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Is that a durian in your pocket or were you just in Singapore?
by Mad Dog

Singapore is best known for food, shopping, and caning American teenagers whose parents don’t have the balls to do it themselves. I wasn’t caned, so I can’t vouch for that, but I can say that the food is wonderful.

    Singapore is best known for food, shopping, and caning American teenagers whose parents don’t have the balls to do it themselves. I wasn’t caned, so I can’t vouch for that, but I can say that the food is wonderful and the shopping, well, if you’re a shopper you’ll love it. I’m not, and I still did more than my share. Of course it helps to realize that I’ve been staying in Bali where the selection of merchandise is as expansive, diverse, and exciting as the candidates in a recent presidential election I won’t mention by name.

Lord knows the entire country of Singapore smells like durian. You can’t miss it. It’s so pungent there’s even an International Symbol of No Durians which you see at the entrance to the subway and at hotels.

    Singlish, by the way, is English with bits and pieces of Hokkien Chinese and Malay thrown in which many young people speak out of respect for their elders, since it gives them something to do during their Golden Years like write letters to the Straits Times complaining about the decline of the queen’s English. Right, like the Queen has had anything to do with Singapore since the Japanese kicked her butt out of there in 1941. You can tell someone’s speaking Singlish if they throw the word lah in at every opportunity to show emphasis (their version of the Canadian “eh”) and use phrases like “no worries” instead of “no problem.” I liked that phrase, especially since no one told me to be happy at the same time.

    The food may be the best part of Singapore. It’s cheap, plentiful, diverse, and everywhere. Hawker’s centres are filled with food stalls cooking just about any kind of Chinese, Malay, Indian, or mix-and-match food imaginable. They’re also filled with more people than you want to think about, all sharing tables and eating without napkins. I don’t know how or why this came about, but only the nicer restaurants give you napkins. Everywhere else you bring those little packets of tissues along and use them. This, by the way, led to one of the nicest compliments I got in Singapore, other than “You’re no ang mo, you don’t even have hair, lah!” I was eating dinner with three new friends when I produced my packet of tissues and offered them around. Geri was shocked.

As you’ve probably heard, Singapore is into laws and fines. I’d make a joke about its being a fine country except that phrase is on every T-shirt sold there. In fact, I think you can be fined for selling a T-shirt without it.

    “Like hell. That’s pretty good for a boy!”

    I tried lots of new dishes, including fried carrot cake (which is actually made with white radishes and egg), char kway teow (noodles, cockles, and eggs fried in chili and black bean paste), laksa (spicy coconut-based noodle soup), black rice pudding, kaya toast for breakfast, fried baby squid, and of course, chicken rice, which is to a Singaporean what a burger and fries is to an American. Except much, much healthier.

    While eating my way through Singapore I had my first taste of some new fruits, my favorites being mangosteens and rambutans. I didn’t get to try a durian, which is the foul-smelling fruit devotees claim tastes delicious. Lord knows the entire country of Singapore smells like durian. You can’t miss it. It’s so pungent there’s even an International Symbol of No Durians which you see at the entrance to the subway and at hotels. Even the buses have signs that warn: no smoking, no eating or drinking, no littering, and no durians.

    One problem they do have with food is the names. They translate them literally, which means you have to decide if you’re in the mood for dishes like fish head curry, pig organ soup, or no cats in the surrounding area. Just kidding about the last one. I hope. For marketing purposes they should think about renaming them. True, they all tasted good, but I’m sure many non-Singaporeans are squeamish about trying them. Imagine stumbling across an eating house—which is what small restaurants are called—named (True Fact Alert!) House of Fish Maws. Yum yum! Eat ‘em right up!

If you drive through the Geylang area you’ll see large lighted numbers outside houses and small hotels. These are brothels. And no, they don’t use the motto “We’ll leave the numbered lights on for you.”

    As opposed to most Asian countries, traffic in Singapore is orderly and civil. I rarely heard a horn honk. That’s probably because there’s a law against it. As you’ve probably heard—since the reputation precedes the country—Singapore is into laws and fines. I’d make a joke about its being a fine country except that phrase is on every T-shirt sold there. In fact, I think you can be fined for selling a T-shirt without it.

