My passion for travel and travel writing, were ignited during my stint as a travel writer in Wheels Asia; an opportunity I was still thankful for till date. Other journalistic experiences include:
United Nations Development Fund for Women's Newsletter
Chief Editor of NUS Sportlight
Chief Editor of NUS Politeia.
I hope to write for National Geographic someday :)
Come onboard this voyeuristic adventure with me !
P.S Remnants of creativity and bouts of inspiration ensued in jewelry making. See Her Emerald
"The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” - St Augustine
In 2007, I took my trusty Fuji Camera, a backpack, a mini Ashworth luggage and flew to Europe in deep winter hoping to find some of life's bite-sized epiphanies. I landed myself in a German police car, nearly got nabbed in Paris, witnessed a demonstration in Paris, had nothing to eat for Christmas in Germany, had very bad toe cramps in Prague; but I stumbled upon streaks of inspiration and splashes of love in Leipzig, in Amersterdam; from graffiti on stone walls, from the sidewalks, from crawling into solitude, from watching snowflakes on New Year's Eve and counting every star.
Now, I reaaaaaaaaaaally want a Vespa too. I just need to get some license before that first ): Indeed, I'm lusting after another eye-candy road trip. Stay tuned.
Photo taken with Canon DSLR 1000D, copyrights reserved.
It's a way to find yourself, explore new places, bask in the primal feeling of being out and able to take any eye-candy route.
But you say you are constrained by economic meltdown, tight budget and work commitments. Lack of time and cash but still wanna have fun? Definitely possible !
Here's how.
A THREE day road trip to the neighbouring region can be just as fun. With a couple of days spent planning, I found myself dumping 2 sets of clothes, a pair of jeans, torch light, toiletries, a photography magazine into my backpack, my DSLR and viola ! I The next thing I know, I'm on the road, with three other spontaneous buddies, hitting the gas pedal, decked in our shades and blasting Guns n Roses' "Sweet Child of Mine".
THE ROUTE
Deciding the route or where to go proved the most taxing of tasks. Once that is settled, hit the gas pedal, roll down the shades and take it easy. After tasting the freedom of backpacking, I swore off tour packages a millenium ago. As a traveller, one needs to open herself to a flood of sights, sounds, smells, and ways of being. Like a sponge, you take in unfamiliar impressions of cultures, landscapes, languages and the local operations of daily life. Throw away all sorts of biasness, discard your tinted lenses, hit the road once again with an open mind. Flexibilty and vigilance is key.
BUDGET: The Real Deal(Stay under 80 SGD)
I limited my budget to SGD 80 for the 3 days trip (SGD 26.70 per day) and stayed within the budget. Never belittle the importance of setting your budget before embarking on a road trip because it forces some financial discipline into you.
What this budget encompassed:
1. 3 tanks of car petrol and toll
2. Accomodation (the backpackers hostels are in really delipidated conditions we opted for a 3-star hotel instead and still managed to stay within the 80 bucks budget)
3. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper
4. One Karaoke session at City Hunter (you only need to pay for drinks/juice and snacks)
5. Go-karting at the extreme trek en route to Port Dickson
6. Street shopping at Jonker Walk, Melacca
7. Beers at Geographer cafe
8. Ferris Wheel ride (affectionately known otherwise as The Eye of Malaysia)
Malacca !
WHERE TO STAY
Depending on your budget, there are many places you can stay, from luxurious hotels to utterly run-down backpackers' hostels that resembled nothing like the cheap and good ones in Europe.
With our budget of nothing more than SGD 25 per night per pax, we drove around Melacca town and the outskirts for a place to stay. We decided to stay away from the main bustle- Jonker Walk and drove to Melaka Raya instead to look for a place.
TRAVELLERS' LODGE (Budget but extremely run down. The air is putrid and stifling. Prices start from 18 RM)
FENIX INN ( Nice red brick decor on the facade. You can't missed it in Melaka Raya. A tad too high for our budget)
THE EQUATORIAL (High end splurge. A no-no for us but we used the tall building as a convenient point of reference to locate our accomodation)
Hotel Time Melaka (69 RM for double room, plasma TV, front porch, carpark) :) :) :)
Hotel Time Melaka fits our bill. We were constrained by the safety of our car because Malaysia is reputed for having punks who seek out to destroy Singaporean cars. Melaka is relatively safe though but better safe than sorry. The problem with most backpackers' lodge is that they do not have carpark security nor a carpark. Remember that this is a road trip and you do NOT want to go up with your car and head back without it.
