Staycation at Raffles

The latest thing in vacations is apparently the “staycation”, as my friend Ami told me over lunch at Sakae Sushi. “We had a house full of guests and we just couldn’t take it any more” she whispered over the wasabi. “So we told our guests we had a conference to go to and checked into the Fullerton for a few days”. Well that’s one way to do it! Certainly a staycation is a good idea if you don’t want the expense or hassle of travelling. There’s just one small problem in Singapore – all the hotels (or at least the ones you’d like to stay in) are hideously expensive. Take Raffles at $640 a night. “Yikes” said Dom. “Check out the Fullerton, maybe it’s cheaper”.

I pointed out that Ami is a true Four Seasons girl and doesn’t stay in “cheaper” places, aside from which market forces would surely dictate that the Fullerton could not miraculously be only $50 a night. Of course, I was right. Still, a bit of creative accounting helped to save the day. You see our first (and last) wedding anniversary was spent crunched up in economy class on a 747 between London and Singapore. Not only an uncomfortable experience, but thanks to the time difference we only had half a wedding anniversary.

So the creative accounting goes like this: Raffles Hotel = $640 a night. Add in the cost of dinner in Raffles Grill – cough splutter, $900. Minus Dine at Raffles loyalty deduction, bringing the dinner bill down to a mere $700. Minus value of free bottle of champagne from Raffles (could be anything up to $300 judging from the wine list!). Total bill $640 + $700 - $300 = $1040. Now, since we didn’t have an anniversary do last year $1040/2 = $520. BARGAIN!

To be fair, the staff were excellent and really went out of their way to make our stay special. After dinner we returned to the room to find music playing, the bed covered in rose petals and the aforementioned bottle of bubbly. Raffles is perhaps the most iconic landmark in Singapore and it was great to go beyond Singapore Slings in the Long Bar and get a behind-the-scenes glimpse of life in the first class lane.

http://picasaweb.google.com/dominicherring/RafflesHotel?feat=directlink

Disco Diva Fever

Abba, Earth Wind and Fire and of course, not forgetting Michael Jackson – it was back to the 70’s for Dom’s birthday party as our place got transformed into a disco lounge complete with light show, disco ball and lava lamp. Music courtesy of headline act DJ Spunky Funk Nuts and guest DJ Hootie McBoob. Draw your own conclusions!

A special mention goes to:

Dom – Obviously a special mention for the birthday boy (AKA DJ Funky Spunk Nuts), who pushed the boundaries yet again with his fetching YMCA gay biker look.

Daisy – for being the only person whose wardrobe is bright enough that she didn’t need to visit the fancy dress shop. And for buying the most unique birthday presents – a lamp whose on/off switch is a man’s er…bits – and some finger canapé holders (which doubled up nicely as nipple covers as you can see!)

Kiko – for joining Dom in the gay disco look stakes with a “fabulous darling” Versace-meets-Jay-Manuel number in pink and white. Do take a close look as I’m alarmed to say that those white trousers belong to Imelda!

Sharm – for doing a fine job spinning those tunes while the official DJ’s were partying too hard.

Steve – winner of the “who the hell is that?” award for least recognisable friend. Yeah man, the sequined trousers and black fright-wig were cool, but perhaps not something to wear out down Orchard Road.

Cath – winner of the most elegant and least pissed award, on account of being pregnant. I can only imagine how amusing this party was to a sober person…

Andrew & Miki – winner of the “his n hers” matching outfits award (shame Andrew didn’t go the whole hog with the orange false eyelashes too to finish the look off!)

Mindy – winner of the “best hair” award for that fabulous red barnet.

Shirin – hee hee! There are so many reasons you deserve a mention girl. Unfortunately most of them are not fit to go into print; however you know what you did. (Or do you?!!!)

Last but not least, Jann for helping to clear up. That was a horrible job but someone had to do it...you should have seen the state of the place! The kitchen floor was black and there was salt from the tequila bar all over the marble floor. In fact the only plus point about the clean up was it took my mind off the hangover.

Hmmm...I've just re-read this post and decided our party sounds like some dodgy swingers' do. I really don't know what to say. I'm just reporting it as it happened. All I can say I hope you all turn up to the next party, and I'll be sure to clear out the fruit bowl so you can all throw in your keys.

