Singapore Beginnings

People often complain that flying can be tiring, which seems odd given that out consists of sitting for hours on end. But I think I've figured it out; it's the constant offers and queries. From the moment you board the plane, you're being given things. "Would you like a hot towel, sir?", "Can I offer you a drink?", "Here is your headset", "Would you like a cold towel?", "Here is your toothbrush", "Have some pork and rice", "Would you like a dry towel?", "Have a muffin", "Would you like another drink?". It's nice, sure, but it's exhausting.

As you've probably guessed, I'm on a plane. I've just flown out of Sydney, waved goodbye to the Townie as I flew overhead, and I'm well on my way to Singapore to see my brother. This blag is probably going to be the best spot to find out where I'm up to, and how I'm going on my quest to not come back dead.

Following the flight into Singapore's lavish Chengi Airport (the vast expanses of marble between each check point serving as more of a frustration than anything as my legs were seized up), my brother picked me up and right away we were out into the Singapore heat and seeing the country. The airport is in the bottom right of the country, and we drove from there across the island to the very top, where he works, then all the way back to the south where we checked out some of the city centres architecture and ridiculous american retail stores (gucci, lois, prada and so on).

After heading back to his flat and taking in the spectacular view of the neighbouring jungle and revoir from 20 stories up, we headed for beers at the local hawker centre and dinner on the local dining strip.

This morning I find myself writing from the very same hawker centre, sipping a black coffee (I'm yet to figure out how to order it otherwise) and contemplating how I'm going to find my way to my next stop, a museum that may or may not be called "National Museum".

P.S. When in Singapore, I advise not forgetting shorts.