Verdict: Staff are very guest-friendly too!
MUST-DOs: Get Historic, eat well and dance along the streets.
You probably would have heard and read a lot on Malacca as the heritage city and its famous local food flavours so I shan't bore you with contents you can easily find on wikitravel. A caveat should be issued, Malacca town has become more touristy over the years, in the tangible display of goods along the shophouses at Jonker Walk, the screaming maroon-red colours of the walls painted in the name of modernity and the floral tuk-tuks parked outside Christ Church.
At night however, old-school Malacca charm thrives along the streets accented with Portugese flavours, the nights are magic. Strolling along the lanes of Geographer Cafe and Ringo Classic, you are transported immediately back into the era where ABBA thrived. The live bands were decked in cowboy suits, the men in their pony tails, tamborines, old school guitar and keyboard. Their voices floated out into the streets and flooded the area with their deep baritones, country style, singing "COUNTRY ROAD, TAKE ME HOME, TO THE PLACE I BELONG, WEST VIRGINIA....". A huge disco ball of the 80s style hung atop a ceiling giving the place a psychedelic feel of the nostalgia. The best part? The people out in the streets dancing in true spirit of freedom are not the young ones, but the old. They spin, twist, piroutte and cha-cha to the melodies that whisked them back into the good old days.
It was then that I truly understood the phrase 'dance like there's no one watching'.
Although planning is always necessary for a road trip, always leave some space to be spontaneous and creative. I am never an advocate of an intricately planned trip, in which every second is pencilled in with activities, meals and musuem trips. Slightly stifled with Malacca, we made an impromptu ride up to Negeri Sembilan and it was the most ravishing experience of the trip.
Here's what we did the next day en route to Port Dickson from Malacca.
PORT DICKSON !
Go-karting @ Extreme Trek !!!
Photo courtesy of riccione
8 laps of steep bends and curves for 30 RM. It was fun ! I have unfortunately, caught on the speedlust.
There I was with a few spontaneous buddies, standing at the tip of a large stretch of jagged rocks splayed out into the ocean. The sun was setting, and twilight glazed the breakwater and the backwash. It was high tide.
Laughing, we posed for a picture or two against the sunset, until a tide came and broke over us. Like little kids, we clambered over the catalan grey rocks in a race towards the shore, a grace we thought we'd lost. Each with different agenda, each lost in different worlds, I fled in mine, with fear and petulance towards the coastline.
I will always remember how the sand was almost vaporous, with nary a footprint in sight unless deliberately imprinted like what Timo did just to make a point. Port Dickson's coastline spells serenity, beauty and timelessness. We had quite the whole place to ourselves. We had wanted to windsurf and parasail initially but the activities were closed. That was when nature found its way into our hearts.
I was spellbound. This picture is one of those that fits the line ' a picture speaks a thousand words'. Enchanting and very timely. Timo managed to capture this on lens as I looked up at the shooting at the background against the sunset. Never underestimate the beauty of candid shots.
:: Christmas in Prague ::
:: Religious architecture in Gothic style. A lot of the sculptures are very intricately carved ::
Flashbacks of Europe assail my senses in the most random and sporadic of fashion. Like a prey, I escape not from the giant bear claws of vivid scenes, precision and detail. Or like a string of polaroid photos, each polaroid photo has a sunburnt yellow, honey cream hue, in true spirit of nostalgia. We left a trail of innocence darting in and out of Prague, it's like a chapter of my life has never closed neatly; the ghosts of Europe continue to haunt me two years on.
Prague, December, 2007. The lights from the Christmas tree shone brightly at dusk. . The sky was a beautiful perfect shade of evening blue. Christmas was three days ago. Prague was charming, waiting. There was longing in Prague.
Cobblestoned paths are ubiquitous in Prague, much to my consternation and left me with little to cheer. I advise wearing boots with a slight heel. I hiked up Prague castle with flat-soled boots and had to be piggybacked down. I shall spare you the agony. Well, you have been warned.
:: Spires of the mosques in the evening ::
Aside from cheap food, gothic architecture and the beautiful Vltava River along Charles' Bridge, what i also like about Prague is that it is a cultural pearl. Should you have the luxury of time, catching an opera is always a wonderful after-dinner thought.
