Singapore Legend

By John Keeble

Not everyone is lucky enough to become a legend in his own lifetime. It happened to me, by chance, in Singapore during a photo exploration that drew together the island’s past and present, survival on the streets and survival of an endangered culture. 

Peranakan house

I was pausing during a fascinating introduction to the Peranakan culture, stealing a few moments at an unoccupied market table to write my notes, when I found myself part of the table’s usual denizens, the old men who met there daily to live today in their legends of yesterday.

There was Hussein, a Singapore legend before his riches to rags fall; the oldest man who was The One Who Knows The Most About This Area; and Ali who was once a pop star and boxing champion and who still sings, as he did for me. ‘He is a legend,’ one confided in me earnestly. Others had other talents. I became The Writer, an instant legend.

In fact, in Singapore I was The Photographer. I had been given an introduction to a fellow photography enthusiast, Carolyn Lim, whose beautiful images grace many screens and who, with amazing luck for me, had a few days free just before the start of the Year of the Horse.

‘What do you want to photograph?’ she asked as we ate monkey brain mushrooms and ginger in one of Singapore’s million tempting eateries.

Ah, well, nothing touristy, nothing I’ve shot before … anyway, we settled on some irresistible one-offs, including the intensely touristy Chinese New Year in China Town, but the main theme was the Peranakans, a Southeast Asian population dating from the 15^th century and today fighting for survival as a living culture. It grew from Chinese traders and adventurers taking local wives in the trading centres from Penang to Singapore.

‘Only men came because it was illegal then for women to leave China,’ explained William Gwee, one of the most respected figures of Peranakan culture in Singapore, who welcomed me into his home with its extensive library where he works. ‘They came to make their fortune and many returned home when they had done what they set out to do. However, some stayed with their local wives and this developed into part of the population with its own culture.’

Under the British rule in the 19^th Century, they prospered as a vital link between Chinese, Malayan and British traders and administrators. Culturally, they held mainly to the Chinese ways but later wealthy generations were often English-educated, giving them at least bilingual abilities and an elite position in local society.

‘In recent times, the Peranakan culture has been dying out,’ said Mr Gwee, author of books on the Peranakan way of life during the mid-20^th Century and an expert on Peranakan language which is under threat as modern generations follow economic and social demands for international English. ‘There are only a few of us left who experienced the Peranakan way of life and we are dying out too. But I find some of the younger generation are interested [in their cultural inheritance]. They communicate on Facebook.’

His efforts to preserve the language have included briefing scores of academics who have visited him to mine his knowledge. His language books include A Baba Malay Dictionary (Tuttle Publishing).

This saves for the future Peranakan words and phrases that have dropped out of common usage. In their own way, Mr Gwee’s language books spotlight the evolution of the culture. Changing language charts changing cultures – here, for example, there is an old Peranakan phrase for a man who marries his late wife’s sister. Was that really necessary in the culture? ‘Yes,’ said Mr Gwee, ‘It was very common.’

Mr Gwee’s focus is not only on the demise of his culture. In his home, he has Taoist, Sai Baba and Catholic images. ‘People ask me why I have so many,’ he said lightly. ‘I say: ‘If I get to the gates of Heaven and I am turned away, I can try the others’.’ A pretty good joke … I think … with the engaging Mr Gwee, it was difficult to tell.

While the living culture is endangered, the Peranakan past is there for everyone to see in many parts of Singapore. The most noticeable evidence is the Peranakan houses and shophouses, more colourful than the Chinese shophouses. On the East Coast, where Mr Gwee lives with his wife Rose and generations of  family furniture, there are Peranakan restaurants serving traditional dishes and, in the heart of  Singapore’s historic Central area, there is the Peranakan Museum.

It was at the museum that I met Chrisella Dekker, a South African volunteer taking a turn as the tourist guide through the museum’s room settings, artefacts, images and art of the past – beautiful gold jewellery, slippers made from thousands of tiny beads, religious objects and pictures. The museum traces, too, the origins of the culture. ‘Every man needs a wife and local women dreamed of marrying a Chinese man,’ said Chrisella. ‘They had the big houses and the money.’

We worked our way through the evolution of the Peranakans and their beliefs and practices. ‘That’s a good dragon,’ Chrisella explained to her small, enthralled audience of travellers who chanced upon the free tour. One of our group had disappeared. We never found out if she had been taken by a bad dragon.

A major item on my photography list was one of Ms Lim’s special interests: the massive wood-burning Thow Kwang Dragon Kiln that can fire hundreds of pots at a time at temperatures between 1,250 and 1,300 degrees centigrade. On the day I visited it looked like a slumbering dragon, 70 years old, 27 metres long, its mouth far lower than its tail to use rising heat from the fire for the 32+ hours for each firing. Its huge size allows walk-in placing of pots and every metre can be controlled during firing with 17 pairs of stoking holes.

‘It is safe from the developers for the moment,’ said Ms Lim, who is part of the effort to preserve this important aspect of Singapore’s history. ‘But the future …’ We walked inside the kiln, photographed it from every angle, wondered how any nation could even contemplate risking such a valuable piece of its heritage.

Inside the Dragon kiln

Then it was Ms Lim’s turn on stage. She is a potter of some skill and had agreed to throw a pot for me while I photographed the process. Under other circumstances, it might have gone in the Dragon kiln to be fired but it was not in use that day. Other examples of her work were fired in it and they now reside in the pottery business’s art section.

On the other side of the island, with the New Year approaching, every Peranakan mind was turned to the Kitchen God. This is not a god who makes your rice nice. It is the god who hangs around the kitchen all year, listens to all the gossip, and then pops up to heaven to snitch to the big god.

‘We have to give the Kitchen God sweet things so that he can say only sweet things about us,’ said Peter Wee, president of Singapore’s Peranakan Association and owner of  Katong Antique House on the East Coast.

With an introduction from Ms Lim – herself a Paranakan – he offered to show me his shophouse with its display of old photographs more fascinating than the museum’s exhibits because here was the man and the photographs showed his ancestors. Others historic images gave an insight into Peranakan people and their elite position in society with elegant houses and 1930s cars.

‘This is what a Peranakan house is like,’ he said as we went through his shophouse, Mr Wee pausing for my photography with the casual air of someone who had been photographed many times before. The front room was the shop; the second was a private room with his collection of photographs, furniture and space for some office work; then there was the third room open to light and air, with water and greenery and good feng shui; and finally the kitchen, the domain of the women and the Kitchen God listening to their gossip.

