Heat, humidity. Sun, followed by heavy downpours and short, screaming thunderstorms, just before the sun comes out again and transforms the streets into steam baths. Take China, India, Malaysia and a little bit of the West and you've got a good introduction to Singapore's Ethnology. Accordingly, you find a great variety of culinary treats... one of the main reasons I like to do my stop-overs here (not to talk about the discounts you get in those many electronic shops, which are a reason for themselves)...

But, hang on, first of all: arrival after 12 hours on a plane. It starts rather exciting. Singapore, Baggage Claim, Belt 16. I wait for my stuff... a hardcover guitar case (with a "FRAGILE"-tag attached to it) and a backpack with my tramping boots tightly strapped to it. Here I stand, and there is my guitar case. I grab it, discover my backpack not far behind it on the belt... and hesitate. The lid is wide open and one of my boots is missing. Simply torn out of the pack straps. Gone! Dammit! A few minutes later I find myself sitting in a lost luggage office, a Dutch couple sitting in front of the other desk. They've lost all of their bags. Considering that my lost tramping boot looks rather harmless. However, I think that chances that those bags are found are quite a lot bigger than a reunion with my boot.

Well, whining's no help here. I grab the remains of my baggage while the guy behind the desk assures me that they will try everything to find my boot. With a hint of frustration I slug off. I leave my guitar and my tiple (a guitar-like Columbian instrument I carried as hand luggage) at the airports long-term storage and crawl to the taxi stands. Where you wanna go... Chinatown, Pagoda Street... or was it Mosque Street? Ah, just let's go...

Singapore at night, from the cool of an air-conditioned taxi. A city in motion. Every time you discover something new; not because you overlooked it the last time... it just was not there before. A developing city, magnificent skyscrapers, at times costly illuminated - a futuristic Disneyland. Construction sites everywhere, an evolving skyline. The East Coast Parkway crosses the Singapore River, across the Marina Bay and into the economic heart of the "Little Tiger" Singapore. The highest and most important Skyscrapers have sprouted from Chinatown during the last 30 years. With the increasing importance of the financial centre and the eyes of the world turning to it, surrounding Chinatown "needed" a face lift - only a few of the house fronts still look like they did 50 or more years ago. Most of it has been polished and today presents itself at times in screaming colours.

Development happens so fast that even my taxi driver has troubles keeping up with it. Pagoda Street all of a sudden proofs to be a one way lane and he does not have an idea how we can get in there. After a few fruitless attempts from every possible direction I hop out of the coolness of the car and into the sauna climate of Singapore. I shoulder my 20 kilo backpack and try my luck on foot.

The 'Backpacker Hotel' turns out to be on Mosque Street. At the reception I meet the boss. He's a fat Chinese with few hair left on his head, only wearing shorts, his body tattooed: a cobra winds itself up from his belly to his chest; a dragon flies across his back (just underneath an unfinished 'Sayonara' which spreads between his shoulders); calligraphies cover his arms. If he wouldn't be Chinese I would think he's a high rank in the Japanese triads (however... 'Sayonara'...?). As I check into his hotel we start to talk. He's soccer fan and with the world cup being a rather recent event I opened a still healing wound: "Ooh.. Cup... oh... I said Spain win... but then fuck... all shit... lost money... referee got money... believe me... should be shot that referee... and the referee from Italy game too... 30 bullets ('okay, he is related to the triads', I think)... lost money... shit... all bad"... Almost 20 minutes he carries on with his tirades about the unfair referee decisions, lost bets and the chaos of the cup broadcast on TV (they broadcasted all games only on pay TV resulting in astronomic sales of small room aerials in Singapore... the Indonesian TV brought all games live and for free). I just dare to agree with a nice smile on my face... only one false word and I might end up with 30 bullets in my head. Later, I catch him talking to his cell phone (those things are so small here that it looks as if the people are nuts and talk with their hands) while smoking a sickly green marihuana roll (in Singapore - they've got a death penalty for drugs!!!)... this guy definitely is tough!

