In 1992 I was in Singapore, on my way to Hawaii and Los Angeles. At that time I was customarily shod, which is not to say I enjoyed it much but that it was just the way things were. To some extent it was also protection, as this was my first solo venture and I really had very little information about where I was going before I got there. This isn't a problem to me anymore, and I didn't think it was then either, but I'd never put the idea to the test so was a little cautious about everything (as befits a female travelling solo in unknown cultures).
I had five days in Singapore and loved it - the sounds, the smells, the colours, the local weather patterns. I had a map which showed a lot of different places, and sometimes I followed it, sometimes I didn't but just wandered to see where I ended up. One day I was in the Arab/Muslim area of the central city. It was an interesting contrast - the colours of choice are much different, the mood is different. The shop signs reflected many different ideas to those in more Chinese or Malaysian influenced sections. My map had told me of the Sultan Mosque - I think that's the right name - at any rate the main and most special mosque in the island, and a major tourist attraction. The map gave open hours I think too. I passed this, and resolved to go back the next morning - it was late, and I didn't fell well dressed for it.
So the next morning I very carefully dressed in a long light-weight skirt, neat blouse and good shoes and made my way to the mosque. I was early, so was able to spend time drawing the minarets and looking at the way light fell through the outer structures of the mosque. With many such buildings there is a sense of peace that I like - the purpose of the building seems to be embedded in the stones. I found one place outside that it took me a moment to work out the purpose of. It was a half-enclosed courtyard that was more like a corridor - no roof, a wide entryway from the back, one wall the side of the mosque and the other a built up wall. At what seemed to be the exit was a wide arch, ornately done. At the base of the arch and along the side wall was a low trough. Somehow - I forget how now - I found out that this was where the men coming to the mosque would stop to clean their bare feet before entering.
At opening time, or a little after, I went to the front entrance. The man there was willing to let me in - he spoke little English, but the sign with admission charges was clear enough. The desk is at a landing on some steps that lead into the mosque itself. I stopped on these steps and carefully removed my shoes, then went to the top of the landing and sat and waited until I was sure it was alright to enter. While I waited, another group of tourists came by. They were Asian of some sort - at the time I had had little practice in distinguishing races. The group held two men and a woman, the woman being very well dressed as seemed common with those I saw in Singapore. She had a dress-suit on, nice looking fabric but lightweight in concession to the climate, trousers and sandals. They paid their entry fee then began to walk up the stairs and inside. This agitated the desk man no end, who began calling and waving. They stopped, and he managed to make them understand by pointing at me and my shoes that they could not enter the mosque shod. They seemed quite upset at this at first, and seemed to feel that if they were paying him for the privilege of entry then he should be grateful for their presence. His attitude was more to the lines that this was a holy place where all must be welcomed (even tourists), but that it is none the less holy and must be treated so.
I'm not sure of the exact nature of the disagreement that followed as the language, dialects and accents were confusing to me, but there may have also been some discussion over whether the woman was properly dressed for the occasion, with some waving at me. Around about this point I stood and quietly walked further into the mosque. The discussion continued a few moments longer in raised voices that suddenly seemed hushed once I was inside, then the three tourists turned and left, taking their entry money with them.
Places like that mosque are special - the interior construction has been done with an understanding of space, light and silence that I find central to many deeply spiritual experiences. Inside it is a squareish room, wide, with a mezzanine around three sides I think from memory. The mezzanine is held by simple columns that measure out the light from the windows, and that separate the edge of the room from the centre into a wide passage bounded only by light and shadow. It is very still in there. I sat for a while under the mezzanine and listened, and allowed myself to observe the details I could see. Then I moved quietly - the kind of quiet that can only be achieved barefoot - to the door again, bowed and left, pausing just to slip my shoes on again. It felt as if I would contaminate my feet and thoughts if I walked into the grand commercialism and intricacy of detail outside barefoot after the feeling of being on holy ground.