“That one!,” a German exclaimed as he pointed at me from across a table at the Hofbräuhaus, “He’s from Chinatown!” Though I’ve kind of come to expect this sort of outburst at certain functions here, in this context his statement wasn’t entirely untrue: a few weeks earlier, I had just returned from a trip to a city that indeed had a Chinatown.
I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but lingering after my first visit was a taste of Singapore that was almost intoxicating. Maybe it had something to do with places that begin with “S” — I’ve returned time and time again to Seattle and Switzerland. This year, I added Singapore to that list. But wait: there are no mountains here, and it’s just as (er, probably even more) humid than in Charleston! What was I thinking?