Singapore Metamorphosis

To understand the visual transformation of Singapore from a colonial entrepôt to a global financial center and a tourist destination, compare these photos taken from the top of Circular Road. The first is from the late 1970s while the image at the bottom is current via Google Maps. What had been a busy commercial street of shop-houses that were part of Singapore's import-export trade close to the godowns along Boat Quay, has given way to a tree-lined walk where tourists stroll past cafes and boutiques. Back in the 1970s, the only skyscraper downtown was the OCBC bank building. Now there many office towers competing for space throughout the downtown financial district.

Singapore Old and New

Over the years I’ve often traveled to Singapore. My first visit was in late 1970 when I was serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Malaysia. At that time, Singapore had only been independent for five years. There was still something of a colonial atmosphere about the place. In part it was the architecture and in part it was the presence of longtime expats at the old pubs and other British hangouts. The pace of life was definitely slower then as there was no reason to hurry and air conditioning was far from universal.

While Orchard and Tanglin Roads had already become the main destination of foreign visitors, there were relatively few tourists. Most visitors were businessmen looking for an opportunity in Singapore’s newly independent economy. Unlike today, there were no broad walkways and megamalls in this part of town. As pedestrians ambled along the crowded sidewalks, they had to edge past snake charmers and other touts trying to cage a few tourist dollars. During the monsoon season, Orchard Road regularly flooded and visitors moved between the hotels and shops in trishaws pushed by men walking through the water. Most of the city at that time consisted of two story shophouses. The few skyscrapers that existed were found along Shenton Way.

The heart of the old city, around the intersection of Temple and Trengganu, was still an area where a visitor felt alien. This traditional Chinatown center remained a world apart. Nearby Sago Lane was still remembered for its houses where the dying were brought. Such traditional death houses had only been banned a decade earlier. The area’s many shops catered to the traditional needs of the local community and not to tourists seeking Singapore kitsch. For a visitor interested in exploring the crowded markets along Singapore's back streets, an ability to speak Hokkien or Malay was more useful than English or even Mandarin.

In the years immediately following independence, an important link with Singapore’s past remained an economy driven by shipping and trade, dominated by a few old established firms. Ships, anchored in the roads just off the coast, could be seen offloading their cargo into lighters tied up alongside. As soon as one lighter would fill, another would take its place.

Lighters not only had a strong engine below deck but also had eyes painted on their bow to guide them as they chugged their way from the outer harbor past the Merlion to godowns lining the Singapore River. There was a constant procession of lighters entering and leaving the river's boat basin. Along Boat Quay, lighters could be seen three and four deep as they jockied for a berth. Night and day, coolies unloaded everything that Singapore traded. Whether the cargo was precious or common, much of it was carried ashore on the backs of men. With practiced effort they balanced their loads across rickety planks laid from the lighters to the roadway. The shift to containerized shipping was still some years ahead. Today’s diversified economy of electronics production, investment banking and international tourism remained a dream yet to be created by Singapore’s leaders.

When the sun set, Singapore was transformed as the city’s car parks became impromptu dining emporiums with dozens of hawkers setting up their push carts to prepare an amazing variety of local food favorites. Whether you were looking for satay, mee goreng, murtabah or even more elaborate dishes, there were many choices. For expats and local elites wanting to enjoy typically British fare, dinner at the Raffles Hotel promised an atmosphere of raffish charm along with its signature cocktail, the Singapore Sling. Many visitors and expats completed their evening by wandering over to Bugis Street to gawk at the nightly parade of transvestites known for their remarkable beauty. The opportunity of sharing a drink, a dance or something more with one of these "girls" made Bugis Street one of Singapore’s more notorious nightspots.

Singapore is a very different place today.

Singapore today is as shiny and up-to-date as the brightest capitals of Europe and North America. Singapore’s growing economy has brought prosperity to its population. The country’s education and healthcare systems are second to none. Crime is low. Employment is high. On Singapore’s Metro you can move comfortably and swiftly to almost any destination in the city. New construction continually updates Singapore’s skyline. To best London, Singapore now has its own giant ferris wheel, the Singapore Flyer—the world’s tallest at 165 meters.

From Benetton to KFC, from Starbucks to Versace, international logos are highly visible throughout the city. And yet, in this rush to a future closely intertwined with other world capitals, a sense of Singapore’s unique and storied history is vanishing as the country reinvents itself for the modern world.

