- Enjoying the advent of Christmas in Tiong Bahru.
Please note the complete absence of any season's greetings. The only signs around the base of the tree read: Danger - HIGH VOLTAGE. Nothing like a good bit of Christmas cheer!
- Learning about an architectural wonder planned for 2010: Marina Bay Sands - two thousand five hundred rooms spread across three fifty-five storey towers topped by a magnificent 1.2 hectare Sky Park, employing more than ten thousand people and setting its sights as one of Asia's most iconic, spectacular, original and breathtaking venues. It is hoped the hotel will throw open its doors in April and the Sky Park will be ready for strolling, running, and kite-flying in June. Along with Universal Studios and Resorts World on Sentosa, Singapore's entertainment offerings are about to receive a much-welcome face lift in 2010. We can hardly wait.
- Booze Cruising in Singapore waters. Grab 99 of your favourite buddies, ask everyone to bring a bottle of their favourite poison and set sail from Marina South Pier aboard a diesel-powered vessel for the Singapore Straits.
Giving new meaning to the word "shots"
Add thumping tunes, pirate costumes, a vat of dangerous cocktail, super soakers filled with vodka, moor the boat off the Southern Islands and watch as young adults throw themselves in the water for an afternoon's alternative entertainment.
- Feeling Zouked Out. The tradition is to rent a hotel room in one of the Siloso beach resorts, start drinking at 4 pm and hope that you can still stand by the time any of the good DJs grace the stages (around 1 am). We, thankfully, were invited to substitute a delicious home-cooked Thai meal for the liquid dinner chosen by some of our friends and arrived on the beach around 2 am (after waiting in the longest traffic jam in the clubbing universe) in time to enjoy some drinks before the beginning of Richie Hawtin's set an hour later. Sadly, some of the hotel-goers didn't even manage to make it out of the rooms and on to the beach (a mere five minute walk).
Where are your friends now?
We had never seen so many train wrecks in Singapore, all gathered together in one large space, covered in sand, revelling in the fact that it was the one night of the year that the police turn a blind eye. Despite that, the atmosphere was electric and exploded when the main man of the night, Armin Van Buuren arrived to trance it up. At this point, being techno-lovers, we had to make our excuses and decided to embark on the one-and-a-half hour trek back to Harbourfront MRT. We watched the sunrise over the Universal Studios building site, admiring the twists and turns of the soon-to-be opened rollercoasters and were content that the moon was still smiling on us:
Next up is Christmas Day and all the trimmings, New Year in Thailand and our one year anniversary of being Sin City dwellers. Bring on the party season! Let the drinking games begin.
Being sent on a business trip at the last minute to Auckland, New Zealand wasn't on my planned weekend agenda. And so with great difficulty, I hauled my brunch drunk mind to the airport after a six hour champagne-fueled session. Thankfully, I was travelling business class, so my position at the low-lit Krisflyer lounge bar sipping more champagne was not exactly a shock to the system. I was more alarmed that the first class lounge (I was sneaked in by my fellow frequent travellers) was not proportionately better than the business class lounge. Why was I not drinking out of a gold-plated goblet and being fed grapes?
Ten hours on a flat bed later, interrupted only by my next door neighbour laughing maniacally at his screen, we rolled into our waiting car and enjoyed the slow drive to the city centre through rows of two-storey houses and green fields. I won't lie: "more sheep than people" kept resonating through my mind.
On arrival at The Westin, I was pleasantly surprised to be welcomed to a hotel right on the quayside, overlooking a vast array of yachts, large and small. Still, though, Where Is Everybody?
After our meetings finished around 6 pm, we were astonished to find out that all shops, except for the supermarket and a pharmacy had closed. It was hard to come to terms with the grief at not having Singapore style late night shopping to keep us occupied, so we consoled ourselves with enormous steaks at Jervois Steak House & Saloon, washed down with some fine local wines before heading to the ONLY bar in Lighter Quay that had any kind of 'atmosphere' (a.k.a PEOPLE), Danny Doolans. Two guys with guitars belted out familiar tunes such as 'Brown-Eyed Girl' whilst we sipped whiskies and answered emails from colleagues working on Singapore business hours.
The next day, we were treated to a late start which allowed me to indulge my oyster fetish. Six of some of the largest and juiciest rock oysters slid down my neck before we were trapped in our meeting room until 7 pm. Given that it was our last night, however, and that the meetings had progressed well, we all headed off to the exquisite Kermadec at Viaduct Harbour, just a short stroll from our hotel.
As locally caught and freshly shucked oysters were a special on the menu, it seemed a crying shame not to indulge once more. They were different from any I had ever tasted before - hats off to Head Chef, Richard Highnam. To follow, I opted for the Confit Hapuku Fillet with asparagus étuvée, toasted wheat and scampi pilaf, baby sorrel, Cotriade stock, and one eye bouillabaisse. To finish, I had the simply titled but delectably complex, 'Rooibos Red Bush Tea and Caramel Custard', which was a divine selection of five different desserts in one. A delicious Rippon Valley Riesling from 2007 helped to oil the chatter cogs whilst I learned about the quiet life on North Island, New Zealand. Apparently, it's all about owning a boat.
In all, my forty-eight hours in Auckland was enjoyable, primarily because of the superb seafood, steak and ludicrously low-priced wine (by Singaporean standards). It was a good experience to be somewhere so serene that starkly contrasted with the hustle and bustle of Singapore life. The Kiwis have perfected the 'work to live' approach to life and with so much outdoor space per capita to enjoy, who can blame them?
