Sunday, December 28, 2003
Andante: Cycling to Sentosa
I am a long-distance cyclist; every few days, especially during these holidays when I’m quite free (and stuck up with my father at home) I take my bicycle for a spin around town. I alternate my directions: if I go up east (towards Pasir Ris and Changi) one week, the next I’ll go to the Central Business District; following that I head for Toa Payoh and Bishan (there’s a short cut via the park connector at the edge of Potong Pasir).
Anyway this would be a three-person riding trip: my father, my brother and me. And it was to be conducted at snail’s pace (in my opinion, because I’m a fast cyclist), a sort of leisurely Sunday cycle. We’d cycle to Sentosa via the coast after a good breakfast at Tanjong Rhu. To spare the agony of listening to my old wives’ tale of route-spinning, I’ll put it very simply in short form, and describe some of the interesting features of selected places:
Tanjong Rhu hawker centre, where we had breakfast
Tanjong Rhu Road, followed by the crossing of the Suspension Bridge just outside the Indoor Stadium
Merdaka Bridge, after which we descended via the stairway to Marina Promenade; I took the chance to train myself for National Service by carrying my bicycle followed by my brothers’… quite pathetic.
Marina Promenade, which led us to the Esplanade-Theatres on the Bay
From here, we crossed the Esplanade bridge to the Merlion Park. McDonald’s has kindly sponsored the installation of artistic benches at the Park: obviously the slogan “I’m lovin’ it” gives it away. Most interesting was a pair of toilet bowls with their openings sealed up and people can sit on it and pose for candid shots without getting their arses stuck in the bowl. Well, unless One Fullerton is happy to pay its security guards an added bonus for pulling its visitors out of the toilet bowl. Or it could earn extra profits by devising a game: “Break the Toilet Bowl!” where somebody sits on the bowl, gets stuck in it, and like what the Asean leaders did at the recent gathering in Japan, grab a hammer and give the china a double whammy. And the Johor Piping Company, which has to be credited for its bowls, will be the Official Supplier of Toilet Bowls for Merlion Park.
Anyway we followed the Singapore River; it’s a smooth ride up till the Alexander Canal where the pavement hits the road. Interesting how Singapore River and Alexander Canal are actually the same two things altogether. Just that the tourists don’t see the Alexander Canal because it’s a man-made thing that can’t be seen from the moon like the Great Wall of China so it’s no business listing it in the tourism guide to cheat people. So you can guess how equally polluted the Singapore River is, if people continually dirty up the Canal – well, about a month ago when I scooted by the Singapore River I thought I’d mistaken it for the Yellow River – of course the water was yellow. I wonder if the picture of the father and son fishing by the River in my Chemistry textbook was a fraud and a pro-government campaign. Come on, it’s to be endorsed by the Ministry of Education, so obviously it has to look good right?
It rained along the route, when we were approaching Lower Delta Road; my brother finally got a chance to rest his arse of which he has been complaining of pains having sat on the bicycle seat for too long – I wonder at the word “long” when we only left the Zion Road food centre just fifteen minutes ago, where we sat for half and hour and sipped drinks, al-fresco by the river… oops, canal.
Okay, I’ll spare the details… we continued down Lower Delta Road and made our way to Telok Blangah Road via Kampong Bahru Road. Sounds confusing? Go check the Street Directory. Fast forward, and we’re at the Sentosa Gateway. They’re preparing to build the new monorail, so there’s lots of obstacles about the road and we have to keep making detours along the bridge. Along the way we stop for photographs. It’s a pretty clear day after the rain. Superstar Virgo sits at its berth at the Singapore Cruise Centre. But the waterway’s rather quiet now, since the ferry service from the mainland to Sentosa was withdrawn.
The ticketing counter for pedestrians and cyclists (remember that cyclists are not pedestrians… the police said that cyclists are to display public-spiritedness keep their arses off the pavements or be slapped by a fine ticket or possibly an old auntie you’ve narrowly missed) is… well… a hole. Just a little window with a rear-view mirror sticking out to make sure no cheapskate tries to get into their resort for free. We pay our money, get a map of the island and go in.
First thing first: lunch. We wanted hawker fare, so obviously the Sentosa Food Centre. The place was like what you saw in Mexico when people went for their siesta. Hawkers and customers were lazing around; there was this fountain in the middle of the courtyard that must have been spoilt for ages and nobody bothered to fix it. But the water’s formed a stagnant pool and it’s now a hazardous mosquito-breeding ground. Compare it to the fountains outside the Ferry Terminal: it’s a good thing the tourists don’t see this.
