SINGAPORE, 17 December 2009 – Changi Airport Group (CAG) today signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU), establishing a collaborative airports arrangement with Chongqing Airport Group. The MOU paves the way for both parties to explore collaborations between the airports through joint projects and staff exchanges, on areas such as terminal management, route development and commercial management.

The MOU was signed in Chongqing, China, this morning by Mr Wong Woon Liong, Senior Director of CAG’s Changi Airport Advisory Group, and Mr Zhao Jiang Ping, General Manager, Chongqing Airport Group. It was witnessed by Ms Tong Xiao Ping, Vice Mayor of Chongqing Municipal Government.

At the same time, following its first commercial consultancy, Changi Airports International (CAI), CAG’s dedicated subsidiary for overseas ventures, has sealed two additional consultancy projects with Chongqing Airport Group for Chongqing Jiangbei International Airport. Chongqing Airport is a major air hub in China and one of China’s busiest airports.
In line with the region’s economic growth, traffic at Chongqing Airport has grown rapidly in recent years. The two projects cover a review of Chongqing Airport’s passenger transfer operations and proposed improvements to its retail environment.

CAI’s first commercial consultancy for Chongqing Airport Group was in 2008. That project saw CAI increasing the airport’s commercial space by 30%, thereby improving the revenue potential of Chongqing Airport. With the latest projects, CAI hopes to raise service standards at Chongqing Airport and optimise its commercial revenue and efficiency in line with the airport’s growth potential.

Mr Lee Seow Hiang, Chief Executive Officer, Changi Airport Group, said, “Amidst the increasingly competitive airport industry, this MOU will strengthen the relationship between Changi and Chongqing and sets the stage for closer collaboration to grow the two airports. We look forward to even closer partnership with Chongqing Airport for mutual benefit.”

About Chongqing Airport Group
Chongqing Airport Group was established in 2003 and joined Capital Airport Group in 2004. Its main business areas include airport management, property, ground transportation, information network, advertising, commercial and other services.

About Chongqing Jiangbei International Airport
Chongqing Jiangbei International Airport has ranked among the top 10 airports in China for five consecutive years. The airport is undergoing a major expansion which includes a new terminal of 80,000sqm and a new runway. When the expansion project is completed next year, Chongqing Airport will have a capacity of 30 mppa and 260,000 air traffic movement. Chongqing will start Phase III expansion next year. In the master plan by 2040, Chongqing Airport will have 4 runways and a handling capacity of 65 to 70 million, to achieve an international air hub status. The airport handled over 11 million passengers in 2008, a 7% growth from the year earlier. The airport handled 160,000 tonnes of cargo, a 12% increase from 2007.

The Christmas Present, by Freddy Bloom

The Christmas Present, by Freddy Bloom, 1949; Illustrations by the legendary artist and cartoonist Ronald Searle: Click Here to See Larger Version–Photo by M-J de Mesterton

Singapore, Christmas, 1943, I woke up and watched them drawing back the last of the blackout curtains from the outside. This meant that soon the glaring lights that had been on all night would soon go out. I tried to stretch my legs and kicked Reddy. He did not stir, and vaguely I wondered whether he was unconscious or just sleeping the deep sleep of exhaustion. It did not really matter; in either case it would do him good.

I turned my head and looked at the Sikh who was lying next to me. Poor Mahinder Singh. When they had brought him in he was tall and strong and magnificent. Now he was tall and skinny and just very young. His beard and long, coiled hair were no longer sleek and shiny. His smooth brown skin had a greenish hue. Perhaps dark skins always turned green when fair skins turned pale.

I looked at my own hands. They were quite beautiful. Slender, smooth, and white, with nails that I had carefully bitten into a good shape.

Just as well that I could not see the rest of me–except my feet. I had seen so much of them recently. They had made us all take off our shoes as we entered the cell. None of us had stockings or socks. Who would think of wearing such things after 22 months of internment? Anyway, most of the women in Singapore had gone about bare-legged even before the Japanese came.

I thought of the silly line of shoes outside the cell. Sixteen pairs, all shapes and sizes, but mostly trompahs, native wooden-soled, one-strapped sandals. My own were real shoes, white leather with crêpe soles and they would have to last me until the war was over. I certainly was not wearing them out at the moment. Perhaps they would not fit the next time I was called out for questioning. The last time there had been difficulty putting them on. I looked at my feet again. They were white and fat and dimpled, like a baby’s. That was beri-beri. The shoes would have to fit. Everybody always made a proper business of putting on shoes when called out. It gave you a chance to do something outside the daily routine, and a chance to collect your wits and fight the blue funk that filled every inch as you thought of the questioning to come.

