The Raffles hotel, Singapore - a fellah can dream can't he?

Let me whisk you away for a few minutes to another world and a place that might even be regarded by some as harking back to a bygone era.

Sit back, close your eyes....er maybe not otherwise you won't be able to read what follows....and join me as I recount a recent stopover in Singapore and a stay at Number 1 Beach Road.

That's the address of the Raffles hotel, a place steeped in history (potted version to follow - more detail can be found here) and one of those magical names that conjures up all sorts of romantic images of a gentler, more genteel time perhaps.

Now let me admit straight up that I'm not in the habit of frequenting the watering holes and resting places of the rich and famous - far from it. Because that's what in a very real sense the Raffles hotel is.

It combines luxury with tradition, perhaps a little out of place in these times of financial woes and is definitely the stomping ground of those with probably more sense than money, world leaders and dignitaries, A-list celebrities and the like.

So what, you might wonder, was I doing there? Well it was a combination of factors really.

It's one of those hotels (along with the Old Cataract in Aswan) I've always wanted to visit, and I got the chance last week, partially as a late Christmas present from my nearest and dearest (lucky me) but also as a reward for overcoming my fear of flying and agreeing to force myself on into an oversized lump of metal to fly half way around the world in search of some winter sunshine.

Just one night mind you, and these are some of my impressions as I poked my nose through the door to see how the so-called "other half" lives.

The Raffles is of course rich with history and tradition.

Even though it's rather a throwback to British colonialism (writ large), certainly in terms of architecture and custom, it was in fact founded over 120 years ago by four Armenian brothers, Martin, Tigran, Aviet, and Arshak Sarkies.

It is without doubt a Singapore landmark and has been declared a national monument by the government. Its heyday was probably the first couple of decades of the last century, and it has in its time seen the great and glorious pass through its doors.

If its pristine white walls could talk they would probably have more than a few tales to tell.

The hotel bears the name of the founder of Singapore, Sir Thomas Stamford Bingley Raffles and it survived World War II and the Japanese occupation.

It closed for business two decades ago to undergo a serious multi-million dollar makeover, reopening in 1991. It has also changed hands several times and is now owned by a private international investment company based in Los Angeles.

So much for the past (a reminder once again that you can find out more should you wish to at the hotel's official website here) how about the present?

What exactly do those with deep pockets get for their money.

Well it doesn't come cheap, that's for sure.

Perhaps I shouldn't have (after all I wasn't coughing up the spondoolicks for an overnight stay) but I checked out the rates and GULP they start at something like 690 Singapore dollars (around $US 444 or €335 Euros) for the hotels simplest suites - the hotel doesn't have any "rooms" - rising to goodness knows what at the highest end of the range.

I guess it's a question of "If you have to ask, then you can't afford."

For that you get a warm and personalised welcome when you enter the voluminous lobby and you're escorted to your room - er sorry suite - by a member of staff.

Once there, all the buttons, knobs and doodahs of exquisitely furnished "quarters" are explained, your own personal butler drops by and then you're left to wallow in the splendour.

Now a note on the butler. Of course it's all very charming to have someone around who will cater to your every whim and fancy, but it's also a little disconcerting as such a service is usually carried out by the hotel concierge and unless you're tremendously exigent, you'll be hard-pushed to really find a use for him.

The most I managed was to have him book a table at one of the hotel's eight or so restaurants (I rather lost count).

The principle at Raffles seems to be that anyone staying at the hotel is not treated as a guest but as a resident, and such service, attention to detail and all round pampering can at times be more than a little overwhelming.

Spending just one night there of course didn't really give me the chance to experience all it has to offer, the billiard room, the spa, the pool, the splendid gardens or the shopping, but of course no visit to the Raffles - be it as a "resident" or just dropping in for a quick look around - would be complete without trying out the legendary Long Bar and knocking back a Singapore Sling, invented and first served there around a century ago.

Here's the recipe for anyone who's interested.

I had been warned in advance what to expect - a mixture of businessmen, tourists, ex-pats - sat at the bar or at tables overhung with huge wicker fans, music in the background and monkey nut shells all over the floor.

You see tradition has it that as you munch your way through the nuts distributed freely around the place, you deposit the shells - where else but on the floor.

