Day 87
Thursday 6 April. Transit from Melbourne to Singapore. Sunny and 26ºC in Melbourne; humid and wet at 33ºC in Singapore.
We rose at 0400 for departure to Melbourne Airport at 0500. Laura and Derek were kindly driving us there, but it can be a 90 minute journey and we were concerned that the motorway would be clogged up. Indeed, the motorway was surprisingly busy on the way to Melbourne, but I suppose the M4 to Heathrow would have been just the same at that time. As it happens, we completed the journey in about an hour, and said our sad farewells to Laura and Derek just after 0600. I hate farewells, and we made it quick.
It seems to me that all airports operate slightly differently. If you are a regular traveller you become familiar with the routine and think nothing of it. If, however, you are infrequent flyers like us, then you can easily become completely lost. Trailing our luggage, we roamed the airport looking for the baggage drop for Singapore Airlines like two lost waifs sent off to the country to escape the blitz. Eventually, after the fourth circuit, we discovered that the airlines ‘hot desk’ for the check-ins and ours was not open yet, so we found a nice hard chair to sit on and waited. Finally, at 0730, the desks opened and we were off: a very quick check-in for Business Class, through security, and down to the Business Class lounge for breakfast. Very nice and civilised, despite the baby and two toddlers (who can afford to take children that age in Business Class?) who – you will be amazed to know – were no trouble at all. The breakfast of cold poached egg with Hollandaise sauce, and bacon the texture of shoe leather wasn’t brilliant, but it was free and eaten in quiet surroundings. Breakfast, as I have often told Jane on many an occasion, is a non-sociable meal that should be taken in peace and tranquility, with the preserves and toast rack close to hand, a cup (not a mug) of the best hot Colombian within reach, and a copy of The Times set on a reading stand in front of one. She ignores these requirements, of course – I think there is a rebellious streak in that girl. What her poor father must have put up with.
Soon we were boarding the aircraft (a Boeing 777-300ER for the technically minded), and I must say that travelling Business Class is the way to go, even if it does cost a packet. Seating was arranged 1:2:1 across the aircraft and Jane and I had large individual booths, one behind the other, with window seats. You could convert the booth into a bed, but we didn’t bother. A glass of champagne appeared immediately on boarding and we settled in rapidly. I don’t know where the baby and toddlers went, but they weren’t with us; I rather suspect that they were in First Class (even more amazing).
As we took off I felt very sad about leaving Australia after so long, and Jane even shed a tear. We were leaving a beautiful country and our dear friends who had been so good to us. But there you are: all good things have to come to an end. Of course, Laura and Derek could have been cracking the champagne as we left the runway!
Instead of the usual second-rate film that you used to get on aircraft, there was a huge selection of films or TV programmes to choose from, and you could pause or rewind as desired. I watched three good films and a bit of Fawlty Towers, and the journey just whizzed by. The food was also excellent. There were five choices for the main course and I chose snapper fillets on noodles as the healthy option, but I could have had lamb, chicken, steak or vegetarian. For wine, we could have champagne, three choices of other white wine and four choices of red (I had the Shiraz). The staff were very good and looked most becoming in their sarongs. What I particularly liked was the way that they made a point of learning and using your name (“Another champagne, Mr Shacklepin?”), and they didn’t just associate the name with the seat – they used it if they met you in the aisle, or when you were searching out the lavatory too.
The journey took seven hours in real time, but there was a two-hour time difference so it was only five hours on the clock and we arrived at about 1600 local time. We are now only seven hours ahead of you in the UK.
Immigration in Singapore was a breeze compared to the USA, and the airport was a delight to visit. It didn’t take long before we were in a taxi heading for the Premier Inn; the fare was $SG18 (about £10), which I thought was very reasonable. What we saw of Singapore en route was beautiful.
