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Joe had twenty birds once. Little silver-eyes. You know the sort. The ones we chase away from our fruit trees, but in Singapore they’re called Malaysian honey-birds and are highly prized because of their beautiful singing voices.
Now he has only three, Joe tells me, saddening as he does, so I try to match his mood. We’re standing, talking, underneath a hundred or so noisy, twittering, chirping birds, their bamboo cages hooked-up almost touching each other in the shade of a massive tree. Just metres away Singapore's early Sunday morning traffic thunders past in the still-cool sunlight.
To get the idea of what’s going on, you have to watch the men arriving, cages cloaked lest the timid small birds die of fright on the journey – no wonder, some come on the back of a motorbike – and see them gently elevated to position on a hook under the pergola; watch how tenderly these Chinese men, some of them positively ancient, fuss and croon over them.
(finishes . .) To get here just locate your nearest MRT station. This is the superfast, super-clean, super-safe train system that links all of Singapore. Head for Tiong Bahru. A short suburban walk from the station brings you to the corner of Tiong Bahru Road and Seng Poh Road, and there you'll see it, an unassuming row of shop-houses with a corner cafe. Wander in, nod to the locals, buy a coffee, sit down, and let birdsong begin your day. It will be one of the sweetest memories of Singapore you will take with you.
You can admire the birds too, of course. But don't touch them. They're busy.
©Sally Hammond 2007
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