Randy’s Birthday at the Raffles Hotel
Or
Do They Cane You For Trivial Infractions in Singapore?
I don’t celebrate my birthday and have not for some time. There are a few exceptions and one of them was my forty-second birthday. It was unusual for the fact that it took place in Singapore. It was not supposed to be that way. I was supposed to be at sea or in Manilla. I had a Singapore Sling at the Raffles hotel on that birthday. It was one of many interesting events that week.
The Raffles Hotel may or may not mean something to you. Being raised by a mother who was an Anglophile, I think somehow, knowing about the Raffles in my heart was perhaps a mix of both genetics and a number of conversations subliminally influencing me through my life. Kernie notes that if one likes British crime dramas or David Niven, you will know about the Raffles Hotel.
To be honest, the Singapore Sling was over-priced and did not make much of an impression. The Hotel was of some minor interest for its history—-like the Hotel Del in Coronado, it once represented so much but now, it was surrounded by a huge modern city that somehow diminished it physically as well as by its definitely past-tense status. Just like the Del, I don’t think the floors were level anymore.
The trip getting to Singapore however, is a good story and it started in Nassau.
I took a sabbatical in January of 1994 as I had scored a job as doctor on the SS Universe, the home of Semester at Sea. Whatever salary was associated with that job was subsumed by the cost of bringing my children. We were berthed at the waterline with portholes that often were drenched with seawater; the berth assigned to the kids was inboard from our assigned room and much smaller, but we traded: two bunk beds with four small lockers in a ten by ten room for a six by eight foot room with a double bed, and no portholes. That was home for three plus months as we traveled South America, Africa, and then Asia. The SS Universe was five hundred feet long and when docked next to a cruise liner, looked like some sort of tender.
I took my job quite seriously. While we embarked in Nassau, I have at best a hazy memory of the Bahamas as I went carefully through all the medications in the surgery, reviewed medical logs, and checked out the medical equipment to be used. I was at gatherings of staff, initially confused for a liberal arts professor as I was bearded with long hair and the professors for the most part were more formally dressed and with the associated hair styles. My berth’s location said it all: the nice rooms with bathtubs were for the real doctors with PhD’s and the rest of us supporting the trip were simply, staff. I would have done well to study social structures from the middle ages for this trip.
I believe strongly in preventative medicine. One group of of patients I took pains to meet and discuss general principles with during the first week on board were diabetics. There were both Type I and Type II diabetics and I provided a model of proactive medicine reviewing do’s and don’ts when in a third world tropical environment. Hydration, sun stroke, diet, monitoring of blood sugars were all reviewed. There were no questions from the group of about twenty diabetics. In a sense, I was set up—this was a trip of a lifetime and no small thing like diabetes was going to interfere with that.
Traveling out of Madras (Chennai India) I congratulated myself after a few days for the lack of students complaining of diarrhea. The medical logs had led to the belief that in fact, I would be severely overworked in this time-frame but my preparation before landfall had been successful; we actually had more problems with constipation. Explaining to twenty-somethings what it is like to be incontinent of stool in graphic terms was a powerful incentive for them to do the right things when traveling in country. My work was enhanced by two nurses who shared duties with me. They mostly took calls at night and on the fly when the clinic was not open. Jane, the older of the two came to me several days out of India to report that a 75 year old Canadian woman (Elizabeth), traveling alone, was having a rapid heart rate and shortness of breath when she walked the stairs. She was one of our diabetics. I joined them for a visit in her cabin and we checked her blood pressure and her blood sugars. There was nothing alarming about them though the blood sugars were trending a bit higher than normal. Her pulse was a little fast. An EKG showed no sign of a heart attack and a normal rhythm. We settled on her having extra fluids and rest. She did not complain and I heard little more about her until the day before we landed in George Town, Penang. She was alert but looked tired; her heart rate was about 100. I again went to her cabin and could find no overt problem and we agreed that in Penang, she would go to an Emergency Room to get checked out.
Our stay in Penang was just a few days and as we were organizing to leave port, Elizabeth, came aboard with a note from the Emergency Room. The note certified no serious problem could be found and a lab slip showed she had normal electrolytes, blood sugar, and kidney function. She told me she felt better.
If you look at a map of Malaysia, it is a straight shot southeast from Penang to the straights of Malacca and the tip of the Malaysian peninsula is where Singapore stands. Our plan was to sail past Singapore and head out to the Philippines. Within a few hours of our departing Malaysia, Elizabeth once more was feeling poorly with a rapid heart rate. The nurses came to encourage the cabin visit but I insisted on a visit to the “surgery,” our clinic where I would perform a more formal history and physical. It was there I sorted out that she was now in atrial fibrillation with a heart rate that was above 100, and on the bottom of her foot, I found an ulcer that looked infected.
