"I hate Singapore. Too sterile." I'm staring daggers at a Eastern European across from me at a bar. Ten minutes ago, I realized we wouldn't be getting along as she was neither nice nor interesting - and I am absolutely through the roof with this one. When asked to elaborate, she recalls her visit was more of a "hike around the city," recounting how many blocks she went and in what direction. I take the floor.
Tommy and I had settled on Singapore a few weeks prior for our (read: my) visa run on one condition - it would reacquaint us, for one blissful night, with civilization. Traffic lights and infrastructure and clean tap water. Fast food chains. No bugs. We make some quick arrangements and catch a flight the next day.
I'm not the easiest traveler. I don't sleep well, I don't have any special flying privilege (unlike TOMMY, EVERYONE). My forte is falling apart at a customs desk. The lethal combination of airports, airplanes, not knowing what time it is or where you are supposed to be absolutely exhausts me. But, this death by a million cuts I speak of - the travel part of traveling - is where Tommy SHINES. He understands inherently, and navigates it with grace and tact. So, as luck would have it, for the next 36 hours I follow him around like a puppy dog with complete travel stress immunity.
Throughout our travels together, whenever someone asks if Tommy and I are "together" for reservations, a table, or boarding a plane - I chime in cutely but pretty aggressively and say "No, Just TRAVELING together." I'm vigilant with this repeatable construct and take every opportunity I can to use it. It's funny to me because 1. It's a classically male response which I'm obligated to adopt as cultural commentary 2. No one cares and 3. It makes Tommy really uncomfortable.
On the flight to Singapore, something peculiar happens. Back in Canggu, I had expressed my desire to sit separately on the plane, entirely different rows if possible. The flight would be empty, and the notion of ample amounts of space had generally agreed with us so far on this trip.
When we get there, we file into our different rows, per the plan. He is one ahead of me because he is a status princess and wants it to look like he is winning - he is not. Let the record state that my original ticket is absolutely ahead of his. But; on the seating "together" front - I've had a change of heart. At this point, seein' him bein' all good and shit in THE AIRPORT - something in me shifts. We select our window seats per the plan, start to unload our things in our individual spaces, and I realize what I've done.
I put my face through the gap in the chairs.
"Tommy."
"Yeah."
"Are you really not gonna sit with me."
"No."
"Tommy."
"….Yeah."
"I've changed my mind. Come sit with me."
"No."
"Tommy. Please. This is silly - we should sit together. Come look like my boyfriend."
"…..
….No."
At this point the blatant rejection is too much to bare so I detonate, blaming this little charade on him listening to Chris Voss' negotiating audio book and trying to practice his new skillset on me. This is incredibly rude because this is what Tommy DOES FOR A LIVING. Also, reviewing the transcripts, I see now something different may have transpired. Tommy NEVER comes to sit with me for the whole 2 and a half hours and I am basically tortured in my own reality where I've synthetically created fake tension WITH MYSELF but THROUGH HIM, and now I am also thinking, do I like Tommy ????? I laugh at something he says that is absolutely not funny and my suspicion is gravely confirmed that girls are sociopaths.
We land, get past customs. No troubles. Blessings. But, things were not as they seemed. When going through the freestanding agricultural customs next to baggage claim, aka the SHOE-IN STATION, a man out of nowhere with a government lanyard approaches Tommy. I'm prepared to flee the scene and leave Tommy to his own devices, wishing him luck in his new life. Maybe he can negotiate his way out with his new tricks? Honestly - I figure they maybe clocked him with the military background, which has happened before. The man rattles through some questions, and I realize what's going on - "Where did you come from?" "How long are you staying?" …and here's the the killer - "When did you originally get to Bali." (even though we are in SINGAPORE NOW). Tommy arrived two weeks ago. The man nods his head, hands back Tommy's passport and says "Have a nice day."
