Ubin

It was quite an overcast day on Saturday, and through a bit of a cock up of going to the wrong ferry terminal for my planned trip to the island of Batam in Indonesia, I ended up being a little bit stuck and going to Palau Ubin, a little island just to the East of Singapore.

For those that know me a bit better, I’m well known for being a bit useless at turning up to the wrong airports, on the wrong days and such misadventures, so it really was no surprise to be greeted with the look of disdain from the face behind the counter who explained that I was at the wrong ferry terminal to get to my chosen destination. It’s not as if I’d gone to Dover to get to Sweden or anything, as Singapore is not that big a place to get your disembarkation points that kafuffled.

It’s a short 20-minute boat ride from Changi village on the back of a little clapped out wooden ferryboat. The captain (I suppose that’s the official title for him) was the most sullen looking bloke you’ve ever met and had managed to carry the cool cigarette hanging off the bottom lip a la Dirty Harry look to a tee. So after bobbing about in the water for a short while I arrived in Ubin.

Ubin is a funny little place on which you can get around by bike in less than a few hours.

As you arrive towards the small jetty, you are presented with a ramshackle street, which is what I can only describe as a bicycle graveyard. It’s where all the knackered bikes in the world squeak and groan their way to die an un-oiled and fat bottom tourist carrying death. There are practically hundreds of bikes at about 10 or so hire shops. The little street reminded me a little bit of Phi Phi in Thailand pre tsunami (i.e. A bit of a hole) but it does have a lot of character and absolutely none of the pristine polished to a shine look of the mainland only a few miles away.

I looked around a bit until I could see a bike that was not glued together with dirt and forked out my 12 bucks for a bike that was “Brand new Sir…. That bike is brand new Sir….”. As a bike made in Nottingham that had travelled to the moon and back was wheeled towards me.

“Hmm, yes, of course it is” I smiled.

And don’t worry; I’m not going to start putting my speech in quotes or anything. I was never that good at English to remember how to do it correctly.

Ubin is small almost uninhabited island with just a couple of small service roads on it and a few little roads scattered across it of which to ride or walk. It’s a very pleasant place and is full of little mangrove forests, a few filled in granite quarries which now look quite pretty with the ultra marine coloured water rippling away in the sunshine. All in all – it’s a great day out and I can see myself doing it quite a bit in the coming year.

Having done a bit of cycling around Borneo last year, I was already prepared for the full frontal onslaught that the heat/humidity combo will throw at you. It’s an upper cut of heat and a below the belt punch of humidity. The way I found of blocking this is to cycle really really fast and let the breeze cool you down. Once you do actually stop though, close your eyes, as the sweat runs down your face scooping up lots of Boots Soltan along the way which hits your eyes like someone has just thrown acid in them, then taken a piss in them, with acid piss.

Ubin is pretty flat, but does have a lot of blind bends. As I’ve alluded to in previous posts, Singaporeans are not the most safety conscious, so I was taking it a little bit easier, as not only could cyclists be coming around the corner on the wrong side of a dirt track (I mean, how can you expect there be lane discipline when there is clearly no lane) but some of them where dressed in full camouflage carrying machine guns.

At this point I should stress that Singapore is not being overrun with gun touting hoodies, but that the local young army where on exercise at the same time.

Now, I’m getting a bit older and like everyone else reaching their mid thirties, the young seem younger and the older seem more like me, but these soldiers looked a bit young to me. I would have tried to get a photo, but having tried this trick in the Middle East a few years back, I can safely say that unless you have a day spare to be questioned for a few hours in a cell whilst having a hangover it’s a move I’d not recommend you try out.

Unless of course you are stuck for a story or two to tell down the pub.

Back to the toy soldiers story.

Now these young looking soldiers where on bikes as I mentioned, which I thought was quite funny once I’d thought about it.

Was it that these soldiers were to young to be allowed to drive tanks or jeeps or other bits of motorised mechanical infantry? Had they not passed their tank tests with the local DVLA, or was it that they were simply not old enough or responsible enough to be given the keys to something a bit more hefty than a jungle edition Raleigh Mongoose with trick pegs and a bell?

“Here you go son, you’re in the Army now. Camo outfit – Check, desert boots – Check, M16 – Check, key’s to a big f*cking armoured truck – Ahhh.. come back when you’re 17.”

The bit that perplexed me even more would be if a war broke out where would they be? At the back cycling like buggery shouting “Wait for me!!!……” as the more grown up soldiers sped off to face the oncoming enemy in slightly better equipped warfare transportation.

The great thing that I liked about Ubin the most was that you could feel like you where knee deep in the jungle or mangroves by just being 30 minutes away by a grumpy looking Captain Birdseye. 30 minutes back and you could be back in your condo again applying mosquito cream.

Truly a geographical one off.

After a day of peddling around Ubin, which was actually a very pleasant afternoon I plonked myself down for the customary glass of Tiger beer in the village back at the ferry terminal. Now, as most blokes my age, I’ve developed more of a taste of real ale over the years. Sadly, there is not much of that here (there is – but not on a small island with two flushing loos) and besides, the young Army kids are only interested in an appetite of Alco-pops or fizzy lager.

I can safely say that this Tiger was in my top 5 of best beers ever. I’m not sure what the other 4 times are as I was probably “very, very drunk at the time” to quote a phrase.

I promise that really was the last time on the speech marks.