Singapore: The Bubble

Indonesia had been exhausting. I think I didn’t notice until we got to the airport, where there were modern conveniences. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad we did Indonesia and I wouldn’t have traded it for a Western toilet, a Starbucks coffee, or clean sheets. But I was still so tired of horns in traffic, stares for my white skin, and feeling like at every moment I needed to evaluate for scams or fibs. I think I may be especially susceptible to this exhaustion because I’m in my head so much.

We love the chance to listen to podcasts and contemplate

So when we landed in Singapore, bought a SIM card for probably too much, turned on Google Maps, and looked up the orderly and calculated public transit, my body un-tensed almost imperceptibly. We went through customs and immigration and descended the stairs into the subway system. As we were getting in line to buy tickets, I noticed an unattended bag sitting near the map poster. I made the silly mistake of joking about it with Joe, whose eyes went wide as he pulled me away from the ticket machines. There were no other ticket machines. Joe wouldn’t let either of us go near it. Which meant that Joe had to tell the attendants about it.

The Singapore lion waves hello

The attendants lightly rolled their eyes when they heard him report the bag in an American accent. The lady left the booth to investigate and told us in a flat tone that it was a child’s school bag. Joe was satisfied, despite knowing that the women thought he was being a dumb American tourist. And while I don’t like drawing attention to myself, I am glad he said something to them. Who knows? It could have been a kid’s bag with explosives inside of a pressure cooker for all we knew. People like me would have stayed quiet out of self-consciousness and potentially allowed something bad to happen. As much as I get uncomfortable when Joe acts on his fears like that, I think he may also keep us alive.

With that out of the way, we bought tickets, but not before having to visit the attendants again to get change. The Singapore transit system doesn’t give change, which is actually quite clever of them, though it is maddening for its users. So we got change, bought tickets, and waited for the train.

Traveling today is made a thousand times easier with technology. Sure, it was expensive to get a SIM card, but to be able to open the Google Maps app and find exactly where we need to stand in order to catch exactly which bus we need in order to go exactly where we need to go… that’s pretty priceless. Traveling fifty years ago was perfectly possible, but everything moved at a slower pace then. People gave themselves days of flexibility, where sometimes now we build in only spare minutes. In fact, that will come to bite me in the ass before the end of this post.

We had booked our hostel in Singapore way early, since people promised the city would be shockingly expensive. I chose the cheapest I could find, since it was still something like $50 per night (maybe at home that’s a good price, but that price at home would also include even a small amount of a cleanliness standard, something that can be absent at times in South East Asia). We found the place, checked in, and went to our room, which was the size of a walk-in closet, had a barred window, a box spring and mattress on the bare floor, and a pitiful little table. The bed was firm and covered by only the bottom fitted sheet, with one tiny fleece blanket. We had aircon, so that was good, as Singapore was HOT.

I’ve honestly had lots worse. It was the cheapest of cheap, so I was thankful that we had a good home base that was as cheap as there was in the whole city. And with aircon and breakfast!

Joe was itching to see the city, so we headed out. The subway via my Google Maps app led us downtown, where we emerged from underground to gasp at the harbor. At this point we have seen quite a few stunning harbors (Queenstown, Port Douglas, Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne, Hobart…) and they have all been lovely, but this was yet another to add to the basket. It’s not as naturally breathtaking as Hobart’s or Sydney’s harbors, but the skyline is impressive and well thought out.

The city was born from the wise move of a past ruler who stripped taxes off in-coming and out-going cargo, which meant the world used it as the port to anywhere, bringing in wealthy people and their money. The skyline reflects this wealth. The buildings and public works and art are simply amazing.

Joe and I have been pretty lucky so far (though it may seem unlucky at first) because before we go anywhere, we have happened upon a backpacker here or there who has been there first. We get a lot of advice and get to exchange ideas. Several times now, backpackers have given us bad reviews, e.g. “Yeah, Sydney is okay, but it’s just like the next big city and you’ll want to leave it as soon as you get there,” or “Don’t stay in Singapore too long, because you’ll be spending your money faster than you’d believe and the whole place is one big sterile bubble without any character.”

Maybe these things seem negative, but they were just what my mind needed and that’s why I also talk my own expectations down for movies or books or anything else. Knocking down my expectations allows me to be impressed because I am expecting worse. Singapore was sterile, yes. But it also struck me as a society that highly valued art and the well-being of its citizens. And that was pretty cool for me. I liked that people had nice things and everyone had access to the massive amounts of public works around the city. I didn’t like that there was an emphasis on consumerism as a way of life, but I liked that the government seemed to be genuinely making decisions for the good of the people, even if it felt a little overboard at times.

But, yeah, it did feel like a sterile bubble. The miles of perfect sidewalks laid out with Feng Shui all around the city that I so admired were right next to fields of perfectly manicured grass that the young families didn’t touch because of grass allergies and perhaps a fear of getting their clothes muddy or grass-stained. I just didn’t mind the sterile bubble that much, even though I definitely disagree with it.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to live in a world without mud and grass, without germs, and without suffering and disappointments because those things make me feel alive. But I wasn’t bothered by the “perfect” environment the government and people of Singapore were trying to create. I wouldn’t want to live there for long, but for the three days we were there, I didn’t mind.

