Remix Wrap Up

 

Once the Zaza portion of the trip was over, I decided to get back into the tourist thing.  I didn’t think I’d sleep after what happened with him, but I still managed to get some rest.  Time to learn the tram system in Istanbul and see where it would take me. 

The T1 Tram route goes between the areas where most tourists stay to the big points of interest like Topkapi Palace and the Grand Bazaar.  After bit of walking to get to the station, it cost 50 TL to buy a 1-day pass. I decided my first stop would be Dolmabahce Palace, a huge building with expansive grounds located along the coast on the Asian side of the city. 

You can’t take pictures inside the palace, which is a shame because there was a lot to see.  There’s a huge chandelier in the grand ballroom, all sparkly and gorgeous.  Harem rooms, sweeping staircases, meeting rooms, a Turkish bath, and everywhere there were ornately painted ceilings and gigantic rugs beneath expensive furniture.

The gardens also made for a nice place to hang out for anyone who’d paid their entrance fee.  There were benches and sitting areas all around as well as a couple of cafes.  Look!  More koi!

The palace’s paintings had been moved to their own separate gallery that you could visit on the same ticket (also no picture-taking).  There were multiple gates like this one, making great framing devices for the water.

After the palace, I, of course, found my way to another park along the tram line.  Gulhane Park is adjacent to Topkapi Palace and is a great shady area to take the family.  The interactive fountain was neat.

Looking around on Google Maps to see what else of interest was in the area, I found an actual living mall called Historia.  In Istanbul. I was so accustomed to the old city with its uneven cobblestone streets and the shops and restaurants being right next to or underneath apartments that it never occurred to me that there would be a modern mall anywhere near the city.  No dead stores that I could see, just the entire top floor left unoccupied.

As I mentioned earlier, I stayed in the Balat neighborhood, famous for its colorful buildings and abundance of shops and cafes.

There are murals all over the city and this neighborhood is no exception.  I loved hunting down as many of them as I could find.

The streets are always busy with both tourists and locals, and I loved staying there.  It was also very close to the water.  No official beach, but The Golden Horn is nearby along with a pier full of boats.  Walking along the water was one of my favorite ways to enjoy the hot and sunny weather I had for the entire trip.

On Sunday, my last full day in Istanbul, it seemed like every family in the neighborhood was out in the park barbequing.  Whole families with kids and dogs were just gathered in clusters around some smoking meat and it was heartwarming to see.  I love how important family is to the Turks as it makes for a safe environment for everyone.  I could hear children screaming in the streets at 10 at night.  I didn’t want to hear them, but it’s a testament to how no one has anything to fear even in such a densely populated city.  Well, other than the risk of getting clipped by a passing motorcycle or run over by a cab, but then everyone faces that same danger.

I headed back to the tram with the intention of seeing the Basilica Cistern, another tourist attraction.  The line to get in was too long to be standing in the hot, July sun so I went back to Gulhane Park to walk around.  I stopped by the same restaurant that I’d visited the day before for lunch.  The folks working there remembered me (I love that) and welcomed me back.  I was a little wary of being in this part of town as it wasn’t far from Zaza’s shop and hunting grounds.  The last thing I wanted was to run into him, not knowing what would be worse; being greeted with anger and outrage or more sweet talk instead of the apology I deserved.  Turns out, I didn’t have to worry about seeing him in person. 

As I was eating lunch, I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize though I could tell it was from Türkiye.  That ‘hi’ was followed by ‘it’s Zaza.  Where are you?’ I hadn’t heard from him since blocking his number the previous Wednesday.  As I stared at the phone in shock, it started to ring.  Are you kidding me?  I honestly couldn’t believe he was trying to contact me.  Why?  Did he still think there was a chance he could shake me down for money?  I declined the call, but I didn’t block this number.  I had to admit to some curiosity as to what he might say next.  Wouldn’t change my mind about anything, but …

Despite the outcome of my fling, I still love Istanbul.  If my first trip didn’t cement it, the last two weeks did.  The place is in my heart now and you can’t pry it out of there with a crowbar.  There is a sense of magic to the city that is all its own and I don’t think you have to lose your virginity there to experience it.  Highly recommended.  Everyone should go.  Just be careful of the men.

Thus ends the second leg of my travel journey.  Well … I didn’t see ANY of that coming.  Two trips to a city I now adore, finding out that Thailand is really not a good fit for me, Amsterdam, Singapore, Bulgaria, … Zaza … sigh.