Link to photos:

http://picasaweb.google.com/dominicherring/DiscoDivas?feat=directlink

Rip-Off Singapore

Open any British newspaper and you’ll more than likely find a story somewhere entitled “Rip-off Britain”. Apparently the Brits have such a tough lot that they can barely set foot outside their front door without getting ripped off. Whether it’s the petrol that goes into their cars or the electricity that comes out of their sockets, everything – and I mean everything - is designed to suck the cash from their wallets in record-breaking quantities. Of course it helps that the Brits are a nation of moaners – and god knows, between Gordon Brown and the weather, there’s plenty to moan about.

Now of course I have lived in Britain, so I have a certain amount of sympathy for the nation’s gripes. I too have suffered at the hands of the tax system, duly handing over my 40% for Mr Brown to lavish on public sector pensions, MP’s floating duck houses - or whatever the latest thing is. And I too have marvelled at how the petrol in my car could cost more, litre for litre, than Evian. But I’ve got to tell you, Britain is not alone in rip-off land.

The past few weeks have felt a bit like Groundhog Day here in Singapore. Don’t ask me why but suddenly the answer to everything is $2,000. Dental check-up with a bit of work? That’ll be $2,000 please, says the dentist, giving me the big smile with the virtual “Ding” of his pearly whites. Hmm, do you think you could just pass me that drill over there? Maybe I’ll have a crack at sorting my own fillings out, thanks all the same.

The latest one was even better. I have a small lump on my head, officially known as a sebaceous cyst. For the past couple of years the cyst and I have happily co-existed, but then it started to grow and now it’s getting kind of annoying when I brush my hair. I was under the illusion that the doctor would just stick a needle in it and drain out the gunk, but no - apparently that’s not the way to do it. The thing has to be surgically removed. Which has caused much hilarity when dealing with various hospitals I can tell you (mention your head and the receptionist will instantly refer you to neurosurgery!).

Anyway I digress…“Do you have any preference on hospital?” the doctor asked casually, before smoothly saying “Or I can just refer you to our usual hospital.” Jeez! If I had realised he meant “Shall I refer you to our hospital, which is the Concorde of hospitals in Singapore and will cost you, quite literally, an arm and a leg?” then I would have said no. As it was, I visited the hospital (which shall remain nameless) and tried not to laugh when they presented me with a quote for - yes, that’s right - $2,000. Let’s get this into context. This is for a five minute operation to remove a small lump under local anesthetic. Unbelievably if you want a general the price is $4,000!

Well call me suspicious but I just couldn’t stomach the bill for this one, and I had a sneaking suspicion our medical insurance company wouldn’t be too chuffed either. So I called another hospital and guess what? Same procedure: $750. Aiyoh!!! I tell you sometimes I think these places see you coming – the expat and their big fat cheque book. Clearly it pays to shop around.

Which is more than can be said for my next rip-off experience, which was brought to my attention by the jet-setting pensioners back in Blighty. “We’ve had a fantastic promotion through from Singapore Airlines” my Mother said. Indeed it was: Return flights from London to Singapore from only £295. Oh goody I thought, as we are planning a trip back to the UK later on this year. Surely the fares from Singapore would be similar…

So I keyed in the flight dates to fly from London to Singapore and back, coming up with a bargain price of £567. However when I keyed in the exact same dates from Singapore to London return, guess what? Yep – no surprises for guessing the punch line folks…$2000. (Well actually, before Singapore Airlines sues me, the exact price was $1970, but what’s thirty bucks between friends?).

At the current exchange rate $1970 works out to be a whopping £820. Even based on pre-financial crisis exchange rates it works out as £729. Either way, it’s a lot more than £567 and I was sufficiently curious to e-mail Singapore Airlines and ask them why it’s 45% more expensive to fly out of Singapore than London. And here’s what they said:

“With regards to your queries on the difference of local promotional faresonline comparing to London's promotional fares. Please allow us to explainthat the promotional fares will be base on the originating city that youwill be flying from. Hence, you will not be able to enjoy promotionalfares offered by London due you will be originating out from Singapore.Singapore Airlines does not share the same promotionalfares for every stations. We seek your kind understanding on this matter”.

