My Name is Winnie, and I’m a Travelholic

It had been over a year since I last travelled, and that was back home so technically it didn’t even count. God knows I needed a vacation and gave me a good excuse to just go for it. Who could turn down a flight and 4-night hotel package for Sabah at HK$1,999?

October marks the beginning of the rainy season in Sabah, Malaysia. Yet we were blessed to have only seen the slightest of precipitation on our last day there on the way to the airport. The climate is similar to Singapore; the people are similar to Thai. As for the attractions, think rainforest meets island adventures. Plus plenty of seafood meals and foot massages.

And now, all I have to show for it are a few good pictures and the itchy peeling skin on my shoulders.

Kinabalu Park

Tanjung Aru Beach

Borneo pygmy elephant at Lok Kawi Wildlife Park

Toronto

Boarding the dreaded 16-hour flight to come back to Hong Kong was quite a struggle. I can no longer justify giving up the life I could be having in Toronto to be here.

Niagara Falls, Ontario

Main Street, Unionville

Wine Region, Niagara-on-the-Lake

Fort Henry, Kingston

Downtown Kingston

Fun-L-Fun, Avenue Road

Weekend in Macau

It took seven trips to Macau for me to set foot in Wynn for the first time. We were drawn in mostly by the AC, but once inside I actually managed to find the casino hotel borderline grand. On the ceiling just inside the main entrance is a magnificent sculpture featuring the 12 Chinese zodiac animals, seemingly dominated by the tiger displaying its ferocious roar. Both the ceiling and the astrology-themed dome directly below were structured to suggest that they’d crack open to reveal something mystical. Soon enough crowds started to gather for what’s to come.

At 15 minutes past the hour, the show began. Lights dimmed and music played. Like the shutter of a film camera, the sculpture split into pizza-slice-shaped plates and slowly retracted into the ceiling to unveil a glow, which was simply a giant LCD screen displaying winding swirls of multicolored lights ― short of magical but would easily be the Mecca of any rave party. The LCD itself then split open and uncovered yet another bright light. This time it was a massive upside-down-pudding-shaped chandelier. As it lower from inside the ceiling, the astrology-themed dome on the ground split open. The crowd ooh-ed and ahh-ed as we braced ourselves for the moment of truth. Who knew the fancy 15-minute buildup would be followed by the ultimate anticlimax of a Styrofoam tree spray-painted gold rising from the underground, for people to throw spare change at. I think it’s safe to say this has constituted my WTF moment of the year.

As we window shopped our way through the Wynn Esplanade, we made every effort to zone out the rowdy chitchat in oh so many different Chinese dialects that were echoing past Hermès, Rolex and Ferrari. One conversation in particular was interrupted by the distinctive sound of someone hocking up phlegm as if from the bottom of his knees. I quickly turned around and prepared myself to dodge what flying dagger could be coming my way. I was one of at least four people including a Wynn staff who witnessed as the foamy puddle landed on the mosaic marble floors, right there in front of Prada. The shooter must’ve seen my look of disgust and kept his ears away from his phone just long enough to hear my loud exclamation of “Oh my God”, because he quickly looked away, picked up his pace and returned to his tongue-rolling prattle on his Vertu, only now in a much lower volume than before. Sadder yet, the Wynn staff was even quicker to flee the scene.

We didn't stay at Wynn, but at Rio (don’t ask) where everything screams Mainland: Complimentary breakfast with flies (Not in the food, just hovering around. Just.); hookers roaming the lobby; gamblers filling up the casinos with clatter, cheap smoke and booger darts; spitting hookers handing out business cards to gamblers; spitting gamblers in the casinos straight-out eyeing you as if ready to ask your price. What more could you ask for?

Until Cirque du Soleil debuts its second resident show at the Venetian Macau, I’m done with the so-called Vegas of Asia. Like with every other potentially wonderful thing in the Greater China Region, Mainlanders have taken over Macau and contaminated it with their sheer inconsideration for the existence of everything that’s not them.

