I tell you ah, after nearly 20 years running Hock Gift Shop, I thought I already knew everything about surviving outdoors. My shop full of tactical gear — from hats to backpacks — and I’ve tested them in jungles, forests, even overseas training grounds. But last weekend, I decided to do something different. Not soldiering, not reservist, not survival course. Just one old man — Uncle Tot — going solo camping at East Coast Park.
I thought, “Aiya, Singapore only, how tough can it be?” Wah, I was so wrong.
I arrived at East Coast Park, Area G. Breeze quite steady, sun already flexing its muscles. I pitched my tent, small one only, facing the sea. As I hammered the pegs, I thought of the thousands of tents I’d seen customers buy in my shop. Always advising them, “Bro, must test your gear before you depend on it.” That day, I finally had to swallow my own medicine.
Tent up, groundsheet down, I looked at my gear. Everything I brought had to earn its place. My trusty Dragon Egg MK2 Backpack carried all my barang barang like a champion. My CamelBak Chute Mag kept water cool, even when the sun roasted my back. My Helikon-Tex Sunglasses and CPU Hat with Neck Flap saved my eyes and scalp from turning into BBQ chicken wings.
After camp was ready, I rented a bicycle to ride toward Marina Barrage. Fifteen kilometers, not too bad right? Wah, the seat was harder than army bench. Every bump felt like the road trying to assassinate me. Halfway through, headwind came — East Coast’s special welcome gift. I pedaled until my thighs begged for mercy, but I told myself, “Tot, you survived worse. Keep going.”
By the time I returned to camp, my backside already crying. That’s when I realized: good gear protects you, but sometimes, you also need a good cushion.
Evening came, I lit up the BBQ pit. I had visions of golden corn, juicy wings, perfect satay. Reality? Smoke blowing straight into my eyes, chicken skin catching fire like fireworks, corn turning blacker than charcoal. Luckily my Tactical Tee and Condor Arm Sleeves kept me cool and safe from sparks, otherwise I’d come home roasted too.
In the end, I surrendered. Packed up my gear, walked to Lagoon Food Village, and ordered a plate of satay. Sometimes survival means knowing when to fight, and when to makan.
Back at camp, nightfall brought a new enemy: mosquitoes. Those fellas came in squadrons, like they trained with the air force. My tent’s ventilation holes? Also mosquito entry points. The whole night I was fighting, slapping, shifting my sleeping bag. At 3am, I gave up and lay there, listening to the orchestra of waves, crickets, and my own frustration.
But still, lying there, staring at the stars, I felt something. Peace. Singapore so busy every day, but that night, it was just me, the sea breeze, and the reminder that sometimes, discomfort is also a kind of freedom.
By sunrise, I looked like a panda with eye bags, but I also felt alive. East Coast Park had chewed me up with sore legs, BBQ failure, and itchy arms, but it also reminded me why I love the outdoors. Gear can help you, skill can save you, but in the end, it’s your spirit that decides whether you enjoy the trip.
So if you ever think camping in Singapore is “easy mode,” try it yourself. Maybe you’ll laugh, maybe you’ll curse, but one thing confirm — you’ll come home with stories.
And if you want to survive like Uncle Tot (minus the burnt corn), don’t forget to gear up:
See you at East Coast Park, steady lah.
— Uncle Tot
