Diary of an Expat in Singapore (7 page)

Don’t argue, let him figure this one out on his own. Do not point out that there is a reason swimming pools are deserted most of the day (and no, you are not counting the tanning Finns). It’s not just the sudden noxious fumes of mosquito fogging or the nearby earsplitting drilling. So, while I agree that the possibility of having a pool is by far the most awesome part of the expat life in Singapore, will you find me lying by one? No. Do I want a stroke? Not especially. You will find me in the shade wearing a wide-brimmed hat (and what my husband calls my
burkhini
) with my Japanese posse, doing what Japanese do best by the pool: watching their kids have a swimming lesson.

After a few hours by the pool, the first-time visitor will suggest going inside in no uncertain terms. “I am dying out here,” he might think to himself. If he forgot to put on sunscreen, claiming, “Oh, I’m lucky like that, I never get burned” – two words: aloe vera. The industrial size.

“I love local food.”

You thought you loved local food. But you were wrong. Nobody likes local food more than the first-time visitor. Not even the locals themselves. He scoffs at your food choices and demands: “More chili, please.” The visitor explores with gusto hawker centres and wet markets looking for something original and genuine. Until something bothers him, like chopsticks. “Where is the fork? I can’t eat with chopsticks. This is ridiculous.”

“Everything is so cheap here.”

One trip to the supermarket should dispel that myth.

The driver turns without signalling.

Most expats have a love-hate relationship with taxis. Probably because it is slightly perplexing and vexing that although taxis are everywhere, this does not mean you will actually get one. In fact, it’s all pretty arbitrary. You try to flag down a taxi. The driver may or may not slow down, may or may not agree to take you where you need to go, and may or may not reach the agreed destination. The whole process is arbitrary.

Kids call the driver
uncle
.

As long as the driver doesn’t call me
sister
, I don’t really have a problem with this. It’s a Singaporean thing, the cleaning lady is an
auntie
, the taxi driver is an
uncle
. It’s like the whole island is related. Worse than a Mafia wedding.

The driver expects you to tell him how to get where you need to go.

In other countries, it’s the exact opposite. You take a taxi because you don’t know how to get where you need to go. Not in Singapore. You’d better know exactly where you need to go, how to get there, and whether to take the PIE, CTE, AYE… no, it’s not a game of Scrabble, but acronyms for the different routes you can take: PIE (Pan-Island Expressway, the oldest and longest expressway), CTE (Central Expressway), and AYE (Ayer Rajah Expressway). Soon you’ll be saying, “Just take the AYE to avoid the ERP,” with the best of them. Btw, if any urban planners are reading this: the ERP (automatic Electronic Road Pricing)? Not very popular.

There is a pretty good chance you will have your wallet returned.

I think it’s safe to say that anywhere in the world, forgetting valuables in a cab is not a good thing. It’s tantamount to kissing them goodbye. Here, it is not surprising to see someone breathe a sigh of relief: “Oh, I just left it in the taxi this morning.” Like that’s a good thing. And, it often is. A taxi driver famously returned $1.1 million left behind by a Thai couple. What they were doing with that much cash in the first place was never discovered. My guess is they were going to buy cheese (see ‘Signs you’re not slumming it in Singapore’).

You feel lucky.

Why? Because this means you actually managed to flag one down. Most likely after three other taxis drove away, vigorously shaking their heads
no
after you told them where you needed to go. And, even though they say it’s because they are at the end of their shift (really… at 11:30 am?), their refusal still stings.

You’re feeling
really
lucky.

Why? Because it’s raining outside. And no, it’s not just an impression. There really are fewer taxis around when it’s raining… you know, when you need them most. Whether it’s for insurance or spite, nobody can confirm. Surely, this doesn’t endear taxi drivers to commuters. At least, not in a downpour.

It’s colder than the average Starbucks.