Kampong Glam was never just a neighbourhood.
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Long before modern Singapore took shape, it was the beating heart of a maritime world – Malay royalty held court, Arab merchants traded perfume and spice, Bugis sailors arrived with salt in their hair, and Javanese craftsmen worked in the open air.
The Istana and Sultan Mosque anchored political and spiritual life, while the streets pulsed with the call of hawkers and the clink of goods changing hands.
Its spot by the Rochor River made it a natural anchorage. Ships filled the docks, their holds full of textiles, spices and ceramics, their masts rising above a shoreline fringed with gelam trees – valued for boat-building and traditional medicine, and so integral they gave the district its name.
The shoreline has long since been pushed from view, but the current of tradition still rises here.
Buoyed by its conservation status, Kampong Glam’s shophouses that once housed spice traders and textile merchants are now home to slow fashion boutiques, minimalist cafés, and perfumers distilling oud into handblown glass flacons. The execution may have changed, but the spirit has not.
Lead photo: Leroy Tan. Photos: Toni Pomar, Lauryn Ishak, Ethan Chan
A living heritage
For Oniatta Effendi, the district is more than a backdrop – it’s a living link between heritage craft and contemporary design. She runs Galeri Tokokita, a boutique that carries on the area’s legacy as a trading centre for artisanal batik – fabric with intricate patterns created using a time-honoured wax-resist dyeing technique.
“Kampong Glam is more than just a place,” she says. “It feels like a warm embrace of history, spirit, and community. It’s about sharing meals with friends that bring everyone together, the stories that come alive over familiar dishes, and the rich fabric that holds generations of meaning in every fold.”
Her boutique is a quiet act of preservation. Inside, she fashions handcrafted batik she commissions from workshops across the region into wearable art. “I still remember following my mother as a child to Arab Street, watching her choose fabric carefully, soaking in the stories and textures around us,” she reflects. “That early connection stayed with me and made Kampong Glam a natural choice.”
The anchor to life in Kampong Glam is Sultan Mosque. Its story begins in 1824, when the first structure was raised for Sultan Hussein Shah, though what stands today took shape in the late 1920s.
During that rebuild, the base of each dome was inlaid with glass bottle ends – humble donations from the community’s poorer members, so everyone could leave a trace on its walls.
For many, the mosque stands as both landmark and lodestar of faith, its golden dome crowning the precinct.
A short walk away, the Malay Heritage Centre – once Sultan Hussein’s palace – sits behind gates shaded by frangipani trees. It’s a reminder of the narratives that continue to shape this district: migration, trade, and daily life told through objects and voices.
Though closed for a major revamp until early 2026, travellers can look forward to festivals, talks, and performances when it reopens, which will once again fill its courtyards with music, conversation, and the aroma of Malay cooking.
Street art adds its own chapter. On a side wall, artist Yip Yew Chong’s towering mural maps Kampong Glam’s transformation from seafront port town to modern cultural quarter. In it, hawkers sell satay and teh tarik, blacksmiths hammer metal, and pilgrims gather before the Hajj – against a backdrop of early maps overlaid with today’s streets.
Photos: Galeri Tokokita, Tamal Mukhopa, Sabar Menanti
A taste, a slice, an experience
Food here feels less like a matter of dining and more like fuel running through daily life. At Sabar Menanti, founded in 1920, the air carries the deep, slow perfume of beef rendang. This is the star dish of nasi padang, a cuisine from the Minangkabau region of West Sumatra where dishes are eaten with freshly steamed rice.
The meat yields under the spoon, its spice softened by hours of patient cooking; beside it, sambal goreng glows red with chilli, while gulai nangka – young jackfruit bathed in coconut milk – offers spoonfuls of comfort.
Third-generation owner Iszahar Tambunan moves easily between tables, greeting regulars by name. “Kampong Glam to me is home,” he says. “I know all my neighbours. I feel like a kampong hero when I walk around here, because everyone recognises me as that curly-haired little boy from the ’80s.”
For something sweet, Rich & Good Cake Shop draws a steady stream of patrons with its kaya roll cake, soft and fragrant with pandan.
Come dinnertime, head to Zam Zam, which comes alive after sundown. As diners walk in, a great round griddle awaits. Prata swells with air like a silken pillow, murtabak is sliced to reveal layers of meat and egg, and teh tarik is pulled in long arcs into a frothy drink – techniques perfected since the restaurant first opened in 1908.
Photos: Lauryn Ishak, Aliwal Arts Center, Lauryn Ishak
Of scents and sensibilities
Even perfume has its own lineage here. At Sifr Aromatics, third-generation scent maker Johari Kazura continues a family trade established in 1933, blending oud, spice, and botanicals into compositions that feel at once classic and modern. Each glass vial is hand-filled and all ingredients are carefully sourced. Those looking for a bespoke scent can book an appointment online.
For a different expression of craft, Aliwal Arts Centre hums with rehearsals, exhibitions, and the occasional courtyard gig in what was once a 1930s school. A short walk away, The Gallery by Clay Journey offers a slower rhythm. Veteran ceramist Steven Low hand-shapes his vessels in his studio.
Many of them are usable dinnerware pieces, specifically Japanese tea bowls, while others yet are freeform clay sculptures. Visitors can try the wheel in classes he occasionally conducts, shaping clay into form with their own hands.
That blend of memory still in motion is what gives Kampong Glam its pulse.
As Oniatta reflects, the neighbourhood “carries the memories of those who came before us, and the dreams of those still finding their way”.
“For me, it’s a constant source of inspiration and belonging,” she says, “a gentle reminder that culture is something to be lived, loved, and passed on.”