In front of his wall of photographs disappearing up the stairway to the next floor, Mr Wee paused, indicating the images. ‘That’s my great grandfather,’ he said. ‘That’s my grandfather … this is my mother.’ Now his image resides among his ancestors’ images, a man of his time among the men, women and children of their time at the peak of the Peranakan culture and society.

Gardens by the Bay

As I left, he gave me the Peranakan Association’s beautifully produced quarterly magazine – a glossy, modern Singapore showcase of Peranakan life linking today’s flowering with the culture’s historic roots. It also listed Peranakan associations in Malaysia, Thailand, Indonesia and Australia. Old culture, modern communications and network structures: the Peranakan  hope for the future.

Four days in Singapore. A thousand photographs. Not bad. But still not enough … maybe one last call. The new Gardens by the Bay, recommended by another Peranakan friend living in Thailand. The light had gone, perfect, and over the bay was a night cityscape and in the gardens there were sci-fi ‘trees’, maybe 20 metres high and slicing the night with blue light.

I thought, not for the first time: ‘Yes, Singapore really clicks with me.’

First published in VISA 114 (April 2014)

Stopover City by the Sea

By Neil Matthews

t’s always a possibility that you don’t give a stopover location the same chance to impress you as the main destination.  But Singapore is determined to grab your attention.

Let’s start where most visitors do, at Changi airport, an extraordinary for one simple reason: everything happens on time and everything works. Your flight arrives on time, which is a relief after twelve hours or so.  When you check in for a connecting flight, there is no queue. The airport resembles nothing so much as a giant shopping centre... except for the butterfly garden, eerie by night.  Readers of Wanderlust magazine have voted Changi as their favourite airport in the world and it’s easy to see why. While waiting for our final flight home, we sat in easy chairs with hot drinks watching a re-run of Germany’s 7-1 demolition of Brazil in the football World Cup semi-final.  A little like the German players’ reactions after the later goals, it all seemed so matter-of-fact.

On the way out of Changi after our first flight there, a sign on lane 1 of the highway said it was ‘closed for pruning’.  The city itself has little room for weeds as it squeezes impossibly into a small geographical space, but packs a big punch as the world’s fourth financial centre after New York, London and Hong Kong.  The financial districts recall London’s Canary Wharf cathedrals of money.  The confines of the physical space available mean that Singapore has had to build high - for offices and for housing, most of it government apartments which newlyweds can buy with a government loan.  They are much cheaper than private apartments, but buyers can keep any increase in value when they sell. When they get old they can release funds via a ‘reverse mortgage’.

When residents aren’t high above the ground, they may be beneath it, in one of the endless shopping malls in which you can sample every major brand of which you’ve ever heard.  If you visit the eponymous Shoppes (one of a few examples of cod-English humour), you can even try out their skating rink.  You might not have much company, though: while the surrounding shops and cafes were well-peopled when we were there, a slightly-too-fat-for comfort Chinese boy was the sole skater.  He spent much of the time falling over, looking up to see if anybody sympathised with his plight, finding that nobody did and eventually getting to his feet, in the manner of modern Oscar nominated footballers.  The Shoppes also has its own mini-boating lake, but we preferred to watch while sampling a ‘Weekend in Moscow’ tea from a cafe offering dozens of tea varieties from round the world.

Singapore’s most famous drink is not tea, but the ‘Singapore Sling’ on offer at the Long Bar of the Raffles Hotel.  The non-alcoholic version we sampled was perfectly agreeable and harmless without being what the late Michael Winner used to call ‘historic’.  The alcoholic version is an effective cure for insomnia, which is more than can be said for the local musicians who did grievous bodily harm to various 1980s pop hits. I can’t recall if they were hired especially for us; if so, thanks but no thanks.

John Keeble’s article on the Peranakan culture (VISA 114) showed that, for a relatively modern city, Singapore has much to offer in terms of its history.  We enjoyed the inventive and poignant presentation of the history of Chinese migrants to the city which the China Heritage Centre offers.  Video screens placed in woks and even in a fishing basket helped to keep a large group of local schoolchildren thoroughly interested. Chinatown itself is atmospheric, but Little India seemed to have nothing you wouldn’t see, hear or smell on an average trip through Southall.

Looking upwards, much of the architecture tries its hardest to impress you, like a small bird or insect puffing itself up to attract suitors or repel predators.  The ArtScience Museum sits by the river, snug and secure, in the shape of a lotus flower.  Inside at the time of our visit were two exhibitions, one on dinosaurs and the other on photographer Annie Liebowitz (if I were her agent, I’d expect the sack for that particular juxtaposition).  The Helix Bridge across the Singapore River copies the shape of DNA strands, twisting and turning like, er, a twisty turny thing.  Singapore’s inclusion in the Formula 1 calendar is completely unsurprising to anyone who’s been there, with night lighting lending the streets around Marina Bay an extra level of drama.

Lory Loft, Jurong Bird Park

There is more to Singapore for tourists – and for its residents, for that matter – than city life.  The Jurong Bird Park, a 50 acre spectacle on the western slope of Jurong Hill, provides plenty of entertainment of the avian kind.  (Top tip if you fly with Singapore Airlines: keep your boarding passes, to get discounts to this and other Singapore attractions.)  It’s slick, colourful and, of course, packed with parrots, pelicans and much else.  We enjoyed feeding the lories by hand in the Lory Loft, but passed on lunch with parrots, having experienced a macaw’s lunch at close quarters in Venezuela a few years ago.  There was, however, a show featuring free flying parrots, hornbills and other birds which was educational and entertaining not always true of these types of production.

The other great green space is the area known as the Botanic Gardens which, in their earliest form, were set up in 1822 by Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of modern Singapore.  The Gardens’ main attraction is probably its collection of more than 1,000 species and 2,000 hybrids of orchids. In our age of celebrity, the naming of some species or hybrids after famous people – such as Dendrobium Margaret Thatcher – is not, perhaps, the accolade it once was.  It’s certainly some way removed from Carl Linnaeus’ idea that botanical naming in Latin would enable the sharing of knowledge among ‘educated’ men across Europe.  In addition to the orchids, the Botanical Gardens boasts a tropical rainforest covering six hectares; an evolution garden telling the story of the evolution of plant life on Earth; a ginger garden; and a children’s garden, with play areas attached.  We had time for a glimpse of it all, as well as a newer development, the Gardens by the Bay with its intriguing ‘Cloud Forest’.

