Singapore places

1

Tiong Bahru Plaza isn’t trying to be beautiful, yet it ends up being exactly that — in the way an old song can still surprise you when played through new speakers. The mall stands by the MRT line like someone who has lived long enough to know the value of shade and timing. It doesn’t flash; it hums.

From the property developer’s side, the story reads like a balance sheet written in glass and concrete. Frasers Property knows the numbers: 215,000 square feet, 13 million visitors, a S$90 million facelift. But beyond the calculations, there’s a quiet gamble — that people will always want a familiar anchor in a restless city. The “Jewel Box” makeover in 2015 wasn’t just an aesthetic update; it was a kind of self-respect, a way of saying: I’m still here, and I still matter.

And that’s the thing about Tiong Bahru. The whole neighbourhood feels like a conversation between past and present — the 1930s flats curving with Art Deco grace, the coffee shops perfumed with kaya and butter, the morning cyclists brushing past old air-raid shelters. When the mall arrived in the 1990s, it didn’t erase that rhythm; it folded itself into it, like sugar dissolving into kopi-o.

For visitors, the draw isn’t grandeur — it’s the ordinariness done right. There’s the GV cinema that smells faintly of popcorn and disinfectant, the FairPrice where aunties discuss mango prices like stock traders, and the occasional Uniqlo sale that causes a polite Singaporean stampede. The mall’s magic lies in its scale: small enough to cross in ten minutes, human enough that you might bump into someone you know.

Step outside, and you can walk five minutes to the wet market where the real drama unfolds — the bargaining, the gossip, the fishmongers shouting in three languages. You buy chye sim, then duck back into the air-conditioning to sip bubble tea. That seamless flip between heat and cool, between heritage and modern convenience — that’s the choreography of daily life here.

Of course, the competition gleams. Great World City is up the road, flexing its marble and brands. 100 AM down in Tanjong Pagar preens under its hotel glass. Vivocity is a whole island unto itself. But Tiong Bahru Plaza doesn’t play their game. It doesn’t need tourists or influencers — it has regulars. It has loyalty built on routine, not novelty.

In a city obsessed with the new, that’s its quiet rebellion.

By late afternoon, the light hits the façade just right — gold spilling over the escalators, children’s laughter bouncing off the walls. Outside, an old man rests against the railing, watching buses pull out one by one. The smell of fried bee hoon from the food court floats down the corridor.

And you think: this is Singapore at its most honest — efficient, a little weary, yet stubbornly kind. Tiong Bahru Plaza may not be glamorous, but it belongs. And in a city that keeps reinventing itself, that might just be the rarest luxury of all.

Tiong Bahru Plaza is one of those places in Singapore that never shout for attention. It sits comfortably in its own skin — practical, a little nostalgic, and quietly alive. You don’t go there for glamour; you go because it feels like part of your daily rhythm, like the corner coffee shop that always knows how you take your kopi.

From a developer’s point of view, there’s nothing sentimental about it. Numbers talk louder than memories — foot traffic, rental yields, return on investment. The mall is owned by Frasers Property, with about 215,000 square feet of lettable space and roughly 13 million visitors a year. The 2015 facelift, which cost close to S$90 million, gave it that “Jewel Box” look — glass boxes stacked with light — a smart move to keep it relevant against shinier contenders like Great World City and Vivocity. In property terms, its trump card is the MRT link. Direct access equals constant flow.

Still, this isn’t a mall that can endlessly reinvent itself with wild architecture; Tiong Bahru is too old, too layered for that. You can’t bulldoze character. The planners can only tweak — adjust the tenant mix, add an outdoor plaza, build a playground. The strategy isn’t to compete on spectacle, but to stay indispensable to the community.

The neighbourhood itself tells a longer story. Built in the 1930s as one of Singapore’s earliest public housing estates, Tiong Bahru carries traces of Art Deco softened by tropical air — the curved staircases, the clean horizontal lines, the generosity of space and wind. During the war, there were air-raid shelters; today, there are cafés in restored blocks where avocado toast meets old kopi cups. When the mall opened in 1994, it stood right between two worlds: the market aunties next door and the glass office tower above.

