Day One!

Well, sort of anyway...
I just haven't done anything yet becasue I only got here at 7pm!

30th Jan
I left home last night feeling rather tearful and vulnerable, not to say nervous about the whole thing. Whilst still feeling rather peculiar due to missing people and not having met up with anyone I know yet, I am nonetheless excited: a whole city to explore and three days to do it in! Now, I wonder how long I can stand my own company… ;)
I had a drink with Andrew and my dad when we got to Heathrow about 6pm. The traffic had been pretty good so I got there in plenty of time to check in and make sure I had a half-decent seat (aisle – hooray!).
It is a pleasant flight, in so far as being stuffed in a steel tube with lots of other people can be pleasant. I am seated next to a couple of nice people – Lyn, from Perth, and her son, James. They are very friendly and we chat amiably throughout the flight in between accidentally flinging hyper-pressurised yogurt and recalcitrant food lids at each other. James and I try to work out how to play checkers against each other on the in-flight system, but fail so go back to films instead!
I do manage to watch WALL-E though, which is a very sweet film, but probably better on a bigger screen. That said, the viewing-yoga isn’t too strenuous in this particular seat!
Likewise, all the screaming babies are at the OTHER end of the plane, and my ear plugs work beautifully to screen out most of the ambient noise.
All in all, the getting stuck behind tea-trolleys, elbowing people in the ear whilst putting on my flight socks, having baby throwing up in ear, queuing interminably for the loo… actually doesn’t happen! I snooze, I eat, I watch a film, I snooze again and I eat some more – that’s pretty much it! Oh yes, that and the immigration card – which puts the fear of God-knows-what into you as you read the back, ‘There is a death penalty for drug traffickers’. I spend the last half hour of the flight hoping like crazy that no one has decided to pick my bag as a mule on the way through the airport!!
Fortunately I make it through without any extra unwanted baggage and wander happily, if feeling slightly bewildered, through the ‘Nothing to Declare’ exit and out onto the main concourse. Singapore airport is, in complete contrast to Heathrow’s clinical and half-built sterility, quite beautiful. Carpeted throughout, it boasts ferns and flower beds, pots of pink and green plants and little circular fountains surrounded by orchids of such magenta opulence one is sure they can’t be real… The water playing in the background soon soothes my confused and tired mind.
A friendly airport girl in red spots me looking bewildered, as I surely must after the 12 hour flight, and helps me to find the hotel shuttle bus, on which I book a seat for the princely sum of S$9 (no more than £5). It arrives just as I have paid, which is lucky. I go out to find it. Even though it is now dark, the heat outside is bordering on oppressive, though that may be partly due to me still wearing some of my winter UK layers! The heat falls on me like a hot damp towel sliding off a rail in a bathroom when I exit the airport’s air conditioned shelter. I find the bus with no trouble and am the second aboard. I and am helped by the driver, a friendly, open-faced Malay chap who takes my bags and hefts them on board.
Even the highway from Changi to the centre is like a different world. It is lined with slim gnarled trees, elegant and oriental, which almost form a canopy over some of the road. These trees gradually give way to tall, fronded palms, then back to trees again. Even some of the walkways and bridges flaunt cascading displays of living greenery. We pass high tenements, office blocks and brightly lit eateries, MacDonald’s in particular! The bus mingles on its way with various cars, some clearly Western breeds, others unrecognisable but still sleek and tailored. These are in marked contrast to the cabs, which are small square affairs, with large boots, decidedly reminiscent of 1980’s USA Hollywood cop cars. One has its boot chained shut, as if trying to prevent an escape…
We pass a gigantic, red-lit wheel off to the left, which bears a resemblance to the London Eye. Singapore, at first glance, seems to be an odd combination of UK familiarity and Eastern otherness; Subway and MacDonalds rub shoulders with local takeaways, though the predominant feel is still one of colonial Englishness. Singapore is a complex hybrid of cultures, a small island not quite like any other. I wonder if I will feel like venturing forth after brushing my teeth – probably not, given that I am tired and travel-worn!
As we pass a hotel, I notice that there are still signs of New Year in evidence. There are red and gold woven knots still on some of the local doors, a lantern or two and a decorated float with gilded fish and red and white flags. As well as these, there are also four average looking local guys in red tee-shirts coming out of 7 eleven with large drinks. However, the eye is drawn by their red and gilded betassled trousers and shoes – they have clearly been the lower portions of a dragon!
The bus goes, after not too long, to the Frangrance Hotel Selegie. It is not as well placed or outfitted as some of the larger ones, but seems perfectly adequate: neat, sizeable and organised. My card-key doesn’t work, to my consternation, but clearly the girl at reception has seen my predicatment on CCTV because just as I have decided to go down to the reception desk again, she comes trotting briskly and efficiently along the corridor with a master key in one hand. I am to get it reset tomorrow (or maybe I’ll do it this evening…)
I enter my room (fortunately no bell-boy to tip!) on the 8th floor and am surprised by its minuteness. It is, rather than being a living space, merely a small double bedroom. This is hardly a problem for someone of my small stature and with my few bags, but I wonder how a couple would fight out the minimal space. It is rather hot and stuffy, but I see an air conditioning unit on the wall by the door, which I shall shortly make use of. Opening the door to the en-suite (where I expect to find the profit margin lurking behind a bath) I see nothing but a corner of wall, a toilet and sink. ‘Where on earth…’, I think to myself, ‘…do I wash?’ I sigh and steel myself for a long and depressing walk to a shared bathing area, or worse still, no wash at all for three days. Phoo-ee!
It is only once I make use of the facilities I have already noticed, that I realise where the shower is… Dangling sturdily almost above my head – the perfect space-saving solution, providing I don’t accidentally drench the toilet roll or flood the bedroom floor… I am about to plug in the kettle (I’m not drinking un-boiled water from an unfamiliar bathroom) and am struck by the plug. It’s not Asian. It’s an English 3-pin. So’s the socket. And the mugs are from Ikea. Ah… Camomile and spearmint tea, then Nod here I come!
Although, my digestive system thinks it’s lunchtime, despite it having had two meals on the plane, and is complaining. Perhaps I ought to find it something to eat with my tea. I will raid my meagre stash of nibblies before bed!

;)