So we walked around the harbor area. The helix bridge was amazing, the Marina Bay Sands hotel building was impressive, though admittedly oddly shaped. The mall was amazing and disgusting all at the same time. People in surrounding countries were living in their tuktuks, drinking brackish water from polluted ditches, and making pennies per day. Singapore residents could stroll along marble floors in a grandiose mall paid for entirely by the amount of wealth that was floating around the city. It’s hard to know how to feel about it.

We strolled up and down in the mall, feeling supremely out of place amongst the Louis Vuitton and Coach stores. We walked toward a garden area, where we found a giant baby sculpture at a weird angle lit up as if it were an orbiting show piece. We found giant tree-like structures, hundreds of feet tall each, with greenery growing up the side, soft lighting up top, and slowly dancing lights illuminating the bases. They were strange and unearthly, like a giant garden of mushroom-shaped city-pods. Haha, if that makes any sense.

The strange giant floating baby sculpture

The oddly alien forest with a walkway high in the air

We felt like we had when we first arrived in Auckland, whose harbor-front was developed with all kinds of public facilities and eerily clean. We had said that the New Zealand government must tax the shit out of its citizens to support that kind of public works. We felt the same about Singapore, only exponentially more. There were gardens and facilities and art and buildings that were for nothing but public enjoyment! It certainly makes me wonder if laissez faire really, actually, and totally makes the most sense. Bah, there are always two sides to every argument! And as I see more and more of the world, the more I realize everything exists in a mixed bag.

Going home that night, I was tired from the simple exploring we had done. I don’t reset well after flights—they almost always leave me drowsy, no matter the length. But as we were walking along the water, we saw the tail-end of some sort of show, which Joe looked up. Apparently there were two presentations of a free short movie every single night. We put that on our list. I’m not sure of the flaming posts that were spitting fire along the harbor were part of the film, but those certainly got our attention. We nervously kept skirting around the poles.

I slept like a dead animal.

Breakfast the next morning was… strange. I went downstairs to collect it from reception. The old Chinese man who had checked us in enthusiastically by somewhat coldly, handed me two Styrofoam cups, two hard boiled eggs, and two paper plates with two pieces of white bread and pointed upstairs and said something unintelligible. I went back up towards the room. On the way I noticed a few Indian/Pakistanis who were eating their breakfasts and chatting away loudly. I saw the toasters and toasted our bread, put butter and jam on them, and went back to the room. I went back out to the dinky and impractical kitchen area and got some hot water out of what looked like a boiler. I took it back to the room and used our coffee packets we were now carrying around with us to make the morning’s coffee. It was a simple breakfast, but good enough for us.

We took a while to get going out of the room, but we’ve been traveling long enough now to know that we don’t really have to conform to any kind of “normal” schedule that has us up and going by a certain hour. So we spent a little time on the internet and then headed out by early afternoon.

We used our tourist metro passes to head in to town, where we explored the botanical gardens. It was equally as impressive as the skyline, but more subtly. We watched the working crew “mow” the grass in an area entirely with weed-whackers. It seemed inefficient, but then again it was a steep hill and they were really quite talented with the machines.

Our tourist metro passes were unlimited for two days, so we were hoping to use them many times that day. As it turned out though, we only took the first train to the botanical gardens, then one into the downtown, and then one home later that night. But I suppose it was nice to have it there in case we needed it a bunch.

Downtown we found the mall and went in to look around for something to eat. This mall is like four stories or more, with escalators snaking in the most inconvenient pattern possible, probably to get people walking past as many stores as possible. The only restaurants we were going past were super expensive and looked like the kinds of places you dress up for. Joe and I don’t own anything dressy.

Our style is casual, Joe says through popcorn

Fortunately we finally found the “food court,” which was much more our style and price. Joe got an amazing cream crab risotto, while I got an amazing Indian dish with garlic naan. So good. We were content.

His crab cream risotto and my Indian plate

Outside we walked around the harbor-side area, making it to the graduated boardwalk where tourists watched the free movie every night. It was amazing! From just beyond the railing in the water, a fountain sprayed water up in an arc of mist, which acted as a screen for the movie to be projected on. It had smoke machines making it mystical at the beginning, bubbles for playfulness in the middle, and fire columns to make it intense at the end. It was neat.

The fire, water, and lights in the harbor

We went to the roof of the mall, where we followed a bridge across to the Marina Bay Sands buildings. The bridge connecting the buildings was amazing enough, but then the inside of the hotel was impressive. The hallways connecting the rooms were exposed to the inside of the building, where there was calming music, fountains, people dining, and warm lighting. The whole place was air-conditioned to perfection, which was again a massive amount of empty space to air-condition.