Well yes, I think I do understand this matter - no thanks to your English, mind you! Clearly, when I buy a ticket for Singapore Airlines, I’m subsidizing a bunch of poor credit-crunched little lambs from England to come on a cheap holiday to Singapore and prop up the tourism industry here by spending the rest of the money that they never had in the first place.

So what can I say? Well, first of all you Brits should be grateful that even though the NHS* is a bit rubbish, at least it’s free. Oh, and if you fancy coming to see us, now is a great time to bag a bargain flight!

* National Health Service - much maligned (but free!) healthcare system of the UK.

Dalmatian Surprise

The walled city of Dubrovnik

Rewind twenty years or more and you would find my family taking our summer holidays in Yugoslavia. From the perfectly mirrored lakes and mountains of Slovenia to the rugged beaches and azure-blue seas of the Adriatic along the Croatian coastline, Yugoslavia really had it all. And of course, it had the big plus of being somewhere that the Chavs (or Ah Bengs) of this world didn’t even know about, let alone visit.

The milestones of those halcyon days could be as minor as deciding whether to have Ćevapčići or wiener schnitzel for lunch, or – on one memorable occasion – reaching the summit of what should have been Slovenia’s Mount Vogel, only to discover that we had climbed up mount Shijah. (Fair enough – satellite navigation didn’t exist back then, but even now it does, my Dad is surely the only person in the world who could end up on Chiswick High Street en route from Swindon to Hull).

Some of my best childhood memories of Yugoslavia are from the Croatian islands. Okay, infrastructure was not a strong point (the water in the hotels had an uncanny knack of cutting off just as you put the shampoo on your hair); but the irresistible combination of pine-needles, beach and barbecued seafood made up for it. I remember local boys fishing in the harbour, hauling in huge piles of small fish with nothing more sophisticated than a bit of catgut and a fishhook. Once a week, a big storm would whip up the sea, sending huge white plumes of spray crashing over the harbour walls and providing ideal conditions for me and my brother to engage in a game of “lilo wars”.

Year after year we returned to Yugoslavia, and year after year we left with good memories and full bellies. Nothing, it seemed, could diminish the brilliance of the sun, the clarity of the sea or the peachy terracotta of the roof tiles. As the piano music played and we danced on the plush palm-fringed terrace of Lopud’s Grand Hotel, Yugoslavia seemed invincible. But at the same time, there was no escaping the rising tensions in the region. Over time, political unrest sent the currency wildly out of control, as evidenced by the increasing size of the waiters’ wallets each year, not to mention the landmark issue of the million Dinar note.

In later years we heard raised voices in the kitchens – rapidly garbled Yugoslavian and smashed plates all around. Who can say whether this was the prelude to the violence; although I think we all knew that our final trip to the island of Brac would be our last for some time. Shortly afterwards, civil war gripped the country and Yugoslavia was wiped off the map for good. In the short-term at least, tourism was dead.

Like a cracked plate, the former Yugoslavia rose from the war in a fractured state - Bosnia Herzegovina, Serbia and Croatia held together in the new and fragile glue of peace. But you’ve got to wonder – when you’ve seen a place bombed to bits on the TV, whether it will ever be the same again. Which is why, given a choice of exotic possibilities across the world (and okay, knowing we were about to move to Singapore) that I chose Croatia for our honeymoon.

We stayed in Dubrovnik, whose ancient city walls took the brunt of the bombs, and we also visited Lopud, the island which gives me fond memories of lilo wars in the Adriatic, a trek through the pine trees to possibly the most gorgeous beach in the world, Sunj, and my mother begging a local woman (in “sign language”) for loan of a hosepipe to rinse her shampoo-covered head. And well - the good news is, it’s still great! Walk the walls of Dubrovnik and you can see the tell-tale scars of the war – the steps whose slate and mortar are too new to blend in. But by and large, it’s all still there and it’s as charming as ever.

