Magical Orlando

It’s a long way from Singapore to Orlando, but when I fly on the impeccable Singapore Airlines, time flies too. After 19 hours of non-stop pampering, I landed in New York, and by trotting briskly, was lucky to squeeze into a Continental Airlines flight earlier than planned.

My luck did not extend to getting a glorious seat. Squashed between two comfortably-built ladies who had already laid claim to the armrests, I tucked my elbows in and sat upright, but despite the cramped position, fell asleep. When I awoke, I was pleased that we were in the air but dismayed that my neighbours had both been served dinner, which surprisingly looked edible. The two flight attendants – grim arm wrestlers in their fifties – were several feet ahead serving others. There was a call button above my seat to summon service but in America, this is purely ornamental. You never actually press it, unless you’re ready to take on the stewardess in unarmed combat. So I watched in agony as my companions devoured sandwiches, chips and cookies with relish.

In my hotel room at 11 p.m., having reduced a giant sandwich to mere crumbs, I went to bed but couldn’t go to sleep. I tried lying on my back, my side and my stomach (one at a time). I even tried sitting upright with elbows tucked in. But sleep wouldn’t come. My body was still sweltering in the mid-morning heat of Singapore.

Shanghai – a city reaching for the sky

The Shanghai immigration officer briskly stamps my passport, smiles and presses a button. A panel on the counter lights up, inviting me to rate his service. I press “Very Satisfied” like others did before me. Perhaps he smiles and moves fast only for the sake of the rating; perhaps he is intrinsically grumpy and slow; but perhaps that is the point.

Outside, another smiling Chinese drives me to the city. He is keen to share knowledge about Shanghai and I’m keen to imbibe it, but we make little headway.

“Pledges,” he says, nodding and pointing vaguely to the left, “Hangpu pledge, Nanpu pledge… many pledges.” 

I’m thinking pledges are ancient Buddhist teachings by venerable monks. I conjure up an image of a Buddhist temple, with sacred shrines amidst quiet green lawns and shady trees. Closing my eyes, I can almost smell the incense…

“Pledge!” the driver cries. 

I look to where he points. A modern structure looms over the river.

“Bridge!” I say.

Melbourne, a city of cafes

As I exited Melbourne airport, an Asian gentleman in a smart suit holding a placard with my name came forward smiling and helped me with my luggage.

“How are you, Sir? And how was the flight?”

Well, I had flown with the impeccable Singapore Airlines on their new Airbus 380; the flight was on time; the landing was smooth; the morning air was crisp and the sky was blue. There was little to complain about, but I managed.

“Seven hours!” I said, “Too short for an overnight flight – I couldn’t sleep well.”

He nodded sympathetically. “You need coffee,” he said (where a lesser man might have said, “You need a kick in the pants”). He hurried off to get me a steaming latte and refused my offer to pay. His gesture lightened my mood. The excellent coffee boosted it further. And driving to the city listening to this cheerful Pakistan immigrant with an MBA talking in Hindi with Lata Mangeshkar singing on the car music system (also in Hindi), made me positively buoyant. Without a trace of bitterness, he told me how he had switched from a career in sales and marketing to driving a taxi.

Hong Kong - a lively commercial spirit

Hong Kong, vibrant and colourful, with sleek skyscrapers, verdant hills and a pulsating night life, is a dynamic city of commerce. I love going there, which is convenient because I go often. In fact, I’m a “frequent visitor”, which is more convenient: I whisk through Immigration bypassing a serpentine queue every time… whether I arrive by day or night, on a weekday or weekend, during school or holidays. The enormous airport – with myriads of shops, lounges and restaurants – handles 48 million passengers annually. That’s about 90 passengers a minute.

It’s easy to doze off on the half-hour drive to the city on a silky-smooth highway and miss the scenic hills of Lantau Island, the bridge to Kowloon and the tunnel to Hong Kong. The two-stop train journey takes 24 minutes but is equally soporific.

(Arriving at Kai Tak Airport ten years ago used to be more stimulating: descending into mountains with jagged peaks; flying almost in between buildings with clothes fluttering on balconies; catching a glimpse of a short runway; and screeching to halt a few feet before the ocean.)

I usually stay in Pacific Place, in the heart of the city, yet close to sanctuaries of tranquillity, like the Hong Kong Park – with small lakes and quiet pathways among flowers – and Bowen Road on the adjoining hill, with a panoramic view of the city below. 

I like going for a run on Bowen Road but dislike having to climb the hill first. I thought I was saving time by running up the hill till an athletic Chinese, effortlessly overtaking me, asked, “Why don’t you save time by running?”