Diary of an Expat in Singapore Read Online Free Page A

disparagingly. An unnecessary luxury. He secretly thinks: “I would never waste all that money on electricity. I would just keep the windows open and enjoy the breeze.” He is still blissfully unaware that any breeze that comes in feels like a
scirocco
from the Sahara.
“Can you turn the air con on?!”
    It is day five and the visitor’s body has still not fully acclimatized. The street is too hot, the shade by the pool is too hot, the visitor is just too hot. He now knows there is only one thing that can take him out of his misery: air conditioning. Just pass him the remote control and point to the snowflake.
“I love walking.”
    The visitor professes a love for walking second to none. He may very well have strolled down the cobblestoned streets of London and the tree-lined boulevards of Paris, but he has never walked through the CBD (Central Business District) at noon. To avoid dampening his enthusiasm, do not let on at first that Singapore isn’t really a walking city. Just send him to one of the city’s many parks. MacRitchie Reservoir, for example. Sure it has ravenous monkeys but what’s the alternative? City walking? Not unless you want heat stroke. Soon enough, the wannabe walking visitor will ask: “Or should we maybe take a taxi?”
“If I had a pool, I would always be by the pool.”
    Don’t argue, let him figure this one out on his own. Do not point out that there is a reason swimming pools are deserted most of the day (and no, you are not counting the tanning Finns). It’s not just the sudden noxious fumes of mosquito fogging or the nearby earsplitting drilling. So, while I agree that the possibility of having a pool is by far the most awesome part of the expat life in Singapore, will you find me lying by one? No. Do I want a stroke? Not especially. You will find me in the shade wearing a wide-brimmed hat (and what my husband calls my
burkhini
) with my Japanese posse, doing what Japanese do best by the pool: watching their kids have a swimming lesson.
    After a few hours by the pool, the first-time visitor will suggest going inside in no uncertain terms. “I am dying out here,” he might think to himself. If he forgot to put on sunscreen, claiming, “Oh, I’m lucky like that, I never get burned” – two words: aloe vera. The industrial size.
“I love local food.”
    You thought you loved local food. But you were wrong. Nobody likes local food more than the first-time visitor. Not even the locals themselves. He scoffs at your food choices and demands: “More chili, please.” The visitor explores with gusto hawker centres and wet markets looking for something original and genuine. Until something bothers him, like chopsticks. “Where is the fork? I can’t eat with chopsticks. This is ridiculous.”
“Everything is so cheap here.”
    One trip to the supermarket should dispel that myth.

Signs you’re in a taxi in Singapore

The driver turns without signalling.
    Most expats have a love-hate relationship with taxis. Probably because it is slightly perplexing and vexing that although taxis are everywhere, this does not mean you will actually get one. In fact, it’s all pretty arbitrary. You try to flag down a taxi. The driver may or may not slow down, may or may not agree to take you where you need to go, and may or may not reach the agreed destination. The whole process is arbitrary.
Kids call the driver
uncle
.
    As long as the driver doesn’t call me
sister
, I don’t really have a problem with this. It’s a Singaporean thing, the cleaning lady is an
auntie
, the taxi driver is an
uncle
. It’s like the whole island is related. Worse than a Mafia wedding.
The driver expects you to tell him how to get where you need to go.
    In other countries, it’s the exact opposite. You take a taxi because you don’t know how to get where you need to go. Not in Singapore. You’d better know exactly where you need to go, how to get there, and whether to take the PIE, CTE, AYE… no, it’s not a game