Singapore’s Changi Airport is not just another airport. It is a destination onto itself. It’s Oz, the Emerald City, minus the wizard and witch. A self-contained oasis for travelers. The only place in the world where flying economy feels like first class.
It’s hard for me to choose a favorite spot in Changi. The sunflower garden. The butterfly garden. The orchid garden blooming in a kaleidoscope of colors—fuchsia, burgundy, scarlet, lemon, teal, and ruby—circles a koi pond, replete with waterfalls. I sat on a teak wood bench and watched dozens of tourists, not one of whom looked weary or harried, all of whom were smiling in a merry old land of oz kind of way, stop, rest amid the emerald foliage, snap photos of the fish. I strolled through art galleries, created my own sand art, took in a movie, Despicable Me. At the children’s playground, I hung upside down from my knees on monkey bars.
I was in Singapore for exactly seven hours, all of which I spent at Changi. I strolled the luxury shopping terminal, an indoor Rodeo Drive. I enjoyed a macrobiotic, raw, vegan lunch. I had a massage and pedicure.
Singapore was not part of my original travel plans. It was not a layover to someplace else. I was living in Bali, on a tourist’s visa that had to be reissued every two months, which required my leaving Indonesia. Singapore, a one and a half-hour flight away, was just part of my wriggling through a travel loophole, a means of staying in Bali.
Someday, I’ll return to Singapore and actually see Singapore. But I still think the airport will be the highlight of my trip.