Visitors come for convenience, not for luxury. There’s Golden Village (GV) cinema, Uniqlo, NTUC FairPrice, and the usual food spots. You’ll see kids chasing each other on the escalator landings, retirees reading newspapers at Toast Box, and office workers queuing for their lunch bentos. Tiong Bahru Plaza doesn’t try to impress; it just shows up every day and gets the job done.

But competition is never far. Two stops north sits Great World City, glossier and packed with international brands. Further south, 100 AM and Vivocity pull in the young and the trendy. Tiong Bahru Plaza knows it can’t out-shine them — so it doesn’t try. It plays a different game: reliability, familiarity, comfort. That’s a very Singaporean kind of wisdom — knowing when to hold your ground.

Stand on the rooftop terrace and look over the tiled rooftops of the old estate. The air carries the scent of fish from the wet market and soy from breakfast stalls. The charm of this place lies in that simple blend of the old and the ordinary.

Singapore’s true pulse often hides in such corners — in the breeze between concrete blocks, in a mall that’s neither grand nor fading, just quietly essential. Tiong Bahru Plaza earns its place not through noise or novelty, but through the steady grace of belonging.

好，我們換個角度說。

100AM（念作「One Hundred AM」）是新加坡丹戎巴葛（Tanjong Pagar）一帶的一座購物商場，名字裡的「AM」有雙關意味：一來代表「Amara」——它的開發商 Amara Holdings 的縮寫；二來也有「早晨」（A.M.）的語感，暗示活力與開始。這座商場是 Amara 酒店（Amara Hotel）的一部分，樓上是酒店與辦公室，樓下是購物與餐飲，主打城市上班族和外國遊客的午餐、下班時段人潮。

如果說中峇魯廣場（Tiong Bahru Plaza）是為社區服務的，那 100AM 就像一個商業區裡的精緻補給站。它面積不算大，卻有日式超市 Don Don Donki（驚安殿堂 Don Don Donki），也有不少日本料理店，氣氛比起住宅區的商場要更「都會」一些。

而中峇魯廣場不需要那種喧嘩。它的節奏慢，像在舊屋區裡散步，一邊買菜、一邊喝咖啡。那裡的翻新，不是要追趕誰，而是要讓居民覺得方便又有點新鮮。對開發商來說，這是一種穩定的投資；對遊人來說，這是個不需要刻意計劃的目的地；對競爭者來說，它不是挑戰者，而是一個靜靜存在的參照點。

100AM 的冷調鋼玻璃反光裡，是辦公樓的世界；中峇魯廣場的外牆上，則反射著熟悉的巴剎（wet market）招牌。這就是新加坡最有趣的地方——幾公里之內，城市的兩個靈魂共存：一邊是效率，一邊是人情。

2

Berlayer Creek has the kind of stillness that makes you wonder if the world has forgotten to breathe. Step past the trailhead and the city fades like a dream you can’t quite recall. The air smells of salt and wet roots, the mangrove leaves whisper in a rhythm that doesn’t care for schedules or meetings.

The first locals to greet you are the squirrels — copper-tinged, restless, and acrobatic. They dart between branches as if rehearsing a silent play, their tails flicking like quick brushstrokes. One pauses to stare, bold and unembarrassed, as though you’ve wandered into its living room uninvited.

Further in, the real mischief begins. The long-tailed macaques (Macaca fascicularis) make their appearance like a gang that’s been running this neighbourhood long before the boardwalk was built. They lounge on the rails, watching humans unpack their bottles and bags. A rustle of plastic is all it takes — negotiations commence. They don’t growl or beg; they simply wait for your self-control to crumble.

By mid-afternoon, the sunlight pours through the mangroves like warm honey. A squirrel races along a branch; a macaque stretches lazily, squinting into the glare. Every creature here seems to understand the art of doing just enough and no more.

