Singapore story continued

In a previous post I mentioned buying cakes for J.'s grandmother. Her grandmother lives in Singapore and I brought these special cakes to her, well to J. who brought them to her. There were three cakes in all. I only mention it so you know that troughout my journey I was carrying not only my bag, but three increasingly heavy cakes.

I had envisioned the ferry ride somewhat romantically, believing I would be able to walk the deck with salt winds blowing in my face as I observed the many small islands decorating the sea seperating Batam from Singapore. Instead, there was no deck, only cramped indoor seating in a stuffy cabin densely populated by travellers who were more than content to listen to smooth jazz and watch the horrible Mr. Bean movie without sound or for those of us English speakers, with the worst possible translations of the already dim-witted diologue presented in sub-titles. The mis-translations had a magnetic pull and so I could not look away. I could see the actor's lips move and then the subtitles would appear and suggest that the line uttered was "him have fiery heart. In mind you must go." Again, this was the Mr. Bean movie.

The boat docked in Singapore after only an hour of travel, and then there was one last line in which to wait. Entry into Singapore was fairly efficient business, but by this time I had long since lost patience. The quene was lengthy but there were six customs officers checking people in and so it should have gone quickly. Phenomonally, the first people in line never seemed to be aware of when an officer was ready to see them, and so they had to be told, adding precious seconds to my wait. Aside from that there was an old man behind me who kept making a sort of noise that simply defies description. Suffice it to say that he made the noise with his lips and made it repeatedly like a small child so bored that they decide amuse themselves by making strange sounds until some adult supervisor insists that they knock it off. I was within a fraction of assuming that role with this fellow traveller but could not work up the courage. In front of me was another man with a large mole that proved fertile soil for a shock of grey whiskers that sprung out of this man's violently. They appeared not only long, but rigid and I wondered how he could put up with it. Didn't it get caught in doors, other things? At long last it was my turn. After clearing customs, I faced only one last metal detector and x-ray machine which negotiated without hassle. Then I saw J. and things suddenly improved, I immedialtely held out the cakes and said, "here, your f***in' cakes."

I'll continue this story later.