Note 1 – Tuesday 7th June.

There’s some serious wonga here! (Spellcheck doesn’t recognise “wonga”?) (spellcheck doesn’t recognise “spellcheck”?). Asian faces aside, it’s as though I’ve briefly left the continent to spend a week in America. I say that despite never having visited America, and also in the knowledge that other such cities probably do exist in Asia (Japanese ones, Hong Kong, Seoul perhaps), but nevertheless, that’s the impression that’s sprung immediately to mind. The gleaming, and evidently still assembling, skyline of multi-storey office blocks, branded with the names of those disappointingly familiar global financial heavyweights, the smoothest underground system I’ve ever ridden on, holding on to the nearest bar not even required to set off from or slow down to the stops, and the endless maze of middle class shopping centres, all ooze wealth. Similar features one can find in the likes of Bangkok and Kuala Lumpur, granted, but unlike those cities, here there’s no obvious grime or poverty woven into the gaps in between. This must be the shopping centre mecca of the world, in fact! It feels as though you could cross Singapore city from one side to the other without ever leaving them, by just hopping across from one to the next. And you certainly can’t avoid them! I haven’t intentionally entered a single one yet, but I consistently find myself in them, upon entering or exiting the underground, or just cutting through apparent walkways from one main street to another. Actually, I have a map of the centre of Singapore, and have just noticed that shopping centres are denoted by the little blue squares, so seeing as I have time on my hands and nothing better to do right now… one hundred and nine! And that’s just in the very centre; there must be a thousand on the island!

And unfortunately, the general essence of wealth is reflected in the cost of staying here! I’ve worked out that pretty much everything on a backpackers regular shopping list is about double that in neighbouring Malaysia, itself not the cheapest country to visit in South East Asia. Accommodation, local transport, bottles of water, meals. And also, not a staple expense, but trips to the cinema, I’ve just discovered. No wonder the Singaporeans love to hop over the border for the weekend. So close, but such a difference. Imagine if everything in Wales was half the price; the country would be inundated by debaucherous Scousers, Brummies and Bristolians!

So my time here is going to be limited to as long as it takes to get my visa for Indonesia, and, whilst here, to walking (very slowly) around the (intensely humid) city, paying for little more than food, water and my hostel bed (I even didn’t get that cinema ticket, despite it probably being my last opportunity pre-return home!). Ah well, it’ll be a healthy existence!

I’ve already seen quite a lot of the city, in fact. The positive aspect of wandering around cities watching your well organised plans, and backup plans, go to s***, is that you end up inadvertently seeing a lot of them! Although I’d definitely have settled for a little less of Singapore in exchange for a bit more success in organising my visa. It turns out that to obtain my entry pass to Indonesia, I first have to demonstrate my ability to later exit, this by way of a flight ticket out. So after eleven months and three weeks, I’ll finally be hitting the skies! I’ve known for some time it would come to this eventually, as Paula and I became aware when we started to research India that flying into the country was our only realistic way of crossing its borders, but it still feels a tad disappointing to actually be handing over the cash for a flight ticket. Or paying online, rather, after the aforementioned time wasted, first heading to STA Travel, to find out they weren’t interested in handling budget flights, and secondly to discover that Air Asia’s office sells at significantly higher prices than their website (well stuff ‘em, I’m booked with Tiger instead now!). By which time, having also had to find an internet café with a printing facility (i.e. not my netbook back at the hostel), I missed the window of opportunity to apply for my visa as per my personal schedule, i.e. day one, as soon as possible!

Note 2 – Friday 10th June

Two long, incredibly sweaty strolls into the wealthy Singapore suburbs later, which operate also as embassyville, and I have my visa – sixty days, result! I’m out of here tomorrow, on the first boat to Pulau Batam, the nearest island in, and recognised port of entry to, Indonesia. Only a forty-five minute ride away. Not that I’m desperate to leave, as I’ve by no means hated it here, but there’s just no huge appeal to stay. Everything’s been comfortably clean and modern, but overly sterile and lacking a bit in character by the same token. The city, the hostel, and, although perhaps by extension, a product of the surroundings, the hostel residents too. Green Kiwi Hostel has a potentially fantastic roof garden, however still in the making, and a clean-cut central indoor area by the reception, with high wooden stools and a counter top running the full way around the edge, but it’s crying out for somewhere comfortable to sit back and relax, make a cup of coffee, chat to fellow travellers or sift through books. So there may have been sociable types whose paths I just haven’t had the opportunity to cross, but purely from my observations at a distance, I suspect not. One exception, however, certainly does have character (although I haven’t actually spoken to him)! A youngish guy with glasses and a full beard (hang on, is it Dave Gordon?), who wears his yellow short-sleeved shirt tucked securely into his beige shorts, which in turn are securely attached to a level slightly above his waist-line, so much so that it really should be uncomfortable, by a thick belt. White trainers and light blue socks, pulled tightly up to mid-calf, complete the picture (it is, it’s Dave Gordon!). The only viable excuse would be if this is comedy creation by someone of the Sasha Baron Cohen ilk, but I believe he’s actually real! Other than him, though, I’d be struggling if I was still doing hostel dorm-mates review. The odd Westerner just passes through, and there are a hardcore of internet addicted Philippinos who never seem to look up, never mind leave.

Note 3 – Saturday 11th June

Very random – on the last night (last night), a wedding on the rooftop of the hostel was announced. All welcome (and all strongly encouraged to attend, clearly to boost numbers!), food and drink provided, “Fred and Vye”. I obviously wasn’t expecting this, had no pre-prepared excuse, and so attended. And I’m still not entirely sure what was going on! At one point early on, Fred, a round-faced, middle aged Ethiopian guy (from Hong Kong, who’s lived in America too, I think I pieced together), referred to his considerably younger, quite portly, wife’s home in the Philippines, at which point she quietly corrected him, reminding him she was from Cambodia. Duh? A strange slip of the tongue, to say the least. Particularly given that it later transpired, upon chatting to them, that they’d already had the principal wedding ceremony in Cambodia (a lavish occasion attended by hundreds, Fred was keen to point out), and that Singapore was simply where they wanted to have their marriage registered. And she (a very pleasant girl, actually, having spoken to her later on) also told me they’d met online. Join the dots if you can, but I remain bemused! Anyway, like I said, I went along, joined by an elderly Singaporean official, Vye’s sister, a pair of Indian guys (one of whom, Rahman, was given the job of official photographer), two American girls who’d just arrived, a young English couple from Derby (just arrived, excuse therefore unprepared, a trend methinks), a German girl, a handful of Philippinos (none of whom I think were actually travelling together, bizarrely), and Kevin, the Kiwi hostel owner and nominated best man! All very odd, but in the end we had fun, got drunk, and after declaring that his wife would do whatever he told he to, that they were going to a live sex show, and that we should all join them, a suggestion which went down like a lead balloon, Fred fell asleep along a bench instead, flat on his back, snoring loudly, leaving the rest of us to file off to bed as and when we pleased. With my alarm set for 5.30am, I was reasonably self-disciplined. Ish.