Ode to Patti.

I spent yesterday sat around a pool near the harbour reading the best book I've read in ages: Just Kids by Patti Smith. She's my new hero.

It's the story of her multifaceted love for the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, whom she met at the age of 20 on the streets of NYC. But we also get to see New York's beatnik art scene at that time- Warhol, Candy Darling, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix... Beautifully written, inspiring and the best ode to the vocation of the artist I've ever read. It certainly was worth trudging round all the book shops in the north to find the last copy.

Here's the opening preface:

"Much has been said about Robert, and more will be added. Young men will adopt his gait. Young girls will wear white dresses and mourn his curls. He will be condemned and adored. His excesses damned or romanticiized. In the end, truth will be found in his work, the coporeal body of the artist. It will not fall away. Man cannot judge it. For art sings of God, and ultimately belongs to him."

Thanks Patz.

An education

I’ve gotten a wee bit behind with this as was just so tired from not sleeping and the 12-hour work shifts. Even if the work was looking at the sights of Singapore…

Let’s go back to Saturday morning. It was the first emotional part of my whistlestop tour as we travelled to Eastern Singapore to see the Changi museum. We had a quick breakfast of hard boiled eggs and toast with soy sauce- apparently another Singaporean breakfast choice. Can’t get used to the sweet condensed milk coffee though. The Changi prison was where the Japanese held their prisoners of war after their successful takeover of Singapore during WWII. I didn’t know this but this was considered Great Britain’s biggest catastrophe during the war.

The Japanese launched a surprise attack (favourite MO it seems) and the Brits were forced to unconditionally surrender…The museum was really sad in places, when women talked about being forced to be ‘comfort women’ to the Japanese soldiers at very young ages. They told their stories in voices that were cracked with age, but nevertheless still ripe with pain. There was a story of a 60-year-old woman who actually fought and a woman who risked her life every day to feed the prisoners through the walls. There were also Christian murals painted in secret and stories of how the POWs kept their spirits up by quilting, performing plays and keeping a sense of humour- in the face of dysentery, cholera and malaria, as well as torture. Puts it all in perspective really.

After whiling away a few hours there, we went for lunch at an upmarket Mandarin restaurant in a colonial house, Min Jiang. But I have to say it wasn’t all that great- very bland. The cold mango cream pudding was the only winner. On the way to the Jurong bird park we passed through Katong- where you can still see the beautifully ornate houses of the Peranakan people (the people who came about from the union between male Chinese immigrants and Malay women). There were some pretty interesting things on offer- including spirit capturing.

The bird park was average-but I liked seeing the lithe little penguins shoot about underwater, and the man-made waterfall built inside an aviary was spectacularly lifelike. But I didn’t get to see many exotic birds. The best bit was the hawk show where they got a mini Joseph Gordon-Levitt to hold a bird of prey on his matchstick arms. They managed to create a terrific sense of dramatic occasion by playing every television music department’s favourite, Clubbed to Death. I tried to stifle the laughter, honest.

The evening brought the highlight of the day. A fresh mango cocktail with ricotta cheese and vodka. Sounds gross but it was so creamy and perfectly blended. The view was the show stopper though- all neon like skyscrapers from the city's best vantage point. For tea we headed down to the East Coast to eat another Singaporean classic- fresh chillied crab with sweet dough balls (and of course Tiger Beer). Cracking the huge red claw to reveal grey/pink flesh, smothered in a thick, hot sweet chilli sauce, and mopping up the excess with a delicious fried dough ball. Is there anything more immediately satisfying than eating with your hands? Unself-conscious, get-stuck-in, pure unadulterated enjoyment of your food, the best instant gratification has to offer. Bloody marvellous. My mouth was like a beacon to the ships in the port afterwards though. Aaaaooogah!

MF...

Is that Sully from Dr.Quinn Medicine Woman I see before me?

Just got in from an evening out in Clarke Quay, an area next to the river that is popular with both locals and expats. It was a pretty strange experience, a Disneyland of bars, restaurants and clubs that revealed how town planning gets done these days. The place oozed the cold corporate determination that could only come from a bunch of suits in a boardroom brainstorming 'just exactly what it is kids want these days'.

