Growing up in a country where there are laws and contingencies to cover almost any situation, I only read about many situations but never experienced them. One of which is a strike.

All I ever know about strikes is that it happens often in various European cities and they are for a plethora of reasons that mainly concern the welfare and work conditions of workers in a company.

Then on our fifth day in Italy, the S.O. and I were unwittingly caught in the middle of a strike. We woke at 5am then made our way through the cold and rain to Tiburtina railway station in Rome for our 7.55am train to Florence. We had planned on spending the afternoon in Florence before taking the 5pm train to Mestre.

On arrival at Tiburtina, we were informed that the train to Florence would be late by 45 minutes because of a strike by rail workers in Tuscany. In fact, the strike had begun at 9pm on Saturday Mar 24 and would end at 9pm on Sunday Mar 25. Thus we waited patiently on the platform for the train to arrive.

Scheduled arrival: 7.52am; Delayed by: 45 minutes

Fifteen minutes before its delayed arrival, the time in delay was increased by another 10 minutes. Thankfully, the train did arrive despite the scheduled delay, allowing us to depart the station at 9am.

If the dreary weather and cold did not dampen our mood, the delay in the train arrival managed it. When we arrived two and a half hours later at Campo di Marte station, we decided to literally take a rain check on the tour of rain drenched Florence and instead grab the next train heading to Mestre. With about two hours to spare until its arrival, we warmed up with hot sandwiches and drinks in a small cafe opposite the station.

Being the ‘kiasu’ (scared to lose) Singaporean that I am, I bugged the S.O. in to returning to the train station 45 minutes before the scheduled arrival of the train. On checking the board, we discovered that the train we wanted to take had been cancelled. The only solution was to take a connecting train to another station in Florence, Santa Maria Novella, to find a train that is going to Mestre. So we hopped on our third train for the day and crossed our fingers on getting a space on the train to Mestre.

We were greeted by announcments of train delays and train cancellations the moment we arrived at Santa Maria Novella. The normally busy station was more crowded than usual due to the situation caused by the strike. People had to get on new train journeys or switch to bus transport in order to arrive at their final destination.

In the end, we had to get another train to Mestre by paying an additional S$40 each. It was more comfortable and cleaner but most importantly, we were guaranteed arrival in Mestre as this train required reservations made on its seats.

On the journey to Mestre, we passed by an area where snow was falling. The S.O. thinks that it was Ferrara. The beautiful sight helped to slightly soothe our frayed nerves as we settled in to our seats, heading towards Mestre.

View of country from the train

It may be the city in which the S.O. grew up in, still he does not hesitate to declare that Mestre is the ugliest city in the world.

Coming from Singapore, a city which beauty is largely sculptured and designed for appealing to global investors or visitors, I could not compare the drab and dreary look of Mestre to my home country.

Yet after having been in Rome for four days, and further making a day trip to Treviso, I have to agree with the S.O. that in comparison, Mestre is not as beautiful. As I have not visited half of the cities present in this world, I cannot make the same sweeping statement that the S.O. has made about Mestre being the ugliest city in the world.

Besides the current cold weather; lack of abundant flora and fauna; authentic Asian food; my tiny Italian vocabulary, and getting used to the Euro, Italy has presented a few pleasant surprises.

One of which is the assumption taken by most Italians that I understand the language. When the S.O. makes queries in retail outlets or introduces me to friends, these people will look me in the eye when they reply or speak. In fact, when I entered a minimart alone today (Thursday Mar 29), the cashier greeted me in Italian and only switched to English when she realised I had a limited Italian vocabulary.

Italians are generally used to seeing foreigners in their country, especially Eastern European and China immigrants. Besides these, there are migrants possibly from different parts of Africa as well as from other European countries. While those in the south are not racist, there are some Italians in the north who will not hesitate to ignore non-Italians and make life difficult for migrants.

Thankfully, most times the S.O. is present to speak the langauge and explain that his wife (yours truly) is from Singapore. With him around, fellow Italians are quicker and more willing to lend a hand and move things along.

As it is already our fourth day in Rome, I think a blog entry is required. While I will be writing about Europe and not Asia (reference the URL, which is asian-in-asia), it does reflect how I am an Asian that is displaced as I will spend about six months or more mainly in Italy and around Europe.

Only four days and I have already discovered one of the things that makes Italians similar to Chinese from China: you hear them before you see them. Just like the mainland Chinese, the voices of Italians travel above the din of an enclosed bus, around corners of buildings, or across busy streets to your ears. Sometimes I turn around at their voices, expecting to meet their eyes just two steps behind me but see that they are about 10 steps away.

Enough of loud Italians, on to the ancient beauty of Rome.

Arriving at 4pm in Rome on Wednesday 21 Mar, we dropped our luggage at Diego’s place. A friend of my husband’s friend, Diego and his girlfriend Valentina welcomed us warmly in to their apartment for the four nights that we will be spending in Rome.

After a quick chat, I left with hubby to explore the centre of Rome. We stepped out to cold winds on a chilly night as well as light rain. That did not stop the tourists and us from turning up at the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps.

At Fontana di Trevi, Rome

While I did not realise the significance of the action, I turned by back toward the Trevi Fountain and threw a coin over my right shoulder, wishing for prosperity and fortune. Later I would realise that it was to ensure that I would return to Rome again.

The romance of the night was marred slightly by persistent sellers trying to push ‘free’ red rose stalks in the hands of female tourists. These sellers were not selling the flowers: once the lady held the flowers, the seller would offer to take a photograph of the lady with the Trevi Fountain in the background then try to sell the photograph to the tourist.

