The entrance to Woodlands Station is a pure draught of old Singapore. Officials bark instructions as cars converge, disgorging passengers and luggage. It’s a rare bit of human chaos, conducted in the steamy 30 degrees that prevailed before the city-state became a frictionless, temperature-controlled pleasure dome.

By the time you make it up the stairs, however, you have travelled even further back in time. Parked along the concrete platform of the combined station and border checkpoint, surrounded by cyclone fence and razor wire, is contemporary luxury’s latest secret weapon, 15 carriages glittering like cloisonné jewel boxes in the sun.