Dearest Rachel -
This is the view of Singapore you get when you can't get back to sleep.
I thought I needed to be at the theater by a quarter to nine; turns out, the call was at eight o'clock sharp. So, with neither a chance to get breakfast nor weigh myself in (since we were in port now, and the ship wasn't being rocked by the ocean), I brushed my teeth and charged downstairs, observing several groups lugging suitcases behind me on my way.
I'm going to be among them next time around. As much as I'm ready to go home, I'm really not looking forward to dealing with the departure process. I've gotten spoiled by being able to come back to my room at the end of every day. The idea of living out of a suitcase for a night or two – and being responsible for my own transportation in a city I've never been – suddenly seems that much more daunting.
But I've already lost enough sleep staring at that axe in the ceiling; I've got another city to explore, even if in too small of portions.
***
Despite the relatively long process of showing our passports, having our thumbprints (as opposed to our index fingers in Japan) and luggage scanned on our way out, when I get to the end of the terminal, the guide holding the number I'm looking for (who eventually identifies herself as Carol) tells those of us who've made it thus far that our coach hasn't arrived yet. In fairness, there's only a handful of us here thus far, so we'd be waiting for a while regardless.
Eventually, she escorts us out to the newly-arrived coach, and once we're aboard, she leaves us in air-conditioned comfort as she heads back into the terminal to check for stragglers. We finally appear to roll out by ten to nine (and don't bother to ask who won; I know that's an old joke between us, but really…), only to turn around and head back to the terminal. It appears that one of the guests can't locate her husband. A member of the RCL staff on the ground appears to attempt to assist her, but they can't seem to locate him for her. Eventually, she has to disembark from the coach so that the rest of can proceed.
Poor Carol isn't done having misadventures, either; her microphone goes out as we begin to make our way to our first stop. Curiously enough, she's actually prepared for this eventuality – you'd think this has happened to her before – and brings out a portable microphone pack, only for it to pick up somebody's ringtone or radio. It doesn't drown her out, but it does distract both us and her at first. But eventually, everything sorts itself out, and we make our way to 'Mount' Faber, the highest point in Singapore. It's barely a hundred meters high, but hey, a high point is a high point.
And a view is a view.
From there, we head to Orchard Road, a former plantation ground (and therefore owned by wealthy planters) converted to an upscale shopping district. Every block for some two or three kilometers is occupied by one mall after another. We aren't going to be disembarking here, as we haven't that kind of time, but Carol points out the old presidential residence as we pass by it.
Although, from where I'm sitting, I'm not sure I can see much of it; in fact, as we move along, I'm not sure that I didn't take a picture of the shopping center next to it.
We do have a stop in Little India, but as it's only for twenty minutes, there's not a whole lot to be done here. Carol talks about absorbing not just the sights, but the sounds and smells as well, and I admit the smell of incense and curry have their appeal. But most prominent among the wears for sale or garland of flower and quantities of fruit, neither of which can be brought back on ship, nor do we have time to consume them here and now. And since I'm not looking to get henna painted on myself, like some people are apparently, there's nothing to hold me here, to be honest.
Interestingly, it appears that Little India isn't inhabited at night these days, despite once upon a time being the place where members of the Indian community lived. These days, the buildings that make up the area are basically just one business or another; either restaurants or medical facilities, for the most part. The Indian community does still live nearby, however, and Carol points out a church (under wraps, much like the Notre Dame in Saigon) that is the oldest in the city/country, and still used by Indian Christians. In fact, they conduct services in Tamil, rather than English.
Driving through Arab Street; one of the Muslim quarters of Singapore.
Likewise with Haji Lane.
The Arab influence is relatively small in Singapore, apart from the peripheral effect of the Malay population also being Muslim, thanks to their proselytizing centuries ago.
Our next stop is the Raffles Hotel, most famous for the invention of the Singapore Sling, a drink meant to look respectable in a woman's hand during a time when it wasn't considered ladylike for a female to be seen drinking in public. This pink cocktail looks like fruit punch, but has a punch of its own, mostly fueled with gin, and proved to be a bit hit; enough that the place is still famous for it a century later.
The marina district we drive through on our way from is on land reclaimed from the sea; this didn't exist when I was here last. If I remember correctly, the merlion fountain was basically on the coast at that point; now, it spews into one of the city's freshwater reservoirs.
Our final stop is in Chinatown, ostensibly for lunch. The thing is, we're only given thirty-five minutes, I've no local currency, and none of the places, even in the 'mall' that serves as the centerpiece of the area, appear to take credit cards, only apps with a QR code. Even if I could decide on what to get and where to go for it, find an ATM and determine the proper amount of local cash I'd need, there would still be the time needed to prepare and consume the food. It's not worth it, I decide.
At least I'm back at the ship early enough to grab a late lunch, that I can eat at a leisurely pace. It's not local food with local color, but it's not "gobble, gulp and go," either. Such are the tradeoffs of travel.
Anyway, that's another day for you, and we're off to another destination tomorrow. Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I'm going to need it.
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