:: Travel

Spectacular Singapore

Himanshu Bhandari

Don’t worry about looking around, you just concentrate on buying things," said a worried grandma the day before I was set to leave for Singapore. Worried more for my aversion to shopping ("Doesn’t know anything, will get fleeced I tell you — he has that look") than anything else. It would appear the image of Singapore as a shopping destination is more extreme than I’d previously imagined. But there had to be more. Now was the time to tell yourself if you believe something strongly enough, it turns true.

I can’t explicitly vouch for infantile logic but it may have done the trick — a shopper’s paradise it may be, but Singapore offers so much more to see, hear, feel and above all, think about. Particularly for the lone traveller.

First up, the obvious attractions. For the adventurous types, or those with kids, Sentosa island seemed worth the hype. Back on the mainland, the Flyer is quite an addition to the skyline, offering a bird’s eye view of the no doubt impressive landscape. Much happier at ground level, I decided to wander through Orchard Street — the signature upscale boulevard that seems a prerequisite for any tourist city worth its salt these days. Suitable for visits of wonderment, but no place to settle down.

Which is hardly applicable to the rest of Singapore. Armed with a map (free, available at every other corner), I found myself using all forms of the island’s public transport — cabs, buses and the tube — within days.

So far, so good. Singapore had met most expectations, and exceeded some. But what about a less savoury aspect, a flipside, an underbelly? Not all of Singapore is the spotless, 10,000-watt-worth-of-lighting, shiny, happy paradise of all things good and duty-free. Like far-flung pockets to the north and west ("far" being a very relative term on the small island). Life here seems far removed from the main civic district; in fact it’s closer to state of affairs in neighbouring Malaysia and Indonesia.

Yet even at the heart of South-West civic district, little pockets in Chinatown and Little India have a grimier, more rooted feel. As I walked from the latter toward similarly "suburban" Ferrer Park up the road, a multitude of bylanes and backalleys threw a spanner in the works.

This wasn’t the Singapore of the brochure, but that’s what made it exciting. Few other places have South Indian, Pakistani, Malay, mainland Chinese, Taiwanese, Japanese and Vietnamese street food (and DVDs!) — often all within the space of a few blocks. Multi-culturalism is a byword for most travel marketing these days, but now on, I’d only be convinced by something akin to a Japanese massage parlour atop Shri Ghanesh Textiles.

Having said that, these aren’t areas for a 1 am stroll, so I decided to head out, eventually. But not before the "other" Singapore had revealed itself. Underbelly? As close as it comes here. Unsavoury? No way, It pays not to stick to the menu.

Special mention for Clarke Quay — now a small, tightly-packed stretch of watering holes, food joints and the odd designer ice-cream parlour — all on the banks of the Singapore River. The aromas are great, the drinks on the expensive side and the waitresses friendly. Maybe a bit too friendly… must be good for business.

In a short visit, I was satisfied in the knowledge that I’d experienced an alternative Singapore. Overwhelmingly likeable, but profound? I wasn’t yet ready for that realisation.

A final stroll along the Clark Quay promenade made it all quite clear. Devoid of the long history and tradition that instantly hands an advantage to its competitors in the world tourism battle, Singapore is in the process of doing the paradoxical — building in a sense of character. There’s a reason even-heighted, similar-girthed, assembly-line trees are nowhere to be seen. There’s a reason each of the numerous tube stations greet you with unique combinations of graffiti, glasswork and gross commercialisation. There’s a reason many of the malls look like apartments from the 1930s. There’s a reason, after downing Ireland’s finest to an old Buddy Guy tune at a trendy bar — I’m crossing a river on a bridge built in 1889.