Luang Prabang: A City Frozen In Time

A group of saffron-robed and barefoot monks—some barely in their teens—gathered in a corner of Sakkarin Road. Two jaunty dogs, tails wagging, hovered alongside them, as if wanting to engage the monks. The monks eyed them quietly, an amused but demure smile on their faces. Another group of monks had already started walking in single file ahead of them, and were just then passing in front of Wat Saen where a large crowd of devotees was waiting. As if on cue, with no words spoken, the monks in the corner started to walk towards the crowd to take their turn in collecting their morning alms.

A long line of almsgivers had already set themselves up on one side of the road, sitting on straw mats, a variety of small baskets containing cooked sticky rice and fruits in front of each person. The well-behaved crowd was dressed for the occasion, each one wearing a sash or stole across the body. As the monks approached they opened their baskets—some still steaming with the heat of the rice—took a pinch of rice and dropped it inside the alms bowl as each monk passed.

Onlookers with cameras on hand stood a few feet away, excitedly flashing their cameras at the other-worldly scene unfolding in front of them. It was just another everyday occurrence on the streets of Luang Prabang, but one that is powerful enough to take curious travelers (like me) thousands of miles to see and experience it first-hand.

Luang Prabang is an incredibly well-preserved city in Northern Laos. A UNESCO World Heritage site since 1995, it certainly looks like it could be a poster child for historic conservation. Its geographic and political isolation proved to be a boon. While other Southeast Asian nations became more and more westernized, Laos (and in particular, Luang Prabang) was able to maintain its age-old customs and traditions, and its beautiful temple and French colonial architecture—around 700 historic buildings, according to UNESCO.

My husband and I came to Luang Prabang to experience this “untainted” culture before it eventually succumbs to modernity. The alms-giving ritual is one of the highlights. The event happens quickly, so we were advised to be at the site very early. On our first morning in Luang Prabang, we rose and got ready before dawn. It was still dark when we boarded our tuktuk in front of our hotel. The grating sound of its motor filled the quiet streets as it sped to our destination. As it turned out, we were too early, and the streets were still deserted. I realized later that we should have waited until we heard the drum (or was it a bell?) sounding in the temple next door—the wakeup call for the monks.

The best place to see the procession of monks is along the main road—Sakkarin/Sisavangvong. There are several large temples around this road, which meant that many monks come out to receive alms. This morning we saw about a hundred monks in groups of roughly 10 each. Perhaps this is the only place left in Southeast Asia where one can still witness a great number of them parading the streets. The sight of them—their faces stoic, devoid of any expression—is strangely calming.

The silent and reverential pageantry over, it was time for breakfast. A few steps away from Wat Saen, and right across another temple compound, freshly baked croissants awaited us at Café Le Banneton. There are a number of these French-style cafes around town—a legacy of the French colonial era. It was nice to just sit at a sidewalk table, sipping coffee and munching on buttery pastries. It felt quite natural to do so in this laidback place where time seems to move very slowly. The languid lifestyle is infectious, such that in the past as in the present, Luang Prabang has been called “the refuge of the last dreamers.” Modern-day lotus-eaters flock to this town that has been frozen in time.

It’s not just the cafes that the French left behind. They also bequeathed some beautiful French colonial buildings, including Auberge les 3 Nagas and Villa Santi. There’s a profusion of handsome brick-and-stucco buildings with window shutters and tile roofs, and really pretty French-Lao style houses with the lower floor made of brick-and-stucco and the upper floor made of wood. They raise the charm factor by adding a picket fence, painted white or brown.

The fusion of Buddhist Lao and French colonial elements creates a unique and beguiling atmosphere. A walk around the compact historic temple district will quickly endear the traveler to the pleasing qualities of Luang Prabang. It’s quiet, very old world, and romantic. Frangipani trees scent the air in brief puffs that you wonder where the sweet smell was coming from— the fleeting fragrance adding to a sense of mystery.

Morning markets showcase exotic produce, including many varieties of lemongrass. Their stalks are many times thicker than what I find back home, and much more aromatic. At night, a market opens on the main street, selling silk scarves and hangings, hill-tribe fabrics and clothing, silver jewelry, and Buddha statues. There isn’t much of a night life with cafes closing by 9pm, but this only means an early bedtime to allow us to rise up and start the next day early.

