We arrived in the Singapore airport around 12:30 am, tired
yet so deprived of sleep that my circadian rhythm was virtually a tabulsa rasa; that is, I could have fit
into any time zone I wanted (I can't sleep on planes). The airport thoroughly confirmed what I had heard
about the country: Though largely empty, it was clean, modern, and would have
made an enviable shopping experience, had the stores been open (I hear it even
has a swimming pool available to departing passengers). Alas, it wasn’t, and we
hopped in a cab to Karen’s house, located in Bukoh Timah (or something like
that), what she called a “suburb” of the city.
For those who aren’t familiar with Singapore, the entire
country is one huge city, situated on the very tip of the peninsular country of
Malaysia. Originally, they were one country, but racial politics was a large
factor in a relatively recent split. According to Karen, Malaysia was concerned
about the plight of its Malay population, which was being dominated by
immigrants from the more powerful China and India (writing this right after
having arrived in Kuala Lumpur, I can testify to these countries’ very evident
influence in the country—just check out the restaurants at the airport). To
compensate, therefore, the Malaysian government enacted policies designed to
benefit the Malay, simultaneously alienating the Chinese population and
angering the people of Singapore, who refused to obey the policies. So, Karen
told us, Malaysia kicked Singapore out, and Singapore became a haven for
Malaysia’s Chinese population. It is now an independent country, flourishing
economically, but well-controlled by a government so regulated that Singapore
famously bans chewing gum (lest the discarded gum end up dirtying its streets).
This racial diversity is clearly seen in Singapore’s famous
“hawker markets.” Just think of a food court in an American mall, but with many
more stalls, many more dining options, much cheaper prices, and no air
conditioning in a covered building open to the air. Then add signs with very
little English, bowls filled with noodles from which prawn heads appear, and
more smells than your nose can possibly differentiate. Then you’re getting
close to a hawker market. Karen directed us to several of these before all the
wedding festivities began. The first, Newton Market, was a large circular
courtyard, lined with stalls selling carrot cake (some sort of meat cooked with
turnip pieces), kang kong (a kind of vegetable partway between spinach and
lemongrass, known as “water spinach” in English), stingray served in banana
leaves, and the Singaporean classic, “chicken rice.” Our group of Princeton
friends ordered a variety of dishes and offered each other bites. I ordered the
chicken rice and kang kong, and while I loved the latter, I must say I was
rather unimpressed with the former. The chicken is itself rather bland, but is
supposed to be served with really flavorful rice and chili sauce to enhance the
taste. I must say, Singapore has taught me the beauty of chili sauce—our
American imitations just don’t do it justice—but my rice didn’t quite measure
up to my expectations. I was told that this sometimes happens, but that over
time one comes to crave the simplicity of chicken and carbs.
Besides eat (evidently the main tourist occupation in
Singapore), we also awaited the festivities by participating in the colonialist
experience. Or at least, it seemed like it. The Raffles Hotel is famous in
Singapore for its “Singapore Sling,” a cocktail composed of multiple kinds of
fruit juices. But not only is it really expensive ($28 for a single drink
halfway filled with ice!), it’s also located in a bar so reminiscent of
colonial Britain that it actually made me uncomfortable. The building is a
beautiful white outside, with beautiful dark (teak?)wood inside, lending a dark
elegance to a circular staircase, close-knit tables, and a long bar decorated
with faux European masterpieces behind. Mechanized leaf-shaped fans circulated
air over patrons sipped fancy drinks in linen clothing, who lounged at the
tables or in leather armchairs.
The thing about these aforesaid patrons, though: all white.
After having spent a few days rubbing shoulders with the locals, suddenly we were
surrounded by the height of European colonial decadence, symbolized by the
people themselves; I almost expected Rudyard Kipling to get up from one of the
armchairs. I was already starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, and then I saw
our waiter: Indian! Here was Mowgli serving the memsahibs in the local tourist
trap, treating us like George Orwell’s British colonial soldiers in Burmese Days. The picture was so
complete I actually began to laugh. I
could hardly believe such an explicit colonial evocation existed, particularly
in a place like Singapore, otherwise so modern and cutting-edge!
I mean, just take the Gardens by the Bay (I’m telling this a
bit out of chronological order, but bear with me). It is what would happen if
Dr. Seuss designed Lothlorien from Lord of the Rings (in a good way). It was
only built last fall, but it is an absolute marvel of tropical horticulture in
an urban environment. Huge towers covered top to bottom in tropical plants
spring up out of the ground, their skeletons made of fuchsia and purple pipes.
The effect was like a remote planet from Star Wars, made all the more
reminiscent of Luke and Leah’s treetop bear-people experience by a suspension
bridge hung between the towers.
To be continued...
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