I love an old space, especially one in which one finds a character that speaks very loudly of its past. It seems increasingly difficult to find one, especially as the pace seems to have quickened when it comes to repurposing old spaces to remain relevant in the present and for the future. Many, having been redeployed in a meaningful way, seem to lose the essence of what they were in the effort to keep them up to speed with the demands of modern world. It was thus quite a refreshing for me to step into three wonderful examples of repurposed spaces that remain a portal into the past in a short span of less than a fortnight — the first being Sentul Depot, which is across the causeway in the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur.
Tiffin at the Yard at Sentul Depot, which is quite an instagrammable place to visit.
Old train maintenance yards always have a certain appeal for me and in them one finds many tales of the past and structures with much character. Stepping into the one at Sentul, which has partially been repurposed by a private developer as an arts and lifestyle destination, brought to mind the yard we once had in Singapore that had been part of the former railway complex at Tanjong Pagar. It is certainly a shame that the yard in Singapore or at least part of it, could not be retained and transformed in a similar way.
Workshops and maintenance sheds of the former railway yard at Tanjong Pagar seen in 2011 (since demolished)
The siting the depot at Sentul, originally named Central Railway Workshops, can be traced back to the formation of the Federated Malay States Railways (FMSR). The railway administration made a decision to house its huge build and maintenance complex in the area in 1902. The location, just three miles out of town along Batu Road, offered several advantages, chief among which was its position relative to both the main line running through the administrative centre of Selangor and the FMS, and to the Batu Caves. The Batu Caves were where the granite quarries that were exploited to provide railway ballast could be obtained from. A branch line was built to serve the workshop complex — described as “eclipsing anything of the sort in the East” — could also be extended to the quarries.
The entrance to Tiffin at the Yard at Sentul Depot
Construction on the Sentul complex began in 1903 and the workshops were fully operational by August 1906. The complex featured “huge blocks of buildings ” that housed stores, engine and carriage working sheds, running sheds, factories and foundries with a shed that was observed to be 38 feet (~11.6 metres) by 150 feet (~45.7 metres) wide. The complex was able to handle the working of up to 700 miles (1126.5 km) of open line. There were also quarters built for the engineers, supervisory staff, and also coolies (workmen) — quite a number of whom were members of the Tamil community.
Tiffin at the Yard at Sentul Depot
USAAF Raid on Sentul, 1945
Much of the yard and workshops would be destroyed by bombing during the latter stages of the Japanese Occupation. An obvious target for bombing raids made by the United States Army Air Force (USAAF), well over 60 per cent of the yard and workshop area, which covered an area of some 5.7 hectares, was destroyed in early 1945. This forced the Japanese to move and disperse the railway works further afield. Following the end of the war, a huge effort was undertaken to clear the wreckage left by the air raids. The major part of the rehabilitation effort was completed only at the end of 1952, some seven years after the end of the war, having been delayed by the communist insurgency. During this time, the site became known as the Sentul Works (or Workshops).
A view of one of the disused sheds.
Sentul Works, which employed a workforce of five thousand at its height, remained in use until the the early 2000s and was decommissioned in 2009 (although KTM — the successor of the FMSR and later Malayan Railway maintains an EMU Depot next to it). The complex has since been bought up a a private developer YTL, and is in the process of being redeveloped. Among the attractions housed within the Sentul Depot complex is Tiffin at the Yard, which provides an opportunity not just to visit the former railway works, but also to dine in it.
It is sad that many places that featured in our childhoods, collectively as Singaporeans who grew up in the first three decades of independence, have all but disappeared. Even if they are around, they would have changed in an unrecognisable way. There are times when I feel more at home in parts of Peninsular Malaysia that I connected with as a child, than in Singapore, the country of my birth and I have on more than one occasion sought out these places to get a sense of coming home that is absent in much of Singapore.
One place in which I found some of my childhood memories intact is the Lido Hotel in Port Dickson. It was a place that featured regularly in numerous driving trips “up country” that my parents were fond of taking in the 1970s. Port Dickson was often a stopover on the way to, or on the way back from, destinations further up north and one that was made even more special because of the beach.
Beach in front of Lido Hotel, Port Dickson, 1971
I found an opportunity to revisit the area in which the Lido Hotel was during a driving trip up the peninsula some years back, making a small detour from the North-South Highway. The sight of the old hotel was a pleasant surprise. Located right where it was at the 8th mile of Port Dickson’s well known 11 mile stretch of beach, the hotel’s road entrance was certainly a welcome sight as was the building in which the small hotel operated despite the developments that have sprouted up all along the beach. The hotel, when it featured in my childhood trips, had already looked that it had left its glory days far behind, and it came as not surprise to see it in a dilapidated state, reduced to being a place for beach goers to have their showers. Much was however, still familiar. The dining space at which we sometimes had lunch at was recognisable, even if it had been emptied of the tables and chairs that once filled it. The hotel’s two wings in which its rooms were located even if emptied of life, had the grilles and green cement floors that I remember well.
Prior to this visit, the I last time I must have set eyes on this side of Port Dickson would have been in the early 1980s. The opening of the first southern stretches of the North-South Highway, from Kuala Lumpur or KL to Seremban and its extension to Ayer Keroh in the 1980s put paid for the need for stopovers. It used to take 6 hours to drive from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore on the old trunk or coastal road, parts of which were slow, winding, and rather treacherous. Traffic would often be held up by slow-moving trucks loaded with cargo such as the lori-lori balak or logging trucks. The highway may have made it a lot easier to take that drive to KL, but what it may have also done is have us forget some truly charming places along the way such as Port Dickson, that may have featured in the drives we took in the past.
The road entrance to the Lido Hotel.
A rather run-down looking Lido.
The southern wing of the Lido.
A corridor.
The dining area.
The dining area.
The northern wing.
A view through the grilles.
A gate that I once used.
Another view of the corridor. The rooms were on the left.
There is something magical about the Penang ferry. Much like stepping onto one of the passenger ferries crossing Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong, the magic is perhaps how time seems to stand absolutely still from the moment one drives onto a ferry to or from Penang for the twenty minutes or so that the journey takes.
A ferry making the crossing to Penang island at sunrise.
Sadly, the ferries — at least how I knew them — are being retired at the end of December. I would have made a long drive up to Penang just to have a last ride on one if not for the current restrictions on travel. Not having been able to do that, I am thankful that I did take a few photographs the last time I found myself on a Penang ferry in June 2016, some of which I will be including in this post.
A ferry approaching George Town.
A ferry service between Penang and the mainland has apparently been around since 1893/94. That was introduced at a time when the motorcar had not been seen in this part of the world. The first vehicle ferries were only introduced on 1 May 1925. Two lighters, onto which vehicles could be loaded onto were initially used, each pulled by a steam powered boat. A third craft, the Seberang — the first to be purposed built for the service and which had been on order with the Singapore Harbour Board’s (SHB) dockyard at Keppel — was added at the end of the same year. The Seberang, which had a length of 116′ and a beam of 22′, had a capacity of up to five vehicles and up to some 300 passengers.