Images from the past remain and yet they’re different somehow. You can, for example, still spend a pleasant, if expensive, afternoon over drinks in the Raffles Long Bar. But with the Raffles transformation into an international tropical resort a decade ago, a great deal of its earlier charm has been lost along with the polished patina of the old woodwork and fixtures. Bugis Street, once infamous as a licentious entertainment district, has now become the site for yet another shopping mall. And at night along Boat Quay, the waterside is bright with neon as visitors and young Singaporeans while away the evening in restaurants and shops unaware that this area used to be a working river where coolies humped sacks of copra and spices from lighters to godowns.

I enjoy the efficient and entertaining city that Singapore has become. I feel at home there. With its modern facilities, Asian hospitality and wonderful Peranakan cuisine, Singapore remains a destination worth traveling halfway around the world to visit. But I also miss the Singapore I have known: comfortably colonial, mysteriously oriental, gritty, tawdry and vibrantly on the cusp of a new age.

When I think of all these changes—not only what has improved but also what has been lost—I take comfort from the wisdom of Buddha who teaches us that all of life is impermanent.

Durian February 2009

Earlier this month Jee and I were in Singapore and Malaysia to celebrate Chinese New Year. This was the first time we had been back for the holiday since our marriage in 1972. While we’ve always celebrated Chinese New Year wherever we happened to be, being distant from Jee’s extended family of brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, our reunion dinners have been tasty but fairly quiet affairs. So it was wonderful to be together again with so many of our relatives during this special family-centered holiday.

Coming in late January—early February, Chinese New Year coincides with one of the year’s two durian seasons. While the “King of Fruits” is not as plentiful during Chinese New Year as it is during the major season six months later, we were able to enjoy this wonderful and unique fruit throughout our travels from Alor Star near Malaysia’s border with Thailand all the way down to Singapore.

Durian originated in Malaysia and remains a fruit unique to the region. Efforts to transplant durian to other tropical areas have not been successful. And while you can find durian in Thailand and some other Southeast Asian countries, most agree that durian from Malaysia tastes the best.





About the size of a pineapple, a single durian can weigh from two to five pounds. Most of this weight comes from durian’s thick shell which is covered with sharp pointy projections that give the fruit its name: in Malay, durian mean thorny fruit. Once opened, there are five fleshy segments of fruit within the durian. The pulp inside a durian varies in color from ivory to yellow-orange. The texture of this flesh is soft. Eaten by hand, durian sticks to your fingers like a custard.



Much has been written about the offensive smell of durians. The fruit is not allowed in hotels because the smell will travel through the airconditioning and permeate the building. When most visitors to Malaysia are introduced to durian they are repelled by its rank odor. Some compare the fruit’s pungent aroma to rotting garbage and worse.

Durian’s fragrance is both powerful and penetrating. During the season, the smell of durian hangs in the air. Coming to Malaysia as a Peace Corps Volunteer in 1970, nobody had told me about durian. When we landed in Penang I thought the horrible odor I smelled was coming from roadside drains that I imagined must be open sewers. It was not until the next day that piles of durian being sold in the market were pointed out to me as the source of the stench. I couldn’t believe that anyone would want to eat something that smelled so bad. Yet, I was told, durian was the most highly prized fruit in the country. People eagerly awaited the season and would spend large sums for the best durian. I chalked this up as being another cultural mystery I would probably never understand.

Six months later when I had been assigned to an agricultural program in the state of Pahang, I was visiting the home of a Malay colleague. Being an honored guest, I was presented with a whole durian to enjoy. As my host would have lost face had I refused his generosity, I tried to ignore the overpowering odor and managed to eat a few pieces before quickly passing the durian to others gathered around the table. They happily finished the fruit.

I had survived my first taste of durian. And while I found the flavor interesting if difficult to describe, I still didn’t understand why Malaysians talked about durian as if it were ambrosia fit for the gods. I just couldn’t stomach the smell. I’d rather have a good mango any day.

But the strangest thing happened to me when durian season came around again. Once more, the odor of durian was in the air wherever I went. However, instead of finding the smell offensive, it now seemed fragrant—as if the air were perfumed with wonderfully sweet aromas. I couldn’t account for the change in my perception but was now sensing a complexity in durian’s scent that I had not previously imagined. Unlike anything else, the scent of durian could be perceived as foul or fragrant or one that shifted intriguingly from rank to wonderful as I inhaled. Now when I ate durian, I understood the mystery of the fruit’s attraction. Eating durian is like tasting truffles or a ripe camembert. You are either attracted or repelled by an indescribable earthiness woven into durian’s complex sweet flavors. Thank God that most who encounter durian never get past its aroma. The tourists are happy to eat mangoes instead and willingly leave durian to the aficionados. As for me, enjoying durian has become one of life’s great pleasures.