"It's all very British," I had been told by a good friend - a foreigner who clearly must believe it's typical behaviour of my fellow countrymen. But to be quite honest everyone joins in and does as tradition dictates.

So there you go - the briefest of looks at the Raffles hotel.

Time to for me to return to reality and struggle home through the rain and the rush hour traffic.

It was certainly one of my personal "must dos before the Grim Reaper beckons" crossed of my wish list, but would I really have forked out the money to stay at the Raffles from my own wallet?

Perhaps but probably not.

There again, I'm always open to offers to make a return trip there (or anywhere else for that matter) if anyone is willing to sponsor me to indulge myself on wanton pleasure at their expense.

I'll even promise to write about it afterwards.

Well a fellah can dream can't he?

Mealtime in Malaysia

Monday saw the launch of the 100th edition of the Michelin guide here in France, the "bible" for gourmets (and gourmands) with deep pockets and a taste for fine dining around the world

No real surprises as many of the "ups and downs" had already been leaked over the weekend, and as expected only one restaurant joined the guide's crème de la crème three-star club.

It just happens to be a regular haunt of the French president, Nicolas Sarkozy, Le Bristol - a mere hop and a skip (or a bloated belly wobble if you like) from the Elysée palace - his official residence.

Say no more!

Of course while many French - rightly or wrongly - consider France to be the very standard bearer of haute cuisine, or at least the arbiter thereof, with food and drink being high on any region's list of priorities, other countries have more than enough on offer to tickle the taste buds of the curious traveller.

Guilty as charged - a somewhat contrived way of sharing some of the food that passed my lips during a recent food frenzy in Malaysia.

Living in a country which prides itself on its gastronomic tradition, and hailing from one which rather lacks a reputation for culinary excellence, food and eating have always been part of the joy of travelling for me.

Trying out local dishes gives also gives me the chance to gain an insight into the culture - well that's my excuse and although it might be stretching a point a little too far, I'm sticking to it.

So without too much (further) ado, here's a taste of just one meal among many, I had the pleasure or downing last week on the Malaysian island of Langkawi.

Just sitting here bashing away at the keyboard fair whets the appetite as I try to make some sense of the long-hand notes I took immediately after the meal.

Well I could hardly sit there stuffing my face with a computer on my lap now could I? That would surely have been one step down from those sitting through a meal with a mobile 'phone clapped to the ear.

There are a few (for my chops) unpronounceable names, and I only hope the spelling is correct. But I'm sure if I make the odd error I'll be forgiven.

It was a blow-out of reasonable proportions - four courses and eleven dishes (I counted) - suitably named the Malaysian heritage menu.

For starters, l'entrée of course. Not just one, but three separate dishes.

Otak otak udang - prawn cake in banana leaf, Pai tee ayam dan Sayur-sayuran dengan sos cili - chicken pai tee with chili plum sauce and Kerabu pelam - local young mango salad.

The prawn cake won me over immediately - something of a surprise as I'm not usually a great fan, while the plum sauce was rather overpowering and the young mango salad tasted a little soapy - or at least how I imagined a bar might taste if I were actually to try eating one.

Not the greatest of beginnings perhaps, but it left room for improvement.

Next up, Sup makaman laut bersamo tomato - or seafood soup with tomatoes.

Surprisingly the tomatoes weren't as overpowering as I had feared. How come I can never get just the right tanginess when using them in soup?

And the whole dish really came alive when washed down by a cheeky little Australian Sauvignon blanc. That really was something of a treat as of course what's usually available back home in France is.....well......er.....French wine and nothing else.

On to the main course - four dishes - they definitely needed to be eaten in the correct order from the least to the most spicy. Thankfully the waiters were on hand to offer guidance.

So bearing that in mind the course kicked off with the Siakap merah goreng tradisi dihidang bersama sos liman kasturi or deep fried snapper with dried herbs, the mildest of the four, and then moved on to the Daging kurma - coriander spiced beef, deliciously tender and rather heavy on the coriander.

But really no complaints on that front as I could eat the stuff until it comes out of my ears.

The Sayuran segar bersama herba masala or masala vegetables went down a treat, which just left the spiciest of the lot requiring some attention, the Ayam merah dimasak dengan jintan or chicken braised with tomato, chili and fennel seeds.

Actually there was nothing to worry about even for this wimp of a palate as it wasn't overly "hot" and had a pleasingly distinctive and lingering aftertaste.

