Inside, the suite feels humid so I open the French door and walk outside onto my private balcony. It overlooks a central courtyard lined with tall palm trees and is a perfect place to sit for a while, with comfortable rattan furniture and a large parasol offering a tired guest both privacy and cool early evening shade. I check my phone and see it’s now just after 6pm. As there is no time difference between Hong Kong and Singapore, I know Henri’s boat race will now be well underway. I close my eyes and try to imagine him on board his boat with the wind in his face – yelling ‘jive ho’ or something nautical – while steering the Super Typhoon across the sea in this very direction.
I sigh and realise that despite my display of dismissive bravado I’m missing him already.
I would have much preferred that he was here with me right now: standing on this balcony, wearing his tuxedo, his tie loose, his dark hair brushed back from his strong forehead, his face tanned and relaxed, the corners of his eyes creased as he smiles at me in that playful and sexy way that he had while we were discussing the value of the golden chip at The Lotus Casino.
Henri had said that this race was a big deal so I’m now wondering if it might be featured on local TV?
Curiously, I walk back inside to switch on the TV and to progress through the channels until I find what I’m looking for on the local news channel. They’re showing recorded coverage of the start of the race and I hold my breath as the exciting spectacle is presented.
‘The twenty-first Blue Sea Classic Race is now underway!’ the commentator enthuses.
Lots of beautiful white-sailed yachts flowed out of the harbour in bright sunshine with the Hong Kong cityscape providing a spectacular visual backdrop. The commentator said that thirty-two yachts were competing in the race this year and my eyes dart across the screen from vessel to vessel hoping to spot the Super Typhoon.
But it’s impossible. The main view of the race was captured by a drone camera in the sky and many of the boats look very similar in size, shape, and style. It is, however, possible to see lots of individual crew members on the yachts, dashing about on the decks dressed in shorts and bright team sailing colours and caps, while white-tipped waves splash up the sides of the boats as they slice through the water and make their way into the open sea, all jostling for an early lead.
The commentator promises more updates on the race later.
I try calling Pia again, thinking she should now be home and she picks up my call immediately, this time sounding excited that I’ve called, demanding that I put her on video for a personal tour of my luxury hotel suite.
Only afterwards am I able to sit on the bed and tell her about Mr Lee’s offer.
I take pains to explain to her that I still fully intend on continuing to follow Jon’s itinerary and completing the whole trip. But then I’m considering the idea of, perhaps, instead of returning to London, taking the option of flying back to Hong Kong and taking on the house and living there for the next six months. I explain that that was how long I would be allowed to stay on my British passport. ‘And, after that time, I’ll no doubt come back to England.’
She listens to me talk without any interruption, which is unusual for Pia, so I know she’s giving this her serious attention, but it’s impossible for me to detect whether she’s feeling utterly shocked by all of this and thinking I’m being too impulsive right now or if she actually thinks this is a damned good idea. ‘So … what do you think?’ I beg.
Not that I’m asking her to make a final decision for me – far from it – I just need her opinion. So, while she continues to silently process this information, I hold my breath and chew my lower lip, waiting for her honest advice.
I don’t need to remind myself that no one in the world knows me better than my dear sister and, despite our age gap and the distance between us right now, I trust she’ll be able to assess this situation clearly with my best interests at heart.
When she finally speaks, her words come down the phone at me like an explosion.
‘Oh Maya, for heaven’s sakes! Email Mr Lee straight away. Tell him you’ll take the house and that you’ll want it fully furnished. Just do it. Do it right now!’
I say goodbye to Pia – who is enthusiastically making plans to come out and visit me during the next half-term – and then, straight away, I send off the confirmation email to Mr Lee.
Just as the sun is starting to go down, I return to the calm and shady ambiance of my private balcony – comfortably wrapped in a soft fluffy bathrobe – to flick idly through a magazine. But I’m not reading. I’m still thinking, already anticipating my wonderful new life and my brand-new start in Hong Kong. I’m also thinking about Henri again.