Another long weekend (Hari Raya Haji), another short break. This time, I went off alone to visit a friend who had been living in China for nine months, five of which had been in Yangshuo. To get there without spending a small fortune, I opted to go via Kuala Lumpur on Malaysia's popular low-cost carrier, Air Asia.
Whilst Air Asia flies out of Terminal 1 of Changi Airport, it flies in and out of Kuala Lumpur's dedicated budget terminal (also known as "Hell On Earth" - full of The Damned and all their children).
To kill the time between touching down at 7 pm and departing for Guilin at 6 am, I embarked on the one hour journey into the city (via dusty, smelly bus to the international terminal and super-sleek, looks-like-the-Heathrow-Express fast train) to meet with some friends at Leonardo's Dining Room and Wine Loft.
Flamin'
A few whiskies and some bright blue shots set on fire later, we journeyed off into the night to chow down on some excellent nasi lemak (coconut rice, beef rendang, ikan bilis, peanuts and extra chilli sauce served on a banana leaf - what's not to like at 3 am?) at a busy mamak stall. Then, off I was whisked in a taxi, slowly jolting in and out of consciousness as my driver sped towards the airport.
Arriving back in Hell, it seemed the population of The Damned had doubled. It was utter mayhem attempting to check-in whilst still mildly inebriated and lacking sleep. The Departure Hall was worse than the Arrivals, so it was with a great sigh that I found a suitably hard chair and spent my waiting time muttering about the loudness of the tannoy and the constant flow of imbeciles around me, seemingly travelling with their kitchen sinks and three generations of their families.
It was with pure joy that I stepped out into the cold air at Guilin airport at 10 am. It was the first time that I had seen my breath for a very long time, so I marvelled at that for a few seconds whilst I located the mini-bus that would take me into the city centre. Forty five minutes later, I de-wedged myself and hopped off the bus into the roaringly busy Friday morning traffic.
First stop after meeting my friend and another friend who was on a South East Asian tour, was the Seven Star Scenic Park where we lunched on bland dumplings and started the first of many sniggers at the beautiful command of English that appears on the majority of signs in China.
warm reminding you
Shortly after, we decided to ditch Guilin in favour of the more picturesque surroundings of Yangshuo so hopped on a local bus where I intermittently topped up my sleep credits between the loud honks of the bus horn and knocking my head against the window as we journeyed down the bumpy road.
On arrival in Yangshuo, I immediately sensed the calm and laid back atmosphere in stark contrast to the bustle of Guilin.
The man selling bamboo was having a nap in the street, sausages hung from windows slowly air-drying and the view across the Li River of the monoliths in the mist was breathtaking.
Bamboo man nap time
Monoliths in the mist
After admiring the view from my friend's flat and getting settled in to my home for the next 48 hours, we took a stroll to grab some food at a local eating house off Shen Shen Lu Road, opposite the Tai Chi school where for just six RMB (55 pence/S$1.20), we had our pick of raw ingredients which was stir-fried and served with rice. Simple, but delicious.
Roof terrace view - surrounded by beautiful mountains
Take your pick!
For our after-dinner stroll, we ambled around the most bustling part of Yangshuo, West Street (or to use its full name, "West Plaza hotel shopping food Walking Street") where we were greeted with stares and people wanting to take our photograph whilst we perused the selection of hundreds of trinkets you never knew you needed.
We shot some pool at MC Blues, pondered what could possibly be in a "Pakistan Sandwich" and relaxed in the roof top expat haven of Monkey Janes, complete with dedicated beer pong table, and snake surprise.
Any idea what's in a Pakistan Sandwich? Answers on a postcard. We were laughing too much to be able to ask.
Snake Surprise
The next day, we hired bikes and, after a hearty breakfast of dumplings next door to the "Simmer soup crock Museum", headed off on a circular tour along the Yu Long river. We stopped by the Outside Inn before heading to the Jiu Xian art house via lunchtime. In a falling down hamlet by the Yu Long river, we were led to our eating house with no menu and no other customers.
Sliced pork and potatoes in oyster sauce, fried egg and tomatoes and deep fried battered aubergine with steamed rice. Delicious and peaceful! (^_^)
Best name for a cat I ever heard: Chairman Miaow
After our post-lunch glow had worn off, we travelled along gravelly tracks and concrete roads and had a "Stand By Me" moment. We made up songs, we tried to whistle in tune, we had no map and it felt so good.
Whether it was the mountain surroundings, the air or just something my friend had put in my tea earlier, I can honestly say I was totally relaxed and my smile was a permanent fixture on my face. Then, we reached the ancient river crossing and I soon snapped out of 'free' mode to 'OK, I could actually fall in the water' mode. Clambering down the bank after negotiating our special price for foreigners, I know I leaned a little too hard on the old man about to 'sail' us across the river on his bamboo raft.
Aiii-yaaaaaugh
Once over the other side, we rewarded ourselves by having a terribly sophisticated coffee in a beautiful riverside house with this sign outside:
"You? Sorry, what? WTF?!"
As the mist was drawing in and the coffee had warmed our cheeks, we decided to get a shift on and hot-biked it back to the centre in time for the 7 pm watershed on our rental. Cold shower, no shave and a quick costume change and we were on course for a deliciously stodgy pizza meal, at Rock 'n' Grill, that would line our stomachs for the evening's entertainment: Sid's Birthday.