Leaving the crowds to the Trevi Fountain, we walked back toward Piazza Venezia, where the bus station is located. Along the way, we popped in to a local grocers to buy some bread.

I became distracted by huge and colourful packages strung along a string and hanging from the ceiling. According to my Italian husband, these large packages are chocolate eggs containing a surprise for Easter. These eggs can be customised: bring your surprise to the chocolatier and they will cover it with a chocolate egg for your special recipient.

The progressing night as well as the cold served to drive us home or we would have continued our tour. This was one night where I was never happier to return home and say many silent thanks to the heater in our room.

It is another week before we leave Singapore for Italy. We have been back in my homeland for almost a month and it has been a bittersweet time.

My sweetest moments include: sharing the Lunar New Year celebrations with the S.O. as part of the family; our wedding celebrations on February 24; spending massive amounts of time with my mom, whether just staying at home or heading out for a simple dinner in the neighbourhood; spending some time with my dance mates; meeting with like-minded individuals for intellectual and interesting conversation; tucking in to the wide variety of food that Singapore has.

We are married! Find out more here: http://cx-weds.com

However, Singapore is a place where there are too many disappointing and heartbreaking memories for me. These include my one and only retrenchment from my first job after graduation; realising how closeted the media industry here is; getting overlooked because I will not play ball in the office; feeling marginalised because I do not subscribe to the consumerism mentality of the masses; shadows of failed relationships over the years; time taken up by demanding schedules and certain penny-pinching bosses so that there is little of it left for personal enrichment or for developing relationships with others.

In the time that we have been back, we are again reminded why we do not enjoy living in Singapore. The pace is so hectic and in general, the people appear to be pre-programmed robots living according to the mold that has been presented to them.

Add in to the mix the recent influx of China immigrants who brought their unsavoury attitudes along (loud and rude speech, an ignorance for following queues, using unnecessary body force), and I think we are taking three steps backward from our progress as a developed nation.

At the moment, not only is Singapore a place where different races and cultures converge, it has also become a confused nation. There is no apparent Singaporean identity when permanent residency and citizenship is so easily handed out to a mish-mash of people.

There should be no fear of a population dip when we are a densely populated country, so why the need for bringing in more people to our land-limited island? Bringing in people for reasons of staying competitive is a short term, stop-gap measure. There are long term repercussions on society that have to be considered.

Perhaps I am one of the fortunate few, who made the decision to leave and make my life anew in other more conducive and nurturing environments. Our previous PM Goh can call us quitters, but I know exactly how much more difficult it is to build a life in another country where you do not have the rights of a citizen and where there are more grey areas than black or white.

Living for six months on another island that reminds me of, at best, Singapore in the late 70s, I know what are the things about my homeland that I appreciate and what I do not miss. While I do miss my friends and my family, there is little else that makes me miss Singapore in the overall scheme of things.

Though this has been a short stay, it has once again reminded me of the numerous reasons why I wanted to leave Singapore in the first place. If there were other words beside ‘disappointed’, ‘discouraged’ and ‘disillusioned’ that reflect the degree of my feelings, I would have used them. For now, they are the three Ds that work against the five Cs of the warped Singapore dream.

It was our last night in the land of smiles and we were to spend it in its capital on Valentine’s Day.

Arriving in Bangkok at 5.15pm after leaving Kanchanaburi at 2pm, the first thing that we wanted to do was have a shower then get online. However,it would take another half hour before we were able to check in, due to the congestion on the road caused by rush hour traffic.

In the end, we chose to put down our luggage and skip the shower to immediately embark on the 15 minute walk to MBK centre, where the nearest Internet game cafes are located.

Keeping a brisk walking space, we almost missed it; its matt grey exterior looked unremarkable and blended in to the equally industrial look of the city.

The only identifying mark is the white elliptical signboard at the top, printed with the universally recognised two dimensional images of a male figure and a wheelchair at the opposite ends on each side of the sign. In between these two images were the words ‘toilet’, ‘man’ and ‘handicap’. That was how we knew that the structure was a toilet for the handicap. There was one for males and one for females.

What intrigued me was the fact that the cubicles were located on the sidewalk, just like you would find telephone booths. For someone who is used to seeing toilets as internal fixtures of an office complex or shopping mall, this was something different.

The fact that the toilet was for the handicap was the factor that made me notice it. I have yet to see something similar in Singapore. I cannot recall which other big city has it but on my previous visits to Sydney, Wellington, Taipei, Hong Kong and Kuala Lumpur, I did not see any.

The presence of these toilets for the handicap in Bangkok has made me question why there are none present in Singapore, especially when there are calls to turn our garden city in to a more handicap-friendly landscape.

At present, there are a few amenities that are wheelchair friendly: some office complexes have included a ramp for wheelchair access; the Housing and Development Board has, during their upgrading of older estates, installed lifts that stop at every floor for the convenience of the elderly and these can also be helpful for those in wheelchairs; there are wider ticket gantries and lifts at MRT stations, supposedly also to aid wheelchair access, although I suspect these were put in mainly to accomodate passengers travelling on the MRT to and from the airport.

Other than these more common details, the Singapore urban and suburban landscape is very daunting for wheelchair users. Even a simple thing like getting to a toilet can prove difficult if the wheelchair cannot get past steps.

When the wheelchair does get past this hurdle, the user will sometimes find getting through the toilet entrance or in to the space-constrained toilet cubicle a challenge.

In this sense, I do laud Bangkok for providing these cubicles for those who are not as physically able as majority of us are. Sure, it may probably be the only one in a radius of 200 metres but having one is better than having none at all.

Thailand may be set with political problems at the moment, but its heart is in the right place when it comes to thinking of its people, both able and not so able bodied.