Thursday, February 24, 2011

What a Difference a Day Makes



We’re two for two. First Cairo and now Christchurch. We feel like “disasters r us.” We landed in Christchurch, New Zealand after a long flight from Singapore to discover Christchurch to be a charming, small city with a British feel owing to its history. Christchurch looked jubilant with mounds of colorful flowers blooming their hearts out – roses, hydrangeas, geraniums, and an array of bedding plants. The city has the feel of a distinguished college campus – similar to Duke University –as people walked and biked past brownstone, Tudor-style buildings with their high pitched roofs, Gothic windows, and intricate spires. In the center of the city the historic cathedral dominated Cathedral Square. We arrived during the annual flower show so the front of the cathedral was decorated with an archway of flowers. And there was a carpet of flowers down the middle of the nave inside. As we approached the square the carillons in the tall spire chimed their tune filling the square with ringing. The city loves its British roots. (According to our local tour guide, the British settlers arrived over 200 years ago in a “wee boat.”) The Avon river meandered slowly through the center city with green grass and graceful willow trees draping the river. The Bard pub was on one corner and The Oxford on the Avon restaurant occupied another. We spent a stunning, blue-sky day walking all over the city – through the historic, Tudor-style Arts Center directly across the street from our hotel, visiting the Canterbury Museum, and strolling along the river for coffee at the historic Antigua Boat Shed. Our highlight was punting on the Avon. The Avon River is very shallow and clear. Punting is accomplished by boarding canoe-like boats that are very shallow. A punter uses a long pole to push the boat along the river. We floated – or punted – under arched bridges with decorative scroll-work railings, under willow branches and past old brown stone buildings from the 1800s. Our punter kept up a running commentary which included discussion of the 7.1 earthquake that hit Christchurch last September. It caused substantial damage to many buildings in the city, but, he told us, another "big one" is predicted sometime soon. Prophetic words.

The next morning we left for the small coastal village of Akaroa to swim with the dolphins. As we sat in a tiny café having lunch before the boat ride, we felt quivering and heard low rumbling. It’s amazing how quickly thoughts flit through your head. Later Mike and I realized that we were thinking the same things. Our first thought was – are we still on the Orient Express with all this rocking? Next thought – no, this is an earthquake. Next thought – it can’t be that bad or last long. Wrong. Very wrong. For us, the 35-40 seconds of shaking were enough to realize what was happening but not enough time to act. Mike noticed the cars moving in the parking lot. I was fixated on the rocking book case and wondering if it would hit Mike if it toppled over. About the time my brain engaged enough to say – let’s move – the shaking stopped and the power went out. Everyone inside looked at each other as if to say, “Was that what I think it was?” But all seemed to be okay at least initially. A shop keeper was the first to say that what we’d experienced was small, but Christchurch had a significant quake. Hummm. Crowds of people began to cluster into groups outside. Some listened to a car radio and others gathered around a battery-powered radio outside the visitor center. The grim picture began to emerge.

The quake was 6.3 – smaller than the September quake – but it was closer and, importantly, near the surface. Rumors emerged about significant damage to many buildings downtown such as the cathedral and office buildings. Roads were closed and people were being evacuated.

It’s the strangest feeling – all the thoughts that converge at once – some noble and some not. Unfortunately, we’re beginning to become experienced at travel during emergency conditions. We focused first on practicalities like buying water and snacks – a good lesson from Cairo - particularly since we heard reports of broken water lines and water quality problems. Next we wondered about transportation. Would we be able to return to Christchurch on the bus that afternoon or would all the roads be closed. And if we made it back to Christchurch, would our hotel still be standing. Visions of sleeping in the tour van or in the park (the emergency center) flashed through our eyes. We’d slept in the Cairo airport, why not a van or a tent? Even as we were sorting out our predicament, we were increasingly conscious of the depth of destruction. Buildings had collapsed on top of tour buses, people were trapped inside damaged or collapsed buildings. Phones were down so that locals (like our bus driver) could not reach family members. In the face of such serious problems, it felt trivial to spend a moment worrying about our issues, but we needed to deal with our practicalities while being sensitive to the troubles of others.