I find myself sifting through every little thing that’s happened over the past couple of days, turning over every word in our conversations to join up the proverbial dots to try to gain some perspective on how I really feel about Henri.
I put Singapore Life down on the table and close my eyes.
I recall his words to me this morning.
Carefully chosen words that were undoubtedly sincere.
‘I don’t want to rush you or to presume that you’ll ever get over Jon. Or that you can ever come to terms with what happened on your wedding day. But, if you ever feel that you could put down that torch you are carrying and live with his memory rather than his ghost, then perhaps you’ll think about coming back here?’
I cringe at how rude and thoughtless my own response to him must have seemed.
Perhaps, in future, I should be a lot more careful what I wish for if my cosmic wishes are to actually come true. Especially if my tendency is to dismiss them when they materialise.
My first divine wish had been to ask for a way to live my life without Jon. It had been granted to me during the Ceremony of Light in Rishikesh, when I’d sent all my anger and pain and sorrow sailing down the holy river in a little boat with my divine offerings. I’d felt the divine power of the Mother of India flooding through my whole body.
My second divine wish, offered to me by the Swami at the airport, had been for a reason to live my life without Jon. Was Henri the living breathing result of that divine wish?
If Jon had wanted me to connect with someone here in Hong Kong, then wasn’t his friend Henri the perfect introduction? Henri had suggested as much last night and I had heartily agreed. And now my heart feels heavy and burdened over the harsh words I’d spoken to Henri.
My chakras of regret are tingling so much right now that it hurts.
Have I made a terrible and cowardly mistake?
All the thoughts in my head are muddled up with my fear and doubts and good intentions. Am I so completely terrified of losing someone again that I’d rather shun them instead?
Guru J taught me how to manifest my wishes, hopes, dreams, and desires, and that personal encounters are never by chance or mere coincidence because we are fated either to learn from or to teach something important to everyone we meet. But what have I learned from Henri? What has Henri learned from me?
We had come together to gamble on Jon’s chip.
Was I also supposed to take a gamble on Henri?
Should I perhaps have been more honest with him this morning and admitted that all this was happening too fast and too soon for me? Should I have been brave enough to admit that I was afraid of making any commitment, never mind running the risk of falling in love again?
Except he’d never even mentioned commitment or love.
He’d simply acknowledged that the two days we’d spent together hadn’t been time enough for us to get to know each other properly. And, in asking me to stay here in Singapore, he was simply saying to me that he wasn’t ready for this to be over between us.
With the benefit of hindsight, it all seems like a terribly reasonable and romantic gesture.
I nervously wonder how he’ll react to the news that I’m planning to take on the house. What will he think when I tell him I’m returning to Hong Kong?
I dwell
on this for a moment and then decide I won’t warn him of my change of plan or tell him about my change of heart just yet. Because after the passions of Macau and the intensity between us when we parted company at the harbour this morning, I think we both need time to cool off.
I decide I’ll wait until I’ve returned from Penang.
Then, as Henri said, we might find out if this something between us might lead to something more.
Chapter 20
Singapore
It’s almost dark here in Singapore and yet it’s still wonderfully warm and only slightly humid. It’s an absolutely perfect evening. And now that I’ve sampled The Long Bar and the famous Singapore Sling, I’m keen to explore everything the city has to offer. First up is The Gardens by the Bay and what can I say? It’s a flood-lit feast for the eyes. A veritable fantasyland.
There are enormous structures and exotic themed spaces and a giant bio-dome that looks like it’s floating in mid-air. There are art sculptures everywhere and dozens of ‘super trees’ that are not trees at all but man-made vertical gardens stretching up to fifty metres tall. As the sun disappears, the whole place is starting to light up like it’s Christmastime at Disneyland.
