The Accidental Tourist

10 years ago, clients would tell me to take only bluebird taxis when I’m in Jakarta. 10 years later, client still tells me to “walk pass all the other taxi drivers and look for the guy in a white shirt/blue vest and the logo that looks like a phoenix. ”

The first visit to Jakarta was with Mum and brother. All i remembered of that trip was the river was polluted, squatters living their lives next to it and of course, my brother and I puking our guts out in the hotel room ‘coz of food poisoning.

In my first job, ex company sent me to Jakarta during the riots (or rather, despite the riots) to do training session for clients. It was scary for the fresh graduate out of school traveling alone and looking at all the trucks with protesters driving by. It didn’t help to find out there was a protest on the airport highway the night before but the protesters had dispersed due to rain.
Forward to present day, I’m still none the wiser . Walking out of the airport, i totally missed the guy in the white shirt and the blue vest. Yeah, i felt pretty stupid walking up and down looking for the “Bluebird”. Jakarta doesn’t seem to be what i remembered it to be. Building looks bigger and expensive. Malls are filled with the latest IT gadgets. Hey, the telcoms were having an Iphone event today and the best part is, you don’t have to queue to get one. The shops are filled with factory outlets. How about a burberry polo tee for $20?

No shopping for me since it’s only day 1. So i’m off looking for bluebird taxis while i’m in jakarta and pretending to look like i understand bahasa indonesian.

Remember when you were young and when your mum told you that you can have a bite of chocolate cake, you would always try to get the biggest bite possible? You open your mouth really wide and try to stuff as much as possible? Or when your sibling offered you a sip of their yakult and you would try to hold your breath and take the longest sip ever? 

I haven’t had that feeling that i needed to maximise every opportunity available. Strangely, a bus ride from Vinh to Dong Hoi brought back that feeling. Tym and I were feeling smug (or at least I was) that we had scored a nice bus ride in a bus with curtains, A/C and a small LCD screen in the front playing vietnamese MTVs to boot. The conductor was a hard dude with a face weathered by the tough elements on the road. Tym described him as “the guy who could play the baddie in channel 8 dramas”. The inner auntie in me was feeling pleased that we had managed to bargain down the price from 100k dong to 60k dong although i found out later we were being ripped off (tourist price). No more crazy bus rides where the boss and his entourage smoking and partying at the back row. No more stranger’s feet hanging over my backpack and me waking up to seeing a foot in my face.  No more traffic jams or stops on the road where everyone would rush out to see what accident had costed the jam. No more trying  to rush to the toilet at the petrol kiosk in record time and worrying that the bus will drive off with my backpack and travel mate.  

How wrong was I? The engine started and the LCD screen was kept away. At least, I won’t get a ear worm with that vietnamese MTV that they have put on a loop. Thing were definitely not looking up when we noticed that the A/C never got turned on. Oh well, we can always look out the window. When a family, with their motorcycle helmets on, started turning up on the bus, I thought to myself “geez, poor things, must be a bad day for them. bikes must have broken down”. And then it happened. They pushed the motorcycle onto the bus. The bus was full and conceited me thought, this should be a fast ride since the 24 seater bus is full and they won’t stop to pick up passengers. Wrong again. the 24 seater packed 40 pax at our final count and hey the communists are fair people. You paid a fare, you’ll get a seat. Everyone is equal, ok? Cushions were put in the aisles. Plastic stools were pulled. Voila! Nothing is impossible! The guys on the bus were pretty nice people. They dropped Tym and I at a spot in Dong Hoi where it was easy for us to get accommodation. 

 A few days later, we were in Dong Ha. Tym was doing her hotel research and I was feeling miserable as it was raining non stop. I was ready to skip Dong Ha and move on to Hue. Even our travel agent asked “why are you in Dong Ha, not Hue?”  While waiting, I was standing by the roadside and trying to get some rainy day Vietnam shots. Then I saw our good friend. The conductor from the super packed bus ride. The bus was cruising down the road trying to pick up new passengers. He waved at me and I took a picture. It’s nice to have friends in small towns in Vietnam.  