The atmosphere was grave and uncertainty hung over the huddled crowd. No one knew what to do or what to expect. We boarded our bus (our bus driver finally reached his wife to find that she and their home were okay) and headed for Christchurch not knowing how close we’d be able to get to anyone’s hotel or even if the hotel would be there. We drove past beautiful coves and over hills dotted with black and white dairy cows and fluffy sheep. The calm beauty was not enough to divert troubled thoughts crowding our minds. About 6km from Christchurch we began to see damage.

Cracks appeared in the roadway and muddy humps like large ant hills splayed out alongside the road. This was liquefaction. The normally stable fine-grained soils became like quick sand when moist and shaken. The material oozed to the surface leaving empty space under sidewalks and roadways that then cave in. Water ran down streets from water line breaks. Buildings already boarded up from the first earthquake were now piles of rumble. Brick walls were sprawled into the street. Cars lined up at any open gas station hoping to fill their tanks before the nearby damaged Lyttleton port was closed. For the second time in two weeks, we saw a convoy of army vehicles rolling down city streets.

After much maneuvering, our driver got us into the vicinity of downtown. We had to walk from there. Our hotel, the Classic Villa, was literally three blocks from Cathedral Square in the heart of the damaged area. We could only hope that we’d be able to get close. The more we walked the more the damage escalated. Huge cracks in the pavement were encircled by orange cones. The large willow trees were missing branches two feet in diameter. The quiet, clear river was now swollen and muddy. It was unnerving. But it was nothing compared with what was coming. First was the sight of Canterbury Museum. The façade had broken stones and the statue in front was toppled off its base leaving the head smashed. We turned the corner of our street to face the Arts Center directly across from our hotel. We’d eaten dinner at a charming restaurant there on our first night. The façade was in shambles. Stones from the tall gabled roof were shattered on the pavement below covering tables, chairs and umbrellas. gabled end was completely gone exposing the inside of a room and clothes hanging inside. Farther along a side of an adjacent building had collapsed. All of these were 1800-era buildings that provide the charm to Christchurch. We walked past army vehicles as far as we could but were stopped at the river where the day before we’d gone punting. From there we could see the cathedral. The gabled end with its rose window seemed fine until we realized that the tall spire was quite simply missing. Gone. Yesterday, its bells chimed over the crowd and today it was rubble. I can only imagine the horror of those who were in the square as it fell. Mike remembered that he videoed the chiming bells less than 48 hours ago. We replayed that video and listened with sadness as we struggled to comprehend that these sounds and the happy buzz of people were silent.

Feeling oddly empty and stunned we returned to our hotel. Cracks ran alongside the exterior and we stepped over brick rubble from the collapsed chimney of the next door building. But – joy! – the house was open, people were inside and our room was largely unharmed (tilted mirror, plaster dust from cracked walls, dislocated shower door). And, we’d be able to stay there overnight. There would be no sleeping in the makeshift tents erected in the park.

And so began a most unusual evening. Others arrived and gathered in the large living room. Our proprietor, Peter, was there and was more concerned about caring for us than attending to his damaged, but still safe, house. Decorative items inside and out were in pieces, bottles of alcohol had been thrown into the floor and smashed. Most of it had been cleaned up by the time we arrived. There was no power so he was busily placing candles on the floor all around the dark house. The only other lights were from flashlights and camera flashes. No restaurants were open nor were there operable cooking facilities in the house. Everyone pitched in. We’d bought trail mix, Peter and his wife, Jan, put out cheese and crackers, someone else made a salad with smoked mushrooms, and, thankfully, Peter provided wine. I was VERY happy for a glass – or two – of wine. Everyone had a story and everyone was uneasy. One couple was in the Arts Center as it began to come apart. I was glad we had been outside of Christchurch. We’d surely have been downtown like all the others.

We shared stories, ate what we had, drank wine and Peter played the piano. It was almost enough to distract from the aftershocks. Peter and Jan stayed up for awhile waiting for other guests to arrive and to settle them in as much as possible. Before going to bed, he played one last tune on the piano and Jan sang while candles burned peacefully on the floor even as after shocks shook the house. How hopeful to hear a cheery, “Que sera, sera; whatever will be will be,” fill the living room as the floor quivered and windows vibrated.