Two ferries going in opposite directions.
The phenomenal growth in motorcar traffic across the channel, which doubled in the first year of operation, saw to orders for two larger vessels placed wth the SHB in 1928. The two, the SS Kulim and SS Tanjong, with a length of 128′ and a beam of 31′ had a capacity of 16 cars and 360 passengers.
The Penang Bridge, which was completed in the 1980s. The bridge is one of two that takes the bulk of the road traffic making the crossing between Penang and the mainland.
With two bridges linking the mainland to Penang island, taking up the bulk of vehicular traffic, it would only have been a matter of time that the vehicle carrying ferry service would eventually outlive its purpose. With the condition of the current fleet of vehicular ferries, which were built from 1975 to 2002 deteriorating, the vehicle ferry service will be withdrawn just a few years short of 100th year of operation. What will replace the aging roll-on/roll-off ferries will be faster and perhaps cheaper to operate passenger only ferries that lack the charm and grace of the old slow boats to Penang.
Like many of Malaysia’s shophouse dominated urban spaces, the cluttered and colourful kaki-kaki-lima (five-foot-ways) of old Klang are a joy to wander through. Intended as a sheltered walkway, the five-foot-way is thought to owe their existence to Singapore’s Town Plan of 1822, in which it was stipulated that “all houses constructed of brick or tile should have a uniform type of front, each having a verandah of a certain depth, open at all times as a continuous and covered passage on each side of the street”. This led to a degree of uniformity in the shophouse lined pre-war urban centres in both Malaya and Singapore.
More on the five-foot-ways of Malaysia and Singapore:
Not always the tidiest of places, the small lanes and back streets of old Kuala Lumpur (KL) are more often than not, places to be avoided. There are however a number for which exceptions can now be made – such as the attractive mural decorated back lanes of Bukit Bintang and more recently, the area known as Kwai Chai Hongoff Lorong Panggung and Jalan Petaling in old KL. The latter saw a charming makeover and is now a well-visited instagram-worthy tourist draw.
Kwai Chai Hong
Necessary for sanitation and for fire-fighting in the overcrowded urban centres of Malaya and Singapore, the requirement for back lanes was written into town improvement and planning regulations and by-laws in the early 20th century. They thus became a feature of the shophouse dominated landscapes of Malaya’s and Singapore’s urban centres. Besides spaces in which drainage, access for removal of refuse and night soil, and for fire-fighting, the back lanes became social spaces as well as ones in which trades – legal or otherwise – could be conducted.
A mural in a back lane in the Bukit Bintang area.
Unveiled in early 2019, the Kwai Chai Hong project involves six shophouses on Jalan Petaling and another four along Lorong Panggung and offers quite a delightful take on the back lane as a social space through a series of murals. The monicker Kwai Chai Hong translates into “little ghost lane” or “ghost child lane” is perhaps a reference to the activities that went on whether it may have involved (naughty) children or perhaps gangsters – or even both.
The bridge to the past, with a view to the future (in the form of the yet to be completed tallest KL building, Merdeka PNB 118 (MenaraWarisan Merdeka).
A sign painter at Kwai Chai Hong.
A recent addition to the area.
Madras Lane – which hosts a old world back lane market.
Tucked away in a corner of Kuala Lumpur’s Chinatown, the Taoist Sin Sze Si Ya temple – KL’s oldest – is always a delight to wander into. This is especially so when trails of joss stick smoke catches the light that streams in through the temple’s skylights.
Age-old wireless comms.
The temple and the area it is found in, lies at the heart of KL and its development into what would become Malaya’s principal urban centre. Founded in KL’s earliest days as a mining settlement in the early 1860s, the devotion to the temple’s chief deities Sin Si Ya (仙师爷) and Sze Si Ya (四师爷) is believed to have contributed to the settlement’s meteoric progress subsequent to the Klang War (1867 to 1873) and the success of one of the temple’s founders Yap Ah Loy – a Hakka-Chinese immigrant who rose to become a successful businessman and KL’s third Kapitan Cina. Yap was a follower of Sin Si Ya both as an earthly being – the deity having been Kapitan Cina Shin Kap of Sungei Ujong (Seremban today) before his elevation into the realm of the gods – and as a divinity.
More on the temple and the veneration of its deities can be found at:
Reminiscent of the five-foot-ways of old Singapore, the cluttered, coloured, and characterful, kaki-kaki lima of old Kuala Lumpur (KL) are a joy to photograph. The sheltered walkways owe their existence to Stamford Raffles’ influence on Lt. Jackson’s Singapore Town Plan of 1822. The stipulation that “all houses constructed of brick or tile should have a uniform type of front, each having a verandah of a certain depth, open at all times as a continuous and covered passage on each side of the street” saw to a certain degree of uniformity in the shophouse dominated pre-war urban centres of Malaya and Singapore. Where Singapore’s shophouses have to a large extent been spruced-up and modernised and have spaces taken up by new-age businesses, many of those found in the towns and cities of what is now Malaysia are still utilised in a manner that tends to be more organic manner (although that seems to be fast changing).
Footway to enlightenment – a five-foot-way along Jalan Tun H S Lee.
I enjoy visiting Kuala Lumpur for a variety of reasons. The Malaysian capital, known by its acronym KL to most, provides me with a sense of having returned home home in a way that home – some 200 miles away in Singapore – is no longer able to do.
An old market in KL.
It would seem strange, if not for the history Malaysia and Singapore shares and perhaps, for the frequent visits I have made to KL since I was a child. In the bits of the past, found in the modern of the bustling metropolis, I especially find joy in. The disorder of their shophouses, the clutter along the five-foot-ways, the colours and smells of old street markets and old coffee shops, are that reminder of the Singapore that I grew to love as a child that I would never otherwise be able to ever see again.
Lunch time at Lai Foong.
An old coffee shop that I remember from my childhood visits to the city, the Kedai Kopi Lai Foong, is one such reminder. An institution in a city in which there is no shortage of such old gems, the 1950s coffee shop seems little changed from the 1970s and is quite reminiscent of the busy urban centre coffee shops of Singapore’s lost past.
Mirror, mirror on the mosaic wall. Mirrors were commonly given as opening gifts at coffee shops in Malaysia. Mosiac or kitchen tiles were commonly used on the walls of coffee shops both in Singapore and Malaysia as they could be easily cleaned and did not require frequent repainting.
Positioned at the corner of Jalan Tun H. S. Lee and Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock, it sits just across Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock from Petaling Street (or Chinatown). That and its proximity to Central Market – now the touristy Pasar Seni, has meant that the coffee shop has long attracted more than its fair share of the local crowd as well as a steady stream of out-of-town visitors. With Tripadvisor now inflating the number of would be visitors, any attempt to seat oneself in the confusion of tables and chairs in the shop’s confines, presents quite a challenge. Any intent to savour some of the coffee shop’s famous fare must now be accompanied by the patience of a saint, some guile, and most of all, a fair bit of luck; all of which I must have had when visited the coffee shop for a bowl of its much-talked about beef noodles back in June.