****HAD THIS QUESTIONING COME TO ME, HOWEVER****
Crying is… obvious. (Have you read ….any of my stuff?) Why. Because my date to the last question would have been around 30 days, making it crystal clear that I was doing a visa run. Which Singapore does not like. It's grounds for detaining, and probably grounds to ship you back to the United States; regardless if both of your luggage is sitting in a hotel room back in Canggu. I'm sure you're thinking "Yeah, but Tommy didn't do anything wrong, so he could go back and handle that part." To which I say, if you don't think I'm bringing Tommy down with me into this supremely heinous hypothetical situation, you are absolutely wrong, old sport. He is my best bet out of here. He's my only bet. So, my trepidations that customs literally wants me dead are once again confirmed, but, she lives to see another day.
Through the somewhat troubling surprise customs and detaining situation - THE JEWEL IS ABSOLUTELY ICONIC. Singapore's airport is one of the nicest in the world, so nice that when we land, we go to an upscale version of a Starbucks (the novelty…), and just… hang out. In the airport. Not a care in the world. Eh, there is a bit of sticker shock initially, but you get back into city math…. real quick. Everything is clean, has a little image paired with directions, and comes with a temperature read on entrance.
We hop on the pristine public transit, sitting across from each other on the metro with our headphones in. It reminds me of taking Muni in SF and I get a bit nostalgic, pulling out my make up bag like I used to on the way to work. I start doing myself up, so we can hit the town on touchdown and so more importantly, I appear low maintenance. I'll glance up at Tommy half way through my own process and see him sweetly applying a chapstick from his backpack.
We get to the Andaz and immediately steal some pens from the front desk and free bookmarks sprayed with perfume for "olfactory recognition of your experience." Everything about us reads kleptos from the first world from the third world. By this time tomorrow, Tommy will be looting housekeeping's cart for provisional lotions and shower gels. But my gosh this place is so. lovely. We kind of get high on the room and it's amenities once we are in there - the mattress is a small continent, there are complete toiletry sets, a HAIR DRYER and a free minibar to raid. Tommy plays with the remote controlled curtains for 15 minutes.
We find the strength to separate ourselves from our room, and knock out the touristy stuff in about an hour - Marina Bay Sands, the Bay Gardens, Egg town (…ask me about it). THAT'S ENOUGH. Time to eat and time to party.
We head out to get some grub and walk into the Chinatown relic that is Noodle Man. It's an institution, with photos lining the walls of families and local celebrities, the grinning chef in the pictures right there in front of you, but not grinning anymore because no one else in here right now because of Coronavirus. I tell his wife that we have $30 - to do her worst. She brings out 2 frosty Tiger beers and a small dish of green and orange pickled vegetables dusted in peanuts. Next, a bowl of steaming minced meat with hand pulled noodles and soup dumplings. They are gone in 5 minutes and we are out the door in 15.
We start with Camilla's list of bar recommendations - and a speakeasy that looks close by. Except… we can't find it. Truly. We circle the block while I hold my phone to the sky - it says it's here but it's not here. We are about to give up and go into next bar we see, when an abandoned and graffitied black door that once looks suspect now appears appealing. We take it and walk down a flight of stairs into the sexiest, most organized concrete basement you can imagine.
We have arrived at Operation Dagger. In the otherwise dark underground space, there are blooms of lightbulbs hanging by the hundreds as an art installation. Beams of light behind private table nooks in simple patterns read as artwork. I've never seen lighting do heavier lifting. There is open shelving with dark jars with aged labels, and the drink menu looks alarmingly like a food menu (Purple Yamborgini, Cheese, no egg, Gomashio). The right side is simply labeled "HOOCH." You have no idea what liquor is being used as they are just calling it "LIQUID FUNK." I'm in love and commit to ordering the weirdest thing on the menu for the rest of the evening. Being the only sign of humanity down there, members of the staff comes over to chop it up while they pour our drinks. I adore it. It feels like I'm back in San Francisco (I know i keep saying that, but really) - talking about the concepting, having tastes and this and that, getting the scoop on the recipes - which are basically all…. long island ice teas. Someone comes by with a nest of alfalfa and lights it on fire, smoking the drink we've ordered inside. The cocktail tastes like liquid cheddar.
