The flight landed smoothly on the tarmac, like butter gliding on a hot toast. The humid evening air engulfed me as I exited the plane, smiling sleepily at the stewardess for keeping me alive. As if she could have played any role in case things went south. My stomach felt the thrill of landing in Singapore, a country that’s known for its abundant and vibrant food landscape. I wanted to paint the town red, in my tummy of course. Over the course of the 5-something hour flight, I’d gobbled up a small Snickers (a must-pack for hangry people like me), a diet Pepsi, a pack of roasted corn; the salty in-flight snack, the non-vegetarian meal; chicken curry, rice, dal, the globe of cold carby bun smeared with careful application of butter after every bite to make it edible, and the dessert; a chocolate mousse peppered with candied cherry. Yes, I wasn’t exactly starving, but my stomach seemed to have developed a mind of its own the moment we landed in the tiny lion country. I was hungry for something more than just food. I was ravenous to see everything the country had to offer, and dip my nose in EVERYTHING.

But this isn’t an account of everything I ate or did, but what I let go of, to have a great trip.

The week-long trip came on a short notice, giving me no time to plan an itinerary or watch enough YouTube videos to curate a food-forward trip. The only real preparation I’d done was to watch a 20-minute video of a man eating all his meals from a 7 Eleven in Singapore. The Chicken Curry Maggi and Chocolate Rusk seemed like safe bets when all else failed. In hindsight, that’s all I needed to see to keep my trip noise-free, burden-free, and expectation-free. Holding on to this nugget of knowledge, and a short list of places to eat/drink/see shared by a good friend, I started my trip on an almost blank slate, ready to dive into it with no pre-knowledge. Scary? I prefer the word thrilling.

The moment I pressed my thumb on the immigration exit screen, I knew what I wanted. It was the cappuccino from Paris Baguette, a cafe that appeared magically in front of me, as if it knew that my first order of business after landing anywhere, no matter the time of the day (or night) is having a good cup of coffee. It’s a ritual that grounds me to a new place instantly, giving me a taste of their culture in a tiny cup. Sitting in the cafe, with our luggage trolley parked outside, I sipped mouthfuls of the delicious coffee, along with tiny bites of their chocolate bear madeleines. That’s all I needed at that moment. A few people were sitting inside with just their laptop bags, and working. Were they frequent flyers? Perhaps a short distance flight for work? A huge Iranian family sat on two tables merged together. At least they looked Iranian. Or Turkish? The big bearded pink-faced man of the house was eating a large personal dessert topped with fresh strawberries. The milky-skinned, silk-scarfed women and kids had their personal desserts too. The scene looked like Da Vinci’s portrait of The Last Supper. They ate like it was their last meal too.

Having tasted Singapore’s amazing coffee culture, we made our way to the Jewel—a maddening place for a foodie, with an array of choices that would make them wish they had three, no four stomachs. After taking in the colourful fountain at the Jewel, we lugged our luggage across the mall, mesmerized at the flurry of crowd at the world’s most amazing airport. Changi. The restaurants popped one after another—Jumbo Seafood, Sanook Kitchen, Hitoyoshi Izakaya, Din Tai Fung, Ya Kun Kaya Toast—the list was never ending. The wires in my stomach were about to short circuit, given the information overload, when I made the decision to try Din Tai Fung, a place I’d seen in a travel vlogger’s vlog. We ordered an egg fried rice, noodle and chicken in broth, pork baos, and fried chicken wings—a decent dinner, which is more than what one can expect in a foreign land, with a limited palate at our disposal. Beef Wagyu? No thank you.

The friend had mentioned Murugan Idli as a good breakfast option. So, in good faith we headed to ‘Little India’ the next day. The garlic podi idli, ghee podi idli, masala dosa, and plain dosa were more than just good enough. A fuss-free breakfast that fuelled us for a long day of walking and exploring Haji Lane—a vibrant tourist area with Arabic and Turkish influence. The cerulean shops, yellow walls, and purple lights seemed like a fairytale in the stark backdrop of soaring metallic buildings that make Singapore’s skyline sing the tune of ca pi ta li sm la la la. It’s surreal to the eye.

The Lebanese and Turkish food on display, along with European cafes, neon-signage gelato shops and more can again make one go into a dizzying spiral of what to eat, where to go first, what if I don’t try THIS ice-cream, or what if this is THE shawarma that I’m letting go of. It can make one enter into a temporary state of insanity. But thankfully, not consuming much information before my trip, and not having a fixed itinerary kept me sane enough, despite the visual stimulation to my senses. And at that moment, I saw three Europeans, two men and one woman, walking with tall plastic glasses full of a brown iced liquid. They were smiling, and so happy holding thier cups that my feet automatically walked up to them, and with my eyes in an upward gaze, my mouth asked one of the tall men, “Hey, excuse me, where did you get this drink from? It looks amazing!” Surprised but happy, he halted in his steps and replied gayly, “Yes it’s amazing. It’s the Iced Zaffran. From just around the corner.”

