Casinos, city lights, and Changi gardens: Tracing a week of surprises from the Philippines to Singapore

Every good trip begins the way a good story does—with the promise that something is about to change. Ours started with a ‘Brand New Day’. As it turned out, the newest film, Spider-Man: Brand New Day, playing in theatres, provided an eerily fitting summary of our week-long adventure, which took us from Manila in Philippines to Singapore. And speaking of exciting journeys, ours was amplified by an amusing ride on Scoot’s Spider-Man themed flight from Manila—the perfect component to a trip filled with surprises (more to it later).

As the plane touched down, the real adventure began—and Manila surprised us first. We landed in the capital city to a skyline we hadn’t expected — not the concrete-only sprawl we’d braced for, but a city stitched together with green. Palms lined the highways, storm clouds sat low over the bay. By the time we reached the hotel, it was already late evening, but as soon as we checked in, we decided to explore Burgos Street, an area that is known for its nights.

We simply strolled for a while before settling on anywhere in particular—the street rewards that kind of aimless walking, pub after pub spilling music and low light onto the pavement, each one blurring into the next in a wash of coloured signage. Somewhere between the street food stalls and the pop-up bars, we also discovered Manila’s other obsession: casinos. They’re everywhere, tucked into hotel lobbies and standalone towers alike.

Next morning, our first real stop was Intramuros, the walled old town that the Spanish built centuries ago and that Manila has since folded into its modern self. There’s something fascinating about these cobblestone lanes and colonial facades. We wandered through Fort Santiago, the old citadel, its walls worn smooth by 400 years of monsoons and memory. There’s a quiet dignity to the place — a fortress that has outlived every empire that built or besieged it, now mostly visited by teenagers taking photos for the gram and grandmothers feeding stray cats near the ruins.

From there we crossed into the more contemplative hush of the National Museum, where entire galleries are dedicated to everything from pre-colonial gold artefacts to the sweeping, almost operatic canvases of Juan Luna. The museum reminds you the country’s identity is rarely a single story—it’s layered, contested, reassembled generation after generation.

We closed out our Manila leg with a bit of shopping in one of the sprawling street markets, haggling half-heartedly over trinkets we probably didn’t need, buying them anyway as tokens of memories of the city.

Our next destination was Singapore. But the journey to the country was worth pausing on, because it didn’t feel like a regular one. Boarding for Singapore, we found our Airbus by Scoot dressed for the occasion: headrest covers and cabin decals themed around Spider-Man’s newest cinematic outing, the soundtrack playing softly overhead as we settled in. We were also greeted by Peter Parker’s welcome announcement.

Scoot had leaned into the film’s release with a genuinely playful touch, and we got to experience it first hand. It didn’t try too hard. It just made an otherwise routine three-hour hop engaging and entertaining. We saw crew handing out little toy keepsakes and flight tags, pausing for photos with delighted passengers before we landed in Singapore.

Singapore met us with its usual precision—clean lines, cool air-conditioning, as opposed to Manila’s glorious disorder. We were staying at YOTELAIR, tucked inside Changi Airport itself, which meant our first night’s commute involved walking, not driving—a novelty that never quite wore off.

Day one in the Lion City went straight for spectacle: Universal Studios, where roller coasters and movie sets blur into each other and everyone, regardless of age, seems to lose their composure a little on the Battlestar Galactica ride. We ducked into one of the 4D theatre experiences, jolted and sprayed and startled in equal measure, the kind of ride where you spend half the time amused at how effective the cheap tricks still are. From there we wandered straight into Jurassic World, all looming animatronics and dripping foliage, half expecting a raptor to come charging out from behind the next rock formation, and then into the sugar-bright chaos of Minionland, yellow and delighted at every turn. By the time we left, we had more or less abandoned any pretence of being adults on a work trip—somewhere between the dinosaurs and the Minions, the child in each of us had firmly taken over, and we wouldn’t mind doing this all over again.

We then wandered into Chinatown that evening for something gentler—incense curling out of temple doorways, red lanterns strung overhead, hawker stalls doing brisk business under a sky just beginning to purple. Somewhere along the street, we caved to curiosity and tried the wildly popular one-dollar Mixue ice cream everyone had been talking about— simple, sweet, and somehow exactly what the humidity demanded. We ended the night back where we’d started, standing at Jewel Changi’s Rain Vortex as it lit up in cascading colour, water thundering down 40 metres in the middle of an airport, along with light and sound.

Day two belonged to the classics, and we didn’t resist. Breakfast was Ya Kun Kaya Toast—thin, charred bread slicked with kaya and a slab of cold butter, dipped into impossibly soft soft-boiled eggs with a dash of white pepper and soy. It’s a ritual as much as a meal, and every bit of the hype turned out to be earned. We then checked out Merlion Park, watching the half-lion, half-fish iconic statue spout water into the bay while the Marina Bay Sands loomed photogenic in the background, and then let the afternoon dissolve into the Marina Bay waterfront itself—joggers, cyclists, the occasional wedding shoot happening in the middle of everything.

By evening we were at Gardens by the Bay, waiting for the Supertrees to do what they do best: glow. The light show washed the towering structures in colour, synced to music, while beneath them families sprawled out on picnic mats like it was the most normal thing in the world to watch trees perform. Dinner afterward was a proper hawker spread— skewers of satay charred just right, a plate of minced pork noodles with a tangle of chilli, and enough sauce-dipping between each bite.

Our final day slowed everything down, and honestly, it was our favourite. We took a detour into Little India, and the sensory shift was almost violent in its beauty — South Indian devotional music spilling from speakers outside temple entrances, the smell of jasmine garlands mixing with camphor smoke, spice shops stacked floor to ceiling with turmeric and chilli powder. We did a last round of street shopping, picking up bangles and fabric we had no real plan for, because by then we’d learned that’s simply what the last day of any good trip is for.

We spent our last few hours in Singapore by simply roaming Changi Airport’s terminal gardens— the Water Lily Garden’s still ponds, the Butterfly Garden where dozens of species drifted between hibiscus blooms, and the Sunflower Garden, a small field of yellow that felt absurdly cheerful for an airport terminal.

Each day of this trip did, in its own small way, feel brand new. Not because anything dramatic happened—no radioactive spiders, no rooftop chases—but because that’s what good travel does. It resets you, city by city, meal by meal, until you land back home slightly changed, still tasting the kaya toast, still hearing the temple bells from Little India, already plotting the next brand new day.

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