Lunar New Year

Well!  Singapore, city of cultures drowned by a plastic interpretation of Western capitalism, certainly is an exciting place to be on Chinese New Year.  This I am thrilled by as I have often despaired at people's eager insistence that this is a melting pot nation state of vibrancy and diversity when I have mostly been struck by the high density of Starbucks and Louis Vuitton.

Since Frenchie has a few days off for the festivities, we decided to check out Chinatown, where It was sure to be At, and we were definitely not disappointed.  The journey from our suburban pad was seamless despite NYE public transport thanks to my expert navigational skills and ability to follow other Chinese looking revellers and tourists with cameras. Thinking that this was an event that would tempt pickpockets, I chose to leave Mini Pad at home, a decision I regretted the minute we saw the Main Street decorations and saw how many Singaporeans were taking selfies on their own expensive tablets. I too, wanted a selfie, but had to make do with photos taken in the dark on a phone.

When the ant line of people lead us to the main site of the revelries, Frenchie and I did the obligatory penguin shuffle through the night market, which was full of pretties of the prettiest proportions. Have some photos...

The Lizzie Ushering Wealth cats!

Remember how much the Chinese diaspora love JADE?

I want a Buddha head for my expat wife bookshelf. I can light incense next to it when my yoga instructor comes round and achieve zen to wash away the bad chakra of the stresses of being a trophy wife. 

ALL the chopsticks in the whole WORLD arranged in alphabetical order!  Wow.  Exciting!

After a while, all this excitement took its toll, and Frenchie and I had to go home, but the next morning (I say morning, I mean 'after midday' which, in holiday time is the same thing), I was excited to discover a new cafe and revisit Chinatown for more cool photos and cultural saturation. The cafe I chose was apparently the only cafe open in the whole world today, and was a delight:

Full of quirky art work and healthily sized ice cream portions. 

 Why do Singaporeans love the British so much?

Even though lots of places in Chinatown were closed for New Year's Day, the big pagoda was open and ram-jammed full of tourists and Buddhists receiving their New Year blessing. Once I had changed into some long, swishy silky China-trousers because a pagoda warden told me that my shorts were indecent and I should be ashamed, I was able to wander around being fascinated and overexcited by all the cultural behaviours and beliefs. Have some photos:

Red lanterns. Obviously. 

Buddha in his pagoda porch, welcoming everyone. 

Monks offering New Year blessings with the cup-on-the-head routine.

Big impressive Buddha statue. Waving!

Buddhists queuing for their blessings. I like to think of this as the equivalent of queuing for Santa's grotto. 

Pause for artistic photo of flowers and architecture. 

Reverence and prayer and incense, of course. 

Daughter: quick, put on 'spiritual face'. 

Son: wow, look at all these candles. 

Abbott: amen. 

LOOK AT ALL THESE BUDDHAS!  There are MILLIONS of them!  This was only one section of a very big wall, and there were lots of walls. You could do the same with Action Man figurines. Except it would be less spiritual. 

The next day, after a failed attempt to reach an island called Pulau Ubin (queues for the ferries on New Year's Day were loooooong), and having been refused afternoon tea at Raffles Hotel because the waitress in charge could smell the working class on me (dress code my arse), we spent two days licking our wounds  at the Raffles Courtyard, the Fullerton Courtyard and the Qantas GOLD Lounge. Remember that place?  The place of free beetroot and cocktails? Amazing. 

Note culturally diverse Japanese library book.  I am so multiculturally literate. 

They can also smell the working class on my Jetstar boarding pass here, though, despite my AsiaLit interest, which doesn't impress the lady at the desk, and Frenchie has to act arrogant and put out when they suggest that I have to be at least a silver member to accompany him, or flying on the same flight, whilst I stand a little way off looking disinterested and trying to hold my coffee-stained Cath Kidston handbag and fake, Saigon Square Kipling carry-on as if they are croco Hermés Birkin 30s (apparently this doesn't mean anything, as I am slow at picking up the language of luxury goods.  I am only interested in the language of FREE).

Haha 'Frenchie has to act arrogant and put out' - NB, Frenchie does not offer the receptionist sex to get me into the Gold Lounge.