Sustenance

I think it’s time to talk Singapore food.

TBH, the climate kinda put the damper on my appetite, but I did have a few noshes. And slurps.

My hotel deal included breakfast, and it’s been my practice in the past to eat the hotel breakfast and then not feel hungry again until evening. I’ve got to admit, I don’t think I’ve ever had watermelon taste so intensely good as at the Conrad, so that was a staple of my daily start.

Because they cater to a global clientele, they also put out Asian staples, and, uh, baked beans for the Brits.

I thought their presentation of pancakes and waffles…interesting.

Along with the toppings.

And there was the honey collector that I last saw at my hotel in Dublin.

My one dinner out was at a place that claimed a long Swiss heritage, although all the staff were Asian. The décor was…eclectic; mashup of industrial minimalism with some baroque touches.

Too hot for fondue or raclette, so I had sea bass.

And, BTW: it seemed a bit optimistic to refer to itself as Wine Universe, when they offered about five whites by the glass.

My one lunch out was at a hawker center, Old Airport Road Food Centre—like a food court, but outdoors and all mom-and-pop, not chains. I went for the Live Prawn Noodle Soup, and it was delicious. The woman came out from her stall, netted up three swimming prawns from their tank and dumped them in the boiling water. While they cooked, she put noodles in the bowl and ladled in the broth. As she handed over the tray to me, an old fella filled a little bowl with hot sauce and gave me the plastic soup spoon. I gotta tell you—that soup was extra primo good. Also, beautiful.

NB: napkins are not really a thing in Singapore. People in the know bring their own, or wipes. However, the Food Centre had sinks with soap dispensers, which I much appreciated.

On National Day I had afternoon tea at another hotel. I wanted to test the theory that hot tea is meant to be refreshing, which is what members of the British Raj claim. It was ridiculously expensive, which I kind of expected, but also—get a load of the shape of this cup. It’s like a champagne coupe—what’s with the wide surface? Tea’s not going to hold the heat in that thing. (The preserves for the scones, BTW, were tea-flavored.)

It was indeed refreshing, but I don't know how much of than came from being in an air-conditioned hotel.

The rest of the time I spent at the hotel bar, because in addition to the breakfast, my deal included $100 credit, which I prefer to drink. The first night, I got chicken satay with a Singapore Sling; I thought the latter somewhat obligatory. It was fine—all the juice in it masked the gin. But, honestly—look at the size of that napkin! For finger food! All their other clients must be much neater than I.

Other nights, I sat at the bar, because I like watching bartenders work. And drank champagne or Kir Royale.

(Those potato chips were lethal; horseradish flavored.)

The final night I had something called a Tokyo Sunrise, invented by the bartender at the Conrad Tokyo: rum, mango juice, passionfruit juice, maybe some other things, topped off with soda water. Lordy, it was good—and a work of art.

And that’s my Singapore gustatory adventure.

 

 

Culture vulture

When I was describing why I wanted to go to Singapore, and what I wanted to do, to a friend, she asked, “Aren’t you going to any museums?”

Well, Singapore has them, of course, but I really mostly wanted to see things that were outside. However, several people had insisted that the ArtScience museum was a must-see, so I went.

Well.

Okay.

There was an exhibition of works by Australian artist Patricia Piccinni that took up one floor. As I walked in, the guy checking tickets advised, “This display includes nudity.”

I thought that was kind of odd—like PBS stations blurring out butt cracks or nipples because the audience might be offended. I just paid S$30 for a ticket, the time to warn my snowflakeness would have been at the point of purchase.

But when I got in, and saw what the nudity involved, well—I thought it was hysterical. Because Piccinni’s creatures are so weird, whether they have clothes on or not is not the most striking element.

I did like some of the bizarre fields of objects and the shadow patterns they cast, but otherwise, meh.

The other exhibit my S$30 entitled me to was the installation “Future World: Where Art Meets Science”, which mostly was light displays.

Now, what that ticket checker ought to have done was warn me, “There are scores of little children engaging in art-appreciation activities and they are not using their inside voices.” But he didn’t, and I found out for myself.

Now, this thing was cool: walking through a forest of crystals.

Thinking back on it, ArtScience is quintessentially Singaporean: both beautiful and high tech.

So—I did go to a museum.

 

 

 

Gratitude Monday: a whole list

Well, I’m back from my Singapore adventure. And I have a list of gratitude that it sparked.

I had to come to terms with a maximum of four to five hours out and about in the 90F and 90% humidity. Not so much because of exhaustion, although, yeah, I was tired; mostly because I would hit a point where I ran out of water but not thirst, so I’d head back to the hotel to rehydrate. That was interesting to me.

But that limitation made me aware of many, many small things that kept me going. So, in no particular order:

Water. Man—what a blessing potable water is. And the occasional water fountain—I saw way more toilets in parks and public places; not so many water fountains, so I really appreciated them when I came across them.

Hotel washcloths. I took one out with me every morning, and it was pretty soaked by the time I came back. I still shvitzed off 4lbs while there, but mopping my face seemed to make me feel better.

Shade. Even if it’s just a construction barrier, shade makes a difference, a welcome one.

Breezes. I don’t know why they were such a relief; technically, they were just pushing the hot humid air around, but they absolutely did.