Obviously the look of the place didn’t whet our appetite for its food, no matter how diverse the variety: Thai, Seafood, Chicken Rice, Western et cetera. Burger King looked like the play-safe method: nothing can go wrong with Burger King, except pricing and the possibility of mad-cow disease and having to be quarantined and face the wrath of a 5% increase in hospital bills when you can’t get out by the New Year. Anyway Burger King’s prices would send us mad before any old cow could, so we ended up scrimping on one set meal for all three of us.
We decided to follow the northern coastline of the island first, taking in the view of the Keppel Harbour. You don’t get this kind of cycling route everyday: with the forest to your left and the water just to your right. Harbour Front doesn’t look the same anymore. The drab grey Cable Car Towers has now been transformed into a metallic blue skyscraper with two other towers flanking its sides, and it has been bestowed with a much more classy and glorious title of “Harbour Front Tower II” instead of the equally drab “Cable Car Towers”. The old maritime museum and exhibition halls have all been torn down. In front of Mount Faber is the ugly yet useful flyover that quickens travel time from one end to the other of Telok Blangah Road.
We cycled to the beachfront: the place looked horribly artificial, as if Hollywood (or Bollywood, for that matter) came here, shot a love scene on the beach and decided to donate their sets for our city rats to roam on a Sunday. The sand was too white to be true (look at how horrifically dirty East Coast beach is – and speaking of “dirty”, Changi Beach too). Next we’ll see the adoption of the Hawaiian national dress (I don’t know what’s that called) as the official dress code for the patronisation of Sentosa beaches.
The company’s building lots of new stuff, so there are construction sites everywhere. The largest fenced perimeter is the new Palawan monorail station, which helps to bring in Feng Shui for Merlion Walk because they created such a big gap from the Walk to the sea. And they made us suffer by having to navigate a detour.
Palawan Beach is extremely crowded; there’s an animal show here, so my brother and father go watch it while I take the chance to cycle around and explore the place on my own. I cycle further up east towards Tanjong Beach, where The Nation’s Countdown to 2004 will be held on the night of 31 December 2003. The place looked horrifically dead. I was shocked to see a wasteland of tall, wild grass to my right; as if I was in some undeveloped area in Punggol. Further down was the beach itself, shut to the public for the technical preparations. While I was there, men were busy fixing the audio equipment.
At the end of the road was a roundabout; to head further would land one at the new Sentosa Cove. Perhaps they should connect the MRT from Harbour Front to Sentosa Cove so that we can waive the entrance fee of $2. Also it will help to ease congestion at the Sentosa Gateway when Mercedes and BMWs and Rolls Royce honk at each other to get to Sentosa Cove. Oh dear, they’d better not fix an ERP gantry at the bridge, otherwise we’ll be flattening our pockets.
Speaking about cars, Sentosa’s roads are a perfect place to get killed, hence the name “Pulau Blakang Mati”, where “Mati” means “death”. They probably changed it to “Sentosa” which means “tranquillity” because it’s the equivalent of “rest in peace and to go peacefully”. Previously they only allowed taxis, which had to go straight to the hotels. The only other vehicles were the company’s shuttle buses. Now they allow tour buses and private cars. What next? Why not build an airbase on the island and make Tony Fernandes happy? Then passengers can make a 30-minute trip across the Causeway instead of a 7-hour one. I nearly got killed by a speedster who thought he was going down memory lane to Devil’s Bend.
About the jungle trail: it’s a beautiful cycling path that leads one into the depths of the Secondary rainforest that makes up Mount Imbiah (where the Sentosa cable car station is located). It’s a bit like trekking through the forests of Bukit Timah hill or MacRitchie Reservoir; however, you may choose to cycle through it. It’s not a muddied, BMX style ride, but rather a nicely-tarred road with the occasional bumps caused by the tree roots penetrating into the pavement.
When I join my kinsmen again, we take the direction of Tanjong Beach but head towards inland through the “Challenge Trail”. This crazy cycling track forces you to go up the steep slope; the adjacent Allanbrooke Road is no better either, but rewards you when you reach the top. The road brings us past the old British buildings that were once used for military purposes, now run-down and waiting to be redeveloped. Some day I should return for a night exploration to search for those “things”. It is likely that the place has paranormal power within, for it probably met with a lot of carnage in the past as a military outpost. Or I should ask my First Uncle; he was located here during his National Service.