We talked: she was unaware of any pain in the foot. Yes, seeing a really interesting temple in India, she had been asked to take off her shoes while she walked about stone and dirt surfaces.
The trip down the Malaysian peninsula looked quite long; a question of how to treat her and when to get her transferred arose. We started an IV (our first this trip) and I actually gave her IV Digoxin which in a hospital is only done if you can monitor blood levels of the drug. I did this using a standard dose knowing I would be able to transfer her off ship in Singapore. We had some IV antibiotics and I initiated a conservative dose and combination with these. The Captain, Captain Chang was in his element and let me know I needed to have a written summary of her problem and care on board for 8AM the next day. He would have a boat meet us in the harbor to transfer the patient.
Elizabeth was quite stable in the morning though her heart rate remained high and her blood pressure was lower than normal. She was tired but in no obvious distress. Rick, the assistant dean and I worked on how the transfer would work. A tug boat with a broad flat surface on the stern pulled along side and matched our trolling speed in a cool misty and cloudy morning. The Singapore doctor, all ninety pounds of him, was Asian with a British accent came aboard. I was intimidated—after all, he looked 16 years old, was Asian and had a British accent. He glowed with intelligence. He looked at the reports, looked at the patient, and was ready to go within ten minutes. She was placed in a wheelchair that had the wheels removed and bamboo poles were arranged to support the chair. She was buckled in with a seat belt. Rick and I maneuvered her to the stairs alongside the hull of the ship. Rick was on the down-side and we walked very carefully as there was a swell and the stairs being made of steel , were slippery. The patient at age seventy-five weighed 200 pounds. As I rested for a moment, half way down, I looked up and at least seventy of the five hundred college students had videocameras out, taping the whole event. It flashed before my eyes that strapped to the chair, if we slipped and she fell in the water, she would sink, quickly.
That did not pass. We were on the fantail of the tug boat, shook hands with the doctor and clambered back onto the ship. We sailed on past many container ships and distant skyscrapers.
The next morning, we were not moving, but at anchor, on the equator in calm waters. The engines were off and news from the Captain was not forthcoming. It was late March and it was hot. The water was not turbulent; we could have been on a lake. No land was visible. The students carried on with their studies, but with reduced power, there was no air-conditioning and staying inside was not easy. Information from the Captain regarding the remainder of the trip was now questioned; students and their teachers were amazing for their capacity to spread rumors and unrest over the ambiguous situation we were in. We had planned stops in Manilla, Osaka, Shanghai, and then Hong Kong. The students had some two to three weeks to finish up the semester. A student communicated with his father and we got word that CNN had advertised that this ship full of wealthy students was stuck in waters famous for modern day pirates. That may have helped us along; we got word that the shipping company responsible for the boat ordered us to Singapore for further assessment and an unplanned stop.
We were at anchor with fifty-odd other ships outside the harbor for three days. We still had no air conditioning. I had long learned that all my study of tropical diseases anticipating this trip neglected the obvious, that students this age confined on a small ship would suffer shared colds and a variety of behavioral problems in much larger quantities than malaria or dengue fever. Students were irritable and challenging authority at every corner. I got weird and to get back in a groove, started dressing as though I was going to work stateside which is to say, slacks, a button down shirt, and a tie. Only a few professors questioned this change but the students looked at me with curiosity and distrust now. I enjoyed the thought that I might be included in a rumor about the inner workings of the shipping company or the Captain’s decisions.
The ship’s crew had bonded with Kernie and my daughter Darby. While passengers were not allowed into the city from the ship when it was not properly berthed in Singapore, the crew was allowed to be ferried. One of them bought me a T Shirt with the Singapore merlion emblazoned on it. Now the students thought I had gotten off the boat and into the city. I remained the Cheshire Cat, smiling but silent.
We at last did get a berth and we were allowed to visit the city. The students had been told they had to finish the semester early, anticipating a change in the timing of the voyage, and their last three days in the harbor were busy with finals and papers. The relief coming to shore was immense. One of my objectives was to visit the hospital where Elizabeth had been taken and see her and hopefully her forward progress. For the adventurous, it was a long walk, one that we all welcomed.
Our walk was preceded with a warning: The Captain, a mainland Chinese whose family had fled the communist revolution to Taiwan, was very conservative and disapproved of my beard and long hair. “You better watch it in Singapore; they will have their eyes on you for any infraction! They will cane you!” He said with a grin and a laugh. The rumors were heavy in 1994 there having been an international uproar over a western adolescent being caned for vandalism. The pre port information referred to tickets and punishment for spitting out gum, smoking in the wrong places, and littering. We all envisioned a foreign Spartan environment with clean streets and modeling behavior by citizens.
