Magic mash

I finally got the keys to my place last week which was great as I was getting a little bit tired of not being able to sit on a proper sofa or cook things in my own kitchen. Granted, I still don’t actually have a sofa to sit on still nor any cooking implements or anything even to eat off or in fact eat with yet, so it’s a bit of an anti climax as far as thinking that having my own condo would allow me such luxuries as sitting down and dining.

All my stuff (and I say stuff) as as it’s not a great deal arrives today so at least I can at least think about cooking something and perch myself on the kitchen counter whilst I eat it. Still a lot to buy but it’s coming along. Annoyingly, I’ve had a bit of a busy couple of weeks with work and watching the shambles of the World Cup, so I’ve not had chance to use the amazing pool that I have nor any of the other facilities yet. As both of those have calmed down a bit it’s a bit of R&R later this week as I’ve a couple of days off.

Here’s a picture to give you an idea.

Even though the footy has been dire, it’s been great watching it here in Asia as everyone here is footy mad. It’s much more of a female spectator sport here too and the crowds of fans you see (mostly Liverpool oddly) are a 50/50 split between the sexes. At least it’s not full of Man U fans which is quite refreshing. The good thing is that there are loads of great outdoor bars to sit out at and drink lots of Tiger beer and watch the games in the balmy night air. When I say balmy night air, I mean heavy, thick, sticky and humid air that makes you wetter than a fishes towel after a very long shower.
Shame I won’t get to see the final here as I’ll be back in London for that as I’ve a trip back to London coming up in a week or so. It’s had the feeling of watching important footy when you’re on holiday somewhere. Perhaps it’s the heat, or maybe it’s the getting up at 3am to see England draw 0 –0 against a team made up of plumbers and carpet fitters that makes it feel that way. Either way, it’s been fun to be part of it and I’m looking forward to the Grand Prix in September and even more so as I’ve a couple of friends coming over to watch it too. It’s quite a big event here so I’m quite looking forward to watching my first F1 race over here.

One of the funnier things I’ve found here on a bit of a tipsy night home from one of the games was the most bizarre fast food (if you can call it that) dispensing - erm... thing that I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen some really odd ones over the years but this is easily in my top three. Popping into a 7-eleven one drunken evening home with a few colleagues I chanced in to the Magic Mashed machine.

Now being a Londoner I’m not totally surprised by the excitement that a bowl of mash can summon up but this was a new take on it that I’ve never seen before. You stick a dollar in the machine – stick a cup under the nozzle and out pours a concoction that I can only describe as runny powdered smash. Once the mash solidifies into a semi plasmatic like state the machine makes a bit of a gurgle and spurts out a thick dollop of super thick dark gravy on to the glistening surface of the nuclear hot mash like substance.
This was quite entertaining, so we bought about 4 of them although being only two of us I have no idea why still, so we asked Mr Mash standing behind the counter if he’d ever tried this ingenious but tasty meal out the machine. He replied that in the 2 years he’d worked there that he’d never tried it - but by golly he’d take one of our spare mashes (not sure of the possessive plural on that I’m afraid) and try it out.
So it was mashey goodness all round for everyone. I’d like to say it was horrible, but at 4am in the morning when you’re sharing mash in a pot with your new mate from the 7-eleven everything just seems a bit tastier than it should and life is just a tiny bit rosier.

Not sure I’d be trying it again as the 7-eleven was closed the next day and they NEVER close... Ooops.

messing about in boats.

