Riding to Unreality

It is breezy; not only could one feel but hear it: the wind chime’s making soft, tinkling sounds, almost surreptitiously, as if it were afraid of intruding upon the silence of the place. From the verandah, the view is one of peaceful serenity. A river runs adjacent to the villa, its flow gentle and calm, beckoning one to leap into it (which I did the second day). Over at the other side of the river, an expanse of trees and grassland completes the picture of tranquility. When a motorbike and a van inconspicuously emerge from one end, one is somewhat surprised by the fact that a dirt track (or perhaps a paved road?) runs through the vast expanse of greenery. Distance provides concealment, but also gives a measure of comfort.

A concrete pillar fence, at waist-level height, separates the garden from the outside area. But it’s an inconsequential barrier. The exterior seems like a natural extension of the villa, merged seamlessly with the veranda and the cozy living hall, all three linked by an invisible passageway of open space, allowing unhindered wind movement. One hardly feels the confines of the garden, which is sparsely but simply adorned. At a corner there is a wooden rocking horse, quaintly charming; a large portrait, painted in melancholy blue hues, hangs on a wooden frame behind it; and next to it sits a sturdy wooden bench. Part of the lawn has been replaced by wooden planks, complementing the furniture and architecture of the villa. The ambience is snugly languorous, a much appreciated fact that doesn’t take long to register in the first-time visitor of the luxurious villa.

I stand on the verandah, letting the breeze caress my face as I admiringly take in the idyllic surroundings. Evening came, and Kenneth and I take a stroll along the pathway that runs alongside the river. There is no brilliant sunset, just a blue evening sky that is fast turning dark. As the river broadens and leads to the marina, two neat rows of stationary yachts and small boats come into view. Against the blue sky and with their reflections gleaming shakily in the water surface, it is a calm and beautiful sight to behold. Each time I find myself in such an environment, where nature abounds, I am filled with an inward peace and elation that is tinged with a certain sense of wistful yearning. Perhaps it is the realization that such moments are transient which evokes these paradoxical feelings, though the joy of being in that moment is never quite diminished. There’s a certain sense of unreality, of being disconnected from the world that you are more accustomed to than the one you now find yourself situated in. Being in a foreign place, with little else to do, I realize, can be a rehabilitative experience.




Early in the morning we had ridden across the causeway to Kota Tinggi, where we had roti prata for breakfast. I had done the same thing a week ago. This one, coming so soon after the last, incurred the displeasure of my Mum, who never liked the idea of my cycling on Malaysian roads. She ought to be comforted to know that Malaysian drivers are generally more friendly and respectful of cyclists as road users, and the roads in the Eastern side (which is where most cyclists ride) have fewer cars. But no, I don’t explain matters, because that will only invite more counter arguments that can’t be rationally retorted. It’s just the nature of all mums which makes one sometimes acquiesce to their demands, or sometimes keep quiet and let (their) ineffectual protests give way to grudging resignation.

I didn’t have any prior expectations of the ride, which I can’t decide whether it was a good or bad thing; for after breakfast, the terrain was hilly all the way to our destination. The gentle but long sloping roads had the three of us pedalling uphill slowly, and even more slowly after we glided down only to climb yet another sloping road. Because I did not know what to expect, I hadn’t any mental preparation but merely kept going, without any sense of dread or anticipation. We were very fortunate, though, that the weather was wonderfully cool for the most time, especially in the early morning; there were abundant clouds shielding us from direct sunlight, otherwise the ride would most certainly have been torturous, what with a killer combination of hilly terrain and blazing heat.

Cycling behind K, it’s amazing how he kept yawning with such rapid consistency, as though he’s a machine made to release explosive yawns every few minutes – yes, every few minutes, the whole morning! “I slept only 4 hours last night,” he would repeat this for the rest of the day, whenever he’s reminded of his incessant yawns. Along the way we met other cyclists, including a group of 30 cyclists who were spread far apart one another. Nearly all of them were from Singapore, and the latter group apparently was a cycling group from Punggol-Yishun. Some of them would most certainly qualify as senior citizens, and Kenneth, himself a veritable ‘Uncle’, called them ‘Senior Uncle’. I was so amused. I told him this is a comforting fact; it means when we are their age we can still cycle like they are now, and that is surely a reassuring prospect.

We were almost despairing when after cycling more than 120km the destination still seemed nowhere in sight. Our butt was aching, wrists hurting, back aching – just about every part of the body is in pain. When we saw the much-anticipated signboard, we were at once filled with hope; but hope soon gave way to helpless resignation as it was another 6km – Kenneth noted the distance at the end – after making a right turn before we finally reached the villa.

Post-ride was very good, not least because we stayed in a wonderful villa at a quiet location. I ate delicious lobsters at Sungei Ringett, had toasted bread with Ya-Kun kaya for breakfast and home-cooked pasta with yummy smoked sausages for lunch. I also watched Elektra, laughing together with the rest at its oh-so-amazing special effects, more hilarious than they are spectacular. Finally, of course, I also took a dip in the cool river and the pool, but not before canoeing with Kenneth down the river, to the marina, where we went between two parallel rows of yachts and boats.

Good things do happen every now and then, and when they do, it’s best to enjoy every moment while they last. I didn’t return to Singapore feeling reluctant to leave the place, because while I was there, I completely enjoyed myself, doing nothing, lounging on the sofa, enjoying the breeze and everything else. If only every post-ride could be similar to this…