On the way to The Alley Bar, we passed by two types of stall found all over Yangshuo: The t-shirt shop and the grill stand.
Osama Bin Raden
The soft palate (l) and penis of a pig (r)... on a stick. Dessert, anyone?
We arrived to see the party in full swing and were in time for the ceremonious tune (I was saddened not to hear anyone singing along in Chinese, but hey, this is expat central). I hadn't envisaged being able to ride carefree through the mountains and then go out clubbing, especially before my flight the next morning, but I am easily led. Especially when on holiday. Thankfully, booming East End warehouse this wasn't. Any club containing a pole, funky teenagers and the odd man in his work suit is usually on the 'no-go' list for me, but I can honestly say it was fun taking photos.
Leaving some time around 3 am, we had time to reflect on the evening and the trip in a post-alcohol haze. There is a high turnover rate of expats in Yangshuo. Whether they are lost souls searching for something; running from something; or just hopping in because it's a rare Chinese 'safe haven' and hopping back out before heading onwards to Thailand, the expats are full of anecdotes to share. My over-arching feeling was that Yangshuo is probably one of the few places in China where they have balanced Westernisation with traditional culture. When I return in twenty years, I wonder if I will have changed my viewpoint.
For a crowd that is weary of the über squeaky clean and commercial offerings in Singapore, Jakarta offers a clubbing mecca that goes by the name of "Stadium".
Leaving on the late Air Asia flight on Friday, we missed much of the notorious traffic and arrived around 10 p.m. at our three bedroom (193 square metres) apartment fit for an emerging rock band, complete with glass table, over-sized television featuring Fashion TV, and a fridge full of enough mixers to make Mr. Pyotr Smirnov weep.
After lining our stomachs with vodka, we nipped out for a swift dinner of grilled beef and hit an atrocious bar full of undesirables. It was then time to enter our labyrinthine experience complete with intense aural pleasure and hundreds of sweaty clubbers being chilled by an over-zealous air-conditioning unit producing an atmosphere that was anything but "chilled". Stadium brought back fond memories of East London warehouse parties that can only be described as "gritty".
Putrid post-clubbing smell: check. Ming on shoes: check. Alcohol poisoning: almost.
- Marveling at Tiong Bahru's offerings. Not only can one shop at the Tiong Bahru "Department Store" at the market (this is a unit of not more than 30 square metres akin to a Pound Shop in the UK, selling all manner of household items that you never knew you needed), but on disembarkation from the MRT each evening after work, one is greeted in the main square by the dulcet (read: ear-bleed inducing) tones of a local auntie, her soundsystem - complete with miniature karaoke screen - and a rotation of fellow aunties and uncles eager to help belt out Chinese ballads. Pure class.
- Learning the nuances of Singaporean cuisine. Sunrice Global Chef Academy offers an escorted tour of the Spice Garden at Fort Canning followed by a hands-on cooking class every weekend. We learned how to make an everyday sambal, seafood hor fun and bak kut teh. Overall, the experience gets a 10/10 from me - McDonald Eng, the teacher and walk leader, was very amusing ("This chilli is so hot, that it can ACTUALLY kill you") and informative. We learned plenty of secrets that I will be applying to my home cooking and we can now recognise a variety of spices in their pre-harvested form. Thoroughly recommend as an alternative Singapore experience, as long as you don't mind the 8 a.m. start on a Saturday morning. Hangover victims need not apply.
- Drinking wine and feeling fine at Speak Easy. In a hidden enclave between Outram Park and Tanjong Pagar lies a cluster of renovated Peranakan shophouses. Home to a discerning group of expats and locals, it is a charming area of narrow streets with the odd gallery (by appointment only) and trinket shop dotted about. Speak Easy is the perfect place to pull up a pew and watch the monsoon rains cascade around you with tasty glass of wine and a friend.
- Loving the choice at Ocean Curry Fish Head. Frequenting the Telok Ayer Street branch of this specialist local food chain would be utter joy were it not for the long queues and waits for available tables. Clearly, however, the longer the queue, the better the food, so it's totally worth the wait. Choose from having a fish head curry (watch your colleagues fight over the oversized eyeball) and supplement with an array of side dishes to ensure that you feel thoroughly engorged and can burp delicious gastronomic memories during a session of Friday afternoon clock-watching. Mmmmm.
- Drinking brandy at lunchtime. OK, it may be super diluted in deliciously smooth sliced fish noodle soup, but Holland Village XO actually names Courvoisier as the key ingredient. The brainchild of a former XO salesman has since branched out and offers city workers a delectable lunch that makes you feel just that tiniest bit naughty. Coupled with a side order of prawn paste chicken wings, what's not to like?
- Celebrating the Moon Cake festival. This year, the festival started on 3rd October, so I scooted down to Pagoda Street in Chinatown to pick up my double and quadruple (oh yes, ladies and gentlemen, more salted egg yolk than bean paste!) mooncakes. As a special treat to myself, I have been eating small wedges for breakfast. I blame the Singaporean in me.
- Shooting pistols at the poolside. My belated Singapore birthday party was hosted by a dear friend who lent us her condo poolside for the afternoon. I provided a whole roasted pig from Tiong Bahru Roasted Pig Specialist, which I highly recommend (although be aware that the golden piglet comes on a red plastic tray and not in a box, so you may want to get it delivered - our taxi driver thought we were two sandwiches short of a picnic to be carrying a hog as our luggage). My carving skills were tested to the max (they CAN cut it up for you, but I wanted the aesthetic of the whole piggy), however, nothing that my Global knives could not conquer. We spent the afternoon proving the fact that "growing old is compulsory; growing up is optional" (Enid Blyton).