This is a self-named trail, called the “Mati” trail. It begins with Sijori Wondergolf, which my spoilt-brat brother wanted to play. Upon arriving at its entrance, we see no ticketing counter, but rather, a restaurant on the ground floor. The whole place resembles a ghost town, with its pools and waterfalls empty, and eerily, nobody is about. Eventually my father coaxes my brother to give it up because “we are on a fruitless search”. We turn to head home: there’s a long ride ahead.
So it’s down the hill, passing the entrance of Volcano Land. It’s a pathetic piece of money-wasting shit that should just die. Fantasy Island and Asian Village died terrible deaths; they were in fact quite good attractions, but bad pricing. Fantasy Island is a carpark now: how bad can it go? Asian Village is still there, picking up the maggots. Only Cinemania is left, offering a cheap thrill for those who go to blazes about their money.
Eight years ago I visited Volcano Land. The main attraction is a walk through an artificial cave. Then you step into a stupid elevator that doesn’t move: you know the guide is cheating you when she tells you to “look up at the ceiling” where there’s a screen showing a false lift shaft. At the end of the ride – hardly a ride considering the cabin never moved – the door on the opposite side of the lift opens and you walk out, on the same level as before, through another series of caves with artificial rocks, and you come into this huge auditorium for a thirty-minute show. At the end of it all, a door on the left opens and you see – of all things – the gift shop. What an anti-climax. And the volcano that’s supposed to erupt: just a burp of smoke. It’s a money-cheating attraction. Strangely it still lives on and continues to con unsuspecting people, especially those tourists with the fat wallets.
Downhill, my bicycle suffers: the front breaks malfunction. Not really malfunction in its truest sense, but the entire mechanism lurches every time I hit the breaks and the rubber pad on the right side will rub against the metal rim of the wheel, making it extremely taxing to cycle. We went to the bicycle rental kiosk just outside the ferry terminal; the owner said he didn’t do repairs. But anyway he lent us his toolbox and we spent a gratifying twenty minutes greasing ourselves up and never able to solve the problem. So I had to cycle with only one working break. Slowly. (I should change the speed to Adagio; better still: Lento).
Fine. We leave Sentosa for the two-hour journey back home. I only feel sad that I didn’t get my monorail ride. Never mind, I’LL BE BACK ¶ 12/28/2003 12:11:00 pm
I am a long-distance cyclist; every few days, especially during these holidays when I’m quite free (and stuck up with my father at home) I take my bicycle for a spin around town. I alternate my directions: if I go up east (towards Pasir Ris and Changi) one week, the next I’ll go to the Central Business District; following that I head for Toa Payoh and Bishan (there’s a short cut via the park connector at the edge of Potong Pasir).
Anyway this would be a three-person riding trip: my father, my brother and me. And it was to be conducted at snail’s pace (in my opinion, because I’m a fast cyclist), a sort of leisurely Sunday cycle. We’d cycle to Sentosa via the coast after a good breakfast at Tanjong Rhu. To spare the agony of listening to my old wives’ tale of route-spinning, I’ll put it very simply in short form, and describe some of the interesting features of selected places:
Tanjong Rhu hawker centre, where we had breakfast
Tanjong Rhu Road, followed by the crossing of the Suspension Bridge just outside the Indoor Stadium
Merdaka Bridge, after which we descended via the stairway to Marina Promenade; I took the chance to train myself for National Service by carrying my bicycle followed by my brothers’… quite pathetic.
Marina Promenade, which led us to the Esplanade-Theatres on the Bay
From here, we crossed the Esplanade bridge to the Merlion Park. McDonald’s has kindly sponsored the installation of artistic benches at the Park: obviously the slogan “I’m lovin’ it” gives it away. Most interesting was a pair of toilet bowls with their openings sealed up and people can sit on it and pose for candid shots without getting their arses stuck in the bowl. Well, unless One Fullerton is happy to pay its security guards an added bonus for pulling its visitors out of the toilet bowl. Or it could earn extra profits by devising a game: “Break the Toilet Bowl!” where somebody sits on the bowl, gets stuck in it, and like what the Asean leaders did at the recent gathering in Japan, grab a hammer and give the china a double whammy. And the Johor Piping Company, which has to be credited for its bowls, will be the Official Supplier of Toilet Bowls for Merlion Park.
