CHAPTERS on Utopia
Travelling in Singapore and Malaysia
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As we explored the botanical gardens, gigantic malls and museums of Singapore, the word ‘utopia’ kept crossing my mind. At times, I felt like I was Jim Carrey’s character in The Truman Show. Given the amount of hidden law enforcement CCTV cameras they have hidden everywhere, I could have been. And, much like Truman, I began noticing things that had eluded me on first glance.
Perhaps it was the fact we did two stints in Singapore and, like re-watching a movie, you notice more the second time around. Or maybe it was the contrast of arriving from Georgetown in Malaysia that had heightened the senses. Either way, Singapore is a fascinating place.
We had spent three days in Penang, in the North West of Malaysia before returning to Singapore. The capital, George Town, had been a more typical South East Asia experience - the smells of street food, spices, incense, the sound of mopeds, car horns, the broken pavements with potholes big enough to swallow your foot whole in one mis-step. It had a vibe that screamed creativity, character, passion. The faces of the people looked more lived-in somehow, their personalities big and proud, their country felt possessed by them too. Both full of expression. Lines on faces. Graffiti on street walls. Obsession with food and culture. Stories to tell.
Stepping back off the plane into the fresh, cold Singapore airport air-con couldn’t have been more different. The oxygen laced with the scent of sweet cleanliness, we walked with spotless carpet underfoot into the shiny, orderly baggage terminal. In George Town we had waited in boiling heat at a taxi rank that could only be described as carnage. Drivers shouting at passengers, who reciprocated, arms waving around in the air. In Singapore, we were met with the serene quiet of mostly electric cars, no queue and no traffic, hitting the road immediately. It’s manicured, tree-lined, luscious, litter-free streets welcomed us to this city in the jungle. The people were polite, friendly (but not overly) and immaculately presented. There seemed to be no mopeds anywhere nor cyclists. In fact, most people were using idyllic running routes, jogging around wearing expensive sports gear, despite the humidity. Every time I stepped outside my glasses would steam up like I’d just opened the dishwasher during its cycle.
The underground was an unbelievably pleasant experience. Cool air-conditioned carriages, no over-crowding, no loud rackety trains barely fitting through ancient tunnels like those in London. The tube map was easy to read and their circle line was, well, a perfect circle ⃝. “Everything here just works.” Said a couple of friends who’ve moved out there. “It’s so safe here. You just have to get used to dripping with sweat.”
The perspiration a small price to pay for perfection? I loved it and then I sort of hated myself for loving it. After all we are talking about pretty authoritarian political state. The press is tightly controlled, elections are weighted and an underclass of immigrant workers are kept out of sight, at the service of the ultra wealthy. Having said that, there is little to no corruption. Their strictest restrictions on freedoms outlaw things like spitting on the street, chewing gum and limit smoking in public areas. All things, frankly, I could learn to live with. More than that, Singapore made me want to be a tidier, more organised, overall just better person. I felt myself straightening out my posture a little, relaxing my shoulders and the furrow in my brow.
At the same time I struggled to write while I was there. I couldn’t find the creativity. Where are all the characters? The passionate people raising their voices, protesting, opinionated, performing, where was the personality? Where was the street art emblazoned on colourful buildings? Where’s the inspiration? Was the history of this fascinating city all locked away in museums, curated in galleries or had it simply been painted over? And yet I feel like I love it here. Its warmth and safety. Its pruned greenery and efficiency. So. What does this say about me?
I pondered all of this while floating in the hotel swimming pool which was so clean the water felt like silk running over my skin. My worldly possessions left poolside without any fear for their safety. Maybe I could learn to colour inside the lines?
My idyll was shattered by the sound of a chainsaw. I looked up to see a tree surgeon operating on a nearby tree. It had dared to grow its branches too wildly, too naturally, obscuring the view of the glistening skyscrapers in the clouds. Two beautiful black and white birds with bright yellow beaks, hornbills, loudly whistled and relocated to a nearby, unusually symmetrical, tree. And suddenly, I felt ready to leave.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on these conflicting emotions until I came across a joke Singaporeans tell. Many a true word is spoken in jest, it goes like this;
Two dogs are swimming in the waters between Singapore and Borneo - but in opposite directions. They pause halfway to exchange greetings. The dog headed towards Borneo asked the other dog why he's swimming to Singapore. The answer: "Ah, the shopping, the housing, the air-conditioning, the health care, the schools. So why are you going to Borneo?" Says the dog from Singapore: "Oh, I just want to bark."