It's the time of year when your senses, dulled by a brief festive freeze on all things productive, are subjected to assault. Night borrows the light of day, and proudly displays them in the redoubled force of neon and fluorescent. Sleigh bells ring if you're listening. The closest thing that's glistening is your wife's eye as she stakes out the next festive discount. It's a good time to sell snow to the Eskimos, because everybody's wishing for a white Christmas. They all seemed to know at least one. It was partly in this hope that we planned an outing to the Bay area. There, we waited out the day on Marina Barrage before heading to Christmas Wonderland at Gardens by the Bay after sunset.
Below: The lights of Christmas Wonderland at Gardens by the Bay which we moths were drawn to.
The dream to turn Marina Bay into a reservoir was the late Mr Lee Kuan Yew's. Yet it wasn't always a bay. Once upon a time (not so very long ago, in fact), the Singapore River emptied into the sea. Reclamation efforts since 1969 progressively created the bay it now flows into. The Barrage was the finishing touch that sealed the Marina Bay area off from the sea, turning it into Singapore's fifteenth reservoir. The Barrage also serves to alleviate flooding in the low-lying areas of Chinatown, Jalan Besar and Kallang, draining excess water into the sea in times of heavy rain.
The seamless integration of the barrage into the city's recreational landscape has also seen it become, since its opening in 2008, a firm favourite for Singaporeans looking to enjoy a slice of the outdoors in the heart of the city. The turfed roof of the pumphouse next to the Barrage is the principal recreational space. The grass is typically littered with mats and lounging torsos, and the sky above with kites. Beyond the pumphouse, the entire bay area is ringed by a pleasant path which is frequented by cyclists and joggers alike.
Below (top to bottom): the Marina Barrage, dam, flood control, bridge and jogging track; the panorama from atop the pumphouse, perhaps we could call this the Singapore Swipe.
By the time we got there, however, the trash bag was half-full and curry-stained. The family had already sent two kites into orbit. The weather was perfect - an overcast sky which provided deliciously cool conditions delivered no more than just two droplets of rain. The ominous promise of more to come (it never did) meant there was plenty of running space in between the invisible tethers that bound our paper sputniks to earth.
Below: the turfed roof of the pumphouse sees plenty of action. Most times, only the kites seem to be moving.
We ate, lazed, caught up, ate some more and watched people around us launch all manners of kites into flight. I was surprised by variety of shapes and sizes that could fly. One, shaped like a many-masted galleon, floated briefly in the air each time before plummeting back to ground. Some had long streaming tails like dragons. They unfurled magnificently in full flight, but thrashed unpredictably about like a whiplash when approaching terra firma. Others waited until it got darker before putting up broad-winged kites lined with flashing lights. It was like a scene from Wars of the World.
Below: Red sky at night, a last Sunday delight. Red sky in the morning, Monday mourning.
We left our spot on the lawn just before the sprinklers came on. On the path to Christmas Wonderland trudged the weekly columns of reality-dodging refugees. Much of these made their heavy-footed Monday-bound way towards the Bayfront area, where cars had been parked and buses and trains were to be caught. En route, the overwhelming waft of overpriced food floating out from Satay by the Bay stayed those whose hunger overruled, as it often does, prudence. Christmas Wonderland laid just beyond.
Below: the playground at the children's garden, so if you've never played in the rain...
Memory served as eyes in the evening gloom. It wasn't hard to find the way, for all followed the light like moths. We walked right into the midst of the nightly lights show (we might as well have walked into a wall). When the laser-entranced cameras were at last loosed from hypnosis, the procession around Christmas Wonderland began.
Below: A metaphor of Christmases in our time - a Christmas tree dwarfed by even larger trees, all of them artificial.
Mary always liked her Christmas markets. But the stalls in this one held little interest for us - imported markets meant imported prices. The main draw for us were the spallieras, intricately-carven wooden facades of Italian extraction. These, and the snatches of Christmas songs we managed to catch above the chatter of the crowd, about the only imports we could afford.
Below: The Italian spallieras, lit up like so many anglerfish in the ocean deep.
We were happy to go when we could. Go home, I meant. There was little to see beyond one round of walking. We couldn't complain. After all, we had chosen to come. Like fast food, many of us crave the apparently succulent morsels of Christmas.
Even if these flatter to deceive, we could each at least say, well I've had it.
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