    There are fines for littering, jaywalking, not flushing a public toilet, urinating in an elevator (something I’ve always had the urge to do), talking on a mobile phone while driving, and the sale and importation of chewing gum. In some cases as high as S$1000 (U.S. $571.43). But the laws don’t seem to be enforced. I didn’t see anyone get a ticket, a friend daringly threw a cigarette butt in the gutter and lived to tell about it, and the truth is I only saw one police car the entire week I was there, and they were telling someone who was double parked to move. And the guy didn’t even get a ticket!

    This is a far cry from the old days when the government banned jukeboxes and men with long hair weren’t allowed in the country. Of course there are still places where you get the feeling they mean business. Warning signs around military and government property say it’s a “Protected Area,” and just to make sure you know they’re not kidding there’s a drawing of a soldier shooting someone. I stuck to jaywalking. I know when not to push my luck.

    Of course, not everything is illegal. Houses of prostitution not only exist, but are licensed, making it safe, healthy, and good clean fun. Thus it’s okay to pay someone for sex in Singapore, but please, whatever you do don’t chew gum while you’re doing it. This isn’t the first time the government of Singapore has had their hands in something like this, in 1910 it manufactured and sold opium. In fact, that’s where almost half of the government’s revenue came from. The other half probably came from a tax on durian sales.

    I don’t know how profitable legalized prostitution is in Singapore but it’s pretty well hidden. Unless you know what you’re looking for. If you drive through the Geylang area you’ll see large lighted numbers outside houses and small hotels. These are brothels. And no, they don’t use the motto “We’ll leave the numbered lights on for you,” but that’s only because they haven’t thought of it. Yet. This practice also explains why Motel 6 hasn’t opened a branch there. It also turned out that the stairways and what looked like private clubs and restaurants near my Chinatown hotel led to brothels too. And I thought the large lighted numbers were a public service to make the places easier to locate.

According to Haw Par Villa, drug addicts, tomb robbers, and those who urge people into crime or social unrest are tied to a red hot copper pillar and grilled. Is it any wonder Singaporeans are well behaved?

    Haw Par Villa was built by the Aw brothers, who made a fortune selling Tiger Balm. The park is filled with statues of Buddha, dioramas depicting ancient Chinese mythological tales, and graphic images of people being tortured and dismembered in the Ten Courts of Hell. This is supposedly where you go when you die and are judged on your actions. Haw Par Villa is where Singaporean parents take their children to scare the crap out of them. If you think Cruella and the flying monkeys are scary, wait until Mom and Dad show you these full-gore scenes of people having their hearts cut out because they’d been ungrateful or showed disrespect for their elders.

   According to Haw Par Villa, drug addicts, tomb robbers, and those who urge people into crime or social unrest are tied to a red hot copper pillar and grilled. Cursing is cause for being thrown on a tree of knives. Misuse of books or wasting food means you’ll be cut in two. And cheating during an exam is cause for having your intestines and organs pulled out. It’s all listed—and graphically shown—there. 

    That’s far from everything I did in Singapore. There was the car tour with Audrey, Geri, and Cheng, my three impromptu Singaporean tour guides, until 3:30 A.M., during which I was repeatedly informed that Singapore has the World’s #1 Busiest Port. They know it’s true because it’s been drummed into their heads all their lives. There was also the night time view from the highest point in the country, Mt. Faber; a trip to the world’s first and only Night Safari, where the wolves howled at the full moon and the lions answered; and the corner in Tiong Bahru where, on Sunday morning, Chinese men brought their prized singing birds so they could proudly listen to the cacophonous chorus while we drank coffee and wondered how they could tell one bird’s song from the other.

    But for all that there’s still one thing I didn’t do that I need to: try a durian to find out if it really does taste better than it smells. But trust me, I won’t do it on a bus, subway, or in a hotel room. I think I can live happily for the rest of my life without ever experiencing a good ole Singaporean caning.

©2000 Mad Dog Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
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