Singas & Bintan

Singapore

Singas never ceases to impress me. A medley of people, flavours, colour, history, curiosities and nearly nil chance of getting robbed, stabbed, lost or hungry. From the moment you step off the plane, you’re greeted by flawless efficiency. The travellators move a bit faster, the air conditioning is suitably arctic, carpets are void of anything that may be considered trash – thanks to the slightly aggressive robot cleaners and there are just way too many people standing around at security points. Outside the airport, the taxi marshals are like drill sergeants, hotel lobbies are perfumed, pristine and leaves are raked within seconds of dropping. Even the fruit and vege in the local supermarket is arranged in orderly alphabetical rows.

I always have a chuckle at the plethora of rules in Singapore. I’m glad it is a safe, vibrant travel destination but it does, at times, take the fun out of things. If I got merry drunk and decided to do a little jig in the middle of Haji Lane, would I get locked up? While researching some of the less touristy parts of the city, I happened upon Yishay – an outer suburb with a reputation for being a little … odd. A few murders (the perpetrator caught and hanged), a man marching goose step on the middle lane of a three-lane highway in the rain, another lying naked along Sembawang Road and a Pet Ant Shop – the only one of its kind in Singapore. Sounds like my kind of place! A relatively new rule in Singapore is the ban of vapes and the more sinister K-pods. If caught, users/sellers face fines, jail, caning or a stint in a state-funded rehab program.

Day 2 - 29 March 2026

My recent graduation into full menopause + hormone blockers = night sweats and chronic insomnia. Despite being seriously tired, my brain and body will not sleep. I’m averaging 5 hours a night which doesn’t make for a happy-Abbie. I go to seek out coffee in the lobby while Skippy G gets a few more zzzz’s.

Early afternoon we board a ferry from Tanah Merah to Bintan Island (Indonesia). Crossing the Singapore Strait is fascinating. Connecting to the Strait of Malacca, it is considered the second business shipping lane in the World (the first being the English Channel). From tankers, container ships, crude carriers, yachts, tugs, tenders, cruise ships and the odd pirate, over 1,000 vessels pass through the SS daily. As the ferry weaves its way past the anchored behemoths, it wasn’t lost on me how much diesel these suckers need to transport all our heart’s desires: cars, ore, televisions, toys, grain, kitchen utensils, sheets, phones .. I decide I’m never going to complain about petrol prices or availability again.

The service is flawless, the staff polished and professional. Upon arrival, the beautiful Winni, gives us a cool flannel, a ginger-tonic-shot, a rundown of the resort and books us in for dinner. We’re taken by buggy to Villa No. 304 ‘Cipan’ (a type of tapir indigenous to Indonesia and Malaysia). Our host opens the door to an indoor/outdoor porch, complete with loungers and a private plunge pool. Inside the villa there is a 4-poster Princess-and-the-Pea bed dressed in divine linen, a plush duvet and pillows - including my special-request bolster pillow. In front of the window, there is a huge daybed that looks out over the rainforest and on to the sea. In the bathroom/dressing room, there are his and hers kimonos and slippers and windows that open to the elements so you can drink in the view while shaving, showering or shitting. Below us there are monkeys larking around on the rocks at low tide. Birds of all colours and sizes flit through the dense foliage. Skippy G is quite taken. His lower jaw hangs slackly down around his knees, there aren’t really any words needed. It is quite different, exceptionally tasteful and very special.

Excited, we head out to explore.

The Walk

Dousing ourselves in a lethal quantity of deet, we head down a path, pass ‘Maggot’s House’ (?!) then hang a right onto Ranger’s Trail. As we emerge onto the beach, I notice three mosquitoes have landed on the back of my hand, feeding gleefully from the 1 square millimetre of skin I had missed with the mozzie spray. Bastards.

I’m hit by a smell of rotting seaweed and something I can’t quite place. As we roam further, we come across pile upon pile of rubbish – nets, bottles, barrels, rope, rubber, plastic – all washed in on the tides. It’s nasty, it smells, it hurts my heart. The unseen microplastics; the tangled mass of netting that traps, kills so many sea creatures; the poison leaking from barrels of whoknowswhat; chemicals leaching from used containers of everyday household products – detergents, oils, cleaners. Above the shoreline, where pollution meets privilege, is hole no. 17 of the pristine Laguna golf course. Wealthy punters zoom around on buggies with their uniformed caddy-bitches hanging off the back. I’m not kidding. The women are young, pert, perfect and “know the game very well” according to Skippy G. I’m wondering what happens up the back of the 9th hole …

Thanks to the parent’s penchant for taking us off the beaten path in my youth, I’ve managed to recall a small amount of Bahasa Indonesian. It was nice to be able to exchange simple pleasantries with the staff. It’s amazing what you can learn from haggling on the streets of Yogyakarta, playing cards with the staff at our very modest losmens (no air con, squat toilets, mandis, sharing a rickety spring bed with mozzies, geckos and mice), visiting marvellous ancient structures (Borobudur), ordering delicious food (mee goreng for breakfast everyday), sitting for hours on concrete steps listening (somewhat) appreciatively to gamelan orchestras and reading Donald Bebek comics. Thanks mum!

