I am writing this in Singapore. I have not been here since
1973. It has changed.
The first thing I noticed on landing was that the plane took
almost 20 minutes to taxi to the terminal tentacle and out my window, below the
runway, I could see highways full of domestic traffic.
On terra firma I expected to be buffeted by multitudes but
was pleasantly surprised to discover there was space for me, my baggage and a
lot of other folk.
My hotel room is just right and the breakfast on offer is an
interesting mix of European and Asian. I have settled on a fried rice base,
with yellow dhal and alfalfa shoots, followed by fruit.
On my first morning I was joined by Sir Michael Somare, the
ex-PM of Papua New Guinea. We talked about the current situation in Port
Moresby and how hard it was for old men to give up power, read a book, go
fishing, or learn backgammon.
All right, Sir Michael didn’t join me but he did sit three
tables away and I would have spoken to him but he had eight men and one woman
guarding him, following him and carrying his crockery.
I wanted to say: “Mate, if you can’t carry your own plate,
you’re not going to manage a country?”
The big news in town this week seems to be that foreign maids
will henceforth get one day of a week, or pay in lieu. One maid was proudly
photographed with her bosses and revealed that not only did she already have
her day off but she also borrowed the family car and went on holidays with the
entire mob. Sacre bleur!
Highlights so far include the bright eyed children I have
visited in schools, one of the finest laksas I have eaten and an island tour by
Singaporean poet and Albany regular, Alvin Pang.
I have a feeling I will return.
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