For multiple reasons, it’s time for me to go back to the states.  I don’t want to go, but the visa application for Portugal needs to be started on home soil, so I’m looking to start that process.  I am that rare creature; the homebody who loves to travel.  Being sick in that comfy apartment made me long for my own place.  Still want to travel, but I need someplace of my own now.

The Remix Part 2

Not so tense a wait after a while as my long travel day caught up to me.  I started to doze off on the couch when I finally got a text from him.  He’d been negotiating a price on a rug with a foreign couple and it had taken longer than he thought.  He sent me the address of the shop and asked that I meet him there.

It was so good to see him in person and be back in his arms again.  He is a great hugger.  I was so relieved that he really did want to see me again and it wasn’t just idle texting.  We ate at the shop – well, barely ate in my case, I was so nervous.  Then it was back to his apartment.

After a month of dreaming, I was back on that balcony.  I can’t explain how powerful that place is in my memory.  It’s the view of the water, the calls to prayer, the music coming from all over the city, the birds flying overhead, Zaza’s arms around me.  This is where I had my first kiss from a man who said he couldn’t stop kissing me because I was so delicious.  Istanbul will always be magical to me because of Zaza and that balcony.

The first night went really, really, really well (the man is a machine).  And guess what? Turns out I’m straight.  Not that I really questioned that, but I never had anyone around to test it on.  It seems that having a hairy man put his strong hands all over me … works for me.  Who knew?

We’d planned to meet the next night, but after wandering the city all day, I was wiped.  The next night he was tired.  I was starting to think that the first night was all we would get.  And while I understood the fatigue (I mentioned from my first trip that Istanbul is exhausting – I really can’t imagine working everyday all day in that hot sun), I couldn’t help but be disappointed.

We finally met up again that Friday when I walked to the shop.  Some tea and hospitality and I was ushered back down into the main rug room.  With his cousin standing nearby, Zaza began to display some of the rugs as he’d done the first day we’d met.  The rugs are still as beautiful as always, but I was giving him the side-eye.  After two days of no contact, I didn’t walk all that way just to be given a hard sell on a rug.  But a salesman gotta sell, so I sat through the pitch.   He unfurled rug after rug, asking me what size and color I preferred.  I had to admire the passion with which he approached the demo.  He would tell me how long it took to make a particular rug, what some of the patterns meant, and what materials went into their creation.  

The one I chose was, of course, one of the more expensive silk ones.  Those things have fascinated me since the first time he showed me that they appear to be a different color depending on how you look at them.  He supposedly gave me deal because “you’re not a customer, you are family, you are my woman”. I’m still going to have that thing appraised when I get a chance, see if I overpaid for it.

From there he led me to his favorite restaurant around the corner.  Up way too many stairs until … oh.  Yeah.  The climb was worth it. 

Being near his apartment, the restaurant had the same great view and a cozy atmosphere. I ordered some shrimp and fries, mentioning to him how I had a serious French fry problem.  He introduced me to raki, a mysterious clear liquid that turned milky white when the waiter added water.  I asked Zaza if I would have gone blind had the water not been added. He immediately said yes.  Taste-wise, raki is just watered-down ouzo.  I’ll stick to white wine next time.

We lingered for a while as Zaza arranged for a hotel room.  He had texted me before my arrival that he wanted to rent a room for my first night in town with a big bed and a shower.  It didn’t happen that first night, but on this night, he had his cousin staying at his place so we wouldn’t have any privacy.  After having his relatives find the place, we settled into a nearby hotel.  I had to laugh.  When he asked why, I just gawked.  “You just had your relatives scout out a place for you to screw your girlfriend.  That doesn’t seem strange to you?”  He just shrugged.  To him, family was just relied on to do for you, no matter the task.

My life has gotten so weird!

The next night we went back to the rooftop restaurant to have wine for me and a beer for him.  I was surprised when the waiter later set down a plate of fries.  Zaza had ordered in Turkish so I had no idea what he’d said.  I didn’t ask for them – he ordered them simply because he knew I liked them.  I grinned and started to eat, enjoying my wine, the amazing atmosphere, and the good man beside me.  And then, being the ginormous goober that I am, I started crying. Over French fries.  He didn’t understand why and I got why he was confused.  But I was genuinely touched.  He keeps explaining to me that this is just part of his culture, the man takes care of his woman.  I keep trying to explain to him that I’m really not used to being treated so well.  I cry from happiness – if he keeps being sweet, I will be sappy.  That’s just how it is.