Anyway we followed the Singapore River; it’s a smooth ride up till the Alexander Canal where the pavement hits the road. Interesting how Singapore River and Alexander Canal are actually the same two things altogether. Just that the tourists don’t see the Alexander Canal because it’s a man-made thing that can’t be seen from the moon like the Great Wall of China so it’s no business listing it in the tourism guide to cheat people. So you can guess how equally polluted the Singapore River is, if people continually dirty up the Canal – well, about a month ago when I scooted by the Singapore River I thought I’d mistaken it for the Yellow River – of course the water was yellow. I wonder if the picture of the father and son fishing by the River in my Chemistry textbook was a fraud and a pro-government campaign. Come on, it’s to be endorsed by the Ministry of Education, so obviously it has to look good right?
It rained along the route, when we were approaching Lower Delta Road; my brother finally got a chance to rest his arse of which he has been complaining of pains having sat on the bicycle seat for too long – I wonder at the word “long” when we only left the Zion Road food centre just fifteen minutes ago, where we sat for half and hour and sipped drinks, al-fresco by the river… oops, canal.
Okay, I’ll spare the details… we continued down Lower Delta Road and made our way to Telok Blangah Road via Kampong Bahru Road. Sounds confusing? Go check the Street Directory. Fast forward, and we’re at the Sentosa Gateway. They’re preparing to build the new monorail, so there’s lots of obstacles about the road and we have to keep making detours along the bridge. Along the way we stop for photographs. It’s a pretty clear day after the rain. Superstar Virgo sits at its berth at the Singapore Cruise Centre. But the waterway’s rather quiet now, since the ferry service from the mainland to Sentosa was withdrawn.
The ticketing counter for pedestrians and cyclists (remember that cyclists are not pedestrians… the police said that cyclists are to display public-spiritedness keep their arses off the pavements or be slapped by a fine ticket or possibly an old auntie you’ve narrowly missed) is… well… a hole. Just a little window with a rear-view mirror sticking out to make sure no cheapskate tries to get into their resort for free. We pay our money, get a map of the island and go in.
First thing first: lunch. We wanted hawker fare, so obviously the Sentosa Food Centre. The place was like what you saw in Mexico when people went for their siesta. Hawkers and customers were lazing around; there was this fountain in the middle of the courtyard that must have been spoilt for ages and nobody bothered to fix it. But the water’s formed a stagnant pool and it’s now a hazardous mosquito-breeding ground. Compare it to the fountains outside the Ferry Terminal: it’s a good thing the tourists don’t see this.
Obviously the look of the place didn’t whet our appetite for its food, no matter how diverse the variety: Thai, Seafood, Chicken Rice, Western et cetera. Burger King looked like the play-safe method: nothing can go wrong with Burger King, except pricing and the possibility of mad-cow disease and having to be quarantined and face the wrath of a 5% increase in hospital bills when you can’t get out by the New Year. Anyway Burger King’s prices would send us mad before any old cow could, so we ended up scrimping on one set meal for all three of us.
We decided to follow the northern coastline of the island first, taking in the view of the Keppel Harbour. You don’t get this kind of cycling route everyday: with the forest to your left and the water just to your right. Harbour Front doesn’t look the same anymore. The drab grey Cable Car Towers has now been transformed into a metallic blue skyscraper with two other towers flanking its sides, and it has been bestowed with a much more classy and glorious title of “Harbour Front Tower II” instead of the equally drab “Cable Car Towers”. The old maritime museum and exhibition halls have all been torn down. In front of Mount Faber is the ugly yet useful flyover that quickens travel time from one end to the other of Telok Blangah Road.
We cycled to the beachfront: the place looked horribly artificial, as if Hollywood (or Bollywood, for that matter) came here, shot a love scene on the beach and decided to donate their sets for our city rats to roam on a Sunday. The sand was too white to be true (look at how horrifically dirty East Coast beach is – and speaking of “dirty”, Changi Beach too). Next we’ll see the adoption of the Hawaiian national dress (I don’t know what’s that called) as the official dress code for the patronisation of Sentosa beaches.
The company’s building lots of new stuff, so there are construction sites everywhere. The largest fenced perimeter is the new Palawan monorail station, which helps to bring in Feng Shui for Merlion Walk because they created such a big gap from the Walk to the sea. And they made us suffer by having to navigate a detour.
Palawan Beach is extremely crowded; there’s an animal show here, so my brother and father go watch it while I take the chance to cycle around and explore the place on my own. I cycle further up east towards Tanjong Beach, where The Nation’s Countdown to 2004 will be held on the night of 31 December 2003. The place looked horrifically dead. I was shocked to see a wasteland of tall, wild grass to my right; as if I was in some undeveloped area in Punggol. Further down was the beach itself, shut to the public for the technical preparations. While I was there, men were busy fixing the audio equipment.