Mike and I went to bed but with the first strong aftershock the room rocked, the window rattled, and, afterward, the coat hangers in the closet jangled a high-pitched, tinkling sound. It was eerie. The next aftershock shot me out of bed. I felt more stable in the new part of the house rather than in our room in the original section. So, I curled up on the sofa under a fuzzy blanket, wearing my robe and shoes, and holding a flashlight. Candles glowed, rain splattered outside, and I tried to sleep. But each after shock racked my nerves, and they came every quarter to half hour throughout the night. Five times they were so strong that I jumped up and ran into the center of the room away from all windows. Needless to say, sleep was elusive. But that’s okay. Mike and I were better off than many. People – perhaps hundreds – were buried in buildings a few blocks away. Thousands were in the makeshift refuge camp across the street in the park – shivering in cold, crowded tents. We heard stories the next day of residents bringing clothes and offering spare bedrooms to stranded tourists who were unable to return to their hotel rooms even to get luggage. We met three people on our bus the next morning who were traveling with only the clothes they had on as their hotel was in the city center and was inaccessible.

I told Mike, I’ll take Cairo over this. At least in Cairo, we were not the target of violence or anger. No one wanted to see tourists like us hurt. Tanks were there to keep peace but also to ensure protection. Even though we could hear gunshots, none of it was directed at us. As long as we stayed out of the way, the chances were good that we’d be okay. This earthquake was a completely different situation. It did not discriminate, nor could we get out of the way. It would hit when and where it did and all we could do was hope that we weren’t there.

Between Cairo and Christchurch we’ve learned a few things about being in crisis situations. The first is patience. You just don’t know – nor does anyone else – what will happen in the situation. There’s no use getting excited or frustrated. Everyone is doing their best. And that’s the other thing. You have to rely on the kindness of complete strangers. How many times have we seen unfortunate things in the newspaper, thought, “Oh, so sad,” and turned the page? But it’s real – very real. And many of those people will get through their day because of the stranger who stops on the street to help them. And finally, I learned that you can only take work through it one step at a time – and that’s sufficient. Crisis situations are filled with unknowns – so many that you can’t sort out the future direction. Sometimes all that’s possible is to do what seems right at that moment; get to the next place; evaluate; and make the next choice. Advance planning is a nice theory but it doesn’t work when situations are completely filled with unknowns.

Mike and I have also learned that true customer service shines through in a crisis. We experienced it in Cairo and we saw it again here. Peter and his family suffered damage in their personal home; Peter’s daughter burst into tears when she found him at the Classic Villa; and yet they stayed in the Villa with us that night. Food, wine, song and words of comfort are not on their brochure, but that’s what we got. And, you know, it helped.

We are now safely away in Queenstown but the impact of this earthquake remains with us in many ways. Each rumble or creak we hear makes us fear another quake. But more importantly, we are touched by the immensity of what happened to all these people. It took several hundred years for Christchurch to become the charming town we experienced. It took a few seconds to turn it to rubble and destroy lives, families and livelihoods. The people of Christchurch, along with others from around the world, are already clearing away the debris and moving on. It will be day by day, but - what a difference a day can make.

Mike says everything comes in threes. We leave New Zealand for Honolulu in about a week. Let the wagering begin on the likelihood of a volcanic eruption while we’re there!

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Singapore: Like Another Country



Singapore isn’t just like another country, it is another country. And what a country! I have literally never experienced anything quite like Singapore. It is a tropical paradise that feels like living inside an immaculately kept garden that sprouted skyscrapers. As we rode in the taxi to our wonderful hotel, The Fullerton (another selection by Maggie - I'll stay anywhere she selects!), we could hardly believe our eyes. Glass and steel skyscrapers, each one of a more extraordinary design than the next, were packed shoulder to shoulder with more under construction.

The first thing that struck me about Singapore was the vegetation. Lush greenery is everywhere. Palm trees line the streets, flowers such as bird-of-paradise grow along walkways. Bougainvillea fills the planters across bridges. But here’s the most amazing part.

There’s not a piece of litter anywhere – not one scrap. As we walked around the city, we counted the number of individual pieces of litter that we saw. We never needed more than two hands for the entire day’s walk. A plastic bottle in the grass looked so out of place that we would pick it up to throw into the nearest can. The other dominate feature of Singapore is the water – either the river that runs through the center of the city or the ocean. Unlike, say, Baltimore Harbor, there was not one piece of debris floating in the water. Our hotel faced onto a large inlet where the river joined the ocean. We saw two boats cleaning the water by sucking up debris, except, there wasn’t anything to suck up. An old man swept a public sidewalk with a dust pan and broom and, in the course of the morning, had amassed a few leaves and a couple of cigarette butts. Workers were pressure washing already clean sidewalks. During my first morning run, I saw a small group of people meditating underneath a highway overpass which was pristine clean – no trash, no graffiti. A Starbucks was operating under the same bridge on the opposite side. We were told that there is a substantial fine ($300) for littering so people simply don’t do it. It must save a boat load of money in cleaning expenses. It’s amazing how pleasant it feels to walk around in such a clean place. It makes you care more.