Premier Inn proved to be very like its namesake in UK (it is a spin-off of the same company), but the service was even better, and more like a hotel, for example a porter took our luggage and delivered it to our room, there was a fridge with complimentary water, and – of course – there was air conditioning. The room was smallish and ‘Premier Inn standard’, with a double bed, a small desk and a couch that could be converted into a third bed; it was perfectly adequate and excellent value for money at £218 for two nights in a big city. I would like to report that we dashed out after dropping off our luggage, but the truth is we were so shattered and disoriented after being up since 0400 in Australia, and not at all hungry after the aircraft food, that we just lazed about in the room and went to bed early. Also, it was raining in Singapore (though 33ºC), and that made a good excuse.
Day 88
Friday 7 April. Hot, humid and sunny. 34ºC. In Singapore.
We had heard good reports about Singapore but, behold, the half was not unto us. This place is truly and absolutely amazing.
After a good restful night, disturbed only by heavy thunder and lashing rain, we decided against the standard Premier Inn breakfast – after all we were in Singapore. So we set off up the road to find a little café. The heat hit us like a Turkish bath. By golly, it was hot. Surprisingly, a suitable venue was hard to find (copies of The Times seemed to be a bit thin on the ground), but we used the time usefully by taking in the diverse cultures of the city, passing through what I think was the Malaysian, then the Indonesian quarters. We did find a little café eventually and after that we could start exploring Singapore properly.
Laura had described to us that Singapore was one of the few nations to learn from its British colonial background and keep the good bits instead of just ditching the lot. And that is the impression we got. The cars drive on the left, the plugs are 13A 3-pin, and the official language is English (though the national language is Malay). What more can you ask? Superficial though they may be, these pointers were symbolic of what was clearly a well-ordered society.
It is hard to describe Singapore and give it justice. It is, without doubt, the most beautiful city I have ever visited: yes, even better than Sydney and Melbourne. It is a garden city. There are flowers, shrubs and trees everywhere: walking through the streets is like walking through the Garden of Eden. More often than not, the pavements themselves are tiles, not paving slabs, and they are all spotless: no litter, no dog-ends, no dog mess; everything is as neat as a new pin. The highways are wide and mainly dual carriageways, but with four lanes on each side. The buildings are a mix of old and new, but the overall impression is of magnificence and graceful beauty. And get this: no graffiti! None at all. I looked everywhere for it, but found none.
We realised that we had a lot to see, with so little time to do it in, so we headed first for the Marina Bay Sands Hotel, which is an enormous three-tower complex with what can best be described as a surfboard on top of the three. The ‘surfboard’ contains a viewing area and a roof garden. At the base of the hotel is a huge shopping complex on four levels, with an ice rink at one end and a lake and canal at the other. You can get a boat out on the latter, and be rowed to and fro as if on a gondola, if being paddled about in a shopping centre is to your taste. All the shops are top names, of course: none of your WH Smith or even John Lewis. Instead there is Prada, Gucci, Rolex, Jimmy Choo, Chanel and every other expensive name you can think of.
We wandered through this complex for a while, not least to just cool off, then we crossed a bridge to the adjacent Gardens by the Bay which had all sorts of gardens in them such as a Chinese Garden, a Colonial Garden and so on. One feature was high steel ‘trees’ (called Supertrees) overgrown with foliage and you could walk along a suspended walkway high among them. We did this, and I had no problems, but Jane did not like the wobbly walkway much and it was the fastest $S16 we ever spent. The gardens were absolutely delightful, and we wandered round for quite some time, but storm clouds were looming and so we thought it sensible to head back indoors before the rain started.
The heat and humidity were overpowering and we felt the strong urge for a stiffener, so we headed back into the city looking for a watering hole. On the way, from one of the high bridges, we were rewarded by the sight of QUEEN MARY 2 coming alongside about a mile away. Not long now.