We meet Ash here as well, who knows sourdough and will introduce me to Starter Lab and the name that is in everyone's mouth - Emerson. I never get to meet this guy, the kingpin of Bali sourdough, but meet about 5 people who are in direct contact with him. Tartine ties, the whole bit. Another time! On our thrown of privilege, we consider the disparity in hospitality from region to region - Bali is more of a server/guest dynamic, Singapore is a food and bev lover/ food and bev lover type. I can't stop talking about how impressed I am. And then Ash offers to walk us to our next place - Employee's Only.
I. Love. Employees Only. The one in New York was one of the best nights ever, Kendall and I slurping oysters by the dozen and hosting an open forum on our love of Shania Twain with some boys we just met. Ash delivers us, past the man taking temperatures at the door (who we will later find out is the local…. palm reader….??) and at two chairs next to the….owner of Employees Only. They are playing American classics over the speakers - Staple Sisters, Curtis Mayfield, Bill Withers. I LOVE IT. I order a vesper martini that comes with 3 oysters, we talk about worst dates. I'm belly laughing - it is the drinking scene from It's Complicated. We split the famous and absolutely sensational EO burger and french fries, and for some reason we are given fernet shots (absolutely so so horribly SF). I'm starting to feel like the free drinks everywhere is maybe just a thing...? This place makes me reignite my love (and missing) of home so much right now and I'm so glad I'm with Tommy who gets what that means.
We hit two more bars that come recommended - The Other Roof, for tea infused spirits and a warm breeze (and more free drinks), and Native - which uses only local ingredients from like the forests of Asia or something (and on-the-house sparkling sake - just what we need). It belongs in the Mission and is just for hippies, but probably the only place I will enjoy an miso oyster egg cocktail with a bed of micro herbs floating in it for the rest of my life. We get a look at the distillers upstairs and some more tastes of things I DON'T QUITE RECALL NOW! The adrenaline wears off, I can tell the wall is coming. We catch an Grab home by ordering it on our phones!!!
I wake up, thrilled to be here, and convince myself I am not hungover. Committed to the amenities, I hit the hotel gym with cold towels and apples in a bowl and a water dispenser. I work out on a machine, 38 floors in the sky, and am truly amazed at what humankind has made possible.
Post work out, I get the room to myself while Tommy goes for his own run, and make an entire morning of drinking coffees and minibar orange juice, listening to Aretha, and blow drying my hair. I look in the mirror at the absolute supermodel staring back at me, make Tommy touch it when he gets back and tell me he loves it. For our piece de resistance, breakfast is Starbucks and McDonalds and honestly so good. SO GOOD. Over our Egg McMuffins and lattes, we piece the evening together and acknowledge our love of this ritzy lifestyle and Singapore as a whole but recognize we can not sustain nor afford it. Shortly after this we jaywalk and look up to see a camera watching us and feel like that could be grounds for arresting and maybe it is a good time to leave.
We come up empty handed on a Singapore Chili Crab attempt, which may have been for the best now that I think about it, but get to see downtown and what people wear to work which I like. And this means we get head back to the mothership aka the Jewel for SHAKE SHACKKKKK!!!! I don't remember why (definitely not hungover), but I am insufferable at this point, and the only temporary remedy is that burger and most of Tommy's milkshake. I also find out, despite my best attempts, that I have been accidentally starving Tommy for most of this trip, meaning I have defaulted on one of our two major agreements. The second is not to walk too slow.
The high of the burger wears off immediately, and while sporting my new, bad attitude, I decide it would be a great idea to do what? TRY OUT A NEW PRACTICAL JOKE! While Tommy is staring at a wall of shoes at Nike, I motion to kick the back of his locked knees. If executed correctly, will bring a person DOWN. It has happened to me and will happen again. I don't actually, actually do it, but it DOES open the floor for speculation if I HAD. We determine that if properly executed, Tommy would be PISSED, and I would get in TROUBLE, and then I would CRY, and HE would have to FIX THAT. We gotta get outta here.
Recognizing I am falling apart at the seams, Tommy sweeps up the mess, upgrading me with KLM airlines by saying we are "together" ( me - "…just TRAVELING together…") and into a lounge with a cup of hot noodles like a 5 year old. He brings me a magazine which I leave behind because it's "making me feel bad about myself."
And on the flight home, guess who sits next to me?
🙂