ROARRR

Sweet Bitter

I often don’t realize how badly I need a vacation till I’ve come back from one. Five days in Phuket left my spirit refreshed, lungs cleansed, muscles tenderized and skin toasted. I want more.

The land of a thousand smiles is every bit that. For whatever reason, the few people who didn’t readily offer us big beaming grins were either wait staff at overpriced western restaurants, or tourists. Now that I think about it, that’s probably a chicken-and-egg thing.

We were greeted by rain and thunderstorms every day that we were there, but the sun always managed to come through the clouds shortly after so you’d quickly forget about the bad weather. What’s more, the seawater’s so clear you can see the details on corals meters below; the sand’s so fine it turns into a smooth paste when met with water; the sky’s so blue it makes the fake sky ceilings inside the Venetian look realistic in comparison. What’s not to smile about?

It didn’t take long for this trip to take me back to a eureka moment I had while on a cab in Bangkok 11 months ago, the moment I realized how good life could be and should be, and that it just hadn’t been because of the decisions I was making. I think this trip also put J in perspective about just how toxic Hong Kong really is and made him appreciate the urgency of getting the hell outta here.

This awakening was reinforced as the trip came to an end. We’d barely settled into our seats on the return flight to Hong Kong before the guy sitting next to J spills hot coffee on him and takes a good five minutes to get a single “sorry” out of his mouth. But he didn’t wait five seconds before chatting me up while J went to clean up in the bathroom. This is the same guy who needed a flight attendant to personally come over and tell him to turn off the iPhone in his hands for takeoff, then later left it on where else but on his open tray table during landing; the same guy who despite being only 2/3 of J’s size, helped himself to 1/3 of J’s leg room by spreading his legs Sharon Stone style the entire time.

Our flight arrived 10 minutes late, so we had a hell of a time trying to make the very poorly planned out transfer at Bangkok. We ran like Forrest from one end of the airport to the other just barely reaching the gate before it closed, only to be in the uncomfortable presence of Thai Airways ground staff who neither smiled nor offered any verbal acknowledgement of our existence. No attempt to lift the corners of their mouths, no eye contact, no sawasdee, no good evening, no thank you. It’s strangely unsettling to see anyone working frontline in the service industry not even trying to be polite; to experience this in Thailand of all places was just surreal. It was as if they knew we were headed back to the land of no smiles and gave us a preview.

I saw it coming, but J was surprised and pissed that our overhead compartment was already full by the time we got on the plane. There’s always someone who buys too much and someone who brings everything carry-on. Soon as the seatbelt sign dimmed the woman sitting in front of J ― whose wardrobe, hair and full makeup screamed high maintenance ― got out of her seat, opened our overhead compartment and pulled out a bag. J and I exchanged a “that explains a lot” look.

I was trying to relax and hang on to my holiday mood for as long as I could by staring out the window into Bangkok’s evening skies, when I was nudged in the arm by a fugly foot in a pink sock that decided to use my arm rest as an ottoman. If it hadn’t made physical contact with me I probably wouldn’t even have noticed it, but once I’d come face to face with it, it had to go. So like I would with other pests I shooed it away with the in-flight magazine. This being my experience, of course the foot made its way back and I had to confront the face behind it with a clearly worded explicit request and a very sarcastic "thank you". It was either that or yanking the pink sock off the fugly foot and tossing it out the window. She's lucky the windows don't open.

Interestingly enough, neither the coffee guy nor the foot woman was Chinese. I'm starting to think there’s something in Hong Kong’s polarity that makes people less and less considerate as they draw near. No race is safe.

It was only fitting that we were cranky and stressed out by the time we set foot in Hong Kong again. And just like that, we’re home.

Phuket, Baby!

"Fruit Salad"

I think I just got an invitation to a threesome.

