I landed in Singapore on the evening of 11 November 2025 and stepped into air so humid it felt like swimming through soup. The city glowed in the darkness. At first, it looked futuristic, with its clean lines, glass skyscrapers, and smoothly running systems. Still, beneath Singapore’s shine lies something older and much more complicated.
This trip wasn’t a vacation. I was here for work, with my days filled with meetings, visits, and calls across different time zones. Any exploring would have to happen in the gaps between.
But I soon realised that Singapore shows its character in those small moments—like breakfast before work, a stop at a hawker centre after a morning meeting, or an evening walk under the glowing Supertrees.
The more I explored, the more curious I became about what lies beneath the city’s shiny surface.
A City Built on Movement
Singapore’s story is rooted in trade, migration and change. The British established a trading post here in 1819, taking advantage of its strategic position along the maritime routes linking the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea. Traders and migrants arrived from China, India, the Malay Archipelago, the Middle East and beyond. Communities formed, languages overlapped, and food evolved.
After the Japanese occupation during the Second World War and a brief merger with Malaysia, Singapore became independent in 1965. The decades that followed transformed it into one of the world’s major financial and trading centres.
You can see that transformation all around. What caught my attention most wasn’t just the skyline, but how Singapore’s history still shapes daily life.
Staying in Chinatown at Mondrian Singapore Duxton
My base for the week was the Mondrian Singapore Duxton, in the historic Duxton Hill area on the edge of Chinatown. The neighbourhood was once part of the dense Chinese immigrant enclave that developed during the colonial period. Today, its rows of traditional shophouses have been carefully restored and repurposed into restaurants, bars, cafés and hotels.
The Mondrian stands right at the point where old and new meet. Around it, you see low tiled roofs and colourful shophouses, with the glass towers of the financial district rising further away.
My room soon became more than just a place to sleep. It was where I got ready for meetings, replied to emails, and took calls long after the workday was supposed to be over.
From my desk by the window, I looked out over Chinatown’s rooftops to the towers beyond. It was old and new together in one view.
The rooftop pool gave me a different view. From above the shophouses, I could see the central business district. Swimming there in the late afternoon heat, with modern buildings around me and a hazy sky overhead, felt like stepping into the image of Singapore that the city shares with the world.
But down on the street, the city felt much more complex.
Hawker Culture
One afternoon, after a morning work visit, I walked to Maxwell Food Centre. Hawker centres are one of the main features of everyday life in Singapore. Street hawkers once sold inexpensive meals throughout the city, particularly to workers and migrant communities. From the 1960s onwards, vendors were gradually moved into purpose-built centres as part of wider efforts to regulate street food and improve sanitation.
The move brought hawkers into a more formal system while allowing many of the city’s everyday food traditions to continue. In 2020, Singapore’s hawker culture was added to UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage.
At Maxwell, though, it didn’t feel formal or staged. Office workers lined up next to retirees. Tourists hesitated before picking a stall. Tissue packets saved seats. Trays clattered on tables and numbers were called out over the noise.
I ordered Teochew fishball noodles. Teochew food comes from the Chaoshan region in southern China and was brought to Singapore by Chinese migrants over many years. The broth was light, the noodles were springy, and the fish balls were fresh and bouncy. It wasn’t a meal that changed my life, but it was comforting and familiar.
Sitting with the lunchtime crowd, I felt, just for a moment, less like a visitor squeezing in sightseeing and more like I was part of the city’s daily life.
Food as a Map of Migration
Singapore’s food culture puts its history of migration front and centre. Chinese, Malay, Indian, Peranakan, and other influences all shape what people eat, often mixing in ways that blur the lines between them.
One night I had dinner at Wild Coco, where the menu focused on Malay and Indonesian flavours. Dishes like laksa are the result of cultures mixing, bringing together ingredients and cooking styles from across Southeast Asia.
Later that week, dinner at Offtrack showed me another side of Singapore. I tried wing bean assam salad and sourdough roti with kombu butter—a meal that used familiar local ingredients in a modern way. It still felt Singaporean, just different. Tradition doesn’t have to stay the same to be recognisable.
And on Saturday morning, breakfast at Ya Kun Kaya Toast took me back in time. Kaya toast started in kopitiams, traditional coffee shops mostly run by Hainanese immigrants. Kaya is a coconut-and-pandan jam made using both Malay and European custard methods.
Cracking soft-boiled eggs into a bowl, adding soy sauce and pepper, and dipping toast into it felt almost spiritual, honestly.
Little India
After breakfast on Saturday, I set out on foot without a plan, letting the city lead me. Entering Little India felt like stepping into a whole new set of sights and sounds.
The colours became brighter right away: shopfronts painted turquoise, saffron, and magenta. Flower garlands hung in thick loops outside small shops. The air was full of incense and spices—cardamom and cumin mixing with the smells of traffic and humidity.