I amble along the undulating pathways through the park, enjoying the ambient atmosphere and inhaling deliciously tempting wafts of food floating on the sultry air. Unable to resist for any longer, I buy a carton of spicy noodles from a vendor and sit on a wooden bench to eat my meal with chopsticks while I gaze around me in wonder at the sparkling lights. It’s difficult to comprehend the reality of where I am right now and where I was just one week ago, which was sitting on a wall in Rishikesh, overlooking the Ganges. Right now, I could be on another planet entirely.
In an hour or so, I’m told the whole of the gardens will be enveloped in a nightly musical extravaganza called the Garden Rhapsody Show. Having already witnessed the equivalent in Hong Kong with the Symphony of Lights Show, it’s something I don’t want to miss. So, happily, I spend the next hour strolling through the spectacularly lit gardens, before making my way across the dragonfly bridge to Marina Bay with its iconic feature: The Marina Bay Sands Hotel. It’s quite distinct because it looks like three tall towers with a boat-shaped top, as if a ship sailed across the bay and ran aground on top of the buildings. I’m told there are restaurants, bars and an infinity swimming pool up there for those who wish to swim in the sky.
Gazing up at the boat-like structure makes me think of Henri once again. He’s now more than three hours into his race and it’s almost dark.
I wonder how he’s feeling right now. I imagine him standing at the helm of his boat, steering through great waves, and once again I marvel at his courage and the bravery of all his crew.
I stroll along the marina waterfront promenade and see that children are still running in and out of the fountains. Romantic couples are walking arm in arm. Foreign tourists with impressive cameras are taking photographs of the very last rays of the sun going down on a far horizon. All along this stretch of promenade, on the paved areas beneath streetlights, under the elevated walkways and on the grassy areas down by the waterfront, there are people on mats practicing various strains of yoga and martial arts.
Some are doing power vinyasas – almost like a chakra dance – set to music. Some are doing zen yoga wearing headphones to cancel out any distractions. There’s also a Tai Chi class, which causes me to pause so I can sit on a bench to watch.
The master is an old Chinese man and he’s small, light, and lithe in his movement, quite different in his presentation when compared to Henri’s precisely focussed poses and power stances. But I’m mesmerised and when the whole class performs The White Crane Spreads His Wings, looking like silhouetted statues against the darkening sky, I find I’m so choked up with emotion I can’t stop tears from brimming in my eyes.
I blow my nose and decide to retreat. The park is getting so much busier and the crowds are making me feel stifled. I walk through the gardens slowly, catching glimpses of the light show going on all around, but feeling increasingly trapped in the bustling masses.
* * *
I get back to my room at Raffles around 8pm and order a club sandwich and a bottle of wine from room service. As I grazed on noodles and ice cream this afternoon, I really don’t have the appetite to sample the fine dining in the restaurant tonight.
I flick on the TV again hoping to catch any updates on the boat race, but I end up idly watching a travel programme showing tropical destinations favoured by Singaporeans for holiday getaways and weekend jaunts. I had no idea there were so many beautiful tropical island paradises just a stone’s throw across the water in Indonesia. All look unspoiled and idyllic with white-sand beaches, swaying palm trees and the bluest waters you could ever hope to see. Some of these islands have lush five-star hotels on them and vast freestyle swimming pools. Others are tiny tropical atolls with private villas, inaccessible except for those who are lucky enough to have their own boat or small private plane, and therefore remain the exclusive weekend lairs of the jetsetters.
Henri told me he liked to take his boat out to far-flung tropical islands and out-of-the-way places in order to discover real peace and quiet. The kind of places where he could take a book and a bottle of rum and sit on the sand pretending to be a castaway for the day. It all sounds to me like a very decadent and exotic way to live one’s life. An hour or so later, halfway down my bottle of wine, I flick through the channels again.
I watch an old movie – it’s not quite as good as I remembered – and then I fall asleep.
I dream of Jon once more, but this time, he isn’t holding out his arms to beckon me into his loving embrace or to twirl me around an imaginary ballroom in a blissful waltz. This time he’s standing in the distance, in a swirling white mist, smiling, waving to me, and blowing me a kiss. I can hear his voice clearly and I distinctly hear him telling me to be happy.