Botanic Garden

We spent most time in the centre, taking advantage of the efficiency of the city.  The rail system, known as the MRT, whisks you along with ease; the flashing lights used in-train to denote specific stations are an excellent idea.  I don’t usually risk foreign cash machines, but the one I tried here dispensed 200 Singapore dollars. The screen even told me that ‘One should always play fairly when one has the winning cards’.  You don’t expect ATMs to quote Oscar Wilde at you.

As it happens, that particular aphorism could serve as a Freudian admission of the less
attractive side of Singapore.  A guide around Chinatown told us with pride: ‘You can’t see any police, can you? No! And we have very little crime. Are you wondering why that is? Well, it’s because we have so many cameras everywhere.  We don’t need many police...’
This is not quite the great endorsement for the city that the guide seemed to think it was.  If you’re standing at a green light, and yet there is no traffic in view, you ought to be able to use commonsense and cross the road without wondering whether you’re being filmed or whether you might be cautioned later. Singapore is a parliamentary democracy, albeit with a President rather than a monarch as head of state, but various international watchdogs have judged it to be less than wholly ‘free’. Members of the opposition parties often suffer ‘misfortunes’ such as arrest, bankruptcy especially in defamatory lawsuits, or imprisonment, and there are concerns as to the true level of secrecy of secret ballots.  The People’s Action Party has been in power continuously since 1959, not a healthy indicator for those who believe that one measure of democracy is the facility for power to change hands.  Certainly the personal tax rates are low, the local lingo is English – or Singlish to be precise, a variation on the home tongue – and many religions cram into the city with little obvious conflict.  The city is a safe place to walk at night.  This all comes at a cost, as high living generally does.  You don’t have to have a messianic belief that all nations should copy the Western liberal ideal to feel uncomfortable about aspects of the Singaporean model.
While the city goes steadily about its business, and is an efficient host to tourists, this did lurk uneasily at the back of my mind during our stay in Singapore.  Along with the oppressive high humidity, which made extended walks a considerable effort, it held me back from loving the place.  Nonetheless, Singapore is a convenient stopover for long-haul flights and there is much to admire.


First published in VISA 119 (Feb 2015)

Antipodean Return

by David Gourley

Way back in 1968, Cathy and I, newly-married and barely out of our teens, went out to stay with a friend in Auckland. We used this as a base for visiting other parts of New Zealand, including Rotorua, the Waitomo Glow-worm Caves and the South Island, our tour of which was somewhat marred by bad weather, which prevented us from going to what should have been the highlight, Milford Sound. We also turned the trip into something of a round-the-world expedition, travelling out via the USA, which we crossed by Greyhound Coach, and stopping over in Sydney, and several Asian capitals, on the way back.

Milford Sound

All very exciting but - "youth is wasted on the young"! I don't think we really appreciated what NZ had to offer. Nor was the trip especially well-planned. It might have been adventurous to have travelled from New York to San Francisco by Greyhound but unfortunately we did so in more-or-less a straight line. So, no boring old Grand Canyon for us, rather we had two nights in scintillating Omaha, Nebraska! (I'm pleased to report that we have since made it to the Grand Canyon, though we have yet to feel any urge to revisit Omaha.) On the return trip we became rather travel-weary with so many stopovers: it was a bit like "if it’s Thursday, it must be Bangkok".

For some time, I have hankered after going back to New Zealand and seeing it through more mature eyes, as it were - and getting to see Milford Sound! I had envisaged doing so at age 60 i.e. on my retirement. It so happened, however, that I took early retirement four years ago, at the age of 50. So the trip was brought forward. This time we did not clutter the trip up with too many stopovers. We flew straight out to Auckland, but added a week in Australia on our way back, divided between Sydney and the Queensland Coast near Cairns. (We were admonished by an Australian friend, "New Zealand with Australia as an add-on: that's the wrong way round!") We had just one other stopover, which was in Singapore.

This being our special retirement trip, we did not stint. We flew business class, an extravagance, maybe, but in my view worth it, especially as I am over six feet tall and would not have much enjoyed sitting all that time in cramped economy class. We ended the trip in some style, spending our last night in the legendary Raffles hotel in Singapore. Lest anyone thinks we are super-rich, I must, I fear, disabuse them. Some people have a lifestyle that enables them whenever they wish to travel business, or even first class and stay in the most prestigious hotels. We were just dipping into that!

We had a refuelling stop in Los Angeles. Before September 11, we would simply have made our way to a transit lounge. Now we had to reclaim our luggage and go through immigration, technically, therefore, entering the USA. This was all rather tedious and, despite my strong sympathy and support for the Americans following the monstrous attack on their country, not to mention my concern for my own safety as an air passenger, I wondered whether it was a bit over the top. Another result of September 11 was that the cutlery in all classes was plastic, though later on some compromised by still providing metal forks and spoons.

On the taxi ride from Auckland Airport to our downtown hotel, we were straight away reminded of home: we drove through a suburb called Epsom, named, presumably, after our hometown in Surrey. We booked into our hotel at the unearthly hour of 6.00am and rather feared that we'd have no accommodation until checking-in time in the afternoon. We now had our first experience of something we were to experience a lot in the next three weeks: Kiwi hospitality. Out of our tally of 56 countries visited, I nominate New Zealand as the friendliest. For no extra charge the cheerful receptionist gave us our keys there and then.

Auckland from Mt Eden

We did not, though, go to bed, tempting as this was (even in the comfort of business class, I do not sleep well on planes). If we did, we thought, we would remain out-of-sync with the local time, thirteen hours ahead of the UK. So after freshening up, we set out to explore Auckland. The city had changed enormously since our last visit. Then it had seemed rather dull and provincial. Now it is a cosmopolitan and lively city, whose downtown is full of high-rises, including the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere, the Sky Tower. Known as the "City of Sails", Auckland offers some spectacular harbour views.

We had rather felt, in 1968, that, in coming to New Zealand, we had travelled through time as well as space. I did not feel that way this time. Much improved communications mean there is no longer the dependence on infrequent "imports" which were very much a feature of bygone days, and severely limited what was available in shops. Eating out has been revolutionised. For lunch, during our previous visit, there might be sandwiches or a (not very interesting) salad, or, if one was really lucky, a plate of mince. Now there was enormous variety and we invariably ate well - too well, in fact, as I put on weight when I should really be losing it! The "Britishness" of New Zealand, which the visitor at one time was bound to notice, is fading. Auckland, indeed, is the world's largest Polynesian city. When Australia becomes a republic - despite the defeat for the republicans in the referendum not so long go, it is still, I am sure, a case of "when", not "if" - New Zealand will almost certainly follow suit. It is true, though, that Christchurch still boasts of being the most English city outside England whilst Dunedin takes great pride in its Scottishness.