A scene reminiscent of the coffee shops of old Singapore, with its stalls lining the outer edge of the shop.
A posting I made on Facebook of the bowl of beef noodles invited a comment from a locally based acquaintance, in which a recommendation was made to have the wanton mee at Kedai Makanan Toong Kwoon Chye, another old kopitiam. With its location along Jalan Bukit Bintang also presenting me with an opportunity to reacquaint myself with an area of KL that I had lost touch with, there was enough of a motivation for me to hop on the MRT to Bukit Bintang, just a few days later.
Kedai Makanan Toong Kwoon Chye.
Despite the familiarity I had with the area, I had no impression at all of Toong Kwoon Chye prior to my June visit. I found it quite easily, tucked away in a quiet corner of the street. It might have been the time of the day but even if it was of a similar vintage to Lai Foong, Toong Kwoon Chye couldn’t have been more different. There was absolutely none of Lai Foong’s rush and time, seemed to slow to a standstill, the moment that I stepped into the coffee shop.
Furnished in what may be described as the classical kopitiam style, with marble topped tables and wooden chairs – sans the spittoons of course – Toong Kwoon Chye’s old coffee shop feel was made complete by its counter, even if it was somewhat more modern in looks than one might have expected. Just like any old coffee shop of the good old days, a row of clear-glass jars with red covers stood at one end, half filled with biscuits and other snacks for sale. With so much of a sleepy old out-of-town kopitiam vibe about it, it seemed fitting for me to while the morning away sipping on a cup of coffee and take the time to savour the plate of shredded chicken noodles that I had ordered.
The ebb and flow at Toong Kwoon Chye.
The lazy breakfast put me in the mood for an unhurried stroll, which first took me inside Sungai Wang Plaza. It was one of two interconnected malls from the 1970s I never failed to visit whenever I find myself in the area. The other, which I liked better, was Bukit Bintang Plaza. That has since made way for redevelopment. With little to distract me in Sungai Wang, I decided to continue my stroll outdoors instead and soon found myself retracing footsteps I must have last made some four decades past.
The changing face of Jalan Bukit Bintang – now missing BB Plaza.
The familiarity I had with Bukit Bintang had come out of numerous family holiday stopovers in KL. Holidays abroad in my childhood, with the exception of a visit to Thailand in 1978, invariably meant road trips across the Causeway. KL, a six-hour drive before the North-South Highway made drives a breeze, served as a break-journey point on the road up to more northerly destinations such as Cameron Highlands and Fraser’s Hill (at which the Singapore Government maintained holiday facilities for civil servants). The combination of affordable accommodation, shopping and food in Bukit Bintang, made it a good location to put up in.
Tong Shin Terrace.
One of the things we must have done with sufficient regularity, for me to have remembered them in such vivid detail, were the walks to Chinatown. That took us down Jalan Alor or Tong Shin Terrace, and then west along Jalan Pudu. Both Jalan Alor and Tong Shin Terrace seemed to have retained much of their character, although I am told that Jalan Alor’s well patronised nighttime eateries now cater to quite a different crowd.
I found myself taking a little detour into the area’s back lanes, perhaps in the hope of finding a nasi lemak stall that we had stumbled upon during a June 1979 sojourn in KL. That visit to KL was one to remember for several reasons. It provided me with my first experience as a football spectator outside of Singapore. The match that I caught was also one of huge importance to the Singaporean football fan of the 1970s, the Malaysia Cup final.
The back lanes around Tengkat Tong Shin.
The final, played at KL’s Stadium Merdeka, saw Singapore take on a Selangor team that featured Malaysian footballing legends such as Mokhtar Dahari, R. Arumugam and Santokh Singh. The final that year was significant for the debut of the talented Fandi Ahmad, who was also playing in the competition for the first time. Fandi, then 17, would go on to illuminate the competition in which Malaysian state teams and Singapore featured.
STadium Merdeka today, surrounded by a development that is seeing the rise of Malaysia’s tallest building, a 118-storey tower that will also be the third tallest in the world.
As the match coincided with a trip we were making, we were able to obtain tickets at the stadium when they went on sale. That made it all the more memorable, as it meant that we were seated in a section occupied by the crowd of boisterous home supporters in a match in which controversial 66th minute Selangor goal proved to be a turning point. Mokhtar would add a second to complete a two goal victory for Selangor but all that is another story. What would also make that trip one to be remembered was the joy of discovering nasi lemak at its simplest, served at a makeshift stall.
A courtyard hotel.
There no nasi lemak to be found this time, not at least the manner in which that was served. However, the back lanes yielded several new discoveries. Spruced up and a lot less familiar, they now feature brightly painted wall murals, modern eateries and a very nice looking courtyard hotel.
A back lane eatery.
Back out from the back lanes, it all became familiar once more down Tong Shin Terrace. An old block of flats, which I had always assumed to have been a low-cost housing development, came into view. I therefore was quite surprised to learn with Google’s help that the development, the Blue Boy Mansion, was thought of as a landmark development when it was erected back in 1962.
The Blue Boy Mansion.
Inside the Blue Boy Mansion.
West from from Blue Boy Mansion along Jalan Pudu, just past Tung Shin Hospital was another familiar sight. Now in disguise as the modern looking Pudu Sentral, it was unmistakably Puduraya, for a long while KL’s main bus station. The station now sees just a fraction of the bus services that used to operate out of it. I realised how time has flown by in attempting to recall when I last took a bus out of the station. That was a trip to made in the mid-1990s to Kuala Kubu Bharu to catch another bus up to Fraser’s Hill.
Hitting Pudu Sentral meant that I was closing in on Chinatown. As there was still time to spare, I decided to make my way to Lai Foong in the hope of satisfying an urge I was having for its char kway teow, only to find the stall closed. The disappointment of that, coupled with the rising heat and humid of the mid-June Klang Valley afternoon, made the lure of modern KL – in the form of an air-conditioned mall – hard to resist. I soon found myself in one to cool off and then have a late lunch, before I headed back to Petaling Jaya where I was putting up.
Photographs taken during a walk around the SS2 market in Petaling Jaya. Operating under the shelter of parasols and tarpaulins, the market is one of only a handful of open air wet markets in Petaling Jaya.
The 394 page book, a work of love by its author Mahen Bala, offers a wonderful collection of stories of stations and interactions with them, previously unpublished photographs and maps, as well as a historic look at the southern stretches of the Malayan Railway – between Gemas and Tanjong Pagar.
The book will go on sale in Singapore at Kinokuniya and Select Books in about 2 weeks time. More information on the book can be found at Projek Keretapi Kita.
Cover of Postcards from the South.
Bukit Timah Railway Station and one of its last Station Masters, Atan Ahmad (image : Projek Keretapi Kita).
Tanjong Pagar Railway Station (image: Projek Keretapi Kita).
I love wandering around the “kaki lima” or five-foot-ways of old Kuala Lumpur. Full of life and character, they remind me of the lively and colourful five-foot-ways of the Singapore of my younger days.
