Singapore. What a welcome sight after Saigon and Bangkok, packed with cars and endless hordes of people reaching for the cash. By contrast this city spreads out in languid beauty, prosperous and sophisticated, with the traffic spare and flowing smoothly, at least as viewed from the top floor of the Conrad. Of course it is Saturday … but even so the contrast with the other Asian cities is striking. The cruise ended this morning, with many of us celebrating the last couple of days with a dose of food poisoning of some description. I think this is traditional on cruises, and because it is only about as popular (with me at least) as black tie dining, is limited to about 48 hours. It was thoughtfully wrapped up by debarkation time and I had tea and toast before our turning in the passenger I.D.s and walking the gangplank into Singapore.
Our first contact was with the porter who shepherded us from the ship to a taxi. At one point, when we were standing in line to have the bags put through security, he looked back at another porter, put his fingers to his mouth, and formed a huge smile. I looked back to see who was the receiver of this message and he was glum indeed, paying no attention to the suggestion. At Linda’s insistence I shamelessly overtipped him. After the last two days with the naked and the dying, she’s giddy around healthy young dudes. Actually I didn’t realize how well I tipped until arriving at the hotel in a taxi and realizing it was less than eight dollars for the fare. Because Linda has collected so many credit card points, she is in the Hilton Diamond Club, so we checked into the Conrad, and were given a room on the top floor. I move between some cultural extremes; I recently wrote about slumming at the Best Motel in Mohave, where I hid the cash before walking to the liquor store. Here there’s free drinks at the Executive Club. I like all of it … ; )
There are some really cool touches in the suite. For example, you insert the card key in a slot inside the door to turn on the lights. This means that when you leave you know where your key is, and, the lights go off shortly after you leave! What a great idea. There is a panel beside the bed with control buttons; for example, one you push for privacy and another you push for service, so it eliminates the need to put a sign on the door. Another great idea. One need never get out of bed but for the changing of the sheets.
As long as i was overtipping I overtipped the porter who brought up the bags, as I had no small bills left. The problem with doing that is you have a hard time stopping. I’m thinking of getting a cigar to chew on and maybe a white linen sport coat and a big handkerchief with which to obsessively wipe the perspiration off my brow. “Tha’ah you ah son; take the missus out and get her dampened.”
I’m going to walk around awhile and will continue later, when I have taken a look around the neighborhood, which is mostly a very expensive shopping area for the guests at the major hotels.
Ohhhhkayyyy …. I’m back … and my shirt is wet. This is a jungle city, and the reason there’s not many people on the streets is that, like Hong Kong, the pedestrian traffic moves largely above the streets so that both people and cars — natural enemies — are separated as much as practical. The walkways flow into shopping malls where, if your watch isn’t working, you can pick up another one for, say, fifty thousand dollars. Not that you can’t get a ridiculously expensive Rolex in the states, but the sidewalk doesn’t move past it very often. You don’t want a bunch of winos puking on your treasures.
I saw one watch so tricked out it looked like a clock on a strap. Who buys this crap? Not somebody concerned with what time it is. Maybe somebody trying to get beat up? I just wear my Timex and a t-shirt that reads: “My other watch is a Rolex.” I knew a guy who wore a real Rolex. Parked at a McDonald’s in a Rolls Royce. He had a pistol in his ribs before he could say “Super size me.” When you go slumming you ought to dress down.
The thing you notice about the people here is that while they are friendly, they are not obsequious. The British were here and they left behind their signature export — other than unbridled materialism — a polite reserve. In Britain the mark of good breeding is to display no gestures which might suggest an emotional response radiating from the belly outward. One contains chaotic impulses with the patterned brain. A proper Englishman doesn’t wave his hands and jump up and down on encountering an old friend, for example. The corners of his mouth might turn up but if the eyes wrinkle, it is decorously. “Hello old fruit. Shame about your wife.”
“One copes old sod. She did cross against the light.” A slight movement at the corner of the mouth.
“Rather slow.” A twitch under the left eye, and the hilarity has passed.
Maybe they are just cautious, here, because, in the immortal words of Bob Dylan, the cops don’t need you and man, they expect the same. That’s what I’ve heard about Singapore, at least. Don’t spit on the sidewalk because it’s illegal. Don’t drop your cigarette butt on the sidewalk or piss on the wall or threaten somebody. In general you want to contain yourself, the way the other people here contain themselves. In exchange you get a spotless city with polite, efficient services and cab drivers who correct you if you try to pay too much. I did overpay when we had to slip in the nearest air conditioned place to escape having a heat stroke, but that was in O’Leary’s Bar, an American franchise.
We sat in O’Leary’s and studied some tours, deciding what we might want to see during the two days we have here. Linda, being Linda, is reading reviews on the internet before committing. She has downloaded some apps, such as a map of the city, and is fortified with a Singapore Sling, while I had something that won’t make me go blind: a mimosa.
One copes. A slight movement at the edge of the right eye, then in a bizarre and visually unpleasant episode the right ear folds all the way forward and then flat against the skull in three full flexures. Two policemen approach woodenly from behind a potted plant: “Too much! Too much!”