Standing in front of the fruits section in the supermarket across the street from the hotel, I noticed this guy checking me out. At first I wasn't sure that was the case, and I never want to think too highly of myself in this regard. But he walked back and forth past me a few times, deliberately brushing against me, until I looked at him. He smiled and started talking.

He's tall, buff, and quite handsome. If it weren't for the week-old ashtray his breath smelled of, he would've been what I consider very attractive. Quicker than I could've imagined, it went from "Is this your first time in Paris" to "My friend and I would like to invite you to our place". At first it just seemed harmlessly friendly. He did mention that his friend was a girl. But before I knew it, he asked "Do you like men or women?"

"What?"

And he repeated his question in the exact same words.

"What do you mean?" I was hoping his bad English would justify for the inappropriate interrogation. "Sexually, do you prefer men or women?" He made himself clear.

I was in disbelief, and still in front of the fruits section, with children and old ladies around me. Not wanting to lead him on with any kind of an answer, I said, "I'm going to buy some fruits now."

"You prefer fruits?"

"Yes, I prefer fruits," the moment those words came out of my mouth I was kicking myself. I did NOT just say that.

He left me his number, said he wanted to take me out, to the opera perhaps. (He claims he sings in the opera, but I can't imagine chimneys singing vocals.) He even offered me a place to stay (his).

"Tomorrow, I will make you fruit salad."

Screw You Guys...I'm Going to Europe

Yes. Finally.

One week into my long vacation I'm busy planning my France/Italy trip. I'll be spending four weeks traveling around Paris, Provence, Cinque Terre (Thanks for the tip, S), Florence, Venice and Rome.

It obviously took me too long to go through with this trip. I could've saved a lot of money if I had seized the opportunity when I was young enough to be entitled to youth discounts and to think hostels were cool.

Okay, I never really thought hostels were cool. The only thing remotely cool about them is the affordability. Call me "no fun", but I stayed in dorm rooms at camp in elementary school and didn't like it back then. Now, at the ripe age of 28, I really don't think I could bear sharing anything with rowdy kids. So to steer clear of "young travelers" who make alcohol a core ingredient and getting laid a priority of their journeys, I'm opting for B&Bs and budget hotels. I’m hoping to meet some mature and even senior travelers, who should have more to share on life and everything else; and hopefully some locals with stories about each of my destinations.

Otherwise, it’s just me, myself, and Europe. And I’ll be perfectly fine with that.

HCMC

It may not be fair, but it's hard not to compare two trips taken just two weeks apart. The city was just as ghetto, the streets were just as dirty, the traffic was just as chaotic, the cab drivers were just as dishonest towards tourists, if not more; but Ho Chi Minh City was every bit better than Shanghai.

Because I was only one of four decision makers on this trip, we ended up doing more spa treatments than touristy stuff. But that was just fine. Afterall, how could one say no to a four-hand Vietnamese massage?

I was pleasantly surprised that I did not once get an upset stomach from the Vietnamese food

But the French food was just divine

Beautiful French colonial buildings are all over the city

Interlaced with the most basic of lifestyles

The cabling system was chaotic

But nothing was as confusing as the traffic

Shanghai

Had my hopes up too high. Way too high. It only took the first four hours of a four-day trip for Shanghai to disappoint me. May be the most metropolitan city of China, sadly enough, but Shanghai is still very far from sophistication, and even further from civilization.

Can’t deny the beauty of many of the buildings there, colonial and modern architecture, with the obvious exception of the Oriental Pearl TV Tower. If only the city wasn’t so far enclosed inside the bubble of filth, overlooking the Huangpu river would’ve been just a little more pleasant than looking at the Hong Kong island from TST.

Considering how little time I had to prepare for this trip, I actually made a lot of effort to research for places to go and, more importantly, places to eat. But in the end, two of the only three decent meals I had there weren’t even Shanghainese.

