Tuk tuks, trains, & tea plantations

Kandy.  How could you NOT want to go to a place called “Kandy”?  Streets lined with sweets or strippers, had to be seen.

Okay, well, no streets lined with sweets or strippers, but a nice little city nonetheless.

The standard arrival, whether by bus or train, is head down, make no eye contact, reply “I’m okay, no thank you.” to all approaching touts, walk confidently in any direction which seems open, and only stop once I’ve cleared the general transportation vicinity.  After clearing the war zone and making a plan, my universe granted me yet another much needed favour and bestowed upon me a lovely tuk tuk driver, Suresh.  Although he had been driving a tuk tuk for 13 years, I was his first hire in this, his brand new tuk tuk (owned by a friend).  It was fate. 

He was relentless in helping me find a suitable guesthouse and a very gentle soul when it came to offering help or services without pushing or trying to make some cash.  Genuinely nice guy.  Spent a couple of days wandering this lake centred, holiday oriented, very touristy little town and accomplished the priority of sink washing a bunch of smelly clothes.  When I decide to stay in a place for more than 2 nights, the bag is emptied and my room is transformed into a city street back alley of washing lines full and clothes hanging from every exposed surface.  I had forgotten how much time it takes to hand wash trousers and t-shirts in a bloody bathroom sink! 

Other than washing, I did arrange what I thought would be a few hours of tuk tuk touring to see the sights around KandyLand.  Suresh picked me up just after 8am and only left, shortly after 7pm, because I insisted that he go home, he had done more than enough.  Not once did he ask for more than our agreed upon price, not once did he grumble or discourage a stop off here or there, and actually, it was me who said no to more places he said we should stop.  A++ for effort, this guy.   

A ridiculously full day of first taking my crashed computer to get fixed (arrrgh!) to hanging out at an elephant orphanage (baby elephants playing in a river!), temple exploring, an hour long impromptu seminar at an Ayurvedic  medicinal herb & spice garden (WAY more interesting than I thought!), traditional dancing, and cruising in a tuk tuk.  I had to say no to a tea plantation, a gem factory, and more temples.  This boy was determined to give us the full experience.  Oh yeah, while I was off falling in love with elephants, he met a Czech girl who was stranded in between towns so she joined us in the tuk tuk tour.  Great company for me and again, he didn’t ask for any extra money, not once.  Angel.     

After Kandy was the coveted first class panoramic train ride up towards hill country.  A nice enough train, with big windows, that allows for an almost unhindered view of the gorgeous changing landscape through the centre of Sri Lanka.  Only foreign faces on board, of course, but it’s one of those things that you just have to do.  Struck up what I thought would be a casual conversation with an American dad who was taking his son and two of the son’s friends on a little trip (he works for the US State Dept, living in SL) and he was interesting enough to talk to, but then it went on.  And on.  As I’m looking past him out the window and reaching ever so slyly for my camera, it goes on.  Nice man, really nice man, but holy chatterbox.  Shut up and look at what’s outside dude!  But he wasn’t too interested.  One of those who lives in foreign lands but shelters in a compound, behind glass doors kind of life.  At one short lull in the conversation, I managed to make an escape on the pretense of taking photos and was able to take in a bit more of what I had been missing.  What a train ride!  Tea plantations that went on forever, jungles and forests and small villages.  Wow, wow, wow!  Again, see facebook photos.

Heading towards a town called Hatton, where I thought I had a bit of a plan to see another world class lookout.  After pouring over a newly acquired map I realized, far too late, that I had overshot another town I wanted to go to.  By three hours.  *groan*.  Oh well, carry on.  Easy enough to go back another day.

Arrived in Hatton, determined to find my way, and was being driven further and further into a darker spirits as the sun of Kandy was replaced by the thick mist and drizzling rain of high hill country.  Spooky mist.  Making the railway tracks and sights just outside the window disappear.  Good movie scenario for sure.  But cold.  Not cold for normal people, but for me, Princess Island Petunia, cold.  Burrowed into blankets in my guesthouse, I try to figure out how to get to this lookout place that was so highly recommended to me.  Guesthouse owner quotes a RIDICULOUS price PLUS another insane entrance fee and yeah, I’m out.  Simply can not afford to make that journey and carry on with the other things I want to do.