Day 3 - 30 March 2026

The Bats

We spotted Ruby on night one. A small, lone fruit bat, hanging out on her own under the front entry, billy-no-mates. We needn’t have worried, the following morning her possie had joined her. Dozens of the revolting creatures hung from the awnings, squeaking, fluttering their rabid wings, following us with their beady little eyes. During the night, they had gifted us a large colourful dump of bat shit. We put out the please-make-up-the-room sign and headed down the hill to breakfast.

My travel companion was yet to experience anything more uncomfortable than an EasyJet economy-class seat so we decided to hitch a driver and go to Tanjung Pinang. I watched Skippy G as we traversed the streets in the back of our air-conditioned vehicle. We pass families of 4 on scooters (+ school backpacks, a bag of rice and a gas cylinder), shirts worn back-the-front, no helmets, footwear optional. Monkeys-crossing and no-passing signs completely ignored. Facetiming, negotiating potholes and smoking whilst driving on two wheels is the ultimate in multi-tasking. It’s interesting to see someone’s reaction to the first time they observe people living in vastly different environs than what they’re used to – be it richer or poorer. In the case of poorer, the reality can be unsettling. It’s tough seeing folk living near the poverty line where education, electricity are luxuries, access to nutritious foods is not guaranteed, roads are a death trap and building standards non-existent as are rubbish collection and sanitation.

I read a few travel blogs on Tanjung Pinang. Some were generous, after all, the city is home to families, businesses, schools, eateries, services. No one appreciates their home being degenerated. But the reality is, the place was a shit hole. That said, shit holes can be interesting – especially if it’s your first time visiting one. Skippy G and I asked the driver to drop us off at bookshop. I was hoping to find some Donald Bebek comics. Sadly, no comics – but they did have lots of books on socialism.

We arranged to meet our driver in 2 hours’ time and head off on foot to explore the city. The pavements are a WHS nightmare – split concrete walkways (if there are any), open manholes, rotting rubbish and the odd dead cat. Note: do not recommend for prams, roller-skates, anyone in a wheelchair or on crutches. The electrical wiring is dubious, canals are choked with rubbish, the streets grotty and swarming with stray cats. Despite the incredibly poor infrastructure, in the dusty backstreets we find modest dwellings with swept porches, school children coming home in well-pressed uniforms, laundry hanging in the breeze and even the odd flower garden. It’s a reminder these are people’s homes and they’re doing the best they can.

The food in the windows of the roadside wagons and warungs looked delicious but dangerous. There’s a fine line between being adventurous and stupid. We decided to pass on the food but sat down for a rest and enjoyed a cold bottle of sprite. During our few hours in the city, we did not see a single Caucasian person. We stuck out like a very sore (white) thumb, an oddity. A woman in the supermarket told us they had been seen us wandering, looking lost across the road and wondered if we needed assistance. Yes, I most certainly do! Could you please show me where the shampoo is?

The markets were filthy. On the perimeter there were fruit, vegetables, dried fish and spice stalls. As we moved towards the wet market, the tiled slabs were being prepped for the sale of meat, fish, poultry. Cats wandered the aisles, rats the size of small dogs ran through nearby crates. The smell was next level. I’ve got a pretty strong stomach but even I was desperate for some fresh air. I’m always conscious of turning people’s place and space into a sideshow and do not like to take pictures that are personal or intrusive. I stopped at one stall and the woman was delighted to be on film – she was hoping to be seen in Hollywood! Made me smile. It occurred to me that maybe we were the sideshow 🤔💭

On the way back we passed a motley crew of grey monkeys sitting on a road-side barrier, hanging out doing bugger all. One was swigging the dregs from a coke bottle. Cheeky, opportunistic, these monkeys are renowned for being naughty. Further along, amongst the trees, we spotted the gentle, shy black monkeys swinging from branches, doing death-drops. I could have watched them all day. I asked them whether they would be keen to walk on two legs instead of four, no answer. I think swinging in the trees is a much more fun skill. Maybe they’re on to something.

Tomorrow is Sam’s birthday.

Mee Goreng anyone?

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