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.

It ain't half hot..

As some of you may know, Singapore is a very hot and generally quite humid country. Typically, the low temperate is around 4.01am in the morning and that is still a pretty balmy 28C at the moment. The reason I know it’s this time is that’s the time I wake up pretty much most mornings with my tongue stuck to the mattress with not a single drop of moisture left in my body as it’s all been sucked into the bed clothes. I imagine it to be how vampires feel when they end up getting caught out in the sunrise and end up turning into shrivelled columns of dust in the films.
Anyway, I digress. From what I've heard it's about that temperature for the vast majority of the year and seeing as it's only a couple of hundred miles from the Equator it gets dark around 7pm most nights as well, which is an odd sensation. Having grown up with balmy summer days when it is still light at 9:30pm and the BBQ fires keeping the midges at bay, I've found it quite odd to be shrouded in darkness in the early evening whilst still mopping rivers of sweat from the back of my neck.
Most Singaporeans once they've discovered you’re a Brit ask you "So, how are you coping with the heat here then?". Whilst stood in a puddle of my own sweat I generally answer back " What heat?"
It's not so much the heat here, but the humidity. Often it's in the high 80's and sometimes it does reach 100. 100 of what you may ask?
Well, it's this if you must know.
"absolute humidity on a volume basis is the mass of dissolved water vapor, mw, per cubic meter of total moist air, Vnet."
Exciting stuff I know...
Having realised that this is a hot sweaty place the only obvious thing to go and do to make me even hotter and more sweaty was to sign up for some long distance runs. The reason for this was mostly not to turn into more of a porker than I currently am given that there is so much good food on offer here for very little money and secondly, as a way of getting to see some parts of the island and Malaysia that I've wanted to go and visit.
So, I've signed up for the mother of all runs being the Singapore Marathon in December this year. It's been a few years and a lot of pies since I undertook such a feat, so starting off from last week I've started to get prepared by, yes you guessed, eating less pies.
I'm going to try and get out a couple of times a week from next week once I've got my legs warmed up a bit. December is quite a way off, so I've got a couple of 10k and half’s along the way so that will be a bit of a yardstick of how I'm going to perform on the day. I think once I've done those few practice runs I'll be able to gauge how the formula of Age + Pies consumed + Christ it's Damn Hot / Sheer lack of Fitness = time lying on road panting equation is going to look.

It's not quite as mathematically scientific as the humidity one I'll grant you.

Arab St and little India.

So, one of the great things that separates out Singapore from other Asian countries I've visited is that it has a massive Indian influence which means one great thing above anything else. Curry.

Now, being a Brit, curry is almost second nature to me, so I've been itching to go and try and out some of the local curry hotspots, and no better place to do this than Little India.
Little India is a little gem of a place where the first Islamic communities rooted themselves in the Raffles era when Singapore was being carved up into the varying districts by the man himself. I'll get more on to Raffles another time as this blog is mostly about curry today.
Now being a SW Londoner and a fellow Blackburner I felt right smack at home amongst the hustle and bustle of the night time markets selling all manner of tat with the distinct aroma of exotic spices wafting through the air. I'd arranged to meet a few guys from work on a Saturday evening to have a few Tigers (the beer of choice here) and to eat my first Singaporean curry. I'd heard that Little India was a bit of a gem so I'd purposely starved myself in the afternoon for the delectation that was to present itself in the evening. I wasn't disappointed. The good thing about Little India, and pretty much most of Singapore in fact is that it is so friendly. You don't get the hassle of street vending touts trying to drag you in off the street which is so common in other curry meccas that I've visited. So, we trudged the streets for about 15 minutes until we saw somewhere that had been recommended to one of us and duly plonked ourselves down.
We ordered the usual amount of food (i.e far too much) and enjoyed it immensely.


After that we lolled down the road to to my new favourite place in Sing - Arab St.

Arab St is another carved out area so whereas the Tamils settled in Little India, the Arabs ended around, erm Arab St ?!? There are a couple of explanations as to why it's actually called Arab St but the one I like is that the area was once owned by an Arab merchant. It's mostly made up of some really striking shuttered shop fronts and eateries of Middle Eastern, Malay and Arabic flavours.

I spent a bit of the morning wandering the streets just browsing the amazing basket shops selling all manner of rattan, cane and straw niknaks. It's got quite a young bohemian feel to the place as well and has quite a few cool boutique type places selling stuff that is far too cool for me to even think about buying or trying to wear.

Incidentally, there are some really cool bars and restaurants to frequent here in the evening, which I duly did on the Saturday evening. I ended up with a couple of folks drinking G&T's and smoking far too much shisha at an open air jazz bar which took me back to my days dossing around as a dive bum in Egypt many years ago.

You can't really beat sitting outside watching the world go buy with a bubbling tower of apple flavoured shisha in one hand and a cool Bombay in the other.