Enter fabulous universe providing always available turn of events.  Meet the one other person in the guest house, a lone German coming to the end of a year on the road.  Very chilled out girl with some incredible stories.  Love her.  Go round and round various options and decide to jump on her plans to go to the internationally famous Lipton’s tea plantation at sunrise instead of the wallet gouging lookout spot, much to the gritting teeth of the guesthouse owner.  Pfft.  Screw you, mister.  I like my new friend and you are clearly trying to rip me off.

5am start (yes, it is pitch black and now very cold) however the sunrise at the top of a mountainous range of glistening green tea plantations was unforgettable.  We wandered and explored and reveled in the scenery before the little settlement of workers awoke and Hindu temple music pierced the previously peaceful plantation.  So we then boldly went and explored their very basic little settlement.  Big smiles and abundant hellos as we passed hustling workers on their way to pick the leaves.  A group of teenaged boys hanging around the temple were bouncing around like baby goats as they posed and pointed for photos to be taken.  They of course want us to mail them the photos, I will have to try really hard to get some printed off.  Oh for the days of Polaroid.

A really great day, completely unexpected and of course unplanned, and will add it to the blessings of just going with what comes at you.  Thanks Hatton.  You started out so rough and finished off fabulously.  I’m now off to head three hours back from where I just came, in an attempt to climb 5200+ steps to reach a harrowing place called Adam’s Peak.  Chances are good that there will not be much success but hey, will give it a go.  Why not, right?

Up is always worth it.

Carrying on with the journey through SL.  From rainy Trinco I made my way to Sigiriya very, very, very early in the morning.  Seems that most travel here starts anywhere from 5 – 6am and it’s usually your best bet to get on it.  Early morning, rain and drizzle followed me, but skies cleared as I arrived in this street long town to work out a plan.  Point of attraction – temple/palace thing on top of an enormous rock that leaps strangely and severely out of gentle rolling hill surroundings.  Concocted a plan to climb the smaller rock next to Sigiriya temple rock to get the best view of it.  Rented a bicycle and made my way to the temple of this smaller next door neighbor rock but foolishly (and typically) didn’t fully investigate how to get to the TOP of this rock.  I had read that there was a small rough path behind the temple so I start looking for exactly that, a path.  Follow one, it ends at a bunch of big boulders.  Go back, try another path, and another, and another all either ending nowhere or back at the same temple.  Then I apparently start suffering from dehydrated delusions.

Determined to get to the top of this rock face that is surrounded by fairly dense forest, I decide to just start hacking through, Rambo style (minus any cool weapons), heading for the general direction of up thinking of course I’ll find my way back.  At one point, after crawling and pulling and rock climbing myself up a steep bunch of vegetation covered rock, grunting and groaning like meatheads in a sweaty gym, I look down from where I’ve come and say out loud to myself, “this is the dumbest thing you have ever done.”  I had no idea where I was, was precariously perched on the slippery edge of NOT A PATH rock, clinging to shallow bits of roots and grass, and no one knew where I was.  Easy enough to die in a second, dumb enough to think I wouldn’t.  With quivering knees and only by the grace of every god in the sky, I made my way back down off the edge and as I caught my breath and looked around … *whimperwhimper mooooooannnnn*  Now where do I go?!?! 

No idea which way to turn in the middle of some damn Buddha forest at the base of some rock face that there was no way I was going back up.  And I know exactly why this has happened.  Yes, I’m dumb but there’s another reason.  Since I was alone at this big cave temple Buddha (who was under construction and not finished being built), I thought it would be funny to take a sassy little picture of me kissing Buddha on his lips.  Yeah, apparently he wasn’t in the mood and hence, I was lost in the middle of Sri Lankan jungle forest, his act of retaliation.  Fair game.  Nicely played, Buddha.   

After calmly talking myself through a survival plan and two facefulls of hysteria inducing spider webs, I manage to find my way back.  I walked up to a different Buddha shrine and apologized for offending him with my kiss then gave up on finding the top of the rock.  Sort of.

Down at the parking lot I saw a vehicle and no people which meant someone was up there, someone knows the way.  Stubbornness will be the death of me.  Back up I went, try number four at these murderously steep steps, back to the Buddha I kissed (with a much more humble approach this time) and just as I decided to sit down and wait until someone showed up, they did!  Three white faces and a local guide!  Where’s the path?  Where’s the path?  Where’s the path? (oh please don’t tell me it’s an enlightenment thing.) They showed me the very first path that I had followed well over two full hours ago and said that yes, it does end at a bunch of massive boulders, I just have to scramble up over them.  So, a journey that should have taken me a total of less than 30 minutes I managed to stretch out into a death dance and a 3 hour trek.  Well done, Janice, well done.  BUT!!!