Answer? A bar where people sit in gold spray-painted wheelchairs, drinking fluorescent liquid from test tubes and IV drips (Why let the physically impaired have all the fun?!); an ‘Asian-inspired’ bar (if Asia was a steakhouse in hell) all dark batchelor pad interiors reminiscent of bad Malmaison hotels, with the added bonus of a plethora of pornographic up the skirt panty shots alongside regular performances from the 'Coyote Dolls'; and finally a bar that was originally intended to be a Beatles style vintage affair, but has ended up hosting a rock tribute band that play all the hits from the 80s- and Linkin Park... but more of that later.

The day had started off much more civilly, with a trip to Bukit Timah Nature Reserve in the north of Singapore. It’s one of the country’s best-preserved rainforest and I loved being underneath the canopy of the foliage, with that gorgeous earthy smell permeating the humid air. Some of the trees were so enormous it was awe-inspiring. I know it sounds corny, but there’s something so restorative and soul-soothing about being surrounded by old trees in dappled sunlight. I tried to catch a glimpse of the elusive flying lemur (‘winged avenger of the night, taunting gravity…’) but didn't get lucky this time.

We next took a little walk at the Dairy Farm- no longer such, but named after the colonisers who couldn’t quite pallet the local buffalo milk and decided to ship in their own black and white Daisys. The Singapore government has turned what was once a quarry into a breathtaking lake where endangered birds like the Little Grebe and White Bellied Sea Eagle are now beginning to thrive. Ah, I love it when a plan comes together.

We then headed back into the centre of town for a spot more greenery in the shape of the Botanical Gardens. Beautifully landscaped by some British chaps, who loved Kew Gardens so much they decided to do something similar over here. The standout bit for me was the Celebrity Orchid Garden; a place that dedicated orchids to the best people on the planet. I was lucky enough to see the big three: Jackie Chan, Lady Diana and Margaret Thatcher. (No Hitler?) My other favourite orchid name was the Golden Shower. Don’t know why. At lunch I enjoyed a Singaporean classic dish of chilli crab spaghetti as well as a delicious and refreshing Ginger jive, made of fresh ginger, fruit punch, orange and honey. Zowy!

Another siesta later I headed out to the Civic District where the statues of Sir Stamford Raffles (or Razzer as I like to call him), the founder of Singapore, stand among the city’s oldest buildings near the river. Evening meal consisted of huge tiger prawns with chillied asparagus and rice- eaten outdoors with a cocktail of course.

And so we’ve come full circle, ending the evening at Clarke Quay. But before I go I just want to share with you my favourite member of the rock band, a bassist who looked like an Asian Steve Buscemi (amazing drunken best man speech in The Wedding Singer: 'Best man? The better man!'). And that wasn’t even the best bit; take a closer look at his forearm, is that a tattoo of Sully from Dr.Quinn Medicine Woman??

See you tomorrow, same time, same place? Yes in my office after school...

"Unfortunately the females and piglets also sport the bush beard"

Really tired as I write this, trying to get up to date with everything but itinerary is so busy from morning to night it’s proving difficult. The Singapore Tourism Board want me to see everything in about four days, which is taxing.

Anyhew… this morning it was ever hotter than yesterday, like molten magma some would say. It’s like being encased in a towel that’s been on the radiator all day all the time, you can feel the warm air right up until it reaches your lungs. I love it. Breakfast was in the Arab quarter; prata (a fried dough circle) with curry sauce in a bowl, washed down with coffee and condensed milk. The first mouthful took some swallowing but eventually I learned to love it. A bit like Bob Dylan. We then headed down to Little India to the little shops selling saris, Indian jewellery, and flower garlands. It was as colourful as you’d imagine. The Hindu temple was beautiful in a garish way, with worshippers offering coconuts (broken to show the breaking of the ego before entering), and bananas (a symbol of plentifulness). My favourite goddess was a blue multi-armed crazy lady who comes to earth to avenge herself on sinners. She looked a little like me if you're unlucky enough to wake me up in the middle of the night.

