Sorry for the Group Email

When I was a geek teenager, sequestered away in my room with nothing but a drawn pair of curtains and too much time, I idled away many an afternoon with SimCity. My virtual towns always started as idyllic little communes, but as soon as I optimistically started to build towering skyscrapers and the kind of infrastructure befitting a big city, everything would disintegrate. My citizens, until now happy and diligent workers, would run amok in the streets, while the power ran out and the fire station burnt to the ground. Calamity followed improbable tragedy, until I was left with massive debt, no citizens and the niggling notion that being the mayor of a major town may be harder than it looks.

(An impression which led me to considerable worry when I read a few weeks ago that Boris Johnston had been elected to lead London towards the Olympics. Surely the leader of one of Europe’s premier cities should be chosen based on more than the number of times he’s appeared on TV?)

Singapore is what your best possible effort in SimCity would look like if you industriously worked on it for years, conscientiously ignoring friends and family in the pursuit of the perfect digital city.

It gleams. Its skyscrapers brilliantly reflect the hot, almost equatorial, sun, and its streets are meticulously clean of crisp wrappers and McDonald’s bags. Its eight-lane main streets link its districts and most of the time are curiously devoid of traffic; it was the first city in Asia in which we could cross the road without first finding an experienced-looking group of locals to cower behind. We were astonished to note that its drivers take assiduous note of pedestrian crossings, stopping at each one as we crossed. (In Vietnam, it was not unheard of for drivers not only to disregard zebra crossings, which is normal practice for the region, but also to take no notice whatsoever of red traffic lights.)

The road markings look like they were painted on yesterday, which they may well have been, and its public transport is immaculate and efficient. We arrived on the train from Kuala Lumpur. Inexplicably, Singapore’s public transport doesn’t extend as far as the train station (I mean, what were they thinking?), but our taxi glinted in the sun, the driver was talkative, and as soon as he called Malaysian taxi drivers “thieves” I knew we were as close to home as we’d get.

Taxi drivers in Asia vary enormously.

In China they use the meter religiously. In Thailand one taxi driver used the meter with titanic reluctance and then tried to charge us a higher price once we arrived. In Malaysia every taxi has a meter, but there’s a better chance of persuading the driver to sing show tunes while he takes you to your destination than there is of persuading him to use it. We were gouged on taxis in Kuala Lumpur: the second ride we took insisted on stopping for petrol while we waited. The only marvel was that he didn’t charge us for his time.

But our Singaporean driver took us straight to our destination, the meter ticked over slowly, and we paid a grand total of S$7 for the trip.

Of course, if he hadn’t used the meter, he’d probably have been flogged. Singapore might be famed for its cleanliness, but its disciplinary record comes a close second. You can, for instance, be fined S$500 for eating on the train. The same fine applies if you neglect to flush a public toilet. In 1994, an American teenager named Michael Fay from Ohio was caned for vandalising a car, sparking a million messages of support for corporal punishment, an episode of the Simpsons, and a minor diplomatic incident. In the same year, a Dutchman was executed for the possession of just under 5kg of heroin. Chewing gum was banned until recently – even now it’s illegal to sell it.

Our three days passed fast: we visited the Botanical gardens; a vast green space providing refreshment from what is, after all, a city in Asia and as such, extremely hot. We saw the first Ferraris and Porches we’d seen since Europe – Singapore remains an giant influence on the world markets.

We visited Raffles hotel. A former colleague described it before we arrived as “just another hotel”, so we opted to stay in a tiny hostel with no window, an asthmatic air conditioner and a lackadaisical Chinese concierge instead. Still Raffles the hotel looks nice, and we tried a genuine Singapore Sling, the hotel’s trademark concoction of gin and brandy.

It tasted like fruit juice, and judging by the number of them in the hands of other Europeans in the bar, we weren’t the only ones who’d had the idea. The bill was a shock – at nearly a tenner (Sterling) each, a Singapore Sling is one of the most expensive drinks in an 8,000 mile radius.

Singapore was our last stop in continental Asia. Until we crossed the bridge connecting Singapore with Malaysia, we hadn’t been to a country not connected by land to Europe. As we boarded the train in Kuala Lumpur, it was odd to think that, were mechanics, money, red tape and time not issues, we could drive to Portugal without needing a ferry. Indeed, count the Channel Tunnel as a land-based crossing and we could have driven all the way back to London without seeing the inside of a plane or the deck of a boat. (A good thing, given our recent experiences.)

We were, however, off. Singapore’s Changi airport, incidentally, is a beaut of a terminal. It sparkles (obviously) and offers free internet and WiFi. But before we made ourselves comfortable we were guests of Qantas.

Next stop, Bali.

Dave is beginning to suspect he’s a city lad at heart. Except for, you know, the people and the sweating and the traffic.