This weekend I decided that I'd have a go at something on water. As all my dive gear is still being shipped here picked something that I've quite fancied doing for a while but never got around to.
Sea Kayaking. Well, the first bit to this was the 1 Star course, which takes you from knowing nothing about a kayak to being able to zigzag (ok - you are supposed to go in a straight line) around the marina bay and do a few rudimentary manoeuvres. I did give kayaking a brief go when I was about 12, which was about half of the average age of the folks on the course, me being the oldest by a fair bit. I do remember it being a bit easier when I was in my teens, but then I also remember most things being a bit easier then when I think about it. The guys on the course were all good fun and lunchtime was interesting as they probed me all about London life and generally what I thought about Singapore. I also got to try a few more foods that they insisted that I try out from the local hawker centre nearby. Something that I always love doing. I should really start paying more attention to some of the names of things rather than pointing inanely at things and saying "Yes please!" when I see something that looks interesting.


The course I did was run in a small river bay that is now a catchment area for a resovoir nearby. I say now, as like most things in Singapore, it's going under a huge reconstruction phase of linking all the rivers up to increase the water catchment area for the Marina Reservoir. This does mean that eventually, you'll be able to kayak most of the river system in Singapore, which sounds pretty cool.

The point of going on this course was not only to have a bit of a mess about on the water one weekend but also to pursue the 2nd and 3rd star grades so that I can do a kayaking trip up the rivers of Thailand on a 4 day camping trip that I've seen. Once I've got a bit more practice in and ironed out the zigzags into more of an A-B path missing out involuntary excursions into the international shipping lane or the path of an oncoming sea tanker I might be good enough to give it a go.


The course itself was great fun and I forgot how much fun it is to learn something again from scratch, even if you do look a bit rubbish at it at first. My arms do feel like they've been pulled out of their sockets this evening and the factor 50 missed a few key areas (back of neck and ears look like they've been dipped in pink paint) but all in all a great weekend and recommended.

One thing the SGs have well and truly sorted out is making courses for young people readily accessible. Maybe I've been inner-city living for too long but this is an inner-city and as far as I can see there's a lot of choice and availability, for hardy any money at all. The entire course for an adult was less than 40 bucks a day which I thought was great value for all the kit hire, great instruction and quite a fun learning experience too.
They should put on a free wiping of after sun cream service on the way out though as loads of us had no strength in our arms to lift them to gingerly dab at our overly pink ears as we left.

Open for guests...

Open for guests.

Having had my first real month in Singapore and as part of the relocation service my company has given me, I’ve had the first real month here being put up in a serviced apartment. While this sounds quite grand, it’s just like being in a hotel room with a small dining room and a kitchen bolted on to it. The only difference between it and having a normal flat is that the magical cleaning fairy comes every morning and tidies up your towels and moves the papers you scattered on the left of the desk to the right of the desk each evening when you come home. I tested this one day by leaving the papers scattered on the right side of the desk for a change and yes, they’d been moved to the left when I got back.
I tested this even further by leaving them in the middle one day but this must have confused him/her as they were thrown in the bin. Either the middle part of the desk is a no mans land as far as cleaning goes or I made some huge cultural paper placement faux pax. That or three day old copies of the Straights Times got on her/his tits enough to warrant the use of the bin.
Property hunting in Singapore is quite an easy affair really as there is a massive amount of choice to suit all manner of budgets. It’s just a question of putting in an afternoon and going to visit a few with one of the local Realtors.
I could tell you some stories I’ve heard about Realtors here (basically anyone can be one with absolutely no qualifications and it’s a license to print money) As I come to think of it, it’s exactly the same as being an Estate Agent back home. (drum roll please).....
In my experience, I had quite a good one and James took me around a few places that I’d heard good things about and it was an easy choice one Saturday afternoon to pick my new home down on the East Coast.
I’d pretty much decided on the East Coast the day I arrived when I went for a bit of a wander down by the park facing the sea.
Now don’t get me wrong, the sea is the last place you’re going to dip your toes in unless you have leprosy and are at the hacking it off stage of preventing it from travelling further, but it is a pleasant view and living by water, no matter what the colours of the rainbow you are likely to see glistening across it’s filmy surface is– it’s still the sea after all.

I pick the keys up in a couple of weeks by which time I should have my stuff from England so it’ll shortly be home sweet home and I’ll be back to life without the magical dish fairy.