In my dream, I’m distraught and running to try to reach him because I sense he’s saying goodbye to me and that I might never see him again. But it feels like I’m running on a treadmill and getting nowhere while Jon is still smiling and waving until he turns away.
I call out to him. I beg him to stop and wait for me. But my voice is mute, and despite my desperate efforts, I never get any closer to him.
When he steps back into the enveloping mist with a final smile and a wave, I know in my heart that he’s letting me go, and I wake up to find I’ve been crying in my sleep.
He’s still here in my heart, I tell myself. Still safely here in my heart.
* * *
I attend a sunrise meditation and ashtanga yoga session in the hotel’s courtyard to clear my mind, stretch my body, and feel better. With my spirits lifted, I enjoy a delicious breakfast of coffee, juice, and eggs benedict. Afterwards, I set out with even greater determination on my mission to see and experience Singapore.
According to my itinerary, the first stop is, Shopping on Orchard Road.
For a shopaholic, this would have been a paradise: big, bawdy and lined with modern shopping malls. It really is – as a poster I spot claims – where the world comes to shop. I’m pretty sure you could buy anything your heart desired and at great expense.
But I’m not a shopaholic and I’m not that impressed. I browse but resist buying anything.
The next Post-it note is Chinatown’s Street Market which sounds more like my kind of thing. Chinatown is said to be ‘Original Singapore’ so I’m hoping to find suitable gifts here for Pia and my little nieces. I buy a couple of beautiful silk scarves and some small lacquered trinket boxes, a handcrafted bamboo handbag and two silk fans with my niece’s names on them in calligraphy. Okay. Shopping done and my second mission is a success.
I head down to the quayside. The next Post-it note states: A boat ride down the Singapore River. I’d spoken to the concierge at my hotel for advice on this trip before I set out. There were several options but the recommendation was to go for rustic charm and a river cruise o
n a ‘bumboat’. A bumboat is, I think, the Singaporean equivalent of Hong Kong’s Star Ferries.
At Clarke Quay Jetty, where I can board one of these boats, I’m told to look out for the statue of Sir Stamford Raffles on the spot where the namesake of the Raffles Hotel and the founder of modern-day Singapore first set foot. I make sure to take a photo of him and I enjoy the cruise. The boat isn’t overcrowded, and it’s nice to sit at the back in the sunshine to catch the breeze off the water. The boat is electric and so it’s a peaceful and relaxing river experience – a wonderful way to see the sights from a different perspective – and I take lots and lots of photos. But an hour later, with Jon’s itinerary completed in a timely and, what feels like dutiful, manner, I’m keen to get out of the heat and the sun.
Looking for shade and a more cultural experience I head out to explore one or two of Singapore’s many wonderful museums and art galleries. I stop for lunch along the way, but purposely avoid all those eateries that are busy with tourists even though I’m a tourist myself. I’m more than happy to find a tiny Malaysian café in an almost hidden alcove that appeals to me because it looks like something I would have found in the back streets of Hong Kong.
Inside, there are exposed brick walls and less than a dozen small tables with carved wooden chairs offering comfortable silk cushion seating. Only about half the tables are taken with diners and I’m immediately shown to a table for one in the corner.
The place has the vibe of a casual but chic secret city hangout. I immediately love it and I’m surprised when my first thought in browsing the menu is that Henri would have loved this too.
I order Nasi Lemak, a delicious and traditional spicy dish bursting with flavour served with rice and chilli sauce on a banana leaf. Having my food served on a banana leaf reminds me of meals in the ashram and I find myself smiling at the recent memory.
After lunch, I stroll around for several hours in the cool air-conditioned ambiance of the National Museum. It’s interesting to learn the fascinating history of this island city from the fourteenth century to present day. I follow this up with a visit to the nearby National Art Gallery, housed in a grand neo-classical building that was once City Hall. It’s wonderful.
The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3) Page 22