Even Lopud was pretty much the same, stone for stone, as I remembered it aged eight. All except for one stark reminder – The Grand Hotel, the five star resort which took centre-stage on the beach. Once a five-star paradise it was now a boarded-up ruin whose impressive front steps were now used to store canoes. The once impressive palm trees which lined the hotel’s path were now dead and the plush terrace – or what I could see of it – full of broken timber. Was the Grand a victim of war or other circumstances? Who knows, but it cut a very sad sight through an otherwise unchanged island.

So you might be wondering what on earth this has to do with Singapore. Well yes, there is a point – eventually. And that point is Baked Alaska. Okay, I can see I’ve lost you again, so let me explain. Once a fortnight, when staying in the Dalmatian region of Yugoslavia – i.e. the Croatian islands – every hotel had a Dalmatian evening. This involved a huge eight course dinner starting off with soup, building up through various courses of fish, wiener schnitzel and meat. The grand finale was always a procession of chefs carrying baked Alaska around the restaurant – an ice-cream log encased in a sponge layer covered with meringue and topped with upturned broken egg shells burning a spectacular fire of brandy.

By the time the baked Alaska came around I always felt like I was about to explode. Such was the feeling when Dom and I went to Shirin’s 30th birthday dinner at Xi Yan. This is a place where the rich and famous of Singapore go and I can see why. The menu – wow! Jellyfish and salmon wasabi sashimi, somehow much more tender than the instant jellyfish I got out of the packet at Cold Storage. Followed by some sort of salted egg tofu, deep fried oysters, delicious beansprout salad and my personal favourite – spicy basil clams with rice cakes.

At this stage I was getting very full, but still to come – pork and crab roe lion’s head (which thankfully didn’t contain a lion’s head!) and duck and lychee curry. Then – just in case were still hungry - deep fried fish - Thai-style with pomelo, bizarre but tasty pear and chicken soup, bitter gourd and finally gorgeously sweet tofu ice-cream with pandan rice. As if this wasn’t enough, Alvin had requested a birthday cake for Shirin. No prizes for guessing what it was – yes, baked Alaska…….!

Impressive menu

Dom lapping it all up

Spicy basil clams with rice cakes



Lion's head soup

Duck and lychee curry

Deep fried fish with pomelo

Sugar cane sorbet with rose petal

Shirin & Alvin getting stuck in

Melvyn & Dom

Tofu ice-cream with coconut rice

Baked alaska!

Batam

Batam - oh Batam! When we told people about our long weekend trip to Batam, you could say the response was mixed: “a poor man’s Bintan”; “full of kiddy fiddlers” and “I hope you stay somewhere better than the dump I stayed at on Batam!” were just some of the comments we had. Then again, some of our friends had a great trip to Batam’s Harris resort, which got the thumbs up for keeping the kids entertained.

For the uninitiated, Batam is an Indonesian island an hour’s ferry trip away from Singapore, and it’s fair to say it doesn’t quite have the upmarket reputation of its neighbour and competitor, Bintan. Well, now we have visited both, here’s the verdict!

An immediate plus-point for Batam is that you can get the ferry from Harbourfront, which is a 5 minute taxi ride away from our house. No trekking for 45 minutes over to Tanah Merah ferry terminal as you do for Bintan. But here’s a definite minus point for Batam – the Batam ferry has absolutely no frills. There are no refreshments, no announcements of the different stops and scant explanation of the boarding or immigration procedures. In short, it’s not a first class - or even an economy class -experience.

The roads in Batam win our prize for “worst Asian roads yet”. It’s taken some doing, but after trekking deep into the Malaysian interior and seeing the worst India, Thailand and Vietnam have to offer, Batam still comes out on top. Every few yards our taxi had to swerve to the other side of the road to avoid potholes the size of duck ponds. It took 15 minutes to get from the ferry port to the hotel; a journey which in truth should have taken only 5 minutes.

After navigating about 20 huge potholes we turned up a narrow mud track surrounded by tropical foliage. The track took the definition of potholes to a new level, reminding me of the muddy lane to the house I used to share with my good friend Paula in deepest darkest Sussex. (Let’s just say I nearly wrote off her car and she, in turn, ran over the vicar’s cat. Okay, these events might not be completely correlated to the bumpiness of the track, but you get the general idea).

