Singapore Slung

I had quite forgotten what being alone was. There was no sense of woo ha, I have freedom baby. Freedom, according to Janis Joplin, is another word for nothing left to loose (Me and Bobby McGee). I had no wild imaginings of singledom, there was just me, my thoughts and no one to bounce them off. 

It had been an uneventful journey, on the Aeroline bus, six hours from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore and I hardly saw it pass. There had been a mild panic when I nearly didn't get to the bus on time, but I did, just, and all was well. I left with thoughts of once more consuming a Singapore Sling at Raffles Hotel, but ordering for one does, really, seem a little sad.

No sooner had I 'landed' than I was having a quick Mos Burger, and a cup of something which really did resemble liquid moss, at the Harbourfront complex. Then I was left to tackle Singapore's MRT. Somehow my brain still hadn't slipped into 'foreign country, beware' mode. I hoped that it soon would, as I felt too comfortable, too safe, and therefore too vulnerable in what, let's face it, is another country.

Travelling into Little India was easy, with thanks to Singapore's MRT. A short walk and I was at Hotel 81, Dickson Road. I showered. Went to use the towels, they were dirty, something red which I assumed was lipstick. I called the front desk, stood dripping water, and waited for the service staff to bring me fresh towels. Drip, drip, drip.

The following morning, having had those towels changed, I came out of the shower cubicle and happened to really look at the big mirror right over the bed. One corner of that mirror had partially dried drips of red. Cautiously I rubbed at a minor drip with a tissue. It was blood. Of that I was in no doubt. I was tired when I retired for the night, and obviously did not take enough stock of my surroundings. How else could I have missed the blood. The only question that remained is just how did the blood reach so high on the mirror. I am six foot, the drips were well above me. I went down to reception, iPad and photo on hand. Just what the hell had happened in that room. I changed my room, upgraded to one with a window. I like windows, they are friendly. The mystery of the blood remained.

Back in the hotel, bored, I switched on the flat screen TV. After a few minutes watching the endless drone which is Singaporean TV, I realised that when one young man becomes charged with sedition, just because he lampoons the Singaporean government, you know you are are in the wrong country. To the casual glance Singapore is a heavenly fusion of well, just about everything. The closer you look, you realise that Singapore is just the Ken and Barbie version of a nanny state American Chinatown, right down to the latest police initiative to make road users more considerate. Well Singapore it hasn't worked for MRT users why should it work for road users.

The day before I was transversing Singapore by mass rapid transit. The potential passenger is inundated by signs. Stand here, don't sit there, remove back pack, don't drink, eat, fart etc etc etc. Of course they are only signs, and mostly ignored. I was nearly bowled over by an elder Chinese woman pushing her shopping trolley before her. I was trying to exit the train. She was supposed to give people exiting trains enough room to do so. She didn't. If I hadn't quickly sidestepped she would have rammed straight into me.

Another day and it was another Breakfast, once again Banana Prata (aka Roti Pisang) with Fish curry, my coffee (kopi) tarik metamorphosed into tea. Rain threatened as a Dutchman asked what i was eating. I informed, he wandered off, did he order the same? He did. Hans. A fellow writer. Lived in Yogyakarta and travels every six months. He invited me over. We talked. He is a translator,  writes and had been in Indonesia for over twenty years. He was a couple of years younger, and was due to fly out the following lunch time. We arrange to meet for breakfast the next day. Hans, it seems, did not give me a complete email address, and did not show for the morrow's breakfast. Not the first time it has happened.

Singapore presents as a more expensive Kuala Lumpur, safer, cleaner and more law abiding. Under the surface it is every bit as repressive as it's much larger neighbour. In Singapore the heart seems to be missing, but the wallet, or credit card is ever there. It is an island city state in love with all things bling. Singapore is twice as expensive as Malaysia, too false and too young. It is a city to be young in, to be drunk in, to party and eat heartily in, but not live in (if you are over 35). Singapore intends to be the art hub of South East Asia, it probably will be, for Singapore and Contemporary Art have much in common. See my other blog.....http://correspondences-martin.blogspot.com/2015/04/play-it-again.html.