A Singapore story: this equatorial island nation offers an exotic change of pace in sightseeing, hotels, and food that is enchanting.

• Author: Lehrer, Laurel F.

MY LOVE AFFAIR began on a hotel balcony overlooking sprawling Singapore. I was captivated by the metropolis--towering, sleek, clean, efficient modernity of today with park-like boulevards, as well as remarkable renovations of the structures of yesteryear, and the compatible multi-ethnicity and friendliness of its 2,800,000 people.

Located at the tip of the Malaysian peninsula, one degree north of the equator, the island of Singapore was originally a quiet fishing village. In 1819, Sir Stamford Raffles, lieutenant-governor of a British trading post, saw the strategic importance of this area. With Malaysia to the north and Indonesia to the south, Singapore was a link between Europe and Asia. Shrewdly, he negotiated for this settlement and signed a treaty with Malaysian leaders. Later, Singapore emerged as a British crown colony.

In February, 1942, the Japanese bombed and overran the approximately 250-square-mile island. The people suffered greatly, but by 1945, Supreme Commander Lord Louis Mountbatten returned with British and Allied forces to liberate the oppressed land.

The postwar years recorded different alliances of Singapore with neighboring Southeastern Asian nations. Finally, on Aug. 9, 1965, Singapore severed its last ties with Malaysia and, on Dec. 22, 1965, declared itself an independent, democratic republic.

If Sir Stamford Raffles could see modem Singapore, he would be overjoyed at how his earlier efforts paid off. Indeed, the ethnic districts which he established for the Chinese, Malaysian, and Indian populations still flourish. While Malay is the national language, English is widely spoken, as are Mandarin (Chinese) and Tamil (Indian).

As I walked past multi-storied buildings, I noticed laundry drying on horizontal poles extended from apartment windows. Below in the streets, a rickshaw peddled by a thin, hardworking driver transported two passengers.

On Serangoon Road in Little India, I was awestruck by the ornate tower of the Sri Veeramakaliamman temple, built in 1881 by Bengalese workers. Indian songs blared from stores across the street. Here and there in a shop window, a solitary mannequin, dressed in an elegant sari, was mechanically animated. Shops displayed clothing, radiant silks, and sparkling gold jewelry. Women wearing long tunics over pants or vibrant colored saris were purchasing rice, dried beans, spices, or sweet desserts. The fragrance of floral garlands blended with the aromas of foods cooking over portable stoves tended by sidewalk vendors.

I stopped to watch an elderly Indian fortune-teller, awaiting customers in an arcaded area. A poster of Hindu deities covered a wall. His low table held a row of fortune cards and a cage containing his trained green parrot. Upon release from the cage, the bird's beak picked up a card and carried it to his master for a customer to read. Inevitably, the card gave good tidings. To encourage the establishment of newer businesses, the fading facades of old shophouses were being repainted with fresh light pastels.

Unlike Western super-markets, my visit to a nearby wet market was a novel experience. Within a high-rise, a deep flight of steps led to a warm, damp underground world of varied produce. Space between stalls was wet. Cleansing water, thrown onto the floor, drained off into grated holes in the cement. Though lacking refrigeration, produce tables were covered with carefully piled layers of brown or white chicken eggs, large white goose eggs, and black duck eggs. Sometimes, merchants used hand scales to weigh quantities of beige ginger roots. clusters of white garlic knobs, thin foot-long string beans, green leafy vegetables, and loose dark brown chestnuts. Over pans of prawns and freshly cut fish, prices were reduced for quick sale as the day progressed. Unsuspecting customers, passing a tall receptacle, were spat at defensively by the resident gray fish. Aggressive tradespeople, dressed in T-shirts, shorts, and sandals, called out their wares, hoping to attract customers to their stalls. Stacks of cages were densely crowded with live frogs, chickens, turtles, and pigeons.

In Chinatown, the largest district, rows of narrow, attached shophouses displayed racks of silk scarfs, blouses, skirts, dresses, lounge robes, and souvenir T-shirts. While some stores featured costume and fine jewelry, others offered lacquered vases, bowls, and boxes richly decorated with mother-of-pearl. Others sold red masks and electronic goods. Song birds, awaiting sale, twittered in cages hung at awning level.

Peeking into a herbal pharmacy, I spied ingredients used in Chinese remedies: long ginseng roots, large dried mushrooms, cellophane-covered dried seahorses, and coiled snakes submerged in liquor-filled bottles. Fresh and dried meats, including chunks of pork and rows of ducks, were offered in meat shops. Vegetables and fruits were piled on pushcarts, watched over by wrinkled-faced elderly Chinese women. One undaunted soul spread her string beans alongside the top step of a front courtyard, awaiting prospective sales.

