If there was one thing I’ve heard about Singapore, it’s that it’s one of, if not THE safest places in the world. Good news for a female traveller. Just the thought of not having to check frantically on travel forums and with traveller friends about dicey neighbourhoods had already scored this city a brownie point in my books. Shoving two weeks’ worth of clothes into my trusted luggage, I had uttered a silent prayer of thanks for the extra space I was saving from not having to bring any bulky warm clothing. With its cheery weather hovering in its late 20s to early 30s (degrees Celcius), it’s perpetual summer in Singapore. Aside from frequent showers, the weather really doesn’t change drastically, to the point that one famous local comedian once spoofed the weather report on TV. The weather forecast was unnecessary, the weather having stayed the same for the last hundred years, and will remain the same for the next hundred. To not have to look like the abominable snowman while on vacation is an uplifting thought.
After breezing through immigration, luggage in hand, a very efficient middle‐aged lady dressed in a peculiarly masculine uniform waved me towards a convoy of shiny cabs, assigning me to number 2. Number 2 was a bespectacled man in his 50s, who swiftly whisked me to the Naumi Hotel on Purvis Street, the heart of the city that has managed to retain a chunk of its old world charm. Now, Singapore is reputed to have some of the best hotels in the world, but after much consideration, and through the subtle nudging of my family to whom safety is a priority, the Naumi won out for its Ladies Floor. Adapting a concept that could have only originated from the unabashedly innovative Japanese, the Ladies Floor works somewhat on the same principle as the ladies‐only carriage on the Tokyo subway. Located on the sixth floor of this 10‐storey boutique hotel, only women (and only women who have booked these special rooms, at that) are allowed access to the feminine Eden that awaits behind the security glass door. Not that that’s the only thing about this trés modern establishment that would swing my vote. Once through, any self‐respecting girly girl would be happy with the little niceties ensconced in the avant garde room. Spying the coterie of Aesop toiletries, I let out a silent squeal. How were these evil geniuses to know that my
skin, hair and body have grown dependent on the good graces of this Melbournian beauty brand, famous for its no‐frills but terribly coveted dark glass bottles and its from‐nature‐only formulations.
Safety, check.
Unrivalled pampering, check.
Feeling a smug one‐upmanship over the stronger gender, check check check!
Throwing my tired, 20‐hour travel‐worn body onto the reading couch, I flick flippantly
through the bevy of fashion and lifestyle magazines fanned out on the wooden coffee table. An ad for Spa Botanica catches my eye and I press the button for the concierge to make me an appointment for A Tropical Glow the very next day. Three hours of being scrubbed, seasoned, wrapped like a burrito and rubbed down like a turkey about to be shoved in the oven for Thanksgiving. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Sentosa is an island of about 5 square kilometres that lies just half a kilometre away from the Southern point of mainland Singapore. Blessed with lush greenery, and packed to brimming with activities, it’s the Coney Island of Singapore, without the freaks and the old‐fashioned carnival, and a whole lot of buzz. Almost strangely, family‐oriented activities are juxtaposed with raucous beach parties and beach bars that are nothing more than meat markets. You’d just as soon see bikini‐clad lasses on rollerblades as you would an 8‐strong family from gramps to toddler cooing at sea creatures at the Underwater World. By day, you’ll see tourists and local families crowding the attractions, and an equal amount of sun worshippers. By night, it’s a party zone, famed for hosting beach parties and dance festivals. The country’s top dance club, Zouk holds its annual alcohol‐
soaked beach party here. British DJ and eclectic music guru Gilles Peterson also brought his famed Worldwide Festival here, lock, stock and barrel.
“It’s like getting drunk and disorderly under watchful eyes. Government‐endorsed sleaze,” remarked my Singaporean friend Louis.
Spa Botanica, that temple of bliss at which I’ve got a 12 o’clock, is tucked deep inside Sentosa island. I admit, it was a tad ambitious of me to think I could cover the whole of Sentosa before sinking back to enjoy my day of utter pampering at Spa Botanica. It’s a quarter to 11 and I’m thinking of cramming two days’ worth of sightseeing and activities in one morning? I throw my arms up over my head, hug the back of my chair and with a lazy yawn, decide to head straight for the spa. Sentosa can wait. Right now, I want to be pampered like a toy poodle on Hollywood Boulevard.