A couple and their three kids sat at the table next to us.  Listening to them was confusing as they spoke English with a British accent but would randomly switch to French.  I didn’t have time to wonder as one of Zaza’s co-workers, another cousin (I swear the man is related to half of Istanbul), sat with us.  After a while, he struck up a conversation with the woman at the other table.  Turns out, she’s British, her husband is French, and they live in France.  She met him as a solo female traveler, so she and I shared tales of wanderlust.  We all had a great chat about travel and Zaza’s Kurdish roots.  And from the picture, you can tell that they have no problem sharing some illicit substances with their kids.

You know what sucks?  Squat toilets.  Zaza’s place is not really an apartment.  It’s a room up five flights of stairs with no kitchen and no air conditioning, just a mini fridge, and a little cubbyhole with a shower attachment.  The toilet is located outside of the room and is obviously only meant for urination.  I shudder to think about doing … anything else the human body requires.

And my thoughts were leaning toward being ill with only that toilet around.  That night at dinner, I felt the scratchy throat I’d caught in Singapore start to affect my voice.  I thought the mild irritation was getting better as I reached Türkiye.  But the runny nose, persistent annoying cough, congestion, and headache over the last couple of days were good indicators that I was indeed sick (damn it).  Having a cold is annoying.  Being sick in the summer is even worse.  Having a cold in the summer while traveling is just ew.  Being sick in the summer while far from home and trying to get my swerve on … yeah.  Not exactly making for the sexy.

There are three things that you really don’t want to deal with when traveling: assault, incarceration, or illness.  Assault includes theft of any kind, getting kidnapped, mugged, or worse.  Incarceration is pretty self-explanatory.  It’s best not to have any interaction with foreign cops if you can avoid it (although, travelling outside of America means there’s less of a chance that you’ll be shot).  Illness includes injury, hospitalization, or the nightmare of a summer cold when you really want to spend time with someone and not get them sick.

I woke up at Zaza’s on Sunday morning and one of the first things he said was that my voice was bad.  I said I needed medication, hugged him goodbye, and headed back to my apartment.  I then spent the day on the couch fading in and out of consciousness with some breaks for cough drops and nose-blowing.

A word about this couch.  This thing is deadly.  Filled with goose feathers, if you lay on this couch for more than a minute, you will be out for the count.  You’ll wake up hours later and not know what the hell happened.  A nice place to recuperate from illness.  I just needed to figure out how to get it in my suitcase.

Monday was only slightly better.  I got out a bit more, but still had to concede that Istanbul is no less exhausting when you’re sick – it’s actually worse.  I had to limit my time outside because it was so draining.  It didn’t help that it was hot as balls in July and the level of UV rays was high. I decided to extend my stay in the apartment for another week.  It wasn’t only about a man.  Dealing with another airport and the stress of travel days was just too much for me to consider while still sick.  The apartment was great, top 5 for my coziest stays on the road, and I wasn’t too eager to leave it just yet.

That Tuesday was just plain fun.  Zaza delivered my rug to the apartment with the intent of breaking it in in a NSFW manner.  We didn’t get around to that, but we did … other things.  It was playful and sexy and all the things I wanted this fling to be … in the short two hours we had before he ran off to be with family again.

On Wednesday night, I walked to the shop and we sat outside for a while then went back to the rooftop restaurant.  I asked him to sing when we got back to his place (Kurdish men are known for their singing and I knew he could sing from earlier).  I lay on the couch, enjoying the view, the breeze, the birds, and the good singing, feeling very relaxed and content.

And then he asked me for $3800 to get him out of military service.

Good feelings gone.

Suddenly, some of the behaviors I’d observed since meeting him made more sense.  There was always a distance between us that I couldn’t breach no matter how hard I tried.  Yeah, the sex thing was there, but when I’d ask him any real questions, try to spark up some conversation, I’d get nowhere.  Since we first started texting, it was all sweet talk (which I ate up) and no questions about the places I visited or what I’d seen.  I chalked the lack of intellectual curiosity to him being raised poor in a different environment.  But there was no effort made to learn more about me as a person. 

