Benemma

We staggered, blinking from an overnight flight on which we were barely touched by sleep, into the “Budget” terminal of Singapore’s renowned Changi Airport. It was 04:00. We thumbed through a copy of Young Parent, Singapore’s No.1 Parenting Magazine, it’s insights were discomforting. A relationship psychologist described housekeeping and a career as “basal instincts” for women and men respectively. Almost every word about children was actually about school, as if a formal education was the only thing that could matter in their young lives. The magazine’s fashion section illustrated the clean, consumerist society we could see walking past us in the terminal: “Polyester Trenchcoat – $400”, “Jeans – $269”. They were all wearing new clothes with designer labels, chatting softly amidst the quiet clatter of suitcases and omnipresent Muzak. Every toilet is staffed by a permanent cleaner who follows your ankles out the door with a swift broom. All this fitted with the sterile image we had formed of Singapore on our first visit (argh! I’ve lost that blog post!) but our opinions were about to be pleasantly contradicted.

SINGAPORE JUNGLE AND TOWERS

For one thing, the atmosphere of the airport did not feel so eerie and futuristic coming as we were from the developed world, as opposed to the raggedness of India the time before. What’s more, on our first visit we walked around a commercial sector of the city on a weekday morning, it felt like a ghost town, while this time we had a whole day to play with. We approached the visitor centre’s front desk, over which was daubed the motto, “Uniquely Singapore”. An excessive team of staff arranged a place for us on their free tour bus, gave us promotional gifts and a questionnaire covering the quality of their service. Then the bus swept us through swift traffic down a straight avenue overhung by flat-topped trees, with endless white apartment tower-blocks on one side and a harbour heavy with giant steel ships on the other. We passed the nearly-completed Bay Sands hotel complex which loomed in grey curves over the water like a fantasy from a futurologist’s sketchbook. We alighted under Suntec City, a complex of five dull brown sky-scrapers encircling the world’s largest fountain, which was switched off. The air was turgid with tropical heat.

This time we walked away from the commercial heartland, heading north into the shopping district. This time we found a different Singapore. Through Liangh Seah Street we were overlooked by shuttered windows and flanked at street by bustling Chinese restaurants. We passed under an archway into the covered market of Bugis Street and felt all our senses assaulted. Cheap fashion, electronics, tourist tat, snacks and juice; a carnival of colour, texture, smell and noise. Unfortunately the thrill of the scenery was tempered by growing discomfort. Because Tiger Airways have such fascist restrictions on luggage, we had dressed in our heaviest clothes – trainers, jeans and hoodies – and filled our day bags with books, cameras, paperwork, everything we could to keep our suitcase weights down. Added to that, we had only eaten a small breakfast after no sleep at 05:00 and it was now 12:00. Our shoulders were aching, hips and knees creaking, legs and bags smothered in hot sweat, feet swollen and on fire.

We escaped back into Liang Seah Street, now heaving with workers taking their lunch on seats on the pavement. Even at midday there were queues for the more popular restaurants. Emma grabbed a pair of seats and I gritted my teeth for a long wait and an expensive meal of basic street food. But in no time I was standing over a wide counter of steaming dishes full of variously identifiable foodstuffs. I just pointed at different dishes, aiming for a broad mixture of colours, each time asking, “Veg?”. Two plates piled high with many different concoctions – shellfish, chillies, omelette, vegetables, rice, salad, some nondescript fried things – all for $5.40 (what’s that, two quid?), plus $1 for some fresh lemon barley water on ice. Suddenly we were anaesthetised by heavenly grub, muscling in with the locals, deep in the beating heart of a thronging city.

We managed to amble through a few more streets as the refreshment of lunch was eaten away by our heavy loads. Those malls, those temples to consumerism, mesmerised us for a while with their exquisitely kitsch toys and trinkets, their branded togs and technicolour foods. We walked through an underground gaming arcade so obscenely chaotic with flashes and sound-effects it warped our minds. I tuned my ears into the cacophony and imagined we were in a flimsy public shelter during an earthquake. But we soon caved to fatigue and had to sit out the last hour or two before the tour bus took us back. Of course, the tour leader handed out questionnaires covering the quality of his company’s service. As we glided over flyovers, through the shimmering vehicles and glistening towers, our minds moved to the next stage, India, and we felt something surprising: apprehension.

India had given us so much beauty and novelty but, too, it had crushed and stretched us in exhausting ways. We were excited at returning to India’s unique world but the memory of its hassle was daunting after so long at ease in the Southern Hemisphere. Back in the Budget terminal a disorderly fan of Indian men was coalescing on the check-in desks. Most of them were taking consumer electronics such as TVs and speakers home with them, labelling the boxes illegibly with marker pens. Groups of them were working noisily together to communicate with the desperate check-in clerks. Some were staring, others jabbering into mobiles, some were just getting in the way. When we finally got our bags checked we turned around to find that our trolley had already been nabbed. All I could think was, “Oh god, here we go”. At the departure gate about one in every five men was pulled aside for attempting to carry excess luggage onboard. Incomprehensibly, some men had actually taken the wrong seats and I saw one who complained to the flight crew that he didn’t like the one he’d been allocated. On landing in Chennai three announcements were made asking overeager men to sit down while the plane was still taxiing. By then all we could think was, “Oh yeh, here we go again!”