On a Little Street in Singapore...

We meet beside a lotus-covered door...Well, here I was, once again, on a little street in Singapore. I had last been here two years ago, having celebrated St. Patrick's Day in Molly Malone's pub after a trip to Surabaya and Bali (clicking here takes you to the description of that trip).

After the twelve-hour flight I was happy to be on terra firma again—despite the amount of flying I do, I'm not too keen on it. Changed money. The exchange rate was: S$1 (Singapore Dollar) = 0.63 Euro. 1 Euro = S$1.6 (the Euro is almost on a par with the US dollar). Singapore airport is as pleasant a place as you could wish it to be, but then as soon as you step outside—whooooossshhh! The blast of hot air is a real shock to the system—just try to get inside that air-conditioned taxi—fast! It's around 30 degrees outside, and humid.

Despite the kick I got out of the Raffles hotel complex last time around, (without having to stay in the hotel—I stayed in the much cheaper Metropole next door), this time I thought that Waterloo Street might be a good bet, being a popular shopping street, central, surrounded with eateries (and drinkeries) of all kinds, and having a few notable temples and a museum of its own, and being within walking distance of Little India, the Arab Quarter and (at a stretch) Chinatown. The taxi ride there cost S$20, but as I've since discovered that the same trip by MRT rail costs only S$1.40, that's the last time I'll be taking a taxi!.

Checked in at the South East Asia Hotel, which I had picked out from the Rough Guide book as having spotless comfortable air-con rooms (which it had, and while the rooms were a little on the small side, decor, furniture and bedding were good), and it was quiet, being in the pedestrian zone of the street. S$77 per night, a little over my planned budget, but what the hell...you only live once!

Those Bright City Lights

I like Singapore. Not for its cleanliness, order and efficiency, though I'm not averse to a few creature comforts, but for the variety of culture, food, and lifestyle available, the sun, and last but by no means least, those reminders of how the city used to be. The Colonial District is fascinating. But I would like to have been here before Bugis Street, with its sailors' bars and decadent glamour (or glamourous decadence), was torn down, or before the opium dens and low-life bars of Chinatown were replaced by yuppie retail stores. But that's progress (isn't it?).

Other advantages are that Singapore is English-speaking, so I can read the newspapers and the restaurant menus; it has bars, arranged like bars are supposed to be arranged, where a single guy like myself can enjoy a quiet (or noisy, as the case may be) drink at a reasonable price without feeling out of place; it has an efficient and easy-to-use public transport system; traffic is well-managed and walking the streets is safe by day and by night. It calls itself (among other things) the "Garden City" and has flowers, shrubs, trees, ferns, and vines growing in every conceivable spot, even flower boxes on the overpasses.

And what a city—although it sizzles in the heat of the equatorial sun, it buzzes with life. It exudes self-confidence, prosperity, progress, materialism. It flaunts its new-found wealth in its architecture, climbing ever higher, ever denser.

At what cost? Some say it's lost its soul—or sold it to the devil of prosperity. But the god of wealth has looked kindly upon this land.

Little India

After it got dark (before seven o'clock) I stopped off at a Chinese circus that was set up in the pedestrian zone of the street. Then I went to check out the little Tamil restaurant that I frequented on my previous visits (to see whether it was still there!). This is located across the road from the new Albert Court complex, before the canal bridge that leads to Serangoon Road. It's way out of place among the other downtown restaurants, but might just fit in in Little India, just up the Serangoon road. A wide doorless entrance leads to the little tables arranged haphazardly around the room. The open fluorescent lights expose the cobwebs high up on the tiled and whitewashed walls. The traffic flowing by outside was just like Dublin's quays, ie, non-stop. On the footpath there was a constinuous parade of Indian women in their brightly-coloured saris and glittering jewellery.

The fact that none of the staff here speaks English isn't a problem, because there's no menu, only mutton curry or chicken curry, with whatever vegetables and sauces happened to be on hand when the "chef" got to work. This evening's table d'hôte, served on a banana leaf, was mutton curry, green beans, spinach and a sizzling ("no-hot", said the waiter) curry sauce that would burn a hole in the wooden table. The staff will always manage to root out a fork for my benefit—everyone else uses their hands (well, their right hand!).

Then walked along Serangoon Road through Little India proper, to the laneways of open-air bars (which are actually all staffed by Chinese, though most customers are Indian). The choice on the televisions ranged about the street was between ear-splitting Malay wrestling or ear-splitting Chinese cabaret—of which I chose the latter. Fortunately, giant fans blew air on to the narrow laneway, which is filled with tables. A nearby lane is called Pink Street, but you will never find it on a map—it's the red-light district around here. Parallel to Pink Street is the street where the mak nyahs (lady-boys) hang out.

I tried a large bottle of Guinness (S$9) as a nightcap—I was somewhat doubtful of its provenance!