Since the first time he led me to his shop and later to his apartment, it was always with the same fast swagger while barely looking back to see if I was following.  Once I was back in the city, it was the same.  No handholding or making sure I didn’t stumble on the notoriously uneven cobblestones of the city streets.  I thought it was a Muslim practice of not showing too much affection in public.  But no.  I’d seen women in full burkas holding hands with their boyfriends or snuggling together on a blanket in the park.

Then there was the fact that he never called me by name.  In the texts and in person, I was my sweetheart, my chocolate, my caramel, my lover – never Daphne.  As much as I enjoyed the terms of endearment, I do know what love-bombing is, a psychological manipulation technique.  It just had me thinking that he couldn’t remember my name even after texting for a month – and despite the fact that the hotel across from his favorite restaurant bears my name.  He seemed surprised when I pointed it out.

There’s just nothing I like more than being played for a fool.

I gave him one last hug, told him I now feel stupid, and left the apartment.  He was calling after me in confusion that quickly turned into offense and how upset he was that I was leaving.  My phone pinged a couple of times while I hailed a cab.  I ignored them, glad that he’d only texted me and hadn’t followed me out.  The last texts he sent were about how he’d never forgive me for leaving and that I’d ruined his evening.

B!tch please.

I banned him on WhatsApp while cabbing it home and just sat there in numb silence.  I knew this was just a short-term thing, I had every intention of ending it to avoid the stress of long-distance relationships, I just had no idea that this was how it would end.  I thought his interest in me was a fetish thing (which is bad enough), but to think he only saw the letters A.T.M. on my forehead?  So much worse.

The most I can say is that it was fun while it lasted.  I’m glad he delivered my rug so I didn’t have to deal with any of those people again.  Now instead of being a reminder of him, it will just be a reminder of the beauty of Türkiye.  I will still, very proudly, display this work of art on the floor of my new home.   

There.  That’s much better.

I have always attracted vampires (and always will); people looking to either siphon off my light (or in this case, my money) or snuff that light out completely.  Some are just more appealing than others.

Istanbul the Remix

Yeah.

You remember that guy I met in Istanbul?  The one I thought of as a one-night stand who has instead appointed himself as my Turkish bodyguard? The one who’s been ‘blowing up my phone’, like the kids say, since we met?

The guy who essentially RUINED MY TRIP TO SE ASIA.  I’m trying to enjoy exploring a new country, trying to scope it out as a suitable place to live and all I can think about is him and all the filthy things he wants to do to me (that man is not shy).  I’ll be trying to write and he’ll call me and make me think about nothing more than how soon I can get back to Istanbul and him. 

Freaking Türkiye man!

Yeah, that guy.  Well, he is a honey-dripping bastard.  After a month of talking on WhatsApp, Zaza convinced me to postpone my plans to head to Australia.  I decided instead to go back to Istanbul for a week and be delicious.

I’m not trying to marry this dude.  I have my own plans that don’t involve moving to Türkiye and being fit for a burka.  As sweet as Zaza is, he’s still too short, he smokes, and he lives in a crappy apartment (with a great view) in Türkiye.  But the stuff that comes out of his mouth is just pure … delight.  Yes, I will go full-on sappy and call him my Turkish Delight.  And I plan to enjoy the hell out of him while I can.  I only had to go to the other side of the planet to find someone who likes me, so I figure I’d better take full advantage of the situation. 

Besides which, having never had a fling in my life, I think it’s fair time I flung.  I can fling.  Who says I can’t fling?

I started to do some research on Türkiye on YouTube.  I was mostly interested in picking up some of the language or getting tips on what else I should visit.  I was shocked at the number of videos I found regarding dating Turkish men.  Particularly, black women dating Turkish men.  I had no idea this was a thing.  Yes, Zaza told me he was into black chicks (as were a couple of his relatives who were married to black women and living in the U.S.), but I didn’t realize the extent of this … fetish?  Phenomenon?  I don’t know.   

My research is how I figured out this was not to be a great love of my life.  Turkish men are known to be sweet talkers, persistent, jealous, and workaholics (more on that later).  They also have the reputation for being major Mama’s boys.  They fully expect their girlfriends/wives to be their substitute mom.  And while I am 13 years older than the man … naw, my friend.  I have no interest in being anybody’s mother.  Doesn’t mean this ‘thing’ can’t be mutually beneficial.  His Turkish ego is stroked by the fact that he deflowered the American with the big breasts and I get hugs and sweet talk.  It works out for both of us.