That’s the quiet magic of Berlayer Creek — a reminder that freedom doesn’t shout; it hums softly beneath the noise of everything else. Here, wildness isn’t an interruption. It’s the point.

柏萊雅溪（Berlayer Creek）這地方，有種讓人誤以為時間漏了一拍的魔力。從林邊的入口踏進去，城市的聲音忽然被抽離，只剩下風吹過紅樹林的沙沙聲。泥灘的氣味、潮水的呼吸、蟬鳴的間奏——一切都有節奏，卻沒有人在指揮。

最先現身的，往往是松鼠。那些小傢伙像練過武功，細尾一甩，從一棵樹縫躍到另一棵的肩膀。毛色在陽光下閃著銅光，連背影都帶著自信。牠們的膽子不小，會停下來盯著你看，一副「你要走哪裡？」的神情，好像整條步道都是牠家的走廊。

等你再往裡走，就會遇見另一群常客——長尾獼猴（Long-tailed Macaque）。牠們的舉止，像一群懂得社會學的流氓，動作慢，眼神卻銳利。看到塑膠袋，立刻警覺；看到香蕉，更是靈活得像政客換立場。牠們不怕人，也不真親近人，只是對人類那點貪心，早已洞若觀火。

午後的光從枝葉間傾瀉下來，松鼠在枝頭玩影子遊戲，猴子蹲在欄杆上曬肚皮。偶爾一陣潮風吹來，紅樹的葉子閃動，整條溪像在呼吸。那一刻，你會覺得自己闖進了別人的生活——一個有規矩，但從不開會的社會。

柏萊雅溪之美，不在於風景，而在於那股若隱若現的野性。牠提醒人，文明再完美，也該留一條縫，讓自由進出。

3

Most people head to Orchard Road with one goal in mind: shop, then shop a little more. But tucked among the bright storefronts is a red brick building that refuses to blend in. MacDonald House sits there with the calm of an elder who has seen far too much to be impressed by a new season’s collection.

The architecture is crisp and orderly, carrying a quiet Georgian confidence. When it opened in 1949 for the Hongkong Shanghai Bank, the entire place ran on full building air conditioning. At that time, cool air was not a given. Walking into a place like that felt as refreshing as sipping a lime drink straight from the fridge, a small luxury that instantly clears the mind.

Its real story, though, comes from 10 March 1965. During the Konfrontasi period, a bomb went off here, shaking the street and leaving a scar that the city learned to carry. The shock of that moment still lingers if you stand long enough by the facade. The traffic and breeze may be gentle today, but the bricks seem to hold their own memory of that afternoon.

The exterior is now protected as a national monument. Keeping an old face in a fast moving city requires intention. New towers rise quickly, yet someone decided this one was worth slowing down for. That choice adds a kind of depth to the streets, a reminder that even in Singapore there are corners where time stretches a little differently.

Most people on Orchard walk right past without lifting their eyes. If you pause and look up, you might notice how the sunlight settles on the stone frames, how the building feels sturdier than the glass around it. In that brief moment, the place gives the street a steadier rhythm, like discovering a quiet pocket in a district better known for noise.

走在烏節路，多數人眼裡只有一條會把信用卡磨薄的長街。可在那些閃亮櫥窗旁，有一棟紅磚安安靜靜站著。麥唐納大廈(MacDonald House)，名字洋氣，脾氣老派。

外牆端正，有種不慌不忙的英式講究。建於一九四九年，為匯豐銀行(Hongkong Shanghai Bank)而起，是那個年代東南亞少見的全冷氣寫字樓。當時的冷氣不是理所當然，吹起來像在黏膩午後喝下一口夠冷的青檸水，整個人都挺了起來。