The next day we awoke to a pleasant surprise - bright blue skies! I had looked up the Auckland weather on the internet before our departure and it had looked none too promising. I rather feared that history would repeat itself and that we would again be dogged by bad weather. But though our first day had been cloudy, the rain had held off. We were in fact to have decent weather for most of this holiday, with just one really grotty day.

We ascended the Sky Tower for the second time, just to see the view on a fine day. That evening we went back up again for dinner in the revolving restaurant. In between we went to what I consider a "must see" if one is visiting Auckland: Kelly Tarlton's "Underwater World". This was something of a traipse, as it is some distance from the city centre, but it was well worth it. It is named after the man who established this very impressive aquarium, ingeniously fitting it into some disused holding tanks that had once stored stormwater and sewerage. Sadly he died, though still only middle-aged, soon after it opened in 1985. At least he lived long enough to see it brought to life after a lengthy gestation period. More recently an "Antarctic Encounter" has been added. First one steps inside a life-size replica of Captain Scott's hut in 1911, a surprisingly cosy-looking place. Then one moves into "Antarctica" itself where there are penguins (real ones, that is). The temperature here is zero degrees Celsius (I usually make a point of sticking to Fahrenheit but 32 degrees doesn't sound so impressive!). Visitors are blissfully unaware of the cold as they travel round in their heated Snow Cats.

The next day was the start of a tour that would last nearly two weeks, spent mainly in the South Island. A surprise was in store for us. A lady from our tour company boarded our coach and I assumed she would be our courier. But she was only seeing us off: there was to be no courier, just Mike, our "driver guide". Invariably we have had on previous tours both a courier and a driver. Mike was an affable chap who turned out to be very good, a guide who drove rather than vice versa, much better in fact than some of the couriers we have experienced. I thought it was a bit much to expect one person to do absolutely everything and I did occasionally wonder about the safety aspect e.g. when he was driving down a steep and winding road at the same time giving a lively commentary. However, he clearly enjoyed being his own man.

We headed south across the pleasant North Island scenery to Waitomo Caves. We had been particularly looking forward to revisiting these and were not disappointed: they are spectacular. We descended to a subterranean lake and boarded a paddleboat which took us into the glow-worm cave, pitch dark except for thousands of starry lights clinging to the roof and its stalactites. It is important that no-one makes a sound, otherwise the glow-worms are liable to go on strike!

We had two nights in Rotorua. We remembered scarcely anything of this from our 1968 trip. That evening we attended a Maori concert, followed by a Hangi, or Maori feast with the dishes cooked in an earth oven. This is not to be confused with the Hongi, the traditional nose-to-nose greeting. The Maori people of New Zealand are to be found mainly in the North Island and Rotorua is the main centre of their culture. It would be folly to claim that all is perfect but generally the Maoris and the Pakeha i.e. New Zealanders of European origin, rub along with each other reasonably well, with a relationship that is based on mutual respect. The British determined more or less at the outset that the Maoris should be consulted about the future of their country, hence the Treaty of Waitangi, signed on behalf of the British Government and by local chiefs on 6 April 1840, which is regarded as New Zealand's founding day. The Treaty is by no means uncontentious, but the treatment of the indigenous New Zealanders compares well with that of their Australian counterparts. We were later to meet, in Queensland, an English chap of about our age and his Aborigine wife. They were rather down on their luck and he spoke with some bitterness about the treatment of Aborigines, with a good deal of justice, I fear. We mentioned that we had been in New Zealand. "Yes", he said, "Things are much better there, they have the Treaty of Waitangi".

Our sightseeing the next day included Whaka, which is short for Whakarewarewa, which is, unbelievably, short for something-else-yet-again. This combines a Maori cultural centre with a thermal reserve, where one can see boiling mud pools, a lot of rising steam and, if one is very lucky, Pohutu, an active geyser. We weren't lucky - but we had seen it in 1968! It reminded me, at least in terms of its geology, of a country at the opposite side of the globe which we have visited, Iceland. Both countries are located at the junction of tectonic plates and offer surreal thermal landscapes. Iceland has the original geyser. We also saw some kiwis. These are housed in a specially darkened building, designed to replicate their nocturnal way of life. Sadly they are a threatened species. The kiwi evolved into a flightless bird as there were, before the coming of man, no predators: the only mammals were a species of bat. Another flightless bird, the giant moa, became extinct some 400 years ago. The kiwi is especially threatened by stoats and weasels, imported into the country as a way of dealing with an earlier import that had turned into a pest, the rabbit.

The next day saw us on a long but very enjoyable journey to the country's capital, Wellington, in the far south of the North Island. Our lunch break was in Taupo, located on the eponymous lake, New Zealand's largest. Here we saw what is perhaps the world's strangest golf course. There is just one hole, located on a pontoon some distance out in the lake. One stands on the shore and tries to get a hole-in-one. A frogman has the job of retrieving the lost balls. We continued our journey south along the Desert Road, so called because of the desolate landscape, though there is too much vegetation for this to count as a real desert. Mount Ruapehu, an active volcano, could clearly be seen in the distance.

We stayed overnight in Wellington. Like all of New Zealand's four main cities - the others are Auckland, Christchurch and Dunedin - it enjoys a spectacular coastal location, its size and shape very much determined by the backdrop of steep hills. (The forthcoming census returns are expected to show, though, that Dunedin has ceded to Hamilton, an inland town, its status as fourth largest city.) A city tour the next morning took us first to Victoria Point, from which there is a fine view over the splendid harbour. The other main highlight was a trip on the city's cable car, which took us up to the botanical gardens. Our coach meanwhile drove to the other side of the gardens, giving us a chance to walk through them. It is a good idea to start from the cable car entrance as the gardens are built on a steep slope and we were heading downhill! It was agreeable to have a second chance in 2001 to see spring flowers, including a magnificent rose garden. Less agreeably, my hay fever, usually suffered only in April-June, returned! After completion of our tour, Mike drove us to the ferry terminal, and we departed for the South Island.