On our last day in Luang Prabang, we got up at a reasonable hour. Dawn had already broken, and soon enough I heard the drum sounding at our neighborhood temple. I thought of having a breakfast of omelet and croissants at the cheerful breakfast room in our hotel, the Satri House. The yellow wall panels and the green celadon tableware make any meal here sumptuous. But first, I had a procession to attend. Breakfast can wait.

Dayan: Lijiang’s Old Town

It was an odor I won’t soon forget—the musky scent of yak meat mingled with the aroma of Chinese spices. It was an overwhelming sensorial assault, though I had to admit, a reassuring sign. This meant that I was going in the right direction towards Sifang Square—the heart of Lijiang’s Old Town—knowing that stores selling dried yak meat multipled as I got closer to the square. The intensity of the smell was off-putting at first, but it soon became my compass in navigating Lijiang’s warren of narrow, unmarked alleyways.

It was the end of February, and already it was springtime in Lijiang. The willow trees had sprouted long garlands of tender leaves; and cherry blossoms, camellias, and magnolias were either in bloom or about to burst forth with blossoms. It was a sunny morning, and facing north I could see the snow-capped peak of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain in the distance.

I began my walk at the south entrance to the Old Town (also called Dayan) where my hotel was located. Wooden houses with blue-tile roofs lined the freshly swept cobblestones. Many have small shops on the ground floor and living quarters upstairs. A multitude of streams flowing north to south—melted snow from Jade Dragon Snow Mountain —provide water for drinking, washing vegetables, and laundering clothes. Elderly women in trademark ethnic Naxi blue dress, white apron, and blue cap shuffled up and down the streets, backs laden with baskets of vegetables, fruits, or even firewood. These frail-looking women must be stronger than they looked. Men should be carrying such heavy loads, but I found most of the elderly men chatting in small groups, playing mahjong, or practicing with their musical instruments. This was after all a matriarchal society, one of the few remaining in the world.

My journey to Lijiang began many years ago after reading James Hilton’s book “Lost Horizon” that set my imagination on fire and fueled a desire to find this Shangri-La. Lijiang is purported to be the place Hilton described so magically in his book. About five years ago, Lijiang came into the radar of borderline mainstream travelers as tourism infrastructure improved and non-Chinese speakers (like me) braved the language barrier and the possibility of altitude sickness.

The flight to (and from) Lijiang was one of the bumpiest I’ve had in years of traveling. The plane dipped for long periods of time—well, more than a few seconds actually—that drew squeals of panic and tearful sobs from the female passengers. This was perhaps unavoidable due to the elevation—we had to fly above tall mountain peaks to reach Lijiang at the foothills of the Himalayas. On one particularly extended free-fall, I had visions of Conway (the main character in “Lost Horizon”) and the little plane that took him and his companions crashing down on a snowy mountain. I hoped to God our landing was a little less dramatic.

Progress has reached this remote Southwestern corner of China—Lijiang’s spanking new airport is huge, modern (but fused with pleasing Chinese design elements), and seemingly incongruous with the mountainous landscape. Taxis were plentiful and reasonably priced. I found it odd that there were perhaps as many women taxi drivers as there were men. I had to remind myself that this was a different world where it was the women who ruled.

Our hotel at the Crowne Plaza Lijiang is more beautiful than I could have hoped for, and it is very conveniently located as it is still a part of the Old Town of Dayan, although it is on the southern fringe. The hotel is laid out like a village of two-story stone houses, gurgling streams, pathways, and gardens. It was made to blend in with the Old Town, so it mimics the town’s architecture and atmosphere. It even has its own water wheels! Our suite is on the second floor of a Chinese-style house, and although it is not the most expensive room at the hotel, it must be the best situated because a latticed window behind our bed perfectly frames a fantastic view of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain. I couldn’t wait to wake up each morning to gaze at that view.

A walk from the south entrance to the north entrance of Dayan can take less than an hour, but that’s if you never stop to take in the ambience, look at shops, or sit down for coffee. On our first day, my husband and I spent the entire day wandering around, getting lost, finding our way back, and in the process discovering places serendipitously. A wrong turn led us through a traditional market where my husband found a Tibetan ceremonial dagger—the antique version of which we earlier saw in an expensive boutique—at a price we can accept.

