Thursday 26 July
It's our penultimate day in Singapore - we fly out at 9.30 pm tomorrow. It's another searing hot, clammy day, and we're on our way to find the first house I lived in in Singapore, over 40 years ago; 19 Jalan Kampong Chantek. We know from Google Earth that it's still there - or at least, that there's a property on the site of my old house. We couldn't see the house properly on the internet because of greenery and foliage. The 2nd house I lived in was in the British Naval Base, now of course the Singapore Naval Base, and we doubt if we'd have access there.
The concierge at our brilliant hotel - we love it here - has told us which bus to catch. It's not an area where tourists usually go. In fact it's now quite a posh area, with very expensive houses - I can't remember it being so when we were there, although the house we rented at the time was very nice. I remember it as the house where, amongst other things, my 18th birthday party was held. Mum and Dad valiantly went out for the evening, and my brothers must have stayed with friends. The party was gatecrashed and my parents came home to a bit of a mess. I was definitely in the doghouse.
The bus takes us along the old Bukit Timah Road - still a dual carriageway, still separated by a huge monsoon drain between the 2 sides of the road. But I don't recognise any of the landscape, and wouldn't have had a clue where to get off the bus if it weren't for Reg's sat-nav and a helpful bus driver.
The black and yellow pick-up taxis which used to cruise the Bukit Timah road, picking up and dropping off passengers at any point along the carriageway, have long since disappeared.
Suddenly there it is! The sign going off the Bukit Timah, saying "Jalan Kampong Chantek," (literally, "street of the pretty village"). I remember the curve of the road, and feel very strange as we walk towards my old house. All the houses in this road have been hugely refurbished, maybe one or 2 have even been replaced - except one. That one is not number 19, my house, but it's the same design.
"That's exactly what my house was like," I tell Reg, as we walk up the road towards number 19. "The shape of the roof, the garden, everything."
.
I'm glad that unmodernised house was there, looking a bit dilapidated, because number 19 is completely unrecognisible from the house I remember. It could even be a new property, but it definitely has a new roof and frontage, and the garden is completely different. We take some photos, both of number 19 and of the unaltered dilapidated house. I'm glad I went back though; old ghosts and all that. I don't feel particularly disappointed that things have changed - that's life, after all.
After this trip down memory lane, we make our way by bus and tube to Little India, the Indian commercial district of Singapore. The main street, Serangoon Road, is lined with small shops selling a huge array of goods - food, jewellery, souvenirs, clothes, watches, mobile phones, and several pawn shops - you name it, it's sold here.
'"This to me is the real Singapore, bustling with real life and ordinary people," says Reg. I know what he means. This area is clean enough, but it's not glitzy; it's not a "show home" kept immaculate just to look at, it's a living community.
There are several eating places and we're hungry. We order a "butter chicken" dinner with all the trimmings. It arrives on a huge banana leaf, and is absolutely delicious, especially accompanied by fresh lime juice.
Afterwards we make our way towards Mustaphas, the huge Indian department store which sells everything and anything.
"Are all those DVD's real ones or copies?" I ask Reg.
"Probably real," says Reg. After all, this isn't Cambodia, and I doubt that a store this size would get away with selling counterfeit goods.
The choice of goods is mind-boggling - think of a huge Western department store, then add all the different types of goods we saw in all the little shops we walked passed in Serangoon Road. We split up for an hour to look around; by the time we meet up again, we're both ready to go back to our hotel.
I sleep for an hour and a half, then jiggle the luggage again a little (last night I spent the evening rearranging our luggage and weighing it with the little weight-hook we bought in China) so that I can pack the few sundry items I've bought this afternoon, without going overweight on the flight home tomorrow.
It's our penultimate day in Singapore - we fly out at 9.30 pm tomorrow. It's another searing hot, clammy day, and we're on our way to find the first house I lived in in Singapore, over 40 years ago; 19 Jalan Kampong Chantek. We know from Google Earth that it's still there - or at least, that there's a property on the site of my old house. We couldn't see the house properly on the internet because of greenery and foliage. The 2nd house I lived in was in the British Naval Base, now of course the Singapore Naval Base, and we doubt if we'd have access there.
The concierge at our brilliant hotel - we love it here - has told us which bus to catch. It's not an area where tourists usually go. In fact it's now quite a posh area, with very expensive houses - I can't remember it being so when we were there, although the house we rented at the time was very nice. I remember it as the house where, amongst other things, my 18th birthday party was held. Mum and Dad valiantly went out for the evening, and my brothers must have stayed with friends. The party was gatecrashed and my parents came home to a bit of a mess. I was definitely in the doghouse.
The bus takes us along the old Bukit Timah Road - still a dual carriageway, still separated by a huge monsoon drain between the 2 sides of the road. But I don't recognise any of the landscape, and wouldn't have had a clue where to get off the bus if it weren't for Reg's sat-nav and a helpful bus driver.
The black and yellow pick-up taxis which used to cruise the Bukit Timah road, picking up and dropping off passengers at any point along the carriageway, have long since disappeared.
Suddenly there it is! The sign going off the Bukit Timah, saying "Jalan Kampong Chantek," (literally, "street of the pretty village"). I remember the curve of the road, and feel very strange as we walk towards my old house. All the houses in this road have been hugely refurbished, maybe one or 2 have even been replaced - except one. That one is not number 19, my house, but it's the same design.
"That's exactly what my house was like," I tell Reg, as we walk up the road towards number 19. "The shape of the roof, the garden, everything."
.
I'm glad that unmodernised house was there, looking a bit dilapidated, because number 19 is completely unrecognisible from the house I remember. It could even be a new property, but it definitely has a new roof and frontage, and the garden is completely different. We take some photos, both of number 19 and of the unaltered dilapidated house. I'm glad I went back though; old ghosts and all that. I don't feel particularly disappointed that things have changed - that's life, after all.
After this trip down memory lane, we make our way by bus and tube to Little India, the Indian commercial district of Singapore. The main street, Serangoon Road, is lined with small shops selling a huge array of goods - food, jewellery, souvenirs, clothes, watches, mobile phones, and several pawn shops - you name it, it's sold here.
'"This to me is the real Singapore, bustling with real life and ordinary people," says Reg. I know what he means. This area is clean enough, but it's not glitzy; it's not a "show home" kept immaculate just to look at, it's a living community.
There are several eating places and we're hungry. We order a "butter chicken" dinner with all the trimmings. It arrives on a huge banana leaf, and is absolutely delicious, especially accompanied by fresh lime juice.
Afterwards we make our way towards Mustaphas, the huge Indian department store which sells everything and anything.
"Are all those DVD's real ones or copies?" I ask Reg.
"Probably real," says Reg. After all, this isn't Cambodia, and I doubt that a store this size would get away with selling counterfeit goods.
The choice of goods is mind-boggling - think of a huge Western department store, then add all the different types of goods we saw in all the little shops we walked passed in Serangoon Road. We split up for an hour to look around; by the time we meet up again, we're both ready to go back to our hotel.
I sleep for an hour and a half, then jiggle the luggage again a little (last night I spent the evening rearranging our luggage and weighing it with the little weight-hook we bought in China) so that I can pack the few sundry items I've bought this afternoon, without going overweight on the flight home tomorrow.
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