The corridors are found along the Malaysian capital’s many old shophouses. Seen also in most towns and cities across Malaysia and also in Singapore, the five-foot-ways (not necessary five feet wide) trace their existence to the Jackson (Singapore) Town Plan of 1822. The plan, which Raffles had a hand in, required that “all houses constructed of brick or tile should have a uniform type of front, each having a verandah of a certain depth, open at all times as a continuous and covered passage on each side of the street”.
There is always and element of romance connected with train journeys, especially the leisurely paced journeys of the past with which one can take in the magical scenes along the way that one can only get from railway journeys. LIFE Magazine’s Carl Mydans, a legendary photograph whose work spans several decades and includes an extensive coverage of Singapore prior to the war (see “A glimpse of Singapore in 1941, the year before the darkness fell“), took one such journey out of an independent Singapore some 3 decades later, capturing a Singapore we can no longer see but through photographs of the era. The set, also includes scenes along the journey to Bangkok, along with those captured at stopovers made in West Malaysia’s main urban centres.
The photographs of Singapore are particularly interesting. There are some of the old harbour, and quite a few of the twakow decorated Singapore River along which much of Singapore’s trade passed through. There are also several street scenes, once familiar to us in the area of North Bridge Road. A couple of quite rare shots were also taken at Tanjong Pagar Railway Station including one showing a steam locomotive of a 1940s vintage, which the Malayan Railway operated until the early 1970s. There are also images of the steam locos captured during the journey.
The photographs of West Malaysia are also interesting. The replacement of rubber trees with oil palm as a crop, which had been taking place in parts of the peninsula from the 1960s to reduce Malaysia’s reliance on rubber and tin was in evidence. This is something that I well remember from the road trips to Malaysia of my early childhood. Another familiar scene from those trips were of the padi fields, which the trunk road passing through Malacca seemed to weave through. This is something Mr. Mydans also seemed to have captured quite a fair bit of.
The departure platform at Tanjong Pagar Railway Station with a prewar relic of a steam locomotive.
Malaysian Customs Inspection at the Departure Platform.
The Supreme Court and the Padang.
Hock Lam Street.
Corner of Hock Lam Street and North Bridge Road.
North Bridge Road.
The old harbour (Marina Bay today)
View of Clifford Pier and the Inner Road, and Outer Roads beyond the Detached Mole. The view today would be towards Marina Bay Sands and Marina South.
Another view of the harbour – where Marina Bay Sands and Marina South is today. The Harbour Division of the Preventive Branch of the Department of Customs and Excise (Customs House today) can be seen at the lower right hand corner.
A rainbow over the harbour.
Boat Quay and the Singapore River
Walking the plank. Coolies loaded and unloaded twakows by balancing items that were often bulkier than their tiny frames over narrow and rather flimsy planks that connected the boats to the quayside.
A view of the stepped sides of the river around where Central is today.
Boat Quay.
Coolies sliding crates that were too bulky and heavy along the plank.
Lorry cranes were sometimes used instead.
But more often than not manual labour was used.
A view of the “belly of the carp”.
The Journey North
(with stops in Malacca, Kuala Lumpur, Penang and Bangkok)
A steam locomotive at what looks like Gemas Railway Station.
More steam locomotives (at Gemas?).
Inside the train cabin.
Train along a shunt line.
Rubber estates and rubber tappers were a common sight – even along the roads up north.
So were water buffaloes and padi fields.
Padi field.
Another view of a padi field.
Oil palms taking root. A drive to reduce Malaysia’s dependence on rubber and tin from the 1960s would see oil palms colour a landscape once dominated by rubber trees.
Another cabin view.
A break in the journey – a view of the Stadthuys Malacca.
Jalan Kota in Malacca.
View of the Malacca River.
The Arthur Benison Hubback designed (old) KL Railway Station .
Another view of the south end of the KL Railway Station – with a view also of the KL Railway Administration Building.
A southward view down Jalan Sultan Hishamuddin (ex Victory Avenue) with the KL Railway Station on the left and the KL Railway Administration Building on the right, also designed by Arthur Bennison Hubback.
The Railway Administration Building and Masjid Negara.
A view down Jalan Raja in KL with the BagunanSultan Abdul Samad on the left.
Another view down Jalan Raja in KL with the BagunanSultan Abdul Samad on the left and Dataran Merdeka on the right.
Sungai Siput Railway Station.
The Penang Ferry from Butterworth.
A view of Butterworth.
George Town – with a view towards the clan jetties.
The Kek Lok Si Temple in Penang.
Air Itam and the Kek Lok Si Temple in Penang.
What looks like the Leong San Tong in the Khoo Kongsi in George Town.
I’ve always enjoyed a bowl of laksa. The dish, which has an amazing range of equally delectable localised variations, brings great comfort and joy to many in Malaysia, parts of Indonesia and Singapore. There is perhaps no other dish that can so strongly be identified with a locality. In its very basic form, laksa is a vermicelli like noodle in a broth. While it can be said that it is in the countless variations of this broth, tempered by the influences of over a century, that has provided the various forms of the dish with its local flavour; its origins as a dish, how it morphed into what we see of it today, and even its rather strange sounding name, is a source of great puzzlement.
Singapore Laksa
One suggestion of how laksa got its name that has gained popularity is that it was derived from a similar sounding Sanskrit word for a hundred thousand. This, it is said, is an allusion perhaps to the multitude of ingredients that go into making the various forms of its broth the celebration of flavours that they are. I am however inclined to take the side of the suggestion that the wonderful encyclopedia of the world’s culinary delights, the Oxford Companion to Food, offers. That has the word laksa being Persian in origin. Lakhsha meaning “slippery” in old Persian, was apparently also used to describe noodles, which the book also credits the Persians with the invention of.
Sarawak Laksa
That latter suggestion will no doubt spark endless debate. There seems however to be evidence to support the assertion such as in the many noodle type dishes that are found spread across the Middle East, Central Asia and Europe – all with names that all sound very much like lakhsha. Examples of this are the Russian lapsha, the Uyghur laghman, the Jewish lokshen, the Afghan lakhchak, the Lithunian Lakštiniai,and the Ukrainian lokshina. The Italian sheet pasta dish, Lasagne, also sounds uncannily similar to old Persian for noodles.
Lokshen (photo: Danny Nicholson on Flickr CC BY-ND 2.0).
As with the variants of the Near East, Lakhsha seems to have become a similiar sounding laksa in this part of the world. Early Malay-English dictionaries, such as one published by R. J. Wilkinson in 1901, have laksa both as the word for ten thousand, as well as for a “vermicelli” – ascribing the latter’s origins to the same Persian word. The use of the word as such is seen in several of the news articles of the day. One report, in the Malayan Saturday Post of 29 December 1928, shows how “Chinese Laksa” was then made, through a series of four photographs. As a word to describe a type of noodles, laksa is in fact very much still in use in places such as the Riau Archipelago. There, “lakse” or “laksa”, is taken as a noodle of a similar appearance to the laksa we find here made from the staple of the islands, sago.