I made it!  The top of this rock face was spectacular.  And yes, as I was on my own, I threw my backpack to the ground and did I proper happy dance wiggle in celebration.  The view was worth every foolishly stupid near death decision that I had previously made.  It was gorgeous.  See facebook photos.  As I hung out and ran back and forth across the top of this mass of bare rock enjoying this ‘I am the only person in the world right now’ feeling, I remembered that I still wanted to actually get to Sigiriya, the big mama.  Out of nowhere, a guide shows up.  Turns out that the people I met weren’t too convinced that I’d either be able to find my way up or down the rock so sent someone looking for me.  Where were you two hours ago when I was bawling in the forest, buddy?!?!  I’m fine NOW!  But still, nice of them to care.  Down, down, down.

My fragile body biked over to Sigiriya and paid the heart stopping fee to get up this rock.  As I grumbled over my budget being eaten away as fast as me with a couple of Reese Peanut Butter Cups, my miserly misery was soon replaced by awe and then a bit of fear.  There are staircases, rusty, crumbling, narrow staircases, bolted and winding along the outside of this sheer face of rock leading up to the palace ruins at the top.  The shaking in my knees was no longer to do with the pain of the effort.  I saw some turn around and head back down, not able to continue on, I saw some clinging desperately to the railings and leaning as close into the rock as possible, and I saw others head on up, oblivious to the curling fingers of death tickling the bottoms of their feet.  I was determined to be one of those confident ones.

I strode up and up and up.  Much higher than the Buddha forest trek I had just done 4 times unnecessarily.  When I stopped to take photos (which means I was actually catching my breath), I was barely able to calm the panic in the pit of my stomach that threatened to overtake me whenever I looked at how flimsy the construction was upon which we silly sheep were standing.  And this, my friends, is low season.  Apparently there are hundreds upon hundreds of pilgrims who push and pull over each other to climb this same route at certain times of the year.  I was alone on some stretches of the staircase and was cursing the fact that I had eaten breakfast as it added just that much more weight to the steps.  Wow.  What a climb. 

That being said, it was again worth the effort and the fear as the views were ZOOOOPAAAA and as it was nearing the end of the day, almost all mine.  Nice one.  The way down was nowhere near as treacherous, fewer cliff edge steps, and I was quite pleased with a ridiculously over-exerted but successful day.  Now give me my bed.

Surviving Sri Lanka just fine, thanks!

Cows, dogs, monkeys, goats, ravens, and the odd cat and deer.  There is wildlife on all city streets in Sri Lanka. 

A bit of a slow start to the grand adventure of Sri Lanka but that’s to be expected as I readjust to life on the road.  I’ve quite confidently determined that I am far too old to be lugging a 20kg backpack around but am still at a loss as to how to diminish the already meager belongings I’m carrying along the way.  This isn’t including the extra kilos of computer & camera & random crap that sit snugly on my lap for most journeys.  I don’t have a lot, I really don’t.  When I unpack it all and lay it out on the bed, it’s actually quite sad to see that this is everything in the world that I own (I truly did have a few moments of choked up self-pity when I looked at my life laid out on a small twin-sized bed) but somehow it’s still impossibly heavy to carry around.  Maybe I’ll get stronger, maybe I’ll continue to shed bits and pieces along the way, maybe I’ll meet a talking donkey who will be willing to share the load with me.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.  Ah, the joys of life as a wandering fool. 

The one thing I’ve been blissfully thankful for as I’ve restarted my life of lost this week is how shockingly unfazed I am by shocking situations.  The places I’ve eaten in, the transportation I’ve taken, the silliness of it all should have sent me shivering and sobbing back to the safety of whichever sketchy room I had holed up in for the night but meh!  I seem to be fairly unfazed by most of it.  Kinda has me a bit concerned.  I mean, I should still be sicked out by some of these things, shouldn’t I?!  You’re going to give me a plate of rice that was 3 seconds ago barely visible as it was covered in flies?  Okay.  I’m going to squeeze my ass into a rusty, rocking, rolling, barely there bus hurtling down the road mach 5, horn blaring, wheels squealing, people spilling out on all sides because this is the way to go?  Alright then.  The only challenge I foresee will be making it out without succumbing to dengue or malaria (ever present fear after my ass-kicking in Mozambique).  Mosquitoes weren’t too much of an issue in Indo but here they’re aggressive, ever-present warriors.  All told, being my first weeks in, it has been fairly easy going.  KNOCK. ON. WOOD.

