Goodbye Noosa, Hello Singapore

Finally!

I was yearning so much to travel more. While I loved having my own room in Noosa, having an oven and a pool (I so love a pool!) - and familiar people, friends, around me - I just needed to move on.

My job (housekeeping) wasn’t sustainable. Apart from a few general ailments - back, elbow, occasionally knees (oh oh, I’m getting old!) - I developed severe issues with the cleaning agents we had to use all the time. Particularly the bleach. Long story short, I struggled a lot, and my workplace wasn’t big on personal protective equipment or smart cleaning strategies. I lasted 2.5 months - which was all good, since I left only a few days after quitting there.

I enjoyed working at the food truck a lot more, but work there is always seasonal, and after Easter, that season just ebbed out. Winter is coming.

After weeks and weeks of following the current political situation around the Strait of Hormuz, I grew increasingly worried and restless about what that could mean for my travels. I had already postponed my departure by about a month, but I had to make a decision - fast. Noosa is just way too expensive, especially without a proper job.
I decided to leave - obviously - resolving to deal with politically charged disruptions as they arose.

So, in the morning - 5:40 am - I was picked up by a shuttle to the airport that arrived 30 minutes earlier than scheduled.
And after about 2.5 hours of riding a freezing bus - recent nights were really cold! - I boarded my 8+ hour flight from Brisbane to Singapore.

My hostel is located in Chinatown - and while I saw a sign indicating it was nearby, I couldn’t find it. I asked people, but I must say this: no one cared. I was quite surprised. An older man actually pointed me into a back alley with all my luggage, telling me to just follow the road. Interesting advice, considering he didn’t even know what I was looking for - and it most certainly wasn’t that road.
The others who tried to “help” seemed content with saying something - anything - that would make me leave them alone as quickly as possible, not remotely interested in actually helping.

Someone was eventually able to point me to the correct door. I walked up three flights of stairs with all my luggage, only to be on the wrong floor. I walked down a bit to the check-in, but reception was closed, so I was confused again. I went back downstairs and asked someone else. The machine-based check-in for when reception is closed was in another entrance entirely.
And it turned out that all of this unfolded with a staff member in my vicinity the entire time - and he just didn’t care. I was visibly confused, and I’m convinced that had this happened in Oz or NZ, Bali, or Vanuatu, people would have helped.

I located my bed in a dorm of about 20 beds - luckily, it was a capsule “hotel,” which means you do have a modicum of privacy in a pod. Admittedly, it was the fanciest one yet, with a TV screen and a makeshift table. It was almost properly clean.

I actually love getting the upper bunks. It’s just fun to climb up there. The design and layout of the steps for those capsules, however, left much to be desired. It was quite a mission to enter the upper pod: three metal sheets to one side and one “knee rest” in the middle to “ease” the entry. I never got into or out of the bed with any trace of grace, I assure you.

Once checked in, I was rather knackered from the journey and only wandered about Chinatown for dinner (fried rice, which could have done with a little MSG), fondled some durian (it has such an interesting texture - like pudding: slick, gelatinous, velvety), and found out that while durian smells like the contents of a ripe trash can, I actually like the taste: It’s pudding-like, but with layered flavours - something tart, sweet, ripe, and very rich. The first aftertaste was very much reminiscent of having eaten a lovely, mature Tilsiter cheese. The aftertaste after the aftertaste - hear me out - for some reason reminded me of the smells of the surroundings on my way home from elementary school. Make of that information what you want.

Lots of people describe the smell - and often the taste - of durian as reminiscent of vomit. I disagree with that, personally. The trash comparison, to my mind, is far more accurate.

Durian - and incidentally, shoes (slippers are provided) - are forbidden at the hostel where I’m staying. One of them because of the smell.
Excuse me while I’m giggling. 😁

As for the photos, there‘s three more from the surfing festival in Noosa that are too pretty not to post, and then nothing special, but my first impression of Chinatown, Singapore, late at night.Read more