“We Would Show Them–but What?”

This was Christmas Day. Perhaps nobody would be taken out for questioning. What a hope! The Nips would pile it on thick  just to show us.  This was Christmas day and we would show them. This was the Kempetai, the Japanese Gestapo, and we were their prisoners. Oh well, it was Christmas Day and I was going to wash my hair.

I looked across to the w.c. in the corner. Dr. Choo was washing. He was always washing. Washing had become an obsession with him. Other things had become an obsession with him, but it was hard to know what they were for he talked so little. Of course, the Nips did not allow us to talk, but he was the only one who did not disobey them. He was scared. So were we all, but it affected each in a different way. He seemed to sink more and more into himself. The other day, when Mac had accidentally bumped into him, he had almost shrieked, “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. I’m superstitious.” Mac had barked back, “I’m no devil, fool.”

Mac was a dour Scotsman. Imprisonment had made him more dour, more Scottish, and somehow, more of a man. Mac was hard. Dr. Choo was not hard. He was just a hard-working Chinese doctor who had suddenly been torn from his work, his wife, and his children. He swore he did not know why. I looked at the w.c. again. Dr. Choo was using it. I looked away.

Mahinder Singh woke up. He rolled his head on his stiff neck and started to massage his body. He turned to me and smiled. “May Christmas, Memsahib.” “Merry Christmas, Mahinder.”

“Today Kismas. Today good day. Today all go home. Catch big eating.” After 75 days of the Kempetai, Mahinder was still the complete optimist. He was my friend. We had played a great joke on the Japanese. This joke was our bond; it was our strength.

Mahinder and the Mouse

They had brought the young Sikh policeman in a few days after me and they had insisted that he sit next to me during the day and sleep next to me at night. This, they reckoned, would be most degrading to the proud Sikh and to me, a white woman, the only woman in a cell with fifteen men of different races. Degradation meant nothing to me, but at the start I was a bit frightened. I tried to stay as far away from him as possible, but that was not easy, with sixteen people in a cell 10 feet by 18.

The first night we lay next to each other I awoke because a mouse had slid up between the warped floorboards and slipped up my shirt. My femininity had never included a horror of mice, but to have one scuttling round my ribs under my shirt was another thing and I sat up with a start. We had to lie so close, that this woke Mahinder, who sat up too. Just then the mouse leaped out of my bosom and scurried away. The young Sikh put his hand on my shoulder, smiled a lovely paternal smile and whispered, “Thik hai, Memsahib. It is only a little mice.”

At that point the Nip sentry on night duty screeched at us and we both lay down quickly. From that moment we were friends. We never let the Japs know. When they were near, Mahinder and I would play at being enemies, and this was the best game we had. When they beat him up, I nursed him. When I was ill, he took off his shirt at night and put it over me.

Mahinder’s greatest gesture was when he lent me his comb. The Sikh religion forbids men cutting their hair, so they all have beards and silky tresses, which often reach below their waists. The hair is then combed up, twisted, and coiled into a knot on the crown of the head and held in place with an adroitly inserted small wooden comb. Ordinarily a turban is worn. They had taken away Mahinder’s turban in case he tried to hang himself with it (they had removed the elastic from my knickers for the same reason), but had left him his comb. After we had been together for some days, he watched me trying to comb my hair with my fingers, and then, to my utter astonishment, he handed me his comb. His gesture meant a great deal.

Thereafter he lent it to me every day, but he would never lend it to anyone else. Mahinder had proved himself, as mentioned, my friend and we were wishing each other a merry Christmas. Then we both looked towards the w.c. That w.c.! How our life revolved about it. It was no ordinary toilet. It had no wooden seat, and instead of the ordinary flush arrangement, it had a tap that could be turned on fast or slow. When the bowl was full, it automatically drained itself. This was a very practical arrangement, and for a time I thought of having a similar fixture in our home in London, until it occurred to me that in England we do not use toilets for such varied purposes. In the Smith Street lockup in Singapore the w.c. was used for washing, for drinking, as well as for our basic needs.