I was greatly impressed by signs of revitalization in Chinatown. Some shuttered facades had been freshly coated with blue, green, and yellow paints. Care, concern, and pride in restoring the historical past were obvious. Yet, despite all this activity, the streets were free from litter, and cleanliness was maintained as in other parts of the city.

In Tanjong Pagar, on the outskirts of Chinatown, preservation and renewal of old buildings inspired Margaret Wong and her partner, Esther Su. Along curving Duxton Road, these enterprising women purchased eight attached and deteriorating shophouses containing retail and residential space used by 19th-century Chinese traders. First, they repainted wooden shutters, used in blocking out the strong tropical sun. With unique vision, they converted all the different shaped street-level shops and upstairs apartments into the Duxton, an intimate boutique hotel of attractive, comfortable guest rooms and split-level suites.

A doorman opened the sparkling beveled-glass doors, revealing a spacious lobby of marble floors, covered with plush oriental carpets. French period furniture was set off with dusty rose Victorian draperies. The upstairs guest rooms contained European and Asian-style furniture. Attractive marble-lined bathrooms were bright. Downstairs, French cuisine could be savoured in L'Aigle d' Or Restaurant, where tables were spread with crystal stemware and colorful Villeroy and Boch china. One corner of the restaurant had a canopy of richly stained glass through which a soft light was diffused.

When I arrived later than 4:00 p.m., Mrs. Wong graciously offered afternoon tea in the lounge off the lobby. Accompanying the tea were tempting lemon cake, hot scones with cream and jam, sugar cookies, and fruit tarts.

During teatime, I was surprised by Mrs. Wong's fluent, crisp British-style English. A charming, articulate modern Chinese lady, she reminisced about her childhood. Her devoted mother often treated maladies with herbal soup recipes, handed down through generations of successful use. It was admirable to see how Mrs. Wong and her partner, coming from such old traditional backgrounds, had founded the modem Duxton hotel, a homey yet elegant alternative to the larger hotels. Its location was ideal because of its proximity to the city's business district.

On the opposite side of Duxton Road, renovation had also taken place. Now reconditioned buildings served as attractive clothing and cosmetic stores, travel agencies, and pubs. A sign in one tavern advertised karaoke as sing-along entertainment.

One of Singapore's most beautiful restorations was the landmark Raffles Hotel. This 19th-century white colonial-style structure, named after the city's founder, had hosted such famous guests as Rudyard Kipling, Somerset Maugham, Noel Coward, and countless movie personages, including Alfred Hitchcock and Elizabeth Taylor. After the hotel's $160,000,000 face-lift, affluent travelers could relax in its modernized suites or rummage through the hotel's arcade of 70 enticing, fashionable shops.

I felt regal climbing the hotel's white marble staircase bounded by an elegant white balustrade. Outside the second floor, a covered verandah overlooked a center court below where guests and visitors could sip cocktails on the street-level patio under the palm trees--an oasis of quietude in an otherwise busy business area.

At one end of the verandah, a wall plaque identified a deep, softly lighted room as the Long Bar. Over the years, celebrities gathered here to sip the renowned Singapore Sling, which had been concocted by a creative bartender in 1903. Overhead, a row of woven bamboo hand fans, attached to a motorized ceiling track, swung back and forth rhythmically.

Also on the second floor was a small, charming museum devoted to varied hotel memorabilia. Sir Stamford Raffles peered down from his gold-framed portrait, surrounded by photographs of famous hotel guests, military personnel, and sketches of the way the building once looked. Antique travel posters, paintings of Victorian ocean liners, battered steamer trunks, a bulky old typewriter, hotel serving pieces and china--all captured the essence of a bygone era.

Going from the colonial atmosphere and architecture of the Raffles Hotel to the imposing modernity of the Westin Stamford Hotel was dramatic indeed. From the three-story windows of the Compass Rose Restaurant, located on this hotel's 70th floor, the best panoramic view of old and new Singapore could be photographed. At 735 feet, the Westin Stamford is the world's tallest hotel.

Successful commingling of Singaporeans

Over and over again, I observed how well the Singaporeans commingled in this progressive metropolis. Whether working together in shops, restaurants, or tall office buildings, or living side-by-side in multi-storied apartment complexes, they set an example in respecting individual differences...