A number of potential drinking places appeared, but they were mostly serving late lunch and we weren’t hungry, what with the heat and the late breakfast. I fancied an up-market hotel where we could do some people watching and sample a cocktail. Raffles was the obvious candidate, but we saw a closer candidate in the form of the Fullerton Hotel, a grand building overlooking the lagoon, so we went for that. It was a a fine establishment which, it turned out, had once been the General Post Office, but we couldn’t find the bar. We wandered hither and thither past PLU having coffee or afternoon tea and eventually found a sign that said ‘Roof Bar, 8th Floor”. So up we went in the lift to Floor 8, which we further explored, passing private rooms and laundry trolleys, but still never finding the bar. No we didn’t ask. By that time I had taken against the hotel, not least for its absence of security, so I decided we would try Raffles instead.
Back into the Turkish bath, and en route to Raffles we took in Singapore Cricket Club and its ground, the Pedang; the Victorian Memorial Hall; the art gallery; and a statue of Raffles who (of course) founded the colony as an East India Trading Company base under licence from the local Sultan. We strolled into Raffles as if we owned the place and followed the signs for the Billiards Room, where the famous Singapore Sling is currently served. The place was quite busy with tourists (I don’t put us in that category, naturally) and we thought they were just hanging around, before we realised that they were the queue for the bar. I don’t queue, and I certainly don’t queue for bars, so we walked out.
The jury is out on whether we made the right decision in cancelling our booking for Raffles. It was certainly very grand, but we were only staying for two days and the hotel seemed awfully ‘touristy’ – not necessarily in terms of clientele, but in terms of visitors. And if we had stayed, would we have had to queue for a drink? Whatever, we saved just under £1,000 which I could use for new upholstery for the boat (or to deck out the memsahib in a new set of clothes, of course).
So, back to the hotel to peel our clothes off our backs and take a shower. Before that, we did find a little place where I had a Tiger beer and we hoovered down a Nasi Goreng (very filling). We had been walking for over six hours, mostly in the steamy heat, and I reckon that must be about 12 miles’ worth. I needed that drink.
Jane wanted some photographs of Singapore at night, which involved walking all the way back to the ‘lagoon’ again, an aspiration which my feet and stomach greeted with incredulity. But we could hardly sit in our room from 1800, so at sunset (about 1900) we set off, this time attired in nice dress, sandals (Jane) and smart shirt and trousers (me). We still hankered for that cocktail, and drifted past a big hotel vowing to return, but then we discovered a road we hadn’t seen before, and followed it past bars, cafés and restaurants, to an escalator descending into the ground. Crikey, there was a whole new world down there that we hadn’t noticed! I think it was actually a Metro station, but in addition there was a vast network of shops, food bars and cafés down there, extending for at least an acre, and all air-conditioned. We followed the signs for what we thought was Marina Bay (where we were headed for) and eventually emerged into the warm soup again, completely lost. There then followed a minor family contretemps regarding the soreness of feet, the uncomfortable humidity, and the unwillingness to rerun the afternoon’s experience in new clothes. There was also a feeling of déja vu from walks in Geelong as we trudged through dusty areas, climbed over crash barriers, darted across roads and generally embarked on an outback expedition in unsuitable clothes. Astonishingly, we found what we were looking for, and took some amazing pictures. I must say, it was a beautiful sight at nighttime: the Marina Bay Sands Hotel, lit up, really did look like something out of Star Wars and the rest of the city was like fairy land. Sydney and Melbourne had been pretty damned good, but this place was off the planet.
We dived down into the land of the troglodytes again and took, what I considered, to be the direct route underground to where we wanted to go. There was yet another minor disagreement as to the right course, and we drifted around vaguely past more underground shops before emerging – well – somewhere near Raffles. We found a convenient cocktail bar (tongues hanging out by this time) and dived in. They didn’t do Singapore Sling, but they did do Bellinis, which we ordered and hoovered down like refugees from the desert. When we paid ($S37) it was revealed that they were part of the ‘Happy Hour’ package so, as Jane put it, we could have had another. Always wishing to fulfil Jane’s every wish, we headed for Raffles for that illusive Sling.