:: The beautiful Vltava River on a sunny day ::
:: East bank of Vltava River ::
Chapel of Mirrors boasting of Baroque style architecture and Cupid marbles all around, was where I watched Opera. It was all Beethoven songs and one Christmas song thrown in just to feed the festive cheer. I sat at the 4th row with VIP seats to boot ! (:
Last but not least, what is Prague without a decent picture of handmade glass ornamanents for tourists? :)
Just when the memories of the last trip are beginning to fade, the last lap of my varsity life happens to reawaken the hunger for adventure again. It's the memories still burn like warm fires in the soul.
It's hard to believe that the unforgettable business trip to China was almost exactly a year back. Where was I in the phase of life a year back? Certainly at a cushier spot than the one I am in right now. A year back I was chasing the wind and catching butterflies.
If Francis Fukuyama could purport that Western liberal democracy may signal the end point of humanity's ideological and sociocultural evolution and that democracy is the final form of human government, then the end of this century might see China, the rising dragon, toppling America. As if the Lehman Brothers' saga didn't cripple Uncle Sam enough. Fukuyama obviously did not foresee that America started the economic domino effect, or that Bush did a fantastic job in convincing Iraq and the rest of the world that Western liberal democracy is the panacea for us all. But I don't blame Fuku. Economists postulate that by 2050, Shanghai might possibly take over New York and London as financial hubs. I just might live long enough to see Caucasians waiters in Asia (?).
Shanghai embodies vibrancy and a truckload of brimming potential. The ebb and flow of human life, traffic, business, commercial heralds the beginning of the Chinese civilisation reliving its Middle Kingdom mentality. Speaking of Shanghai, my little bro is in Shanghai for half a year. How envious.
---
We traversed across China to 9 different states/provinces/cities but I shall begin with Shanghai first because a couple of rather hilarious oddities stood out from the package of several stiff-legged hours on the plane as we flew over from Guangzhou. The fact that we were all unprepared for the weather (decked in shorts at 18 degree celcius?) was not, a welcoming respite.
I also remember Shanghai because it was in Fudan University, Shanghai, where I first gave a public presentation to a bevy of intellectual Chinese in a lecture theatre. Or that I only had one night to prepare and rehearse, had a plane delay at the airport, and was only given the topic the day before. But it was all so much fun, it compensates for any cringe-worthy experience. Our accomodation was a far-flung area near Fudan University that was dimly lit with a lobby that offered little warmth and a grey white wolf dog that stood as a substitute for a much-needed security guard. A couple of doppelganger encounters occurred, much to our consternation! Stacey and Yvette also complained about the eerie miasma of the hostel and so we bunked in together, 4 girls...it was cosy.
Shanghai did not begin on a good note but a few oddities, what they call "Chinglish",remind me that there's always space for blue sky thinking and nice weather for snails.
:: The translation is hilarious and utterly misleading ! Chingrish!
Fudan University. Sweet ! :)
:: Some students from Fudan University brought us around The Bund in Shanghai. By the way, it is also insanely cold to be decked only in business suits on a windy 15 degree celcius Shanghai night
:: Gerick insist I take a picture outside the shop 'Jewellery' because I make jewelry too ::
::
:: With the roomie, Pai, from Thailand :) We were on the train, upper most deck where I can't even sit up on the bed without hitting my head on the ceiling.
:: Half the entrepreneurship team::
P.S I miss you guys.
In studying Scientists and Foreign Policy as one of my courses this semester, many questions on the standard of morality, who then has rightful authority over foreign policy; scientists or government, sprang up to the forefront of the classroom debates (something I will dearly miss when I graduate this May).
In the midst of my research, I stumbled upon this article on the New York Times. The future will see anti-love potions instead of love potions ;) Big stuff, well, could ANY discovery be more welcomed?
See HERE !
In spite of the relatively bad service, having my room next to the motor on the boat, exorbitant budget tour packages and the lack of good food afloat, the landscape of Halong Bay is a refreshing escape from Hanoi's incessant motor-honking. Weather dependent, we spent 2 days afloat, kayaking, blue sky thinking, eating, talking, taking in the fog, the mist and the sunshine. We took a Sampan (no life jackets were provided by the way) that rowed through beautifully jagged caves and en route, was surrounded by a bevy of Vietnamese merchants on their Sampans selling fruits, snacks and flowers.
