Jet Lag

The jetlag is a killer—my body strains against the new schedule imposed upon it, at having to walk through hot alien sweaty streets when it should be curled up in bed. But deep inside it knows it's fighting a losing battle... My belly cries out that it's time to eat, while the rest of me says it's the middle of the night, for chrissakes, turn over end go gack to sleep. But time will win this battle—it always does.

I read that the best cure for jetlag (if you haven't taken precautions in advance, and who has?) is to get out into the sunshine as soon as possible. The effect of the sun on the skin makes the body re-adjust faster. Another cure is supposed to be ginseng, of which there's plenty around this place.

Temples

There are several temples, a church and a synagogue on Waterloo street. Any day now they'll build a mosque, just to complete the picture.

Right next door, so close to my hotel room window that I could almost reach out and touch it, is the temple of the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy, the Kuan Yim Temple.

On the other side of the hotel there's a smiling Buddha (or maybe it's the deity of wealth or something) placed out every morning on the street (chained, mind you, to a hook in the ground!), which the Chinese touch and feel up as they go by. It's quite touching to see the elderly Chinese in particular do this, smiling and happy as little children. Buskers (with their official busker's licence prominently displayed), flower sellers, beggars (I don't know whether they need a licence as well—it wouldn't surprise me!), and vendors of religious trinkets all gather around here.

Just a few houses down Waterloo Street there's the colourfully elaborate Sri Krishnan Temple, being renovated right now, so a covered structure has been erected in the middle of the street outside the temple to allow religious services to go ahead.

What strikes me as peculiar is that many Chinese will start off their prayers at the Christian church further down the street (I never go down as far as the synagogue at the extreme end of the street, but maybe they get in a few prayers there too), then will stop to pray outside the Hindu temple, and finally arrive at the Buddhist temple, where they will light some incense and say a few prayers there as well. Maybe they're just covering all the options?

Everybody Loves Saturday Night

Today was my day to visit the Arab Quarter, but Saturday evening seemed to be a bad time to do it—it was deserted. Next on my mind was food (in fact, I'd been thinking about it all day!). Fortunately, eating seems to be the national pastime of this place! But despite the variety of offerings at the hawkers' stalls and food courts, I craved for an Indian, and reverted to the Tamil restaurant. I wasn't disappointed—true to form, it had different vegetables, a different sauce, but still, of course, you eat what you are given...

But nothing lasts (especially in Singapore). Sometime soon I have no doubt that this restaurant will be gone, to be replaced by a sterile office block or lifeless apartment house, and with it will go a piece of history, a relic of the old country, a link with the past.

What does one do of a Saturday evening but go for a pint...? This evening I went to a different part of Little India, which might be called Little Bangla Desh for all the Bangla Deshis around the place.