- Raising the roof and bringing the house down. BluJaz played host to DJ Dash's first gig as part of the Digging Deep collective. The crowd loved the transcendence from melodic beats to sharp Berlin sounds and the night was such a roaring success that the next gig has already been booked for January. Music to tinkle your hammer, anvil and stirrup.
Next up are trips to Jakarta and Yangshuo, the infamous local one day rave (when (for 24 hours) the Singaporean police let you put your hands in the air, like you just don't care) and the advent of Christmas in the sun. Boom Town.
L is for laid-back, lavish and luscious in Lombok. We arrived in Bali and had a few hours to kill so headed for a delicious lunch at Biku. There's nothing quite like a fresh gazpacho sitting under a parasol in the searing heat of the Balinesian midday sun.
After returning from the up-and-coming Petitinget area, next up was to survive the challenging experience of Bali's domestic departures airport (complete with stinking, puddle-ridden squat toilets). It was in the poor man's version of the international departures airport (even the ice cream freezer was empty) that we decided that should we return to Lombok from Singapore, we would fly direct if at all possible. This would avoid the utter chaos of navigating the row of fledgling carriers operating ancient aircraft who seemingly share out customers between them. This causes queues, confusion, cancellations and a poor beginning and end to what otherwise is a thoroughly relaxing getaway in an idyllic sand and surf location.
It is hard to imagine that our choice of accommodation could be surpassed in the setting, service and gastronomy categories. Qunci Villas offered us an ocean view poolside villa complete with an exquisitely comfortable king-size bed and breakfast served on our spacious balcony.
View by night
In the evenings, we dined al fresco listening to the sound of the waves lapping gently at the white sand shore lit with over-sized spotlights for night-time swimming.
By day, we lazed in and by the infinity pool looking forward to Happy Hour cocktails from 4 - 7 p.m. to accompany sundown. I interspersed my reading and relaxing one day with a one hour session of being covered in a chocolate and coffee bean paste which exfoliated my sun-kissed skin and made me smell good enough to eat.
We also took two trips out to Gili Trawangan - one for exploration and one for diving with Dream Divers. The island is very small and easily navigable by horse and cart, bicycle or on foot. Once a day, the boat docks from Bali bringing a sudden influx of backpack clad Westerners clutching travel-beaten guide books in search of accommodation. We watched the world go by sipping jaw-clenchingly sweet Lombok coffee and speaking to a local glass-bottomed boat owner who marvelled at the increase in the number of Westerners who had, over the last twenty years, chosen Gili Trawangan as their home. You could tell that he was undecided on the change.
Wooden cart + horse + tractor tyres = Lombok taxi
Diving at the Coral Fan Garden and Basket Coral Garden was a real treat. A green turtle graciously swam by, schools of fusiliers were suspended in the currents along with pipe fish and of course, our favourite clown fish nestled and played in the brightly coloured anemones.
As there is little in the way of "nightlife" in Lombok, this allows for the ultimate in relaxation. There really is nothing wrong with slipping beneath the bedsheets at 9 p.m. after a hard day's chillaxing, so it is thoroughly recommended for couples and families with young children. For the thrill-seeking among you, there's still always the lure of careering round steep mountain bends on roads lit only by the bulbs of the ubiquitous street-side stalls (just jump in any taxi after sundown) or the challenge of climbing Mount Rinjani. Verdict: Lombok rocks.
This month, the experiences have been at opposite ends of the life spectrum. You want the good news or the bad news first?
THE GOOD
- Living on the edge in Asia's most unique city: T.O.K.Y.O.
- Going gold shopping at the infamous Poh Heng in the morning, lunching on scrumptious dumplings at the acclaimed Wah Lok (Carlton Hotel) and checking in to a two-level suite at the Fullerton Hotel in the afternoon: delectable canapes and cocktails, a delicious seafood buffet, and a champagne breakfast, served in exquisitely plush surroundings by people who take real pride in their jobs. An outstanding experience for a once in a lifetime thirtieth birthday treat.
- Thoroughly enjoying "Spot The Difference" at my colleague's wedding. Aside from the well-known dress changes and endless "yam seng's" common at a Chinese wedding, this one also came complete with a fifteen minute photo montage showing the happy couple's path to togetherness right from baby photos all the way to the pre-wedding shots taken at prime locations around Singapore. The best part, however, was the cutting of the fake cake and the ceremonious pouring of champagne down a tower of glasses. Yes, you guessed it - no cake nor a drop of champagne was served. Apparently, the couple cut into a plasticine section of an otherwise plastic cake and the champers - well, that's just for show. My fellow table mates were asking me how Chinese weddings differ from English weddings. I honestly did not know where to begin. Fundamentally, Chinese weddings are all about: family, ceremony and food (an eight course meal eaten at great speed). English weddings are about: the speeches, drinking and dancing like there's no one watching. The fact that the best man couldn't even be heard over the cacophony of chattering voices was something that would never ever happen at an English wedding. Seeing your drunk uncle parading around with his tie wrapped around his head like Rambo is something that would never ever happen at a Chinese wedding. I am hoping our wedding falls somewhere in between...
