Time flies, doesn’t it? It has been nearly four days since I arrived in Singapore, and since then I’ve seen and done quite a lot. Nevertheless, it’s hard for me to believe I haven’t already been kicked out of the country because of some faux pas, real or imagined, on my part. One of the few and admittedly minor concerns I had in coming here is that I’d do something to unintentionally offend someone — or worse, a whole group of people — on a grand scale. After all, it happens all the time at home.
But as I was saying, the days in Singapore go by fast, certainly faster than they appear to back in central USA. (And this is even accounting that I’ve awoken each and every morning so far at 6:45 AM, just like clockwork — I never can do that at home for some reason.) I’m having so much fun, I’d just as soon they’d never end.
When I’m not graced with the presence of Yang and Ling, my favorite activity is the journey to one place in Singapore to another. I’m such a county bumpkin that, yes, it’s sort of like an adventure every time I leave The Rivervale apartment buildings. The security guards pay this Ang Moh absolutely no mind as I frequently step out the side gate and traipse toward the nearest bus stop where I generally stand around looking rather clueless to the local stop-side locals waiting for the next bus to arrive and wisp them on their way . . . sometimes I even manage to collect my wits and take the bus, too.
But then it’s on to my very favorite activity: catching the MRT train. The hustle and bustle of Singapore is not at all limited to what one can see on the ground. Quite the contrary, there’s as much commotion occurring down beneath the surface as people push, shove, and generally climb atop and over one another in an effort to catch the docked train before it departs. Taking the escalator down to the docking area of a soon-departing train is quite the experience. If I didn’t get such a kick out of what is the epitome of an atavistic endeavor, I’d just hurl myself down the middle-lying stairs and come out ahead.
If I haven’t come off as a complete greenhorn yet, just wait until I write about the food. The sheer variety of food installations in Singapore — above and below ground — fascinates me. When I go it alone to a hawkers’ center (most easily found in the gazillion shopping plazas), I try to go when it’s not crowded. That way there’s more than enough tables and seating available and I’m not forced to eat so fast I derail a fork or chopstick into my eye. Plus, the hawkers aren’t nearly as eager to get rid of you to clear the impending queue forming behind you!
Yang has loaned me a camera, and I’m just now growing accustomed enough to Singapore to not feel too self-conscious wielding it. I figure any hopes of me not sticking out like a sore thumb are entirely hopeless as it is. I might as well embody the look of the clueless tourist while I’m at it — that’s exactly what I happen to be anyway! Perhaps I’ll have some pictures to exhibit soon. Who knows what is in store?
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