Going local

I decided to go local this weekend, no taxis, no late night drinking, no fancy restaurants. It began with my taxi driver on Friday night. He was a self proclaimed rich uncle (out of respect you call older mean and women uncle or auntie) who only drove a taxi so that he could counsel people. He gave me a very nice lecture about life and Manchester United and as he dropped me off at my local hawker centre gave me his best heartfelt advice "ask the price, can, lah?" I responded dutifully "thank you uncle, can, lah" and paid my over priced taxi fare, which I think was partly a fee for the advice and mostly because he'd taken me the longest way home possible (a common problem for ang moh's, but sometimes it's not worth the argument). So I went to stall 76, as recommended by my friend, and began the ritual dance of ang moh versus hawker stall man, "sit in or take away, lah?", "takeaway, can?", "you no want to sit in", "no thank you uncle, takeaway, can?", "can, lah". First hurdle over ... "you want lobster", "you want oyster", "you want sea bass", the list of the most expensive dishes is endless, I went for a bowl of noodles that cost £3 and he took my order with a very sour face. I purchased a can of lager from the drinks counter and waited for my food. I have to say that it is hilarious watching hundreds of little Chinese men and women all wearing oversized yellow Wellington boots and dirty aprons beaver away ineffectually in a hawker centre, somehow it all works but I haven't managed to work out how. I received my noodles in a polysytrene box, and walked home to enjoy my dinner with my can of lager on my balcony. The next day I decided to take a bus to Chinatown. I was partly looking forward to walking around the area with the lead up to Chinese New Year but also knew it was going to be a scary place for an ang moh. Thousands of aunties and uncles buying cheap tat for the New Year celebrations whilst walking around with bag fulls of Durian (the worst smelling fruit you could ever imagine, in fact the worst smelling thing you could ever imagine) and all with one common trait ... Kiasu. Kiasu literally translates into "to be scared to lose", in practical terms this means to push, shove, barge, elbow, kneecap, hit with umbrellas and handbags and tut a lot, in order to get anything or anywhere first. Imagine you are stood looking at a display case of something, they will stand right in front of you without even a glance backwards, imagine you are about to pick up a dress to examine, they will grab it out of your hand, imagine you've queued for 20 mins to get a bus, they will crack you on the kneecaps with their umbrella to get on the bus first...and I'm not exaggerating. I'm pleased to say that I find most of this amusing (although I think the comedy value will wear off eventually) and I happily paid over the odds for my Chinese influenced presents for people back home and elbowed my way back through the uncles and aunties to the bus stop. My next stop was a furniture store, which had been recommended for Asian influenced furniture that didn't look like it belonged in a takeaway joint in Essex. I have to say that it does have lovely furniture and I have put a deposit down on a handmade four poster bed, which you can all sleep in if you come to visit, but the most interesting thing I learnt is that even Asian people realise that they are shorter than the rest of us...their beds are 10 cms shorter than ours. I opted for a European size bed so have to pay for a bespoke mattress but I'm still holding out hope that I might find a suitable Caucasian suitor out here so figured I should go for the extra 10 cms leg room. After that I pushed, barged and knee capped my way onto my bus home and made myself a delightful Vietnamese lemongrass stir fry, which probably cost me 10 times what it would have at my local hawker centre but I didn't have the energy to out wit the hawker uncle yet again. So today I had a hair appointment, it should have been a pleasant relaxing affair, but no. Everywhere in Singapore shares communal toilets, if you go for a drink in a bar the toilet is normally in the under ground car park, if you eat in a restaurant in a shopping centre the toilet is normally down the back stairs (in the carpark), and unsurprinsly I guess the toilets for the hairdressers are the same. Now don't get me wrong I go to a very nice hairdressers in a very nice shopping mall and the communal toilets are actually very nice but I still don't fancy walking around a shopping mall in a gown with a head full of bleach and my hair appointment takes 4 hours! I've never left such a small tip for my hairdresser but I'm hoping he understands that it was either grab the first note in my wallet and run or wet myself. Feeling a lot more comfortable I headed for the tube. I then turned into a criminal...seriously, I committed a criminal offence in Singapore, and one that is considered very grave here. I knowingly travelled on the tube without paying my fare. In my defence I tried to pay but my travel card kept flashing red. I was at Orchard tube station which is like Oxford Circus on the first day of the sales, I waited for 20mins to scan my card at a machine, which said all was fine, there were no intendants in sight, so I pushed behind a crippled uncle to get through the barriers without paying. In the long run it didn't pay off, as I still had to deal with infinite numbers of Kiasu focused tube commuters (I think I have a bruised rib) and my card still wouldn't work to let me out....fortunately the 'stupid ang moh' look worked and I got away with paying my 70cent fare and quickly walked home in the midday sun (only mad dogs and Englishman) to a very welcome glass of wine on my balcony. So in conclusion, always listen to uncles, elbows out when getting on public transport and pull short men unless you want to buy a bespoke mattress, oh and 'dumb blonde ang moh' seems to work here too! Kx