The other thing I didn't realize about Singapore is how multi-cultural it is. The city seems to be a mixture of Chinese (the predominant culture), Malay, Thai and Indian with others thrown in for variety. There were Chinese temples, Buddhist temples, mosques and Christian cathedrals. It was a sophisticated urban environment filled with young people lapping up culture, food and drink from all over the world. We saw every type of ethnic food you can think of. For example, there was a restaurant, O’Gambino’s, which was advertised as an Irish Italian Bistro Bar. Figure that one out! And, it was situated between Australian and German restaurants. We tried to stick to “local” foods although I was never quite clear what was considered "local." Would that be Malay, Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, Korean or Indian? We went to a "hawker" market for lunch. These markets are clusters of vendors selling all types of local cuisines - mostly in the open air. I watched a tiny man grill my chicken satay over charcoal fanned with a banana leaf. Mike came away with freshly steamed prawn dumplings. Awesome. One of my favorites was a dessert (of course!) of fresh mango served with sticky rice and coconut milk. So yummy! Like a flavorful rice pudding. And there’s the ubiquitous Singapore Sling which originated at the Long Bar of the Raffles Hotel. We made the trek over to Raffles and discovered a charming, old hotel that reeked of old-world British culture with a top-note of Indian. So civilized. So civilized, in fact, that it felt cold and pretentious. We tried to have lunch at their outdoor café and never got service. The Long Bar was better with its dark wood interior, bamboo leaf ceiling fans, and peanut shells on the floor. Mike watched as I nursed my Singapore Sling (there serve 800 per day on average) as we had a wonderful beef kabob for lunch.

Singapore is a mecca for shopping, but shopping was the last thing we needed as our luggage is already brimming over. So we walked and walked through this beautiful city. I ran each morning around the water front or through lush, spotless parks. This is the perfect place for walking. Pedestrians – unlike in Bangkok – are treated with great care. No matter the circumstances, if a pedestrian is hit it is automatically the fault of the driver. Pedestrian cross walks are meticulously signed and large urban streets have underground tunnels for pedestrian access. You could eat off the floor inside these tunnels. All the bridges have large, flower encrusted pedestrian walkways.

The weather was just like I like it – warm and humid. Perfect for shorts and tank tops everyday. It was quiet in the heat of the afternoon but the river front came alive with activity at night. There was a large marina development across from our hotel. It is connected across water by a free standing pedestrian bridge that is wrapped in a spiral truss. The bridge springs to life at night with twinkling colored lights. All the bridges, in fact, are beautifully lit. We took an evening boat ride under a full moon, with cooler temperatures, and enjoyed the lights of the towering skyscrapers and the ornamented bridges. The marina development had its grand opening and we just happened to be on the boat in front of it as they shot off fireworks. Very fun. Oh – and the boats are all electric so that the river area is quiet and pollution free. Impressive.

Since we weren't shopping, what else do you do in a tropical paradise? You go to the botanical gardens. The park is huge and filled with walking trails around lakes and through a rain forest. The plant life is so lush and exotic it was like walking through a scene in Avatar. One section of the park contains a ginger garden. Ginger, as it turns out, blooms in the most delightful ways. Some are odd, spiky flowers and others look like variations on a bird-of-paradise. The unopened blooms are bright and festive as though they are candy waiting to be licked. The National Orchid Garden is the jewel of the park. Orchids bloomed at every turn (prepare for flower photos!) – large, small and tiny; yellow, white, pink, purple, orange; solid-colored or speckled. There were masses of blooms tumbling off of rocks and tree branches. But as spectacular as the orchids were, I was captivated by the palm trees. Some of the palm fronds were close to 5’ in diameter. They were spectacular! And there was a “cool house” with plants that grow in the mountains of the tropics. The most notable were the carnivorous plants like pitcher plants that entice bugs inside only to be trapped as plant food.