R. J. Wilkinson’s “A Malay-English Dictionary” describes the word “laksa” both as a word for ten-thousand as well as for a kind of vermicelli.
There also are early descriptions of how that laksa may have been prepared in the press. One, found in a 1912 report on hawker fare in The Singapore Free Press and Mercantile Advertiser, describes what seems to be quite a different dish from the one we are now familiar with:
A familiar dish with the Chinese coolie and Straits school-boy is “laksa”. The vendor of this compound, vermicelli, “rats’ ears” (mush-rooms), and other things in a kind of soup, shouts out every now and then “Laksa a wun!” and many who taste it declare that it is A1.
Lakse or laksa, describes these noodles made from sago in Pulau Singkep in the Lingga group of islands in the Riau Archipelago.
One of the many ways in which laksa is served on Pulau Singkep is with a fish broth and sambal.
A poem, penned in 1931 by a prominent personality Mr. Seow Poh Leng – a Municipal Commissioner and a champion of hawkers’ rights – provides an idea of how the dish had by the 1930s, started to evolve. An attempt to draw attention to the difficulties street hawkers faced, the verse also describes how a dough of ground rice became “lumps of tiny snow-white coils” when boiled and which was then “served with tasty gravy and a pinch of fragrant spice”. Published in the Malayan Saturday Post of 16 May 1931, the piece was the writer’s response to the death of a laksa vendor. The vendor had taken his own life after several run ins with the Municipal authorities that deprived him of his livelihood.
Laska Siam, served at another popular Penang laksa stall, this one at Balik Pulau.
By the 1950s, laksa as a dish, seemed to have already taken on several distinct styles. A 1951 article in The Singapore Free Press, “Let’s talk about food”, mentions two types of “Siamese” laksa: one sweet and one hot and sour, along with a “Nonya” laksa. The two variants of “Siamese” laksa are again mentioned in a 1953 Singapore Free Press article on food in Penang. The sour type “Siamese” laksa identified is perhaps the predecessor to the Penang or asam (or assam) laksa dish of today as another 1951 report, this time in The Straits Times on Penang, seems to confirm. The article draws attention to one of Penang’s attractions, Ayer Itam (now spelled Air Itam), to which the young and old would walk six miles or brave a ride on a crowded bus to. Ayer Itam, is identified as “the village with the famous Kek Lok Si”, and (a seemingly already popular) “Siamese” laksa (Air Itam is a location many in Penang flock to today for asam laksa).
A bowl of Penang or Asam Laksa.
Another version of Asam Laksa from Madras Lane in Kuala Lumpur.
What we can perhaps surmise from all of this information is that despite its shared name, laksa in its many variations are really different dishes. Built on an otherwise tasteless base of rice or sago vermicelli or a noodle substitute, how its various forms of laksa have been flavoured to excite the palate, says much about the invention and the creativity of the region’s pioneering food vendors.
Variation on a theme, Laksa Goreng (Fried Laksa), Peranakan style.
Lakse Goreng topped with crushed ikan bilis from Pulau Singkep.
A Hawker’s Lament by Seow Poh Leng (Malayan Saturday Post, 16 May 1931, Page 18)
We came from far Cathay, the land of old renown, A livelihood to seek in this far-famed town. My parents they are old but still must toil each day My father selling bean-curds, my mother selling “kway”. We left our home and kin to this far distant shore; And promised to return to see them all once more, To share with them and theirs what little we have made By dint of patient toil, by means of honest trade.
By four o’clock each morning when you are all abed The ‘laksa’ I’m preparing that people may be fed I grind some rice to powder and knead it to a dough Then press it through a sieve to a boiling pot below. This stringy mass of flour which hardens as it boils Is made up into lumps of tiny snow-white coils; Then served with tasty gravy and a pinch of fragrant spice My ‘laksa’ finds more favour than the ordinary rice.
In woven bamboo basket made up in several tiers Are placed my tooth-some wares and the necessary gears. In a gourd-shaped earthen vessel the ‘laksa’ simmers low, All day aboiling gently on charcoal burning slow. From street to street I wander, my pace a steady trot, And bear my loaded basket as well as the steaming pot. The noon day trade I seek and may with luck—oh rare ! Avoid the stern police who ask a certain share.
These guardians of the law with lynx eyes watch for me, And more than do their duty unless I pay a ” fee.” They see that I comply with what the by-laws state; That is, whatever happens, I must itinerate. Sometimes from sheer fatigue I pause some breath to take, To dry my streaming sweat, to ease the limbs that ache; And then the “Mata-mata” finds me resting there, And forthwith to the Court I must with him repair.
And once – alas the thought! – in prison cell I lay. The fine imposed on me was more than I could pay. What use is there for me this arduous life to lead? My humble cries for mercy receive but scanty heed. By ceaseless toil I tried an honest life to lead. If I the “tips” forget, the traffic I impede. And for such bogus crime there is no other way – Before the Court I’m brought and straightway made to pay.
I’ve plied my trade from childhood, the profits have been small, Yet I would quit right gladly for any work at all, Seek work at any distance – if only work there be Without the constant harass and the unofficial fee. A rickshaw puller – aye the “totee’s” job I’ll do. I’ll go to Malacca, I’ll go to Trengganu. Alack! my quest is vain, my faintest hope is gone; My limbs they are weary, my heart with sorrow torn.
Good-bye the M.H.O., my last farewell to thee! Good-bye to all M.C.’s, good-bye the I.G.P.! You wish me back to China, you want me off the street; Posterity shall know I die your wish to meet! Not satisfied with fines the Magistrates impose The dreary prison cell must add to hawkers’ woes. My goods and property you wish to confiscate? But here you will not win—the law will come too late!
Good-bye my parents dear, good-bye my kith and kin! Think not the step I take a very grievous sin. Right well I am aware of honour due to you; And thank you from my heart for lessons wise and true. To comfort your old age my level best I’ve tried. My efforts seem in vain, the cruel fates decide. I cannot stoop to crime and slur the family name, So drink this portion dark, preferring death to shame.
A variation on a theme. Lokshen kugel, an Ashkenazi Jewish pudding or casserole, commonly made from egg noodles. Wally Gobetz on Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0).
Hidden in the vegetation on a knoll just by the Tanjung Pengelih Jetty in Pengerang is the little that remains of a 6″ gun battery that was set up for the defence of Singapore in the 1930s. The battery was one of several that came under the Changi Command. Positioned at the southeastern tip of the Malay Peninsula, the battery, along with others at Pulau Tekong and Changi, protected the eastern approach to the Straits of Johor and thus the Naval and Air Bases constructed up the strait at Seletar. All that now seems left of the battery – the guns were destroyed by the British just before Singapore fell, at least from their accessibility to the public, are the positions where Defence Electric Lights or DEL’s were placed.
Structures belonging to a DEL position at Tanjung Pengelih in Pengerang.
One of the DEL positions, with part of its roof collapsed.