Nasi berperisa oren - orange rice and Papedum lada hitam - black pepper papadum accompanied all four dishes as did another Aussie wine - this time a Shiraz.

Finally pudding or dessert - not exactly my favourite as I don't have much of a sweet tooth and perhaps harbour too many childhood memories of British school dinners and "afters" (prunes and semolina - yeeurk).

So when I discovered that we would be served Kuih loyang dan bebola ais limau kasturi or
steamed banana pudding in banana leaf and crispy fritter with calamansi sherbet, I wasn't exactly brimming with excitement.

But again I was pleasantly surprised and the portion was not a gut-busting size.

All right so the meal might not have been the stuff of worthy of Michelin's three stars, but it sure left one person happily replete and convinced that through his tummy he had experienced some of the culinary delights of another culture.

And all that without the belt-adjusting bloated sensation often felt after a heavy and rich meal back home.

Langkawi rain forest - a five star natural luxury

Ready for a natural history lesson - of sorts?

I'll try to keep it short, although I'm not making any promises as it's not exactly easy to condense such a vast and vital subject into a couple of hundred words.

But here goes.

It comes off the back of a recent trip to the Malaysian island of Langkawi, which bills itself as "brimming with culture, mysteries, legends and an abundance of natural scenery".

It was, the travel agent promised us when we booked last-minute, the "perfect getaway with guaranteed sunshine at this time of the year and wonderful beaches."

And as plans to search for some winter sun in the French Caribbean had fallen through after a series of strikes and protests in both Guadeloupe and Martinique, it seemed the perfect alternative - with the added bonus that we might actually "learn" something rather than sloth it out all day on the beach.

Langkawi, the Jewel of Kedah is in reality an archipelago of 99 islands (plus five other temporary ones) with the largest being Pulau Langkawi with Kuah as the capital.

It's where all the "action" takes place.

Actually there's not really a great deal of that in the sense that might be understood in Bali or Phuket, the main competitors in the region in terms of tourist destinations.

Unique treasure

"While the others have the nightlife, surfing and culture," explains tour guide and conservationist Irshad Mobarak, "Here we have something quite unique which has to be treasured and preserved."

And that "something quite unique" comes in the form of one of the world's oldest rain forests and the mangrove swamps.

In 2007 the whole of the island was designated a World Geopark status by UNESCO and that has played an increasingly important role in maintaining the delicate balance between the influx of tourists, which began in the late 1980s, and protecting the environment from our intrusive wanderings.

The government has encouraged a more eco-friendly type of tourism, and although there are more than 70 hotels on the island, a programme has been put in place to make both locals and visitors aware of the need to protect and preserve the treasures the place has to offer.

Mobarak and his colleagues are probably at the forefront of that effort being made to "protect and preserve".

A former banker, he has spent the best part of the past two decades heading up a team of guides aiming to show visitors around while "trying to educate and get across the beauty of the rain forest in a way that helps people understand."

This gently spoken but clearly impassioned spokesman for wildlife naturalism quickly draws the listener in and reveals some of the rain forest's marvels while at the same time drumming home the need for preservation.

"It's the gift of the gab," he freely admits to one morning session of walkers on hearing they're from Ireland. "I have Hogan blood in me too and can tell a good tale."

It's not true though, he can't just "tell" a good tale. He casts a magical spell over the listener as he makes the place come alive in a setting which offers five-star luxury in terms of appreciating what nature has to offer.

Neighbours from hell

One moment he has us all with our necks craned towards the sky as he explains how a pair of kites became the "neighbours from hell" for nesting eagles when they moved in to their territory a couple of years ago.

"The kites have moved on now," he tells us. "And hopefully this year the eagles will be able to raise their young without being constantly pestered. They didn't breed last year."

The next moment he's going into raptures to explain the extraordinary measures undertaken by the tailorbird to build its nest using spiders web to bind together a leaf to provide a suitable "home".

And then he's mimicking the cry of the mighty hornbill, describing its majestic flight and explaining how at the moment we'll only see the males as the females (they're monogamous) are quite literally holed-up within the nest rearing the young.

During a night walk led by Peter, one of Moborak's colleagues, I innocently ask what the constant racket I've been hearing all day is.

