From the port, a cycle path wound through parklands and along the
coast, offering idyllic camping spots. Yet when we inquired, we
learned the facilities were reserved exclusively for Singaporeans. The
city’s rules were clear and strictly enforced, as we soon discovered
firsthand. A wrong turn carried us onto an expressway, plunging us
into a tunnel beneath the city. The traffic police spotted us
immediately, escorted us off the restricted route, and deposited us far
from where we had intended to go. We were fortunate to escape
without a fine, though the lesson was unmistakable: in Singapore,
order is absolute.
By late afternoon, we reached Little India. The shock was immediate
—prices soared far beyond what we had grown accustomed to. Our
search for a budget room proved fruitless, and by eight o’clock we
surrendered to the least expensive option available. Hunger softened
the blow. The Indian restaurant downstairs welcomed us with fragrant
curries and steaming bread, and in that moment the cost no longer
mattered. The day closed not with frustration but with gratitude,
nourished by food and the kindness of strangers in a city where rules
and rhythms shaped every step.