We then crossed the bridge onto the tropical island of Sentosa where I was indulged in a rather strange beauty ritual- Turkish fish that nibble all the dead skin cells off your feet. After ten minutes of refusal (No, no, oh please God no it’s freaking me OUT!) I decided to give the little pink buggers what they wanted and tentatively dipped my heels in first (yyyeeoooowww) then slowly the rest of my reluctant gammons. Once I managed to stop thinking about the fact that it was live fish and not a machine I managed to relax to about 80% stress. A feat of sheer willpower if you, er, will. To put it into words, it felt like a horde of cats' tongues rasping at every millimetre of my flesh. I don’t like cats’ tongues- they’re rough and weird and remind me of Satan. The staff couldn’t wait to get me out of there, but the feeling was mutual.

Then into the Underwater World where I immediately bumped into my old friend the Stingray…cue being plunged into olfactory reminiscence, pervasive guilt…mea culpa. But here's a roundup of interesting facts I learned:

*Male sharks have a ridge around their genitalia called ‘claspers’. Balk!

*Jellyfish eat oneother.

*Male Anemone fish will turn into females if the alpha female dies.

*Octupi are the most intelligent non-vertebrate animal and can do mind puzzles and open jars.

Then it was time for the pink dolphin show. I can now die happy after watching said dolphins leap out of the water in time to Haddaway’s What is love? (Lady don’t hurt me).

Next came the most haranguing part of the day. The Megazip adventure park. I was first trussed up in a harness, tight in all the wrong places, the worst part of which not even being the fetching effect of quatro bewtocks (sadly no pics to share). I had to climb high into the air, leap across two-metre wide gaps, slide my croc-encased feet (surely bad enough) across metal wires, swinging boards and flimsy ropes. And all this was to be achieved with the upper body strength of a six-year-old-boy. I was drenched in sweat by the time I had finished and utterly humiliated after a horde of American boys had jeered me on for the duration.

Finally we travelled to the north of Singapore to visit the Night Safari- the only one in the world! I saw Winged Squirrels leaping through trees, got inches away from black fruit bats eating bananas, giraffes, porcupines, leopards, and (my personal favourite) the bearded pig! "Unfortunately ladies and gentleman the females and piglets sport the bush beard throughout their lives".

And now to bed. To bed. To bed...

They had to beat him to death wiv 'is own shoe...

Morning came, and with it the remnants of a drug-induced sleep- I had learnt from my last bout of time zone change insomnia and bundled enough valium to fell the combined weight of Rick Waller and Barry White into the airplane bag. My guide, Augustar, took me to the Southern Ridges of Mount Faber Park, a trail of footbridges through lush foresty goodness, for an early morning workout. The views of the harbour were a treat, and the heat so welcome after the months of winter back home.

After that a visit to China Town, red lanterns and pineapple paper ornaments galore. The shops are all in front of the people’s houses and sell anything from camera equipment (“Hey! Nice camera, come inside, look is free!”) to tailored Chinese dresses, yellow cats with bobbing arms a la Churchill dogs that apparently ‘call’ luck to the owner, and Chinese medicine- bottled snake for your virility, anyone? We next headed up to the Chinese wet market- this is where the locals buy all their fresh ingredients. The smell was overpowering at first as there are copious amounts of raw fish out in the open in 30 degree heat, but it was nothing a girl hardened to the horrors of Morrisons on Sutton High Street couldn't handle.

That was until Augustar pointed out a cage of green frogs, alive and sliding slowly over each other, blinking slowly from between the metal bars… this then morphed into buckets of eels writhing entwined over eachother in a fashion not unlike a Bushtucker trial, then turtles in tiny boxes of water. And just when I thought the endless kaleidoscope of horror couldn’t get any worse, it happened: a seemingly sedate old man suddenly raised his arm aloft clutching a large paddle, bringing it down with the fury of a thousand women scorned onto the head of a huge rubbery fish, writhing on the floor- a Talented Mr Ripley murder for the fish world. I couldn’t help it, before I knew it a howl that could kick off a fox hunt had escaped my lips. I’ll never forget the look of abject disgust that old man fixed on me. And yet I couldn’t look away, as the blood spattered the white-grey tiles and the paddle came down once more. Heart racing, wussy tears ready to flow we made a speedy exit...

