Merlion Park

Listen first. Under the voices and the clicking cameras there is a steady roar, like heavy rain that never stops. That is water. It leaves the mouth of a white stone creature, arcs over the edge of the promenade, and crashes into Marina Bay below. Feel the fine mist on your arms when the wind turns. Smell the warm, salty air off the bay. You are standing in front of the Merlion, the half-lion, half-fish figure that Singapore chose as its emblem.

Take a moment to look at it properly. The head is a lion with a heavy, curled mane. The body is a fish covered in scales, and its tail curls up behind. The statue rises roughly eight and a half metres above its base. It is not carved from a single block of marble. It is built from a cement-based material and finished in white, with small porcelain plates for the eyes. Up close, the surface looks smooth and slightly grainy, almost like a sandcastle that has turned to stone.

Here is the first surprise. The Merlion is not an ancient symbol. It is not a figure from old Malay myth or a Chinese temple guardian. It began as a logo. In 1964, the government body promoting tourism needed an emblem for the young city. A British-born aquarium curator named Alec Fraser-Brunner sketched the design. So this creature was born on a drawing board, as a piece of marketing, long before it became a statue.

The design still draws on older stories. The fish body points to Temasek, an early name for this place. Temasek is often linked to the sea, and the settlement here began as a fishing and trading port. The lion head points to the name Singapura, which means lion city in Sanskrit, an ancient language of India. One half looks back to the sea. The other half looks back to a legend.

That legend is worth hearing, but treat it as a story, not as history. According to the old Malay chronicles, a prince named Sang Nila Utama came ashore here centuries ago. He saw a strange animal with a red body and a black head. Someone told him it was a lion, and he named the place the lion city. Historians point out that lions never lived on this island. Perhaps he saw a tiger. Perhaps the story grew in the retelling. Either way, the name stayed.

The statue itself came later. A local craftsman, Lim Nang Seng, built it, and it was unveiled in 1972 by Lee Kuan Yew, the country's first prime minister. Back then, the Merlion stood at the mouth of the Singapore River, near Anderson Bridge. It faced the open water and greeted ships coming in. Singapore had been independent for only seven years. A young nation was choosing what face to show the world.

Now the second surprise. The Merlion you see is not in its original spot. In the 1990s, a new bridge, the Esplanade Bridge, was built across the river mouth. It blocked the view of the statue from the bay. For a while, the Merlion also stopped spouting water because of pump problems. So in 2002, engineers lifted the entire statue onto a barge and moved it here, a short distance downstream. Imagine that weight floating slowly across the water.

The new site was built for people. The promenade sticks out into the bay, so you can walk almost under the water jet and see the statue from many angles. The ground underfoot is wide stone paving, warm from the sun by midday. Low railings mark the edge. On a busy evening the crowd lines up at the rail with arms raised. Many people try the same trick photo — tilting their head so the water seems to pour into their open mouth.

Turn around, and look behind the statue, toward the land. There is a much smaller figure there, about two metres tall. Locals call it the Merlion cub. It was made at the same time as its parent and moved here too. It spouts its own thin stream of water. Many visitors walk past it without noticing, because their eyes are fixed on the big one. Give it a minute. It has the same mane, the same scales, just in miniature.

The Merlion has had a few hard days. In 2009, lightning struck the statue and damaged part of its head and mane. Repair crews worked on it, and you cannot see the scars today. It has been cleaned and restored several times over the years, sometimes wrapped in scaffolding while tourists photographed it anyway. It is a working monument. Salt air, heavy rain and tropical sun all wear on it, and people keep looking after it.

Now lift your eyes to the skyline. Straight across the water stands Marina Bay Sands, with its three towers joined at the top by a long platform shaped like a ship. To the side you can see the domes of the Esplanade arts centre, covered in spiky panels. Locals often compare them to the durian, a spiky tropical fruit. Behind you rise the towers of the financial district. Much of the land around this bay was reclaimed from the sea in recent decades.

And just beside the park stands the Fullerton Hotel, a large pale building with tall columns. It once housed the General Post Office and government offices. It is a reminder of the colonial city that stood here before the glass towers. In one view you can see old Singapore, new Singapore, and a statue from the decade in between, when the country was still working out who it wanted to be.

The light changes everything here. In the morning, the sun rises behind the bay and the statue stands in silhouette against the water. By late afternoon the light comes from behind you and falls full on the Merlion's face. After dark, the statue is lit from below, and the water jet glows white against the black bay. Many people return at night just to see the towers light up across the water.

Before you leave, stand still for one more moment. Feel the mist again, and listen to the water hitting the bay. This creature was invented on paper, built by hand, moved across a river, and struck by lightning. Still it keeps pouring water into the sea, day and night. As you walk away along the promenade, look back once. The Merlion will be watching the bay, as it has done for more than fifty years.