Hello, mr. officer
Trip Start Jun 02, 2007
48Trip End Ongoing
Map your own trip!
Show trip route
The slim young police officer with the sub machine gun looked apologetic, awakening me from my slumber in the lounge of the Changi airport.
I smiled back at him and fumbled for the required documents. All around me were weary travellers flaked out on couches with their arms draped over their bags. Another officer in dark blue, also packing, was gently prodding a man awake to take down his particulars on a clipboard, his soft voice drowned out by the booming speaker of the large screen TV--the Iron Man World Championship was on, athletes madly trying to outcycle each other.
When the officer finished taking down my information he nodded and thanked me politely, and moved on to the next weary lump.
When the officers were done, they met up with the rest of the group in a circle on the carpet to have a chat before moving off, those large black guns hanging at their sides.
I couldn't get back to sleep after that. So now I write, bleary eyed at 4:30 am, sipping away at a small coffee that cost four Singapore dollars (one Singapore dollar is 70 cents Canadian).
I'm certainly not in Vancouver anymore, though the people here are much the same--among us, Indian, Chinese, Korean, Malay, white--but I'm already feeling the largeness of the world here, the cosmopolitan-ness of it that Vancouver is trying so hard to emulate in its effort to grow up.
The shopping here is incredible, if you're into diamonds and Dior. Or if you'd like to pick up a Fendi bag or Hermes scarf. As a backpacker about to endter the Sumatran jungle, I'm not quite dressed for the occasion...more hippie than hip at the moment. First, the jungle. Then, Chanel. Hopefully the officers are as friendly in Sumatra as they are here!