Initiation

When they first flung me into the cell with all these strange men, I had sat for some hours until it had become imperative to catch the attention of the sentry who marched up and down outside the bars that formed one wall of the cell. Since he spoke no English, I pointed to the w.c. and then to myself. He obviously understood, for he went out and spoke to the corporal on duty, and within a few minutes a Japanese voice bellowed, “If the woman wishes to wash, drink, or pass water, there is a toilet in the corner of the cell.”

The embarrassment of the men about me was so strong that it broke through my own. When I eventually got up, each man seemed to try to disappear within himself. Now, after so many weeks, we all took each other very much for granted.

Across the cell Walter was reading his Bible. Walter was, in some respects, a privileged prisoner. He was an Englishman who had lived for years in Nagasaki, spoke fluent Japanese, and understood Japanese customs and manners. He had been our camp interpreter and done a wonderful job until he had been arrested for running a strictly forbidden radio. Now he still acted as interpreter in our urgent demands for medicines, foods, and the barest essentials of life. Most of the time his efforts were in vain, but any vaguely human touches that were ever shown us by the Nips were almost always due to his efforts. He was a deeply religious man and had somehow obtained permission to bring his Bible into the cell. As I watched Walter, he looked up and smiled.

Though there seemed to be a rule that a sentry should be on constant guard, marching up and down, passing each cell about once a minute, this had slackened considerably during the past few weeks and was only in force when higher officers were expected at our lockup. Ironically enough, the headquarters of the Singapore Kempetai were housed in what had been the Y.M.C.A. This morning the guards were all busy with their own affairs and paid no attention to us.

The First Present

Walter got up and came to me. “Merry Christmas, and here is something the postman left for you.” With care he took a little picture out of the Bible and gave it to me. It was the type of highly coloured little holy card that is often given to children in Sunday schools. Perhaps one of Walter’s children had put that particular one in that particular Bible. Now he was giving it to me as a Christmas token. I held it carefully; it was very beautiful.

And then our first meal of the day arrived. Choy, the young Chinese conscript, clanked down the corridor with a high stack of tin dishes, the size of small cake tins, and a bucket of rice. He stopped outside our cell, counted the number of inmates, slung a dollop of rice into that many tins, unlocked the small door in the barred wall, and slid all the dishes on the floor. The men sat down in the places they had occupied all day. I got up and handed each man a tin. This had been my duty ever since the beginning, when there had been squabbles. There never was very much rice.

We all ate meals with our fingers; there were no utensils. When we had finished, we waited for Choy to come back with the tea bucket. Then we lined up at the door while he poured tea (no milk or sugar, of course) into the tins. This led to difficulties and contortions, for many of them were rusted and full of little holes, and we had to try to hold the tins so that the fingers plugged all the offending holes. Since the tea was often boiling hot, my fingers used to blister, and often one of the men would hold the tin for me while I drank.

Greetings to Cicely

One of my cell-mates was a Chinese Communist called Tang, who was the head of one of the up-country resistance movements. He was short and squat and, unlike most Chinese, grew a thick stubbly beard. He was the toughest man I ever knew. No matter what the Nips did to him, he never changed his expression and never made a sound. When anybody tried to nurse him, he just shook his head and said, “Tidapa,” Malay for “Never mind.” He spoke no English. Sometimes I thought that I would rather be a white woman in Japanese hands than a Japanese woman in Tang’s hands. He was tough…and he was always the first one up to hold my tin when the tea was hot and he would tilt it carefully like a mother feeding a child.

Remembering Christmas, 1943, there is a great deal of sentiment but no sentimentality. We were a group of extremely mixed people sharing a most unpleasant experience. Some showed up better than others. As I personally was concerned, there was not a man, European, Indian, Chinese, Eurasian, or Malay, who was not thoughtful and kind and they had a great deal more than my presence to think about.

That particular breakfast differed from the others in one respect. Three or four cells down was Cicely, another woman and a good friend. They had brought her in the day after me. We had seen each other on one or two occasions since then. As far as we knew, we were the only women who had been taken from Changi Camp. While Choy poured out my tea, I whispered, “Christmas greetings to the other lady.” He did not bat an eyelid. Later, when he collected the empty tins, he growled, “She say you too.”