Lijiang is commercialized, that is true. But I have to say that I enjoyed shopping for colorful hand-woven shawls, elegant pashmina scarves, bronze Tibetan bells, handmade paper, and embroidered cushion covers. Despite the many shops and restaurants, Lijiang has a unique charm. Many of the shops and restaurants themselves are delightful. One narrow canal street is lined with bars whose fronts extend somewhat precariously over the canal and appear to be crumbling at any moment from the weight of those sitting at the window tables. The rickety wooden planks that serve as bridges from the street to the bars threatened to collapse with my every step. But the entire picture is extremely atmospheric and pretty enough to sketch on a pad or paint on canvas.

Old men sit companionably in groups. Children play. Dogs cavort. Women wash their hair at the communal pools. Old women dance and sing on Sifang Square. Men display their falcons. A woman shows off her meticulously groomed white llama. A shaman in exquisite robes happily poses for photographers. Tourists—thrilled to be wearing Lijiang’s elaborate costumes, complete with heavy and jingling silver jewelry—prance around for a souvenir photo, all wishing to capture a moment of this special place as a keepsake to last for years.

I don’t blame them. Lijiang is as enchanting as it gets—one of those places that make you wish that you lived there. It is a reminder of a simpler, gentler world. And yet it has the vibrancy and excitement of the present. We noticed several construction sites where old structures are being rebuilt and new ones erected. They are in the Chinese courtyard style—beautifully carved doors with brass knockers, windows and wall panels that have pierced carvings of flowers and birds, Ming-style furniture, flowering plants in blue-and-white pots. The carpenters obviously still possess the age-old skills to produce these works of art. They seem to be quite commonplace in Lijiang, but in the outside world they must cost a fortune.

On my last day in Lijiang, I took a stroll towards the center of the Old Town. I found a shorter route—a quiet street lined with traditional inns. The open gates beckoned me to take a peek inside into the courtyard. I noted the exquisite wooden details, the inviting chairs, and the blooming cherry blossoms. Moving along, I heard the soft rushing of the water in the small canals. And then I caught a whiff of that now familiar scent—the sweet, spicy, pungent smell of yak meat—and I knew that Sifang Square was just around the corner.

Searching for Shangri-La

Ever since I read the book “Lost Horizon” by James Hilton many years ago, I had dreamt of one day finding the real Shangri-La. I mean, who could resist the beautiful words used by Hilton to describe the place? Consider this passage from the book: “From a colonnade steps descended into a garden, in which a lotus pool lay entrapped, the leaves so closely set that they gave an impression of a floor of moist green tiles. Fringing the pool were posed a brazen menagerie of lions, dragons, and unicorns, each offering a stylized ferocity that emphasized rather than offended the surrounding peace. The whole picture was so perfectly proportioned that the eye was entirely unhastened from one part to another; there was no vying or vanity, and even the summit of Karakal, peerless above the blue tiled roofs, seemed to have surrendered within the framework of an exquisite artistry.”

It is said that Hilton imagined this magical place from reading accounts made by botanists, such as Joseph Rock, who traveled to far-flung places in search of new plants. Rock wrote many articles for National Geographic magazine about his expeditions in Yunnan Province (China), a place that was and still is very rich in plant life. Hilton himself never set foot in Yunnan, but used the reports as inspiration for the book.

And so I found myself on a very bumpy ride over the tall peaks of Yunnan en route to the former capital of the Naxi Kingdom, Lijiang. Rock himself was based some kilometers away in a village called Yuhu. But Lijiang has the modern conveniences for today’s traveler, so that’s where I was going.

Lijiang is dominated by the snow-capped mountain called Jade Dragon Snow, the one that breathed life to Karakal in Hilton’s book. If the timeless and serene beauty of Black Dragon Pool backdropped by Jade Dragon Snow Mountain is any clue, then I must really be in Shangri-La. Add to this, views of tile rooftops and an ethnic culture that is gentle and innocent. Almost everyday in the squares of Dayan Old Town, groups of ancient men and women (in their 70s and 80s) wearing Naxi costumes congregated to chitchat and to sing their primitive, high-pitched songs and to dance with hands clasped one after another to form an unbroken line, like small children. Even today, Lijiang has the power to charm travelers, both Chinese and foreign. And UNESCO has recognized its world heritage value and included it in the list.

