Four days in Asia

Day one
As ever a late start, not able to open eyes before UK has advanced somewhere near dawn. But make it up and into the world. Tonight is my fist expat experience as well as being day of yoga class with the Harrie Krishna's - vague concern this will be a conversion course rather then physical exercise but perhaps a bit paranoid about others attempting to convert my religion these days.

The bloke is off today having worked from 10am the previous day through till 9 am today, so he's a bit spaced out. Consequently I'm mooching around the house whilst he does some sleeping. Do some CV writing, explaining to all my many talents and aptitudes.

Did the HR/immigration talk thing and discovered can't get employment pass on my own back, must get employed first. I'm really upset for some unaccountable reason - it would seem our optimism about getting work out here is not fully justified. Like many in the UK I have to be the reason why a local can't take the job, so ten a penny anyone can do this shop work isn't an option. Unless I can find somewhere that has to sell it's products to slightly eccentric (read mad) white people who want to deal with one of their own kind.

Anyway off to yoga, Harrie Krishna, in the temple every door I look into has something mysterious and interesting in it. A slither of canary yellow sari bent over piles of flowers and half made garlands, rhythmic chanting, complex brightly adorned alters, life size effagies of Mr Krishna himself in his robes and hairless headed lotus position. I'm led by Chinese man in rolled up jeans, striped shirt - he's Lawrence. Up stairs in darkest corner is the class room, matted floor, two plunkity fans and an open window with the roar and hum of Indi Singapora life and heat. My teacher is a slim Indian woman, in western exercise dress. Her face bends and twists and smiles joyfully. Strong handshake and intros. The class was excellent, felt really good and better for being done in rough surroundings made wonderfully exciting by frequent power custs which plunged us into noisy darkness during tree pose, whilst trying to negotiate exit, in toilet whilst changing and on the stair resulting in skating close to painful fall into temple courtyard. Not sure dying in a temple would be a good thing for the incumbents - bound to be unlucky.

After the serenity of yoga, heat, incense, chanting, darkness and spice filled air - halter top goes on and we head for hedonist central. For the first time in weeks I'm surrounded by white people, an everyday occurrence for many years but now a vaguely weird one. The aussie sauvignon blanck flows and so does the chat. I meet a whole gaggle of girls; some here as partners others is their own right, interesting turn of phrase betrays a inequitable view of couples who make choices to come out here, hmmmm. I'm told about the sub culture that is the expat community, given advice about putting myself out on the scene (a necessity to anyone who wants to succeed socially here). Told about the most life changing element of Singaporean life, the need to maintain bush growth to the point where there aint nothing to maintain, a barren dessert instead (no cactus or camels hopefully). So be warned the Brazilian brigade are out in force in these here parts and are growing in number, I declared myself leader of a counter movement immediately and watched the knowing nodd move quietly round the group from one to another - you wait, she'll be converted yet!!

The evening continued in a similar vein; for those who are female the anatomy of a girly night out may need no further explanation, unless your life has not been blessed/disrupted (depending on view point) by this phenomenon. And those who are male well you don't get to hear about it cause it's for girls!!

Surfice to say muchos laughter, dancing (including on bar), drinking (shots, once classy wine thing had been dropped) and a bit of cheekiness too (no personal involvement but flashing and flirting where occurring in my vicinity). I watched the Singaporean white male on display - and what a display it was. Unkind souls might say disgrace featured, but he looked happy so what can you do. Overall there is a sense that without doing anything you've been moved up the social hierachy, and some people seem to respond with a big old celebration. One of my throng called it the Singapore bubble, and told stories of those who get addicted and can't return back to their more competitive homeland. It's a party scene if you want it - balls, bars, lunch, brunch, shopping, dark glasses and bloody marry hangovers, beautician, a personal trainer, a maid, weekends in the beach resort, shopping in Bangkok and Hong Kong. Even your own village to live in, many people choose to live local to other people in the same boat, in expat haven Holland Village.

Tried to get advice off expat website comments boards about stopping clothes go moldy - all it said was put the air con on and shut the windows.

Day two
Semi sensible drinking, that's wine plus loads of water, result in not quite hangover. So out of bed, do food, swear not to drink again etc.

That night meet one of yesterday's crowd at the most obscure bar with he best view of the river and quay. Various travel and timing fuck ups me we don't meet till 12am. So required effort to maintain sparkling wit, interesting conversation, smile etc. - enjoy listening to 90's indie courtesy of home grown DJ who's fiddling with a Mac next to the bar. Rather amusingly he breaks a speaker at one point, ho ho!!

Home, bed - bloke still up amazingly given sleep deprivation - so enjoy late night mooch.

Day three
Weekend of nothing does a U turn as invite for lunch arrives via SMS. Off to v cheap and scrummy Indian where get to eat with hands, much to blokes delight. Joined by local Indian friend of bloke who spends day telling us about her and her city, most interesting stuff I've heard since got here as finally able to ask questions that have been in my head. She's very adept with my culture so don't feel need to hold back as have done with others.

Having done the rough and ready type end of things we plump for decadence come 5 o'clock. Off to the most incredible architectural delight on the island, built only a few years ago it's a gotham esq tower, art deco / fascist (according to bloke) type design - described very satisfactorily, again by bloke, as exactly how you imagine the grand ball room of a ocean liner circa 1922 to be. Just amazing, and to bring home the spirit of complete unabashed stinking hedonistic OTTness there's a forty foot glass fronted fridge, emblazoned with brass decoration and full of wine. This monster is negotiated by a woman, dressed as an angle, on a harness and wire. Absolutely ridiculous but just about the best gimmick you've seen.

To top this off we headed for the Fullerton, the old post office come modern 6 stars and another for luck hotel. Having watched a few carp snog our friend's fingers, we headed for the post bar. A modern wonder of style and elegance, with sausages on sticks!!! Can't get over this, nothing to fault on service, decor, opulence, style, (champagne cocktail was good too!) , but the friends platter (to share) had sausage on sticks like a fricking English buffet (perhaps clientele had something to do with this choice - bloody English and their bloody taste for shit food).

Chilli crackers were good so ate shit loads of them, felt aware of self hating stuff going on, wondered about it.

Day four
Got up cried, did cleansing yoga breathing, laughed, made lentil dall and went for walk in the jungle. Shower, survived frustration of salsa dancing and skyped true friend at home. Mooched with favourite man and had a good day....more to come.