I was just going to the w.c. to wash my hair when there were heavy footsteps in the outer office. Quickly, we all sat down in a straight row facing the bars, knees bent, feet tucked in, and waited. We spent at least 14 hours a day in that position. To straighten your legs was considered very bad form. And so we sat on Christmas Day as we had sat for weeks before silently, all in a neat row, looking through the bars into the corridor, and then through another set of bars into the cell opposite, where a similar row of miserable beings faced us. The thing to do was to wiggle into a position where the gap between one’s bars coincided with the gap of the person opposite and one had a clear, if not large, view for signalling.

Sign Conversations

Opposite me sat Perry. We had known each other before the war in Penang, where we had played games at the same club, danced at the same hotels, and been invited to the same cocktail parties. The next time we saw each other was through the gap in the bars. It did not take us long to work out an inconspicuous sign language and we spent the tedious hours having long conversations. We also passed on information about what had happened in various interrogations.

Christmas morning we wished each other all the best and while the sentries marched up and down we made rude remarks about them. Suddenly the noise in the outer office increased. Three of the Nip big-shots stamped down the corridor, followed by a drip of slouching, arrogant interpreters. They looked at us the way a person looks at a harmless beetle before stepping on it. They called out a few names in front of cells farther down, then turned round and stopped at our cell. We looked into space, our hearts pounded, there did not seem to be enough air to go round. They called Dr. Choo’s name and turned to the cell opposite, where they called for Perry and two Chinese. The rest of us relaxed.

Cell doors were opened and those who were due for questioning got out and put on their shoes. Perry held onto the bar in front of me while he put someone else’s  trompahs on his swollen feet. He wiggled his fingers at me and before he left he winked.

We continued to sit, looking straight ahead. Only those who had been badly beaten and tortured were allowed the luxury of lying down. When the Japs were working on a man, he never got much rest.

I wondered about Perry, about Dr. Choo. We had heard some cars leave. That meant some of the prisoners were being taken to the Y.M. for questioning. That was bad for they were very thorough. Others were being questioned here. The noises that went with questioning were too familiar by now. It is almost impossible to identify voices under such conditions, and yet one cannot stop trying.

We sat until the second meal, just like the first, was brought round. We put a tin of rice aside for Dr. Choo, and it was eyed greedily, for when a man has been questioned he has either been given food or he is in no condition to eat. In either case the cell may share his ration.

Perry Comes Back

After “lunch,” we sat down again. I wanted to wash my hair, but thought it better to do nothing until the big-shots had left. After all, it had not been washed for ten weeks; Boxing Day would really do as well as Christmas. We sat. A couple of people from cells farther down were brought back. They did not look too bad. We sat some more. A scuffle outside and two interpreters dragged an unconscious figure down the corridor. We could not be sure, but he seemed to be Chinese. We sat some more.

Hard to say what time it was when Perry came back. He seemed a bit stiff and his face was bruised, but not too bad. He did not look at me, but as he bent to take off his shoes, he held the bar nearest me. As he bent, his hand slowly came down the bar. When he eventually let go and turned to enter his cell, there was a tiny parcel on the floor in front of me.

It was not until a good deal later, when most of the prisoners, including Dr. Choo, had returned and the Japanese officers from headquarters had left, that I could examine the parcel. It was a single sheet of toilet paper, and inside was a sliver of real soap. They had allowed Perry to wash up after his interview, and he had stolen a Christmas  present for me. Before the third and last rice meal of the day, I took my precious gift and, with great ceremony, washed my hair, with soap in the the w.c., and a Eurasian lad lent me his shirt to dry it. And then, of course, there was Mahinder’s comb….

Many years have passed since then. Most of the people who were in that prison died. I was lucky. We are back in London and since then have had two wonderful babies. Looking back to Christmas, 1943, I remember that was the day I washed my hair and Walter gave me a holy picture.

By Freddy Bloom,
1949

Originally published in Leader Magazine of Great Britain, this story was discovered in the 31 December, 1949 issue given to us by our friends Peter and Michele King of England, and diligently transcribed here,  visible for the first time anywhere on the internet, by M-J de Mesterton for readers of Elegant Survival. Read Freddy Bloom’s obituary in Elegant Survivors, at http://www.elegantsurvival.net/elegantsurvivors.htm

This moving story contains pejorative language directed at the Japanese, who are today respected allies–please remember that it was wartime, and that the persons involved endured unimaginable suffering at the hands of their captors.