People – lovely.  Really lovely.   Hardly any staring other than when I’m marching down the street fully loaded and come on, let’s be honest, I’d stare at a pack mule like me as well.  Lots of passing hellos and big smiles and willingness to help when I ask questions here and there.  Everyone seems to speak a bit of English and as is always the case, sign language and charades is universal.  “Hello!  Where you going?” appears to be the standard greeting.  I had to shake my head as two men yelled this to me from the street while I drove away, seated inside a bus leaving a bus station.  Really?  Don’t be ridiculous.  The other, even more common question is:  “Where you come from?” or some variation of determining my country of origin.  I’ve gotten a little bored with the whole thing so I’ve become quite exotic.  I’ve been from Venezuela, Switzerland, Egypt, Jamaica, Mozambique, Argentina, and keep changing as the people pass.  *sigh*  the same question 7,000 times a day – ya gotta mix it up a bit.

I’m slowly figuring out prices and have been RIPPED on a few things but again, that improves with time.  Have found that the owners of the little “hotels” (where you go to eat, not sleep) are the worse culprits.  They come waltzing up, all smiles and English welcome, and if they can get to the cash guy before you do, the price manages to double somehow.  Again, it’s pennies I’m paying for bits and pieces here and there but for those of you who have travelled these roads, it’s the principle.  It’s frustrating but yes, it will come in time.  Only the beginning.

There’s a stamped out tourist route that I’ll get to in the south but wanted to head north to see a few cities I thought I should check out before heading to the travel books’ sights to see list.  Hardest part?  I can NOT pronounce the names of these places with more than 6 letters in them.  Seriously annoying.  Quick run down of the places I’ve seen so far:

Colombo.  City.  Surprisingly clean city compared to where I’ve just come from.  Chaos and congestion but somehow fairly manageable.  Got on a bus and everything!  Didn’t get to see too too much but impressive coastline and functioning infrastructure with fairly happy people all about.  Memorable moment, dropping my camera out of my bag and smashing the UV lens.  Frick.  Camera still works, pics seem to be fine, moving on. 

 Anuradhapura.  Yeah, YOU say it!  Old capital city, temples, history, yadda yadda.  Tuk tuk driver insisting on taking me on a tour to see all these temples and important places.  *yawn*  He started quickly dropping prices as he could see 1., not interested, 2., that I was going to walk and check things out on my own before making any decisions.  $30 was his going rate before I ventured off.  Wander, wander, wander, not so far, and I find myself at the entrance to these temple / tree / sacred places.  Checkpoints and official people manning the gates but I nonchalantly stroll up, feigning any knowledge of where I am and chatting to all the cows and dogs lounging about.  Seems that the official looking people simply want to make sure you aren’t carrying any weapons and poof!  I’m in, looking at this sacred tree and lovely temples for the grand total of $0.00.  Even got ash smudged on my forehead and pretty white thread wrapped around my wrist (think that means I’m blessed for today).  Funny how it works out like that. 

After holy tree place, off to Jaffna.  Tamil territory.  Give me some drama.  Nope.  Can’t even really get anyone to talk much about it.  My presence turned very few heads in this town even though I only saw maybe 4 other white faces.  Not that I’m by any means head-turning-worthy, but you know what I mean.  The entire town of Jaffna, from the roads to the buildings to the EVERYTHING, is under construction.  It’s hard to tell what’s old, what’s new, what is war ravaged and what is just Sri Lanka.  But the town is in progress and that’s never a bad thing.  Not a lot of information to be had and I’m just not a military fort and history kind of girl so I tired of the city pretty quickly.  The mania of the market and centre of town was amusing but cities, well, I’ve gotta keep moving.  Was in Jaffna for Diwali, walked endless in search of something celebratory.  Nada.  Pretty lights on trees and candles alongside the road but that was it.  Guess you needed to be connected to get into a house party. 

From Jaffna to Trincomalee.  250km, 2 buses, 8+ hours.  Ugh.  But I learn on these torturous journeys.  I’ve learned that while the aisle seat may offer a quick exit, it also means getting pushed, shoved, twisted, smushed, smacked by bags, handed bags to hold in your lap, and generally sat on (lap, shoulder, head, any exposed area) as the aisle fills to over capacity with bodies on the move.  The window seat may jam you in, but you’ve only got that one other body to deal with.  See.  I learn quickly.