But first, getting there.  And it was a bear of a travel day that started at Changi in Singapore.  At least it was a good start.  That is a well-designed airport.  The place was meant for the comfort of the travelers and, while not as pretty as the jewel, Terminal 4 has its own advantages.  Have I ever mentioned how much I love koi?  They are so fun to watch!

From Changi it was 2 hours back to Bangkok.  Can’t say I was looking forward to going back to Thailand, but my flight to Türkiye was out of BKK, Bangkok’s big airport.  I had arrived at Don Mueang and dreaded the idea of dealing with another rude cabbie.  I almost did the happy dance to find that there was a shuttle from one airport to the other.  It was already parked at the gate when I arrived and I didn’t even have to pay for it.  Yay!

Suvarnabhumi (BKK) is one of the top 10 biggest airports in the world.  I swear, half of the population of Thailand was in there waiting for flights.  There was even an entire football team just milling around.  I had plenty of time to observe everything since my flight from Singapore arrived at 4 p.m. and my flight to Dubai didn’t leave until 1:30 a.m.  Not ideal but it was the best I could arrange under the circumstances.

While BKK is not a great airport, it looked like heaven compared to Dubai.  The airport is almost as sprawling as BKK, but it wasn’t meant to be comfortable.  It was barely functional in that I arrived on the tarmac and had to walk awhile just to catch a bus to my departing terminal.  After that long ride, which took me all over the airport, it was another long wait in a hot, overly crowded waiting area.  When my flight was finally called, it was onto another bus to take me to the plane.   Because of just how inefficiently designed the place felt, I gotta say that Dubai sucks (this opinion applies only to the airport – I know nothing about the country).

Finally arriving in Türkiye, in the smaller SAW airport this time, it was on to my first concern upon returning to the country; my visa.  If you recall the issues I had with Turkish Border Patrol on arriving from Bulgaria by bus, I wasn’t entirely sure the visa would still be valid.  E-visas applied for online are valid for 90 days.  Since I couldn’t find any other info, I assumed the same rule would apply for my paper visa (which has no additional info about length of visa validity, re-entry requirements, or anything else).  Fingers crossed …

And Border Patrol didn’t even recognize the visa.  Sigh.  I had to explain to them the circumstances and that this is the only visa I had which did allow me into the country for a week.  I was fully prepared to pay for a new one if necessary, but I just didn’t want to be fined or banned or anything worse.

After a few nerve-wracking minutes while the guy made a call and consulted with the other agent sitting next to him, he finally stamped my passport and let me through.  Whew.  Now on to the next bit of fun; another ride in an Istanbul taxi.

Well, a month out of the country hasn’t made the taxi drivers any saner.  At least I was prepared for it this time.  Actually, this trip went better than my first intro into the city.  This guy understood the address with no problem, it wasn’t raining, and he brought me directly to the apartment.

It took some fumbling to get inside (the host’s maid had not returned the key to the correct lockbox), but once I was in, I was very pleased with the place.  It’s got a great layout and I instantly felt at home (though I wasn’t crazy about that rug – more on that later).

My neighborhood this time is called Balat in Fatih.  I specifically chose this area because it was closer to Zaza’s home and shop.  Turns out, not close enough.  It’s an hour walk or about a 15-minute cab ride depending on traffic.  After texting him on my arrival, I got unpacked, showered, and freshened up. I had been nervous for a while before I even got back to Türkiye, being that this was the first time I’d ever travelled across a few countries to see a man.  So it was a long tense wait for his next text.

Singapore Part 2

 

My love of green spaces is well established by now.  Singapore has a campaign that says ‘Let’s make Singapore our garden’ and they do an excellent job just judging by Fort Canning.  The park is situated on a series of tiers with the lowest tiers open to car traffic. Plenty of benches, some waterfalls and, for some reason, chickens.  Okay. 

On the last full day of my trip, I explored yet another garden area full of sculptures and hedge creations near the Marina Sands.  A very peaceful place with much to see.

I still don’t understand how this huge baby sculpture exists.  What’s holding it up?

I found my new favorite store/restaurant.  It’s a Singapore exclusive called Bread Talk, a bakery located in every one of the 300 malls I’ve been in.  They provide you with a tray and some tongs and you just pick out what you want then go to pay.  The bread is amazing and each store has a slightly different selection so seeking out the stores was something of a scavenger hunt for me.  A theme song plays in the stores that, if I had to listen to it for 8 hours a day, would make me start beating people with a loaf of bread, but other than that, the store is great.