Am I right in imagining that this can be the place where Hilton said: “You will achieve calmness and profundity, ripeness and wisdom, and the clear enchantment of memory. And, most precious of all, you will have Time?”

The Fairytale Town of Cesky Krumlov

If you are looking for a fairytale town with a castle surrounded by a medieval village of quaint cottages, narrow and winding cobblestone streets, with the scent of roses in the air, and small enough to comfortably meander through in a day, this is the place.

Cesky Krumlov, a UNESCO World Heritage Site in the Czech Republic, has recently become a fixture in the itinerary of travelers to Eastern Europe who want to experience a living storybook town. It is quite accessible by car from either Prague or Vienna.

 

My husband and I were in Cesky Krumlov for the Five-Petalled Rose Festival three summers ago. We stayed at Hotel Konvice, a small bed-and-breakfast in a centuries-old house. The best thing about this inn is the gorgeous view of the castle tower across the river. I could just imagine sleeping under the glow of the illuminated castle at night. It should be enough to summon dreams of knights and damsels.

There were many shows simultaneously happening in different venues around town. Some were taking place on a stage that was set up in the town square; others were being performed on the streets. You can take your pick from sword-fighting, fencing, jousting, medieval music, folk songs and dances, fairytale theater, or puppet play. There were minstrels, bards, jugglers, fakirs, and belly dancers. There was no fee to see any of the shows. We were free to just roam around and join in.

We grabbed a couple of chairs in front of the stage where three Gypsy women were belly-dancing. They were followed by a group of medieval musicians playing ancient instruments. Why did that tune sound so familiar? So melancholic and haunting.

The Historic Costume Parade was one of the highlights of the festival. As it was also the 700th anniversary of the town the parade was even grander than usual. The townsfolk dressed up in costumes that represented all the different historical periods since the town’s founding, and not just the usual Renaissance theme. Men, women, children, and horses paraded through the streets. They were a complete ensemble, a cast of characters in a long historical play of which there were four parts: Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque, and Rococo.

We cut through the crowd which was getting thicker by the minute and took our positions. We could hear beating drums and the clippety-clop of hooves, louder and louder as the parade approached, and then finally emerged from around a bend. A group of drummers was followed by knights clad in steel armor, and then horsemen carrying the five-petalled rose insignia; behind them were aristocrats dressed in rich satin and velvet.

Also marching down the street were a fife and drum corps, a troop of musketeers, magicians with boa constrictors draped over their shoulders, and many, many more. It was like watching chess pieces or a game of “Dungeons and Dragons” coming to life.

In the evening a torch parade of another set of characters, mostly the peasantry, wound its way down the labyrinthine streets and passageways. The finale of the festival was the midnight fireworks display—fifteen minutes of spectacular bursts of color and light against the backdrop of the ancient castle tower.

We spent the next day touring the castle grounds and some of the rooms of the castle. We stopped by the medieval market at the entrance to the castle and watched a costumed old man cheerfully whittling wood to produce small souvenirs, such as whistles and spoons. There was a stall selling heart-shaped cookies daintily decorated with white lace-like icing, and another one with a Turkish man making candies. There were also various crafts on display—bouquets of dried flowers, tiny pewter figurines of horses and soldiers, and life-size knight breastplates and helmets.

At bedtime I spent minutes staring at the castle and its tower just outside our hotel room window. It had stood there for 700 years like a silent sentinel, powerful and dominating, seeing all and being seen by all. Even now it radiated a strong and mesmerizing aura. Sleep came slowly as I imagined the light from the castle throwing bright flashes like the tip of a magic wand. Was it the castle casting its spell at this witching hour, in this timeless land of fairytales?

(A version of this story was published in the 2011 holiday issue of Travelife magazine.)

Suzhou and Zhou Zhuang

Several water towns outside Shanghai offer a welcome change of pace from the hustle and bustle of city life. Stressed-out urbanites as well as weary travelers can find a peaceful, idyllic landscape in places like Suzhou and Zhou Zhuang—both about an hour or so by car from the center of Shanghai.