Tonight I meet my one and only Singaporean girl friend, Louis. Louis is a high‐flying magazine editor and bonafide girl‐about‐town, though you’d be hard pressed to get her to admit to that title. We’ve arranged to meet in a slightly far‐flung location in the West end of the island, in a neighbourhood known as Bukit Timah. The restaurant is a tiny alfresco number lodged in the converted remains of the Old Bukit Timah Fire Station. Now, I know this isn’t exactly local fare – and god knows I’ve heard endless fables about how people have come back from Singapore with tastebuds that were never quite the same again simply because they’ve experienced a whole new dimension of taste – but it had all the makings of a great locale at which to wine and dine with a long‐lost girlfriend. Housed in a former fire station chicly remade as Spectra, a new hub for arts and outdoor activity businesses, Raw Kitchen Bar looks like a wood‐and‐brick shed, given the distressed chic makeover by a rather cool lick of stark white paint, simple wooden chairs and tables, and an courtyard quadrangle for alfresco dining. The one‐page menu, we were told by the chef/owner patrolling around casually, changes ever so often.
Our dinner – crabmeat rigatoni, fish and chips, and duck salad – is alright. Good, but not ‘scream to the heavens, kiss the ground in awe’ great. This little shed of a restaurant, on the other hand, was a lovely little place to kick back with a few cocktails and listen to what your friend, the social skipper determined to show me a good time round her city, had to say about being a single female in this otherwise very promising spot on the map. And seriously, after knocking back a few caipirinhas, Louis’ chattering had disintegrated into a low‐pitched drone. The quaint little outhouse
toilet makes me think twice about putting my order in for more fancy cocktails, though. With its proximity to the dinner tables, I could’ve sworn every man and his brother could hear my subtle tinkling activities. But back to my friend’s droning…she is telling me about this equally charming verdant place on a hill called Dempsey Road.
Not too many years ago, it was nothing but a cluster of abandoned army barracks. Now it’s been spruced up to become one of the city’s most bustling areas for fancy restaurants, wine bars and – this is now a catchy Singaporean trend, blame it on the sheer number of affluent expatriates in the country – gourmet grocery shops‐cum‐bistros. Out of this stable of goodie huts, Jones The Grocer and Culina are the two most prominent and frequented of the pack. Each installed in a converted army shed with a magnificently high ceiling criss‐crossed with raw wooden beams, the two rival fine food purveyors stretched out linearly, right across from the other. The pedestrian sidewalk outside Jones the Grocer is peppered with couples, families and groups of brunching friends. Stepping inside the cavernous premises, I am immediately thrilled by the long stretches of tables enclosing a mammoth serving station, an island piled high with the day’s fresh bakes. Puffs of sweet meringues of every pastel colour imaginable. Marshmallow‐studded rich milk chocolate rocky road chunks. Giant muffins in the flavours du jour – today it is a sweet confection of mixed autumn berries. Black‐aproned wait staff buzz around busily, haphazardly Baristas drag cups of cappuccino, latte and shots of aromatic espresso from the coffee machines. I take my time browsing through each and every overhead metal shelf, sifting through multiple flavours of homemade jam, chutneys, rare spices and truffle oil. I’ve got all the time in the world. A darkish chamber lies at the back of this gourmet temple – a damp, ranky cold room encased in heavy tinted glass and reeking of brine and
mould. Wheel upon wheel of artisan cheese assaults my senses as I wander, mouth agape, into this veritable vault of cheese. The fromagerie, the cheese man is quick to explain, is temperature and humidity‐controlled. All the better to store these delicate cheeses at their best and allow them to ripen naturally to their peak.