Our crossing this time to the South Island was far more agreeable than on our previous visit in 1968. Then we had travelled overnight, in a cramped cabin, from Wellington to Lyttelton, the port for Christchurch. This had been on the Maori, sister ship to the Wahine, which had sunk, Titanic-style, in Wellington Harbour just a few months before. We had met a woman who had witnessed the disaster. It was possible, she said, to throw a stone from the quayside and hit the sinking vessel, yet many had lost their lives. The crossing on this occasion lasted about three hours, subdivided into three roughly equal parts. First we sailed out of Wellington's magnificent harbour. Then we crossed the Cook Strait. Finally we reached the South Island, sailing up the scenic Queen Charlotte Sound to the port of Picton. From here Mike, our driver-guide, transferred us to Blenheim, a few miles to the south.

Blenheim itself is of no great interest. But it is a good base for exploring the vineyards which are to be found here in the Marlborough Region. In recent years wine exports have been of growing importance to the economy. They have benefited from changes in consumer taste back in Britain, with the pronounced shift from French to New World wines. This is a long way south for vineyards to flourish, yet the produce is excellent. Vineyards flourish still further south, in Otago Province, the hinterland of Dunedin. We visited the Montana Vineyard, with whose products we were already familiar. In the USA the wine has to be marketed under a different name, Brancott, so people don't think it comes from the State of that name!

We continued to Christchurch down the scenic Kaikoura Coast, with its backdrop of mountains. Christchurch is the largest city in the South Island. We had not seen much of it in 1968. This time, too, we were to see little of it, as we were staying just one night before setting off for the rest of our tour. However we were to have a two night stay here at the end of our tour. And in one respect we did see a great deal of Christchurch - from our room on the 22nd floor of the centrally-located Grand Chancellor hotel.

There was just time, before dinner, to do a five minute walk to the Cathedral, right in the heart of the city. As might be implied from its name, the city's origins are of a religious nature, for it was founded in 1850 as a Church of England settlement. In Cathedral Square we saw a large modern sculpture, which looked a bit like an ice cream cone though it is actually supposed to resemble the spire of the Cathedral, turned upside down. Personally I don't think juxtapositions of this type between the ultra-modern and the traditional work very well. The more well-known example, which we have also seen, is the glass Pyramid in the Louvre.

The next day was the only one on which we had grotty weather. We crossed to the west coast on the TranzAlpine Express, reputedly one of the most scenic train journeys in the world. It might well be but visibility was so poor, especially during the mountainous second half of the journey, that we were in no position to judge. The first half was better, but this was mostly spent crossing the flat Canterbury Plain! Our journey finished in the port of Greymouth, a name which seemed rather apt on this miserable day. From here we transferred by coach for an overnight stay near the Fox Glacier.

I have remarked elsewhere on 'Kiwi' hospitality - these are about the friendliest people we have encountered anywhere. There were, though, the occasional exceptions. One such was the manager at the hotel where we stayed overnight. Like some managers elsewhere, he boarded our coach, supposedly to welcome us. Someone was running a cine-camera. He said he had never been videoed before and I assumed he was going to make a light-hearted remark. However he went on to say that it was usual for someone's permission to be asked if they were being videoed. He had lost it as far as everyone in our party was concerned. Some people, it is true, go a bit OTT when using their video camera, so much so that one wonders if they actually ever take in the scenery around them, but I don't think that was the case now and in any case the remark was uncalled for. It was not a good hotel and meals were poor. It took so long, the following morning, to produce any bacon that a lady in our party offered the explanation that "they must be out killing the pig"!

It was still raining and an optional helicopter flight onto the Fox Glacier had to be cancelled. Nevertheless, we went to have a look at the foot of the Glacier. Visibility here was not bad and we watched an intrepid party of Japanese tourists set out for a Glacier Walk, seemingly oblivious of the rain. Visibility remained good as we headed down the west coast then inland through the Haast Pass. The weather gradually got better too. So much so that when we reached our lunchtime stop in the scenic lakeside town of Wanaka, there was bright sunshine and we ate al fresco!

There was more fine scenery to be enjoyed as we headed for Queenstown, where we were to stay for the next two nights. This is one of the most beautiful towns in New Zealand, set on a lake amidst soaring mountains. It is also noted as a centre for activities. We went into The Station, the place downtown which organises all manner of activities, and booked a jet-boat trip for the following day.

One of the most popular of the Queenstown activities is the bungee jump, which was in fact invented here. One can choose between three jumps of differing heights and, if one is sixty or more, there is no charge. We still have a few years to go, but I'm not sure we'd have been tempted even if we had been senior citizens! Mike viewed bungee jumping with disdain: "bridges are meant for crossing, not jumping from". That evening we ascended the Skyline Gondola (cable car) to a restaurant, where we enjoyed a good buffet dinner and superb views over the town and its lake.

Next morning we headed out to Glenorchy for the Dart River jet-boat trip. I have managed so far not to mention Lord of the Rings! It was here in fact that we learnt about this film, which had still to be released. This had been shot in various locations in New Zealand, including here in Glenorchy. It has provided something of a fillip for the tourist industry, suffering like others throughout the world from September 11. (In Australia there had been the double whammy of the simultaneous collapse of the domestic airline, Ansett, not all of whose flights were taken over by other airlines. New Zealand got much of the blame for this as the airline had been owned by Air New Zealand.) I'm afraid, though, that we have not been to see the film.

The jet-boat trip, into breathtaking scenery in the evocatively named Mount Aspiring National Park, was a wonderful experience. Jet-boats, which were invented in New Zealand, are ideal for use in shallow and white water, as there are no propellers to damage and they can be reversed instantly. The boat is driven simply by directing a jet stream produced by an inboard engine. This is not daredevil stuff. Our captain did though ask, once we got back to deeper water, if we'd mind if he did a few spins - I don't think one is meant to say 'no'!

The next day was set aside for a visit to Milford Sound, a highlight of any visit to New Zealand. The problem is with getting through the rough-hewn Homer Tunnel, which lies astride the only road into the Sound. The earlier bad weather had caused me to worry that history would repeat itself and that we would miss out, as in 1968. Even as we departed Queenstown, there was some light rain but this soon left off and another glorious day lay ahead.

We had an early lunch in Te Anau, to which we were to return for our overnight stay. I had something of a grudge against this otherwise blameless little town for we had been based here last time. We had been driven, tantalizingly, right up to the entrance to the tunnel, then deposited back in Te Anau, with loads of time to kill but nothing to do with it. It is noted as a walking centre but this is mainly long-distance hikes, such as the Milford Trail, and there is little of interest in the immediate vicinity. Another afternoon of reading in our hotel room!