He pointed to a shop that was buzzing with a different energy. People were standing in a queue that was spilling onto the sidewalk. There were a bunch of men and women on the benches outside, clutching their cups fervishly, as if holding onto a potent elixir. The mural outside the shop gave the place a distinct character. And suddenly, through the hazy maze of the numerous places I’d passed by, I felt a sense of calm descending on my forehead. Iced Zaffran from Tarik. So simple. Having discovered a place yourself still hits you differently, in an age where we’re all spoon-fed with knowledge of ‘where to eat, drink, shop, and enjoy’ till we’re almost nauseous. Holding the Zaffran, I felt like I’d truly travelled in the real sense of the word. Travellers are explorers too, who, using their intuition, senses, and gut find places for themselves in a new land. The cold saffron-infused spiced tea travelled down my spine, and offered a relief that I didn’t know I desperately needed. The fragrant Zaffran, packed inside a cup-hugging plastic bag was my personal accessory while exploring the rest of the place. I needed only this at that moment, and nothing else.

The Hawker’s Market at Lau Pa Sat was the next destination where the infinite food options felt like an assault on my limited appetite. What do we do now? Prawn Noodles? Fishball Noodle soup? Pork dumplings? Chicken Rice? Indian food? Indonesian? Thai? Malay? Nasi Lemak? Nasi Goreng? Fried Chicken? Tacos? Mexican? Thai tea? Kopi? Mango slushie? Coconut water? Coke? Diet Coke? Having had the chicken rice before, I decided to have that from a Hainanese Chicken Rice stall, a plate of chicken dumpling from a stall where many people were lining up, and a mango green tea from a slushie stall. Amazing chicken rice, decent dumplings, and a divine mango slushie. Overall, I wasn’t hating myself for not being able to try EVERYTHING! We decided to come back for the evening satay market. I decided to try the muffins from a stall that looked like they knew their way around bakery items from their tempting display of muffins and tarts. Butter & Cream, I noted the name for my next visit as I left the food orgy. I felt sanity descend on me once again, as I sipped my mango slushie and walked towards the bus stand for an evening at Clarks Quay.

Walking towards the Clarks Quay riverfront from the bus stand, an ice-cream shop door in white italic font read Dopa Dopa. At that moment, I knew I’ll be having an ice-cream here on my way back from the boat cruise. The boat cruise ticketing counter had a gelato place right opposite to it, but something inside me said, “Wait, don’t get your ice-cream fix here. Dopa Dopa seems like they know what they’re doing.” I didn’t open Google to check or compare the reviews, nor did I ask a friend or a stranger to make this decision. I simply relied on my own intuition, something we often disregard when we don’t find external proof of validation. Our desire to have a fool-proof experience at all times, makes us sometimes question our own decisions, and seek guidance from sources that seem to know better. And even if they do, it’s we who are making this trip worthwhile, isn’t it? The only standards that matter are our own. Even our failures are our own then, that need no self-pity. The ice-cream was fantastic, and I was an explorer who’d found the sweet elixir. We ended up coming here again, because why not? There’s nothing I was missing out on anyway. Because sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

At other times, when nothing made sense, I relied on 7 Eleven’s Chicken Curry Maggi, Diet Coke, and M&Ms to serve my appetite. Some moments of brilliance occurred when on a breakfast run, I entered a random shop named Morning Grind, and spontaneously said, “Let’s try this local coffee on their menu called Kopi C.” It turned out to be fantastic, as did the Kaya Toast from Toast Box on a languid afternoon. Eating the takeaway toast in a corporate area, watching men and women carry packed boxes of their lunch to their offices, I thought about what it means to travel. Is it doing everything one has made a list of before their trip? Is it eating at every place one desires to, after having read about it or seeing on their Instagram? Is it trying the best cocktail bar in the city that’s been named in all the famous magazines? Or is it something else?

The current travel landscape is at odds with this form of fluid travel, stuffing us with information and filling our days with all the places we MUST see, MUST eat at, and MUST grab a drink at, to make our trip “worthwhile.” But, travel is more than this. It is a personal journey of discovery and experience. It is living in a different place for a few days, observing the milieu, being a part of it, and making your own plans, regardless of any external noise. So what if we don’t cover the “must-see” or “must-eat” places? So what if we lay in the hotel bed for an entire day and watch Netflix because we’re just too tired? Who says every day must be accounted for? Who makes the rules of travel other than the one who is travelling? And that’s the truth, be it on a trip, or in life, isn’t it?