We left the dorms early one Saturday morning (June 18th) for Pulau Ubin, a tiny island filled with beautiful forests and seafront property. The island harkens back to 1960s Singapore with the country’s last kampong village, a series of houses built on stilts surrounding the waterfront. (The rest have been torn down to make room for more Housing and Development Board flats.)
A hefty cab fare and a short ferry ride later, we finally arrived in Pulau Ubin for a day of island biking and hiking. The bumboats, which took us to the island, held exactly twelve people and the drivers wouldn’t leave until the boats were filled, so we had to wait at Changi until enough passengers arrived. Then we fished in our purses for the $S2.50 one-way fare.
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| View from the bumboat. |
The boats were built sturdily and made gigantic waves as we sailed. The large, open spaces for windows provided a great view of Kampong Glam. The wind whipped my hair into a frenzy, blowing my ponytail like a ferris wheel and forming curly wisps around my forehead.
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| In case you didn't believe me about my hair. |
Upon entering the island, we were bombarded with a stretch of salespeople offering us bikes for the day beginning at $S8. By the time we’d reached the end of the row, we could rent a bike for just $S4. As I needed to ride a tandem (bikes and I have had a rather unsteady relationship in the past), my friend, Marquis, and I split the cost of a $S12 two-seater. Our height discrepancy is such that his seat was boosted to its full height while mine sat far below, making us look all the more comical as we took sharp turns.
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| Mandy, Marquis, Toyosi, Olivia, CeCe and I arrive in Pelau Ubin! |
Before we started, Marquis informed me he’d never ridden a tandem, but he didn’t think it would be very different from a regular bike. I had flashbacks to my first few tandem rides with my dad, remembering our rather precarious endeavors and difficulty climbing hills. Uh oh, I thought, but I just smiled and tried to think, unsuccessfully, of something both encouraging and truthful to say. I settled on a non-committal noise meant to convey confident anticipation. In reality I was terrified.
As soon as we took off, we knew we’d made a mistake and should’ve invested in the slightly more expensive tandems for $S16. Our first and second gears were nonexistent and our brakes squealed like a dying bird. We took off in a swervy zig-zag and pressed on the breaks, turning heads. The lady who sold us the bike shouted at our retreating backs, reminding us to take the downhills slowly and to watch out for jagged curves. I tried to ignore her worried tone and anxious expression, but as we screeched to a halt behind the rest of our group, I had a hard time shaking a deep sense of foreboding.
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| Marquis, Mandy, Cece, Ashley, and I bike through Pelau Ubin. |
Despite my concerns, we didn’t fall once. Sure, we had a few close calls, like when an entire school group appeared from no where as we practically flew downhill on one wheel. But we not only made it through completely in tact, we also spent an entire day touring a good portion of the island, stopping to admire seemingly endless vistas: row upon row of palms and coconut trees lining a wide dirt path, a small inlet of water surrounded my a patchwork of grass and mud which was chock full of antique glass bottles, an old well with overhanging ivy hidden within a spice garden, and a small shrine dedicated to a “German Girl” atop a steep hill. Along the way we came across discarded piles of fresh fruit like the ripe durians we spent a good twenty minutes trying to crack against the concrete with no success.
We stopped for lunch at a wonderful seafood shack built right along the shore. The water lolled in gentle waves against the stilt support structure and crabs crawled around a large tank of water a few paces away from our table.
As we’d broken into small groups for the bike ride, we were pleased to run into another group of SEAS people already seated at the restaurant. They told us the seafood was excellent and Jessica and Malhar suggested the Chili Crab, a Singaporean delicacy, which the waiter had told them was only $S14.00. Cece and I decided to split the dish which was served in a spicy dark sauce. As it was impossible to eat the crab with utensils, we pulled the meat from the shell with our fingers. The head and pinchers were especially good dipped in the thick sauce. As we were embarking on the rather meatless thighs, Jessica and Malhar got their bill.
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| The best "$S14" Chili Crab in Singapore! |
“Hey, guys.” Malhar’s voice didn’t sound like someone who’d just paid $S14 for Chili Crab. “You know when the waiter told us $S14?”
We sucked air in affirmation.
“Well, we misunderstood,” Malhar said slowly. “Apparently, he said $S40.”
Cece and I looked at each other. “We’re not leaving one bite,” I told her.
“I’m going to ask for a spoon for the sauce,” she said, nodding assent.
We conquered the Chili Crab, and then I had to conquer the bill when the waiter asked for $S45 instead of $S40. I was nice but firm; after a large smile and friendly reminder on my part, he left with the bill and returned a moment later with the changed price. We considered taking the shell as a trophy but decided against it.
After lunch, we biked to the seashore where we discovered old bottles poking out of white sand imported from Hawaii. We unearthed several and cleaned them in the water. Then we ripped pages from our journals and wrote notes (to be discovered 200 years from now). We were sure to date the letters for future historical legitimacy. We pushed them through the long neck of the cleanest bottle and prepared to send it off to sea.
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| Message in a bottle. |
But before we did so, we came across a fallen coconut. We split it open and after smelling the spoiled milk inside, poured it onto a nearby rock. Then, we shoved the bottle into the coconut (which served as a flotation device) and lowered it into the water with the receding tide. As we remounted our bikes and continued our tour of the island, we told ourselves that our letters wouldn’t be discovered for hundreds of years. In all probability, they were quickly retrieved and read by the slew of kids who’d just arrived on shore and had watched our progress with attentive eyes. But we pedaled fast, so we’ll never know for sure.
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| Off to sea! |
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