Here I Go Again

Guess I'll have to get around to changing the Life in Hong Kong subtitle and picture. I'll add that to the list. First things first.

So, where have you been?

It's not as if Singapore is a giant black hole that sucked me into it, almost never to be heard from again - or is it? Some days, I wonder. We've been here almost two months and I'm forgetting all the details I would have written if I had written but they're starting to come back to me, and I probably haven't written because I've been distracted by the hassles of settling in and I would just be detailing my frustrations, which would be no fun to read. With a little time (or a lot) I can laugh about those frustrations. Really, I can. Haha. Ha.

I'll stick with chronology and start from the beginning - the end of Hong Kong. After all our things were packed we stayed for three nights at the Island Shangri-La Hotel which was quite lovely. It was about a 10-minute walk from our apartment and it made me feel better not to stay too far from "home" so I could kid myself that life in HK would go on as usual. But on Sunday morning there was in fact a plane waiting.

We arrived in Singapore late in the afternoon and checked into our serviced apartment, The Ascott. We had three choices of residence and I chose this place because it was closest to Paul's office, one train stop, and also because it was very close to an apartment building we had previously seen and were still considering. Soon after arrival we walked outside to find a bite to eat and the neighborhood was desolate. Picture tumbleweeds blowing by, but it's so humid here they would be palm fronds. We ate terrible food at Harry's, a chain pub that you can't walk two blocks without running into here, simply because it was open. The area around Raffles Place and The Ascott is part of the business district so I suppose it would be like trying to find life on a Sunday evening in NYC's Financial District. I'm happy that one decision was made so early and so easily. We were no longer interested in living there.

The Ascott was a comfortable and attractive residence with a few more amenities than we had back in our temporary housing days in HK. Though one thing that seriously irked me is that we had a studio apartment. It hadn't troubled me until I became aware that one of Paul's coworkers, a single guy, had a one bedroom. Another had a two bedroom. The efforts of our team of relocation specialists shine once again. There was also a rooftop pool but there was no chance I would use it. It was a long, narrow lap pool, too deep to stand in, and the walls were clear glass. It was essentially a human aquarium. No thanks. I did sit by it on several afternoons if I had nothing else to do while waiting for housekeeping to do their thing.

There was a washer/dryer which I most certainly did use since the laundry service cost about $10 per shirt. Ha. There was also room service at exorbitant prices. Made me miss the old Peach Blossom serviced apartment days back in Hong Kong with its ridiculously cheap dinners (and laundry service). I burnt myself twice while ironing Paul's shirts. One burn on my thumb is till visible from weeks ago. Call me a housewife, but I could use help on the house part.

Within two weeks my stomach realized it was being moved around Asia again and it staged a revolt. I awoke feeling unwell on a day I was supposed to meet up with some expat gals for the first time. I hoped the nausea, dizziness and chills would ease if I lay down but the pain only intensified. I held out for a couple of hours since I'm developing a complex about how many times I've needed emergency medical care while living out here, but I finally gave in and had Paul call a doctor for me. This made me feel weak, but after the alien that lived in my gut for nearly two months last summer upon return from Borneo and the digestive misery (and hospital visits) it caused me, I decided to counter-attack quickly this time.

I took a taxi to a nearby hospital and I saw a doctor fairly quickly, although it felt like an eternity. I was not impressed by his diagnostic questions. He only asked of some symptoms and how long I'd been in Singapore, not if I ate anything suspect, or where else I've traveled or if this has ever happened before. He said it was likely food-related. His words of comfort, "Oh, this will probably happen a few times while you're here," as he wrote the prescription for antibiotics. Doctors can be disappointingly predictable. I had to ask for something for the pain, as if he couldn't see I was in any. He had me wait around for over an hour to see if it lessened. It hardly did, but my choice was to go home and deal with it or stay overnight, so I went home and continued to vomit up the bile in my empty stomach. The cramps became sharper at times but less constant and I managed a few spoonfuls of a $15 bowl of chicken broth. It took about three days and little by little I felt better. I wish I could say I ate something I knew I shouldn't have, but I'm still left guessing at what got me this time. Asia. My tour of its hospitals continues.

Fortunately, I was better by Easter so Paul and I were able to continue our tradition of the last three years: Champagne brunch buffet. It was a fine treat.

Next on General Hospital... house hunting, blind friending, Citibank-hating and some observations on Singapore. Preview: it's hot. I threw a rock at the equator today.