The people—oh my god, the people. And I thought Hong Kong and Shenzhen were bad. Kudos to their very well developed metro network, including China’s very own Maglev; but it will take a lot more than high-speed train to drive this city away from the barbarianism so deeply rooted in all of China. Not only do people push their ways into the train before passengers get a chance to get out, but they turn back after they’ve entered the train to give an extra shove to those trying to get out.

The most enjoyable part of the trip was probably the walk through an “antique” street lined up with stall after stall selling fake watches, Chairman Mao playing cards, and a bunch of other dirty useless junk. The goods weren’t nearly as interesting as the neighborhood. Just a couple blocks away from the hip and cool Xintiandi, the area around the antique street was the oldest part of the city I saw. With residents just chilling and playing mahjong on the street, and kids running around laughing while attacking tourists with their water guns, it was as genuine as Shanghai could get in this century.

China will forever be China

Travel, Food, Currency

"Travel" is my new buzzword. Shopping just doesn't cut it anymore. Shoes and bags can rip, but the satisfaction of cutting a big chunk of your savings out in exchange for a few days of fobbish life in a foreign country lasts forever. Unfortunately, I hit the buzz at the wrong time and my long vacation around Western Europe (plus Belgium and Italy) will have to be postponed yet again.

Though I've been on quite a few myself back in Toronto, I can never understand those bus tours to Montreal, New York, Boston, etc organized by the Chinese travel agents. Minus the few washroom breaks, you're stuck on the bus on some highway 80% of the time, "entertained" by either an old Hong Kong film shown on the 10-inch screen overhead, or the tour guide’s idea of karaoke on his one-way radio. Lunch is but a little longer than a washroom break, at a fast-food restaurant that's so small it takes twice the allowed time to just buy food from the counter, let alone find a spot to eat. As the "value for money" factor, dinner's usually included, and more often than not you find yourself indulging in this delicacy known as the local version of that same Wong's Chinese Buffet you pass by everyday back home.

It might be a while before I could truly travel in style, but that doesn't mean I'm going to live off of leftovers wrapped in spring rolls. For me, food makes up on average 50% of traveling. What I eat must not be expensive but must be local.

From what I hear, a lot of people in Hong Kong think eating at McDonald’s is a good way to save whenever they travel outside of Southeast Asia. What’s more pathetic than people who outright refuse to adapt to the bread-and-cheese diet are people who use the price of a McDonald's meal as a country's standard of living, as if mistaking the golden arches for a currency unit. The fact that a Fillet-o-Fish meal somewhere in Europe costs five times more than it does in Hong Kong doesn't mean the standards of living there is fivefold of ours. McDonald's prices at any corner of the world have to do with so many factors, most of all the locale's demonstration of anti-Americanism.

Kamsahamnida

Because I was there to attend a wedding and didn't expect to have much time to roam around for sightseeing, Seoul became the first vacation I've taken without doing any research beforehand. Despite the fast spread of Korean films, drama series and songs throughout Asia, I've just never really been interested in the Korean culture. I'm not big on Kimchi nor Rain. The only Korean thing I can say I truly appreciate is their chopsticks. Maybe it was because of my lack of expectations that the trip ended up being such a wonderful experience.

Not the ice cream

As with any other of my trips, food played a major role in my visit to Seoul. The abundance of street food there is comparable to Taipei. I've lost track of the amount of sundae (vermicelli sausages with pig intestines inside) and tteokbokki (rice cake in spicy sauce) I'd eaten over the four days. Some vendors had better recipes than others. My favorite was the tteokbokki I had on the first day, which was cooked in a sauce that tasted like a thicker, spicy version of Campbell's alphabet soup. The restaurant meals were also very memorable, from the humble noodles, dumplings and pancakes to a full-blown seafood feast; from barbeque pork belly wrapped in lettuce to live octopus dipped in sesame seed oil. A drawback was that a lot of the food there is spicier than I can take. I must've eaten more chili powder on this trip than in my entire life up to last week.

"Ye!"