Trincomalee.  Rain.  Arrived in the tiny little town, found a guesthouse, tried to get a bit oriented, almost drowned.  It’s rainy season on the east coast.  Fine enough as I was shattered from the cross country bus marathon, but come the next morning and it’s still raining, let the pacing begin.  I’m the only one staying here (as most people realize it’s rainy season and are smart enough to stay away) the owner and care taker arranged a tuk tuk tour to see some of the sights around town.  Game.  I’m in.  Learning to barter a bit more and like it less and less.  Some people are made for it and shine like superstars.  Me?  Not only do I suck at it, I don’t like it.  Hate talking money at the best of times, haggling for what I want or need – fail.  Massive.  But I’m getting by.  Again, the people are lovely and it has yet to turn ugly.  Maybe that’s because I’m paying way more than what I should be and have no flipping clue??   Regardless, I haven’t pissed off the locals.  Yet. 

A nice few hours about town with temples and rainy beaches and a local look around.  Tsunami area and wow, the water here scared me just looking at it from the rain soaked beach or the tops of temple ridden cliffs.  It’s big here.  I don’t know how else to describe it.  There’s a bit of sandy beach, maybe 100 meters, then massive, boiling, wave-smashing water that looks like it would swallow you whole as soon as you stepped foot in.  Granted it’s rainy season and the water is always much rougher and wilder this time of year but I was amazed at how CLOSE everything is built to this raging coastline.  A brand new hospital has been built ON THE EDGE OF THE WATER!!!  The tsunami funded housing (which is so painfully obvious but who cares when you need a place to live?) is built far back from the water, there are the obvious re-constructions of battered but still existing buildings but the newer constructions, I don’t get it.  Maybe it’s that lightning never strikes twice optimism, maybe it’s simple necessity, nostalgia, who knows.  But made me nervous just standing there.  Come summer time, I bet it’s a beautiful stretch of water though.  For now, too much rain.   

Temples are lovely, I need to learn more, but enough.  Much to the frustration of locals trying to show me various sights, I have ended up getting distracted by street puppies or meandering cows .  I drew an entire street worth of attention after scooping up a palm-sized kitten off the middle of the road and sitting on a curb to cuddle her.  Dissolved into tears of laughter as a sweet, brave lady emerged from the crowd of onlookers and came over to ask, “Do you like pussy?”  Oh dear gawd, how do I answer THAT one?!  Fabulous, fabulous, fabulous.  The kitten was left in her care.  Week one, done.

24 Hours in an Airport

24 hours in Singapore – I had a plan.  The world’s best airport (yes, the BEST!) was meant to keep me thoroughly comfortable and fairly entertained as a simple route from Bali to India turned into a drawn out day lost within the vacuum of time when the destination was switched to Sri Lanka.  I had no intentions of going into Singapore and getting a room because, well, I HAD A PLAN.  And we all know by now how perfectly my plans always work out, right?  *sigh*  Yeah, right. 

Left on a 5:45pm flight out of Denpasar with a surprising lump in my throat.  I had spent the majority of the last few weeks in very good company, hardly ever on my own, having silly great fun, excellent conversation, and generally being happy, happy, happy.  The 15 months I spent in Surabaya heralded some spectacular experiences however it’s the end of my time in Indonesia which will be asterisked as some of the highlights in the Indo memory bank.  It’s lovely how our memories do away with the struggles and replace all the heartache with warm fuzzies once you have moved on.  Well done, brain, well done.

Okay, so the plan!  Arrived in Singapore and collected my bag as I had to switch airlines.  It was about 8:30pm.  My flight to Sri Lanka wasn’t until 9pm the next day.  Whatever.  I have a plan.  Up to the airline counter I go and …  Sorry, cannot check in until 5am the day you are meant to fly.  Really?  But I have a ticket and it’s travel centre of the universe and you’re open now and really?  You can’t just take my bag?  No.  No?  No.  Of course you can’t.  Fine.  Singapore has a bag storage area so no need for tears, I lose 20kgs and am looking forward to all the comfy cool things I have mapped out for the next 24 hours in this uber fancy airport.  Right then! 