The people were as nice as the environment. Hotel staff treated us like family (and upgraded us). In Istanbul, we had discovered that this part of the world adores Barak Obama. So, Mike has gotten a lot of mileage from telling Obama fans that I work for him. Technically, it’s true, but I think they have images of me roaming the halls of the White House. The young man checking us in at the Fullerton was beside himself with glee thinking that I worked for Obama (He’s the one who upgraded us. Thanks, Mr. President.).

There’s so much that we didn’t see of Singapore. And yet, as we lifted off on yet another long plane flight, we watched the lights of this small country grow dim. Nonetheless, Singapore will remain a bright light in our memories. What a fabulous country.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Rocking Along on the Orient Express



For years, we dreamed about taking the Orient Express train. Mike loves trains and this one is supposedly the best. The Orient Express conjures up images of old-world luxury, and, of course, Agatha Christie. We were so intent on riding the Orient Express that we scheduled all of our return travel plans around the train dates from Bangkok to Singapore. It would be four days and three nights on the Eastern and Orient Express.

We’ve had many exciting moments during our ten months of travel, and yet, occasionally there are special moments that seem unreal. Walking along the train platform next to the dark green and gold train bearing the gleaming words in brass, “Eastern and Orient Express,” was one of those “pinch me” moments. Impeccably attired staff in deep green and red Thai silk dresses and vests stood outside to welcome us aboard along green and gold carpet.

I knew Mike would love this trip but, I admit, it caught me by surprise. I was captivated the moment we stepped on board. We boarded the “G” car to find a picture-perfect train car – long narrow hallway, frilly lights overhead and wood parquet walls and doors. I felt like I was in a movie walking down that hallway in search of our cabin. The glass fronted door opened into our compartment. It was a calming, comforting feast. The parquet walls had inlaid designs behind the cushy upholstered sofa and chair. Two, large curtained windows faced the train station. It was small (although we somehow ended up with a larger cabin than we expected – and it was a blessing) but wonderfully appointed - even the tiny bathroom with thick white towels bearing the E&O emblem.

We like many others hurried to the open-air observation car to watch as we pulled out of the station. Even now, I feel the excitement of that moment. People on the platform waved and smiled as we – those most fortunate ones – rode away in our green and gold carriages. It was an auspicious beginning.

We boarded late in the afternoon so before we knew it we had to dress for dinner. Encouraged to dress up for dinner, Mike donned his new custom-made suit, me a little, black dress and off we went to our reserved table in the dining car. The dining car had large windows opening to Bangkok as it receded away. White clad tables with graceful lamps and vases of orchids, held crystal, silver and the E&O china. Service was attentive- the best I’ve ever experienced. The French chef ensured that the food was excellent! After dinner there was a cup of coffee and tea in the piano bar before turning in for our first night on the train. Our cabin had been made into two twin beds with crisp white sheets carefully turned down so that the E&O emblem was on top in the center. Delightful. We snuggled and fantasy met reality.

The Eastern and Orient Express started in Thailand, passed through Malaysia into Singapore – three countries. Importantly, we were running on train tracks built and maintained by three countries. We quickly discovered that track standards are not what they are in – say, France for the TGV. We rocked and rolled, jerked and jolted through the night. I finally fell asleep when the train stopped for several hours only to wake with a start when it jerked to life again. Neither of us – or anyone else on the train, including the staff – slept much that evening. Plus, we got up early to see the train cross the 300 meter wooden trestle bridge hugging the rock cliff. The trestle was build as part of the Thai-Burma railway in World War II. This was the so called “Death Railway” because it was built by prisoners of war and local Thai and Malay people desperate for jobs.

Bleary-eyed and tired, we disembarked the train which was parked partially on the bridge over the river Kwai (yes, the one from the movie). We boarded a large raft that was towed up the Kwai River under the bridge while we were given a walk about the war and the construction of the railroad. The visit concluded at the railroad museum that clearly described the deplorable conditions for the workers. More than 80,000 Malay and Thai workers died during construction. Prisoners died too but not in these numbers. Across the street from the museum was the cemetery for British and Dutch soldiers. It was beautifully maintained. A Thai woman was scrubbing individual grave stones. The train staff had given each of us a handmade flower wreath to place on a grave - a lovely gesture.

