Below: Question: what could be more exciting than sunset from your uncle's shoulders? Answer: attempting to steer him by his ears.
This time round was no less surreal. Arrangements-wise, this was once again one of those rarer occasions when I need not lift a finger. Two villas at Montigo Resort in Nongsa were booked for two nights. Mary was so excited she started packing nearly three weeks before the trip (I was a happy on-looker). It meant that on the morning of our departure, we were Batam-bound, uniquely, without book or boot.
Below: A resort holiday in September. Rarity.
If we needed any reminding of Singapore's location at the heart of archipelagic Southeast Asia, the unexpectedly short ferry ride (half an hour) did so. Arriving amidst mangroves in Nongsa, Batam, felt very much like getting to Pulau Ubin, Singaporeans' favourite offshore rustic retreat. But here we crossed an international border, thanks to the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824 (remember that in your history textbooks?) which partitioned the region and laid the territorial foundations for today's Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia.
Montigo Resorts was stretched out along a hillside on the shores of northern Batam. Each three-storey villa came equipped with an infinity pool (the rage in resort architecture these days) and overlooked the sea, perhaps three or four storeys below. We were told that at night the bright lights of Marina Bay Sands could be seen glittering from our villas. But the ongoing haze obscured distant horizons and agglutinated both sea and sky into a single dull and dusty sheet.
Below: The typical vew from a villa at Montigo. Colourful swim rings sold separately.
While admittedly standards of luxury weren't stratospheric, we encountered levels of comfort which we were hardly used to. At check-in there was a welcome drink and a warm towel. Movement to and from the villa (namely to either of the two restaurants on site for meals) was by hired buggy. Breakfast was a bewildering spread of pastry, bread, cereal, both local and the standard Western fare and fruit. The barbeque which we ordered (and paid for, of course) on the first evening came with the full complement of a chef and two serving staff, whose wonderful service denied me the satisfaction of starting my own fire. At mealtimes, the antics of curious sparrows provided welcome relief from blissful inactivity.
Above: The secret lives of sparrows in the main restaurant offered welcome relief from the unthinkingly gratifying cycle of eating, sleeping and zoning out.
Below: Watching the children play at the OLO Kids Club, which I frequently misread as the Old Kids Club. Spot the odd one out.
Below: Life goes on around the resort. The beauty of sunsets were burnished by long hours of inactivity. We couldn't wake up in time for sunrises.
Our most vigorous activity involved chasing after, and being chased by, our nieces and nephew in the villa pool. On our second evening, we roused ourselves sufficiently to take a walk out to the edge of the resort pier. It was low tide, and I was keen to get down to the beach to check out the intertidal pools. In the end, with the steep rocky descent to the shore and three children in tow, we contented ourselves with peering at the pools from the pier above. There, passers-by heard the squeals of city folk at the movement of a tiny algae-encrusted crab.
Above: The villa pool was a very convenient facility. You can tell from the bottommost photograph who was the most excited about it.
Below: On our second evening, we went for a short walk. The steep, rocky descent and three capering children prevented us from exploring the intertidal pools at low tide. But we made do with squinting from the pier and squealing excitedly at very well-concealed crustaceans.
These resorts seemed purposefully designed for its guests to have a real holiday, defined by whether one needed a holiday when it ended. Indeed, we had shelved our cares so successfully - even that of our health - that shortly after we caught a bug.
Aboard the ferry, the Batam coastline faded as quickly into the haze that hung in the air as our memory of the resort. Our time there had been wrought shapeless by its unhurried passage.
