As with all thing good and holy, it started an indian cabbie. He picked us up in the Dobet Gaut area of Singapore, near the Singapuro mall, which is near five other malls, each of which borders at least 3 larger malls, and so on and so forth. His cab was on the crappier side of what I had come to expect but options are unsurprisingly limited at 4-something am.
We had no plan. No pre-bookings. And only a vague notion of what we where doing. I’d even venture to say less than vague notion. A strange way to start the journey to post-card paradise but, then again, paradise is rarely planned.
“No booking. Can not take bus.” His english was manageable. I could see his eyes in the review but the sounds seemed to jump from his mustache. ” I take you. I take you.” He said as we passed our intended destination; the depot painfully dark and closed. With a close eye, I watched the meter climb, as our drive started to take some seemingly aimless turns. My American sense of security started screaming, “Hes going to rip you off, like the guy the other night. Trust no one! Buy a gun!” Sure enough, he landed us right where we needed to be, which was a bus station open at an ungodly hour. I told my false American conscious to shut-up, paid our driving hero and thanked him profusely.
He smiled and drove away.
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