Day 2+3 | SingaRICH: Book Cafe, Being Black and Back to Bali

Day Two started with joy, literal joy, on a treadmill. Because of the dogs in Bali, I don’t get to run outside unless I feel like getting barked at or chased. I was experiencing an hour of singing, dancing, running, vibing. The kind of run where your body moves and your spirit follows. The hotel gym was small, but somehow it became a shared sanctuary for the two other women who rotated through it without saying a word. A silent sisterhood of sweat.

After a gloriously hot shower, I made my way to The Book Café, which had been recommended over and over. And honestly? It delivered. The tea was lovely. The pancakes were soft. The maple syrup was fighting for its life, but we’ll let that go. Something just wasn't quite right with its taste.

My Meal at The Book Cafe in Singapore

What stole my heart was the honor-system-style ordering:
Order from the app.
Relax while they bring you your order.
Eat.
Pay when you leave.

America could NEVER. Too many dine and dash opportunities.

Fueled up, I wandered the city fully intending to try some local Singaporean dishes. But the cacophony of smells from the hawker stalls grabbed me by the shoulders and said “not today, sis.” So instead, I walked along the Singapore River, through Robertson Quay, into furniture stores, and restaurants while reading menus like I was doing recon.

That’s when I finally understood why people say, “You can do Singapore in two days.”
It’s not shade. It’s logistics. Please forgive me if I did not find the culture in Singapore. There were no art museums close by and most shops just felt sterile energetically.

What I will say, though, and this is the honest part I don’t usually say aloud, as a solo Black woman traveler, Singapore had a… distance to it. Women in service roles felt crisp, professional, and closed-off. Men, surprisingly, felt warmer. It wasn’t rude. It wasn’t hostile. It was just… formal. Structured. Careful.

The standout of the day was Publico, where I had one of the juiciest chicken sandwiches of my life, plus crispy fries and an apple spritz that saved my life in the heat.

That night, I walked through the city lights with no phone out. No photos. No videos. Just vibes.
Singapore at night feels like what The Jetsons would look like if they had a climate and a budget.

On Day 3, I started my final day by returning to the gym like the consistent queen I am.
Same tiny room. Same comfort. Same sense of personal discipline that Singapore somehow inspires. The pool, however? Small. No towels. And when I went downstairs to ask for more, the front desk said they’d send them up. Who doesn’t like a nice swim after a workout if they can get one? Forty minutes later… nothing.

And listen, I hate that my mind even went there, but for the amount of money Singapore demands, the lack of service hits differently. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because I was Black and solo.
I haven’t felt that specific “ under-served” sensation in a while, especially outside the U.S.
But it was there, sitting in my spirit like, “Hmm.”

Breakfast was at Common Man Coffee Roasters, where I originally began drafting these thoughts. I ordered the “Breakfast Pancakes,” which came with brown butter pancakes, chili scrambled eggs, crispy bacon (removed), burnt feta, and maple butter syrup.

What arrived? A pile, a collage of fluffy eggs on top of my pancakes, which should be illegal.
The mocha was great though, so balance was restored.

Souvenir shopping was a wrap — I refuse to pay 20 SGD for a keychain. My memories will have to suffice.

But the redemption arc — and honestly the whole point of Day 3 — was Merci Marcel’s truffle mushroom pasta.
Al dente mafaldine.
Sautéed mushrooms.
Aged parmesan.
A whisper of truffle oil.

The best bite I had the entire trip.
The best hospitality I experienced.
And the moment everything softened and made sense again.

That was my cue.
My reset.
My closure.

And with that, I was MORE than ready to head back to Bali — my peace, my alignment, my real home — and leave Singapore’s humidity, discipline, and $32 pancakes in the past.

Singapore at night from hotel room at MSocial Singapore

1. Accessibility & Flow

7/10 – Extremely walkable, beautifully organized, but why are crosswalks treated like optional accessories?

2. Humanity & Hospitality

6/10 – Polite, professional, and emotionally unavailable… unless I adjust my voice. Interesting.

3. My Inner State (Well-Being Meter)

7/10 – I felt fine. Not inspired, not offended, just floating through a spotless city with no cultural grip on my spirit.