Billabong .. Billabongbong .. Billabillabong .. n a Billabong

Today’s day marked the end of the search for a pair of flip-flops at the Shaw Centre – there they were, hanging off the hook calling out to me to buy them. Obviously I obliged. There was more reason to buy a pair than my stinking feet at the end of a sweaty day. Wanted to put on my Gio t-shirt and Quiksilver shorts, frizzled hair and a pair of flip-flops, walk on the beach. I hurried off back to Treetops, happy with myself, Billabong flippityflops is all I kept humming all the way back. It might seem a little corny, but I did imagine myself walking on the beach, open shirt, the breeze blowing. If I were to enjoy the beach, I would have to hasten, so I gulped four fish fingers down with a glass of juice, seemingly filling. But a few hassles here and there, and I inevitably got delayed till 4 in the evening. Michelle, the chinki who always smiles and greets me at the reception, said it would be better if I went elsewhere rather than the beach, but I chose to take my chances. After all can’t blame me for being excited for the brand new look I’d given myself!!

I have a very bad habit of “pondering” too much and it got the best of me by the time I reached the bus stop. “What if Michelle is right and I end up losing out on the beach experience – didn’t want to ruin anything about today?” The tourist information centre seemed to be the best bet to find out what to and what not to do. A choice presented itself – do I take the bus and get off two stops later or do I flaunt the cool look and walk on bustling Orchard Road instead? Wondering how narcissistic can I get, I was looking good there’s no two ways bout it – if you got it, flaunt it! ;) Reached Singapore Visitors’ Centre at 4:20 p.m., entered and cut a few tourists in queue to barge in on the “what I can only imagine as a mellow albino boy” at the counter as I bombarded him with a million questions. The poor fellow softly asked me to repeat all I had just blabbered. Nah, I don’t always oblige. So instead I just asked him to tell me if its worth going to the beach now, got a reply in the negative and got the Battle Box as an alternative.

Got off at Dhoby Ghaut, the closest station to Fort Canning, where the Battle Box lay. A kilometre hike through stairs and a heavy canopy of trees, I reached the road mark leading up to Fort Canning. Something inside told me that this was going to be worth the trouble the friggin’ humidity would give me. So I marched on, along meandering paths, gaping slides, smooching couples (you read that right!), photography obsessed Thai couple, and reached the ticket office of the Battle Box. At this point I asked myself one very simple question – when exactly in God’s name did Singapore of all places FIGHT a war?! Suddenly there was a very sickening feeling in my tummy of losing 8 S$ for crap. But like my numerous other wrong habits, I am gifted at being ignorant and painting the image of a world as I like it to be. So there I sat in front of the TV, airing the initial documentary on Singapore and World War II. The guided tour included a British family, a Swede and a German couple who just could not stop kissing, and of course, yours truly. We continued on to the actual war rooms once the 15-minute documentary was over.

We were supposed to have headphones on for listening to the war commentary. I have no clue why they chose to have the technique, because eventually all of us ended up standing in a pose as if playing Twister! No, do not even imagine what position I ended up in, because I can tell you, I am glad the German couple did NOT have any spicy Mexican or Indian food for lunch :P At the end of the first room, we all laughed thinking of what we just did. The next few rooms were exactly the same apart from the fact that the little Brit kid threw a tantrum after hearing a mock World War II bomb explode. What fascinated me was the fact that how much we know about Hitler’s role in the war, but hardly have any clue about the Japanese involvement, or probably I have been too ignorant of their significance in the war except for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Did you know that like the German Gestapo, there was a Japanese equivalent too – Tasatemi – or something like that, I guess my Japanese ain’t as good as my Chinese ;) What was surprising was the fact that all the scribbling on the wall that had been conserved was in a straight line! I made that observation, and got a pat on the back from the tour guide, see told you, there was absolutely nothing wrong about today ;)

Once out of the Battle Box, the details of the war stories of which I don’t want to bore you with, I had to hurry downhill, as the closing time was at 6 and there were only a couple of minutes left. While sliding down, and hopping in between, I realised that the humidity never really got to me, not even to my ailing lungs! I know that’s none of your business, but its my blog, so go fish! ;) I was in no mood to go back to my room and lay in bed watching TV like the rest of my fellow interns were busy doing. The bloke dressed up in a traditional dress of probably Singapore was kind enough to guide me to Istana Park, which I have been told is the Presidential Park of Singapore – take that Delhi’s botanical gardens! Thenga! ;) Strolled, rested, threw a few pebbles into the pond, tried photographing a gooey snail stuck on the wall, vertically, with my crappy cellphone camera. Almost every nook and corner that turned into a dark opening had a couple making out or just lying on the grass – I was jealous – big time at that!! Stopped by a few teenagers practising a few dance moves, watched them pull off some exciting twists. One amazing thing about the water fountains here is that the water comes out gently and where you stand it appears like a wafer thin layer as if the entire ground was literally floating on water. Was very hard resisting the serenity of that water, wanted to just poke a finger in and just check if it really was water and no trickery, but then why even bother shattering a misconception even if it were one, as long as it amazes me! ;) So I moved on, back to Dhoby Ghaut, took the train home.

PS The boy’s name is Gregory – what is it with the Brits and their freakin’ Victorian era names ?! Might as well have named their kid Sir Gregory the VII or something. Jeez! ;)