Suzhou itself is already a large city with its own crop of modern malls which, as in Shanghai, almost always have a jewel-like Louis Vuitton store front. But it is the gardens (and silk production) that Suzhou is famous for. The biggest and finest is the Humble Administrator’s Garden. Best appreciated in summer when the lotus flowers are in bloom, it is still pretty in winter when we visited. The garden has meandering ponds around which terraces, pavilions, and halls have been built for optimum viewing and contemplation. As in all traditional Chinese gardens, the gardens of Suzhou incorporate four major elements: rocks, water, plants, and architecture.

The Lion Grove Garden is another fine example of classical Chinese garden design, although this one has a focus on rocks. The garden is named after the shapes of lions that are formed out of a large piece of rock, but you would have to use your imagination to figure them out.

Zhou Zhuang is my favorite. It is a well-preserved ancient town surrounded and intersected by canals. The old town itself is very small and can be explored on foot and on small wooden boats that ply the canals. Narrow alleyways made of flagstones, weathered houses, arched bridges and willows reflected on the water. It is a very charming little place where people still live their lives seemingly undisturbed by progress.

Old Shanghai

In the centuries prior to its opening as a “treaty port” in the 1840s, Shanghai was just a fishing village and later a cotton producer. After the First Opium War, the Treaty of Nanking allowed the British to trade with certain ports in China. That was the beginning of Shanghai’s rise in prominence as a city of glamor and decadence.

The British and the French, among several other nationalities, divided Shanghai into “concessions.” These foreign-run territories allowed these early expatriates to pursue their own lifestyles, build homes and offices following the architecture of their home countries, and conduct their affairs independent of their host. Today these former concessions still hold remnants of Shanghai’s heady past.

Start your tour of Old Shanghai along the Huangpu River. The Bund (or embankment) continues to be a symbol of Shanghai, along with the modern face of the city in Pudong just across the river. The long row of colonial buildings are as beautiful as ever, if not even more beautiful after a cleanup sometime before the 2010 World Expo. Some of the buildings have been redeveloped as luxury hotels, upscale restaurants, and name brand retail outlets. The best views are at sunrise as the buildings face east, and at night when flood lights illuminate. A wide riverside promenade across the street from the Bund is the preferred viewing point for both the Bund and the Pudong skyline.

In Xintiandi, it is a pleasure to stroll among shikumen (stone gate) buildings now housing trendy restaurants, cafes, and shops. Nanjing Road is a pedestrian-only shopping street that blazes with neon lights at night, and is packed with people at the end of the work day and on weekends. Dongtai Road is a residential street where shopkeepers have set up kiosks selling old-looking items: Mao Zedong figurines and other souvenirs of the Cultural Revolution, miniature terracotta warriors, calligraphy brushes, teapots, red lacquer boxes, and many other interesting knick-knacks.

Also in the old part of Shanghai: a Confucian temple and school right smack in the middle of a typical Shanghai neighborhood of narrow streets and cramped living quarters. The wide open spaces of the temple complex are in stark contrast to the tightly packed housing of the vicinity. It’s a rather sobering reminder that Shanghai is not all glitter and glam.

Yu Yuan Garden and Bazaar

Shanghai is modernizing by the minute it seems. The Shanghai you see now won’t be the same Shanghai you’ll see in a very short period of time. But while this fast and furious race towards the future has come to define contemporary Shanghai, parts of the city continue to exhibit vestiges of its old self.

Yu Yuan is one of these places. You can easily spend a day here and still feel like you’d want to come back for a little bit more. There are many interesting shops selling all sorts of souvenirs and trinkets—calligraphy brushes, name chops, snuff bottles, paper cuts, farmer paintings, and so on. There are food stores—traditional teahouses that serve the famous Shanghai dumplings as well as several McDonald’s, Starbucks, and Haagen Dazs.

It gets inundated by both locals and foreign tourists, so it gets to be a bit too much. Go in the morning to avoid the crowds. But if you begin to feel the crush of humanity, escape to Yu Garden. It has pagodas, pavilions, koi ponds, arched bridges, rockery, weeping willows—all the ingredients of a classical Chinese painting.

