Days 26 – 28: Singapore

Photos: http://princeton.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2050784&l=0ae63&id=1101094

On my flight to Singapore, I was paging through the International Edition of Newsweek when I happened upon a story by Kendyl Salcito. Kendyl Salcito? As in Kendyl Salcito, Princeton Class of 2004? Could this be the same girl I knew in college? I’ve dropped her an email, so I’ll soon find out.

Not wanting to disappoint my Australians friends from Mumbai, I spent my first night in Singapore at C.H.J.M.E.S. and Clarke Quay. C.H.J.M.E.S. turned out to be an upscale complex of restaurants and bars, and I had a fine meal of burgers and Tiger beers (made in Singapore) while talking to a friendly Singaporean girl sitting down the bar from me. This girl informed me that there are two types of Singaporeans: the traditional type, who dress conservatively, go out to dinner and order water, and rarely loosen up (she pointed to a table of such “traditional” Singaporeans to illustrate her point), and the modern, liberal type, who like to go out to clubs and drink and dance. This second type of Singaporean has only been allowed to flourish recently, as the nightclubs and bars of Clarke Quay are a relatively recent phenomenon. As Singapore’s government loosens up, its population is able to do the same.

I spent the latter part of the evening at the bars and clubs of Clarke Quay with two British girls that I met. Most of the Singaporeans in the bars seemed far too busy and far too good-looking to talk to me, but the British girls were totally available and totally chatty. Maybe that’s because they were ugly.

We started off at a particularly trendy bar called FashionBar. I guess the easiest way to describe the place is by saying that it had beads draped over the entrance. Yes, my kind of place.

While thumbing through my wallet on the way to get another drink, a man bumped into my arm. I glanced up to see who the guilty party was, and looked right into Mel Gibson’s face. Stunned, I stood speechless as Mel brushed by me and headed for a back booth with his entourage in tow. I pondered whether to go talk to him, but decided he would prefer to be left alone. Five minutes later, the entire bar discovered his presence, and before long there was a hoard of people surrounding his booth. Five minutes after that, Mel was gone.

I finished up the night at a club around the corner from FashionBar. I did some dancing with my British friends, and then a good-looking Singaporean girl walked up and started dancing with me. Predictably, she turned out to be a prostitute.

The next morning I took a long shower to wash off any diseases I may have obtained from my previous night’s encounter with Mel Gibson, namely alcoholism and anti-Semitism.

I spent the day wandering through the streets of Singapore. This place really is beautiful. Sure, it’s sterile and soulless, but after India it’s a breath of fresh air (literally). I played soccer in a park with some Australian kids—in the middle of the city!—and bought tickets to see Swan Lake on Ice at the ultra-modern Esplanade Theater.

Swan Lake turned out to be a bit of a disappointment. It seems I had forgotten that I don’t like ballet.

I spent the remainder of the evening at the Raffles Hotel’s Long Bar, a famous colonial-era bar known for its signature drink, the Singapore Sling. I had my first Singapore Sling at the Long Bar itself, but there was no one but the bartender to talk to, so I headed upstairs to listen to the live music. The band played fine renditions of American oldies—think The Drifters, Elvis, The Righteous Brothers, and The Temptations—and I had a great time singing along.

Just then a girl at the table next to me asked if I would take a picture with her. With her? OK, sure. We had our picture taken in front of the band, and then she asked me if I would like to join her and her two friends at their table. Happy to have someone to talk to, I quickly accepted the offer. It turned out that the trio was from Kuala Lumpur, and that the girl who had asked to have her picture taken with me was a model. A model? And you wanted your picture taken with me? Something is wrong here.

Back at my hostel, I sat down to use the internet, which was free for guests. At this point it was 11:55pm, and I wanted to respond to a few emails before going to bed. But at midnight, the hostel owner walked up and told me that I had to get off the computer.

Me: “Wait, why can’t I use the internet after midnight?”

Him: “Because that’s the rule.”

Me: “But why is it the rule? Don’t you pay a flat rate for internet regardless of how much you use it?”

Him: “Yes, but it’s still the rule. No internet after midnight.”

Me: “Ok, but do you think you can make an exception just this once? I really need to send one email.”

Him: “Hmmm… ok, fine, one email.”

Me: “Thanks!”

(Thirty seconds pass.)

Me: “Wait, now the connection is down. Do you know what the problem is?”

Him: “Yes—I just turned off the internet connection for the night, because it’s past midnight. Sorry!”

Me (aside): “Bastard!”

This brings me to two of my major problems with Singapore: the unfriendliness of many of the people I’ve met, and the pointless rules.

The next morning at breakfast I met an Indian guy named Paul, and I hung out with him until my flight to Jakarta that afternoon. Paul was from Hyderabad, but had studied in Singapore for the past few years. He was almost done with school, and wanted to open a bar in Singapore with the money he’d made from investing in land in India. According to his research, the bars of Boat Quay and Clarke Quay made a killing, and he was hoping to cash in for himself.

But Paul was far more interesting from a social perspective. In short, girls love Paul. At first, it wasn’t entirely clear to me why, but after a few hours of talking with him I began to understand. Basically, he’s overly friendly, incredibly flirtatious, and unafraid to talk to any girl, in any situation. His basic strategy is to see a girl, catch her eye, smile at her, and then go up and talk to her a few minutes later. He says the vast majority of girls respond well to his approach, and I’ve seen evidence to back his claims: the previous night, a Japanese girl was crying over him. And she’d known him since… that morning.