Singapore slinging

No rush this morning. So, I don’t get up until 8:40. Simply because I didn’t want to get to breakfast too late.

I have the same as the other days: a fried egg and cheese with a single slice of toast. With orange juice and coffee, obviously. And fruit for pudding.

After a while, Carl Kins comes and sits with me. We chat a bit about Belgian beer and the joys of being retired.

Still feeling a bit knacked, I lie down for 45 minutes when I’m back in my room. After which I feel a little livelier. And fiddle around on the internet for a while.

The bus leaves at 12:00. I head down about ten minutes before. Leaving enough time for a quick double Jamesons at the hotel bar. I still have quite a few Singapore dollars to get through. I may as well spend them. And whiskey seems a good option.

On the bus, there’s a cooler full of leftover competition beers. I help myself to a Double IPA. The number looks familiar. I suspect that it’s one of the beers I judged. It’s not bad. And keeps me hydrated as we bounce along the road.

First stop is Nanyang Sauce, a traditional soy sauce factory. We begin outside. Where terracotta jars full of fermenting soya beans sit in the sun. There’s a lovely savoury smell in the air. It takes nine months out in the sun to finish the process. After which, the soy sauce is harvested.

It’s hot out in the sun. Fucking hot. It’s a relief when we move inside.

The factory was established in 1959. By the grandfather of the bloke showing us around. Whose passion for soy sauce is evident. He speaks eloquently of the traditional process and the superior sauce that it produces.

Our visit ends with a tasting of several types of soy sauce. As well as a vinegar and a few types of chilli paste. They’re all impressively complex.

Before trooping back onto the bus, we visit the shop. I just pick up a single bottle of heavy soy sauce. Some of the other judges go more crazy, purchasing armfuls of bottles. Including the most expensive unpasteurised and aged soy sauce.

Next stop is LeVel 33. A brewpub on . . . the 33rd floor. “The world’s highest microbrewery in a building” as they bill themselves.

The view from the balcony is amazing. Gazing over the bay. I would try to describe it. But I’m a bit shit with words. A photo will do the job far better.

Charles gets us each an Oktoberfest. Which is perfectly serviceable. We spend about 45 minutes savouring both it and the incredible view.

The bus drops most of the judges off in Chinatown, to visit the Lion Brewery. I’m happy enough to give that a miss, having spent the best part of a day there with Andrew just a few weeks ago. Instead, I continue on with the bus back to the hotel.

I also don’t have much time left before I need to go to the airport for my flight home. I laze around my room for a while. Before nipping down to the 7 Eleven for a few things. It’s almost dusk. It’s still fucking hot.

Remembering that I haven’t eaten since breakfast, I also drop by the hawker market. Where I buy myself roast duck, egg and rice. For an extortionate four euros.

I polish off my duty-free whisky. And my hawker meal. Which is dead good. As you would expect. Roasty in a Chinese sort of way.

At ten, I check out and get a taxi to the airport. Check-in is pretty quick. Before you know it, I’m in the duty-free shop. I wouldn’t usually bother here. But I’ve still some Singapore dollars to get rid of. I get a litre of Dewar’s.

After that, it’s straight to the lounge. It’s the Qantas lounge. And is almost deserted. I lounge around there for a while, sipping whisky. Before tipping down to my gate.

I don’t have to wait long to board after going through security. 

A bit after we’ve taken off, there’s a meal service. I don’t bother with the meal, as it’s the usual KLM slop. I just have a red wine. And the fall asleep.

I wake up after 8 hours or so.  With a terrible stomach ache. I go to the bog and throw up. And feel much better. What was that all about?

Breakfast is the weird dumpling-like stuff. I pass on that. And just eat the fruit. And drink coffee and orange juice.

We land about 20 minutes early. Which is good. Passport control is mobbed. Which is crap. Then it takes ages for my bag to pop out. So long, that I use the tag finder app to check where it is. Close by, the app reckons. That’s a relief. Soon after, my bag plops onto the carousel.

Not long after, I’m rolling down the motorway in a taxi.

Before I’ve chance to put my key in the door, Dolores opens it. She’s about to go to the shops. Fortunately, she has tea ready.



Nanyang Sauce
18 Chin Bee Ave, 
Singapore 619940.
https://www.nanyangsauce.com/


LeVeL33
8 Marina Blvd, 
#33 - 01 Tower 1, 
Singapore 018981.
http://www.level33.com.sg/