I laid on the bridge while Joe went and snapped some photos on the other side. I loved the heat of the night, looking up at the hidden stars and enjoying the breeze that was showing me the underside of the potted ornamental trees that were so delicately well kept. I went to look at the end of the bridge out over the strange forest of lit-up tree-mushroom columns we had seen the night before.

We went home late again, passing through the massive subway system that Singapore boasts. I haven’t talked about it yet, but it’s an interesting part of the city. The whole city is steamy hot most of the year, which would be fine in a place like Australia where board shorts and “singlets” are the dress-casual, but in Singapore where commerce and suits and skyscrapers are the thing, they live for the aircon because it’s hard to be taken seriously with pit stains on your suit. So the subway is packed, as much out of appreciation of the aircon down there as the necessity for movement in the city.

The massive underground world

I was reading an article about it though, and it’s a defining characteristic of the city and its citizens. They live for the underground hair salons, food courts, and large hallways packed with people. In the same article it said that Singapore was the only country in the world to declare an unwanted independence—they wanted to be with Malaysia, who cast them aside with the intent of winning political favor from someone (Britain? Russia? China? I don’t remember).

The next morning was Joe’s birthday, so I went out and found a bakery and got him a slice of delicious looking cake and a barista coffee. I had to wake him up to get back in the door, which he was confused by because he didn’t know I had ever left! It was perfect. I was only sorry I hadn’t planned more for his birthday. He’s now the ripe old age of 28, older than me for eight more months.

We spent the morning in again, while Joe enjoyed his cake and breakfast. After a while we headed to town, where we started exploring the other side of the harbor, which we hadn’t gotten to yet because there was just so much to see on the mall side.

We stopped again in the afternoon for another couple of coffees and cake, mostly because the weather looked like rain. And rain it did. Buildings on the other side of the harbor were disappearing entirely behind the sheets of giant raindrops.

Once it stopped we continued our walk around the harbor, stopping to see the lion that spit water into the harbor, which is one of the defining bits in the Singapore landscape.

The spitting lion, which apparently has been there a LONG time

We got a bit turned around when we came across a huge multiple block construction site. We came out at some underground art site, where we found, just outside the door, a donut-shaped ping pong table that someone would stand in the middle of and play a player or more who were gathered around the circle. People were looking at it curiously, but not stopping, so Joe and I started to play with it. Within a few minutes we had other people playing with us. When the other girl said goodbye after a pleasant conversation and simple game of volley, it was just Joe and I again, so I sent the ball his way and set off jogging around and around the table, with him paddling the ball to where I would meet it, and I would paddle it back to him and he back to me at my new location, and so on. It was so fun. And we got lots of people excited about it, so they took over for us.

This was the round ping pong table we enjoyed so much!

We made it to the helix bridge in the fading daylight, which gave us some gorgeous views for photos. We watched the city change as the light gradually changed from the orange glow of dusk to the romantic man-made lights of decoration and illumination.

A stellar pano of part of the harbor

We went back to the graduated boardwalk to watch the short film again, which was better that night, since there was no wind and so the mist screen stayed intact more.

We made it back to the help desk in the subway that night in time to hand in our tourist cards and get our deposits back. We went back to our run-down hostel and slept soundly.

The next morning we were up super early to catch a bus, to catch another bus, to make it to the airport in time for our early flight to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia! I was anxious because the bus was going too slow and I knew that our window was short. Once the bus stopped at the right terminal, I walked as fast as I could to get to the JetStar check-in, which of course was on the other side of the building. Turns out I should have run. I was punching in the number of our reservation as the clock was running out, but I wasn’t fast enough. The screen told me check-in had closed and that I was out of luck.

I politely interrupted two JetStar employees to ask what could be done and the woman immediately went on the defensive, even though I was being pretty genuine with her. She sent me over to a customer service desk where this moron was arguing with the representative and making everyone in line more and more anxious about missing the flight. There were a few of us, I think. I left Joe in the line to go ask another, more helpful employee for help. She sent me to the other desk, where the woman firmly told me that they had made a last call and even though I had tried to check in within moments of the window closing, I was simply out of luck. That was it.

I was so frustrated. I was angry that the first woman had been so defensive and had sent us to a line that was not going to get us anywhere anyway, as a way to get me out of her face. I mean, on the one hand I get it because they have to draw the line somewhere and if they make a minute exception here, what’s to stop them from being forced to take people who were later and later each time? I get that. But I was trying to check in AS THE CLOCK WAS CHANGING. I sat on the benches by the check-in and cried, secretly hoping a little that the employees would see me and feel bad about having not helped me.

Okay, in the end I know they have all the right to refuse me because they do have to decide on a solid deadline for check-in, but it was still upsetting. I wanted some bit of sympathy, but then I am sure that it is hard to work in an airport and be sympathetic anymore, since everyone who enters an airport feels entitled yet mistreated, much like I felt entitled yet mistreated.

So my tears were sad and a bit bitter, but Joe comforted me and he started to hatch a plan. We would just enter Malaysia by land instead of by air! I appreciated the plan and after a few more tears, we headed out on the new adventure.