For those of you wishing to visit this lovely isle, it’s open season from the end of July when I’m back from London. Hope to see some of you soon!

Ministry Of MoM

This week, I finally got around to sorting out my EP visa. Like all bits of officialdom, everything has a three letter acronym and lots of application forms to get it.
Singapore is no different than anywhere else in the world in respect to the sheer amount of forms you have to fill in just to be able to use three sheets of toilet paper in a visit rather than the two.
Having spent the last year of my life being given the full on treatment of Her Majesties effectiveness in bureaucracy and sheer crappiness of arranging and coordinating absolutely anything that involves one piece of paper being passed correctly six feet to the person on the other desk without a 3 week delay and 5 phone calls for it to be fixed, I was half expecting that Singapore would be similar given the amount of forms that need to be filled in to arrive/live/work here.
UK paperwork officialdom people really should come here for one of those 3 week learning exercises as it really is a well-oiled machine here.
On Friday, I took the morning off to come down to the Mom (Ministry of Manpower) at Clark Quay.
MoM is one of the things all newcomers need to go and do. Basically, all the paperwork that you’ve gone through to get here and live and work needs to be made official with the government department of manpower.
Needless to say, I’d resigned myself to taking off the whole morning to get my mountain of forms looked at, my fingerprints taken and a passport photo taken. Having done some similar exercises in the UK, I knew that my very life force was likely to be sucked from my frontal lobe with pen pushing lack of efficiency by some little twat with a red biro in his front shirt pocket.
It was a pleasant surprise to be, erm, surprised.

The Mom is probably the most efficiently run, f*ckwit free place I’ve ever been to. So much so, they actually realise that you are the most likely fu*ckwit candidate in the entire place and throw themselves upon you like you are a human hand-grenade made of f*ckwit shrapnel and if not defused immediately of the forms and paperwork that you carry, you might explode and infect the place with ineffectiveness and general f*ckwittedness ™
As you step out of the lift on the fourth floor, which incidentally, is beautifully sing posted I might add, they literally have an armed guard of commando trained middle age women who wrench the paperwork out of your hands, check it, fill in all the mistakes you’ve made, take a passport photo of you (which you forgot to bring), sort out the new amended appointment (as you’ve come on the wrong day – see past history on this) and usher you to a counter with a 40” plasma telly over it with the words “Andy! – Shut up and queue here flashing on it”
After 5 minutes you leave with no paperwork and a bit of plastic with your name on it saying “Welcome to Singapore – you’re Legal!” written on it.

It’s truly a master class in how to run stuff.

I left feeling slightly violated, but in equal measure felt as though I’d spent far to long queuing up for shit in other parts of the world. Leaving this kind of efficiency behind will not be an easy task.

Spread The Word

This week, I went to this Expat thing called Friday Night Drinking Club. Now, FNDC (once you’ve been accepted in the group) is a facebook group for Expats that meet as a group social at different bars every Friday night in Singapore. Each week they go somewhere different so it’s a good way of exploring new drinking holes and meeting new people, which for folks like me that no neither the holes nor that many of the people, it’s not such a bad thing to attend.
I’m a bit mixed about some of the whole Expat thing and I’m not really here to get rat arsed with lots of people I could get meet quite happily in London. Anyway, I found myself on a Friday evening with no real plan of anything to do and the group were meeting at a cool bar near my hotel so I decided to go along and see if it was any good. In the end, I had a great time, drunk my own body weight in beer and met some really interesting people who were actually very nice and not as twatty as I thought they would have been. It just goes to show that you should never really make an assumption about things without at least giving it a go in the first place.
Stumbling home at 4am in the morning and knowing a few more interesting people and learning a bit of Mandarin - and forgetting it again in the morning was not a bad way of spending a Friday night.
The interesting thing about spending your time with people in the same situation as you is that you soon realise that some of the thoughts you have about the place are the same as everyone else. Will it become home? Will it start to feel like home? Will I ever get served any dish without chilli f*cking sauce?
These are all questions that it seems a few people have here and it was good to mull them over with some other folk who are new or slightly new to these shores.
I did end up meeting a couple of people also writing blogs in various flavours. Turns out that there is a competition each year in Singapore for bloggers, with which there are various categories to be nominated in. I quite fancy at least being nominated for a category, if nothing more than getting let in for the free booze at the awards party next August.
Do me a favour and add yourself as a “follower” or link to me, or just about anything that makes me look like people give a shit about this tirade of thoughts that I’m bothering to share with you.

