Pulau Ubin - The surviving past of Singapore
Bicycling across the Granite Stone Island
Shveta Grover
Issue date: 3/10/03 Section: Worldview
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We mounted our bicycles, and set off on the lone road ahead. As we rode, it divided into two, and we took the one going uphill. Not much later, we began to regret our decision as the sun beat down on us cruelly. We climbed on in the lowest gear possible. Someone wondered aloud how we could reach the sea, which is what the map said we would reach, by constantly climbing uphill! Before we knew it, the upslope ended, and we were descending fast, fast into the tropical greenness, one after the other at an exhilarating speed. The thrill was worth the strain of every muscle that strained in the climb.
We still did not find the sea though. After another stretch of excruciating uphill work, we decided to stop just before descending down. I climbed up on the muddy hillock by the road and was amazed at the turquoise transformation of an erstwhile granite quarry. Everyone else came up to look at the large and sparkling pool of water that nestled in the forest.
We screamed in glee on going down again. This time the track at the bottom was winding. We were climbing up again, though slowly, this time. Soon, we came across the orange Buddhist temple on the top, where some devotees were offering their prayers. An islander at Pulau must either be a bike renter, a coffee shop owner or a priest. Maybe some of the ferrymen lived here too.
We finally arrived at the beach. I must admit that we were a bit taken aback. I recalled a saying that the joys of a journey are more meaningful than the enjoyment of the destination. Before us, an area of no more than a few square yards had been cleared of bushes and thicket to reveal the sea; the sand felt prickly beneath the feet, and the water was not crystal clear. Yet, to our tired selves, this was Mecca. A lunch of few sandwiches later, we began our return journey.
It was six hours of cycling, hot sun and sweat by the time we reached the cycle rentals. In fading daylight, we boarded the ferry that would take us back.
We still did not find the sea though. After another stretch of excruciating uphill work, we decided to stop just before descending down. I climbed up on the muddy hillock by the road and was amazed at the turquoise transformation of an erstwhile granite quarry. Everyone else came up to look at the large and sparkling pool of water that nestled in the forest.
We screamed in glee on going down again. This time the track at the bottom was winding. We were climbing up again, though slowly, this time. Soon, we came across the orange Buddhist temple on the top, where some devotees were offering their prayers. An islander at Pulau must either be a bike renter, a coffee shop owner or a priest. Maybe some of the ferrymen lived here too.
We finally arrived at the beach. I must admit that we were a bit taken aback. I recalled a saying that the joys of a journey are more meaningful than the enjoyment of the destination. Before us, an area of no more than a few square yards had been cleared of bushes and thicket to reveal the sea; the sand felt prickly beneath the feet, and the water was not crystal clear. Yet, to our tired selves, this was Mecca. A lunch of few sandwiches later, we began our return journey.
It was six hours of cycling, hot sun and sweat by the time we reached the cycle rentals. In fading daylight, we boarded the ferry that would take us back.