— The ferry ride takes less than ten minutes, but it feels like a journey back half a century. As the sleek skyline of Marina Bay shrinks into a hazy mirage behind you, the air changes. The diesel fumes of the bumboats mix with the scent of salt and damp earth. Ahead, a green hulk rises from the strait: Pulau Ubin, Singapore’s forgotten island.
For now, however, the island endures. As dusk falls, the shophouses in Ubin Village light up with kerosene lamps. A group of backpackers from Europe share a table of ikan bakar (grilled fish) and coconut water. A Chinese uncle plays a scratchy Hokkien ballad on a transistor radio. A hornbill—black and yellow, prehistoric-looking—perches on a power line, watching. singapore pulau ubin
"Singapore sacrificed its mangroves and reefs for development," says , a nature guide who has led walks here for eight years. "Chek Jawa is our apology letter to nature. And Ubin is the last chapter." The Ticking Clock The question every visitor eventually asks is: How long will this last? — The ferry ride takes less than ten
"People ask me why I don't move to the mainland," he says, spitting a stream of red betel nut juice onto the dirt. "I say: Why would I? My son is in a HDB flat. He locks his door. He doesn't know his neighbour. Here, my door is always open. The jungle is my air-conditioner." Ahead, a green hulk rises from the strait:
Step off the wooden jetty at Ubin Village, and you’ve left the "Fine City" behind. There are no traffic lights, no air-conditioned malls, no MRT trains rattling beneath your feet. Instead, there is the crunch of laterite gravel, the lazy flap of a stray dog’s tail, and the distant, rhythmic thwack of a parang chopping coconut husks.
The Singapore government has repeatedly promised to "conserve" Ubin for as long as possible. Plans for a "Ubin Park" have been floated. But the island faces existential threats. The population is aging and shrinking. Storms are eroding the coastline. And the mainland is always hungry—for land, for housing, for memory.