YVR to Singapore

Selemat Datang:


I'm in Singapore . Sing-a-pura. We got here via the wings of Singapore Airlines:


I have engaged in a course called "Transform Yourself", teaching me how to succeed and integrate myself into the developing Sinaporean market while developing confidence in interpersonal skills*. Here is my icebreaker shot:


YVR was a slumber of a time. After being queried as to whether or not I was traveling with the fellow sleeping on the bench in front of me, I established that the airport really does keep tabs on its terminal inhabitants. This lad from Belgium was on night two: "do you have a boarding pass for a connected flights?" No. Denied: further terminal access.


Also: the benches at YVR are some sort of hyper-balance phenomenon. At about 2 am someone deployed their tired sleeping body to accompany me on the other side, and every movement began to feel like a car hitting a rumble strip. The planet, as existent within the boundaries of this bench, were shaking.

The airport awoke at 4 am, with the first scheduled flight was at 6. I have always fantasized that airports were one of the places that are perpetually in effect, denying the routines of night/day. But hibernate away half their functioning from 1-4 am. Departures are partially governed by the timezone in which they disembark. But sure, drop me into Delhi at 2 am. That's fine.

As for the air: Singapore Airlines is still the top of the food chain in terms of international airlines. Once the carts get to the end of the row, they've instantaneously transported themselves to the other side to serve something else. They provide hot towels and more orange juice than you can handle. Yes, free alcohol. 12 years later, the safety video still preaches that in case of oxygen shortage in the cabin "attend to yourself first, THEN THE CHILD." The audio program housed Neon Bible and Sound of Silver in their full-length integrity. Yes, it is a fanciful little bubble in the sky that brainwashes you from the reality you are about to endure, if you're going to India. But...I was going to Singapore.


Via...Tokyo. I knew it was Japan because the bathrooms had marble floors and the giftshop had Sanrio everything. There were also kimonos, and things priced in Yen. The terminal was adorned with inaccessible glass rooms hosting post-modern architecture and Zen gardens.


But now I'm in Singapore, and it's so...easy. Considering this is Asia, I was mesmerized at the flawless efficiency with which we reached a street to which I could barely dictate the name. Airport shuttle: $7; Taxi: $20; Taxi-Limo; $35. As I was not staying at The Hyatt, The Marriott or the Raffles Hotel, the airport shuttle was not an option. So we got into the taxi queue, and at 130 km/h, we paid $19.40 to reach out destination. And so we checked into a hostel with the functionality of an HI.

Singapore is a perplexing amalgamation of parts. It holds the appearance of Asia: open sewers, grass that grows like ferns, scuttling cockroaches with yellow headbands, no bullshit retailers (see: 'You Need It' convenience). But then it has: no people, no litter, no poverty; and unbelievably functional and immaculate infrastructure.

Me and the Merlion in the Lion City:


We spent the day walking the city and returning to our old haunts (my sister and I used to fly here once a month for orthodontics). These consisted of: the Hyatt Regency, Sunny's Bookshop, Dunkin' Donuts, McDonalds, and the Aloha Dental Clinic; all of which were confined to about three blocks. It took a good hour and a half to get to this upper-class shopping mecca on foot, in which we covered about fifty percent of Singapore. 12 years in the future, and the Dunkin' Donuts was replaced with a 7-11 and the McDonald's with a Burger King. They also filled our secret swimming cave in the gardens of the Hyatt with plants. We paid too much for dinner in the name of history, though I'm still calling Pete's Place one of the best Italian restaurants I know. Transit took us back, on a bus with a 'no durian' sign. Ah yes, another Asian paradigm.


-Tara

*This information is included in comedic defense of the photograph.