DEL’s, powerful searchlights, supplemented coastal artillery. They could be used to search for and pick out targets, a practice that apparently had been used by the Royal Artillery since the late 1800s. These searchlights would be mounted in fortified positions closer to the coast and housed in concrete emplacements . Essential electrical power would be provided by generators housed in well-protected engine rooms, often built deep into the terrain.
A view from the inside of the DEL emplacement.
Singapore’s Defences, 1937 (source: Between 2 Oceans (2nd Edn): A Military History of Singapore from 1275 to 1971 by Malcolm H. Murfett, John Miksic, Brian Farell, Chiang Ming Shun).
Such would have been the case with the searchlight positions in Pengerang. Its remnants include both searchlight emplacements and an engine room, as well as supporting infrastructure such as accommodation blocks and storage rooms. These are all placed on the small hill that lies in the shadow of Bukit Pengerang or Johore Hill, on which the two 6″ guns of the battery were positioned.
An extract from a 1935 map showing positions or intended positions of Defence Electric Lights at the eastern entrance to the Straits of Johor (including those at Pengerang) and their coverage (National Archives of Singapore online).
An observation post above the DEL emplacement.
I managed to join a visit to the site over the weekend orgainsed by a grouping of urban exploration enthusiasts who collectively brand themselves as the Temasek Rural Exploring Enthusiasts or TREE. For the visit, the group had tied up with guides and representatives from several Malaysian organisations and groups. These were the Muzium Tentera Darat (Army Museum) in Port Dickson, the Yayasan Warisan Johor (Johor Heritage Foundation), the Malaya Heritage Group and the Jabatan Warisan Negara (National Heritage Department). We were also joined by a Soko Jampasri, a Japanese researcher who is based in Bangkok. Soko brought with her a Japanese military account of the war, contained in a book published by the now defunct Imperial Japanese Army Academy.
Kapten Zuraiman of Muzium Tentera Darat.
Information provided by Kapten Muhd Zuraiman Abd Ghani of the Muzium Tentera Darat as well as members of the Yayasan Warisan Johor (Johor Heritage Foundation) and the Malaya Heritage Group, point to Pengerang, a remote and isolated corner of the Malay Peninsula, being among the last positions in Malaya to have been surrendered to the Japanese Imperial Army. The army’s arrival coming a week or so after Singapore’s 15 February 1942 fall and this allowed several members of the forces based there to attempt an escape to Batam, where they were to be rounded up by the Japanese. Those that remained at Pengerang were captured and sent over to Changi.
Soko Jampasri, the Japanese researcher and Zafrani Arifin from the Malay Heritage Group.
Zafrani showing a map of the Japanese invasion of Singapore from Soko’s book.
There was a little uncertainty if the guns at the position were fired at all in anger. Information provided in the Karl Hack and Kevin Blackburn’s “Did Singapore have to fall? Churchill and the impregnable fortress” point to them being used to fire at a junk on 11 February 1942. The guns might not have been used again and were destroyed on 14 February 1942 along with those at Sajahat, Ladang, Calder, Sphinx and Tekong as the loss of Singapore seemed imminent. The gun positions on Bukit Pengerang are now within the confines of the TLDM KD Sultan Ismail, the Naval Base now at Tanjung Pengelih, and it is not known if any traces of their emplacements are still around.
Another observation position,
An accommodation block.
One of the structures that remain is one that greets the eye just around the bend in the road from the jetty – a machine gun pillbox. The pillbox, which is now decorated will Johor state flags and a strange collection of old items, is quite readily accessible and is one that takes me back to the days of my childhood. There were many such pillboxes found across the southern shores of Singapore up to the early 1970s and several at the Changi area, including one at Mata Ikan where I would have the holidays of my early childhood at, served as places of play and adventure despite the strong smell of rotting matter that accompanied an entry into them. Most were removed as the coastline was being pushed out during the reclamation efforts of the 1970s. One that is left, at Labrador Park, now has its openings sealed and there no longer is a possibility of an adventure in them.
The machine gun pillbox by the coast and at the foot of the knoll on which the battery’s searchlights were positioned.
Inside the pillbox.
Several other gun emplacements and positions remain intact, including the publicly accessible No. 1 gun emplacement at the Johore Battery in Changi, now topped by a replica 15″ gun as well some substantial remnants of the Faber Command positions in Blakang Mati. However, what is left now at Pengerang is especially of interest, as it is a reminder that the protection of the garrison island, even if it was to prove ineffective in the entire scheme of things, involved positions outside what we see today as the boundaries of Singapore.
The naval base at Tanjung Pengelih, with Bukit Pengerang in the background.
More photographs of the structures associated with the DEL position:
A water tank.
Another view of the inside of the block.
Nature has taken over some of the spaces.
The corridor of another block.
Inside the block.
A gun post near what appears to be a cookhouse.
A wash basin.
Chimneys and what was a stove.
The entrance to the Engine Room built into the knoll.
An escape shaft from the Engine Room.
A trunk in the Engine Room.
A more recent addition, a Yeo’s soft drink bottle next to the structure intended to support the generators.
More trunks.
A tunnel.
Further information on the Pengerang Battery and the Coastal Defences of Singapore:
FortSiloso.com, on which its author, Peter Stubbs, has put up a most comprehensive set of information on the Coastal Defences of Singapore
The business of charcoal making, which in the region makes use of wood from the abundant mangrove forests, has long ceased in Singapore. The last factory, on the evidence of a 1972 Straits Times article, was possibly on Pulau Tekong and it only is in some of our neighbouring countries that the production of what some may consider to be black gold can be found.
The charcoal factory at Kuala Sepetang.
One production centre that I had the opportunity to visit is the factory at Kuala Sepetang, located along the northern Perak coastline, just 15 kilometres from the charming old mining town of Taiping. The factory, operated by a Mr. Chuah Chow Aun, has a reputation for the best charcoal in Asia and does a thriving trade in meeting the demand from the large Japanese market.
Charcoal kilns, the contruction knowhow of which interestingly, was brought in by the Japanese during the war. The logs with barks stripped from them, are ready for the kilns.
The factory is well worth a visit just for the setting it finds itself in. Its long zinc roofed wooden sheds against which stacks of bakau wood logs are arranged, against the backdrop of the beautiful Matang mangrove forest on the banks of the Sungai Kapal Changkol, makes the scene it presents one that somehow looks like one that could well belong in a good old Western movie.
Another view of the factory. Logs are stripped of their barks in the area where they are unloaded from boats that bring them in from the nearby mangrove forest.
The sheds are where the main process of turning the wood is carried out. In them one finds rows of smoking kilns, in which the wood is heated and not, as is popularly believed, burnt, with the aim of removing water – which makes up the bulk of its weight when harvested, from the logs. It is a long, tedious and rather labour intensive process that is employed, which starts with the unloading of logs harvested primarily from 30 year old bakau minyak (Rhizophora apiculata) trees for which a sapling is planted for every tree that is harvested. The logs, which measure up to 5 inches in diameter, are prepared for the kilns by stripping their barks before they are stacked against the kilns before being moved in.
Logs of various diameters.