Since I didn’t get a chance to see much of Changi Airport when I came in, I decided to dedicate a day to explore it.  I jumped on the train and got out at the airport along with a bunch of other people who didn’t have luggage.

Now why

would anyone

go to an airport

just to hang out?

The waterfall is located in a crystal-like building called the Jewel.  It is a massive multilevel (two commonly used words for structures in Singapore) garden with mini-waterfalls and seating areas everywhere.  As you can see, it currently has a Marvel theme – strange, but since I’m a big Marvel fan, it worked for me.  Even with the branding and all the tourists, the garden is a peaceful place to chill in.  There’s theatrical music playing, mist from the waterfall to cool the skin, and plenty of people-watching to engage in.  This is only one of the couples I spotted having a photo shoot in the airport.

This being Singapore, there is a full mall in the airport along with multiple food courts.  The free movie theater was showing one of the Mission Impossible movies (could have been the latest one, I'm not sure).

The top floor of the Jewel is set up like an amusement park.  There are attractions like a virtual experience game, a hedge maze, a mirror maze, and a bouncing net all for separate fees.  You can also access the train that goes past the waterfall and the walkway for a better view.

The airport is so well designed that you could wander around for hours and keep yourself entertained, fed, and broke.  All for the cost of a short train ride from anywhere in the city.  And hey!  Free air conditioning!

Remember how I said everything was connected in Singapore?  I was not exaggerating.  On my first full day, Google Maps led me on surface streets to get to the Merlion and the Marina Sands hotel.  Turns out, you can get there through subway tunnels.  Most of my time in Singapore was spent wondering ‘where does this escalator go?  I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.’ In keeping with that mindset, I started to follow a group of determined looking people as they went up one escalator near the City Hall MRT, around the corner, through a parking garage, up another escalator, on and on.  I was stunned when we ended up at the outdoor bandstand across from the Marina Sands.  I was curious about where else you could get if you knew how.  I was also curious to see if I could find my way back taking the same route since I wasn't paying attention (better than I thought as I only made a couple of missteps).

Besides the gardens and Fort Canning, there are so many other great gathering spaces around the city.  I saw numerous groups of people taking a lunch and a blanket to a shady spot and having some fellowship during the afternoon.  Even the evenings were full of people just walking around and enjoying the summer breeze.  And why shouldn't they?  Singapore is safe, clean, and gorgeous.  I loved this place.  And while it's too expensive to live there, I would definitely go back for another visit.

 

Singapore

 

I’m kind of obsessed with the movie Crazy Rich Asians.  I’ve seen it multiple times and never get tired of it.  It is straight up pornography – food porn, rom-com porn, rich porn, Singapore porn (Singaporn) and I love it.  So, for this reason, I just had to visit Singapore where the movie is set.

Singapore is an easy 2 ½ hour flight from Bangkok with the added benefit of flying into Changi Airport, which is considered one of the best airports in the world.  Well, not so much when you first arrive.  It just looks like any other airport with large airy spaces.  Immigration was the first area where the airport stands out in an interesting way.  The arriving passengers are guided to a bunch of kiosks where you have to put in your passport info.  A couple of people are around to guide you through the process (very appreciated as I did have some problems).  The screen asks a bunch of questions about nationality and point of origin and at the end you are granted a 90-day visa (of sorts) to stay in the country.  A copy is emailed to you along with the picture they ask you to take of the screen.

Then it was on to transport to the hotel I’d booked for the week.  No taxi this time – I was encouraged to take the MRT, Singapore’s insanely well-organized public transit system.  I thought I’d have to buy a ticket or fuss with machines until the attendants told me to just press my debit card to the scanner at the gate and voila!  The gate let me pass.  No tickets or tokens to worry about.  Just scan your card to get out at your destination and the system charges you accordingly.  How’s that for convenient?

