There is no debate about how banking in Asia makes Europe look not just antiquated, but entrenched in the dark ages. Unlike my experience with HSBC in London (where it took the "post" with the relevant paperwork 3 working days to make it's way through the building to my relationship manner because the scanned copies weren't good enough in this day and age), I've been told it'll take 10 working days to set up my account here and have a welcome package ready for me by then. We shall see.
My Employment Pass (EP) takes longer than I thought but my HR assures me it's just the new year rush. Hmmmmm. I need that to be able to open a bank account. I draw money for my goodwill deposit on the flat from London, and hope that EP happens sooner rather than later, because I now clearly need to have local funds to lean on.
No sign of the EP but instead, there's a fat envelope on my desk. My curiosity turns to bewilderment.... it's a debit card, and a second envelope holds the pin. Hmmmmm. Curious. So now I have a card for an account somewhere on this island with no money in it. The next day offers up a cheque book. I blithely offer to write cheques to people who have bought concert tickets for me. This could be fun (notwithstanding potential punitive assessment by the State for bounced cheques).
I am now in possession of weapons of spending with no backing. How very classic 21st century American.
P.S. - My befuddled query to my Indian relationship manager yields a surreptitious call (apparently sending anything in writing would contravene the Geneva convention, 3482 RBI regulations, and rock the Singaporean government on its heels) with details of my new bank account, customer number and local relationship manager. So much for dire warnings that HSBC here wasn't good!
Welcome to Singapore
Can't think of many countries that allow you to stroll in on a tourist visa, start work, apply for your work permit, sign a lease and get back into the country on the basis of an in principle approval...... no fuss, no muss. This is how you bring skilled immigrants in to boost your economy. Simple, short and stress free. That's how you make 'em pay silly money for the privilege of working here :)
Protocols disobeyed
While I'm not feeling vitriolic enough for that particular post, I must inquire why is it, that I get comments posted on this blog from random anonymous people, and yet, those that I know persist in sending me emails and texts instead of just observing proper blog etitquette and posting a comment against the relevent item??? It would be nice to read a comment from someone I know for a change! 50 lashes lah! Damn, I'm hungry.
My vitriolic post on Singapore's housing lies forlorn. I have been distracted and am now at a quarter one in the morning, wide awake and ravenously hungry!! It is deeply distressing to dine with clients of the male persuasion who very politely say they don't want any more food. What is with these white men?!?!?! Mimi and I inhale that table load as a pre-cursor to a Japanese meal!
HUNGRY!!!!
HUNGRY!!!!
Singapore Sling
The original: Gin, Cherry Heering, Bénédictine, fresh pineapple juice.... Shaken, not stirred.
The bastardised: A crutch to aid demoralised foreigners seeking accommodation in Singapore.
I've dealt with rentals in Bombay, London and New York but Singapore beats 'em all hollow. As hard as it may be to imagine, the apartments here are tinier (not sure if they're intended for the miraculously metabolically superior Singapore/Chinese frame??), rates extortionate, and a big hoo ha is made about the 'amenities' and 'facilities'. Given that I'm a woman that doesn't do gym's and whose visualisation of a 'lap' pool is significantly different from that of an athlete, I'm not impressed. Actually, I lie. The facilities are impressive, but a fat lot of good it's going to do me to pay for all of this when I'm not going to be using any of it!
Where the locations work, the apartments don't, where the apartment works, the location doesn't, and if both work, then someone insists on putting up a brand new development right next door (naturally, they will only break ground and start the piling work once you've moved in). I've seen more apartments that I ever want to again, and I'm demoralised, frustrated, knackered and ready to run away!
The bastardised: A crutch to aid demoralised foreigners seeking accommodation in Singapore.
I've dealt with rentals in Bombay, London and New York but Singapore beats 'em all hollow. As hard as it may be to imagine, the apartments here are tinier (not sure if they're intended for the miraculously metabolically superior Singapore/Chinese frame??), rates extortionate, and a big hoo ha is made about the 'amenities' and 'facilities'. Given that I'm a woman that doesn't do gym's and whose visualisation of a 'lap' pool is significantly different from that of an athlete, I'm not impressed. Actually, I lie. The facilities are impressive, but a fat lot of good it's going to do me to pay for all of this when I'm not going to be using any of it!
Where the locations work, the apartments don't, where the apartment works, the location doesn't, and if both work, then someone insists on putting up a brand new development right next door (naturally, they will only break ground and start the piling work once you've moved in). I've seen more apartments that I ever want to again, and I'm demoralised, frustrated, knackered and ready to run away!
My list of things that I hate now include house hunting with a passion!
Corrigendum
Apparently, I am the proud owner of a .175 and not a .22 as I had thought.
My only excuse: no one on TV ever fires .175's, so how am I meant to remember the fraction?
My only excuse: no one on TV ever fires .175's, so how am I meant to remember the fraction?
Tired.
The urge to walk into a pair of strong arms and rest against a warm body is overwhelming. How strange it is to have that sense through me as I wait for my next call. It’s been a long day and it’s not over yet. Strange when I think about what I said yesterday. That I couldn't imagine living with anyone because I need my own space. Yet, the thought of a larger apartment is what is making me unwilling to put down an offer, the sheer abundance of empty space that makes me uncomfortable, and a smaller, cozier and quirkier studio more appealing. I've always been plagued by contrary emotions and wants, but this? Where did this come from? A new place? Insular people? Disastrous office? Anything more than 1 bedroom is more than I want right now, because it just makes being alone skate too closely to feeling lonely. Cozy is good, but without feeling claustrophobic. But what’s with the wanting to go home to a hug? If there's anything I hate, it's arriving home to people talking.... and yet, here I am, my head conjuring something that sounds suspiciously like having someone around all the time. And that doesn’t sound right. I must be tired. Very tired. And hormonal.
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