Singapore - The First 20 Hours.
“Your wife is like your daughter?”
No, I have a daughter.
“What? How old are you?”
*mumbles*
“No way. You look like you’re in your twenties, handsome boy!”
The rule about being called ‘handsome’ (shuai4 ge1 帅哥) or ‘pretty’ (mei2 nv3 美女) in Singapore, or Malaysia, is that they’re going to sell you stuff.
“Wah, look at your back, I barely used any strength and you’re getting all red. A lot of coldness, (han2 chi4 寒气) in your body. Do you want to do cupping (ba2guan4 拔罐)? Only $15 extra.”
Told you so.
And I said yes.
Because the rule of marketing is that flattery often works, especially when the target market has low self-esteem.
It was like one of those hospital stories in which doctors call upon other doctors to come and witness weird cases.
The Chinese lady who upsold cupping from back massaging started going nuts, asking her colleagues to come over.
“Waah, check this out! All purple in a few seconds!”
That's what she said. Literally.
I was a porcupine made of glass cups, unable to move, breathing through a hole.
“Hehe, <snap> don't worry, <snap> I’ll take a photo and show you later. <snap>”
If I close my eyes, then it’s not happening, right?
Let me escape, let me zone out.
My flight touched down on time at 3.30am. My driver couldn't even bother to make small talk.
Having this bustling metropolis perception of Singapore, then seeing it pitch dark on the drive was an eerie experience. Turning into Orchard, I saw a man sitting next to the road, with a lady (young? Old? Her face was covered) lying next to the curb. It's funny, even in the airport, people were just sleeping on the floor, next to the gates, idling at the arrival hall.
Where's the dignity?
Check-in wasn't until 3pm, and the hotel allowed me to decompress in the lobby (after making sure I paid).
I walked to Killiney as they open at 6 am, and if I didn't tell you it was the original Killiney on Killiney road, you'd think it's just a run-down coffee ('kopi') shop.
I ordered a black coffee ('kopi o') as the plan was to fast and not ruin my appetite before my 12pm lunch appointment. Once I realised there was sugar in it*, my fasting was effectively over and I went back in to order a Nasi Lemak, Otak and two soft-boiled eggs. The total was less than a cup of coffee in Melbourne.
*Should’ve told the uncle ‘kopi o, no sugar’.
It was 7.45am when I was back at the hotel, seven hours before checking in.
Instead of showering, I decided to go for a walk. Already stinking from the long flight, why not push the limit?
I managed to video chat with the wife as I passed Fort Canning Park, saw a few Latino mums walking their children. Maybe because I was with my wife virtually, I told her that it actually reminds me of Tenjin in Fukuoka. Trees, rivers, nice breeze. As I saw the third Latino mum with a pram, it dawned on me that they were not the mother, but maids. I was at the Seoul Gangnam equivalent of Singapore, the Shanghai French Concession of Singapore.
Back at the hotel, the receptionist has changed, but my situation had not.
Six hours before check-in.
So I became those people, sitting in the hall, charging my phone.
Screw dignity.
Want cringe? The receptionist asked if I wanted to go to their common area at the back with tables and coffee machine, I said no thanks, there's aircon here.
Eventually, we started chatting, and I realised she was originally from Penang, Malaysia. So I started whipping out my list of places and she'd go yes this and no that. I talked about my parents' hometown and how they had the best anchovies and dried shrimp, and she let out a gasp.
"I'm from the same hometown! I just said Penang because people don't even know the place."
And that's when she went from Charmaine to 'Si Wen'. It takes years for Singaporeans to tell you their Chinese name. For me, it was 20 minutes.
I told her I had a lunch appointment at 12pm, what are the chances I can get my room before then? She said she'll see what she can do. Yes, the Malaysian bond.
I pushed the line further and whipped out my laptop, checking emails.
An email from a travel magazine contact, realising I was in Singapore, asked if I could shoot some local photos as well.
So this half-work, half-holiday trip, officially became a work work trip.
My room was ready at 11.30 am.
I threw everything on the bed, boiled a kettle of water, and ordered a car.
I made it toThe Carlton Hotel at 12:03pm.