On Sunday, I'd be given the kind offer of the loan of a mountain bike and to cycle the East Coast Park from my condo to Changi and back. So we set off at 5pm (the time it starts to cool down a bit to undertake such an activity) and started off on the 43km round trip. The East Coast park is a great little park on the South East coast with a cycleway/roller-blade path that snakes it's way along the coastal path all the way from Changi to Tanjong Rhu.

I love the East Coast for lots of reasons and it's very popular with all sorts. In particular runners, cyclists, rollerbladers and budding taxi drivers.

The budding taxi drivers are the f*ckwits that love walking aimlessley into the cycling lane as you go zipping past and cause you to crash in a heap by either hitting a tree or careering down the concrete on your arse. Now, so far, I've not actuallay crashed but I know that I'm a statistic waiting to happen. There is an actual defined cycle lane but nobody really pays any attention to it and people just mill about wherever they want. It makes it quite a hazardous ride especially when it's busy. The reason I call them budding taxi drivers is they show the same kind of lane discipline in youth as the adults in the taxis do. The first rule of lane discipline in Singapore is that there is none. My first new cycling purchase to bolt on to my bike frame is going to be an industrial duty bell. That or a lorry airhorn.
The other thing that is noticeably odd out here (for me anyway) is how popular roller-blading is. Now, I love the 80's, probably more than anyone I know in fact, but I remember roller-blading being slightly popular around 1989 and then anyone worth their salt who did actually own a pair figured out that they looked like a bit of a twat after 6 months of doing it and sent them off down to Dr Barnardos to probably get shipped off to some country for other less enabled children. Well - I've figured out where the f*ck Dr B sent them and it's here in Singapore. Anyone and nearly everyone dons a pair of blades here. It's like the land where time stood still here but instead of it being full of Dinosaurs like some Verne-esq setting it's full of leotards and tight fitting bright lycra. The only thing missing from the look is some big spongy Sony headphones and the theme tune to Fame. Granted, some of them are pretty damn good at it, but the majority are like an 8 wheeled pissed up Bambi on ice careering all over the place.
Maybe it's me and I never cottoned on to how popular it still is in places around the world, but the last time I was strolling in Battersea Park the only thing I remember whizzing past me was tooled up kids with staffy terriers on their way to mug someone.

Anyway, route wise, it's a really great ride all the way up to and behind Changi airport and then back again. Thnakfully, at Changi there is a great hawker stall to which to gulp down the customary three cans of 100 plus which is the drink of choice out here for before, after and during any kind of sport activity. That sounds like something out of a commercial I know. Actually, 100 pus is a pretty fine drink. It's a bit like a sugary sweeter fizzy version of Robinsons Barley water. It's probably really bad for you, but it hits the spot when you've sweated out your own body weight in fluids. Riding out past the airport is pretty cool as it gets a lot quieter once you get past the BBQ pits on the coast and the beach becomes less crowded. It becomes realtively safer as well due to the lack of numnuts getting in the way of the bike too. The path follows the entire length of the runway down one side, so you get to see all the planes come swooping in and landing alongside you which is quite cool.
As well as the East Coast path, there are some other good rides around here, but have not ventured on any of them yet. Once the bike arrives from England, I'll certainly look to give some of them a go. It's not as if there are many big hills here but the small mounds that there are here end up being just as hard as anything I've done prior, mostly down to the absolute effort it takes to get up the buggers due to the heat.

Speaking of belongings, should only be another 4 weeks hopefully until my stuff arrives, fingers crossed.
In the meantime, I'll dust off the roller-blades and get out the lycra.
I mean, it's not as if I Wanna Live Forever.... ;).

Booked it, Packed it, F*cked off!..

Well the day finally came when the fellas from Crown relocation came and boxed up my measly possesions that I'm taking to Singapore.
So the great big pile of fleeces, coats, jumpers, hats and scarves that I'm leaving behind have been put under the bed for an outing at a later date.
I was quite surprised to find out how much stuff I was actually taking, and seeing as I'm pretty much starting out again from scratch as far as furniture goes, it did end up filling up most of the van.
This picture shows only half of it.

Seeing most of my stuff boxed up in the living room was actually a bit sadder than I thought it would be. I can't quite put my finger on it, as I know that I'm doing the best thing in leaving and making a new start, but it was still a bit of a funny feeling knowing that I'm saying goodbye to this house and the memories that go with it. It's funny - as I had the same feeling when I moved out of my first flat in Brixton years ago. Maybe I'm just slightly more attached to piles of bricks and motor than I thought I was.
So today, seeing the house slightly barer of possessions makes me feel even more displaced than ever. It's funny how having a few of the things you cherish around you make a home a home and without them it feels like something not totally different, but ... different.
So as we speak, my stuff is on it's 6 week round the world trip by sea to Singapore. Actually, it's probably stuck in some industrial estate near Folkstone, but it's not really painting the same romantic picture is it?

