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H ere you’ll often see gardeners in the wide flowerbeds that line the streets, polishing the leaves of individual plants; here litter is something to be remarked on.
Here too, uniquely in the region, corruption in public life is not tolerated. As to private behaviour, there are ‘outrage of modesty’ laws so strict that men can be hauled up for offences not much worse than brushing against a woman’s bum on a dancefloor.
And yet there are also places where Singaporean spotlessness gives way to dirt. Places like Geylang, a red light district well off the tourist map, and Orchard Towers, with its so-called “four floors of whores".
P rostitution in Singapore in itself is not illegal, but various prostitution-related activities are criminalised such as public solicitation.
I thought writing about the four floors would make an interesting change from writing about tamer aspects of life in Singapore.
Telling myself I was motivated solely by journalistic endeavour, I rocked up in the early evening, before business had really got going. I wasn’t nervous; I trusted there must be plain clothes policemen around if anyone came at me with a cleaver for asking too many questions.
M y general intention was to wander around talking to solitary Western men – so either expats, or tourists – and assorted Asian babes.
Too late I realised this plan had its snags.
(1) How does a past-it girl approach men and say: “Excuse me, are you here looking for prostitutes?”
(2) How does a lucky, white, expat-trailing spouse approach unlucky Asian women and say: “Excuse me, have you lost your amateur status?”
J ournalistic endeavour? Who was I kidding? I was just being nosy – or worse, voyeuristic. So I decided I’d change my focus from the girlie bars, to the beauty parlours.
The four floors have inordinate numbers of beauty parlours. Why? I reasoned that perhaps the working girls liked to get their nails done between jobs?
I did notice that all the beauty parlours had a pretty girl perched on a stool outside, but never mind. I approached one sporting a short, low-cut bandage dress; I thought her outfit a bit much, but what she wore was up to her.
She was from mainland China, and she spoke barely any English, while my Mandarin is minimal. Still, I managed to establish she wouldn’t do my nails. So I asked what services her beauty parlour offered: “Facials.”
A fter speaking to the beautician, I decided that I would after all collar a couple of men, since if they were jerks in the market for flesh, who cared about intruding on their privacy, and if they weren’t, then no harm would be done.
I happened upon a British expat, and I asked him if he knew the reputation of Orchard Towers: “Oh yes, it’s a bunch of seedy bars where nobody’s up to any good.” After establishing it was not his first visit, I remarked he must like it. "Nobody likes it," he said. “We just come here for a drink.”
I raised a sceptical eyebrow. “We just come for a drink," he insisted, “and then we wander round, aimlessly.”
M y next target also admitted to knowing the reputation of Orchard Towers. “It’s a place full of prostitutes.” So why did he come here?
“I come with friends to the bars when I don’t want clean, clean, clean Singapore, when I want a bit of adventure.” What? Horizontal adventure?
“No. I come for drinks.” Really? Then it was a myth men came here to buy sex? “Of course it’s not a myth. Of course not.”
I decided I’d had enough of grubbiness, and since there are some non-girlie businesses on the four floors, I now approached a tailor, for a chat. I asked him what was going on with all the beauty parlours. He rolled his eyes.
“Beauty parlours? B******t. It’s all hanky-panky. Massage parlours need a licence. Beauty parlours don’t. They all have rooms inside, where…”
Did they? Despite myself, my nosy parker side kicked in, again. I decided I’d better get inside one. I picked a parlour advertising the “from China beauty facial.” The very pretty girl outside seemed somewhat bewildered when I barged past her but she didn’t stop me entering.
Inside, I found a grim little lobby. The chairs and the reception counter were cheap plastic; the only decoration was an A4 laminated picture of a Western woman having a facial. The girl followed me in. She too turned out to be from mainland China, and she too spoke Mandarin.
I asked her what services her beauty parlour offered other than facials. She mimed massaging somebody’s shoulders. There was a closed door behind the reception desk – I could just imagine the massage bed behind it.
Debauched world of psycho banker.
Jutting, his Brit lover and the place they call ‘Four Floors of Whores’
THE British banker accused of butchering two prostitutes appeared in court.
yesterday — as details emerged of his extravagant playboy lifestyle.
Rurik Jutting, 29, went to live in Hong Kong after splitting up from his.
glamorous girlfriend, model and actress Sonya Dyer.
He also had his heart broken when his ex-fiancee and fellow trader Sarah Butt.
was was thought to have cheated on him.
Jutting roamed his new neighbourhood, Wan Chai, with armfuls of escort girls,
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