真正讓它刻進城市記憶的，是一九六五年三月十日的爆炸。印尼對抗政策(Konfrontasi)在這裡點出一聲巨響，碎玻璃掉落，街道抖了一下，空氣像被狠狠掐住。今天走過，風聲平穩，車流自在，可只要在外牆前停一會兒，心裡會突然靜下來，彷彿有人說：這裡曾經痛過。

後來，大廈被列為國家古蹟，外立面保留下來。保留是座城市最難的功課，拆得快，建得快，要留下什麼，全靠一點耐性與願意慢下來的心。這種心態在這裡不算多，因而更顯得可貴。

許多人逛烏節路逛到腿酸，卻錯過了這棟紅磚的沉默。下一次經過，不妨抬頭看看窗框與光影交織的地方。會察覺這座城市雖然愛追新，也懂悄悄把一些老味道留住，就像在這個向來清爽的國度裡藏了一絲更深的味道。

4

The Quiet Pleasure of Weekend Watermelon at NUS or Mapletree Business City

On weekends, the National University campus feels like someone has gently lowered the volume. The lecture theatres sit still, the labs stop humming, and the walkways stretch out in a calm you rarely see on weekdays. Find a step near the social sciences lawn, take out a thick slice of watermelon, and the afternoon immediately becomes softer.

The first bite snaps open with that sharp, watery crunch. The sweetness is clean. The mind clears without effort. A breeze often drifts in from the direction of the Yong Siew Toh hall, brushing the trees like someone turning pages in a notebook. A jogger or two may pass by, their unhurried rhythm only makes the stillness more grounded. It feels like the campus is letting you borrow a small pocket of peace that most people walk past without noticing.

Mapletree Business City offers a different kind of quiet. On weekdays it carries the hum of offices, but during weekends the glass facades simply catch the sun and hold it. Grab a seat on one of the outdoor benches, with the green walls behind you and the open space in front. Eat your watermelon slowly. Let the cool sweetness rise. It settles you in a way no themed cafe can match. A simple fruit becomes a small reset button for the body.

The charm lies in how little effort it takes. No queues, no reservations, no performance. Just a slice of watermelon, a gentle corner, and an afternoon in this city that usually plans everything down to the minute. In places like NUS or Mapletree Business City, where the air relaxes the moment the weekend arrives, this modest ritual becomes its own kind of quiet luxury.

週末午後的隱性享受：在國大或 Mapletree Business City 吃一片西瓜

週末走進國大，安靜得像換了另一座城。平日裡的講堂叫聲、實驗室的器材碰撞，全都收起來，只留下樹影慢慢移動。坐在社科草坪邊的階梯上，手裡捧一片切得厚厚的西瓜，那種輕鬆，是懂的人才懂的享受。

咬下第一口，汁水在嘴裡彈開，乾脆利落。整週累積的雜思像被水沖走。甜得不膩，冷得剛好。微風從李光前禮堂那邊吹過來，樹葉晃動，像有人輕輕翻著筆記。偶爾有學生慢跑經過，腳步聲反而讓空氣更穩。

到了 Mapletree Business City，又是另一種味道。平日裡的辦公氣場不見了，週末只剩玻璃外牆反射的光，亮得安靜。找一張露天長椅坐下，背後是綠牆植物，前面是一片空曠。西瓜放進嘴裡的那刻，甜味像小電流，讓人整個鬆開。那種自在，比什麼咖啡館的氛圍都真實。

最迷人的是，這些時刻不需要排隊、不需要儀式，更不需要拍照打卡。只要一片西瓜，一個角落，一陣風，就足夠了。在這座講究效率的城市裡，這種不費力的午後最珍貴。懂得在國大或 Mapletree Business City 的週末安靜裡咬一口西瓜的人，算是抓到了生活裡難得的細緻。

5

October in Singapore carries a kind of tropical restraint — the light softer, the trees darker, the air a little heavier with the scent of fruit. Then, from somewhere above the canopy, comes that unmistakable laugh — deep, rattling, almost mocking. You look up, and there it is: the Oriental Pied Hornbill (Oriental Pied Hornbill), perched like an old aristocrat who’s decided to return home after a long exile.

