bocmaxima's VirtualTourist Home Page

I can clearly recall the first time I got really interested in travel. When I was fairly young (6 or 7), my family was moving from one place to another (we moved a lot) and, as I sat in the front seat, my dad asked me to pull out the road atlas to find where we were. From that point on, I had a fascination with not only maps, but with all of the unknown places and landscaped carved out by the circles, squares, lines and letters. I wanted to see all of it.
So, since I've been back in the US, I've been trying to see as much as I can. Countless roadtrips, random plane rides and a few, long train rides have resulted in a mountain of pictures and a large list of checked-off cities. Not to say that I've been everywhere, of course, but I hopefully we'll knock off most of the US by the time I'm 30.

Moving to Singapore was a culture shock. The first day, when we finally settled into an apartment, our newly-hired Filipina maid (with whom I'm still friends) brought out a plate of Chinese seafood specialty: a baked fish (with the head, skin and bones), and whole prawns (also with heads). My sister and I were horrified by the whole thing but, over time, I grew very much to appreciate it and now prefer a whole fish versus the more traditionally Western methods of cooking it.
For me, Singapore was all about transit. There was very little to do there, and alcohol, although I could purchase it at the age of 14 without much issue, was very expensive. So, I spent much of my time traveling around the city, on bus, MRT (subway) or bike. I spent hours on that bike, learning the weird little roads that snaked through the island's inner hills and tiny neighborhoods. Even the homogeneous HDB (public housing) areas were ripe with interesting stores, activities and people. This is what I did on many, many weekends: biked, and what I found helped me learn the city quite well, but also me afforded me a chance to see things that few foreigners would normally get to see.
Although I went to an international school, I befriended quite a few local Singaporeans, mostly due to being in bands. In Singapore, since the majority of the population (over 70%) lives in the multi-storied public housing towers, playing rock music is not conducive to homelife. So, there are "studios" throughout the city which provide equipment and a safe place to play for rental by the hour (it was about S$15/hour back then, dependent upon the place). These studios were, for whatever reason, somewhat secretive, and you just had to hear about them to know where they were. They existed in Hougang, Pasir Panjang, Jurong West and along Orchard, among other places. I'm quite sure that none of them exist anymore, but I would not hesitate to guess that other places like them have sprung up to take their places.
But the Singaporeans I got to know, despite being oppressed by an essentially totalitarian government, were quite open-minded and intelligent, and very aware of the state of the world. Like most other non-Americans, they were resentful toward the American neo-imperialism and, having basically just stepped off the proverbial boat, this was my first experience with people who had not been subject to the same propaganda, and taught their whole lives that Americans had the superior way of life. They were never resentful in an aggressive manner, but, rather, were not particularly appreciative of any of the rhetoric, as they got too much of that themselves from their own government.
Either Singapore permitted drinking in public, or the rule was just never enforced. Much of my time was spent sipping on cheap alcohol outside shopping centers around the Orchard Road area, just talking and watching things go by.
I should address that I was not the only one whose life was immersed in transit. Going anywhere took a fairly significant investment in time, especially if you didn't have the money to always take a taxi (I didn't) and didn't have a car (very few did). The bus system is very well-developed though: the routes make sense, it's punctual, and very reasonably-priced. The MRT was slightly more expensive and often more crowded, but would get you across town in a much more efficient manner.
Taxis were rare for me. Typically, they were taken only after the buses stopped running at around midnight. The problem, though, is that there is a significant fare increase at midnight so, about 15-30 minutes before midnight, there is nigh a taxi to be found in most areas. Typically, they can be found hanging out on side streets, lined up, waiting for that magic hour. However, they will not pick you up at this point. I should point out though that taxis in Singapore are always metered. I never came across a driver that attempted to negotiate with me until in Malaysia.