"It sounds as though there's some building work going on in the neighbourhood," I say. "It can't possibly be 'nature'."

"Cicades," comes the answer. "Whose song is being sung by the males rubbing parts of their abdomens together (I'm paraphrasing)."

Breeding by (prime) numbers

And then comes Peter's magical explanation of the insect's life and breeding cycles.

"They stay buried in the ground in their immature form for a number of years," he tells us.

"It can be one, three, five, seven, eleven or thirteen years - depending on which group an individual belongs to - always a prime number thereby confusing some likely predators whose lifecycles simply won't be able to cope with such complexity."

He goes on to explain that when they emerge from the ground, it's for one to two weeks of what has to be the noisiest "love song" ranging from "classical" in the morning, "pop" at lunchtime to "heavy rock" in the evening, as every male goes about attracting a bevy of appropriate beauties.

Once the act is done, the female will lay her eggs before dying.

The male will continue his reproductive "warblings" for just a few days longer, before he too dies. Adults mate and reproduce ensuring the existence of a future generation they'll never get to see - a cycle that is repeated and has been honoured by cultures throughout the centuries as a symbol of everlasting life.

Phew - and I had always thought that cicadas were just noisy tropical grasshoppers.

Taking flight

We quickly learn that the rain forest is not just a place where birds take to the wing.

In Langkawi it's also home to flying foxes (apparently a kind of bat - I didn't get to see any) squirrels and even snakes.

And that's all topped off by the flying monkey or otherwise called flying lemur - the colugo.

Although they're not true lemurs of course, which are native to Madegascar - the colugo has recently been confirmed as a "missing link" between two different types of species Peter explains excitedly.

"What had previously been thought of as a rodent has in fact been reclassified only last year as a primate."

Learning from mistakes

A good reputable guide will not take you tramping through the inner heart of the rain forest, destroying and disturbing nature as you go.

Instead they'll stick to the very edge, which will still give the curious more than enough to hear, see and smell.

The same is true of the mangrove swamps. The previously common practice of throwing food for eagles or monkeys is not just discouraged, it's banned. But the mistakes of the 80s and 90s are proving difficult to reverse.

The omnivorous macaque monkeys for example now expect to be fed and line up on the rocks as boats pass by. During a stop at the bat cave, visitors are warned that if the macaques appear they could become aggressive and intrusive as they search for titbits.

"It's an uphill battle," admits another guide. "There's now official certification for those accompanying tourists, and those working illegally are encouraged by others to get the appropriate training," he adds.

"But even though there are regular patrols to ensure that animals aren't being fed, the old habit of getting animals up close to keep the tourists happy and enable them to get some great 'snaps' for the full on experience, is an all-too-tempting one, especially if the guide wants some extra tips at the end."

Eco-tourism

Tourism has not only arrived in Langkawi, it's very much part of island life now.

It has boosted the local economy and brought with it a degree of development to what was before a small agricultural community - a fact that Mobarak and his colleagues fully acknowledge.

Their job and the responsibility of the government is a delicate juggling act and there's little doubts that they have their work cut out to overturn past bad practices.

"The mangrove swamps are a vital element of the environment," Peter explains at the end of our four-hour tour.

"They're the breeding ground for sea food and we need to protect them," he adds.

The hope as far as Mobarak is concerned is through conservation work and carefully organised tours, there'll be increased awareness of just how precious the rain forest and mangrove swamps are.

"I like to consider myself a conservationist first and foremost, and it's great to see the reaction people get from understanding nature", says Mobarak.



Oh dear. That wasn't very short was it? Apologies.

Changi airport - "Enjoy the elegance"

Flying isn't really that high up on the list of things I enjoy doing. In fact over the years I've taken a couple of courses to overcome a fear which I consider to be completely rational.

Nor am I the world's greatest fan of airports. They serve a purely functional purpose as far as I'm concerned, namely a point of departure, transfer or arrival - and basta.

All right so I'll admit that I get quite a buzz from pitching up at the arrivals hall to collect someone.

It's more than a little moving to see the pure joy with which people greet each other after time spent apart.

And of course I've become quite emotional when seeing couples cling hold of one another for the longest time until one of them finally has to make their way through passport control.

But that aside airports leave me pretty cold.

Or they did until this past week.

You see my recent "encounter" with Singapore's Changi airport has rather changed the way I feel.