The privilege was mine to have met the group of people hailed from Greece, Belgium, Denmark, Germany and Singapore. The Greek couple was so cool, the woman draws people- like a good, cool crystal drawing heat from your hands, they made me so comfortable. I felt then that life could be much better lived if we had more of these people around, their presence a welcoming reminder of the need to kick back your shoes and soak up the sun. The Belgium couple, Patrick and Stephanie were the most hilarious pair. Patrick is a councillor for family of victims of Pedophiles and Steph works for the European Scientifc Foundation and has worked in Kenya for 5 years. I sat with them for lunch and dinner on the boat and my friend and I were struggling to stiffle our gigles when Steph kept insisting that if Pat does not pratice speaking English, she will not translate French to English for him. The way Patrick used his chopsticks is hilarious! He basically used one in each hand, and rolled the specks of rice onto his spoon :)
The Denmark couple were equally interesting. The lady is a Physiotherapist and the man is a Physics teacher in high school. Both left their jobs to travel the world for half a year. They trekked from New Zealand to the United States to the Middle East and now Asia. I was thinking, what is it about us Singaporeans that would only dream of such an adventure but never actually materialise them? Over lunch, I was talking to the Denmark lady and then I figured, aside from different cultural upbringings, it was the fact that Denmark is a welfare state whilst Singapore is not. In Denmark, I was told that the homeless are homeless by choice because all homeless people are still ensured a small flat and montly allowance nonethless, albeit a meagure amount.
I adore the space in between, lying on the deck being sunkissed, doing absolutely nothing except for a bit of blue sky thinking. I miss the freedom, the boredom, and everything in between, all these time wondering what will my next travel point be when wanderlust strikes me again.
Stefanie and I :)
Stefanie and Patrick :)
tres adorable ! Patrick and his very "unique" way of eating with chopsticks.
What do we have here? Is it a bird.. a plane...superman....NO, it's a floating bank! (European bank but with the Communist flag in front of it of course, gee)
:: With the girls from the U.S ! ::
:: With Alexis ! ::
:: With the co-owner of Hanoi Backpackers' Hostel ::
Some smashing good fun at an Irish pub where we celebrated with free flow of beer and (some) cocktails, finger food, sponsored by the backpackers' hostel itself as it celebrates its 4th Birthday !!! :)
Hostel: Hanoi Backpackers
Cost: 7USD per night
Facilities: 9 bunk beds in a room (common bathroom)
Other recreational facilities: Kitchen and bar/cafe.
Location: Old Quarter
What makes a backpacker different from a tourist if one does not, or at least feels obliged to, or intend to at best, take the road "less travelled"? This distinction between the two never really occured to me until a year ago when I studied Sociology of tourism. Does it matter really which category you boxed yourself in because in the eyes of the locals and the natives, we're all the same? The buzzwords associated with the definition of backpacking include " cheap hostels", " lonely planet", "backpack" (as dusty as possible). Is it just about one being on the cheap, and the other having the Louis Vuitton set and residing in Shangri-La Hotel?
I reckon, It's about attitudinal paradigms. The term "selfish tourists" was coined because of the obnoxious attitude some people take to travelling. There's nothing wrong with waiting to be served especially if you paid a price for it, I think that is reasonable. But if you claim to be a backpacker, then do not jump on the bandwagon and then lament that the locals overcharge you or victimise the sorry state you conjured up for yourself. Carrying a backpack does not and never will, make you a backpacker. ALL, and I will repeat myself if need be, all tour packages make a neat profit out of tourists. ALL tourist spots overcharge simply because they are "tourists spots". It doesn't make sense to overcharge locals and undercharge tourists in these areas do they? What about the language? I say it is condescending , and to your own disadvantage to travel to a foreign land without bothering to at the very least, learn a few words it. Afterall, you're on foreign soil. It is almost ludicrous for instance, for me to travel around Africa with nary an African word learnt prior to that.
All these travelling or backpacking and then for what? What are the take home lessons at the end of the day? Can you say that you understood the culture? Can you claim that you have spoken to at least 5 locals? Or wait, you can't because you do not even other to learn how to say 'thank you' in another's language. I recently read on New York Times, about a reporter's travel and discovery of slavery in prostitution. Sure, there are harlots who seek this line of profession out of desperation rather than coercion but there are a handful especially in Asia and Eastern Europe who are coerced into prostition. Are you cognisant of the torture chambers they placed at the basement of brothels where coquettish teenage prostitutes who do not "smile willingly" at male tourists or "listen to instructions", whatever they may be, have their limbs tied, then their heads doused in water, before given agonizing painful electric shocks until they obey? Or being locked in a dark coffin full of red ants for a day or two if they disobey? Do you see the Evil behind those superficial coquettish smiles?
