Loco

My feet are as soft as the day I was born -  far too much shoe wearing these last few months I say; my hair is tangle free, and my ankles are not adorned with any kind of accessory, beaded or otherwise, and I have the cheek to call myself a traveller?! We’ll see about that Andrews…

I arrived in Singapore by air after much deliberation. To cross the Torres Strait by sea, while not impossible, demanded far more advanced planning and hard cash then I had. And in the scale of things, I decided that a few miles airborne were preferable to another 6 months desperately trying (and so often failing) to save money in Australia.  Although I have sufficiently justified this to myself by now I will graciously accept abuse and you should feel free to throw otten tomatoes at your leisure.

However, when I arrived in Singapore I was less worried about my carbon footprint than by the notion that I might have forgotten how to rough it. But within minutes of stepping out of the air-conditioned airport into the familiar clammy heat of the tropics I knew I had rediscovered my inner traveller – pass the henna, I need a temporary tattoo immediately! Oi, street trader, sell me an anklet this instant!

Singapore is a city of contrasts (blah, what a cliche) but it’s true. My first site was a small gathering of traditional Buddhist monks, swiftly followed by a group of officials equipped with surgical masks and heat seeking cameras to catch feverish passengers (Swine flu anyone? Pass the oinkment). Next I was handed a list of rules to which I must adhere while in Singapore, for instance: it is illegal to chew gum, smoke within 5 metres of any entrance, drop litter, or J-Walk, hefty fines apply. I was also politely informed that the possession of drugs is punishable by death!! eeek, not that I’m trafficking drugs let me assure you but I did have chewing gum in my bag for the duration of my stay. Contraband!

But what a great city, full of diversity; from Little India with its curry served in a banana leaf (about one pound for a stomach stretching quantity, now that’s a takeaway), and the heady scent of incense and spices assaulting you at every turn, to China Town with it’s herbal eggs and Turnip Cream. But it is clean, tidy, relatively crime free and as organised as a lego city built by a neurotic child. You’ve got a love it! It may not be to everyone’s taste, perhaps a little sterile – Topshop and Marks and Spenser in mega malls, $500 a night hotels etc – but it was a perfect start to my re-immersion into the world of travel.

After a few days I made tracks by bus to Kuala Lumpar to meet a friend. Vicki had proved a great companion through tears, triumph and heartbreak in Tonga (that’s another story entirely), and she had bravely agreed to be my partner in crime for the next few months. She’s very organised and is sure to whip my lazy arse into shape whether I like it or not. And though this makes us like chalk and cheese, she did get a henna tattoo yesterday and I’ve got my eye on an anklet so maybe we’re the perfect team.

Kuala Lumpar was not to my taste, a bit on the insanely hot and so smoggy you can’t breathe side. But the twin towers were pretty cool, and of course the flag pole!!!! Every guide book for KL recommends this sight and believe me it’s not to be missed…a 100m metre flag pole, yes that’s right, a pole with a flag on it. If you can’t imagine it try holding a toothpick really close to your face and looking up in awe. OK, so sarcasm aside, it’s not the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen but I took thirty photos of it anyway, from different angles and with the flag fluttering at different wind speeds, just in case…you know…something…memories. Thankfully, the city redeemed itself on our final day as we went to the Batu Caves, a little north of the city. Imagine a mighty cave cut into a sheer cliff face, and adorned with extraordinary giant Hindu sculptures and teeny tiny monkeys. Brilliant.

That brings you up to date. So here we are, in a hostel, waiting for a night bus to Thailand to get ourselves to the infamous full moon party of Ko Pang Yang. After all if I’m going to be a cliche traveller for a little I might as well do it properly. Otherwise how on earth am I going to ‘find myself’? Who says that my inner self isn’t somewhere on a white sand beach with lots of drunken hooligans covered in UV paint, you never know!

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