I promise if I win, I’ll thank each and every one of you.

Ubin

It was quite an overcast day on Saturday, and through a bit of a cock up of going to the wrong ferry terminal for my planned trip to the island of Batam in Indonesia, I ended up being a little bit stuck and going to Palau Ubin, a little island just to the East of Singapore.

For those that know me a bit better, I’m well known for being a bit useless at turning up to the wrong airports, on the wrong days and such misadventures, so it really was no surprise to be greeted with the look of disdain from the face behind the counter who explained that I was at the wrong ferry terminal to get to my chosen destination. It’s not as if I’d gone to Dover to get to Sweden or anything, as Singapore is not that big a place to get your disembarkation points that kafuffled.

It’s a short 20-minute boat ride from Changi village on the back of a little clapped out wooden ferryboat. The captain (I suppose that’s the official title for him) was the most sullen looking bloke you’ve ever met and had managed to carry the cool cigarette hanging off the bottom lip a la Dirty Harry look to a tee. So after bobbing about in the water for a short while I arrived in Ubin.

Ubin is a funny little place on which you can get around by bike in less than a few hours.

As you arrive towards the small jetty, you are presented with a ramshackle street, which is what I can only describe as a bicycle graveyard. It’s where all the knackered bikes in the world squeak and groan their way to die an un-oiled and fat bottom tourist carrying death. There are practically hundreds of bikes at about 10 or so hire shops. The little street reminded me a little bit of Phi Phi in Thailand pre tsunami (i.e. A bit of a hole) but it does have a lot of character and absolutely none of the pristine polished to a shine look of the mainland only a few miles away.

I looked around a bit until I could see a bike that was not glued together with dirt and forked out my 12 bucks for a bike that was “Brand new Sir…. That bike is brand new Sir….”. As a bike made in Nottingham that had travelled to the moon and back was wheeled towards me.

“Hmm, yes, of course it is” I smiled.

And don’t worry; I’m not going to start putting my speech in quotes or anything. I was never that good at English to remember how to do it correctly.

Ubin is small almost uninhabited island with just a couple of small service roads on it and a few little roads scattered across it of which to ride or walk. It’s a very pleasant place and is full of little mangrove forests, a few filled in granite quarries which now look quite pretty with the ultra marine coloured water rippling away in the sunshine. All in all – it’s a great day out and I can see myself doing it quite a bit in the coming year.

Having done a bit of cycling around Borneo last year, I was already prepared for the full frontal onslaught that the heat/humidity combo will throw at you. It’s an upper cut of heat and a below the belt punch of humidity. The way I found of blocking this is to cycle really really fast and let the breeze cool you down. Once you do actually stop though, close your eyes, as the sweat runs down your face scooping up lots of Boots Soltan along the way which hits your eyes like someone has just thrown acid in them, then taken a piss in them, with acid piss.

Ubin is pretty flat, but does have a lot of blind bends. As I’ve alluded to in previous posts, Singaporeans are not the most safety conscious, so I was taking it a little bit easier, as not only could cyclists be coming around the corner on the wrong side of a dirt track (I mean, how can you expect there be lane discipline when there is clearly no lane) but some of them where dressed in full camouflage carrying machine guns.

