A Muezzin's Call on a Little Street in Singapore

I love the street I work on - it's right in the heart of the city, and has a real magical charm to it. There's Singapore's oldest Taoist temple, and just a few doors away, a quiet mosque with calm interiors, and a lush park where the brave venture out into the still heat with their packed lunches.


I love how on a day like today, everything is tinged with a white-washed blinding gleam, and shadows get shorter with every step. I think about getting an ice cream but I'm suddenly transported by the muezzin's call - once again, I get that strange "I've been here before" feeling as I walk slightly bemused. I round the corner expecting to see men playing backgammon at a shisha cafe, sipping sweet tea just brewed.

But the moment is lost and before I know it, my lunch hour is over, and my colleague L and I traipse reluctantly back to work. Then it occurs to me that the places you've travelled to never really leave you, and it's entirely possible to relive those little defining moments.


So with a much happier heart, I return to a rather complicated report I'm writing, my memories of Alexandria (just look at that incredible sunset from our hotel room window, overlooking the Mediterranean) settling down comfortably against the soundscape of arguing mynahs, street traffic and office chatter.