That beak — ivory-colored, sculpted and absurdly large — catches the sun like a ceremonial blade. It opens and shuts with a deliberate grace, the way a storyteller pauses before the punchline. A century ago, this bird vanished from Singapore, driven out by human ambitions — forests cleared, mangroves drained, silence left in its place. But it came back. From across the Johor Strait, a few daring hornbills found their way to Pulau Ubin, where local conservationists built wooden nest boxes high in the trees. One by one, the species took root again.

Now they are everywhere if you know where to look — in Changi Village, at Sentosa, even on the edge of office towers near the Southern Ridges. Their presence feels both regal and comic, as if nature had decided to wear a top hat to a pool party.

Their family life is the stuff of legends. When the female lays her eggs, she seals herself inside a tree cavity with mud, leaving only a narrow slit. For months, the male brings food to her and the chicks, every meal passed through that tiny opening.

October is a feast for them — the fig trees (Ficus) fruiting wildly, the island humming with small life. Hornbills fly from grove to grove, swallowing and scattering seeds, acting as unacknowledged gardeners of the city. Around them, migrants arrive from the north: Blue-tailed Bee-eaters, Tiger Shrikes, Whimbrels from as far as Siberia — travelers resting briefly in this green pause between two oceans.

Sometimes, if you walk along MacRitchie Reservoir at dusk, you’ll hear that throaty laugh again. You look up, and it’s there — dark wings against the amber light. And for a brief, electric moment, you remember that Singapore, beneath its glass and order, still breathes with the rhythm of the wild.

十月的新加坡，陽光不再那麼毒辣，樹影卻更濃了。忽然一聲低沉的「喀——」在林間震盪，你以為是哪位老友在遠處呼喚，抬頭一看，原來是一隻戴頭盔的巨鳥——東方冠鷲鴉鵑（Oriental Pied Hornbill）。那喙像雕出來的象牙，厚重、彎曲、泛著金色光。牠站在樹幹上，姿態像老派紳士：不慌、不忙，卻叫聲粗得像破喉嚨的笑。

這鳥在新加坡，幾十年前可是傳說。當年人類砍林種屋，牠無處可去，只能飛到柔佛彼岸。如今又回來了，不靠命運，靠的是一群有心人。有人在烏敏島（Pulau Ubin）掛起木箱，讓牠們築巢、繁殖；有人細數牠們的羽毛與蛋殼，記錄著這個島重獲野性的故事。如今，樟宜村的電線上、聖淘沙的棕櫚間，甚至丹戎禺的高樓邊，都能看到牠那一抹黑白。

牠的愛情故事更傳奇。雌鳥一旦懷孕，就自封進樹洞裡，泥封成牆，只留一條窄縫。雄鳥每日叼果、捉蟲、送糧，不辭勞苦。直到小鳥羽毛豐滿，母子才破牆而出。

牠愛吃榕果（Ficus fruit），飛一處、拉一處，竟也成了城市的播種者。這樣的園丁不收薪水，卻讓整個島更綠。十月正值果實季節，牠們在濱海南端（Marina South）與拉柏多自然保護區（Labrador Nature Reserve）之間穿梭，像穿著燕尾服的信使，報告熱帶的消息。

與牠作伴的，還有北方飛來的短客：藍尾蜂虎（Blue-tailed Bee-eater）在空中劃弧；虎鵙（Tiger Shrike）停在電線上，像等車的旅人。這些身影，在濕潤的午後交錯，像一場默劇，無聲地訴說：這座島，雖已混凝土成林，心裡仍是一片熱帶雨林。

有時傍晚走過麥里芝蓄水池（MacRitchie Reservoir），那聲「咯咯咯」的笑，又響起。你抬頭看見牠，牠也看著你。那一瞬間，像是被提醒——新加坡的故事，不全是地產和金融，也有羽毛、風聲、與久違的野。