The drive from Te Anau is actually very scenic. I was keen, though, to get to - and through - the Tunnel, fearing we were still jinxed! So I almost begrudged the various photostops which Mike thoughtfully provided. The last of these was by the entrance to the tunnel, where we were entertained by some kea, alpine parrots which are unique to this part of the world. These are sometimes described as the clowns of New Zealand's birdlife, fearlessly hanging around car parks awaiting tourist handouts.

At last, we were driving through the tunnel - and were out the other side! Once we reached Milford Sound we went for a cruise, right out to where it joins the open sea, a distance of some 15 miles. This was no anti-climax. Milford Sound was how I had imagined it. The scenery is spectacular. Mitre Peak stands out above all but, in every direction, there is stunning beauty. We were very lucky, for the chance of not having rain in Milford Sound is apparently around 1 in 3. We were even lucky with the wildlife: there was a rare glimpse of penguins and we also spotted seals and dolphins.

There was the option, as we started our drive back, of going on a helicopter flight. So many of us wanted to do this that three flights were necessary. Each one started and finished from a different place, with the coach meantime driving on to await the helicopter. The flight was not over the Sound itself, which could be viewed in the distance. Rather it took us over spectacular scenery to a Glacier, where we briefly got out. We had been thwarted in our last attempt to visit Milford Sound but had now, after over thirty years, managed to do so.

Our drive the next day, to Dunedin, was the same as in 1968. Again the main feature of the landscape was the countless sheep. There are far, far more sheep than people in New Zealand though fewer than in 1968 as lamb exports are no longer quite so important. Hogget sometimes appears on menus. I had initially been baffled during our first visit - was this some sort of pigmeat? It is actually a year-old sheep, an intermediate stage between lamb and mutton that somehow we don't bother with in Britain. We passed through the town of Balclutha, of significance to us as being the southernmost point in the globe which we have visited.

Dunedin folk pride themselves on their Scottish origins. The main thoroughfare is called Princes Street and the central square is dominated by a statue of Robbie Burns. Dinner that evening was to be preceded by the ceremony of carving the haggis. The very name is derived from Edinburgh and the city calls itself the "Edinburgh of the South". This is a tad presumptuous, I rather feel, for Dunedin, pleasant city though it is, does not begin to compare, in terms of beauty or for that matter importance.

There was an optional tour that afternoon, which took us out onto the Otago Peninsula, signposted simply as "The Peninsula". The objective was to see albatross and penguins. Here I might contrast the approach of Mike with the visit of Sally Branston to the Colca Canyon in Peru (issue 44); she was informed that she would "see condors" but saw just one, in the far distance. Mike made no attempt to hype the trip up: "the wildlife is not under contract, you may see it or you may not". In the event, we were lucky. We boarded a boat and at first albatrosses were to be seen only on the cliffs, some distance away. But then one of them obligingly flew right past our boat. Maybe he was under contract after all! To see the penguins, which were of the rare yellow-eyed variety, we returned to dry land. We descended into cunningly built covered trenches, which allow one to see any passing penguins at close quarters. Again we were lucky, as several of them were returning to their abodes from a day on the beach.

Our drive the next day was to Omarama, a fairly nondescript place which serves however as a base for visits to Mount Cook, New Zealand's highest. We first headed in the opposite direction, back onto The Peninsula, for a visit to New Zealand's only castle, Larnach. Then we headed up the coast, pausing in the town of Oamaru. New Zealand towns, though generally pleasant, are not for the most part historic or picturesque - it is after all a young country. Oamaru is an exception, a delightful place around which to wander. There is even an ancient steam train, which runs through the streets to the harbour. We stopped at a viewing point close to the town. Here, there was one of those signposts which show directions to places all over the world including, in this instance, London, New York, the North and South Poles and - oh yes, of course - Devizes in Wiltshire!

Lupins by Lake Tekapo

The final leg of our tour took us back to Christchurch, diverting first to the celebrated Hermitage Hotel, viewing point for Mount Cook. Another stop was by the shores of scenic Lake Tekapo, best viewed through the window of the picturesque Church of the Good Shepherd. Close by is a statue of a collie, a tribute to the sheepdogs who played a vital role in developing this area. Wild lupins were in abundance here. These are to be seen quite frequently in the South Island and in the eyes of the visitor are an attractive addition to the landscape. But locals, apparently, regard them as something of a nuisance, a weed almost, as they deprive the soil of nutrients. As we approached Christchurch Mike played a local version of a song I've not heard for many a year, I'‘ve Been Everywhere Man ("I've been to Oamaru, Timaru etc etc etc"). We were rather sad to be ending our tour. It had been a great experience. But a full day in Christchurch still lay ahead.

We had one full day in Christchurch before continuing to Australia. This is the largest town in the South Island, a pleasant city which has a somewhat more relaxed pace of life than Auckland. It is sometimes described as the most English city outside England. One can even go punting, Cambridge-style, on the River Avon, which flows through the centre of the city. I had assumed, amidst all this Englishness, that this was named from one of the English Avons, maybe the one that flows through the city's namesake in Dorset (with which it is twinned). So I was surprised to find that it is named from a river in Scotland!

In the morning we went on a walking tour, led by a very knowledgeable retired gentleman who clearly loved showing people around his city. The tour finished in his alma mater, Christ's College. Here one can indeed believe one is back home. This is a boy's public school, which reminded me somewhat of Eton, to which I have been (on a guided tour, I'd better add). I suspect, though, that Eton is a bit more up-to-date! A huge Union Jack decorated the rear wall of the dining room. By that I mean the UK flag, not the New Zealand one, which still incorporates the Union Jack.

In Christchurch, as in some English cities, trams have made a comeback in recent years. But they are not at all like the sleek supertrams which travel miles out from the centres of Sheffield or Croydon. These are vintage trams which trundle around the central area in a loop and are intended primarily for visitors. Their friendly crews provide a lively commentary. We used these to get round the city in the afternoon. We spent much of the time in the large and impressive Botanical Gardens. The city is noted for its many parks and green spaces.

Next day we flew to Sydney, where we were to spend three nights. This had been on our itinerary in 1968. On that occasion, as we flew in, we could see that the city was virtually ringed with fire. That was not the case this time but, barely a month later, there was another serious outbreak of bushfires, some caused by arsonists, in one instance a nine-year-old child. Dramatic pictures were to appear in the papers of smoke reaching even the Harbour Bridge and in total an area equivalent in size to Greater London was reduced to ashes. But mercifully, and unlike in 1968, there were no fatalities.