Little India’s presence in Singapore dates back to the 19th century, when Indian labourers, traders, and cattle herders settled in the area during British colonial rule. Many were Tamil, and Tamil remains one of Singapore’s four official languages today. The district grew organically around trade, temples, and markets.
I walked past several beautifully decorated temples, including the Sri Veeramakaliamman Temple, with its tower covered in brightly painted deities stacked one atop the other (first photo on the left below). It stood proudly among modern shop houses and cafés, not as a museum piece but as an active place of worship. Shoes lined the entrance, and devotees came and went with quiet ease.
At Tekka Centre, the market and hawker complex, the atmosphere felt different from Maxwell in Chinatown. Stalls sold spices in open sacks, gold jewellery sparkled under bright lights, and South Indian curries were served over rice on metal trays. People spoke in Tamil and English, sometimes switching languages in the same sentence.
What stood out most was how real and lived-in the neighbourhood felt. This wasn’t a staged “ethnic quarter” for tourists. It was busy, and full of work and community. Even with Singapore’s careful planning, there’s room for a unique identity here.
Kampong Glam
From Little India, I headed to Kampong Glam, which has long been the Malay-Muslim area. While Little India was lively and packed with detail, Kampong Glam felt more open and calm.
At the centre is the Sultan Mosque, its golden dome visible even before you reach the district. The mosque was first built in 1824 for Sultan Hussein Shah as part of an agreement with the British when Singapore became a trading post. The current building, rebuilt in the early 1900s, remains the heart of the neighbourhood, both physically and in spirit.
Around the mosque, Arab Street and Bussorah Street spread out, lined with textile shops, perfume stores, and cafés. Rolls of fabric spill from shop doors in colourful patterns. Batik prints hang next to lace and silk. The area once served Arab traders and Malay royalty, and you can still sense that history in the buildings and streets.
While I was there, the call to prayer started. It rose above the noise of people and traffic—not loud, but steady. It changed the mood of the afternoon. People kept walking, talking, and ordering coffee, but the atmosphere felt a little different.
Kampong Glam also has a modern, creative vibe. Haji Lane is full of murals and independent shops. Trendy cafés sit next to older businesses. The area isn’t stuck in the past—it changes and grows, just like the rest of Singapore.
What stood out to me in both neighbourhoods was how clearly diverse Singapore is. The government calls the country multicultural, but here, you can see it in the buildings and streets. Just a few MRT stops away, everything you see, hear, and smell changes.
The food changes. The language changes. The sounds change. Still, everything fits together in a surprisingly orderly way.
Marina Bay
Walking along Marina Bay feels like seeing Singapore’s public image up close. Much of the bay is built on reclaimed land. What used to be open water is now a carefully designed urban space, with a curved skyline. The promenade is wide and spotless, with palm trees breaking up the glass buildings.
Marina Bay shows the Singapore that grew after independence. The country had no oil or minerals, so it invested in planning, education, and trade. Here, you can see how strategy shapes the skyline.
A Vision Made Visible: Gardens by the Bay
At the edge of Marina Bay is Gardens by the Bay, which opened in 2012 as part of Singapore’s “City in a Garden” plan. Built on reclaimed land, it’s both a park and a statement of policy.
The Supertrees stand 25 to 50 meters tall, covered in living plants and equipped with solar panels and other systems. At night, they become glowing sculptures during the light show. On my first visit, I stood under them in the rain and watched the lights spread softly through the mist. It felt almost utopian—a city showing off its technology as beauty, turning infrastructure into art. But standing there, you don’t think about the technology. You think about the scale, how small you feel, and how intentional everything seems.
I went back another evening to watch the light show again. The skyline looked sharp behind the glowing trees. Without the rain, the show felt even more precise and futuristic. Both times, it reminded me that Singapore designs not just for function, but to tell a story.
The Cloud Forest
On my final morning, I visited the Cloud Forest. The chilled air was in direct contrast with the outdoor humidity. A 35-metre waterfall cascaded down a planted mountain. Elevated walkways curved through mist and orchids. It is a simulation of tropical highland ecosystems, carefully controlled and meticulously maintained.
Work Within the Story
Through all of this, I was still working. My days were packed with meetings and strategy talks. Some evenings were social, others I spent alone. There’s a certain loneliness to work travel—you’re there, but not completely free. Part of your mind is always on your job.
But in Singapore, work and place blended. The city’s history as a crossroads of trade and migration made it a natural setting for meetings that brought people from different places together. Just as the city’s culture comes from many influences, my week moved between work and discovery.
By the time I left for Hong Kong on 16 November, I realised I hadn’t seen Singapore as a tourist. Instead, I felt like I was part of its ongoing story of connection. Maybe that’s the best way to experience the city.
Is Singapore best understood by looking at its skyline, or by exploring what lies beneath?
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