel on Singapore is the Raffles Hotel.  Famous as the last place on the island where a tiger was shot - under the billiard table and it was an escapee from a circus - and for its Long bar where Singapore sling cocktails are drunk.  The cocktail itself is:

30ml Gin
15 ml Cherry Brandy
120 ml Pineapple Juice
15 ml Lime Juice
7.5 ml Cointreau
7.5 ml Dom Benedictine
10 ml Grenadine
A Dash of Angostura Bitters
Garnish with a slice of Pineapple and Cherry

Quite delicious and refreshing too.  Originally a woman's drink.  Today men drink it just as happily.  The tradition in the Long Bar is to throw the shells of the peanuts available on each table onto the floor.  Singapore has draconian laws about littering - £2,000 ($4,000) fines for each instance - and is a very clean place therefore.  Not in the Long Bar.  There is much crunching underfoot as you make your way to your table, to the point where I wondered if they ever swept up!  Still, I threw my shells down with the best of them and enjoyed my cocktail.  Cheers.

By now the GP was looming.  We had tickets for all three days of the festivity.  Friday practice where the drivers get to learn the circuit.  saturday qualifying, where they sort out their positions on the starting grid and the Sunday race itself.  Now I thought that the Boss and I were fans.  We're not.  We don't have the T shirts, caps, socks, shorts, shoes (underwear probably), flags, encyclopedic knowledge of the teams or sheer determination to sit through all three days.  We both went on the first day and worked out where we were sitting, where the food stalls were (you were not allowed to bring any food or drink into the circuit) and watched some practicing.  We baled out early however, to meet up with B/SIL to eat.  The Boss and BIL went on the Saturday whilst SIL and I found a lovely bookshop opposite a lovelier French bar in Chinatown.  But on Sunday we went off and watched the race proper.  You see more on the TV but you don't get the atmosphere, the crowds or the sheer adrenalin burst of actually being there.  Because the race was at night we got to see the Bay area illuminated in a  way that it never has been before and it was magical.  Millions of twinkling lights complimented the single star that sat over us high out in space.  There was a capacity crowd of over 100,000 of whom about half were tourists, most of whom promptly flew out again the following day much to Singapore's chagrin.  The noise of all these folk was overwhelming, yet there was hardly any litter - probably those fines.  We all had a fantastic time cheering and shouting for our champions.  I hadn't been to a GP in over 20 years, and don't know when I might go again, but this was truly a magical and heart bursting occasion and I am so pleased that we got the opportunity to go.  "Our" team didn't win, but that didn't matter.  We were there.

Early on in our visit I had a foot massage.  I lay with three ladies whilst men and women did unspeakable things to our feet and legs up to the knee.  At times it was quite painful.  Afterwards however, it felt like I was walking on air.  On our last day I decided that I wanted another one.  This time I went downtown to a massage parlour in a very swanky mall.  I explained that I wanted a foot massage to the girl and she led me down to a small room and told me to undress!  I was wearing shorts already and I didn't see the need to remove any clothing.  I reminded her that I wanted a foot massage.  She said OK, but clearly was a little disappointed in me as I suspect that many of her male clients like to be massaged a little further up their bodies.  If she does well she receives a larger tip no doubt.  However, the Boss would NOT have approved and so I stuck out for just the feet.  For all that, she gave if anything, a better massage than the first one.  I am now keen to repeat the experience.  All I need to do is find someone here that can do it.

By now we had pretty much reached the end of our trip.  One last burst around the stores before settling down to a plate of Singapore's national dish.  Chili crab.  Two huge mud crabs cooked and smothered in a chili sauce, mercifully pre cracked for us and eaten with your fingers.  Our mouths were bright orange afterwards as were our hands.  But what a feast and what a final memory as we wended our way for yet another 12 hour flight to a cold and windy Britain.  Would we go again.  What do you think?