Expat life. If there is such a thing, my half-a-week in Singapore, was precisely that. No sybaritic luxury and champagne breakfast; rather, restaurants on the East shore park, coconuts, cab rides even to do one kilometre and the shuffle heat-aircon-heat-aircon-pool in the condo. It smells boring, yet it’s a life that takes surprisingly little effort to adapt to. I’ll be back on the topic, but in the meantime here are a couple of snaps from the artificially-coloured corner of the city dedicated to “ethnic authenticity”.