To my disappointment, the bride and groom chose to have a church wedding instead of a traditional Korean one. As good as the couple looked in their tux and white gown, their mothers in hanbok stole the spotlight. The ceremony was different from other church weddings I've seen in that there was a lot of bowing; that a 40-member choir, a conductor and a band were present, that two professional singers gave a performance in the middle of the ceremony, and that the pastor talked a lot—though I might've only gotten that impression because I understood none of it except for the occasional "Amen" and groom's ecstatic "ye" (Korean for "yes"). Everything else was short and sweet. Group photos were taken inside the church, and then one with all the relatives was done on the staircase outside. Guests were then led to the church's cafeteria for a buffet-style meal. There was no fancy reception, no toast, no games, no kissing.

Matchmaking

I've always known that all Asians are anal about traditions, but I hadn't realized that the South Koreans could be more conservative than the Chinese. Arranged marriage may not be as common now but matchmaking services are still very popular. The groom (a Korean American) and the bride (a local South Korean who's spent a few years studying in the US) were introduced through a matchmaking service earlier in the year. They communicated mostly via e-mail. The girl then took a short vacation to the states to meet the guy in person (anything more than a single short visit would've "devalued" the girl, according to her parents). They had but a few dates before their parents decided they should get married.

…And matchmaking

Arriving at Yongsan-ku we were looking for a good strip club to bring the groom to. But words were going around that we wouldn't be able to find any since cops have recently been busting these illegal businesses left and right. We finally settled for a Korean club in the basement of a hotel. A man can go in a Korean club and "book" any of the girls he sees inside, a waiter would then drag the girl over and encourage "communication", while they pour each other shots of whiskey or scotch. Interestingly, these girls do not work for the club, nor are they there to make money off anyone; they themselves are patrons who pay good money to get in. What the waiters hope to get are big tips off the men for introducing girls to them; what the men hope to get are young single girls to drink with and possibly bring to a hotel room upstairs (in which case the waiter gets an even bigger tip); and what the girls hope to get are free booze and, simply, the chance to meet young single men. Apparently, it's inappropriate for young singles to interact with members of the opposite sex and it's often necessary that some kind of a middleman initiates things. While those nearing the ripe age for marriage could pay professional matchmakers to do that, teenagers could only resort to these booking clubs and rely on the waiters.

What ends up happening sometimes though is that the men are neither young nor single, or they get too touchy and piss the girls off. A girl is free to excuse herself from the table if she dislikes the man/men for any reason; she can also refuse to be dragged around by the waiters, but few actually do. Because I had gone with a group that included men and we had a private karaoke room, I was immune from being booked. But every time I went outside to the bathroom or the dance floor, I risked getting kidnapped by waiters. As we were in the private room we couldn't see the girls outside, so instead of pointing out specific girls to book, our waiter just brought in girls from time to time. I'd been told that some girls could end up doing some crazy things in these booking clubs, but the ones that came into our room didn't do anything more than drinking, exchanging shallow conversations in broken English, and singing half a song. The waiter had warned us that some girls just dislike foreigners. I'd say we had about 10 girls in and out of our room throughout the night. Half of them tried to be a good sport and stuck around for a few minutes. Others clearly didn't want to be in our room and didn't take long before walking out of it.

Interesting stuff.

Oh, and we saw some Free Hugs people around a shopping district. I can never be sure whether they are soliciting or offering though.

Too Sexy for Hong Kong

Between having to travel frequently for work and not having time to travel because of work, who’s the bitch and who’s the bigger bitch?

I gave myself an eight-pound quota and only gained two. My long-overdue trip to Taipei was exactly how I expected it’d be, i.e. all about eating, otherwise nothing to get too excited about. The only thing I was psyched about was the fact that I’d be going on a solitary vacation for the first time. Of course, that only lasted for as long as I hadn’t yet settled for going in a group of six instead.

Lesson learned: Traveling should be done only with friends, not acquaintances. And four is the optimal number in a group to travel in. Anything larger than that will self-divide into smaller groups by God's will by the second day anyway.

