Heavy SMOG in Singapore

My computer desktop shows the weather in Monaco. It is raining there. I wish it was raining here in Singapore too. It has been dry for a few days now and it is hot.
But it is not the hot weather that is bothering right now. It is the smog!!!

With the burning of forests in Indonesia, the island of Singapore is covered with heavy haze. It is reported to be the heaviest in 16 years.
Yesterday night the PSI level was 321!
The authorities advise everyone to stay indoors, and say, that if the condition continues, they schools will be closed.

This morning at 8am the PSI level was 122, now (1pm) it is 371.

I took photos from our balcony at 8am.

 

An hour later (PSI 131) it looked like this:

 

There is a smell of fire in the air, the eyes are burning. Some people are wearing face masks. A scene I have never seen in Singapore before.

 

So now we are waiting for the rain.









Weather and hair

I have a new phone. Well... it will be a phone (maybe) one day. I still cannot give up my two blackberries. My new phone has mainly two usages, none of which is actually for making calls, as it is still sim-less. Its main usage is to drive me crazy (!!!), the second is to see the weather... And these two are kinda stupid.
There is no point in checking the weather in Singapore. It is always the same. Always around 29-33 centigrade (84-92 Fahrenheit) and always wet and humid.
And humidity is bothering. I don't mind sweating and taking 2-3 showers a day, but I do mind what it does to my hair :-(

If you are Caucasian and your hair is like mine - straight but not flat, you are doomed to look like you got up and forgot to comb your hair. With the humidity I look like a vane. There is no product I have not used. All in vain. My hair can look great it the air-conditioned home, but once outside it looses all control.

I went today to the hairdresser. And finding one in Singapore, who knows how to cut Caucasian type hair, is a mission of itself... Gladly I have found one. And today I let him decide what to do, not trying to make him maintain my haircut for years.
And he cut and cut and cut. At some point I looked like my aunt Shula... Not a compliment... I closed my eyes. Aunt Shula, a German sever lady, is not my favourite one, to say the least.

Two hours later, when I left the hairdresser, my short hair actually looked okay, and feeling the air on my neck was a great treat.

(Hello, yes, this is me, wearing my painting shirt.)