It’s rainy season here and Singapore storms are bipolar. They can move really fast – one second it’s dry, the next it’s a deluge. No time to run for cover. You will be soaked in the blink of an eye. But at other times, the sky darkens, the thunder rumbles threateningly, but then the storm wears itself out without producing even one drip. Playing chicken with the storms is a favorite island pastime. On the days you lose, you get soggy bread, ruined papers, and really bad hair. This is always a fun game to observe at the pool. Everyone is having a wonderful time, sunning, reading, splashing. Then the clouds start to gather. The skies are scanned apprehensively and repeatedly, mothers alert to lightning, kids oblivious. We glance around. Is anyone making a move? No one wants to be first. Play it cool. Relax. A rumble of thunder brings us to attention. Is it time? We covertly sneak books, snacks, lotions into the beach bag for a hasty get-away if required. At last, the first weak soul relents, usually a mom who is forgiven because she’s allowed to be over-protective. The rest of us? We won’t be so easily deprived of our weekend respite. Finally, someone caves and packs it in. The rest of us, satisfied not to be the first to break, reluctantly follow suit and seek refuge indoors.
Who says there’s nothing to do in Singapore?
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