Raffles looked lovely floodlit, and I felt another minor pang of regret for not staying, until I discovered that the queue for the bar was still there (though, to be fair, other people were in it). So off we set back to the hotel, this time smart, hot, and tired. But we did enjoy the Bellinis.
Day 89
Saturday 8 April, and we rejoin QM2 today. Overcast, heavy showers, 35ºC.
We drifted up the road looking for somewhere for a light breakfast, Jane clutching her waterproof lest a heavy shower should disturb her beautifully coiffured hair. I didn’t have the heart to tell that the humidity had done the job already without having to resort to precipitation.
This is sad. In the whole of Singapore, the best place we could find for breakfast on Day 2 was a Starbucks. In our defence, it was starting to rain and the heavy tropical storm threatened to ruin my carefully coiffured hair and immaculate appearance. Actually, it was quite good for Starbucks, modest though it was.
At last, it was noon and time to check out and head for the end of Phase 3. Verdict on Singapore? Fantastic, but we had nowhere near long enough to make a proper assessment and we did not manage to see all the places that people recommended. Apart from the time shortage, the atmosphere was very enervating and I thought we did well to do six hours in the heat. Ambience and aesthetics, 10; skateboarders, NIL; grown men on electric children’s scooters, 2; litter, NIL; cleanliness, 9; dossers, NIL; beggars, NIL; dog mess, NIL; dogs, NIL; security and safety, 10; Graffiti Factor, 0%.
Our official joining time for QM2 was 1530, but we were hardly going to wander Singapore trailing two large cases each, so we took the view that the cruise terminal would, at least, be air-conditioned. If we had to wait, then so be it; fair enough. We arrived there at 1215. What a contrast with Southampton! There were no porters to take our luggage: just a heap of cases in a corner looking like cast offs from some sinister genocide operation. We asked a bloke what to do and he just told us to add our bags to the heap. This we did, wondering if we would ever see them again, before we entered the building. We passed through the usual security checks and what a sight awaited us. Imagine, if you will, an enormous aircraft hangar capable of taking – say – an Airbus 380 or two. Imagine then filling this space with linked chairs like a vast departure lounge far exceeding anything in Heathrow or Gatwick. Well that was the cruise terminal. And it was packed. Packed solid with seated people. We were ushered to a designated area, each of us trailing what is euphemistically called ‘cabin baggage’, and sat to wait. Time passed by and it was eventually revealed that the emigration computers had ‘gone down’ and that nothing was happening. Shades of Cape Town all over again, I see. More people kept arriving, and filled up more space; further batches arrived and were ushered upstairs; I presume even further batches would be ushered outside. Finally, there were signs of movement, and anyone for Princess or Queen’s Grill was extracted. I almost put my hand up accidentally: see how the mighty have fallen. But then, after two hours, and before our designated time, we were off: through check-in, smile for the photo (was told I was very handsome, but sadly it was by a bloke), and given our (Extremely Important Gold Club Member) embarkation cards. Off we went through a door where we had to take off all our clothes and pose for emigration. Actually, I made part of that last bit up, but it was surprising just how many hoops we had to jump though to get out of Singapore. Finally, finally, we crossed the brow and entered the hallowed portals of QM2 once again. It was like coming home.
We soon found our cabin, high up on Deck 13 and higher than the bridge. There is no-one above us except the deck and the sky. It was one of the new cabins added en bloc in the refit of June 2016 and very nice, though (of course) smaller than our Princess Grill cabin of the outward journey, though not uncomfortably so. This time we are travelling ‘Britannia Club’, a sort of Premium Economy ticket that gives the anytime dinner time and designated seating of Princess Grill, without the privilege of eating in the Princess Grill itself. As I write, we have not eaten yet so I cannot comment on the Britannia Club restaurant, but I know that at least it will have views of the sea, instead of the views of the zombie-like fitness fanatics marching around Deck 7 as was our fate on the outward trip.