- Attending the most unique and "edgy" party since arriving in Sin City. Blackmarket selects threads from hip independent fashion labels from around the world for the in-the-know kids in Singapore. Located near the uber-trendy Haji Lane, the founders invited DJs TWOFACE to play in a space without walls right on the street. Revellers enjoyed the free vodka cocktails and coveted sunglasses from the Mystic Vintage collection that was launched that evening. Inside, we learned that each of the Orangina bottles hanging precariously from the ceiling had been consumed by the founders. Dedication to the cause. Respect.
DJs TWOFACE
THE BAD
- Lamenting the shockingly poor service that Singapore Inc. has a strong tendency to offer to its bar, restaurant and taxi clientele. Not only is it 'normal' for there to be only one trained (and trusted) cashier behind a ten barman strong bar, but the high proportion of migrant workers staffing the restaurants also means that there are often communication issues when ordering. On top of that is the frequently unreal cluelessness of taxi drivers. I already lamented this topic in month seven, and have sadly continued to experience irritating journeys during which I am not left to enjoy the ride but to act as back seat driver and teach the driver where to go. Having said that, out of bad often comes good: A Singapore Taxi Driver's Diary is a joy to read and covers the story from the perspective of an over-educated driver. Eloquently written short stories uncover the harsh economics of the job as well as the good, the bad and the evil citizens who happen to catch a ride with Mingjie Cai. I have since taken to tipping those drivers who deposit me at my destination without driving like a lost vehicle at the fairground dodgems.
As you can see, thankfully, the good is still outweighing the bad. I am managing to keep my Angry Ang Mo at bay. Coming up is a long weekend in Lombok, a roasted pig party hosted by Yours Truly, and the horrors of Halloween...
After meeting up with a friend who had travelled over to meet us from London at his well-chosen one night abode, the Park Hyatt (of Lost in Translation fame), we headed for the bullet train to Echigo-Yuzawa, our home for the next four days, hidden in the depths of Niigata Prefecture. We entered as virgins into The Land of the Rising Techno and exited as true Labyrinth converts to this most fantastic of festival experiences.
We indulged ourselves with a post-festival one night stay in the mountains at Inamoto Ryokan complete with two 100% natural hot spring water onsen to cure our 'clubbed to death' zombie-like state. A delicious meal of yakiniku preceded our slow ease into the plump futons which had been laid out for us by our room attendants. The silence after four days of electronic music from a Funktion One soundsystem was deafening. The next morning, our hearty breakfast of six different Japanese delights including grilled fish, pickles, broiled vegetables and, of course, the 'love it or hate it' natto (silent barf), fueled our next adventure - back to Tokyo, via the temple-lover's paradise, Nikko.
If time is short and culture by way of temples is sought, Nikko is one of the best complexes in Japan. Easily navigable within three hours and set amongst trees far older than the generations you can remember in your family, it is reached by a specially designated line from Utsonomiya station - a local 'world heritage bus' will take you to the site.
Minds bursting with stories of spirited away historic people in ancient times, we headed for our final destination: the bright lights of Tokyo. Checking in to the superbly located Sakura Fleur (reservations here), we were reunited with our bags in which we had left unessential festival items five days previously. It was kind enough for the hotel not to have charged us for doing the same but even better that our luggage had already been placed in our rooms. Service in Japan is second to none and like a breath of fresh doublemint after a meal of burger and onion rings when compared to Singapore.
Overcome with tiredness from covering the entire temple complex, we headed for an early dinner at Bistro 35 steps (at level B1 of Shibuya City Hotel) where the highlight was mackerel 'a la blow-torch' perfectly singed at our table. As we had decided to head to Tsukiji to see the tuna auction at 6 a.m., we retired early for some deep sea dreaming.
Being rudely awakened at 4:45 a.m. with the prospect of heading to a huge, busy and bustling marketplace stinking of fish, it was hard to focus our fuzzy heads on the journey ahead. Although just turning light when we stumbled outside, Tokyo life was slowly stirring. Salarymen, school children and a number of older generation Tokyo-ites were going about their daily lives intermingled with a handful of tourists clearly heading to our destination. On arrival, we followed the mix of locals and foreigners and headed deep into the heart of the market, dodging the speeding motorised fish carts, to the auction place. A low hub-bub of voices discussing quantity, cost and flavour floated above rows and rows of frozen tuna, some twice the size of the men peering over them.
When you are used to eating tinned tuna, the actual size of each fish is astounding.
The auction itself was not dissimilar how one could imagine watching the climax of an aquatic episode of Bargain Hunt, in Japanese. We left after about fifteen minutes to explore the rest of the market that we had earlier rushed past in a blind panic lest we be tardy for the auction. Our eyes feasted on row upon row of fresher than fresh sea creatures, some a few hours dead and others on death row. Soon, it was time for our breakfast. I can't say I've had a better morning snack in Asia:
Bellies full, we headed for the waterfront (via the Dentsu Building to ride in my favourite glass lift to the 46th floor) and enjoyed a wallet-punchingly delicious pot of coffee at The Intercontinental Tokyo Bay before journeying up the Sumida River to Asakusa. Along the way, we noted that Tommy Lee Jones was enjoying a nice pocket-filler advertising BOSS coffee in Japan.
I wasn't surprised - when I was living in Japan in 2002, David Beckham was advertising chocolate:
For real.