Malaysia has become my favorite country. The ultra-clean, Chinese-run city-state of Singapore is separated from its former parent state, Malaysia, by a sliver of murky, still water known as the Johor Strait. Until the late 90s, there was one way across: the causeway. This causeway was populated with cars, bikes, pedestrians and buses, and the flow of traffic never ended.
My first experience in Malaysia was a field trip to a diving destination. The whole thing was a bit of a whirlwind, and I can only recall trouble at the border with my passport, then eventually winding up on a 6-hour boat ride through the night. It was beautiful though. We stayed on a little Pulau (island) with no running water and only one telephone. The sea was clear and the island was undisturbed. Each morning, we were woken up by the call to prayer (remember that Malaysia is solidly Muslim) and went down for our rose water and whatever ridiculous concoction they offered up as food.
On that trip was the first time I got seasick. I had problems throughout regulating the pressure in my ears and generally fell behind in the class, so I stayed on the boat during one particularly choppy day. I was just lucky that I had eaten only rice that morning.
The next time I recall visiting Malaysia was with a Malaysian friend who I knew in Singapore. At that time, there was one public bus to Malaysia. It ran from Little India to just inside Johor Bahru (the Malaysian border town). It had no air-conditioning, and was typically packed on weekends with either Indian migrant workers returning to their construction sites in the suburban areas, or with old Chinese men, hitting the racetracks in Johor. Obviously, an uncomfortable ride all around.
Despite whatever you may think about Malaysia, at that time, at least, it was much more lawless than Singapore. I think the US/Mexico relationship is similar, although Malaysians don't seem overly eager to work in Singapore and both countries are generally better off than their respective counterparts. But Malaysia was where you could come to buy things that were illegal in Singapore: fireworks, pornography, banned videos, pirated software, smuggled electronics. All of it was available in towering shopping centers just over the border. Drugs, sex and most likely guns were also available if you were willing to spend a little more time searching for them.
Another trip over a weekend took me to Kuala Lumpur. My dad was wisely weary of the whole trip, but it really did go off without a hitch. My friend and I took a bus up, after randomly catching it at the terminal in Johor, and paying a reasonable cash fare. The ride up was long, and wound along a two-lane highway past forests of palm trees. I can recall imagining what sort of animals sat under the canopy.
Upon arriving in KL, we found the hotel that I had somehow come across as being cheap, but it was either closed or extremely run-down. We wandered the streets a bit and eventually found another hotel, which was staffed by a friendly Burmese clerk, who gave us a good rate. We wandered the streets, causing quite a bit of havoc among the locals and just generally seeing the sites. At one point, we came across a guy just a few years older than us who worked in a music store. We talked briefly, and then left.
The next day, on the same block as our hotel, we saw him waiting for a bus. He claimed that he was stoned and, being fairly big pot smokers at that time, we found out where we could get it and how much we should pay.
It turned out to be a back alley behind a restaurant we had been to earlier in the day (apparently this was not the best part of KL). People would ride up on motorcycles, make an exchange, and buzz off. Since we were white, no one would sell to us, so we found the clerk from the restaurant we had been to earlier and he agreed to buy us a bag.
It wasn't very good, but it was pot. Looking back, it was a terrible decision, seeing that people are routinely executed for even possessing small amounts of drugs in Malaysia. But it was fun.
I hope to go back to KL again someday

Singapore has nothing on China though. When you first arrive in China, you're fascinated with everything going on. Walk down any street in the city and, at any given block, some person is doing something totally foreign that makes no sense whatsoever to you. After a while, it's not that these things really start to make any sense to you, but you just start to accept them as everyday occurrences. They're just there, and you ignore them.
I rode a 50cc moped while living in suburban Shanghai and would ride it to school each day (15 km or so from my house) due to simply hating the school bus. This afforded a great opportunity to really explore urban China and its culture. As anyone who has ever owned a Chinese-made moped will know, these things break down all the time, and I was constantly having to negotiate with real grit of the proletariat population who operated random machine shops out of stalls on the side of the streets. Chinese love to haggle but I always found that the individuals never tried to get too much money out of me. It may have been a general fear of retribution for mistreatment of foreigners. Back in the concession days (pre-WWII), Chinese were very much the lower class and foreigners were regarded with an almost royal status. This has changed, but the government still seems to have separate rules for Chinese and foreigners, and the Chinese population always seem to be aware of this. I don't particularly like this, and always tried to treat Chinese as equals, but it was always there, in the background.
Some of the best memories are of inebriation: struggling to open a bottle of Chinese wine without a corkscrew (usually we just broke off the top) to drink out on the street, buying arm-fulls of 2 yuan (25 cents) bottles of beer, staggering into random restaurants at 3am for delicious steamed vegetables, spicy Sichuan food and meat sticks and, of course, lots of roadside vomiting.
Fun times, indeed.
But China wasn't just binge drinking and toothless men fixing motorcycles: it was culture, history and the last true remnant of the eroding Communist empire.
What remained of Communism in China were red on white billboards sporting the worst kind of Chinglish in unattractive, block lettering and an essentially powerless cop on every street corner. It is also manifested itself in the fact that it was very, very difficult to obtain illegal drugs. And not just the hated opium, which was still found in the remote countryside or in the pipes of decrepit old men on the side of the street, but simple, wholesome marijuana, which could be found fairly easily in Singapore, was virtually non-existent. I do commend the Chinese on this though, and it really serves as a model to the Americans who really want a "drug-free" society of how far civil liberties must be taken back to achieve it.
How about the Chinese people? In Shanghai, and even moreso in the countryside, they were, at that time, very, very obsessed with white people. Foreigners who, like me, could speak Chinese without sounding like they were reading English backwards, were especially noticed. This was more the country people though ("xiang xia ren" - a derogatory term in urban China), and Shanghainese were content to accept you as the dollar signs that you truly represented. But this only opened up more fun times.
China at that time was fairly boring for a high school kid. Your activities could include drinking, bowling, karaoke, shopping or eating.
Drinking was only cheap outside of bars. Inside bars, it was generally about the same price as in the US, even for the Chinese beer and alcohol. At restaurants, it was cheap, but the beer was typically served warm (Chinese tend to not like cold liquids).
Bowling ("bao ling qui") was popular. Chinese may as well have invented it. Although, in the US, you could not get away with showing up to a bowling alley *** drunk, insisting on bowling in only your socks, but Chinese welcomed it with good humor.

No, I typed that right. Modest Mouse has their version, and I have mine.
In college, I found myself taking every vacation not to, unlike my counterparts, head to parties fueled by alcohol and the money of their parents, the far west.
The first trip was to Utah to visit friends. I drove to Palo Duro Canyon the first day, sleeping a cold March night in my car with just a sleeping bag, visiting The Lighthouse the next morning. The next day, through New Mexico, staying in Gallup. Then, a northward jaunt to Arches, and onto Provo. Coming back, I went through Colorado and Kansas, rarely stopping.
That's what did it. That one trip. I was hooked on the American West.