I had not much liked Sydney in 1968. Indeed I had written in my travelogue that I never wanted to go there again. For all too many years, chance would have been a fine thing! My view this time was quite different. We thoroughly enjoyed our stay. This change of view no doubt reflects changed perspectives on my part. But I am sure it is true, too, that Sydney has changed for the better. For example the Rocks District, close to our hotel and right by the Harbour Bridge, was once down-at-heel but has been extensively restored in recent years and is now rather chic. A small street there has been renamed, in tongue-in-cheek fashion, Suez Canal: it was formerly known as Sewer's Canal! It was, of course, the 2000 Olympics which really put Sydney on the map as a world class city. But if the Olympics did a lot for Sydney, so did Sydney do a lot for the Olympics. After Atlanta's poor showing in 1996, Sydney showed that the Olympics can after all be hosted successfully and with style. Athens has a hard act to follow!

One reason, perhaps, for our negative view of Sydney in 1968 was that we stayed in a rather dowdy hotel in the King's Cross district. Guide books generally refer to this area as “cosmopolitan”. Some might substitute the word “seedy”. This time our hotel was very different. We stayed in the ANA hotel, enjoying from our 22nd floor room magnificent views across the Harbour taking in the Bridge and the Opera House, both close by. This is perhaps our best view ever from a hotel bedroom.

One of our gripes is that very tall hotels, like this one, often insist on having their restaurants close to the ground, rather than giving diners a magnificent view. Not long before, in Tallinn, we had headed for a tower block hotel - a Soviet era building not much liked by the locals - as our guide book said there was a restaurant on the top floor. The hotel had been privatised and subsequent changes were, I would guess, mostly for the better. But one change wasn't: the top floor, to which ordinary visitors could not even gain access, was now set aside for penthouse suites. The receptionist correctly surmised that we had an out-of-date guidebook.

We were gratified to find that the ANA did have a top floor restaurant. That was the good news: the bad news was that it was Japanese (the hotel is actually Japanese owned - ANA = All Nippon Airways). I get along fine with most foreign cuisines. Indeed, sampling different cuisines is for me one of the pleasures of travelling. I am a bit corny in this respect, making a point of having Wiener Schnitzel in Vienna, Steak Bordelaise in Bordeaux and Zurich Veal in, er, Basle. But somehow I don't get on with Japanese. Not liking fish is something of a problem in this respect. What wasn't fish, I asked. The answer was beef teriyaki or chicken teriyaki. Oh yes, and shabu shabu. I'd tried this once. It was fascinating to watch it being prepared, with all the vegetables and so on being cooked at ones table. Pity it was tasteless! We retreated to the hotel's conventional restaurant, located, needless to say, on the first floor. Here I had an excellent kangaroo steak. The waiter asked if I had had kangaroo before. I said that I had, adding that in England we regard it as an exotic meat. “We call it that as well,” he responded.

Next day we explored the Harbourside, naturally doing a cruise as well. We later headed into the downtown area. If Christchurch offers old-fashioned trams as a way of getting round the city, Sydney has something that still seems rather futuristic, a monorail (albeit the best-known monorail, in Wuppertal, is just over a hundred years old). This too forms a loop round the central area. Having travelled round this, we ascended the AMP Tower, the tallest building in Australia. To Sydneysiders' chagrin, it is a few feet short of the Skytower in Auckland. We ordered room service that evening, complete with candles, so we could feast on the view as well as in the more literal sense. The meal was good but dessert had to be chased. It arrived with a complimentary bottle of champagne, to make amends for the delay.

The next morning we did the Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb. This was something we could not have done in '68 for the Climbs have only been going for a few years. They are run by an enterprising private company who had some difficulty in persuading the powers-that-be to allow them to go ahead. The authorities apparently came up with 61 objections, the Company with 61 solutions. They have been very successful, with groups of climbers leaving every ten minutes - it is advisable to book ahead.

Around three hours is needed in total, much of which is for preparation. This could have been tedious but our bubbly young guide, Kathy, made even this fun. One dons a special lightweight suit, worn over one’s own clothes. “The hardest part lies ahead”, Kathy told us as we set off, “For you will now be wearing those in public!” (There is a short walk along the approach road before one reaches the Bridge itself.)

The Climb is not difficult and one doesn't even need a head for heights. To begin with there is a catwalk, then we ascended four fairly short vertical ladders to the arch of the Bridge. This provides a gentle climb and is very safe: broad, with railings either side, to one of which we were fastened. It would be impossible to fall off, even if one wanted to. Every few minutes, Kathy would stop and point out the various Sydney landmarks. We could see just how much we were having to miss because of the shortness of our stay. Some miles to the west, the Olympic Stadium could be discerned. At the very top the obligatory group photo was taken. We crossed the Bridge to the other side of the road but then returned to the south side of the Harbour. So we have been up the Bridge but not actually over it! Along with the trip to Milford Sound, described in the previous article, I would rate this the highlight of our 'Down Under' holiday, indeed one of the highlights of our travels more generally.

With so little time in Sydney we decided on a city tour as the best way of seeing as much of it as possible. After lunch we set off, first visiting Mrs Macquaries Chair, in a scenic location overlooking the Harbour. This is named from the wife of an early New South Wales Governor, who would sit there and think of her distant homeland. Then we drove through Paddington. Yes, Sydney has a Paddington as well as a King's Cross. But they are very different for Paddington is an elegant and fashionable area: there is some serious wealth in the eastern suburbs of Sydney.

The weather now changed for the worse and there was thunder and lighting by the time we reached Bondi Beach. We were lucky it hadn't been like this in the morning as the Bridge Climb takes place in all weathers except, obviously enough, electrical storms. We were supposed to get out here but our driver thought better of it and we headed up the coast to South Head at the entrance to the Harbour. We then returned to Bondi Beach. The storm had now finished so we were able to go down to the Beach. But this was not how one imagines Bondi: dull and overcast, hardly any people and no sign of any lifeguards. Our drive back to the city took us through King's Cross, whose symbol is the giant Coca-Cola sign seen on the hilltop as one approaches from the city centre. I still didn't think it was lovely.

