The Island of Singapore

By Ing Wong-Ward

The first thing I notice when I get off the plane: The airport in Singapore is cold. It’s a surprise, given that Singapore’s average daily temperature hovers around 30 degrees Celsius.

I’ve just spent 33 hours on a Korean Airlines jet. I’ve crossed time zones and countries and it’s all just starting to hit. My poor body thinks it’s 8:00 a.m. -- breakfast time in Toronto. But it’s nighttime in Singapore, well past dinner.

A wall of heat and humidity greets me as I wheel out of the airport. I’m amazed that my wheelchair has survived the trip. Korean Airlines has no understanding of access and accommodation. Their response to my request to use an on-board washroom is greeted with confusion. To them, it’s a medical emergency. Unlike most international airlines, they’ve never carried an aisle chair on board.

This is not the first "misunderstanding."

In Toronto, I’m told to sign a form stating I won’t sue if something happens to me while on the flight. For some reason, people with disabilities are considered to be a greater hazard. I sign, knowing it violates my human rights, but I’m not in a position to argue. The choice, or lack of one, seems pretty clear. Sign, or don’t get on the plane.

After doing so, I tell myself one thing: Never, ever fly Korean Airlines again. They don’t get it. Period. I find out about their atrocious safety record later. No one, with or without a disability, should fly Korean Airlines.

I’m worried the episodes with Korean Airlines will set the tone for my trip. I’ve known for some time that Asia is not as disability-aware as North America. While people with disabilities here are slowly winning the fight for inclusion, people with disabilities in Asia are working on getting what we take for granted. The last time I was in Singapore, access was merely a concept, not a reality. I’d heard things had changed and part of my trip was to find out by how much.

I’m visiting my very ill grandmother. I’ve had 48 hours’ notice to board a plane with my parents and my husband. I haven’t had time to prepare my body fully for the time change -- exactly 12 hours opposite to us. The last time I made this trek, I wound up with pneumonia. So, I devise a strategy: Drink lots. If my electrolyte levels drop, I’m vulnerable to catching something. I dutifully guzzle several litres of Gatorade. Maybe going to the bathroom is an emergency after all.

Nighttime in Singapore is stunning. My aunt takes us through the core of the city filled with lights and palm trees. Everything’s smaller than I’m used to -- the roadways especially. The car barely has enough room for my husband Tim’s long North American legs. Luckily, the trunk is large enough for my new electric travel chair. It’s a fold-up kind, very portable. It runs on small gel batteries that can be popped out to lighten the load. I’ve only had it for a few weeks, barely enough time to test it properly, let alone rely on it for two weeks in a foreign country.

The first couple of days are spent guzzling more Gatorade, sleeping and visiting my grandmother in hospital. The hospital is in the heart of town, just off Orchard Road, the most expensive street in the city. It’s loaded with malls filled with Chanel, Gucci, Prada -- all the top Western designers.

Orchard Road is never empty. Weekends are mayhem, with thousands of people pouring in and out of the stores. Singaporeans have one of the highest standards of living in Asia. It’s evolved from a third-world country with most people living in poverty to a mecca of prosperity. The average house costs around a million dollars. Cars are expensive, too. To keep traffic down, the government has hiked up the price of cars so that an ordinary vehicle costs $80,000. Plus, a prospective car owner has to buy a certificate of permission to even own one. That’s another $25,000. Tim and I speculate on what it would cost to own a wheelchair-accessible van here. We decide we’d have to be independently wealthy.

While public transit is efficient, it isn’t accessible. We take cabs everywhere or walk, taking the opportunity to see the sights. We note the city is a mix of old and new. The older buildings have a clear European influence. New buildings rival North American towers in size and scale. Everywhere I look, there’s greenery. The sidewalks are lined with palm trees and hibiscus. Orchids, the national flower, seem to bloom everywhere. Nature mixed with concrete. It works.

As a tourist, there are two things to do in Singapore: eat and shop. Shopping proves to be too expensive. I can’t afford Prada in Toronto and, with the dollar-to-dollar exchange rate, I sure as hell can’t afford it here. Eating, the next available option, is cheap and easy to do. Singapore is known as a gourmand’s delight. Singaporeans know how to eat with style and, wanting to be a good tourist, I’m eager to eat like a Singaporean.

The best stop is Lau Pa Sat. That means "Festival Market," loosely translated. It’s a name with a combination of languages. Like Canada, Singapore is multilingual. Most people speak Cantonese, since the Chinese are the dominant ethnic group. Malaysian, Tamil and English make up the other official languages. Everyone speaks English, so I have no problems getting around.