Bangkok’s Grand Palace

Prepare to be dazzled by endless vistas of gold leaf, glass mosaic, inlays of porcelain and semi-precious stone, glazed orange and green tiles, and soaring spires. The Grand Palace of Bangkok is built to impress. Covering an area of more than 200,000 square meters, it easily overwhelms with its vast collection of highly ornate buildings and structures. It was the official residence of the Thai kings from 1782 until 1925, and is still used today for royal ceremonies and state functions. (Currently the royal family resides in Chitralada Palace.)

Having been to the Grand Palace at least four times over the years, is it any wonder that I am still wide-eyed whenever I visit? Here are some photos that tell you why.

Eating Our Way Through Marina Bay Sands

The celebrity chefs have come to town! And we are not about to pass up the opportunity to find out for ourselves what the hoopla is all about. So, on a recent trip to Singapore we took it upon ourselves to investigate. (Someone’s got to do it!) Luckily, many of the celebrated restaurants are within the mall located inside the Marina Bay Sands complex, which spared us the commute around the city.

But first I must tell you about our hotel in Singapore. No, we did not stay at Marina Bay Sands. We considered it but decided against staying because of the not-so-glowing reviews about the hotel. Mind you, Marina Bay Sands is a striking property which quickly became a symbol of Singapore, along with the Singapore Flyer and the Merlion. But as one reviewer put it: It is beautiful to look at but not to stay at.

Instead, we picked a smaller hotel that has been getting rave reviews—the Fullerton Bay Hotel. As soon as we entered, our first thoughts were how right we were in choosing this hotel among the hundreds Singapore has to offer. I’m going to gush now, since the hotel is exquisite in its contempory design, created by no less than hot, young architect Andre Fu who is recognized for his edgy, sensuous, Asian aesthetic. The hotel incorporates the old Clifford Pier—the port of entry for early Singaporean immigrants—in its architecture, and remains faithful to the original Art Deco style of the heritage building.

The distinctive facade of Fullerton Bay Hotel looks astonishingly modern even as it retains an Art Deco feel. At the entrance you get a whiff of a lovely jasmine scent (the hotel’s signature scent?), mingled with the slightly smoky but pleasant aroma of applewood (the latter emanating from the decadently Oriental restaurant “One on the Bund” located just behind the hotel’s foyer.) Gleaming mosaic floors, glittering crystal chandeliers, hydrangea bouquets, Molton Brown toiletries, 16 types of Nespresso capsules, personalized service (they greeted us by name every morning at the breakfast restaurant), no crowds, and stunning bay views. It’s simply fabulous and just a quick taxi ride across the bay from Marina Bay Sands.

Now, let’s get on with the food trip. Where shall we begin? It was lunch time when we arrived in Singapore, so pizza seemed to be in order, specifically Mario Battali’s Pizzeria Mozza. The casual restaurant appears to be very popular, all the tables were taken, so we had to make do with seats at the counter. No complaints, as we got front row views of the action near the brick ovens where they make the pizzas. We had small (and I mean REALLY small) plates of Italian “tapas” or antipasti to start.  We had caprese with fresh mozzarella and very sweet, roasted cherry tomatoes. This was excellent—the mozzarella was gooey and full of flavor, and the olive oil was very rich. We also had fried squash blossoms filled with ricotta, which was not too heavy on the oil. The calamari with fagioli was not our favorite because the squid was not as tender nor as tasty as we would have liked. But the pizza was very good. I liked the texture of the thin crust—crispy and a little glutinous.

Afternoon tea at TWG was a pleasant affair. The freshly baked scones were quite good when slathered with tea jelly and whipped cream, and their creme brulee tart was just scrumptious. They have a very large and impressive gourmet tea menu out of which we carefully picked out “1837″ black tea and “French Earl Grey” tea. When steeped, both produce a robust flavor and scent, and a deep amber color. The TWG tea salon is small but not lacking in atmosphere. Phaelonopsis orchids surround the salon, and tables are covered with fresh and crisp white linens. The tea service uses delicate porcelain and heavy silverware.