Our next four evenings were spent on the Queensland Coast, in Palm Cove, a little to the north of Cairns. A transfer from the airport to our hotel, the Sebel Reef House, was included but we could see no sign of anyone to collect us and I even phoned the hotel. Cathy meantime had located the young lady who was organising our transfer. She had no form of identification, did not introduce herself and uttered barely a word to our small party as we drove to our hotel. This po-faced kind of individual annoys me. If one chooses to work in the travel industry one should at least try to be friendly and put people at their ease, even if that does mean putting on an act. Overly garrulous guides can also be pains in the neck but there is a happy medium. It would surely have cost her nothing to say “Hi, I'm Marylou (or whatever), welcome to Cairns, we're going to take about forty minutes...”

Fortunately this young lady was not typical and just about everyone else we met in Australia, as in New Zealand, was friendly. Our hotel was a charming place, intended to have the ambience of the private residence it once was. One helps oneself, for example, to drinks from the bar, with the hotel relying on one’s honesty to ensure they are paid for. There were other restaurants in the vicinity, but we dined each evening in our hotel as the others could not match the al fresco setting, looking out on the beach with the full moon shining through the palm trees. We had some pleasant strolls along the beach but it was wise not to go in the sea, except in a specially roped off section. One was liable, otherwise, to find oneself up close and personal with some rather disagreeable jellyfish.

There were two “must sees” here in Cairns. First there was Kuranda, which is located in the nearby rainforest. The village itself is rather touristy and not worth lingering in, though there is an interesting butterfly sanctuary. The interest is in getting there and back. It is usual to use two modes of transport. We travelled out on the historic Kuranda Scenic Railway which snakes inland from Cairns through the rainforest. We returned on the Skyrail which opened over a hundred years later, in 1996. This is a cablecar which glides over the forest, with two intermediate stops, one to view the Barron Falls, the other at Red Peak, where we went for a guided walk through the trees along a boardwalk. To avoid ecological damage to the forest, the pylons were lowered by helicopter.

The other “must see” is, of course, the Great Barrier Reef. It would be a bit odd in my view to stay in Cairns and not go there! We sailed from Port Douglas, a few miles up the coast, to the Outer Reef, a mile or so out to sea. Here we anchored alongside a floating pontoon, the focal point of the day's activities. Whilst some went snorkelling, we went for the less strenuous option of two trips on a semi-sub which is skilfully navigated through the reef, affording magnificent views. For part of our second trip we were accompanied by a school of dolphins. On our third and final day in Cairns we enjoyed the luxury of - doing nothing. It had been a hugely enjoyable holiday but also a very busy one and it was agreeable just to be able to laze around in the sun.

On our way home, we stopped over for two nights in Singapore. This involved a change of planes in Brisbane. To get from the domestic to the international terminal we had to use the local train service. We could, had time permitted, have stayed on and gone into the city. Indeed the downtown skyscrapers were visible in the distance. I suppose I can still claim to have been to Brisbane, sort of.

For our second night, we had upgraded ourselves to the legendary Raffles Hotel. It did not seem worth doing so the first night as we were arriving fairly late. We stayed in the standard hotel offered by our tour company. We transferred across first thing. I was bristling when we checked in as the receptionist started lecturing us, or so I thought, about our room not being available until the afternoon. We had guessed that and merely wanted to leave our luggage. But I soon had to dismount my high horse: our suite, we were informed (there are no “rooms” as such in Raffles), was ready for us.

It would have been very easy to spend the entire day in Raffles, enjoying the ambience of our suite and of the hotel more generally, without setting foot in the city itself. Indeed we spent the morning doing just that. Lunch was taken in the poolside restaurant on the roof; an excellent curry prepared in the kitchens of the hotel's celebrated Tiffin Room restaurant. But there was hardly anyone else there. We remarked on this to our waiter. It was all to do with 11 September, he said. Even here, in a country that is about as safe as any, the number of visitors had plummeted.

We had never even considered cancelling our trip. Yet when we had asked a friend of ours how they'd enjoyed their holiday in Thailand they told us “Oh, of course we didn't go after all that's happened, we went to Wales instead”! To my mind, cancelling one’s travel plans is doing just what Osama Bin Laden and his gang want people to do. Had we been holidaying in the States, we'd have been doubly determined to go, just to show them two fingers. And of course it is invariably ordinary folk, waiters and so on who depend on tourism for their livelihood, who suffer most when visitors stay away.

After lunch we thought we'd better see something of the city. It seemed a pity not to. As soon as we set foot outside the hotel, we were offered a guided tour by bike. This was well worthwhile. Our daughter, who had, a few years earlier, spent a few days in Singapore during a trip around SE Asia, had warned us that it is somewhat sanitised. I would rather agree: there is not much of an oriental feel to the place. With its many skyscrapers much of it could be taken, at first glance, for the downtown area of a North American city. But we saw on this tour something of Old Singapore, in particular Little India, which has been declared a conservation area so cannot now be threatened with the bulldozer.

We strolled down afterwards to Orchard Road, which I understood to be the place for shopping (not that I like shopping, unless it be in a bookshop, but Cathy does!) We fondly imagined there would be elegant boutiques where we could shop, or more correctly at this point in our travels, window shop. So it was something of a culture shock to find ourselves in a shopping mall that, Chinese characters excepted, could have been in any provincial town back home. The main store in the first one we went into was a Courts. After going into a second one which was very similar, we retreated to Raffles! We went into the famous Long Bar for a drink. I confess we just had a Coke. One is supposed to have a Singapore Sling, a rather unappealing looking vivid pink concoction. But we conformed to the other tradition here. This is to eat the complimentary peanuts; these are still in their shells, which one throws onto the floor.

In one respect only was Raffles something of a disappointment. We decided to go out in style by eating in Raffles Grill, their fine dining restaurant. I took the precaution beforehand of enquiring if there was a dress code and was told that jacket and tie were required. I was happy about this: it is agreeable, very occasionally, to dress up a bit for dinner. So it was with more than a little annoyance that I noticed, when we arrived in the restaurant that evening, that other chaps there were jacketless and open-necked! The ambience was great, but the meal wasn't, and they were into portion control big time, or should I say small time. I don't subscribe to the view, beloved of nouvelle cuisine chefs, that gourmet dining requires meals to be elegantly presented but minuscule in quantity. One might want a fine dining experience, but the main reason we eat i.e. to ward off hunger, is still there as well: I am not exactly small and my appetite is not exactly dainty!

We nevertheless thoroughly enjoyed Raffles and would certainly recommend it to anyone wishing to indulge in an extra special treat to themselves - albeit we would add the advice to dine in the Tiffin Room!

First published in VISA issues 46-48 (summer, autumn and winter 2002).