We had a nice visit with Elizabeth. The ICU she was in looked very much like those at home and it seemed to run very well. The nurses were forthcoming when I identified myself and I was allowed to see her chart (this would not happen today in the USA) where I found that she had been felt to be septic (blood infection) on admission and with depressed renal function. Their treatment was working and her foot wound was improving. There was a plan in place for her rehabilitation and return to Canada which included the Canadian government paying for a daughter to come and be boarded in Singapore while arranging for the trip home. While this may seem an extravagance, the government of Canada pays for its citizen’s medical bills and this strategy was intended to reduce the overall cost of Elizabeth’s care while out of Canada.
I liked that way of thinking!
Leaving the hospital, Kernie, a friend, Jane, and our collection of four kids walked towards the harbor. It was a beautiful night. I walked ahead, trying to sort out the streets and directions to the harbor when a young man introduced himself to me.
“Would you like a woman?” He asked.
“Excuse me?” I responded.
“A woman, do you want to have sex with a woman?” I was puzzled but sure enough, fifty yards away, there was a young woman waiting and watching.
“No, I am good,” I said, trying to seem casual. I had walked the streets of Salvador Brazil, Mombasa Kenya, and Madras, India without being solicited. And here I was in the city of puritans where chewing gum in public could cost you $100.
I continued on my way, the girls following. Just a few minutes later, he came again asking, “Are you sure you won’t be interested in a beautiful young woman?”
My confidence was up. “Why don’t you ask my wife?” I said, “She is right there,” and I turned around and pointed her out. He beat the retreat. We Moellers had a great laugh.
It turned out, that our stay in Singapore became somewhat prolonged. The ship on inspection was not going to complete the trip as planned. The shipping company arranged for our staying in city (The Pan Pacific Hotel) and terms for continuing the program by air or allowing students a stipend to travel independently.
We settled into the Pan Pacific Hotel which was as nice a hotel as I have ever visited. The lobby was glorious and easily viewed from the balconies on the interior extending over twenty stories high. As it turned out, we spent Easter there and I had to laugh at the perspective I found viewing an Easter egg hunt in the lobby, attended by small beautiful and formally dressed wealthy Asian children, while my children, ragmop characatures of the West remained in bed.
This base of operations allowed for more explorations and this is when, on my birthday, we made our way to the Raffles Hotel. It was a cloudy warm day and the children were bored. We had our respective drinks as we watched the rattan fans spinning along long poles above us. It got a bit boring and we headed back to port where there was a huge underground mall, where I encountered my first ATM machine.
The day before leaving Singapore, I decided on an extravagance. The hotel offered an hour long massage for $75 Singapore dollars which was about $50 US. I went for it. Kernie and Jane with kids were at the pool. I presented myself to the very busy spa and was asked to sit in a steamy waiting area. Soon I was ushered to a room. No one was there. I stripped to my bathing suit and lay face down on the table. A few minutes later, a squat Asian woman came in and introduced herself. She regarded me for a moment and then slapped my butt.
“These come off!” She said. So much for puritan practices in the five star hotel.
I had a towel draped for modesty and she proceeded to massage me. She was a talker. I learned that she was a single mother, had a seven year old child, and had recently vacationed in Australia. I shared my recent work on Semester at Sea and my family details. She gave a great deep massage and as is typical, just when my nose was about to run uncontrollably, she had me roll over so that I was on my back. Again, I was covered modestly. She stopped talking and I relaxed, almost to the point of falling asleep when suddenly, her hand tickled me under the towel and I heard a whispered, “Do you want a little extra massage?”
My throat went dry. I felt paralyzed. I went into default mode. “Ahhhh, no! I think I am good but thank you for asking!” She did not miss a beat. The question never came up. She finished the massage and as I exited and paid my bill, I gave her a 20% tip. I remained freaked out.
As I approached the pool area and waved to Kernie, she did a double take:
“What happened to you? You look like a dog with its tail between its legs.” And so I told her the story.
She loved it. So did Susan, nurse #2 on this trip. Susan had made it a task to get a massage in every port. Like me, she was solicited in the same hotel. Susan weight 200 pounds and was forthright. She told me what happened.
“Well, I put my hand out, sat up, and asked her, ‘what is the deal with that?’” She quickly learned that the hotel got $70 of the $75 Singapore dollars and looked the other way as the masseuses sorted out how to make a living.
The question remains, were I David Niven staying at the Raffles, would I have handled it differently?
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