At the end of the road was a roundabout; to head further would land one at the new Sentosa Cove. Perhaps they should connect the MRT from Harbour Front to Sentosa Cove so that we can waive the entrance fee of $2. Also it will help to ease congestion at the Sentosa Gateway when Mercedes and BMWs and Rolls Royce honk at each other to get to Sentosa Cove. Oh dear, they’d better not fix an ERP gantry at the bridge, otherwise we’ll be flattening our pockets.
Speaking about cars, Sentosa’s roads are a perfect place to get killed, hence the name “Pulau Blakang Mati”, where “Mati” means “death”. They probably changed it to “Sentosa” which means “tranquillity” because it’s the equivalent of “rest in peace and to go peacefully”. Previously they only allowed taxis, which had to go straight to the hotels. The only other vehicles were the company’s shuttle buses. Now they allow tour buses and private cars. What next? Why not build an airbase on the island and make Tony Fernandes happy? Then passengers can make a 30-minute trip across the Causeway instead of a 7-hour one. I nearly got killed by a speedster who thought he was going down memory lane to Devil’s Bend.
About the jungle trail: it’s a beautiful cycling path that leads one into the depths of the Secondary rainforest that makes up Mount Imbiah (where the Sentosa cable car station is located). It’s a bit like trekking through the forests of Bukit Timah hill or MacRitchie Reservoir; however, you may choose to cycle through it. It’s not a muddied, BMX style ride, but rather a nicely-tarred road with the occasional bumps caused by the tree roots penetrating into the pavement.
When I join my kinsmen again, we take the direction of Tanjong Beach but head towards inland through the “Challenge Trail”. This crazy cycling track forces you to go up the steep slope; the adjacent Allanbrooke Road is no better either, but rewards you when you reach the top. The road brings us past the old British buildings that were once used for military purposes, now run-down and waiting to be redeveloped. Some day I should return for a night exploration to search for those “things”. It is likely that the place has paranormal power within, for it probably met with a lot of carnage in the past as a military outpost. Or I should ask my First Uncle; he was located here during his National Service.
This is a self-named trail, called the “Mati” trail. It begins with Sijori Wondergolf, which my spoilt-brat brother wanted to play. Upon arriving at its entrance, we see no ticketing counter, but rather, a restaurant on the ground floor. The whole place resembles a ghost town, with its pools and waterfalls empty, and eerily, nobody is about. Eventually my father coaxes my brother to give it up because “we are on a fruitless search”. We turn to head home: there’s a long ride ahead.
So it’s down the hill, passing the entrance of Volcano Land. It’s a pathetic piece of money-wasting shit that should just die. Fantasy Island and Asian Village died terrible deaths; they were in fact quite good attractions, but bad pricing. Fantasy Island is a carpark now: how bad can it go? Asian Village is still there, picking up the maggots. Only Cinemania is left, offering a cheap thrill for those who go to blazes about their money.
Eight years ago I visited Volcano Land. The main attraction is a walk through an artificial cave. Then you step into a stupid elevator that doesn’t move: you know the guide is cheating you when she tells you to “look up at the ceiling” where there’s a screen showing a false lift shaft. At the end of the ride – hardly a ride considering the cabin never moved – the door on the opposite side of the lift opens and you walk out, on the same level as before, through another series of caves with artificial rocks, and you come into this huge auditorium for a thirty-minute show. At the end of it all, a door on the left opens and you see – of all things – the gift shop. What an anti-climax. And the volcano that’s supposed to erupt: just a burp of smoke. It’s a money-cheating attraction. Strangely it still lives on and continues to con unsuspecting people, especially those tourists with the fat wallets.
Downhill, my bicycle suffers: the front breaks malfunction. Not really malfunction in its truest sense, but the entire mechanism lurches every time I hit the breaks and the rubber pad on the right side will rub against the metal rim of the wheel, making it extremely taxing to cycle. We went to the bicycle rental kiosk just outside the ferry terminal; the owner said he didn’t do repairs. But anyway he lent us his toolbox and we spent a gratifying twenty minutes greasing ourselves up and never able to solve the problem. So I had to cycle with only one working break. Slowly. (I should change the speed to Adagio; better still: Lento).
Fine. We leave Sentosa for the two-hour journey back home. I only feel sad that I didn’t get my monorail ride. Never mind, I’LL BE BACK ¶ 12/28/2003 12:11:00 pm