So we’ve set off on our 2 month adventure in an optimistic and excited fashion, but for some reason have decided to test how far our spirits can be crushed by taking three flights in a 27-hour period. My boyfriend Nick & I are planning to conquer Europe and Asia in my generous 9 weeks of leave, thereby missing the worst of Darwin’s (where we call home) wet season (think possible cyclones and not much fun).

We’re currently in Dubai International Airport after flying from Darwin to Singapore (4.5 hrs), a 6 hr layover in Changi, an 8 hr flight to Dubai and we will take another 8 hr flight to Heathrow in an hour. Things started off well, we got upgraded to the extra legroom seats on Jetstar for free. No doubt, thanks to Nick’s grand stature, it’s just a bonus that I’m much shorter than him! All was peaceful and it was a short flight, though my hopes of eating hawker food in Changi were dashed when we asked our flight attendant if there were any decent food outlets in the terminal. Still we managed to find some ok grub and pretty much wandered the perfume shops for 4 hrs before we couldn’t take it anymore.

Now, we’ve been excited to fly with Emirates (both our first times) since we booked the trip, and I think it’s fair to say we were both disappointed with standard. I wasn’t expecting the flight attendant to feed me grapes or anything, but I didn’ t feel they deserved their high recommendations for service. Also the plane was pretty old, much like older Malaysian Airlines planes I’ve flown a few years ago. I have to say though, that they did have an immense variety of entertainment. FYI, I will be watching Harry Potter & The Half-Blood Prince on my next flight.

In a little while, we will be boarding the new Airbus A380 which I’m looking forward to. Hopefully there will also be less medical emergencies on this flight too (three people escorted off the flight for health reasons). We’ll be sure to update on how zombie-like we are after arriving in London.

!!!

!!!

!!!

The cats at Loyang are stabilised now with the 4+1 regulars: BD, Allison, Sissy, Abang Black-nose (Sissy and Black-nose now frequent Costa Sands and the JLB condos etc.) + Cafe’s tuxy. There were 4 or 5 newbies which now is reduced to 2, probably due to territorial issues. These newbies are like phamtoms. Seen in the early hours of morning or after dark only. And VERY DIFFICULT to track/catch. 

Changi already had one ginger sterilised. Saturday 2 boys were nabbed and sent to Clinic For Pets for the snipping. I had intended to start with A’s kitty at the recept but he escaped when I tried to nab him so I had to postpone him to another day. Discussed with I**** to start with the NBs first. We have decided to finish off with the NBs and office area first. 

Area clustering plan:

Cluster 01A – Office, CC, CHA-D, NBs, HBs, CHL

Cluster 01B – CHF-I, YCs

Cluster 02 – BHBs (expect complications as some cats observed coming from the air control and the nursing home. probably being fed by the people there)

Cluster 03 – CHK, CHM, CBs

Cluster 04 – FPB1-3. FPC1-7

So I’m posting this mostly for the benefit of the people who did not get a chance to see Singapore during their short trip to and from AFA, for those who want to know more about Singapore, and also for those Singaporeans who are expats, and miss home. (Yes, you chun!) Considering that Singapore is the next most proliferant anime hub this side of the english internetz community, it makes sense to know more about Singapore’s people, and its infrastructure and land. I’m not going to delve into the history or its culture. You can find all that on wikipedia or something. I’m more interested in covering the more important aspects… the food, and the shopping!

A typical morning breakfast traditional amongst the Chinese group, you get various forms of deep fried dough, or Chinese doughnut, some with fillings such as red bean paste, or crushed peanut. Served with a side of sweet soy milk. (warm).

A pancake! Very similar to Tayaki, this one contains a delicious chocolate filling.

A typical food court in Singapore. This one is located at Changi Villiage. Changi is where the airport is located, which is the eastern side of Singapore. Each food stall is privately owned, each stall renting from the people that own the entire complex. Typically, the owner of the complex is also the stall that sells beverages. Beverages make the most money in the complex, charging nearly 40% more for their drinks. Everyday, these people toil, day in and day out, while the patrons are local regulars with their own jobs and problems. This kind of cycle has been ongoing since forever.

More of the food court. This particular one is a massive pyramid-type building, with stalls lined all around, and more stalls filling the center.

