If Christmas is a time of rain, lights and avoiding the Takashimaya tunnel, then Chinese New Year is definitely about being bloated on hot afternoons and trying to erase the Dong Dong Dong Chiang you heard from the Chinatown Countdown earlier on TV.This year, not only was I sadly un-bloated (chinese mah so being bloated is a sign of fortune), I was minus the TCS Chinatown Countdown and definitely not feeling the heat (both from our strong equatorial sun and giving out my first angpows - heng ah)
For the first time in my life, my (not-so) new year clothes included a down jacket and boots. The sunday before Chap Goh Meh, J, Ah Boy and I had walked from East Village, meandered past mid-town and somehow ended up at Chinatown. We headed straight for the Char Siew Bao shop near Mott Street like there was this Bao homing device strapped on us. The Lion Dance troupe played on the next street-which was where most of the crowd was gathered thankfully!
While J popped into the shop, Ah Boy and I stood outside to watch Chinatown in a swirl of colours. Kids terrorised each with party poppers, zooming back and forth. Entrepreurial roadside Uncles pushed their gold confetti guns to kids, then promptly sold them to harrassed parents. When J came out with 2 Char Siews and 1 Leng Yong, Ah Boy and I had bits of confetti in our hair and clothes. Even though it was dry and uncrowded, this was probably my closest experience to partying at Chinatown. A very surreal one too.
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