Much has been written about the airport, its magnificent modernity and ample amenities (apologies for the alliterative overload there - I honestly didn't just swallow a thesaurus).

In fact it's probably hard to find anything new and original to say - apart that is from my own personal impressions as a first time visitor.

So with that in mind, and just in case you've never had the chance to pass through, here goes.

Over the past couple of decades there seems to have been the trend at many of the world's major airports (or at least the ones I've visited) for them to become a shopper's paradise.

Both Roissy-Charles de Gaulle (Paris) and Heathrow (London) - two airports I know particularly well - offer a bemusing array of choice for those in desperate need of a little retail therapy or simply the desire to flex a bit of plastic to while (or wile if you prefer) away the wait.

I have - in my rather superior way - tended to scoff at such unsubtle attempts to have me part with my hard earned pennies (or centimes).

Changi tests such resolve to the limits as you can quite literally "shop 'til you drop" or at least until the credit card has been maxed out.

Changi airport, koi pond

To start off with of course there are all the "usual suspects" - in the form of booze, ciggies and smelly stuff.

There's not just the chance to hang out at one duty free shop, but in the terminal I went through - three.

If it's CLOTHES you're after (and it has to be capitalised) and DESIGNER LABELS (so does that) to boot, then you're in for an enormous "treat".

Burberry, Dolce and Gabbana, Bally, Hermes, and Zegna. Gucci, Hugo Boss, YSL, and Esprit. even Ferrari and McLaren Mercedes have got in on the act - a none too gentle reminder perhaps that since last year Singapore has played host to the only night time grand prix on the Formula One (circus) circuit.

The list could go on and on and on, but you've probably got the picture.

Looking for a watch? Hello Tag Heuer, Omega, Swatch, Tissot or Longines....and once again I could go on, but.

Then of course there's the chance to buy luggage - just in case (ouch) you haven't already checked in far too much and are looking to reinvest in something sturdier, flashier, more designer-labelly.

Changi gives you the chance to do just that with a suitcase mantra that includes, Samsonite, Delsey, Victorinox, Mandarina Duck and heck let's face it, just about any clothes or perfume designer you care to mention that seems to have jumped upon the baggage accessory bandwaggon.

Now here's a thing. How exactly are you supposed to take on board a newly-purchased oversized piece of luggage that doesn't meet the carry-on restrictions? Search me.

For technology geeks there are stores galore and the chance to drool over the Apple Macbook Air (a fellah can dream) and hundreds of gadgets that do goodness knows what - I certainly didn't have a clue, I just knew I wanted them - all.

There's a specialist French wine shop (a bit "coals to Newcastle", but that didn't stop me looking) books in a variety of languages and regional crafts stores.

If shopping - real or window - isn't exactly what you're after, then there's plenty else on offer at the airport's spacious and carpeted - yes that's right in places it's almost wall-to-wall woven stuff - terminals.

Check out the space specifically dedicated for children (and adults) to scribble and trace to their hearts' content.

Changi airport - scribble and trace area

Golfers can practise their putting, there's a cinema, live music, a swimming pool (terminal One) and five separate, perfectly-maintained miniature "gardens" featuring ferns, orchids, bamboo, sunflowers and cactus. There's even a koi pond.

Hungry? There are restaurants everywhere featuring food from all "four corners of the globe". Thirsty? Ditto - including Harry's Bar - make mine a double and easy on the ice.

There's free - yes sorry to have to keep repeating myself, but FREE wifi access available and not just for business travellers. That's s bit of a novelty for any European who might be used to having to pay.

All that and much more (I've probably missed out a huge chunk) in an airport that is clean - oh sorry CLEAN - and easy to find your way around.

There are none of those bewildering signs that seem to point you in all possible directions at the same time (anyone who has had the misfortune of passing through terminal E at Roissy recently, where organised chaos and interminable queues are par for the course, will know exactly what I mean) and there's even someone to hand out sparklingly spotless trolleys (are they all brand new?) to help you lug your almost overweight carry-on around.

The blurb in the airport brochure runs "Enjoy the elegance" and that's exactly what Changi offers.

If you turn up far too early or have an overly long stopover, it doesn't really matter. You won't be bored.

And the beauty of it all is that you don't really need to shell out buckets full of dosh to enjoy yourself.