Jennifer Burge - Singapore salvation

Table of Contents

SINGAPORE SALVATION

SINGAPORE SALVATION

Jennifer Burge

WORLDWISE PUBLICATIONS

Queensland, Australia

SINGAPORE SALVATION

Copyright Jennifer Burge, 2015
All rights reserved.

ISBNs:

Print: 978-0-9942449-2-5

EBook: 978-0-9942449-3-2

Cover Design by Mike Levario

Front Cover image used under license from Shutterstock.com

Back Cover image by Jennifer Burge

Internal Design by Cohesion Author Services

The right of Jennifer Burge to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000 .

This work is protected by copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author and publisher.

Worldwise Publications

Queensland, Australia

For my husband

The road less traveled has had a higher toll than we expected,

but I wouldnt have taken it with anyone else.

Prologue

S kyscrapers swayed like palm fronds in a sea breeze. Fear paralyzed me. Standing was out of the question. I had a death grip on a railing that wasnt there. My head swam as if Id swilled a bottle of vodka. No one made a sound, but the tropical air was thick with fear and trepidation. It defied reason that the massive weight of concrete and steel dipped like a tango dancer without crashing to the ground and taking all of us with it. But it didnt. It just continued to give me close ups of the pavement before flinging me back toward the angry gray green sky.

Chapter 1

Transplanted

Determined to eliminate the last remaining space in my suitcases, I darted from one room to the next of our historic Rotterdam heerenhuis. Surely there must be more I could carry with me to our next life in Singapore. Exhausted, I collapsed in a brown leather armchair in the dining room. The last rays of sunlight were reaching through the scarlet and gold pattern of the dining room windows.

Tears welled up in my eyes when I realized how much I would miss that view. Id done nothing but search for an exit visa from the Netherlands for the majority of my five years here. What did I have to cry about now that my wish was about to come true? That it was finally happening? That the hell you know is better than the one you dont? I couldnt explain it.

The gold ring on the cab drivers meaty fist struck the front door as a demand. David and I eyed each other warily. This was his first international move and my third. Why I was the one freaking out while a burly stranger carried our most precious possessions to the warm, waiting van was anyones guess. In slow motion, I stepped over the black sooty snow of our busy street. When we were seated and David had rattled off instructions, the driver turned up the radio. The powerful voice of Alicia Keys reached my ears, telling me everything was going to be all right. The taxi splashed down the Mathenesserlaan and my neighborhood disappeared in a blur of tears and multicolored Christmas lights.

On December 22 nd , 2007 David and I were departing from the airport Id long fallen out of love with, Amsterdam Schiphol International. The number of times Id nearly drowned in despair upon landing at this blue and gold utopia of organization were eclipsed by the fact that I was about to leave the only home I knew. Again .

Waiting in the plush Singapore Airlines business class lounge, I made a desperate attempt to summon optimism. Our new Asian adventure was about to begin, but happiness had left the building. Confusion was king and the deep well of melancholy that had been steadily filling for the past five years finally breached its banks.

Arriving at the gate, we were quickly ushered onto the waiting plane by the eager Singapore Airlines flight crew. There seemed to be a one-to-one ratio of staff to passengers. No matter which way I turned, a smiling Singaporean offered me food, drinks, or assistance with stowing my belongings for the thirteen hour flight.

This wasnt my first business class flight admittedly heaven for flying more than six or eight hours but it was my first experience with Singapore Airlines. Their exceptional standard of service was completely foreign after five years in a country which lacks a word in their language for the word service. My expressionless face must have driven them crazy. Is there no pleasing this woman? I imagined their thoughts.

With a firm grip on a flute of French champagne and a small bowl of toasted cashews by my side, I settled in to watch the boarding circus. David was no match for the siren song of the personal entertainment system which would hold him captive for hours. No-nonsense Asian businessmen boarded and handed over their care to the beautiful hostesses who were eager to attend to their every need.

This time, there was no sideshow of frustrated travelers trying to shove oversize bags into overhead compartments or virgin travelers incapable of locating their assigned seat. It was a carefully orchestrated dance. Despite a two hour delay on takeoff, no one appeared ruffled or, heaven forbid, angry.

As we shuddered into the sky and began gliding soundlessly east, the performers once again took position. A gourmet feast was about to unfold. Linen napkins were spread on laps. Wine glasses and a full array of cutlery appeared. The fragrant smell of jasmine rice and slow cooked beef was in the air and ultimately tickled my tongue. Surprisingly, it was the carefully selected wines and not the chocolate mousse that won me over. Hello Singapore Airlines and goodbye KLM. I was a convert for life.

Occasionally my thoughts turned to the leasing agent who would be waiting for us in our new Singapore condo. Without her mobile phone number, wed had no way to let her know that we would be hours later than expected. Once we landed, David and I discussed the need for speed at customs and baggage claim to prevent her wait from growing exponentially. To our astonishment, arrival at Changi Airport had the same orchestrated feel of boarding the plane. When we were out the door and first in line for the taxi in just over twenty minutes, I began to wonder who was behind the curtain pulling the strings. It had to be some form of magic to get us out of there so quickly.

I didnt know then that Singapore is the model of efficiency in Southeast Asia. Before this experience I would have told you it wasnt possible to transfer luggage from the plane to the belt in record time. Because Singapore is a young nation, the airport was built with the latest technological advancements. Such advancements were unheard of in older, western metropolises. The bright yellow priority luggage tags were actually heeded at Changi too, allowing us to be among the first in line for the taxi queue as well. This method of travel came with more advantages than Id imagined. Too bad there was no temperature control outside of the airport doors to turn the notch somewhere below the setting for blast furnace.

Stepping into the taxi, my newly discovered life of privilege halted, just as the car did at least ten times during the twenty minute ride to the center of Singapore. Experience counts in driving and airport construction. It was clear whod done their homework and who hadnt in this equation. Despite nearly nailing the front passenger seat headrest with my face twice on a hard brake, my attention remained fixed on the exotic scenery rushing by my window.