After a stroll round Asakusa, we decided to head to the Ryōgoku Kokugikan to take in a few bouts of sumo. In the ensuing four hours, we tasted chankonabe and winced and clapped our way through the afternoon whilst super-sized men gave each other a good slap. As we were there early, we joined in with the local custom to sit in higher priced empty seats and were lucky enough not to be disturbed by the true seat-holders until five minutes before we had decided to leave. Watching my hero, the current yokozuna, Mongolian Asashoryu enter the ring from the aisle made my day. Getting back to our hotel in time to watch him on television deftly flick his opponent out of the ring was even better.
A swift couple of aperitifs in Shibuya's Nombeiyokocho "Drunkard's Alley" (a small row of bars sitting up to ten people hidden underneath the railway tracks) led us into our evening meal which was hosted by my dear Japanese friend, Rie. She led us through the backstreets of Shibuya, up Love Hotel Hill and onto our waiting table at Ondoru topped with a skillet on which we seared morsel after morsel of delectable Iberico pork.
Post-dinner entertainment was provided by another dear friend and DJ, Dave Twomey, who whisked us away to Nishi-Azabu where he and Marcel Fengler whipped up a techno storm.
A late start the following day meant that we arrived in Shimokitazawa, my favourite of Tokyo's suburbs, in time for lunch and a coffee at Free Factory. We pounded each alley, nook and cranny for trendy threads and lost ourselves in laughter at Village Vanguard. An overdose of shopping prepared us for the evening's gastronomic journey, beginning at Omoide Yokocho "Piss Alley" (a row of yakitori places sitting about 15 people beneath another set of railway tracks, this time in Shinjuku). From there, we journeyed deep in to the sleepless streets of Kabukichō to a place with no signboard. Inside Bungo Murase works tirelessly to produce some of the best nihon ryōri (plump and fresh sashimi, grilled pacific saury (sanma), punishingly strong wasabi rolls, and a smoothly delicious namboko mushroom miso soup). The number is 03-3207-6165 and his email is uoshin.bungo[at]docomo.ne.jp. If you can find it, you won't regret it. We rounded off the evening with some late night glasses of wine at Bar Beret, one of the themed bars hiding in the backstreets of Shibuya off Roppongi-dori.
Another late start meant breakfast was bypassed in favour of lunch. Today was the designated mega-shopping day so we stocked up on the essential uber-energy meal of curry hamburgers - not your usual American style burger but an enormous meat pattie stewed in Japanese curry sauce, doused with melted cheese. Heart attack on a plate. Awesome. We took in the whole of Shibuya's shopping delights whilst making our way slowly to Harajuku's infamous Takeshita-dori, which (of course, for a Saturday) was packed to the rafters with equally trend-seeking people. All that required a sit down in the beautiful Yoyogi Park with a nice can of cold Chu-Hi before preparing ourselves for the evening's entertainment. That turned out to be a SURPRISE! party for my birthday, organised by my friend and shared with two others. We played "How Many People Can You Fit On a Rooftop Bar in Tokyo?" and partied like sardines on holiday in a matchbox. Brilliant. After one too many dirty birthday drinks, we headed to Legato which was hosting Exit The Labyrinth. It was far too packed and hot for my inebriated mind and body to cope with so we left early at 3:30 a.m., sadly lacking the ambition to travel to Ageha to watch the sunrise. Next time...
Amazingly, we managed six plates of sushi for brunch the next day (turning Japanese after only 7 days...) and went on a final culture push to see the Cosplay girls, Tokyo Rockabillies, Yasukuni Shrine and the Imperial Palace East Gardens, where we paid our respects to the Emperor by having a little nap on his finely manicured lawn. For the Last Supper, we journeyed back to my darling Shimokitazawa for a slap up meal at a restaurant (Tobu Sakana) whose owners also have a stall at Tsukiji. Of course, again, we would never have found it nor been able to read the menu without my dear friend, Rie, who took us on yet another tour of gastronomic wonderment. We fitted in a photo session at the famous Shibuya crossing on the way home before slipping between our Japanese sheets for the last time:
Being a firm believer in the delicate balancing scales of life, I was able to deal with the fact that we were foiled at the last hurdle by having had far too much fun in the preceding days. Our attempt to depart for the airport was hampered by the fact that trains to Narita from Shinjuku do not leave as regularly as they do from Tokyo station. After ditching our attempt to board the train to Tokyo station at rush hour (and thereby witnessing the men employed to push people on to trains), we hailed a taxi and pretended we were handing over Monopoly money. Transfer time: 1 hour. Cost: GBP3 per minute. Go figure. At least we didn't have to go through this:
As you can tell by the length of this post, I am thoroughly, whole-heartedly, 110% in love with Japan. If I could move to Tokyo tomorrow, I would. It is one of the most contemporary yet traditional, ostentatious yet mysterious cities in the world. It is truly unique and I never fail to feel humbled by its people who demonstrate unending friendliness, generosity and kindness to strangers. Having a local friend or guide is essential to show you those parts that remain hidden to foreign visitors, lest you end up always having to visit places with an English menu that have made it in to Time Out. If it's culture shock and awe that you're looking for, Japan is the country for you.
- Watching Tiong Bahru burn. It has been Hungry Ghost month and many of the local residents have been out burning fake money, gold, expensive shoes and wristwatches - you know, all those essential items you might be missing as you float around the spirit world. I have been routinely surprised at the offerings left out, each night increasingly elaborate. A whole roasted duck and enormous slab of (my favourite) crispy roasted pork were laid out one evening. I can't tell you how much I had to fend off the devil of temptation inviting me to pluck a couple of pieces and pop them in my mouth. The icing on the hungry ghost cake was an inordinately loud concert (getai) with an overactive smoke machine that at one point clouded the entire stage and its performers. Due to being lost in translation, we didn't stay long.