I'll save the review for later, but as I was sitting down, I dropped my phone and the LCD went blank.
My first reaction was to leave a google review (the sushi was alright, but the lady who led me to my seat was too pushy, stressed me out and made me drop and broke my phone. 1 star.)
Knowing that I needed to fix my phone after lunch, I went for the cheapest nigiri lunch set.
It's funny, as the concierge pulled out a big map, telling me where to find a mobile phone (iFix) near Bugis, I thought of something I saw online about 'old fashion' traveling.
That is, you ask for directions and recommendations from real people on the streets, and try to find the place without GPS.
My wish came true, not by choice, and old fashion traveling can suck shit.
I couldn't find iFix - people from Bugis Junction asked me to try Bugis Steet; people from Bugis Street asked me to try Bugis Junction. Even after harassing a guy with a phone, he couldn't find iFix.
When I finally settled on a shop that isn’t iFix, it was 2pm, and the phone won't be ready by 4pm.
So I did what I wanted to do on my last day - shop for souvenirs for Hana.
That was done in 15 minutes in Kinokuniya, and I just kept walking.
That’s how I ended up in Fu Lu Shou (福禄寿) Plaza.
The building sounds exactly like the name, the concentration of Chinese superstition. The shop lots were 50% Buddhism scriptures, statues, fortunate telling, Feng Shui crystal memorabilia, 50% foot massage, and two shops selling violins.
Makes so much sense, right? It's Sunday, I'm going for a massage, ask for Guan Gong to protect my family, while the child learns Chai Shen Dao on the A string.
That's how I ended up on a massage bed with Chinese aunties taking we-fies (I think) behind my pepperoni back.
It was pouring when I was done, like a sad coming-of-age movie scene after a girl lost her virginity.
By the time I was back in my room, it was 5pm. After video calling with Hana before her bedtime (8pm AEST) I had less than an hour before my fixer Carmen came to pick me up for dinner.
I was supposed to have a nice lunch, check-in 3pm, and nap until dinner.
Having my back throbbing - as if it had twenty mini speakers playing the bass of 'Satisfaction' by Benny Benassi, unable to rest - was not part of the plan.
The first thing I noticed about Carmen was the tattoo on her arm resting on the steering wheel.
I said she's a fixer because I want to sound more important than I actually am. She's a friend of a friend, never met, but kind enough to take me to seafood.
I joked: if the situation was reversed, and I'm a young girl and a middle-aged man came and drove me to dinner, I’d be so worried.
And the awkward air tensed up immediately.
I'd forgotten to gauge the temperature difference in our sense of humour.
ANYWAY, YOU USED TO BE A CHEF IN MELBOURNE RIGHT?
TELL ME MORE!
Carmen had another friend joining us, so that night, in the middle of Yang Ming Seafood Restaurant in Bishan, from the other tables’ point of view, I was a sugar daddy with two girls ordering food, and pouring drinks for me.
We ate lobster, crabs, noodles, vegetables, and Carmen's friend brought a bottle of sake. When I whistled at the junmai daiginjyo label, she replied in the most Singaporean way: 'What? We only have daiginjyo in Singapore'.
We were full, but somehow still ended up ordering another XO fried rice.
As we finished the bottle, the friend was full-on going 'you're obviously not a Singaporean guy, Singaporean guys can't talk la, they suck la, so timid la' without realising, behind her, was a table full of guys. Probably a National Service Force get-together.
And I went 'haha yea probably because of army, deep down Singaporean guys hate Malaysian guys because we never had to do national service hahahaha."
Hey, I drank 1/3 of the bottle too.
Don’t worry, the night ended peacefully, probably because the guys thought I was a mafia boss.
By the time I was back at the hotel, overfed, tipsy. It was 10.30pm (1.30am AEST), Hana will be calling me in six hours.
"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning 9.30am for breakfast," Carmen said before driving off.
As I showered, with a lizard staring at me on the wall, it also dawned on me that the girls paid.
I wasn’t the sugar daddy; they were my sugar mummies.
Haha, because the massage lady said I was a ‘handsome boy boy boy boy boy …’
Her voice echoed as I dropped dead.