I have a shameful secret to confess: I had a Singapore fling. I had to do it, just had to, but it's not something I'm proud of.
It all started 24 hours before in KL Sentral train station. I was working in Malaysia, not yet on a work visa, but on a simple three month tourist visa, which required renewing. This meant a trip somewhere: my eyes wandered down to Singapore, the land of sleek skyscrapers, cleanliness, and spot fines for minor social offences. I bought a ticket on a Friday night sleeper train down the country and bedded down for the night, watching the black outlines of the trees against the midnight sky.
In the early morning the train shuttered into immigration at Woodlands. After hauling ourselves off the train and into lines, passengers stood sleepily leaning against corridor walls as we waited to be allowed back onto the train. A short train journey after this through the leafy outskirts of Singaporebrought the sight of the city's beautifully understated 1930s colonial railway station, Tanjong Pagar. The station and its surrounds are counted as Malaysian property and ownership disputes still periodically flare up between the two governments. Whatever happens politically, it would a shame if the simple beauty of this station were not preserved.
Outside the station, the docks loomed up ahead of me so I turned instead towards the path up through the manicured grounds of apartment complexes. Steadily I made my way into Chinatown, which was just coming to life. Shopkeepers swept their neat plots of sidewalk impatiently as passers by began to grow more frequent. I walked along the clean streets, admiring the bright colours of the buildings until I came to the hostel I had researched on the internet earlier. No rooms, no beds: Just what you want to hear after an overnight train journey. So I looked at the next hostel on my list and began to walk to a bus stop. The next hostel was in the Indian quarter on Jalan Besar, a vibrant and friendly area of the city. After checking in and dumping my bag in a locker, I wandered back in the direction of town. Hunger had set in, and as soon as I saw an open caf, I sat down. Some locals were sitting about on the benches, watching TV and drinking that sweet, thick, milky, tea so ubiquitous in Malaysia and Singapore, teh tarik. I ordered toast and egg, but the shop must have only just opened because it wasn't until a man returned with a bag full of ingredients that my breakfast began to take shape. I sat sipping my tea, people watching, and thinking about how to spend the next 24 hours.
A stroll through the nearby markets at Bugis Village brought me eventually, inevitably, far too early for cocktails but who really cares, to Raffles Hotel. The flower filled markets had held my attention only briefly because the brilliant white spectre of the Raffles building standing out in the sharp Singaporean sun had settled into my mind. Sure, it's a clich to go to Raffles for a Singapore Sling, but sometimes there are good reasons for clichs. In the Long Bar fans gently sway in automated synchronicity on the ceiling. Sunburned, middle aged English couples talk about the coming relief of English weather on their return home. Waiters and bartenders look on in quiet amusement as customer after customer approaches the bar and asks with embarrassment, but nevertheless, perceptible excitement for a Singapore Sling. It's a sweet, candy pink confection, created for Victorian ladies who wanted to hide their predilection for a cool afternoon drink behind harmless fluffy femininity. But it is refreshing.
After the cool of Raffles I eventually returned to the sunny humidity of the street. Straightaway, I walked towards the Raffles' owned shopping complex with its promise of air-con. I decided to look around the shops for shoes not simply because I like shoes but because finding a size big enough to fit my seemingly mammoth feet had proven a problem in Malaysia.
I was soon bored, fickle woman that I am. It seemed a waste of a trip to Singapore. Why spend hours doing just what you can do in any old city when you could be outside admiring the good looks of a beautiful city? Besides, having spent 3 months working in an office and going shopping and temple hopping in my spare time in KL, I wanted to be outside and I'm Australian so the beach always seems like a good idea. I settled on visiting Sentosa Island, a beachy theme park full of odd attractions, concerts, and shopsthe beach for people who get bored at the beach presumably.
I caught the MRT to the HarbourFront shopping complex where buses regularly leave for Sentosa Island. This is just one of the ways to get there you can drive, take the Sentosa Express train, a taxi, cable car, or even just walk there. The three pound bus ticket also covers entry into the park, and while waiting in the long line I talked to two young English language teachers from the US. They enjoyed living in Singapore, but seemed to crave something rougher as their next stop. Singaporeis a cosmopolitan mix but it's not the place to come in order to lose yourself in another culture.
Sentosa is a slightly surreal place mixing the vibes of Disneyland, Lago di Como, and Singapore's own ber cleanliness. It also has a long and fascinating history having been in the past a prisoner of war camp, a malarial infested swamp, a locale for all manner of piracy, and an army training base. It wasn't until the 70s that the Singaporean government decided to redevelop the land. Loads of sand from Indonesia and Malaysia later, they have created a retreat for Singaporeans and foreign tourists that is never boring. I lay under the sun and enjoyed the beach alone, not in the mood for the myriad other attractions on offer.
After a relaxing afternoon in the sun, I made my way back to the hostel to clean up for dinner. Unfortunately, the bathroom turned out to be dirtier than I was completely unexpected given the pristine state of much of the city. So, still dirty and sweaty from the day's humid wandering, I found a cavernous space filled with Indian hawker stalls. Plentiful supplies of delicious spicy curry, naan bread, and beer made up for my unwashed, sticky state, and I sat, happily feeding on the friendly atmosphere until the sun went down.
Later, I caught the MRT to Orchard Road. The street buzzes with nightlife. Bright lights illuminate people popping between restaurants and bars all along the strip. I slip between shopping malls and bars, and as the cool breeze touches my face, I brazenly think about my return to KL the very next day. A feeling of shame overcomes me: Singapore demands more than just a fling.