- Checking out the forgotten malls of Singapore. People's Park, Peninsula Plaza and the Golden Mile Complex house specialist shops should you be in the market for electrical components, cables and camping equipment respectively, as long as you don't mind a pungent smell of disinfected toilet, a grime covered floor and shops that time forgot. Contrasting sharply with the intriguingly named 'had its own special 'shopping' scent designed for it', "ION", these malls are full of charm - where else can you visit the 'Ministry of Clothing', 'Lady Dress Making' and 'Jumbo Jeans'? They are however, unfortunately, existing on borrowed time.
- Enjoying the newly opened bar in Tiong Bahru. Finally, a bar in Tiong Bahru that is not serving the most disgustingly wood (yes, wood not oak) flavoured wine to the 'tunes' of psy-trance. Hotel Nostalgia's bar offers reasonably priced wine that is eminently quaffable. Friendly and inviting bar staff and peanuts served on a plate (!) top off the low lit ambiance. The only unfortunate circumstance is the proximity of the busy Tiong Bahru Road. Even on a weekday evening, the buses roaring past or (worse) stopped at the traffic lights can put a dampener on an otherwise romantic conversation. Food portions could be up-sized a little given the high prices in an area famous for $3 noodles but it's still our new favourite local watering hole.
- Marvelling at the many uses for one long finger nail. Why do some Chinese men have all nails short bar the little finger nail? Is it for distance nose picking, ear digging, tooth picking or head scratching? Is it a sign of one's male prowess? In fact, the story goes that it is a sign of power or riches. Labourers working in a field couldn't possibly grow long finger nails, you see. Perhaps I shall write to Richard Branson and see if he's keen to try some Asian cultivation.
- Slurping the local steamboats. At Tin Yi Gang Shi Huo and Le Le Pot on Seng Poh Road as well as Ting Heng on Tiong Poh Road, a boiling pot of tasty broth is placed on your tabletop burner and a huge array of raw meats, seafood and vegetables is brought out. The order of the day is 'cook your own' but if you ever come out with me, keep an eye on your prawns. I have a tendency to 'borrow'. At the end of the meal, the broth has entered the 'uber-tasty' realm and noodles are thrown in as a last round for those who have the stomach space remaining.
Next up is my 30th birthday extravaganza in Japan (where we shall be entering The Labyrinth) and a Chinese wedding as well as hanging out with my Singaporean cousin who will be visiting from the windy city of Chicago. Rock and roll.
Raise your body from its slumbering state at 4:00 a.m. (or stay up from clubbing the night before) and convene in a low lit condo twenty minutes from your house. Electronic music welcomes you along with the tired but smiling faces of your party accomplices. Pile on to the waiting bus and drive at full pelt to the Singapore-Malaysia border. Disembark to leave Singapore and again to enter Malaysia and later wonder how you managed it in such zombiefied state. Arrive at Mersing jetty, realise the sun has come up and take a speedboat to paradise:
Alang's Rawa - (+60)143232952
Spend Saturday chillaxing, snorkeling, and eating scrumptious seafood. Prepare yourself for the evening's entertainment:
Hang from the rafters and dance like no one's watching... until you pass out
Lie in on Sunday, go rock climbing in the afternoon and do the journey in reverse from 5 p.m. Arrive back home in time to read a few civilised chapters before bed.
I can't think of a better way to escape Singapore - beautiful place, people and pumping tunes. I am a definite Rawa convert.
What better excuse for yet another weekend escapade than three good friends from the UK passing through Bali. With another hop, skip and an early afternoon jump from work, we arrived in Sanur in time for a few beers before bedtime. Up with the larks in the morning, we took the boat to Nusa Lembongan where we would be stationed away from the hub-bub of the touring masses on the mainland.
After dropping luggage at our 'retreat', we wandered down the beach in search of a quick and easy brunch before renting scooters to explore the island. Given that none of us had a scooter licence (and all but one of the five had never ridden before), we each had to pass the basic test set by the owners: ride down the dusty lane 25 metres, turn, and ride back without falling off, crashing into the wall or injuring any of the chickens. We got three out of five and paid for two drivers to accompany the others (complete with running commentary of the local economy and sights in broken English). There is a seaweed micro-industry feeding the global cosmetics industry but the main money spinner is tourism from running hotels, bars, diving/snorkeling trips and of course, scooter rental (with a little bit of cock-fighting on the side). Total cost for five scooters and two informative drivers - just 450,000 Indonesian rupiah (US$45) for half a day. Bargain.
Jungut Batu Beach
Journeying along secluded tracks towards the suspension bridge connecting the sparsely inhabited Nusa Ceningan, our pot-hole avoidance skills were tested to the max. Made of yellow painted 'Scunthorpe' metal and weathered wooden planks, some of which could have easily swallowed my foot, the bridge easily rocked and swayed during my brief attempts to test its 'suspension'. Next stop was the legendary Gala Gala Underground House, a series of cosy rooms, which add a new dimension to claustrophobic living, fashioned by a man called Made Byasa using only a hammer and chisel. Our final stop was Dream Beach where we were left by our drivers to chill, jump the waves, and chew the fat about, you know, life. (What else is there to do on a semi-deserted beach?). After accidentally loading my bikini with enough sand to create a man-made beach back in Tiong Bahru, it was time to journey back. Our drivers re-appeared through the powers of mobile communication and we were safely deposited back at base in time to head out to dinner.