...Past the old Chinese men playing Chinese chess, drinking and chatting and into the Buddhist temple, which was splendidly ornate. Huge gold Buddha statues dominated the main room with people kneeling to pray in front of the statue. Afterwards a trip to Armenian Street to enjoy Peranakan cuisine- a mixture of Chinese, Malay and Indian influences. Standout choices were the banana and starflower salad and fried red snapper.

Utterly exhausted and time for a siesta (in which I dreamt about conducting an affair with Prince, who incidentally spoke with a Yorkshire accent). Next stop- the Singapore flyer, the world’s largest observation wheel for optimum Singapore skyline views as the sun set behind the skyscrapers in a pink haze. This was followed by a boat ride down the Singapore river on a vintage bumboat, where we sauntered past colonial buildings, mixed with the dominating skyscrapers. The thrill of the skyline down there was wonderful and intoxicating- especially when coupled with air that is still warm into the evening.

To end the night we went to a Lau Pa Sat, a former wet marker that is now a favourite food centre- bizarrely it was constructed with iron imported from Glasgow, who knew? I ate huge prawns that had been marinated in chilli paste then barbecued, finger suckingly fabulous; a fat noodle dish with mini prawns and- you’re not going to believe this- Stingray. My guide had ordered 'fish'. Ignoring the urge to leap 50ft from the thing, and trying to get ‘Stingraaayyyyy stingraaay do do do’ out of my head, I tried it. Wrapped in banana skin and charcoaled to moist, chillied, fleshy perfection I have to say it was delicious. This was all washed down with a pitcher of Tiger beer to the sounds of Michael Jackson and Led Zeppelin and later a Chinese Mama Cass and mullet-bestowed guitarist live band who earnestly harmonised to Ronan Keating and Funky Town. Magic.

"Welcome to Singapore- don't worry your eyes are...fine"

As I stepped bleary eyed and jet lagged into the arrivals hall of Singapore airport I was met by a quizzical face with an expression that read ‘In-the-name of-all that-is-Holy-say–yes, accompanied by the words, “Are you wearing contacts?” “Uhhm, no” came my hesitant response. “Oh…I wouldn’t want to meet you down a dark alley hey? Haha!” my driver fired back nonchalantly.

Not quite the reaction I was hoping for as the new updater of the Rough Guide to Singapore. I had concocted imaginings of high fives all round, knowing winks, ubiquitous tales of rock star Westerner in Eastern land. But no. I was immediately cast as an extra from Underworld (“It’s a great film! It made me want fangs too!” came the next backhander, pouring lemon juice into my seeping pridal wound).

Still, let's say I was too tired to really care after 24 hours of travel (courtesy of Emirates-highly recommended). And so we began the drive into Singapore, passing sunny, palm tree-lined roads that 'double up as an extra runway in times of need', my driver proudly explained as I frantically checked the rear view mirror for further signs of devil incarnation.

After a catnap and shower at my hostel The Inn Crowd it was time to hit the streets with my driver who took me to my first Hawker centre, located on Whampoa Drive- a residential area away from the madding crowds. Hawker centres are open air food courts where you can get freshly made food that reveals the eclectic mix of Singapore’s diverse population- 78% Chinese, 14% Malay, 7.5% Indian for all you factoid fanciers. Dotted all over the city, they’re a must-see. You could eat something different every day of the week for several months such is the diversity. I opted for Fish bee hoon, a kind of broth with deep fried red snapper fish, rice vermicelli noodles, Chinese spinach, seaweed, evaporated milk, all flavoured with teebor – a dried salted fish that adds flavour. Really, really good I drank that milkshake up like a good ‘un. I washed it down with a glass of sugar cane juice and a raw food salad that’s popular here called Rojak- it consists of pineapple, turnip, cucumber, bean sprouts, lettuce, celantro (Chinese parsley), dough balls, taupok (dried bean curd) all smothered in a sticky peanut sauce. Chilli padis are optional but I was already wiping the sweat from my brow so opted against.

After a few cocky Ts at a beachside bar jetlag meant I had to call it a night, but not before rambling incoherently about the state of the world’s finances to my guide, who visibly wilted by the second. Brilliant.