As I had to pick up my bag and check in elsewhere, I'm obviously in the arrivals / check in area, right?  That horrible part of the airport which is all excessive fluorescent lighting, endless rows of deserted and often unused check in counters, abandoned ankle crashing trolley carts, cold, hard tile floors, and a smattering of miserable, unforgiving plastic chairs.  I see a few people trying unsuccessfully to settle into some sort of restful, relaxing, repose and wonder why on earth they would be subjecting themselves to such torture when Eden was just beyond a set of doors.  Silly novice travellers.  Get it together!  I walk confidently towards the information desk to find the way to the best sleeping areas that I had been dreaming about and *pop* - defeat.  I don’t have a boarding pass.  Of course not, I can’t check in yet.  Discount airline rules.  Sorry ma’am, without a boarding pass, you can’t get into the departures terminal which allows you access to all the glorious golden treasures of our divine airport.  But I have a ticket and you can see that my bag is in storage and you know I can’t check in because of the airline and but but BUT!  Sorry ma’am.  Here’s a free blanket to help you suffer through your miserable wait.  *sniffsniff*  thank you. 

So now what?  I have 8 hours, EIGHT, in the arrivals area, purgatory of airline travel.  And I’m tired.  I waste a bit of time by wandering and using the internet and wandering and then score!  I find a little carpeted area that is some kind of gallery, information thingy and there are people scattered about chatting and SLEEPING!  So I hunker down in a little corner, gleefully more comfy than I was hoping for, and quickly nod off.  Less than an hour later, some random man is speaking loudly but kindly above me, telling me that this public space is closed and I must leave.  But it’s an open room, how can it be closed?  There are no doors, it’s just a room with a carpet and I’m really tired and look at how sad I look and seriously, come on, please?  Sorry, closed.  *grumblegrumblegrumble*  I stagger around, open mouth zombie stumble.  It’s nearing 1am, I just want to sleep. 

Top floor, restaurant level, no people around as everything is closed.  A long hallway leads towards the entrance to the car park and it’s slightly, just slightly warmer and darker than the rest of the cold-hearted arrivals area.  This will do.  I use my gifted free blanket as a pillow, wrap up in my trusty travel blanket, pull my hood over my face, curl up around my bags, and look like a proper homeless person stretched out alongside a random wall.  Do I care?  Nope.  After my body becomes numb to the unyielding tile floor, I’m out.  I got in a good 2 & ½ hrs of tossing and turning then up to reclaim my stored bag, check in for that sweet, sweet boarding pass, and hoof it to the comfy section of departure hall heaven that had been calling my name for hours.   

For those of you who haven’t had the luxury of travel, I’m sure you’ve run into large groups of Asians in your home country at some point or another.  Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Indonesian, irrelevant.  Populations from this side of the world.  Yes this is a sweeping generalization but one which Asians undoubtedly agree with me on.  They are loud.  Unbearably loud.  I find the most sublime sleep chair in a rest area called “Oasis”, am 3 seconds from over the moon, but keep getting jolted awake by the unbelievably loud groups of people in the surrounding chairs.  This area is dark, the chairs are obviously designed for sleeping in, all kinds of other people have settled into them attempting to sleep, and these folks are guffawing and shouting and carrying on their daily gossip as if they were sitting a full mile and a half apart.  Dirty glares, nothing.  Big sighs.  Nothing.  Moving to change my sleep spot in a pouty stomp.  Still nothing.  Oh wow.  Don’t mess with me now, bitches.  Just don’t do it.  I thankfully remembered to bring my earplugs so in they go, one last dirty look for good measure, and I’m out for the count.  Ugh.

A good couple of hours and I’m able to face the day.  Plan of action – the free bus tour of Singapore.  When in tourist town, be a tourist!  I hop, skip, and jump my way over to sign up for the tour and *thud*  kick in the teeth.  Because I had arrived last night, stamp in passport says Nov. 8.  I couldn’t check in, hence clear immigration, until this morning so THAT stamp says Nov. 9.  Technically, my passport stamps say I have been out then in again.  But I haven’t left, there was just no way to check in.  It doesn’t matter, your stamps won’t allow you to leave the airport again. Sorry ma’am, no tour for you. 

Of course not.

I console myself with Subway for breakfast (oh my gosh I have missed Subway), consider getting hammered on duty free alcohol samples, and decide to just carry on with the rest of my plans.  Hopping between terminals, I wandered through gardens, koi pond areas, and a butterfly enclosure, had proper Skype conversations (thanks Nix and Jase!), found those great chairs with feet and leg massagers, caught up on some internet time, watched a bit of TV and a terrible movie, took a 20 minute hot shower (the best $7 I have ever spent!) and was surprised at how fast it all passed.  While yes, my 24 hour Singapore airport plan was riddled with disappointments, overall, it was still a success.  If ever you’re crossing the seas and need to waste a few hours , have I got an airport for you!