The Suspension Bridge
Kitchen at the Underground House
Slumber time was cancelled by the cockerels and chickens at 6 a.m., followed by people beating carpets and hammering their wooden huts, dogs and finally wood pigeons that joined the morning chorus. Nusa Lembongan should come with a government sleep warning: EAR PLUGS ESSENTIAL. Thankfully, after a hearty breakfast, we were feeling human enough to join the creatures down below so we headed off for a few hours of snorkeling. Our trip encompassed an area just off the mangroves and then Gamut Bay on Nusa Penida. With the visibility stretching over 30 metres, the experience resembled how one could imagine being miniaturised and dropped into an aquarium at the local pet shop - no turtles or sharks, but a plethora of bright colours darting all around to the soothing sound of the delicate corals being kissed by the ocean.
Watching the sun go down
Gastro highlights: Linda's Bungalows and Restaurant (Jungut Batu beach, Nusa Lembongan) - sumptuous Asian fusion (sweet chilli, avocado and cheese toasts) items alongside well-prepared and delicious standard Western offerings. They advertise themselves with the slogan "Still the best food on Nusa Lembongan". If it's good quality and budget friendly you're looking for, 100% agree.
Living Room (Seminyak, Bali) - an exquisite Sunday dinner before heading back to Singapore, which cost (for four of us including drinks) approximately 2.5 million Indonesian rupiah - more than we had spent on the entire weekend's activities from Friday through Sunday. Oops. Saying goodbye to dear friends over a scrumptious splurge is clearly the way forward.
This month, we have mostly been enjoying our Asian 'summer' holidays. Whilst the tropical seasons speak of 'dry' or 'wet', international companies remain affected by the temperate seasons such that the end of June, July, August and the beginning of September are relatively quiet times. So, we have been taking full advantage and enjoying ourselves to the max:
- Living it up in London (and realising how much we love our lives in Sin City).
- Fully embracing the new nightclub, Stereolab. With a music policy focused on good quality international house DJs and a custom built soundsystem that offers an all-encompassing musical hug, it's possible that the brains behind Cafe Hacienda at Dempsey have got another 'full house'. It is the first club in Singapore to host a DJ from an international record label to perform weekly and with a capacity of only 300, is the perfect size for little red dot clubbing.
- Continuing to enjoy the delicate nuances of Singlish:
In other news, here are some 'slow burn' items:
- Taxi drivers. Lately, we have been subjected to some really 'goondu' taxi drivers. Granted, taxis in Singapore are far cheaper than in London and it is rather fun bouncing around on the super springy seats. It is less fun when after clearly enunciating your destination, you hear the dreaded words: "You teach me; I dun no". On a world map, Singapore can be covered by a chunky choc chip cookie crumb. It is quite beyond me how the taxi drivers are unfamiliar with roads and routes. One particular 'missed-my-calling-as-a-bin-man' taxi driver had to be directed between Tiong Bahru and Dhoby Ghaut - a journey of approximately 4.5 km (2.8 miles). Next time, I'll just offer to take the keys and self-drive to my destination.
- Acronyms. So as not to lose out on too much speaking time, Singaporeans have a love of shortening. I am all for avoiding long-winded speech, but too many acronyms spoil society's broth and make the basic understanding of how stuff works largely impenetrable to the uninitiated. For example,
"When I am not taking the MRT, I enjoy travelling on the PIE, ECP, AYE and CTE but I have to pay the ERP to my taxi driver uncle from the HDB heartlands."
Say what? It cheers me that the top dogs at Talking Cock have come up with new meanings for all these acronyms; my personal favourite being 'Single, Desperate and Ugly' for SDU (the government matchmaking organisation "on a mission of promoting marriage among singles and inculcating positive attitudes towards marriage among all singles in Singapore"). Good luck with that.
- Track rage on the MRT.
A Happy Journey Starts Like That!
Despite the overhead monitors blaring out Phua Chu Kang ("PCK")'s 'yoof' education video on constant repeat and each station itself being adorned with the corresponding "Don't Play Play, Let Me Come Out First" posters, I actually find the most irritating members of the travelling public are the 'aunties'. Their particularly dismaying rush-hour habits include:
1. Boarding before others have disembarked; 2. Boarding, taking two steps and turning round to secure their spot near the doors; 3. Shuffling their way to the front in a packed train to ensure that they disembark first; 4. Placing their whole handbag on the EZ-link card reader in the vain hope that it will locate their card in the depths of their bag and then looking surprised when it doesn't work; and 5. Slowly pausing to check their card balance when they are aware of the hordes of other people also trying to exit that lane.
A new advertising campaign needs to target those five specific behaviours with less rapping and chastising of young people, and more public humiliation of the aunties and uncles of Sin City. I would happily star as the MRT Grim Reaper. Death to all those who stand in my way.
To round off the 'summer', we have another weekend in Bali (this time, Nusa Lembongan), a party on Rawa, my 30th birthday in Tokyo, and then Lombok and Koh Phangan before the New Year (which will also likely be spent on some Asian escapade outside of this fair isle).
We have been advised by friends who have been here for some time that Singapore is nothing short of a nightmare (not dissimilar to central London) at the end of year celebrations - bars and clubs packed to the rafters, impossible to get a drink and facing the strong possibility of having to sleep in the flower bed of Old Parliament House due to lack of a homeward bound taxi. Nice.
