The Sabbath

Sunday (22/09/13):

Singapore consists of many zones, including three spectacular sub-continentally themed ethnic districts. The Arabic (where our hostel resides), Indian (yesterday's adventure) and Chinese quarter, or should I say third. Each one of these districts is not just snap happy tourist targeting smoke and mirrors either, each one of them is inhabited almost entirely by the folk you'd expect to see roaming the lands that bear their namesake. The food, shops, monuments, local architecture and culturally significant goings on all feel as if they were plucked straight from the places from whence they originated. After the solitude of the frigid, sub-zero (or so it felt), aircon blasting throughout the train ride there the sun on our cheeks, traditional looking decorations hugging the streets, the smell of freshly squeezed juices and distant stir frying in the air were welcomed warmly.

As is crucial to any form of travel anecdote tapped away by us, food is more than worthy of a textually girthy mention. Less than 30 minutes into this particular adventure and we were enthusiastically choosing fresh produce (all manner of veg, meat and fish) from a chilled cabinet with the help of avid pointing and nodding. This was to become almost a bucketful of wok-fried joy, for under £3 (price is always worthy of a mention right?). 

When asked 'chili?' by the chef lady we both nodded (perhaps a tad too vigorously) and said 'a little' (a word which we hereby assume has no significant literary counterpart in the Chinese language). This cued the spawning of humongous fragrant concoction of noodles, seafood, seasonings and vegetables - all overshadowed and smashed aside by a FECK LOAD (a few cubic metres) of CHILI! (the red blobs in the above picture). Almost enough to burn a charred hole clean through the pavement/my oesophagus.

Chinatown was a bustling and vibrant place.

Onwards we trekked to the main shopping district of Singapore "Orchard road".

Nut cases and folk with bulging wallets litter the packed streets.

 Read the orange bubble on the chilled coffee lid above. "Plain arse" haha.

Orchard road was like an extremely clean Oxford Street, only with far more glass and a few, nay thousands, more jungle trees. Adding long lines of luscious green to the shiny greys and blacks.

Clarke Quay is one of the many nightlife hubs of the city, with live music, a festival atmosphere, bank account emptying food prices and happy hour (or mediocre hour as Sop and I lovingly nicknamed it) during which the cheapest pint of lager costs around £7 instead of the usual recession busting £10, woohoo.

Evacuating the scene, we returned to little India which had transformed dramatically since our last visit. Upon leaving the station we were greeted by an alarming number of India town folk flocking the streets like a vast cloud of chatting and general merrimaking. Every single street, foodcourt and alley was filled with locals chatting and enjoying to night. The initially casual stroll was like jostling for prime position in an energetic crowd at a gig. The WHOLE district had transformed into a busy pub, only friendlier.

We then watched football (soccer if your local) back at the Churchy bar place. A definite low point thus far.(N.B. Best girlfriend ever as I definitely had better things to do at midnight eg. sleeping than watching Man U...)