Just outside the food court is a sort of open restaurant. It’s too early for dinner at the moment. But these kinds of restaurants function exactly as it would a typical asian restaurant, with menus, servers, bus boys, etc. Since Singapore weather is hot and consistent all year around, this type of business is sustainable.

Just outside the food court, you get a nice view of some trees. This is combined with the residential blocks around the area. Nothing really special except it shows what the edges of Singapore are like.

Lots of motorcycles. Purchasing cars are very expensive in Singapore due to import taxes and such. The total is typically TWICE the cost of buying a car in North America – the price of a luxury sports car like a Porche Boxter would get you a crappy Kia in Singapore. Motorcycles are a cheaper alternative. But even though there his a high price luxury for cars, there are still a lot of them in Singapore.

The central area of the food court. The one in pink with the bag is my wife! The photo isn’t clear, but there is a lot of smoke in here. It’s incredibly hot with everyone cooking their food. There is no air conditioning. Couple that with the extreme heat, and you’ve got a recipie for a headache.

A stray cat. Stray cats are a lot more typical in Singapore. They’re like the rats of Singapore so to speak, so as such, there aren’t many rodents around.

They were out of chicken rice, and everything else was either spicy, or unappetizing to me, or it was fish. Mostly fish. I made the mistake of settling for western food, and was also given this strange cakebread. That part isn’t white. It’s green. And that part in the middle isn’t chocolate. It’s bread. I don’t know why it looks like that.

The fries were decent, but the porkchop tasted like nothing. The good thing about it was it was a screaming deal.

Sugar Cane drink. Freshly squeezed! It’s incredibly refreshing and delicious! First time I’ve had one! Doesn’t top the Bandung though.

The back side of the food court. This is not a storage area. These are actually retail shops. It’s a huge reality check of what life is like for these people who share the same 42km wide island with other Singaporeans who spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on merchandise. No offense meant by that statement.

Further along outside of the food court, we get to the beach. This is an inlet on this side actually.

Shot from the other side of the inlet. I wish I had brought my DSLR.

Yeah, the effects of a point and shoot just don’t do this area any justice.

Walking further we get to the beach proper. Lots of transport ships and things happen around here, so it’s rarely a peaceful horizon, but the breeze is cool, and the air is clean. The sand is also quite white and fine. It’s very relaxing here compared to the bustling life of Singapore’s downtown life. Many people purposefully travel out here to escape the busy lifestyle once in a while.

No idea how grass is growing out of the sand, but it’s very cool.

Feels like Singapore. Changi Village is situated near the Changi Airport, so every so often, you’ll see an airplane fly across the horizon from behind these trees. Like so:

Switching gears, here I am at one of Singapore’s countless shopping centers. I tell you, there is a shopping mall in some form at virtually every MRT station. MRT is Singapore’s “monorail” transit system (it’s not really a monorail, but it’s the most common descriptive I can think of at the moment. Singapore’s malls are just as proliferant as Singapore’s anime fandom blogging on the internet. I absolutely love shopping in Singapore. This is a shot of a restaurant called Long John Silver’s. Perhaps you’ve got one of these where you come from, but not me. As such, I haven’t had LJS in like, 4 years or something!

One of the many Kopitiam food courts. Kopitiam is sort of a franchise food court. It works similar to the rural food court where stall owners rent the stall from the building owner, but Kopitiam is on a much larger scale, with franchises in malls everywhere. I’m under the impression that Kopitiam also does some sort of quality control on the food they allow.

Watermelons. I’ve never seen a watermelon that’s yellow inside. Never in my entire life. From what I know, these are actually quite commonly found in Malaysia. Unfortunately, these unusually colored melons don’t taste as refreshingly sweet as their red counterparts.

Hand-pulled noodles with chicken cutlet, and a side of chicken broth with egg. I must say that it’s the best chicken cutlet I’ve ever had. Very crispy, not at all made soggy by the noodle sauce. The noodles were just the right consistency with a nice “bounce” to the chew. The savory sauce was just right, not too salty, and not too dry or wet. The veggies were also very fresh and tasty. All this for like, 5 bucks!

Fish soup. Piping hot from the “I sell fish type food products!” stall. It’s interesting how each stall specializes in one thing.

A true traditinal Singaporean breakfast. You can’t say you’ve truly lived in Singapore without having one of these – Kaya Toast (Kaya is like a kind of marmalade) Kopi (Singlish for Coffee!) and half-boiled eggs.

