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Published: December 9th 2006
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Singapore; For a Few Hours more.
Kuala Lumpur was holding a busking festival. I think the things accompanying the drummers are supposed to be dancing bananas but I could be wrong. Thursday 7th December
After six nights in the concrete metropolis that is Kuala Lumpur which included an incredulous few hours when I watched us roll the Test match up like carpet and throw it straight out of the window I finally left. And, surprise surprise, that is a story in itself.
On Wednesday evening I made my way to the bus station to book my seat on the, and I now know farcically named Singapore Express . Unfortunately, as is usually the way, the woman in the kiosk spoke next to no English. I'd been told that the luxury coach would cost a tenner but she took my 40 Ringhitts (5.50) and told me, very pigeon like and with the help of a pen, that the bus departed at 8.30am but that I should be there for 10 to to find out which platform It would depart from. Just like the three little pigs I was there early and went and sat, as instructed, at platform 23. And sat and sat until at about two minutes to eight I smellt a rat. I went and asked an officious looking chap with a clipboard, imagine Blakey with slanty eyes and
Singapore; For a Few Hours more.
Kuala Lumpur was holding a busking festival. The Tower keeps an eye on things as it does everywhere you go. minus the moustache. His eyes widened upon seeing my ticket and he told me to hurry and that the bus was about to leave.
Once on it was luxury. The seats, of which there only three width ways, reclined to almost the horizontal and were wide and spongy. I was in heaven and drifted into a deep sleep. The woman also told me the journey would take five hours so imagine my surprise when a sign reading 'Singapura 6km' came into view after just four . Soon after we pulled into a bus terminal and everybody got off and naturally I followed suit. A few people had told me Singapore was a beautiful, clean place so a bit of anxiety came across me when the same old sights (market stalls, beggars and suspicious looking deviants) as well as the same horrendous odours hit me. I wandered around for ten minutes getting my bearings, the weight of my sack causing the sweat to flood out of me, before ascertaining that a cab would only be 7 Ringhitts (a quid) to Raffles and the City Centre. Cool I thought, deposited my sack at left luggage and jumped in confident that things
Singapore; For a Few Hours more.
The Tele Tower in KL. You simply can't get away from it or The Twin Towers. were beginning to look rosy. Needless to say that feeling didn't last too long.
After 10 minutes he pulled up at another dirty, stinking shopping area. This doesn't look like a nice clean city to me and what's more I'd had no request to produce my passport. To be honest, I wasn't clear whether Singapore was the same as Monaco, a place where there was no need to produce the document to gain entry, but had a sneaking suspicion it was. In yet again broken english the driver said I should get out here and take a bus. WTF. I couldn't take a bus, my bag was at the previous terminal so it was back we went. When we arrived he asked me for 15 Ringhitts. Er, excuse me, I said in rather more laymans terms. 7 plus 7 = 14. He couldn't argue so there I was 14 Ringhitts lighter and twenty minutes later in exactly the same place I'd started witnessing the same sights and smells. As I got out what I presume was a shoplifter was dragged past by two over zealous policemen, shoppers kicking out at him as he went.
Enquiries revealed that I
could get a bus to Singapore, having now acknowledged I was still in Malaysia, so I bagged a quick Fillet o' Fish from Mr McDonald (I never normally eat that shit but the options weren't worth considering and I was starving), got a ticket for the bus and jumped on. Fifteen minutes later we stopped and yet again everyone got off. I tried to ask the driver but that was a futile excercise and then realised this was passport control. It dawned on me that we'd get off at passport control and that the bus would simply move along, pick you up fifty metres later then take you from Malaysian exit, through no mans land and drop you again at Singapore entry. Smartly through the first stage I was quickly descending the steps when I recognised my bus amongst the fifteen or so waiting vehicles. I was quietly congratulating myself on achievement when, to my horror, it began to drive off. A picture flashed through my mind of me hailing a cab and screaming "follow that bus" but I quickly realised I wasn't in the movies, that I was in no mans land SE Asia and this was the real
deal. Visions of my flight departing without me flashed through my head and as I already knew that Qantas had no flight seats available from Singapore to Australia until mid January that wasn't nice. To cut a long story short I was informed that buses from each company were every fifteen minutes so when the next one arrived I got on and finally entered Singapore. And what a difference. Lighted road signs, real roads with real asphalt, even the grass seemed greener.
After another fifteen minutes we pulled into yet another bus terminal and this time my surroundings made it clear I'd made it. I quickly found a map and asked a very pleasant local who pointed out my location and everything else I needed to know in about one minute flat. By this stage my sack seemed double the 17kg it actually was and as I marched, hunched like a fully kitted paratrooper who'd been marching for weeks, straps burning into my shoulders, I was hit by yet another wave of optimism. This travelling lark is a doddle. It was 2pm and I had three and a half hours before I'd have to catch the MRT train to
Singapore; For a Few Hours more.
There's been lots of these. A poster in the Twin Towers. the airport. I really wanted to see the world famous Raffles Hotel and the Singapore Cricket Club and fortunately they weren't too far away but by the time I reached Raffles I was literally drenched and knew that the chances of them allowing me entrance were slim to say the least. I dropped my bag to the floor and rested.
In those three and a half hours I walked and saw as much as was humanly possible and it occured to me that this was a hell of a place. The one place I'd visited since I'd been away that I could even consider living in, clean, friendly, safe and nowhere near as expensive as I'd been told. Two and a half weeks away and I'd managed three and a half hours in this beautiful place! I spent my last fifteen minutes before catching the train at 5.30 sipping on a Starbuck's Latte in the cathedral grounds taking it all in.
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waymo
non-member comment
You've got to stop tramping round in those bloody flip flops. I've seen the state of your trotters! Get yer pumps on lad. I sure you will be able to chill more in oz, a bit more expensive tho.