Just as I was thinking it was all a huge scam and we were about to be horribly murdered in the Indonesian outback, the dirt track turned to tarmac and we pulled up at a plush looking place. Tempat Senang is a boutique resort with only 6 rooms, each taking a different Asian theme. As the owner – Jasmine - told us, there’s nothing much to do there other than relax, eat and drink, have spa treatments and play golf at the Indah Puri golf course next door. In that one sentence, Jasmine instantly removed our guilt about doing anything - which was just as well really.

On the first night we played it safe – the infamous Beer-butt chicken (roasted chicken with a can of beer stuffed up its backside) for dinner at the resort. On our second night we fancied a trip out to a local seafood restaurant. Our taxi journey took us across new and unimaginable potholes. I’m not joking – down by the Harris resort, the road looked like a scene from Jurrasic park after a Tyrannosaurus Rex has just sauntered along.

Eventually we pulled up at a less than salubrious looking waterfront, where we had a good and cheap, if Basil-Fawlty-esque, meal. Somehow all our orders seemed to get mixed up with those of the tables next to us. I’m still not sure that a small mixed veg is supposed to contain chicken, prawns and tofu, but as I said to Dom, best to hide the evidence quickly - by eating it.

After the meal the adventure really began. We had been told to stick with the same taxi driver, and pay him only on return to the hotel (which made sense – give him some motivation to drive us back!). Anyway, long story short, after the meal, the cabbie had vanished. We searched high and low down all the side streets (and may I just say that I don’t know what Batam looks like by day, but by night it looked like a right dump! Visual appeal: Bintan 1: Batam 0). Eventually we settled for another cab, dreading cabbie 1 turning up at our hotel room demanding his money.

The following day, still fearful of reprisals, we fessed up to the reception guy at the hotel, who told us it was all fine. Apparently Cabbie 1 had to go for petrol, so entrusted his friend to take us home. Hmmm… maybe that is genuinely what happened or maybe reception guy was just trying to make us feel better and Cabbie 1 is still out there, incensed and looking out for two hapless Singaporean tourists who diddled him out of $15.

If you’re less adventurous than us you could happily while away your time at the resort. True enough, there’s not much to do other than relax by the pool or sip gin and tonics in one of the colonial style armchairs in the lounge. But the real benefit here is the personal service. No fighting it out here for the last sausage on the breakfast buffet like the bigger resorts in Bintan. As there are only 6 rooms here, it’s service with a smile all the way. And if you’re looking for a golf or spa break, what can I say? The spa was amazing and the golf course is right next door.

Overall, Batam doesn’t have quite the same all-round appeal as Bintan, but if all you want is total R&R I would highly recommend a visit to Tempat Senang. And in these recession busting times, I should point out that the Batam trip cost only half as much as our trip to Bintan.

Resort website:
http://www.tempatsenang.com/

Golf course website:
http://www.indahpuri.com/

Link to photos:
http://picasaweb.google.com/dominicherring/Batam?feat=directlink

Traveller beware: Batam Ferries bizarre rules on

making a claim for injury. Can you be less than 100% dead?!

Mega Picnic II

It’s been over a year since the last mega picnic so it was time for another visit to the botanical gardens. Thankfully it didn’t rain, although it was possibly the hottest, most humid and airless day I have ever experienced in Singapore. So perfect for an energetic game of Frisbee then…

http://picasaweb.google.com/dominicherring/MegaPicnic2?feat=directlink

Going Commando

Boot Camp was the theme for the latest fancy dress party to celebrate Daisy's birthday (and mine, since it's only a couple of days later!). Daisy put on a fantastic army-themed party complete with camouflage table-cloths and a ration box containing personalised mess tins. Now before you ask, Dom nearly went in drag...he was going to be a chick to entertain the troops. To avoid being predictable though he went as a commando instead. Judge the success of this strategy for yourselves! In fact, please vote in the poll at the top right of the page... All I can say is it's a good job our friends took lots of photos since I have managed to delete all of mine accidentally (grrr!). I have only posted a few here but the rest are on Facebook.

Pte Muscleman Keith and Pte Ling Ling get ready for their rations.

Inside the girls' dorm


Would you be afraid of these men?!

Bomb squad: dealing with an exploding bottle of champers