When I mean half-boiled, I mean very runny. Pour some soy sauce on it, stur it up, and drink! Mmmmmm!

Unfortunately, nobody seems to carry Orange Qoo anymore. Grape is an unworthy substitute.

Typical Singaporean mall design – lots of floors up. What I find absolutely incredible is that this used to be a double floor, totally ignored hole in the wall shopping center with a Value Village type of clothing store coupled with a low-end electronics store. Less than 4 years later, it’s now a bustling shopping mall featuring the latest and greatest merchandise, food, and even a two storey upside down xmas tree!

Singaporeans truly amaze me in terms of their constant updating, expanding, and augmenting. Heck, one of the department stores I used to go to (Metro) was torn down, and converted into a gauntlet of specialty boutiques! I couldn’t recognize it anymore – it was like a whole new mall!

zero percent “alcoholicity”. I found this product quite interesting, as what’s inside wasn’t alcohol, or even a beverage…

… but an umbrella. Innovative because you don’t need to place your wet umbrella into an umbrella stand, or hang it on your chair dripping wet. And you don’t have to wrestle and put it into a flimsy wet sleeve either. Just roll up, and put it into the plastic container. Done.

Cute asian products are cute.

This is an arcade “dress up your doll” game, where children can create an avatar, and literally buy clothes for it. The data is stored on the card. Thanks for ruining the young generation, Sega.

A new DJ Max of some sort. The entire thing is touch screen based with a bar that swipes over. There are prompts to tap, slide, and make patterns. I’d say this game is a combination of Project Diva meets Ouendan/EBA.

The latest new LG Chocolate. I believe it’s targetted towards the female market, as the adverts feature runway models. It’s got an ultra-wide screen for you to video capture those ultra-wide cat-walks. Honestly, I think it’s a very slick and sexy phone.

This ends my first post of Singapore. I apologize for my crappy photography, as most of these were taken in the spur of the moment, and mainly to remind me of what to write about. It gives you a general idea of what Singapore is like, but it most certainly doesn’t beat actually being here and living and breathing it (humid air and all).

But before I go, Singapore is an interesting balance between different worlds, different lives, and different goals, yet it all coexists together on this small island. It’s moments like these that are magical:

Stay tuned for my next post, as I visit Vivo City and other places!

World’s Top Ten Airports

Incheon in South Korea

I flew in and out of this airport in 2002.

I don’t recall anything about it.

I was too excited to be seeing my son, what is architecture to that?

Below is Kansai in Osaka.

We spent 7 L O N G long hours here waiting for a flight to Australia.

The luggage-less guy who looked like a terrorist to me ending up sitting by us.

He was vegetarian so my son got to eat all is ‘extras’

We watched Ice Age (1).

Changi (below) in Singapore.

I don’t think it looked like this when I flew in and out of here years ago.

But really, after being collected and dropped off by a chauffeur driven Mercedes Benz who cared about the airport.

Ryan Kwanten in Griff The Invisible

by Sarah Jane Lamont – FilmInk.com.au

Filming is soon due to wrap on the highly original, new Aussie flick, Griff The Invisible, a quirky yet thrilling story of an uncharacteristic superhero fighting for freedom and justice in an otherwise mundane world. Fresh from the set is a sneak-peek image of the crime-fighting superhero played by Ryan Kwanten, delivering the intensely penetrating gaze of Griff from behind his daily crime-sourcing reference.

Australian Ryan Kwanten would have to be pretty familiar to audiences by now as the overly amorous, dumb-but-loveable, redneck Southerner Jason Stackhouse in the hit HBO vampire series TrueBlood, co-starring Anna Paquin. Given Kwanten’s ease in portraying such an audacious character, it comes as no surprise that next up he is set to star in the title role of Griff.

Speaking about his character, Ryan Kwanten said, “By day, Griff works in an office. By night, he is a superhero – or is he? It was this question that attracted me to the role. Griff is such an original and boundless character to play… Every boy dreams of being a superhero and I’ve accepted my mission to bring this one to life.”

Despite its superhero premise, this film is, at its core, a love story that has Griff’s world turned on its head when he meets beautiful young scientist Melody, played by Maeve Dermody (Beautiful Kate, Blackwater). It is a story that challenges conformity in favour of being yourself, and which advocates finding happiness with people that allow you to be who you choose to be. The supporting cast includes Patrick Brammall and Toby Schmitz.

