I was 15 when I first smelt Singapore. I landed with my school band (I played the flute). The aeroplane door opened. I stood at the top of the steps and inhaled.
Sultry. Complex. Heavy with spice. Layered, year upon year like sheaves of history.
The aroma has drawn me ever since. I remember it at odd times. I have wanted to immerse in it again to enjoy and to refresh my memory. Alas, passengers are now funnelled from the plane directly into the airport building. By the time one emerges into the air, the aroma is barely noticeable. It has seeped imperceptibly into one’s olfactory system . The moment of immersion, of recognition, has been stolen.
I may never fully smell Singapore again.
But I have the sight of smells.
The durian, that contradictory fruit whose repulsive smell has earned it its own sign on trains, has reached gargantuan proportions.
Fun-loving architects have left a trail around the city.
I’ve never been to Dubai, but the extravagant shopping centre at Marina Bay Sands had me feeling that I had been transported to that acknowledged showcase of resource-devouring, environmental remodelling. Even a shopping centre with one storey and old-fashioned floors can put me in an odd state of dislocation from the outside world. This one had a PhD in disorientation, with majors in wanton excess and fun.
For information on the Marina Bay Sands Skypark, including the public viewing area on the stranded boat, click here.