As for the rest of the trip to my hotel … not so much.  I got out at the recommended stop only to find it pouring rain.  I waited around for it to slacken up then had to wrangle all my bags, while holding my umbrella up to try to keep my phone dry while I traversed unfamiliar streets.  Oh, and there was a lot of traffic and construction that closed off some of the sidewalks.  And, sure, let’s go up some hills because I needed more of a challenge.  Then I dropped my umbrella in the road while I dashed across.  I heard a car honking trying to alert me, but it wasn’t until a nice man on the other side of the road pointed it out that I realized what happened.  He offered tips to get it and told me that people would stop for me.  In hindsight, I shouldn’t have risked my life for a cheap replaceable umbrella, but … I was new to the country, it could rain again, and I don’t like to litter.

Finally found my way to the D’Nova hotel and, well, I hated the place on sight.  I know that capsule hotels are popular in Singapore.  The rooms in those hotels are basically drawers to store people at night with a communal bathroom out in the hall.  Really not to my taste.  I looked for AirBNBs and hotels in the area, but the only place I could find that was even remotely affordable was this place.  It’s a slight step up from a capsule hotel, but the room is still just a glorified jail cell.  There is no chair, no desk (only a narrow shelf), no drawers, no closet, only one outlet and a 'privacy curtain' over the sink that offended me wherever it was situated.  The only benefits over a prison cell were that I didn’t have a roommate and I could leave whenever I wanted.  And it was clean.

The hotel is located on a side street from two main thoroughfares.  It’s surrounded by other tiny-room hotels and a lot of bars and restaurants, all of them stupidly expensive.  To add insult to injury, the two-high-rise complex of the Carlton hotel is located just across the street.  Rooms there go for around $600 a night.  Any questions why I’m staying in the dump?

The Carlton was just one example of the expense of this city.  Just down the street from my hotel is a huge, ornately decorated, white mall full of high-end stores and restaurants requiring reservations.  Down the street is yet another mall, a mix of big name-brand stores and more affordable options. Just like in Portugal, where you could throw a stick and hit a café, in Singapore that same stick would land you in a mall.  This country really wants your money.  The malls here are huge, beautiful, vibrant, and crowded places where everyone meets.

The City Hall MRT station is located in that mall, called Raffle City. It pissed me off to realize that this station is closer to the hotel than the one they recommended.  It could have saved me a lot of hassle to know that sooner.  But no matter.  This mall, with its MRT station, huge food court and grocery store on the lowest level, became my main point of reference in getting around the city.  Very helpful as I am prone to wondering aimlessly without keeping track of how to find my way home.

The next day was bright and sunny. Thanks to the movie, I knew just what sights I wanted to see first.  My phone took me on a circuitous route to get to the famous Merlion statue.  This image is on a lot of the merchandising and is so popular, there is a mini lion right in front of that statue and a whole park designed around it.  And just across the harbor is the iconic hotel where the final scene of Crazy Rich Asians takes place.  Now just to get there.

That is a looooong walk to get to those buildings.  It means going past a concert hall, an outdoor stadium with a running track, up some stairs, across a pedestrian bridge and into The Shoppes at Marina Sands Bay.  All in SE Asian summer heat.  Oy.

This mall is just … Huge.  Beautiful.  Crowded.  Way too rich for my blood.  There’s Fendi next to Marc Jacobs next to Van Cleef and Arpels next to Hermes next to … yet another store I didn’t even bother to go into.  Like I said, Singapore wants your money.  It wasn’t going to get mine, though.  And judging by the empty hands of most of the people I saw walking around as well as the bored workers standing around in those chi-chi stores, Singapore wasn’t getting anybody else’s money either.  The only place doing big business was the massive food court on the ground floor.

Technically, you don’t have to enter the mall to reach the hotel.  But, as I was soon to discover, everything in Singapore seems to be connected as long as you know how to get there.  This is the land of escalators and underground tunnels.  I wandered around, marveling at everything I saw.  This mall has a canal.  And like in Venice, you can rent boat rides after you get tired of the casino and the interactive light display near the food court.

I stumbled upon some escalators that led to the reception area of the hotel.  If you go through there (very crowded with people checking in), out the door and around the corner, you’ll find another set of escalators that will lead you to the ticketing area to get to the top of the hotel.  For about 30 SD, you get your picture taken (you have the option to pay for a copy later) and go up the elevator to the 56^th floor.  The boat shaped structure at the top of the three towers features a concession stand and a restaurant (only for guests of the hotel) and gives you a killer view of the city. 

Singapore is truly beautiful.  A very modern, safe, and clean place.  Seeing it from atop the towers was a great overview before really getting into exploring the city.

And this, friends, is how I spent my 4^th of July, 2023.