*SINGAPORE ON A FRIDAY*

The Galfromdownunder flew to Singapore to interview iconic Bike Friday owner Mark Mobius and sample the local energy foods ...

... So says my friend Rodd, who spent two years here working in advertising.

Eating - is a religion.  Food courts abound, offering everything from $2 traditional hangover breakfasts like Nasi Lemak (coconut rice+pair of cold, leathery fish+ bait fried to a crisp+dollop of searingly chili paste wrapped up in a banana leaf) to the latest 'concept food' out of a lab - witness the R Burger, an anemic burger which, on first bite reveals itself to be simply a Chinese bao with a burger-like twist. The latter I found deep in the in glass and steel bowels of the space-age ION megamall where nothing exceeds like excess; the former, at the ramshackle concessions crammed in the alleys behind said megamalls. 

Drinking - is very popular, despite the fact that Asians are lack the enzyme that converts alcohol to acetic acid and water (I DID learn something from analytical chemistry). My favorite tropical drink is the juice from a young coconut. In Costa Rica you buy it for $1 or pluck them from the sand where they fall to eventually sprout a new tree. In New York, they're the latest trendy "boulevardeering" drink, cradled by the East Village set as they peruse vintage boutiques. In Singapore and NYC they're $3; in a NYC restaurant they're almost $7, no doubt to pay for the rent and carbon emissions. 

Shopping - is the real reason Singapore exists. Just like the Garment District in NYC features a giant sculpture of a button, A plaza in Orchard Road, Singapore, should immortalize itself with a giant cash register mounted on a pole. Wait, I did see this sculpture of a giant, thin shopper that fit the bill. 

And work - in my case, I interviewed "The Father of Emerging Markets" Mark Mobius - on a Sunday. Read about Mark Mobius on a Friday.

The path around Singapore's east coast and beyond is the only respite from what is fairly trafficky, unappealing bike riding, a result of narrow lanes, no shoulder, and cars moving like the're no nasi lemak tomorrow.

Here's a sprinkling of other Singapore snippets in no particular order:

Getting a 4 hour facial and body massage/herbal bath etc, for $58. There's always a catch - like timeshare sales, my arm was unsuccessfully twisted to buy $128 creams and potions at the salon. Singapore women start a lifetime beauty regimen very young with a monthly subscription of facials. The posterchild at this particular salon was a 40+ year old manager who looked no older than 21. She pointed to her neck - "a little lined" she insisted, to prove her age. She then rolled out the salon's accountant - 65, but passing for a very decent 50.

Face Threading is strange but popular beauty technique. Sounding like a primitive initiation ritual leaving you with a cross-stitched brow, it simply involves scraping a pair of threads across the skin to remove hair and dead cells. Certainly sounds more benign than the word "laser".

"Can". A little about the local lingo. Singapore is all about efficiency, and verbal exchanges are no exception. If something can be done, the response is pared down to its essence. "Can" means "Yes, certainly Madam, we'll have that for you right away." Otherwise, it's "can not". 

Expat New York 5 Boro Bike Club member Stephen Libby and his fiance Lay Sim took me to a Peranakan restaurant in Bedok, on the east coast. This is a half hour light rail journey out of the glassy center and into the 'burbs, where you soon feel like you are somewhere in Asia rather than a Jetson's movie. Peranakan refers to the Malay roots of a certain segment of Singapore's Chinese population, the word "Nyonya" is a familiar term for a woman of this background. They ordered a Nyonya/Peranakan feast so I could try the various foods. Peranakan sweets are gluey and chewy, like gummy bears in squares. The Peranakans are clearly into "mouth feel".

I was invited to see Ajian Brown, a Bhuddist monk from Australia with a British accent. He drew a huge crowd - about 2000 people, but I confess I found his style somewhat flippant and unbefitting for a monk. Then again, he would probably tell me, "I'll not let you ruin my happiness" - a catchcry of the evening.

I also cruised around Chinatown, popping into the blood-red Temple of the Sacred Tooth. I soon found the color starting to get to me and clawed for the exit feeling murderous rather than meditative ...

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