Sorry but there’s no better way to describe India. Nothing can prepare you for it. Sure, friends have warned me about the infamous Indian Diarrhea (which i did not get). Ex-Colleagues who used to come straight to the workplace after hopping off the plane from India had that incredulous aroma of Jasmine mixed with coconut oil and sometimes BO. Uncles who came back from india, told me strange tales of how the cows own the road and a cow, in the middle of the road, parts traffic like Moses parted the red sea. If you watched enough of the Amazing Race, you will know that women get groped in the trains and the buses. 

I didn’t get the Indian Diarrhea. I think I did acquire that Indian Aroma minus the BO, of course. My dressing table smells strangely of Jasmine and coconut oil even though I can’t put my finger to where the smell is coming from. Yes, the cow own the roads and it’s something that you need to see to believe. Lastly, I did not get groped. Although friends make fun about it (yes i get the joke and my ego is bruised etc etc…), I’m glad my chastity is intact. Thank you very much.

I’m going to risk sounding like a bitch and say this. Do not pay people for pictures!

See example above. At the riverside of Cho 12 in Hanoi, this sweet old lady, a fish monger, saw me with the camera from far and started peddling over. Her old but nimble limbs started posing. Squat down. Standing up. Holding her oar on the left. Lifting it higher. Then, it started. “1 dollar , 1 dollar.” The dreaded 1 dollar chant.

Walking through Cho 12, I had already hear the chant. Mind you, this is a local’s market, not a tourist attraction. But they have been spoiled by the hordes of tourists coming through and paying them for pictures. Some of the store owners were nice. Once a conversation was striked up, they were open to pictures. Or buy stuff from them. Buy roast dog meat and eat it right infront of them. They will be amused by you and you get better pictures. Buy coffee for your mum at home. Buy some local tibits and just give to the hotel staff at the front desk. Whatever you do, DO NOT PAY for pictures. Why? ‘Coz you spoil it for the rest of us. These people make a living out of selling their wares, not posing for pictures. And don’t insult them by offering money.

I always thought that it was Malacca, not Melaka. Someone up there must have decided that they need to stick to pure Bahasa Malaysian.

Contrary to popular belief that I disappeared for 2 days and went groom hunting in Vietnam and China, a few of us went to babysit some kids from KL for a photo outreach programme by Photo Malaysia. Ok, it’s also an excuse for us to go and gorge ourselves silly with nonya goodies in Melaka.

Our accommodation….

NOT!

Thought the picture of the mansion looked good enough to bluff family that i headed up to France. Hiak Hiak. This was right next to the Peranakan Shophouses at Jalan Tun Tan Tan Cheng Lock. Imagine, Antique shops, Wanton Mee Stall, Old Shophouses and suddenly European Style Mansion. Talk about out of place.

This is where we stayed instead. The Baba House. No bibis sashaying in sarong kerbayas leh. The most outrageous was there was no nonya kaya for breakfast! Instead we got Lupark butter and Heinz Jam for our toast. Clean, Basic Rooms and excellent location.

A quick mental audit of the food we ate is too much to be listed here without boring you. Grilled cuttlefish from the roadside, popiah with pork lard(Twice in 1 day!),Tangy Sop Itik Tim(Duck soup with salted vegetables and plum), Assam Laska, Chendol with that slight burnt cameralised Gula Melaka. Yup, we pretty much covered everything that we wanted to eat.

Nonya Lakya, Ikan Assam, Ayam Pongteh for breakfast to make up for the pathetic breakfast from the Baba House. From Donald and Lily Corner. Tip off from the locals that this little hideaway stall is the real deal. And it was REALLY GOOD!

Carp swimming up lamp posts? Boleh? Boleh!

Spotted in Melaka.

No handphones, no lights, no talking, total silence……intruging. Anyone been in Bali for Nyepi before?

Transportation in Sifinos.

It was in the Summer of 2000. The boy, whose shorts that were way too tight, suggested a trip to Greece.

A month long trip. Just bumming around as backpackers and lots of island hopping. Fuelled by the idea that I should see the world while I was young and the idea of a month long vacation in an exotic location just doing nothing but beautiful beaches and me, I quickly agreed to it!

Was working in IT back then. I worked my ass off 2 years and accummulated enough leave for the big trip. Begged my bosses to let me go for the month.

So here we go…London-Athens-Serifnos-Sifinos-Milos-Santorini-Ios-Naxos-Paros-Mykonos-Delos!

When not guzzling down alcohol by the glass, you could also drink it from the bag via an IV drip. Alcohol goes directly into blood stream. Woohoo!