Lau Pa Sat comes alive at night. Western music pumps out from the main bazaar, an open food court lined with tables. More importantly, it’s lined with restaurants offering everything from grilled stingray in pandan leaves to chicken wings. My favourite is stingray, a delicate fish bathed in sambal oelek, a garlic chili paste. It’s grilled inside a large leaf and, when opened, the fragrance of fish, chili, leaf and a hint of lime overpower the senses. I’ve waited over 10 years for a fresh bite. And it’s worth it.

Satay -- skewered meat -- is a mainstay. While no one beats my mom’s satay recipe, the market comes close. Lemongrass infuses the meat grilled at high heat. A swipe of peanut sauce and I’m in heaven. I’m eating like a true Singaporean and it’s only day three.

The market is surprisingly accessible. There are ramps into the main eating area and the washrooms are roomy. We settle at the tables by the side of the road. The heat has dropped, and sitting outside for extended periods is now bearable.

The following day, Tim and I decide to visit Sentosa Island. It’s a short cable car or ferry ride from the Singaporean port. Sentosa is really a huge amusement park, with prices to match. I’m game to get into the cable car, but the cabs are tiny. Realizing that getting in means leaving the door open, I opt for the ferry.

Suddenly, it occurs to us there’s a bridge leading into Sentosa. We decide to walk. My new wheelchair is holding up well and the battery power is enough for what I want to do. I’m getting used to the lack of suspension, and being able to get around on my own steam makes up for the occasional bump or jolt.

Sentosa is oddly both accessible and inaccessible. The orchid garden is up a short flight of stairs. Tim manages to haul me up under the noonday sun. We wander around and discover the accessible entrance. It’s locked and no one has the key. However there are photos of dignitaries (able-bodied) walking through onto a bridge overlooking the koi pond. I am not amused. Neither is Tim with his sore arms.

Again, the washrooms are wonderfully accessible. I don’t even have to flush the toilets. Once my bottom leaves the seat, it flushes automatically. It’s beginning to dawn on me that most public places have decent wheelchair access. Things have improved but, like most parts of the world, there’s a long way to go.

We make our way down to the beach. Strangely enough, it’s artificial. I recall someone telling me the sand’s imported from either Hawaii or Thailand. It’s the first beach I can wheel on without sinking. I roll around snapping photos of the sand sculptures and watching Tim wander into the ocean.

I notice people are staring at me. While people in wheelchairs attract minimal attention at home, here in Singapore I have yet to see someone else wheeling down the street in a power chair. Other people using wheelchairs are elderly or they’re in the hospital. When I visit the business district, I note that I’m the only "wheelie." Back home, I’m a visible minority on two fronts -- in Singapore, I’m part of the ethnic majority but still an oddity.

The day at Sentosa wraps up after a visit to the aquarium. It’s accessible, although people don’t understand why I’m upset when they rush into the elevator ahead of me. It’s not really different from the attitude I get at home, though. The best part? The moving sidewalk inside the aquarium. Looking at gigantic tuna makes me hungry, though, so we cab back to my aunt’s house for another huge dinner.

The next evening, we’re off for something truly special. We meet a friend at the zoo for a night safari to view the nocturnal animals. The trolley takes us through the zoo as the animals graze in the distance. I’m squeezed between Tim and my mother. There’s no wheelchair seating so I’m trying my best not to topple over on the regular seat. At the end, it’s worth it to see the tigers.

I’m having a great time, but, like all good things, this too must come to an end. I spend the following weeks seeing relatives and eating everything under the sun. There are a few disappointments. The national museum is barely accessible. Singapore’s history is on the second floor, so I wheel away with only a partial education. I write a note for the suggestion box stating that people in wheelchairs like museums too.

The minor problems are made up for by my family’s enthusiasm. Plus, most new places are accessible. The government gives businesses tax breaks for being accessible. It’s a good idea, but I’ve noticed that more can be done.

Singapore is known for having a strong government and little opposition. When it gained independence from the British in 1959, Prime Minister Lee Kwan Yew set about creating a prosperous environment. This meant rule and order. And lots of it. This is a place where spitting on a sidewalk will cost you $200 and drug trafficking means death. Singaporeans don’t seem to mind, seeing all this as a way of keeping society stable.

I believe, with the government’s efficiency, that if access were to become a priority, attitudes would most likely change. For example, if there was a strong push toward making the subway accessible, it would happen. Red tape and opposition seem to be nonexistent. Money is hardly an issue. There’s a huge surplus and reserve.

In the meantime, Singapore seems to be learning about access and awareness of disability issues. Each time I visit, progress has been made. I can’t wait for my next visit, when I hope to see more people like me out and about, enjoying all the island has to offer.

(Ing Wong-Ward is a producer with Midday at CBC Television and a freelance writer.)