After moving into room 301, I wander through the streets of Chinatown and finally get myself a Tiger beer and Pee Goreng on Pagoda Street. The streets are filled with the sick smell of Durian, the favourite fruit in South-east Asia (its said to be a strong aphrodisiac, but I just think it tastes bloody awful). The Chinese waiter comes over to me after I finished my meal. "Hajabeslndeng Mee?"
"Uuh, yes?", I ask a bit uncertain.
"Podola!", he toothlessly replies.
"Sorry?"
"Podola!"
"And what is that?", I ask.
"Mee. Podola." He puts one hand in the air and spreads his fingers. "Podola!"
"What do you want from me?"
"Podola!!!", he says in a typical Asiatic kind manner but with a bit more emphasis.
'Podola', I think. 'What the hell does he mean. Well, since he's here, I might as well pay.' - "No, I don't want Podola, but may I pay?"
"Yes", he sighs relieved.
"How much is that?"
"Podola", he answers and opens his hand. I hear a clicking sound somewhere inside my head.
"Oh you mean, four dollar", I reply and give him his money. With a happy smile on his lips he wanders off.

A relaxed and quiet night. The constant drumming of rain wakes me next morning. I listen a few minutes and it appears that the rain starts to get harder. Soon enough it's a heavy downpour and the sound is more like a there are rivers flowing through the concrete canyons of Singapore. No good weather to run around outside... good enough reason to turn around and carry on explorations in dreamland. A sudden explosion drives me up the walls. What was that? It sounded as if at least half of Chinatown blew up in one big detonation. A thunderstorm rages outside, the clouds that push through the skyscrapers of the financial centre flash and release more thunders. Only a few minutes later it falls dead silent. I decide to get up.

The day in Singapore is entirely devoted to shopping. Singapore’s shopping malls with their zillions of competing shops where you can get electronics, fashion, music, nicnac, ramsch and trash shops invite to spend money. I have a couple of 'orders' from New Zealand, a camera flash, handheld computers and so on. Singapore once has been incredibly cheap for electronic goods. It's not more 'incredible' but still it's cheaper than in most other parts of the world. And so I end up ploughing my way through all sorts of shopping malls... the Funan IT Centre, Raffles City, Ming Plaza, Ang Lim Plaza and what they all are called. Orchard Road is THE shopping mile - a kind of shopping Champs Elysees. No historic monuments here, just monuments of materialism, 20 meter plus ad-banners fluttering in the light breeze of the hot post-thunderstorm air.

The financial centre is different. More conservative. Expensive suits, shining shoes, cellphones with ear piece-microphone. and ties that are tightened to near suffocation level. The Singapore river acts as a barrier between production and consumption. If it's true what you hear about going to prison if you spit on the streets in Singapore this can only apply to the ultra clean financial centre. Every main entrance to the glass and concrete giants has its own sculpture sitting in front of it. All these sculptures seem to get polished at least twice a day - no finger print no stain in sight. It all appears sterile and it is hard not to get the feeling of displacement when wandering around in T-Shirt and well-worn running shoes. Considering the temperatures today I'm happy to be a tourist who does not have to dress up. I don't want to know what it must be like to run around in Armani suits in 30°C and a humidity of 100%.

After a day of spending money (luckily most of it not my own) I face a sleepless night. The jetlag keeps me awake until the crack of dawn. Finally, around 5 o'clock I manage to drift into slumber. At nine my alarm clocks kicks me out of bed. A bit apathic I crawl through the second day not doing anything productive. Just living for Singapore's culinary delights: Hot Sambal Chicken with prawn rice, Roti Prata with curry sauce, Dumpling Soup, Chicken and Lamb Satay with peanut sauce, black pepper chicken and Basmati rice... and all the time té tarik (sweet milk tea). Oh yes... for food alone it's worth stopping over in Singapore.