Dinner the next day was at Daniel Boulud’s DB Bistro Moderne. A bit more formal than Pizzeria Mozza, the place had a more quiet and intimate feel. The breads were delicious, especially the Alsatian flat bread with mushrooms. The butternut squash soup was nice and creamy. The steak frites was juicy, tender, and perfectly seasoned. And the duck confit was decadently rich, with the skin wonderfully crispy and the flesh moist.

Another dinner was at Wolfgang Puck’s Cut. This restaurant has a sleek, cool vibe, and the guests very well-dressed. It was a little too dark though to really appreciate the food with one’s eyes. The restaurant specializes in steaks, and we were not disappointed. I’m not much of a steak eater, but my husband enthusiastically  gave a thumbs-up to his “Australian Angus, 300+ days grain fed, Rangers Valley, aged 35 days” bone-in New York sirloin.

This is just a small sampling of the very wide range of dining options in Marina Bay Sands and elsewhere in Singapore. It is no wonder the city-state is fast becoming the regional gastronomic capital of Southeast Asia.

Singapore, A Story of Reinvention

The alluring and very modern hotel occupies a portion of the historic Clifford Pier which was once the port of entry for early Singaporean immigrants. The historical landmark has undergone a makeover and has become the Fullerton Bay Hotel, another shining example of how this tiny city-state continues to transform in order to remain internationally competitive. By the looks of it, Singapore has been very successful in making clever use of its very limited resources, with the effect of making Singapore seem bigger than it really is. (Well, reclamation helps, too.)

The Singaporeans’ genius for urban planning is immediately evident to arriving tourists. The drive from the airport is through a wide highway, lined with mature acacia trees; in some parts of the highway the greenery on both sides is so thick that one could easily mistake it for a tropical jungle. A jungle in very urban Singapore! This is one city that truly recognizes the need for green spaces.

By June of next year Gardens by the Bay, another attraction in the glitzy Marina Bay area, will add to Singapore’s increasing reputation as a garden city. I am eager to see it for myself as it will include vertical gardens—tree-like structures up to 50 meters tall, called “Supertrees,” that will be hosting bromeliads, orchids, and ferns up and down their trunks. There is also the Flower Dome, a conservatory that will house Mediterranean, Australian, and South African gardens. The structure of the dome is quite unusual—it reminds me of a snail or a conch shell—and promises to be another iconic architecture in the Marina Bay area.

Then of course, there is the Marina Bay Sands—three soaring buildings connected at the top by what looks like a giant surfboard, the Skypark. The Skypark is on my wish list for my next Singapore visit, primarily for the views of Singapore from atop a 57-storey building. The infinity pool at the Skypark is said to be the world’s largest swimming pool at that height. What it must feel to swim to the edge of the pool and look down on the city! Just thinking about it makes me dizzy.

The architecture is dazzling, especially at night when the laser show makes a grand spectacle three times each night. The Helix Bridge, a pedestrian bridge that links the hotel to the other side of the bay, and which looks like something out of a sci-fi movie, is the perfect foreground to the imposing views of Marina Bay Sands.

Outside the glitz and the glamor, perhaps few visitors are aware that Singapore has a quaint side. In Katong district, the Baba and Nyonya culture of the Peranakans (descendants of mostly Chinese traders in Malacca who migrated to Penang and Singapore) is alive and well. Rows of pretty shophouses sell brightly-colored Nyonya sweets or serve Peranakan cuisine. The houses are unabashedly colorful and awash with floral motifs—they are rather like the Southeast Asian version of Victorian gingerbread houses.

Impressively, Singapore has preserved many of its beautiful, British colonial buildings. Raffles Hotel is a prime example. Even more fascinating is the inventive re-use of some of these old structures—a former convent and Catholic school becomes a retail and restaurant complex (Chijmes), an old post office becomes a luxury hotel (Fullerton Hotel), and a historic jetty becomes an ultra-chic boutique hotel (Fullerton Bay Hotel).

Singapore appears to have mastered the art of creating that delicate balance between old and new, proving that conservation and modernization need not be on opposing sides, and allowing the city-state to preserve its heritage even as it constantly reinvents itself. For curious travelers, such layering of old and new makes for a more interesting and more seductive destination that invites exploration, discovery, and surprise.