Singapore: A Night in the Projects

I had promised last week a comprehensive tour of the 10 Courts of Hell, however, fire, brimstone and unspeakable horrors will have to wait. Instead, I'd like to share with you what was arguably the most exciting and enriching experience for me thus far in Singapore.
Even more exciting than the time our bus driver shifted into reverse and plowed into the taxi that was tailgating us.

You see, Laura and I have settled into a neighbourhood north of the bustling business district and shopping centre, trading in the luxurious comforts of the Copthorne Orchid Hotel and the mega-malls of Orchard Road for life in the 'burbs, insofar as anywhere in Singapore might be considered a 'burb. As it so happens,our condominium complex is actually situated directly across from a whole slew of HDB (Housing Development Board) apartments, or referred affectionately by me as the "projects," through which we must pass through each day to and from work. The projects, which house primarily those of the working class and lower-middle class, are in many ways the real centres of community in most of Singapore, as literally thousands of people in even one development work, shop, celebrate cultural events and practice Tai Chi all in a very small, concentrated area. It is important to note that, while not uncommon for foreigners to live in the projects, very few actually do.

This brings us back to the story. The other night, as Laura and I were heading down the street towards the the hawker stalls near our apartment, we passed by an HDB building that a colleague of mine had mentioned had a recycling bin (something of a rare sighting here in Singapore). Although I have no real proof to back me up here, recycling in Singapore is nothing short of a thinly disguised sham, as those buildings that even offer a recycling program rarely if ever collect recyclables, and according to a local source, recyclables tend to get lumped in with all the rest of the trash, which is then, in turn, shipped to sea and incinerated, I imagine, plastic and all. But I digress. I was excited at the prospect of finding a recycling bin close to home so that we wouldn't have to drag or cans and bottles to the bus station right in front of our place of work, which, as far as I can tell, is the only other public recycling bin in all of Singapore.

As Laura and I searched the area where we were told the recycling bin was located, I heard the faint rhythms and sweet melodies of karaoke coming from a source that I could not quite discern. I followed the melodious sounds until I came to a door at the bottom of the HDB building, however, there was no sign or any other indicator that this was in fact a karaoke bar. At that moment, a middle-aged Chinese woman walked by and noticed the baffled looks on our faces, and informed us that it was in fact a karaoke bar, and invited us in. We declined, as she had told us that it was a private function, but before we knew it were being ushered in by a few other patrons of the bar who insisted I come and sing a song.

We were immediately befriended by a small troupe of middle-aged Chinese men and women, who seemed to dedicate their lives to perfecting the art of karaoke and ballroom dancing. Our host, Albert, was especially keen to have us stay for awhile, offering us a couple of beers and introducing us to the resident karaoke regulars, who had collected an impressive array of trophies and other awards during competitions with other, I'm assuming, secret underground karaoke societies. I dazzled the crowd with a crooning rendition of "Let It Be" by the Beatles, after which they insisted I stick around for another number. I was more than happy to do so, as Albert, Sharon, Sonny and the gang thrilled us to a masterful "Cha-Cha" number done to the Chinese version of "Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini." I capped the evening off with "House of the Rising Sun" while doing my best Jim Morrison, and Albert as my back-up, doing his best Jackie Chan.

I was sincerely sad to leave that night, as I felt as if for the first time in Singapore that I had actually found a means of connecting with the people here. It was one of those experiences while traveling that simply cannot be bought. To be welcomed and invited to participate in the culture and lives of the people, to get an insight into what life is really like for them, to be considered, to some degree, as a neighbour rather than some "rich" foreigner, was altogether priceless.

I can't wait to go back, and either can Albert. His eyes lit up at the prospect of me bringing more girls.

Next: Honest, the 10 Courts of Hell (or let me be burned alive in a filthy blood pond).

The Projects: