On the advice of my host, I took a taxi to the Indian Temple in Chinatown, a plain building crowned by a colorful pyramid of sculptures of gods. The streets around it are lined with little open-front shops selling tourist junk. After wandering in and out of dozens, I bought my son a present (he’s reading this so I can’t say what) and almost got the bargaining thing right: It was marked $8 (= US$4.80), I offered $5, she said $7, and I lost my nerve so we didn’t complete the dance that was destined to end at $6. I don’t like bargaining because the differential means so much less to me than to the vendor, but it feels rude not to.

I more than made up for it an Indian shop where I bought two items at full price. They didn’t give an inch even as I initially walked out of the store. They must have had me pegged as an American.

By the way, the going rate for USB cables at the electronics stores in Chinatown ranges from US$18 to US$32 — that last price actually made me laugh out loud. At a tiny sidewalk Internet cafe and electronic parts booth a few blocks away, the young man who sold me a replacement mouse told me that the real price is US$3. He as out of them, so I’m still looking.

Perhaps I should feel foolish wasting my time shopping instead of seeing sights, but, well, shopping in the streets is fun. I get to touch cloths, smell restaurants, hear parents quiet their children, and talk with Singaporeans. I’m a tourist, so whatever I do is going to be touristy.

After a couple of hours, I stopped at a modern sidewalk restaurant that advertised a vegetarian version of mee siam, which for all I know means “On sale,” “snake pee,” or “Warning: Condemned by the Singapore Board of Health.” Whatever it means, it turned out to be a delicious bowl of sweet ‘n’ peppery broth, noodles, tofu and a sliced egg. I came into the store sweating enough to grow grass wherever I walked and left with children splashing through my mist as if I were an open hydrant. But mmmmm, spicy good!

Note to travelers: When in Singapore, always say yes to orange juice.

I decided to head towards the colonial area of the city, as recommended by www.fodors.com. It was just a few blocks over, but it’s much further if you first go in the wrong direction for over half a mile. I have the innate sense of direction of a 5-legged spider and am retarded about reading maps, so I wandered and circled and got lost yet again. I saw many indistinguishable financial and official blocks, or maybe just the same ones over and over, punctuated by tiny shops with aisles too small for the likes of me — it’s possible I’m the fattest person in Singapore — and restaurants serving parts of animals I didn’t even know animals had; apparently every chicken contains a snake as part of it. Live and learn.

By now the sky had cleared and the sun was crisping my duck-like skin to a rotisserie orange. Should have remembered the sunblock. I have noticed that many Singaporeans avoid the sun on the streets; there are even some parasols around. Not me. I rely on my big floppy hat that completes the image of me as a lumbering, careless American.

I finally made it to the colonial section — some pretty buildings and very little life on the street. So, I took a cab back to the hotel where I collapsed like dirty laundry, an assortment of twitches shaped like a man. In a couple of hours, I’ll join my host for dinner.

It was a thoroughly enoyable 4.5 hours walking in Singapore.

Categories: Uncategorized dw