Day 20.
It's possible to over-egg the pudding, to take a good thing and, by adding too much, turn it bad. Imaginative architects are particularly prone to this trend, or maybe it's their insistent clients who demand they 'add value' or include features beyond the original commission -or take them away. It's also possible to get something 'just right', to achieve balance and then accolade. Such was the 2012 Singapore Grand Prix.
On paper this motor race has got it all -a nighttime street circuit around the floodlit
concrete canyons of a stylish, modern, tropical city. The streets are closed, stands and barriers erected well in advance, professionalism sought and achieved. There's little to beat it as a televised sporting event.
The common grievance against this Grand Prix, however, is that it's boring. It is precisely because it is a street circuit and that there are few opportunities to overtake that the charge of predictability can be leveled: the race leader at the first bend of the first lap can very often stay there until the last. There are several straights in the circuit, but they are relatively narrow. But the biggest and perhaps most justified complaint is that there are few places outside the stands to observe the race and that even the view from the stands is inadequate. It's also expensive -pit grandstand tickets being US$1000, with 8 friends in the Bay grandstand at a little over US$200!
Arriving in Singapore by bus, it quickly became apparent that something big was about to happen. Within the next 24 hours some of the mightiest racing car drivers on the planet would compete for the title and the points in another battle for the championship. Arriving in the city on the Saturday night, we peered over the bridges near the bay onto the illuminated circuit, ready for more practice runs and as bright as noonday. We had to go.
The next evening John Zobrist and meself took ourselves down to the Marina Bay, towards the lights, the police roadblocks and security, towards the palpable excitement – the expectation of an unrepeatable global event. Although parking was surprisingly easy, access to the grandstand, however, confirmed our fears: we would definitely not be able to get anywhere near any of the grandstands without a pass, a simple piece of plastic. We even enquired to a stony-faced official after return tickets! A nice steward told us that many of the hoi-polloi without access would be heading towards Marina Square shopping mall.
Several vantage points offered snapshots of the track and we would have been happy to be near the event, but by following our nose we found a near-empty tennis court: the Australian manager opened up the space to the public, including a blue hand stamp, a set of earplugs, screened live footage and the first cold beer and an unrestricted view up and down the Raffles Boulevard straight for S$100. We and the two dozen or so other caged birds couldn't believe our luck!
It was immediately clear to all the moment the cars came alive on the grid: great high-pitched roaring screams, the sinister arousal of a giant bee-hive, echoed throughout the cityscape – it would be seconds before they suddenly appeared around the Republic Boulevard bend. Following the flashing lights of astounding the snarling Messerschmidt/Mercedes SLS AMG safety car these reined-in racehorses weaved as they warmed their tyres, barely controlling their excitement and determination. Two minutes later they began, the deafening sound obvious to all filled the ears and quickened the blood. The one minute it took to follow the plodding safety-car (racking up to 280 km/h on the straights, by the way) was followed by a 20-second pass when the cars were racing.
Taking photographs of passing cars at those speeds requires a lot of technical know-how, a modicum of patience and a ounce or two of luck: at best, I managed two out of three. Just before the off the humid air above the pits seemed to shimmer with the incessant amateur flashlights of crowd.
Despite the largely-ineffective ear-plugs, by the end of the 309 km race as the charming Sebastian Vettel raised his enormous magnum of Mumm champagne a different roar could be heard -that of the appreciative crowd, an audible cheer of approval from the excited observers all around the circuit. Instantaneously, fireworks exploded into a cacophony of colour, noise and celebration, as if the preceding two hours had alone been insufficient.
We left the inner city as quickly and painlessly as we arrived. Compared with similar events in other countries this was a miracle of organisation: no traffic jams, not dangerous crushes of people, no touts and no problems with the law -either the keepers of it or those that break it. But the logistics for this event were incredibly straightforward –most fans of F1 at Singapore would have flown in and walked from their hotels to the stands.
This is my first F1. I felt like a virgin on a first date. There is, quite simply, an extraordinary effect to be had in seeing the cars hurtle down the track at speeds over 300 km/h and braking 100 metres before a corner, of knowing that that car is a stylish Maclaren and is therefore Lewis Hamilton or Jenson Button, or that the red Ferrari chasing them is the angry Alonso, that the speedy Red Bulls are Webber and Vettel -right there in front of you. The event attracts its fair share of loonies, even rich loonies, in their Ferrari shirts, Ferrari ear-muffs (that pick up commentary, you know) and Ferrari knickers most likely. People wander around murmuring to themselves when news comes in of a sudden pit-stop, hold their hands in the air at a crash and cheer or shake their heads at a change in leadership. Formula 1 racing may not be everyone's cup of tea, but believe me it's infectious.