Benches and the occasional low wall. I had to park my butt on them frequently.

Kindness of strangers. I was struck by how willing people were to help. The hotel concierge gave me a MRT card, so I didn’t have to buy one, but I did have to top it up. He warned me that the kiosks might not accept my foreign credit card, but that I could use cash just fine. Well, he was right about the CC, but I didn’t see how I could use cash, so I went to the Passenger Service guy. He could have said, “Lady—look around you; go to the kiosk that accepts cash.” Instead, he took my cash and topped up the card—even though there were notices that the Passenger Services people don’t do card transactions.

Another Passenger Service guy saw from a distance that I hesitated about which platform to take. He’d been walking around his little office, but by the time I got to the window, he was sat down, ready to help.

I got confused about which turnstile to use. A commuter whizzed past me, but gestured to the indicator: a green check instead of a red cross. Such a simple kindness, but it made such a difference.

At another MRT station, I was examining the neighborhood map, and an employee came over to help. He spent about five minutes describing all the features in the neighborhood, how I could approach them and what to expect, then suggested, “You can take a photo of this map.” Well, yes—that was bloody brilliant.

(Everyone in the city was so kind, that when I got to Changi Airport and encountered the Singaporean equivalent of the TSA and Immigration, who had all the charm and communication skills of their US counterparts, it was kind of a shock.)

Singapore has every mosquito known to nature, but I couldn’t wear any repellant for the same reason I couldn’t wear sunblock: in the 50 yards from my hotel to the MRT station, I’d washed away my moisturizer with sweat. But I didn’t get bitten at all!

Masks. Everyone wears them inside anywhere; many wear them outside. No bellowing about "mah freedumb!" or shrieking that vaccines cause penis shrinkage. We're in a pandemic; we get on with our lives in a way to protect public health.

Pain. As in: none. Yay!

There’s more, but this is a start for this Gratitude Monday.

 

 

Goin' back to find

Since my flight out of Singapore leaves Changi at 0030 Saturday, my earworm for today is Gladys Knight singing “Midnight Train to Georgia”.

And in keeping with that theme, here are some signs from Singapore’s underground transit, MRT. Which I found super efficient, startlingly clean and really inexpensive to use.

There are some restrictions due to COVID-19, along the lines of masking up and shutting up to stop the spread:

I confess that, while everyone did the former, there were some chatters.

This sign about MRT no-nos was interesting:

I understand the Durian fruit has an unspeakably bad smell.

This sign tells me that the country is fully committed to keeping its citizens in power, although I do wonder how people would be at any given station long enough to take advantage of it.

Peace out; next post will be from the People’s Republic of Reston.

Here's Gladys:

 

 

Not just glass and steel

Well, we’ve had a lot of nature here in Singapore. How about the other side? I’m talking some amazing architecture here. I haven’t been in any residential neighborhoods, but their cityscape is spectacular.

But I’ve noticed that the Singaporeans are big on getting greenery around them, even on their skyscrapers:

And on this building I came across in Little India:

 

 

Swords into parks

After the otters, my other must-see in Singapore was Fort Canning, the headquarters of British military rule in the colony during the 20^th Century. More specifically, I wanted to see the Battlebox, HQ of the British commander who, having bollixed the defensive campaign against the Japanese in 1941-42, surrendered on 15 February 1942, consigning his remaining troops to harsh conditions in POW camps and the citizens of Singapore and Malaya to 4.5 years of occupation hell.

I’ve got thoughts on that whole mishigas, but I’ll save them for another time; I’m still processing my fury.

What I’m concentrating on today is my joy at how the Singaporeans have turned a military base into a park, where scores of families were playing and picnicking yesterday, on their National Holiday. (They finally got shot of the Brits on 9 August 1965.) I've been on a few military bases, and not even the Presidio is as beautiful as Fort Canning Park. 

I think my favorite is the Forbidden Spring, said to be the bathing place for the noble ladies of the palace of the kings of Malaya, which was situated on the hill in the 14^th Century. You come across this kind of suddenly, but it is so beautiful and peaceful; you could stay here for hours. Maybe years.

I got to chatting with a fella who says he comes there—to the park and the spring—very often, and I would certainly emulate him if I lived here.

I also love the thought that’s gone into designing walkways and stairs throughout the park.

(Even more—I love that they have up-escalators for most of the steepest ones.)

Here are some more of the flowers; I can’t seem to get enough pix of them.

Variegated banana bush (I think):

I have no earthly idea what this is:

Ferns growing on a tree with a really interesting infrastructure:

A guardian monkey:

There’s a shrine to one of the Malay kings; what I found most interesting was this notice:

And the scores of pigeons hanging around on the ground and looming overhead from the roof over the shrine.

With all the lawns, in sun and shade, I thought it rather interesting that this family chose to have their picnic on concrete:

But then, this family did the same on Sunday at the Gardens by the Bay, so maybe it’s a thing:

(I was put in mind of Brits who take the family to the beach but end up eating their sandwiches and drinking their thermoses of tea in their cars because it’s pissing down rain. Not kidding—it’s a thing. And I saw it once in a car park at the Isle of Wight hydrofoil terminus at Portsmouth.)

And here’s a view of the modern city running right up to the edge of the park: