Singapore to Butterworth

I left quietly, and with my friends and the day still asleep, I made my way toward the train station. This little colonial style building, and the stretch of railway that runs from it, strictly speaking actually belongs to Malaysia. So prior to boarding the train passengers must clear Malaysian immigration, and just before crossing the Johor Straits, all passengers must disembark to clear Singaporean immigration. It’s a bizarre state of affairs, but a remnant of history still lingering from the divorce between the two countries over four decades ago. Though, just days before, the two sides reached an agreement which will give Singapore the rights to the railway and the station found on its territory, and effectively simplify the immigration process.

Already at the station the heavy influence of Malaysia was felt, not only in the numerous flags of the Federation that drapped from the walls, but also in the signage and foods that hawkers sell. I picked up a sandwich and some mee goreng, and made my way to my assigned seat. For some reason, despite having specified online that I wanted a window seat, I got an aisle seat, which was the source of much moving around the train carriage as I really wanted to enjoy the scenery of the Malaysian Peninsular.

I sat down, and immediately smelt the odd, and at times sickening, smell old and damp of the seat. For the next 13 hours, that smell would become my companion and accompany me throughout the day till nightfall. The curtains were heavy and gray with dust, and all around me were families, some speaking mixtures of English and Hokkien, and others speaking Tamil or Malay. The diesel engine puffed a dark cloud of fumes, and we ground to a start, slowly winding our way past canals, bridges, HDBs, and eventually rolled away from the overly regulated and sterile cleanliness that so characterises Singapore.

The train chugged along slowly, for it was a narrow gauge railway, similar to the ones in Taiwan that were laid down by the Japanese. And because of the narrowness of the tracks, the carriage shook and shuddered as if it would derail whenever the train sped quickly around the many bends. The scenery is varied, with scenes of shadowy mountain ranges in the distance to big cities and crowded forests of rubber plantations. The train sped past little kampongs, with their traditional with colourful walls and tiled roofs and scurrying cocks that run wild and free. Sometimes, children would run alongside the train, smiling, waving, shouting something excitedly, perhaps wishing these chance passer-bys a safe and great journey. Lush green plants and shrubs align the tracks, and dug up reddish earth that is iconic of this part of the world reveal evidence of ongoing construction and developments.

This very route, from the tip of the Malaysian Peninsula, going along the eastern coast, passing through Kuala Lumpur and Butterworth, is actually part of the same route of the Oriental Express which travels from Singapore all the way to Bangkok. I remember a few years ago I saw information about this train ride on the internet and promised myself I would one day make this epic journey. A few weeks ago, I also learnt that my dad had made part of this journey, making it even more meaningful. Despite cutting my journey short at Butterworth, due to the volatile situation in Bangkok, as the train pulled into the final station amid the heavy clinking of the tracks, as if applauding, I felt like I had achieved something.