Ep10- Singapore me a drink

  Singapore, Singapore
Wednesday, February 14, 2007

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To watch this episode, click here.

Come with us as Dan hops all around the city (and makes an idiot out of himself).

Dan and I were skeptical. We had just left Kuala Lumpur and were not particularly in the mood for another metropolis, especially one as expensive as this port.

A Singapore sling, the official cliche drink of tourists, finishes just above the $20 mark, which is about as not sweet as the drink itself. So, with our doubts soaring and our spirits just barely intact, we were dumped at night in the middle of the city with not a clue as to our destination. An address, but no clue. With a little charm and the help of a skinny asian girl's extended thumb, we finally hailed a cab. The driver was friendly and outspoken, sharing his sentiments against the high standard of living and the futility of life after 40. We pulled up to our temporary abode, a beautiful high rise a block away from the Orchard Towers. Many thanks again to Peggy letting us in and treating us like family, (if not better!). The apartment is also right next to the American Club, a grandiose reminder of home, and any "ex-pat" who belongs surely erodes some legitimacy of that title. We take full advantage of our comfortable new dwellings, and are soon cleansed, fed, wiped, and burped back to a normal condition of weight and odor.
   
At the dawn of the next day, we set off with our dear host to explore the sights. As she led us through the most elaborate museum I've ever set foot into, it became clear that we could not have hand picked a better tour guide (she actually works there). The museum was just a start, and for the first time in this entire trip, Dan and I imbibed more information than poison. We found our way to China Town. Waxed pigs, geese and other UIM's (unidentified meats) hung from every corner in open invitation to the Chinese New Years rapidly approaching. Festivities were at a high, and locals could be found waiting in three hour lines for traditional pork from the favorite meat store.
   
On Arab street, we dined at a restaurant called Zam Zam's, where mutton was served, and deliciousness was devoured. Dan ate his weight in lamb.  We later had an ancient man with a mystical parrot reveal Vlogabond's fortune in Little India. As well as success, Vlogabond will soon be expecting a baby boy. A boy promised to be strong like ox (Dan and I are working on the challenges to this one). The smells and sights of Little India's wet market threatened to zoom zoom Zam Zam's out the wrong end, but we managed to escape with our stomach's intact. We saw enough to make anyone as allergic to fish as Dan is.
   
After a day by the pool, a night at the American Club, and another day of miscellaneous meandering, we were mentally prepared to leave Singapore, but not Peggy's home cooking. If we had a few millions more, we might have even stayed a little longer and leased an apartment in one of the high rises shooting up around the city like pop corn. Go Revver, Go!

Justin's humble thoughts:

    While Singapore is a city worth seeing, and definitely worth tasting, I would have my fair share of troubles in making it a permanent residence. Living in Singapore is like attending a high school trip to Disneyland, pushed in a stroller with one of those battery powered plastic safety fans (you wouldn't want to hurt yourself now). Nothing is real, everything is merely a ride, designed to keep you snug in your seat, destination set. A glossy remake. Yes, little India is smelly. Yes, it also sports more mustache rides than your average home made Sofen video, but with no beggars, no litter, and no pissing on the street.  Sorry, no India. Chinatown and Arab Street's lively colors are pretty, but equally contrived, though what doesn't change from their originals, is that everyone sticks to their own. Singapore is the ultimate clique.
   
Dressed, pressed, and looking like a billion bucks, Singapore is a doll of a city. The metro is spotless, air conditioned and complete with a sanitized British accent. The weather dial is stuck on perfect, and when it rains, it comes in easily predicted and refreshingly short bursts; a welcome commodity. Singapore is a cleaner and more modern Chicago planted in the middle of a lush Jungle. A jungle with no bugs. I repeat, no bugs. I think I spied one ant on my entire sojourn, and it was nowhere near a street. The citizens all speak english, type faster on a cell phone than most can on a computer, and dutifully obey all flashing commands. While you never actually see the police, you are told that big brother is always watching. Believing this is not a challenge, as his presence is continually reiterated by the thousands of signs informing you of the all the possible ways in which you can contribute to the government's private piggy.
   
But in my schizophrenic mind, Singapore epitomizes the worst of societies goods. Singapore is the dark side, but instead of power, the lures are beauty and comfort - if those things interest you.