Singapore Day 1

At the end of March, 2007 we headed down to Singapore. It was the consolation vacation as we had our hopes pinned on Texas; Eiji was going to visit an American first grade for two weeks and we hadn’t seen our family there for more than a year and we knew that this would probably be our last chance until December. But the Japanese tax office had taken such a crippling bite out of us (and was continuing to chew like a water moccasin on a swimmer at summer camp) that we had to admit defeat for going to Texas.

But we were going nuts just staying home over the school break, worrying about the business so we cashed in some frequent flier miles and flew down to Singapore on the cheap for four days. It’s one of the ironies about Japan that because everything in Japan is so expensive, it’s cheaper to vacation abroad. Just the airfare to Singapore was a fraction what it would have been anywhere domestic because the domestic airlines in Japan don't compete so the prices never go down.

We arrived at 1am the first day and caught a cab (or they caught us…the driver’s relief partner was hanging around the arrivals gate of Changi Airport looking for fairs. I was a little wary at first because I’d never had a cab driver pick me up like that) to a Chinese hotel in Little India that would rate a star higher than a backpacker’s hostel. Three short, hard beds and a WC that doubled as a shower, literally. The shower hose was hung directly over the toilet. My wife, who’s spent time in Malaysia explained that it’s related to the bowel hygiene customs and that people of that region favor a good washing by hand of the rear end over toilet paper. It does have a sense to it, but I couldn’t work up the gumption to try cleaning myself in the local way as there was always toilet paper on hand. The room was an odd triangle, probably half of a once-larger room. But for what we were paying, it was fine and we really only needed a place to sleep and stow our bags.

Eiji couldn’t sleep because he could see faint lights moving around in the windowless darkness. At first we were inclined to tell him it was his imagination, but I’ve learned from horror movies NEVER to discount a child’s paranormal reports. Given time, I could see them, too. I could also faintly make out two little illuminations deep in the mirror. So maybe the place was haunted, and / or maybe the wall-mounted mirror was a one-way deal. Both prospects were unsettling, but we were too tired to care so we turned on the bathroom light so the mystery lights wouldn’t be noticeable and slept long and hard.

I discovered several nights later that the lights were neither specter nor spectator.

Teh Tarik

Later that morning we dragged ourselves out into the oppressive, equatorial heat to find out what Indians eat for breakfast.

We wandered through a few hawker centers. These places are great. shabby, no-frills but so cheap you never need to cook again.

We ended up at a one with Chinese, Tamil and Kenyan stalls. We tried some hot noodle soups and the pervasive Teh tarik. If you’ve never had teh tarik, wait until you’re on the equator to drink it. In that climate it’s the perfect drink. Nothing is quite as satisfying. But We took some home and it just wasn’t the same. Everyone says that, too, that teh tarik is only good when it’s hotter and more humid than it gets in the States or Japan. Throughout our time there, we had to often get in off the hot streets for a cup and a snack, and I learned that between the 5 main ethnic groups comprising Singapore, there are about 8 very different ways of pronouncing it and everyone only seems to know their own and no other. The Indians pronounce it “TAY-taray.” After a day or so of trying to communicate this at various coffee shops and hawker centers, I just got used to always accompanying my slurred pronunciation with a gesture miming the action of pouring a long stream of black tea and condensed milk back and forth between two pots. But it was always worth the trouble, except for in chain restaurants like Long John Silvers and Mc Donald’s, where it just plain sucks.

Along with the noodles and teh tarik, one of the other stalls was run by a bunch of guys from Kenya. They served me up a big plate of regular, common Kenyan food: Black-eyed peas, chicken and fried plantain. Whoa, it was just like home—soul food! Only thing missing was corn bread. Nice guys, too. My hometown basketball team afforded me some credit; apparently the Dallas Mavericks are respectable, not that I knew. Haven't followed anything but hokey in years. If I'd been there alone, I'd have probably hung around there all day drinking Teh Tarik and pretending to know anything about the Mavs.

Eiji is getting better at eating adventurously. He enjoyed the Iced Milo and some of the other local drinks. He didn’t care much for the Muslim food, but he’s always up for a bowl of noodles in hot broth, and he can eat many variety of curry if it’s not too spicy.

That afternoon and the next day, we took care of the shopping. The more shopping, clothes, shoes, books, whatever, we could buy at Singapore’s lower prices the more it would off-set the price of the trip. In Japan, I have trouble finding my sizes in clothes and shoes so the trip would have been worth it for the shopping alone.

There was a 24 hour mall a short walk from the hotel called Mustafa Mall. Kinda like Wal-Mart crammed into multi-story convenience store. Odd thing there was that in order to carry out little nap sacks in with us (my man-purse), they fastened the zippers shut with those little white plastic ties. You know, the kind where there’s an eye at one end with little one-way teeth inside and you can stick the other end in, but you can’t pull it back out. They did this to prevent shoplifting and I can understand why; the aisles inside were so narrow and the whole thing was so dense that I could shoplift a living room with a store dick standing right behind me. I still feel claustrophobic remembering it.

The walk through Little India was hot and crowded but we discovered Muslim bakeries offering delicious pastries unlike any I’d had before. Thick, heavy, sticky, tasting of honey and rose. My son didn’t take to it, but they also had chocolate bread and Milo.

After that, we happened across a huge Hindu temple right when they were opening the doors. It was as much a community center as a place of worship. People were busy preparing for some sort of big celebration. Thatching palms, baking, building, painting. The decorations in the temple were fantastic. Hundred of painted, posing in one story after another and I didn’t know any of them. It’s a strange feeling to stand before the representation of so many hundreds of years of stories held dear by millions of people and not even know for sure who the good guys are and who the bad guys are. What’s with the fire? Why’s that guy blue? What are those monsters? So many questions, and we asked, but we couldn’t make out the answers and we suspected the people we were asking couldn’t understand our questions anyway.

At day’s end, we stopped off at a little park in Dhoby Got where there were a bunch of kids playing. Eiji jumped in and you’d think they’d been longtime friends by how easily they bonded. Then we found out what all the activity at the temple had been about. A big Hindu parade rolled right past us with incense and music and spectacle. It was pretty surreal, a parade at night.

At the end of the day, we crawled back into our room and fell asleep. To hell with the mysterious lights.