With quick sliver tastings here, and a pointed finger there, together the fromage expert and I assemble a custom cheese board just for me. Four cheeses – the Manchego, a semi‐hard sheep’s milk cheese made from the milk of Manchego sheep in Spain; the soft, velvety and pungent Colten Basset Stilton, made from cow’s milk in just seven diaries in the Midland counties of England; the Brie de Nangis, a buttery French cheese with the aromas of mushrooms and black truffles; and the English Farmhouse Cheddar, a sharp hard cheese that’s firm while being curiously crumbly. Cheese guy also dumps a mound of wobbly, jelly‐like quince paste, some dried figs and little bread toasties on the wooden cheese platter.
Looking around as I slowly devour my cheese, I give myself a mental pat on the head for not succumbing to the cafe menu. A lady seated to my left at the communal, canteen‐like table, screws up her face at the sight of her bacon‐wrapped chicken breast, and I understand why without even having to ask. For prices that hovered close to that of a good restaurant, her main course was barely enough to satisfy the appetite of a child.
But that’s the thing I’ve noticed about dining out in Singapore . The stingy portions often do no justice to the price they’re charging for the food. And so people complain. Then when they’re served portions that they should be served, women practically whine about being dumped portions they can’t finish. But more of that later. For now, I’m just glad I stayed away from the almost non‐existent chicken.
HER INDEX
SHE SHOPS
The Hansel Shop, 39 Stamford Road, #01‐02 Stamford House, tel: 6337 0992, www.ilovehansel.com
Hours: Mon – Sat 11.30am – 8.30pm, Sun 12pm – 6pm
Get there: Nearest MRT City Hall
One of the best Singaporean designers around, Hansel’s pieces are girly but always quirky. The average girl could very well wear Hansel, but never quite pull off its slightly off‐kilter approach. This under‐the‐radar label recently got mainstream attention when Katy Perry was seen in one of its dresses gatecrashing a high school formal in Melbourne.
She Eats
Culina Enoteca & Gourmet Boutique, Block 8 Dempsey Road, #01‐13 Dempsey Hill, tel: 6474 7338,
www.culina.com.sg
Hours: Enoteca: Sun – Thu 11am – 9pm, Fri – Sat 11am – 11pm
Gourmet Boutique: Mon – Thu 10am – 9pm, Fri – Sun 9am – 9pm
Get there: Cab
The first half of Culina is an enoteca, a wine library to sells wines at fairly decent price tags and serves casual food at not‐so‐modest prices. Its island bar lists various wines of the day, available by the full glass, or in tiny tasting portions. The gourmet boutique is fabulous for its rare veggies, raw prime meat cuts and selection of wine accompaniments.
Jones The Grocer, Dempsey Hill, Block 9, #01‐12 Dempsey Road, tel: 6476 1512
Mandarin Gallery, 333a Orchard Road, Level 4, #21‐23, tel: 6836 6372
www.jonesthegrocer.com
Hours: Mon 9am – 6pm, Tuesday – Sun 9am – 11pm
Get there: Cab
Packed for weekend brunches, Jones is best in the hours between mealtimes. Their cookbook and candy section, on the east side, is lovely, and rather underrated.
Raw Kitchen Bar, Spectra, 276 Upper Bukit Timah Road, tel: 6467 3987
www.rawkitchenbar.com; reservations recommended.
Hours: Tue – Sun 6pm till late, dinner only.
Get there: Cab
Cute, casual and just the place to make you feel all newly‐hip. As far as the weather permits, ask for a table outside in the courtyard.
SHE CHILLS
Spa Botanica, 2 Bukit Manis Road, Sentosa, tel: 6371 1318, www.spabotanica.com, reservations
recommended
Hours: Daily 10am – 10pm
Get there: Complimentary shuttle buses from Paragon every two hours, and from Vivo City every half hour.
It really is a destination in itself, with a spa garden that contains a labyrinth (for mind‐reflecting walks), mud pool (for making like hippos and slathering on skin‐caring mud) and a freeform rock pool tucked underneath a gushing waterfall. This is the real reason why you should check in at least 30 minutes before your treatment, not just because you don’t want to miss any treatment time.
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