Time can get long on a three day train journey so there were several entertainment options. There was a piano player in the evenings in the saloon car, a reading car with an astrologer, a tropical fruit tasting, Thai music and Thai dancing. We tried it all. Since Mike had his fortune told in Istanbul via coffee grounds, I chose to try the astrologer. She read my palm and predicted a long and happy life. She said that I'm very responsible and organized, sometimes too much so. And Mike's favorite - I have a good-looking husband. How'd she know?!


The afternoon of our second day we stopped at Penang, Malaysia. We saw the Khoo Konsi Chinese temple and had a trishaw (a three-wheeled bicycle pedaled by a tiny, old man) ride through the streets to the historic Eastern & Oriental Hotel (not affiliated with the train).



The service throughout was exceptional. Beautiful women wore outfits typical of each country – Thailand (dark green and red silks), Malaysia (pink silks) and Singapore (bright red silks). Our steward served us breakfast and afternoon tea in our cabin, made the room for day and night, and fulfilled every request. He was polite, kind and deferential. I’ve never been “Madam-ed” so much – “Excuse me, Madam,” “Thank you, Madam,” “You’re welcome, Madam.”

All of this was background of the most pampered kind, but my main memories will be of the evolving scenery as we traversed from Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore. Everything changed as we traveled – the scenery, the agriculture and the lifestyles.

Thailand was filled initially with vast swaths of green rice fields with white cranes flying low overhead, as well as, tapioca and coconut trees. These changed to rubber and banana trees in the southern part of the country. People here were poor. The landscape was dotted with skinny, Brahma cows laying on the side of the road, under a coconut tree, or next to a ramshackled trash-strewn house. Pampered and well cared for, it was a jolt to see barefoot children run from hovels to laugh and wave at the train. It felt great to see their joy but the differences is our circumstances was stark. Our fare was more than they would make in a year. Stopped at a station, eating breakfast in our private car with a silver tea and coffee pot on the table, it was difficult to look out at the people gazing in awe at our train. It felt shockingly unequal and unfair.





In southern Thailand and Malaysia, craggy limestone cliffs rose abruptly from the flat farm land. At the narrowest part of the peninsula we glimpsed the South China Sea with its white beaches and waves washing ashore. It was beautiful and a little frustrating since photography from the back of a moving train is iffy at best. Sometimes leaves and branches brushed our hands as we held tight to the brass railings. Leaning out was definitely NOT a good idea. Agriculture changed first to rubber trees then to palm trees for palm oil production with hill after rolling hill of palm trees. Houses in Malaysia seemed to improve and the debris decreased. Dark skinned workers toiling in the perpetual sunshine. Most people traveled on motorbikes – some had sidecars for hauling equipment. Other times whole families were piled on the narrow seat. I saw a young woman with her toddler standing in a compartment between the handle bars holding on.

And then we reached Singapore. All trash disappeared, roads improved, agricultural production ceased, and skyscrapers soared. It was as though we entered a tropical garden with elephant ear plants the size of umbrellas. The difference was dramatic.

My other memory of the Orient Express will be the rocking train. We traveled the length of the train to the wood-lined observation car with its brass railings. Walking down the narrow corridors with the train swaying and jerking along we bounced and jostled from wall to wall like a pin ball. Everyone good naturedly waited at the end of cars so that others could pass. We’d hang off the back of the train watching the scenery go by in the warm, humid breeze that left our skin slightly sticky as our hair whipped around in the wind.

The second night the tracks were still rough. It felt like we were bouncing along a gravel road. Sleep was marginal again. The last night traveling through Malaysia was better but still difficult. Mike tucked the sheets around him like a sleeping bag to keep from rolling out of bed. Even beautifully appointed, our cabin began to feel confining after 36 hours. It was certainly possible to live, shower and dress in the small compartment but difficult after a time. The small shower was challenging as I was tossed from side to side. Mike kept hitting his head on the mirror when he leaned forward to brush his teeth. And then there was putting on mascara. The waiters were gifted at pouring water, wine and coffee while moving to and fro.

It was a wonderful experience. And I was ready to get off the train when we arrived in Singapore. We rejoiced when we reached our spacious hotel room in Singapore. The bed didn’t move and I could open my arms and not touch the walls of the bathroom. What joy!

Our burl wood-paneled room, the attentive, impeccably clad staff, the ambiance of care and luxury while zipping through ever-changing tropical landscapes – it all adds up to the Orient Express; that, and bouncing our way along the narrow corridors.