This experience only makes me more determined to do my solitary vacation. While I’m terribly jealous of my friend who’s still backpacking across Europe, I will save my Europe trip till the time I graduate from my masters. For the more affordable me-and-my-camera short trip this winter, I’m at a cross between Shanghai and Seoul.

Jiufen--the Lamma of Taipei

Cebu Trip

The bad news: The planes delayed just enough to make us sick of card games of any kind, but just not enough for us to claim for compensation with our travel insurance.
The good news: Now we’re all professional gamblers.

The good news: The five buffet meals we had at the resort over a four-day period, plus all the seafood my stomach has always been sensitive to, not to mention the live sea urchins served on the boat (guts of which were rinsed out with seawater), didn’t cause any diarrhea.
The bad news: A cup noodle at the Manila airport did.

The bad news: There was only one real sunny day. All other days were cloudy with scattered showers.
The good news: The 20-minute sunny period on the day before the real sunny day was enough to give me the tan/burn I longed for.

The good news: Two days of snorkeling didn’t kill hydrophobic me.
The bad news: Two minutes of swimming in the resort pool almost did.
The worse news: Had I drowned to my death, my last thought wouldn’t have been on the ones I love, but the one who didn’t save me.

The bad news: Didn’t come across a whole lot of scenery to photograph.
The good news: The best images—of corals and tropical fish nibbling bread off my hands—have been saved in my memory.

Live sea urchins: very little meat, but taste like the ocean

Cebuuu

It's yet to be officially announced, but for this year's company trip we're going to Cebu. With less than a month to departure, the anticipation has started to overflow.

It's a pity we can only afford to be away for four days. The Queen City of the South has ought to be delightful. Well, any destination is a delightful vacation spot when you live in a hellhole where beaches are where sand and broken glass meet, and the sea is where the sewages of 2.2 million households end. I just can't wait to feel the warm white sand in my toes; and go snorkeling in the blue waters and be able to see farther than half an arm's reach. Not to mention eat freshly caught uni straight out of their shells.

Planning takes away half the fun when your travel documents have expired. Instead of going through the complicated procedures of renewing my Canadian passport—which I almost followed through with the time I thought I was going to Europe, I've decided to apply for an HKSAR passport. But with all the convenience brought to us by online booking, the application still took me 45 minutes at the immigration office.

For the following four weeks I still got a few "half funs" to have. Bikini shopping, for one, is a vacation in itself.

Before Sunset

Forget Thailand. After having watched and re-watched both Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, I have no doubt that Europe is the way to travel. Despite having little hope of meeting my very own Jesse on the way, I just can't get over this urge to experience the continent by means of a Eurailpass.

Magically, I got a glimpse of what could be a green light in the mail yesterday. I'm invited to attend a course conference at the University of Leicester for my MAMC program in February. Since starting my studies in April I haven't so much as been late to a class. There's really no reason why I should ditch a class now just because of a little distance. Especially when the conference is conveniently held just a few days before the three red days we have for Chinese New Year. Which means by taking only four days off work, I can take a 10-day vacation.

Started doing a little research today. Clicked into Eurail's official website, which I've kept in my bookmark for weeks now, and looked up the numbers.

That's when the harsh reality hit me like a ton of bricks. Because I would be 26 years and two and a half weeks old by the time of the conference, I wouldn't be able to enjoy the savings with the "Eurailpass Youth" plan, which translates to a US$174 difference.

Undeniably, the idea that in some parts of the world anyone under the age of 26 is considered as "youth" is flattering. At least it gives me something to feel good about for another month. But I can't make much sense out of why I should be spending a staggering US$174 more than the 25-year-old guy in the next seat, when he could well be more mature than I am, making more money than I do, and have a bigger body mass and hence occupying more space on the train than I would.

Then to think that in no time, I'll be officially "non-young", ouch.

But it's exactly because I'm entering another stage of life that I owe it to myself to venture something for no one else but me.