Jun. 29, 2006 - Raffles and Little India

Diary of an Ex-Pat Housewife  (11)

This week saw a journey with a camera into a part of Singapore’s colonial heritage, Raffles Hotel and Chijmes.  It was soul hushing and deeply satisfying to tread the empty hallways, lens capturing the intriguing angles of this unique architecture in the soft light.

I stilled my senses.  I wanted to absorb the magnificence of this dignified colonialism; the Raffles Hotel and found myself transported back to my youngest years.  The child in me stood stock still with transfixed eyes on the stooped gardener, wearing an enormous grass hat, perched atop his ladder, trimming the shrubs at the entrance to the hotel foyer into the shape of square pillars.  The child in me heard water tumbling from ornate fountains, the clink and chime of glasses in the Long Bar, snatches of classical music spilling from formal rooms, birdsong from the jewel feather-dwellers in pockets of towering greenery.  Intriguing shadows were flung out on the tiled floors of pillar bound hallways, where immaculate chefs in their whites glided between kitchen and restaurant.   Dark wooden doors, marked PRIVATE  made me itch to open them, and I wanted to play on the empty brass porter’s trolleys before their next burden of foreign luggage arrived.  I inhaled deeply the smell of wood polish, frangipane scented wind-sigh, and the smell of the sky before it exhales heavy grey breath.  But the arrival of ploppy fat raindrops warped me back to being a grown up and I scrambled in my bag for an umbrella before we were completely soaked.

Chijmes is an old convent fortressed in thick protective walls in the midst of shiny synthetic modern city buildings and is across the road from the hotel.  It was not hard to imagine the nuns slipping up and down worn wooden staircases, and through huge ornate double doors into the hush of soaring chapel. The upper balconies had curved gothic windows that opened out onto paved courtyards and fountains below, and despite being in the middle of a busy traffic zone, it was quiet and peaceful in the heart of the convent.  I was faintly unsettled by the mix of old and new, like the Hog’s Breath Café operating out of the religious architecture and sitting side by side with the chapel.

It was magical exploring dark but quaint local shops tucked into little rooms off the outer passageway with its uneven brick floor and smelling faintly of spices.  Rowfuls of costume jewellery reflected their lights onto soft stacks of rainbow inspired pashminas and silk scarves.  Thai celadon ceramics glowed luminous in the half light and china bowls with domed lids in wet shiny colours nestled into tissue lined boxes while marching rows of carved Asian elephants passed below rows of pearl strings.  It felt like we had entered a treasure trove of delight and I could have browsed there for hours, fascinated by the movement of the years through the patina of history in such quaint surroundings. 

From the gentle stroll through these grounds we decided to travel to Little India and leapt out of the taxi onto a screeching road, running the length of this famous part of town.  It was a riotous attack on the senses the second we set foot on to the narrow pavement, with a cacophony of shrieking noise and blinding colours.  Small narrow shops led off one side of the person-width pavement, to the other ran a jumbled line of various cheap goods for sale and contemplative beggars.  Bright yellow gold jewellery displays jostled for attention with ceiling-high shelves of saris in every hue imaginable.  Tinny music and loud foreign conversation dominated all senses and the aroma of overripe market fruit and the reek of burning incense made our stomachs turn.  We spotted a huge sunglasses display in one little shop proclaiming to be the Cheapest Shop in Asia, and as we both needed a pair, the trying on began.  After a couple of minutes in shuffled a little man who we like to call Double Digits.  He did not have a lot going for him height-wise and was obviously homeless, completely lacking in teeth, and in dire need of medical attention if his suppurating wounds were anything to go by.  He joined us comfortably at the cheap sunglasses rack, pushing in confidently to find the best array of glasses.  He was wearing socks stuffed into sandals, and had spindly legs, a shaved head and was mysteriously hairless on his upper arms but just before his elbows, he sprouted a thick band of long black hair. I stepped back involuntarily and gulped and at first my sweet sister smiled kindly at him and said he was adorable.  Side by side my sister and DD stood casually trying on different pairs of glasses from the rows, her selecting lenses from the uncontaminated rows above the little man’s reach and I stood watching him as he repeatedly strained upwards on tippy toes to catch a glimpse of himself in the tiny mirror strip above his head.  My sister contentedly continued bargain hunting and trying on pairs but I found myself quite unable to touch another thing in the shop and was riveted by the midget’s demeanour.  This is when I noticed his deformity.   He had two thumb tips at the top of this right thumb.  It kind of split half way down like a forked snake’s tongue and had two rounded ends, nail and all.  I’m afraid it pushed me over the edge of appalling prejudice and I was hard pressed to contain my sudden nausea combined with fits of laughter that made me weep helplessly.  We were interested in his choice of lady’s sunglasses however, shiny rose tinted diamantes won the day, and we watched him count out his coins with his three thumbs in a nonchalant manner, completely unaware of the effect he had on us.

As we negotiated crossing a terrifying side street, clutching each other in knee buckling laughter, we made the mistake of directing our mirth inadvertently at a local man wearing a blue shirt.  Unfortunately he decided to follow us and what was quite amusing to begin with became frightening after his relentless pursuit.  Ducking into various shops to hide only resulted in him triumphantly hunting us down again.  We fled as fast as we could, weaving in and out of doorways and doubling back on ourselves, only to spot his blue shirt bobbing in and out of the crowd just behind us. 

A dash across the road finally shook him off, and we pinkie promised each other we would never go down to that end of town as we waived down a taxi from the hot, crumbling pavement.  Still gluttons for punishment, we got the driver to drop us off at the Bugis Markets, where we sweated our way through the crush of stalls and foot traffic, fighting aching feet and dehydration.  This detour did not last very long and soon we were desperate to get back to the cool interior of the apartment to shuck off filthy sandals and recover in the quiet cool.  It was a day so full of highs and lows that I would not have traded it for the world, but it took us a good few days to work up the enthusiasm to explore again!