Awaiting us in the cabin were two bottle of Blanc de Blanc on ice (as befits Important Gold People) and our luggage which, miraculously, had not been filched by the lesser elements of Singapore. After unpacking, we poured our wine and ventured out onto the balcony to view the port. This proved difficult, because the Caribbean candidate for Miss Universe 1951 (failed Heat 1) did not have the strength to open the sliding door. Then she lost her embarkation card. Then she lost her mobile phone. I could see a paddy brewing, and I’m not talking about preparations for St Patrick’s Day. Never before has a glass of ice-cold sparkling wine been needed so much. I opened the door, and placed the elixir in her hand and, behold, she was turned into Wonder Woman (alas, minus lasso, which had still not been unpacked). After the third glass she was burbling like a Three Badge Parrot and could open anything. Truly, we had finally returned onboard the Love Boat (well, I hope so – though she might fall asleep on me yet).
The first hurdle was lifeboat drill at 1700 and after that we could relax. Looking at Jane, the relaxation stage had clearly started early and she was already voicing the view that we should descend early to our Assembly Station to get the best seats. I was not sure if she meant ‘best seats in the lifeboats’ or ‘best seats in the lounge’, but I thought I had better comply as Jane in her masterful mood is best not ignored. I returned to the cabin from the balcony to find our lifejackets already laid out on the bed by Jane, and I grabbed one, only to be told,
“That one is mine. This is yours”.
“How can this be so?”, I asked, “we’ve just joined and they’re both the same”.
“No”, she said, “Mine is cleaner. Yours has a greasy mark on it, as befits an engineer”.
I confess, I was initially lost for words. With the ship sunk beneath us, sharks circling and hypothermia lurking, Jane would be concerned to present a pristine appearance in an immaculate lifejacket (something of an oxymoron in itself, by the way). She was right about the mark, but I protested loudly – as we marched along the cabin flat – that I was a Chartered Engineer, not a grease monkey: I could explain the difference between entropy and enthalpy in a few terse sentences. And at this point she assaulted me: physically pushed me along the cabin flat to the stairs. What do you think of that? After all I have done for her. “No more Lucozade for you, deary”, I thought. And I bags the first seat in the lifeboat.
At last, supper time came and we went down to the Britannia Club Restaurant for the first time. It was jolly nice – dare I say it, a better dining venue than Princess Grill: more distinguished and quieter, with wood panelled bulkheads, less traffic, and a table by the window looking out over the sea. The restaurant is on Deck 2 which, you will know from previous blogs, is quite low down, close to the waterline so we will be somewhat closer to nature. On the basis of just one meal, the food was just as good as Princess Grill, with six choices on the table d’hôte menu, and a similar number on the à la carte. I am not sure why they offer both menus, but I’m not complaining. Just for the record, I had Crab & Lobster Thermidor to start, followed by Pan-fried Cod in a mustard sauce. We weren’t originally going to have any wine, but we felt that we should celebrate, so we ordered a bottle of Cloudy Bay Sauvignon Blanc to last us a few days. That is several resolutions broken already – Australia has been a bad influence.
The ship was due to sail at 2000, but there were delays with the authorities and we did not, in fact, get away until about 2110 in the end. I didn’t envy the Captain taking the ship out through what was a very busy and congested shipping channel in the dark, but we cleared everything with the usual air of panache. The lights of Singapore remained in sight well into the evening and we were sorry that our visit had been so brief: another time perhaps? Next port is Port Kelang tomorrow, the port for Kuala Lumpur which is 25 miles away. We will not make the latter as it is too far, but we may try Port Kelang on the shuttle. We will see.
We slept the sleep of the just in the large bed, completely dead to the world.
I will send this off now, as it completes Phase 3 – the transit of Singapore.
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 