People must understand that when they read this blog that it is by no means a glorification of the exotic and foreign. If somehow words have conveyed that message over time, then it is not intended quite that way. For a travel guide, I would suggest something different, like a Lonely Planet. Here you will see the authenticity of all places, first and third world. It just so happens that for the majority of my time, I happen to live in third world countries. I have learned that every place I have been to in the world has its good and bad sides. I might seem a little more cynical in third world countries, but again I still choose to live in them, so is this really a votum for the first world I come from? The answer is absolutely not. That vote is evenly divided.
Then people can probably also imagine what happens when you go from a dirt-poor city to an ultra-rich one. The first impressions of Singapore are favorable. I was also wondering what a city would look like if it had the skyscrapers and modern glitter of, say, Chicago mixed with the culture and old world feel of a Vienna or a Venice. It would probably look something like Singapore.
A five hour plane ride takes us from Kathmandu over India, Bangladesh, Thailand and Malaysia to Singapore. You can’t help but be impressed when you first see Singapore, especially in the evening. Hundreds of high rises, each one seemingly competing for its own prominence, are flexing steel and glass muscle from the ground, all against a backdrop of moonlit water. Whereas Kathmandu would look dark from the air at eight p.m. (remember, the load shedding currently is sixteen hours), even Las Vegas looks like a nightlight compared to this place. Millions of lights peer at you like eager eyes who have just woken up. In truth, they are about to hit the sack. Very American, although for a population of five million people on an island, that means a lot of highrises. Not bad a for a former Malay fishing village.
The airport itself is impeccably clean, freakishly so. There are a few good reasons for this, as I find out later. All I know for now is that we have quickly left the plane and are directed to the taxis in no time. On my way to the taxi stand, a few duty-free purchases: A three-pack of Hoegarden for around five dollars (US) and a bottle of red Chilean wine for about $ 24. These would turn out to be the best purchases I would make in Singapore.
A taxi takes us into town over clean roads with not a speck of an indication there might be such a thing as a pothole. They must be spending their taxes wisely. When we arrive at the hotel in the heart of the city, we pay the driver, unload our bags and check in. It’s very late in the evening, close to the boy's bedtime, so the hunting chores, that is shopping for food, fall onto me. I buy a few items from a Bar and Grille restaurant, translate from Singaporean to US dollars and confirm that we are back in the west where you pay western prices for quality western goods. Only the pint I drink, a Carslberg, while waiting for my food costs me ten dollars and will be the last drink I have in this town, at least in a bar or restaurant. I walk a few blocks and am impressed. Behind the Bar and Grill is a top shelf bicycle shop. Most of these bikes cost more than my car, I realize, making me a staring rather than a buying customer. A Starbucks, a McDonald’s, and a Seven Eleven complete the U.S. facelift of this fine city.
There are signs that threaten you with a fine if you spit anywhere. People take this seriously, as I am still twisting my neck at every angle to look for something to ruin this city's perfection, if even a gum wrapper or a cigarette butt. Nothing. The place is as manufactured as a new car rolled out from an auto plant. The blemishes of this city will have to wait till the next day, if there are any.
Then people can probably also imagine what happens when you go from a dirt-poor city to an ultra-rich one. The first impressions of Singapore are favorable. I was also wondering what a city would look like if it had the skyscrapers and modern glitter of, say, Chicago mixed with the culture and old world feel of a Vienna or a Venice. It would probably look something like Singapore.
A five hour plane ride takes us from Kathmandu over India, Bangladesh, Thailand and Malaysia to Singapore. You can’t help but be impressed when you first see Singapore, especially in the evening. Hundreds of high rises, each one seemingly competing for its own prominence, are flexing steel and glass muscle from the ground, all against a backdrop of moonlit water. Whereas Kathmandu would look dark from the air at eight p.m. (remember, the load shedding currently is sixteen hours), even Las Vegas looks like a nightlight compared to this place. Millions of lights peer at you like eager eyes who have just woken up. In truth, they are about to hit the sack. Very American, although for a population of five million people on an island, that means a lot of highrises. Not bad a for a former Malay fishing village.
The airport itself is impeccably clean, freakishly so. There are a few good reasons for this, as I find out later. All I know for now is that we have quickly left the plane and are directed to the taxis in no time. On my way to the taxi stand, a few duty-free purchases: A three-pack of Hoegarden for around five dollars (US) and a bottle of red Chilean wine for about $ 24. These would turn out to be the best purchases I would make in Singapore.
A taxi takes us into town over clean roads with not a speck of an indication there might be such a thing as a pothole. They must be spending their taxes wisely. When we arrive at the hotel in the heart of the city, we pay the driver, unload our bags and check in. It’s very late in the evening, close to the boy's bedtime, so the hunting chores, that is shopping for food, fall onto me. I buy a few items from a Bar and Grille restaurant, translate from Singaporean to US dollars and confirm that we are back in the west where you pay western prices for quality western goods. Only the pint I drink, a Carslberg, while waiting for my food costs me ten dollars and will be the last drink I have in this town, at least in a bar or restaurant. I walk a few blocks and am impressed. Behind the Bar and Grill is a top shelf bicycle shop. Most of these bikes cost more than my car, I realize, making me a staring rather than a buying customer. A Starbucks, a McDonald’s, and a Seven Eleven complete the U.S. facelift of this fine city.
There are signs that threaten you with a fine if you spit anywhere. People take this seriously, as I am still twisting my neck at every angle to look for something to ruin this city's perfection, if even a gum wrapper or a cigarette butt. Nothing. The place is as manufactured as a new car rolled out from an auto plant. The blemishes of this city will have to wait till the next day, if there are any.
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