Finding Joy in a Singapore Hallway
In 1974, war with Vietnam was still winding down. Although I
had travelled alone through the Caribbean and parts of Europe, I did not feel
experienced enough in my professional skills to handle Asia by myself given the
diversity of language and alphabet. So, in September of that year, I began a
guided tour where I would celebrate the most joyous birthday of my life.
This tour was no “It’s Tuesday, so it must be Belgium” sort
of drill. A small group of 25 upscale people were to stay in four star hotels, and
eat gourmet ala carte meals the entire 21 days.
With industry perks of that time, I would be able to fly the entire
itinerary first class, which was quite elegant in those days. With the
exception of contemporary honeymooning Bostonian couple David and Anne, and her
sister Jean, all other fellow travelers were retired couples.
September 29th found me sad in Singapore at the brand new Hilton.
Before even the official hotel grand opening, only four floors were open
for occupancy. Every room came with a
“tea boy”, who was available to draw a bath, fluff pillows, and, oh yes, make
pots of wonderfully fragrant jasmine tea! This luxury hotel was located right on Orchard
Road, the hub of shopping and nightlife in Singapore.
So, In the midst of this luxury adventure in exotic locales,
how could I be sad?
The group had just arrived in Singapore two days early
because the Khmer Rouge had advanced on Angkor Wat, the beautiful 12th
century temple in Cambodia, making it impossible for us to safely tour there. For me, exploring Angkor Wat was one of the
most desired parts of this trip, and now I had to forgo it.
Mostly, though, I was sad because it was my 30th
birthday and I wasn’t with old friends to share it. David, his wife, and her sister were planning
to have a small celebratory dinner with me after our sightseeing was over. Nice,
but not the same as being with my pals at home.
On the bus, we asked Darryl,
our guide, for help in where to dine. Some of our other travel fellows
overheard. Significantly among the
eavesdroppers were John and his wife Patsy from Skaneateles, New York. John was a blustery, bigger than life, no nonsense
sort that had made his fortune reclaiming chromium from old car bumpers, while
Patsy was the reigning doyenne of the Skaneateles Country Club. It was John
Wayne and Roz Russell!
John would have none of our modest plan. He announced that “the kid” was having a
birthday and everyone was invited to celebrate.
He and Patsy had suite accommodations, so all in our group were invited
to their rooms for a party.
At 6:00 pm guests began to arrive at the suite. John had ordered room service asking for bar
and set ups plus appetizers for our group. An hour later there was a knock on the
door. One waiter in a simple smock and
badge had two trays: one held a bottle of Scotch, a Bottle of gin, a bottle of seltzer
and one of plain water. No ice. The
other tray: a plate of crackers and a
small bowl of peanuts. Patsy was crestfallen; her Pearl Mesta facade seriously
shaken. John fumed. He called room
service. I’m sure they noted his demeanor in no small measure.
That was a polite way of saying he gave ‘em Hell! But all his invective was to no avail. He was
informed that because the hotel was so new kitchen facilities were limited and,
already closed, anyway .
John called Darryl.
“This is a God-damned Hilton Hotel, we’re paying guests, the kid is
having a birthday, we’re all ready to party, and all they can give us is a
bottle of crappy Scotch and a pity plate of parrot crackers. Now, dammit, just what in hell are you going
to do?” John wasn’t a man of political correctness. He was, however, persuasive.
Darryl promised to call the hotel manager immediately.
With our room tea cups and water glasses, we sipped Scotch and gin like Iowa church ladies with
their Sherry tipple. Other than John, we
were in good spirits. I was in a happy mood, amused that such a fuss was being
made over my birthday.
A scant 45 minutes someone rapped on our door: It was Darryl … with the hotel manager,
summoned from his home. One by one, we
emerged from the suite, beckoned by Darryl to behold the hallway.
A hallway now filled with easily 20 waiters in full livery attending
to 15 or so carts lined up far down the hall. Carts laden with hors d’oeuvres
on silver platters, chafing dishes of wonderful Asian delicacies, a carver with
a roast of beef, and several bar carts with liquor, ice, and glassware. Plus an
ice sculpture- a backlit rising dragon in ice on a rolling cart in a hotel hallway! And a violinist! We were amazed. Where had this circus come from
so quickly? Other hotel guests heard the
commotion, and in various states of dress and undress, came out. They were
welcomed to join in. There was food and drink for 100. Crab Rangoon, satay, lobster kabobs, steamed
dumplings and Indonesian corn fritters were but a few delicacies sampled. In this crowded hallway we drank, ate,
laughed, talked and mingled. For a night strangers became friends. John was
positively beaming that this was all brought forth on his impetus. I was
regaled.
Having partied late into that night, a tired lot rose at 7am
the next day to board the flight to Bangkok, still happy with the experience of
something very special happening that night in a hallway at the Singapore
Hilton hotel. For me, the experience defined Joy and sounded
a major chord to the quality of life I have been blessed with.
And
John never got a bill.
-Jerry
Wendt
 |
| Although actually taken at the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo, this was the group that celebrated my memorable birthday. I am center rear with the abstract shirt |
It is a colorful word, though. "Wanganella" sounds like one of those sticks with streamers attached that young girl fairy princess wannabe's or old queens at gay pride parades wave around to increase the festivity quotient. Henceforth, we should call those wands, "Wanganellas" The relation to sheep must have some relevance or irony somewhere.