At this point I should stress that Singapore is not being overrun with gun touting hoodies, but that the local young army where on exercise at the same time.

Now, I’m getting a bit older and like everyone else reaching their mid thirties, the young seem younger and the older seem more like me, but these soldiers looked a bit young to me. I would have tried to get a photo, but having tried this trick in the Middle East a few years back, I can safely say that unless you have a day spare to be questioned for a few hours in a cell whilst having a hangover it’s a move I’d not recommend you try out.

Unless of course you are stuck for a story or two to tell down the pub.

Back to the toy soldiers story.

Now these young looking soldiers where on bikes as I mentioned, which I thought was quite funny once I’d thought about it.

Was it that these soldiers were to young to be allowed to drive tanks or jeeps or other bits of motorised mechanical infantry? Had they not passed their tank tests with the local DVLA, or was it that they were simply not old enough or responsible enough to be given the keys to something a bit more hefty than a jungle edition Raleigh Mongoose with trick pegs and a bell?

“Here you go son, you’re in the Army now. Camo outfit – Check, desert boots – Check, M16 – Check, key’s to a big f*cking armoured truck – Ahhh.. come back when you’re 17.”

The bit that perplexed me even more would be if a war broke out where would they be? At the back cycling like buggery shouting “Wait for me!!!……” as the more grown up soldiers sped off to face the oncoming enemy in slightly better equipped warfare transportation.

The great thing that I liked about Ubin the most was that you could feel like you where knee deep in the jungle or mangroves by just being 30 minutes away by a grumpy looking Captain Birdseye. 30 minutes back and you could be back in your condo again applying mosquito cream.

Truly a geographical one off.

After a day of peddling around Ubin, which was actually a very pleasant afternoon I plonked myself down for the customary glass of Tiger beer in the village back at the ferry terminal. Now, as most blokes my age, I’ve developed more of a taste of real ale over the years. Sadly, there is not much of that here (there is – but not on a small island with two flushing loos) and besides, the young Army kids are only interested in an appetite of Alco-pops or fizzy lager.

I can safely say that this Tiger was in my top 5 of best beers ever. I’m not sure what the other 4 times are as I was probably “very, very drunk at the time” to quote a phrase.

I promise that really was the last time on the speech marks.

Say Cheese...

Singapore is a famous destination for its food, whether it be fine dining at the Michelin star end (and there seem to be quite a few here) to the opposite end consisting of the plastic garden chair hawker establishments scattered along the roadsides and next to most shopping centres.
Now, I enjoy the entire spectrum on offer but generally I find posh restaurants a bit too stiff, unless of course you have a raucous group of you with lots to catch up, or a special lady friend to fawn over. Hawker stalls here are a brilliant alternative and you can pick up pretty much anything and everything for just a few dollars. You do need to be a little bit brave at first as the mad looking Chinaman/lady chopping broiled chickens in half with a massive cleaver can seem a little intimidating, even if I am about three times the size of him/her. In my first week I must have walked past this one set of hawker stalls near my hotel about five times before I had the balls to go up and even look at what was on offer behind the counter. So one day, finally plucking up enough courage, I ordered my first Chicken Rice. Hainanese Chicken Rice to be exact. Chicken Rice is basically a chicken that is boiled whole, bones and all until cooked. The left over water stock is then used to cook the rice with, which gives a slightly oily texture and a distinctive taste which is then mixed with coconut milk. It’s then served with some dips, which generally consists of a plate of the most ridiculously spicy chili sauce known to man. The chili sauce here is in a league of its own. It’s the Man Utd of spiciness in fact. I say Man Utd as you see the bugger everywhere, everyone claims to be a fan of it and it gives you a red face of Ferguson if you eat too much of it.
Some people say that Chicken Rice is the national dish of Singapore and you do see it absolutely everywhere and people are generally quite proud of showing it off, so there is probably some element of truth in it.