Griff The Invisible is the debut feature film of writer/director Leon Ford, who is better known for his acting credits (Tsunami: The Aftermath, Stepfather Of The Bride, Changi, the upcoming Beneath Hill 60), but follows up on his writing/directing short film effort Katoomba which picked up awards at the Sydney Film Festival and AFI Awards.

Griff is produced by Nicole O’Donohue, through Ford and O’Donohue’s collaborative production company Green Park Pictures, with executive producers Jan Chapman and Scott Meek also backing the project. It was developed with the assistance of Screen Australia through the Indivision Script Lab 2008, and will be distributed by Transmission Films.

“Griff The Invisible is guaranteed to be unlike anything you’ve ever seen on screen before – no pun intended!” said Andrew Mackie and Richard Payten of Transmission Films. “We can’t wait to get this film to audiences in 2010.”

The Invisible is to be released nationally in late 2010.

Amazon Specials!

This fast paced, action packed drifting event thrilled everyone with cars sliding sideways, smoking tyres and even stunt performances by Mattie Griffin. The afternoon rain drenched the track, increasing the difficulty for the drivers.

Special thanks to the organizer for providing the media pass!

Jade Seah from Mediacorp at the event

Interview with Formula DRIFT USA official judge, Tony Angelo

Mattie Griffin performing stunts on his Suzuki GSXR- 600 (K8)

Top 3 drivers are all Malaysians

Tengku Djan clinched FD Singapore 2009!

BIG Christmas attractions, festive decor, shopping promotions and fun online contests for the holiday season

Spent a day at various locations to create graduation portraits for this group of close friends. Shooting at night enables different effects to be created.

今天（11/12）參加了CHANGi機場的Free City Tour，導遊講解的滿不錯的，就是天氣熱了點！

導遊說Clean and Green是新加坡的兩個重點，從機場出發後，發現公路旁的住宅都長得很像，大部分都是白色，再加上一點點其他顏色例如紅色或綠色。樹真的很多，像是車開在花園一樣。

到了Singapore Flyer（摩天輪）後，我們就徒步走到Merlion Park看一大一小的魚尾獅，來回花了大概四十分鐘（哭）。不過總比待在航廈一整天好多。

中午在Terminal 1吃了Laksa，湯像是義大利麵的白醬，但多了點南洋風，SGD $5.8。

另外不得不說的是，他們機場的餐盤也太刻苦了！

But back to Changi.

It was only in 1941 that the British military installation on the promontory was completed.  In fifteen years, as H.A. Probert describes it in his History of Changi, “a piece of virgin jungle had been transformed into one of the most modern and best equipped military bases in the world.”  Given the lack of air defense in Singapore, he continues, it was also essentially obsolete.

Roberts Barracks became the hospital for the prison camp.  Formerly housing the Royal Artillery it had to absorb sick and wounded prisoners from across the island, including those from Alexandra Hospital which the Japanese had commandeered.  Given the bombardment it had taken during the invasion it was in no condition to do so.  Water supplies, sewerage systems, buildings and roads had been severely damaged.  This is how my father put it in a note written towards the end of the war.  “To such a camp, with all of its essential services disorganized, the whole of the ‘white’ patients of the Malaya and Singapore garrisons, complete with their medical & associated personnel & multifarious supplies, converged.  It is hardly surprising therefore that for some days chaos reigned, with its accompaniment of hardships, pestilence & death.”

The Australian artist Murray Griffin completed a painting of Roberts Hospital while he was a prisoner at Changi.  Visit the Australian Memorial web site to view the image: http://www.awm.gov.au/exhibitions/sharedexperience/AWMART24491.asp.

My father was posted to Roberts precisely two weeks after the fall of Singapore.  if he had not found the rest of the Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC) before the invasion, presumably he did now.  I have no idea what his duties were at Roberts; he never talked about them, nor do his notes make any reference to them.  Yet he writes a good deal about the kinds of diseases that always threatened to overwhelm the hospital — well, did overwhelm it — particularly, dysentery, malaria, beri beri, dhobi itch and pallegra.  When he himself became a patient at Roberts on at least two extended occasions, he wrote about that too.

Changi Beach, Sep '09

India Mike Charlie

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amidst it all, sometimes it just gets a little too heavy and clouded with worries and anxiety from being able to see and appreciate the big picture.