I was rather surprised to hear that it was in fact the Japanese that brought in the charcoal making techniques that are employed at Kuala Sepetang during the occupation. This process, involves the heating of the kilns – in which logs are positioned vertically on blocks of clay to keep them off the ground before the opening is reduced sufficiently in size to serve as a firing box, for a period of about 10 days. At this stage the temperature within the kilns is raised about 85° C. After this comes a second stage of heating for which the opening is reduced further, for another 12 days during which temperatures are raised to about 220° C. The kiln is left to cool for another week or so before the cured wood can be taken out.
A kiln opening, through which logs are moved into the kiln.
An example of how logs are vertically arranged and the clay blocks on which they are made to stand on.
The first stage during with a larger opening is maintained at the firing box.
Experience plays an important part in the process and is monitored only through observation of the vapour that billows out of an opening in the kiln. From 1500 logs or about 40 to 50 tonnes of wood that is placed in the kilns before the start of firing, only 10 tonnes of is left as charcoal – the rest of the weight having been expelled as vapour. The vapour however does not go to waste and is in its condensed form, sold as mangrove wood vinegar, which is said to repel mosquitoes and cure common skin problems.
The opening is reduced during the second stage.
A kiln in use.
The factory, Khay Hor Holdings Sdn. Bhd. or more commonly referred to as the Kuala Sepetang Charcoal Factory, is open for visits. Arrangements can be made for guided tours by contacting Mr. Chuah at +60 12 5739563. More information is available at the Kuala Sepetang Charcoal Factory Facebook Page and at this link: The Charcoal Factory.
Vapour coming out of a kiln – the vapour, which is used to monitor the process , is collected and sold in its condense form as mangrove wood vinegar.
I was reminded of the charcoal shop, a sight I would come across every now and again in my childhood, when I stumbled upon one on the old streets of Ipoh about five years ago.
Occupying the ground unit of an old shophouse and with walls and floors darkened in varying degrees by carbon dust, the shop bore many similarities with the ones that I remember; the only clues of the time and the place were in the more modern looking implements used to sort, weigh and pack the charcoal and the sacks and bags that the charcoal was being packed into.
The charcoal shop, this one spotted in Ipoh in late 2010, was once a common sight in Singapore. The shop has since stopped operating.
Shops such these were commonplace in days when charcoal fired just about anything. From stoves and clothing irons in homes, to the ovens and furnaces of commercial establishments, the reach of charcoal then exceeded beyond that of gas and electricity. Demand fell with resettlement and redevelopment, electricity and gas were more suited for use in the public housing units the population was being moved into, and the use of charcoal was reduced to the occasional barbecue, and to the rare occasions when the charcoal stove would be dusted off for the making of festive snacks. From a high of 300 shops, the numbers were reduced to about a hundred by the time 1980 had arrived. Those that did survive, were to disappear over the two decades that followed.
The shop’s interior.
Besides the supply of charcoal for domestic use, trade in charcoal in Singapore also extended to a thriving import and export business. Based initially in the Rochor area, the trade moved to Kampong Arang at Tanjong Rhu when Nicoll Highway and the Merdeka Bridge were built. With the clean-up of the Kallang Basin reaching their final stages in the late 1980s, the trade was to be moved once again, this time to Lorong Halus (more information: The curious ridge of sand which runs from Katong to Kallang Bay).
Little remains of the charcoal trade today. Like many of the trades that added life and colour to our world, it has since been replaced by the grey of the economy of the new age; remembered only by a few, whose memories will soon fade.
A veritable feast of colour awaits the visitor to Sekinchan. A seemingly laid back town along the northern Selangor coast, it has, in the time since it featured in the 2011 TV series “The Seeds of Life”, become popular as a destination for an excursion with the Malaysian capital Kuala Lumpur less than an hour and a half’s drive away. Set in the midst of vibrant green paddy fields and boasting of a riverine harbour painted by a substantial fleet of fishing boats, wooden jetties and the river’s brown, almost purple waters, Sekinchan is a destination that is especially popular with photographers.
The river mouth near Pantai Redang, Sekinchan
There are two very distinct sides to Sekinchan, each set on either side of Malaysian Federal Route 5. The main thoroughfare that brings the busloads of visitors into the town, also divides it into a landward side on the east in which most of the town’s agricultural activities take place, and a seaward side in the west where its harbour and its fishing related activities are concentrated in. The rather picturesque paddy fields in the east, said to be among the highest yielding in the country, are also amongst the country’s most photographed.
The paddy fields.
Another view of the paddy fields.
More paddy fields.
A wooden bridge over an irrigation canal.
The western side, with its crowd of boats and jetties in what is known locally as Ang Mo Kang or Red Hair Harbour, also provides many opportunities for the photographer, as does the nearby Pantai Redang (Redang Beach). It is just south of Pantai Redang that the river which plays host to the fishing harbour spills into the sea, providing the observer with a seascape at low tide coloured by a rare mix of hues: the purple of the river, the mud brown of the tidal flats, the grey of the shallow waters of the sea, all against the blue of the sky.
The fishing harbour.
The purple stream spilling into the sea close to Pantai Redang.
Fish being sorted out.
Pantai Redang, is also where the colour red features rather prominently. It is where the wishing tree stands, painted almost red by thousands of ribbons on the hopes and wishes of many have been penned. In the shadow of the tree stands the equally red Datuk Kong (拿督公) temple from which one can obtain the weighted red ribbons that must be thrown up to the tree after one’s wishes are inscribed.
The wishing tree at Pantai Redang.
The Datuk Kong temple.
A window into the Datuk Kong temple.
Besides the many attractions (there are many more) the visitor should pay a visit to – should one have the time, a visit to one of the many seafood restaurants in town offering the freshest of catches for a meal is a must before hitting the road. A quick visit to the old parts of town on the eastern side is also recommended for its quaint looking shops, as is a stop at one of the fruit stalls lining the road out of town for what must surely be Sekinchan’s best offering – its sweet and extremely juicy large green mangoes.
A seafood restaurant.
A shopfront in the old town.
An old kopitiam.
A temple.
Fruits on display at a roadside fruit stall – fruits – especially the delicious huge juicy mangoes seen on the top, are recommended buys from Sekinchan.
I love a wander around the streets of the Malaysian capital, Kuala Lumpur. KL, as the city is fondly referred to, not unlike Singapore, has seen an incredible transformation over the last three decades. But unlike Singapore, which has discarded much of what that made it what it was, KL has retained pockets of of the old world; a world that gives me that sense of familiarity that is missing from the streets of the city I spent most of my life in.
One area I am particularly fond of taking a stroll through is in the part of KL around Petaling Street. Much about it has changed – and is still changing, in its back lanes and kaki-kaki-lima (five-foot-ways) I am able to find enough familiar to me from my excursions to it of two and a half decades past. Still around are the busy places of worship and the old but now shrinking back lane wet market and familiar food-stalls at Madras Lane. The old shophouses along Jalan Sultan are also still there, although some of the trades found in them – such as an old denture workshop, seemed in the two years since I last visited the street, to have closed for good.