Up In The Air.

Up in the air seems to be a fitting title at the moment. Not only do I seem to be spending most of the time being actually up in the air in an airplane/travelling kind of sense, but I also feel like it in terms of being not really having a place that I can call home yet. I’ve not really left London yet and I’ve not really arrived fully in Singapore either so it feels a bit like the long distance Salesmen (I’m sure that’s a film title) consistently living out of suitcases and using too much hotel shampoo.
Hopefully, that stage is now coming to an end, as as I write this, I’m sat in Changi airport departures lounge (economy, for those that it matters to) waiting for my return flight back to London to finish off the packing, moving and visiting of people that I started off so many months back. It does feel a bit odd as it’s starting to feel like it’s really about to happen and I have sat in my inbox a confirmed one way ticket (business class this time) back to Singapore scheduled for a week’s time.
There’s nothing more final than a one-way ticket I find. It’s some kind of statement of commitment for the modern man I think.
So yes, I’m back off home to try and cram as many things in to the next few days. Top of the list, is visiting my folks who I know I’m going to miss a bit, even if I am a bit of a crappy son and don’t visit them enough when I’m only 200 miles away rather than 3000.
So what have I been up to on this trip and what gainful insight can I share with you.
Well reader, I can tell you that for a small lump of rock, Singapore is quite diverse amongst its geography. From one end to other, you can pretty much cover the East to central part of it by taxi in less than 45 mins by the coastal freeway. I’ve not ventured much West yet, as those that I’ve spoken to say it’s not really that interesting, but I’m a great believer in trying things out for yourself so I’ll not comment too much on that yet. But – the East and Central regions I’ve explored a bit and am quite impressed. The big thing that I’ve really noticed is that the place is built up of lots and lots of small enclaves that all seem to link into each other in a little magic web of villages. You can start out at Changi (the airport, which melds into the East Coast, which segues into Katong, which moulds into Mountbatten, which turns into Orchard, then Dempsey and so forth. It sounds like pretty obvious and much like any other city landscape, but the thing that separates it here from other cities I’ve explored is that the transition and difference in style between the parts is quite distinct. Last night I was in Dempsey for drinks and dinner, and it felt totally different in style, climate and physical appearance than anywhere else I’d been to here. Walking down the hill a bit and turning left and I found myself back on Orchard Road staring at the huge malls and shopping precincts that I’d become familiar with and that’s when it really hit me that under the skin of the premise that Singapore is all about shopping malls and Raffles, there really is a lot more of a mix than what you first think.
I really should put more photos up here to show this point. If only I could find a shopping mall that sold cameras… ;)
Dempsey is a bit of a find really. It’s a bit like an old colonial barracks at the top of a small drive littered with cool little eating places and arty shops selling everything from designer edged traditional style furniture to little boutiques selling arts and crafts.


I really enjoyed it and it’d make a cool place for a Friday evening out with a date or a group of friends.
As well as this, I also donned my tourist cap and also went to the Singapore Night Safari on Saturday. Now, the Night Safari is in all the guide books as a must do activity, and on the whole I had a fun time – although it really is exceptionally touristy and full of snotty nosed kids with some rather annoying parents. If you take it with a pinch of salt, it’s good fun. I think having actually been on a night safari in Africa I might have been coming into it with high expectations, but on the whole it was good fun bar the running commentary from the bloke at the front with the microphone banging on about general wildlife facts.

The other thing I did this week was a quick trip to Sentosa. Sentosa is a very small island on the southern tip of Singapore, which has recently seen loads of investment turning it into a small entertainment complex. It’s got some nice manmade beaches, a Universal Studios theme park and some quite cool bars along the seafront such as Café Del Mar and such.
You get to it via a little monorail train from Sentosa station or a cable car from the mainland, which was sadly closed.

I probably picked the worst day of the year to go there as it absolutely smashed it down with rain on the way there (and when it rains in Singapore it really rains). Luckily enough though, the sun came out in the afternoon and it was a pleasant enough day to sit out and drink a few frozen margaritas by the beach.

I bet it’s a great day out on a really sunny day, so quite looking forward to going back later in the year.

Sentosa is also home to the first casino in Singapore. There is now a second one at Marina Bay Sands (to be discussed another time) but this was the first and subject to quite a bit of commentary.
The Singapore government are quite a controlling bunch and deem that gambling is a something that their subjects should be controlled from doing, especially in Casinos. So, Joe Bloggs with a non-Singaporean passport can waltz in and fritter our hard earnings away quite merrily, but the locals have to pay something like $10K to get membership to go. Quite a deterrent!
I’ve not been to either yet, but will venture there next time I’m back.