For article, see HERE
Ignorant travelling is not travelling. Going to a few "tourists hotspot" everywhere does not make one a traveller, although you can make the tourism industry very happy indeed. I have no qualms with people who can afford to, and choose to travel in comfortable luxurious splendour. But I cannot and will not respect a "selfish tourist" who decks himself with a backpack and claims to demarcate the line of distinction between himself and a tourist.
A Korean-German couple in my group was assaulted by the Cab driver from Hanoi airport. After putting their backpacks at the car's trunk, the driver drove them to an undesired destination and demanded 100 USD (on top of the cab fare) in exchange for their backpacks. Bleeding insane! I put my foot down and say this is daylight robbery! What happened to hospitality in Vietnam?
However, I cannot deny the nostalgia that hung in the Vietnamese air makes for a charming experience. Hanoi in particular, is like Singapore in the 1960s. Traditional roadside barbers, street vendors (not on push carts but in squatting style by the road) selling huge chunks of meat that looks thawed for too long. Vietnamese women in the traditional conical hat, also known as a "non la", carry fruit baskets on poles, charging an exorbitant price to tourists. They see no need to pay attention to any difference between a backpacker and a tourist. I guess it is not their fault since some backpackers behave like insensitive tourists in their typical Hawaiian prints shirts, snapping away on their digital cameras with insouciant glee, leaving the locals a tad offended. Markus asked a lady in her traditional conical hat for permission to take her photo, to which she declined and turned away. Perhaps they do not want to feel like animals on exhibition.
A scene from the streets, down the narrow alley of hostels at the Old Quarter where I lived. Phone numbers printed carelessly on the walls act as ads for people to sell their properties. In Hanoi, you can tailor-made at really good prices or buy yards and yards of cloth. The vibrant colours of the cloth stood in stark contrast to the otherwise grey drabby walls on the streets.
Massive hordes of motors snaked through the traffic that begins from 6 am in the morning and ends at about 12 am in the night. There is almost no escape from the incessant honking from the motorists, nor the thick pollution that hung in the air. Originating from a country that obeys laws and rigid order such that one gets fined for not following traffic light rules, I was for a day or two, dazed by the system of "controlled chaos" that so characterizes the traffic in Hanoi. To sharpen my reactions (or so I thought), as well as to save cost from taking a potentially manipulated metre Cab, I joined the teeming throng of two-wheeled chaos in the streets from the Army Musuem to the bus stop that would bring us to the traditional pottery village. After a brief negotiation in my halting Vietnamese and the motorist's minimal English, we settled on 2 USD for the transaction cost.
Only to be rewarded by this on my leg....
The colour is even more unsightly now, no thanks to Markus who made a grave mistake by pouring water onto my wound in a bid to soothe the burn. :/ My heart broke not so much because of the pain but by the fact that the scar will take years to heal completely. There is hardly any pharmacy in sight in the place I was at then but I went into "193 Cafe" and the Vietnamese waiters were exceedingly nice to me, offering me ointment and free Chrysanthemum tea to soothe my nerves. Grateful and thirsty, we ordered Vietnamese coffee for 0.5 USD. On a more positive note, this "battle scar" is something that may make for an interesting conversation in future (:
Early at 7am in the morning, I stirred in my sleep and was semi-awoken by the Communist propaganda that is broadcasted in Hanoi daily. I could not make out the words as they are in Vietnamese but they bore an uncanny resemblance to that of North Korea's- a presentation that I did before earlier in the semester and hence had substantial research on the country. To have a better glimpse, watch THIS.
We have Lenin in Moscow, Mao in China and Ho Chi Minh in Hanoi; the three embalmed communists.
On the last day in Hanoi when I returned back from Halong Bay, the commotion in the dead of the night at 11pm made me realised that soccer is indeed a universal language and that back in Singapore, we had no chance to cheer. A bevy of Vietnamese on their bikes cruised along the streets in the night, raising their Communist flags with apparent pride in celebration of the victory of Vietnam against Singapore in the ASEAN cup. There is a certain 'exciting rush' in the air that is sorely lacking in Singapore, save for during World Cup.
P.S sorry for the bad photo ! These bikes were moving real fast and my anti-shake function can't seem to keep up with the pace :/
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