So after approaching said stall and having the customary “Whayowon?” shouted at me I had my first ever portion. So, it is quite tasty I must agree. The rice is really tasty and being cooked in all the oils of the chicken, it’s quite rich and very very filling. I had a portion for brunch on a Saturday and was full all the way up until the early evening. It’s a bargain way (about $5) to fill yourself for the day so you can see why at 11am the entire food court was rammed full of locals slurping away at various incarnations of it.

So having started out at the bottom end of the market and thoroughly enjoying it I’m going to try and sort out a boozy lunch at the Hyatt or one of the posh hotels which specialise in afternoon brunches. The brunches here are very popular ways of expanding your stomach to epic proportions on all you can eat oysters, champagne and other bourgeois delectations until you fall over and pass out in a food coma. A colleague of mine had 9 courses of pan fried foie gras once and didn’t have a movement for three days it was that rich.

Now, not having any stuff at all, and my serviced apartment not having much space in the kitchen to really make anything more complicated than the occasional scrambled eggs on toast, with a hint of butter, a pinch of cayenne pepper and a fleck of parsley (I mean, you’ve got to try and make it look exciting) I’ve not really done any cooking at all. Funny enough, I do actually miss it a bit so I’m quite pleased that my new condo I’m moving into actually does have an oven. Believe it or not, but lots of condos here don’t actually have ovens in them. So having one in mine was quite important as I do actually hope to do a bit of cooking once the pots and pans arrive.

As eating out can be quite a cheap affair this does lend itself nicely as to whether or not it’s cheaper to actually eat out for a few dollars a night, or to cook for yourself at home? When you look at the sheer variety of cuisines that you can scoff away from home you really do question if it’s worth the effort to go shopping, slog the bags around in the heat and schlep them all the way home to make something. Obviously, being single does make this an easier decision than if you‘ve a family of small, medium or even pretty large mouths to feed. What does make you think about it is when you actually do hit the supermarkets here. On the whole some things are really cheap, whilst some things that I take for granted as being quite accessible in England make you smart when you pick them up and see how expensive they are here.

The first one is cheese.

If Wallace and Grommet’s space ship had accidentally landed here when they set off for the cheesy laden Nirvana of the moon, they’d have taken one look at the price of a slab of Edam and would have been running back up the stairs with the suitcases and firing the thing up faster than you can say Gorgonzola.
I’ve discovered that good cheese here has the equivalent street value of crack cocaine. Even a measly bit of Brie has the same monetary value per kilo as gold.
I like a good bit of cheese as much as the next man, so one evening whilst giving into this taste craving I ventured to Cold Storage (the equivalent of Sainsbury’s here) and in testament to my usual shopping habits went straight to the booze and cheese sections. I’ll explain more about booze pricing another time, but needless to say, it makes the cheese price fixing scandal discussion look a bit trivial.
So in go a few bottles of cheap red and off to load up on some crackers and a tasty bit of Port Salut.

This is the part where I do a little double take once I see how much cheese really is here.

If you go for a bit of standard cheddar, it’s not going to cause your wallet to haemorrhage too badly, but hit a bit of continental Dolce latté and you’ll be taking a trip to the cash point. I think I bought a bit of a selection, which along with a few crackers and water biscuits came to the best part of about $80 which is probably the most expensive cheese I’ve ever bought. It did taste pretty damn good though...

I’m thinking of getting another mortgage if I ever go for a fondue night anywhere here.

The big question is... Why is cheese so expensive here? Granted – there are no cows here, so no milk production, so no burly milk maids in frilly frocks churning the paddles to make the creamy elixir itself. But saying that – Singapore imports nearly everything anyway as it produces hardly any homemade or natural resources of its own, other than cold hard cash – so why is cheese being singled out? Is there some secret cheddar tax that I don’t know about?

Honestly – I don’t know the answer to this, but I’m going to try and find out.

That or I invest in a cow.