A peek into the late 19th century Kuan Ti temple at Jalan Tun H S Lee.
A five-foot-way along Jalan Tun H S Lee.
The front of an old pet bird shop along Jalan Sultan.
Kneading dough at a back lane pau stall.
A back lane kopitiam (coffee shop) at a back lane flea market, Pasar Karat.
The back lane wet market at Madras Lane.
The well-known Four-Eyed (bespectacled) One – Sze Ngan Chye roast duck cart along Petaling Street.
Slaughtered birds at a live chicken stall at the wet market.
KL favourites in a back lane – the Madras Lane Yong Tau Foo and Laska stalls.
The recent news relating to the introduction of Vehicle Entry Permits (VEP) for Singapore registered private vehicles entering Malaysia, brings to mind the VEP in its previous form. A requirement in force from 1 May 1967, in the same year that full immigration controls at the two previously unified countries’ only land crossing point, the VEP was issued free and took the form of a paper disc. Much like a road tax disc and similarly sized, the disc, commonly referred to as the “White Disc” was to be displayed on the windscreen. The initial intention of implementing the VEP was to stem a loss of revenue due to Malaysian based motorists using Singapore registered vehicles permanently in West Malaysia to take advantage of the then lower road taxes in Singapore.
The “White Disc” (posted by Victor Tang on Facebook Group “On a Little Street in Singapore”).
Most motorists from the era will remember the effort that was required just to obtain the VEP, which after December 1973, had a its validity limited to 14 days from the previous 6 to 12 month validity. This required a visit to the Malaysian Registrar of Motor Vehicles’ Office, which was at a colonial bungalow at Holland Park off Queensway (the entrance to it was at Queensway – somewhere around where the crest of the hill, just past the Commonwealth Crescent area in the direction of Holland Road), and a good amount of patience as queues for the VEP were notoriously long – especially during the holiday season (the VEPs issued per day ran into the thousands).
The VEP was eventually scrapped from 1 May 1986 and for close to three decades, Singapore registered vehicles could enter Malaysia for up to 90 days a year without the need for a permit. The new VEP requirements take effect from 1 September 2015, which requires vehicles to be registered through the Malaysian Road Transport Department’s website. Along with the VEP, Singapore registered vehicles would be required to pay a RM20 fee per entry, which based on current information, will take effect from 1 October 2015.
The mention of Tuas, a far flung location in the west of Singapore, conjures up an image of its bleak and rather uninspiring industrial landscape, a patchwork of dull and faceless buildings within which much of Singapore manufacturing output is produced. It would have been a very different Tuas that would have come to mind a little more that a generation ago, a Tuas that for those who express little sentiment for its then untamed shores, would have seemed wild, inaccessible and unproductive; a tangle of mangrove lined tidal inlets and muddy seashores.
The shores of the wild west today.
The sea at the far west (National Archives of Singapore).
Wild as it was, it was not without human habitation. Access to the far west certainly was possible, requiring a drive along the long Jurong Road that wound through a rather lonely part of Singapore. The drive would end at the mouth of the Sungei Tuas estuary, the furthest west one could possible head to for a while on a public metalled road. It lay just beyond the road’s 18th milestone and brought with it the promise of seafood at what was the fishing village of Tuas to all who dared to venture.
Tuas Village, 1970. [This digital copy (c) National Library Board Singapore 2008. The original work (c) Tan Marilyn].
That reward, would of course only be made possible to those who not only had to endure what seemed an endless journey, but also brave enough; there were parts of the drive that especially on the after dinner journey in the dark, would not have been ones appreciated by the fainthearted. One particular stretch was at the road’s 13th milestone, just before one came to Hong Kah Village on the return journey, had been the source of many a tale of horror. That was where the gravestones of the Bulim cemetery close to the edge of the road, in the glare of the vehicle’s headlamps, would seem to reach out to anyone passing.
The reward just beyond the 18th milestone of the long and winding Jurong Road – the restaurant is still in existence in a location close to where it originall was (National Archives of Singapore).
It is a different set of horrors that await the visitor on the journey to the Tuas of today; the roads now far from lonely. Much of what we refer to Tuas today lies west of where the village had been, on land that has come out of the sea. This includes the “hockey stick” – a huge southward projection of land to the south part of which will host the future Tuas mega-port. Tuas, at its north-western corner, is also where the Second Link is located, carrying vehicles over to Malaysia, from what had been Tanjong Karang.
A lone mangrove tree within sight of the Second Link.
It is just south of Tanjong Karang where a small reminder of the previously wild west can be found (discounting the vast coastline of the Live Firing Area to its north from which our eyes have been shielded), although it lies out of sight to most of us beyond one of the ugly security fences that kills and deprives of any joys we can still derive from the seashore.
Life where one may not expect it.
The intertidal region that exists, reaches out to the Merwang Beacon. It includes a naturally occurring extension of a much altered shoreline plus perhaps, a small remnant of what could be the original foreshore. It was at this point that the western tip of the island of Singapore in its unaltered state had been at Tanjong Merawang. Around the beacon, and also in the area just north of it where a small cluster of mangroves can be found, we are able to discover that there is still a small celebration of what might have been (see Ria Tan’s post on the visit made on 23 Dec 2014: Return to Tuas Merawang Beacon).
The intertidal zone at Tanjong Merawang looking out towards Merawang Beacon and Pulau Merambong.
A celebration above the sea that the shore also offers, is a perspective of the western end of the Singapore Strait. On a clear day, parts of Singapore, Malaysia and Indonesia can be seen, with the view southwest extending to the Indonesian Karimun Islands. That lies far beyond the Malaysian island of Pulau Merambong in the foreground. It would be interesting to note that the waters around Merambong is home to Malaysia’s largest intertidal seagrass meadow. And, in it, the country’s largest concentration of seahorses is said to be found.
The coastline of the far west of Singapore as seen in a 1927 map.
This is unfortunately, under threat (see: Seagrass meadow in danger, The Star, 24 Mar 2014). Concerns raised on the impact that an ill-conceived and highly controversial luxury development project, Forest City, which will see four huge islands rise out of the waters close to Pulau Merambong, will have, include the threat it may pose to the rich marine life in the waters that surrounds the island. What that will do to what is left of the wild west of Singapore, already decimated by the developments closer to it, time will only tell.
Together with 9 other bloggers and thanks to Tigerair Philippines and the Philippine Department of Tourism, I found myself on a dream trip to Boracay in July 2013. Read about the fantastic experience I had at Boracay Island Escapade or on my blog.
Courtesy of the Hong Kong Tourism Board (HKTB), I had the opportunity to have a 4 day adventure in Hong Kong with 9 other bloggers. To read our collective Hong Kong Travel Blog entries, please click on the icon below:
![Tuas Village, 1970. [This digital copy (c) National Library Board Singapore 2008. The original work (c) Tan Marilyn].](https://thelongnwindingroad.files.wordpress.com/2015/01/tuas.jpg)
The Long and Winding Road 