It may be true that everything in Singapore happens for a reason but it doesn't necessarily mean that you have to enjoy it.
Robert Leveson, The Telegraph 15 Feb 10;
More than once have I walked into walls in Singapore. I am not an idiot – well, at least I don’t think so, but then I suppose that most idiots don’t – and I have a valid reason. They were artificial ones: the kind of flimsy, freshly painted cardboard jobs that signal a change in the built environment of some kind and I wasn't expecting them to be there.
Usually it happens when I am out to eat. In Asia, most people eat out. The late evening rush hour – 6.45 to 7.20, I can be that precise within the CBD (or central business district, to those of us who prefer words) – combines a simple abundance of establishments to allow for dining at someone else’s table. I bought a wok when I arrived here over two years ago – but I have yet to unwrap it. I digress. On many sultry evenings, while swimming through the clean but heavy air, I have had to change my dinner plans because my restaurant has gone without even saying goodbye.
Living in Britain for most of my life, a nation that prides itself on the preservation and incremental change of its institutions, I am unused to continuous change. Not only do I work in one of those stable professions – teaching – and consider history a passion but I am also rather conservative by nature. I had an image of orderly Singaporeans quietly going about their fixed daily lives in my mind when I accepted my job here, flying out soon after on Boxing Day, 2007.
Since I arrived, though, I have seen the place transform. It’s a nation in perpetual motion. I live on the 12th floor of what was once the tallest apartment block in Asia. It is regarded as ancient – but it ain’t, unless 1972 is viewed as a part of the medieval period – and unique. Its horse-shoe shaped construction provides a perfect funnel for rising winds, cleverly air-conditioning the building. It will soon be up for sale and is almost inevitably going to be replaced.
In common with the billion and a half people of the great, red motherland to the north – the population is ethnically around three quarters Chinese – Singaporeans seem to view most things as transitory or dispensable. And why shouldn’t they? This dot on the map (my students were most perturbed when they failed to spot it at all on a map recently) supports 5 million souls, most of whom appear to be constantly standing in front of me. But with no natural resources, this nation has made its location and convenience its badge. It is change or die.
In 1819, when Raffles strode confidently onto the shores of a tiny island hugged by the equator, the place was a jungle. There was an exhibition recently at the National Museum that documented the history of Singapore in paintings and pictures and I realised how colonial eyes must have widened at the lush greenery before them. A few huts here and there, more than a few tigers crouching in the undergrowth, an island 25 per cent smaller than it is now (thanks to the wonders of reclaimed land). The greenery remains and this is truly a garden city. I go to sleep at night to the sound of the jungle (the park next door helps). But it is managed and orderly now, placed conveniently where it is needed. Nothing in Singapore happens by accident.
Change has its upside – convenience. You’re never too far from air-conditioning here, or somewhere to eat, or a taxi or an escalator, or a helpful citizen ready to assist you if you stand around looking stupid for long enough (there’s that idiot thing, again). If something’s too much trouble, it’s soon made easier. In some ways, it’s a revolutionary place. Plans are constantly drawn up and followed.
As Raffles did, so Singaporeans do. He had everything grouped, labelled and organised. The mouth of the river has changed beyond recognition. Three towers now reach for the sky in Marina bay, apparently balancing some sort of giant surfboard on their tips. They weren’t there when I arrived. Nor was the Formula 1 track – well, it was but it was and still is my bus route. The view from the Esplanade Theatre and Concert Hall (those twin durians were only finished in 2005) now takes in a flourishing new quay. I won’t even begin to describe what has happened to Orchard Road.
Similarly there was a huge food court (a staple here) outside my apartment complex when I moved in. Last year it disappeared while I was on holiday. I was most distressed to see the dumper trucks and diggers arrive soon after but overjoyed when they left a vast expanse of grass in their wake. They had put the park land back.
Shops have changed bi-monthly on occasions, in part I am sure due to uncertain economic climates. But, as Lee Kuan Yew (ex-PM, mentor and "father" of the nation) said to Singapore Airlines in the 1970s – "You’re on your own; sink or swim". People get chances here and they have to grab them quickly.
Much has been preserved too. I have never been anywhere with such shiny buildings. The heritage constructs are either painted bright pastel colours or as white as meringue. You could almost eat the Asian Civilisations Museum. Streets, trees and homes, all are beautifully maintained and mess is eliminated – in Singapore, you’re never more than a few feet from a mop. It is perhaps a glimpse of the future.
For someone brought up to think of change as not having pasta on a Wednesday night, it’s a lot to get used to.
