Taking the Plunge: 28 Days of Solo Traveling

It was while celebrating my birthday in Liwliwa last year that this crazy idea entered my head - solo traveling for one month. I just laughed it off at the time. I mean… me? Travel non-stop alone for a month? Are you bloody serious?

Me?!

Seven months ago if somebody told me that I’d be courageous and stupid (Probably more stupid) enough to actually make that moment of insanity turn into a hard-cold reality, I would’ve told them sarcastically, “Lakas ng katol na hinihithit mo, ha? Pahingi nga.” and then give them my best teleserye kontabida laugh. But that’s exactly what happened. Three months after that solo birthday trip to Liwliwa, I had already finished booking most of my flights and six months later, I was boarding that plane headed for Kuala Lumpur to begin a new adventure.

I'm off to a new adventure.

However, as the days of 2013 started ticking away, I began to worry.

“Can I really do this?”

You see, I’m a guy who thrives in habits and routines; who does well with repetition. I have borderline obsessive compulsive disorder. That’s one of the things that make me a goddamn fine nurse. And the thought of leaving my day-to-day routines and hauling my belongings to go on a month-long adventure was something extremely scary. This is something very big for me.

Inside the Batu Caves.

Two nights before my departure, I was on the verge of quitting; I was this close to throwing all my plane tickets to the trash bin. My head was literally a circus before I left the Philippines. But I toughened up my resolve. Despite the countless fears and doubts, I made the firm decision to push through with this trip.

If not now, when? When will I do this? There are a lot of people who want to do this kind of traveling in their early twenties, but not everybody is given the chance. And I was one of those very few who were given the chance. So why am I emoting like Kris Aquino instead of grabbing this rare opportunity? I sucked it all up and started packing my bags.

An afternoon in Singapore's Merlion Park.

When I first booked that flight to Malaysia, I had no particular compelling reason why I wanted to travel for one month. I just wanted to try out long-term backpacking and see if it is as amazing as many travelers are saying, and of course to have the bragging rights that I was able to do something like this at this stage of my life. Then somewhere along the way, this trip became both an experiment and a challenge.

It became an experiment to see what kind of traveling works for me; to see what kind of traveling I really enjoy doing. I didn’t cram a lot of destinations for this adventure and it was an absolute requirement that I stay in one place for at least a week. My previous travels were pretty jam-packed, visiting at least three to four destinations in just five days or a week, and I was constantly in transit. It has its advantages and disadvantages, but this time I wanted to know how the other side of the coin looks like.

Fooling around with a mirror at Khoo Kongsi Clan House.

It also became a challenge to see how I’ll fare going completely out of my comfort zone. I didn’t have any concrete plans for this trip. Except for my plane tickets and some of my hostel reservations, I did not plan things down to the very last detail like my OCD self usually does. I wanted to see how I’ll deal with the challenges of solo traveling, and whether or not I’ll be able to keep myself alive and keep my limbs intact while being on the road for 28 days.

In short, I just wanted to know myself better and I wanted to know the things I want out of life.

Probably the most recognizable Ernest Zacharevic mural in Penang - the little children on a bicycle.

But it was not a bloody walk in the park.

My friends who caught wind of the insanity I have done had romanticized ideas about this month-long trip. They think I was on a vacation wherein I got to lounge by the beach all day and drink martinis until evening or until I become completely comatose. I wanted to give them a hundred bitch slaps each. Sure, long-term traveling has its moments; it has its ups. But like everything else in this world, it also has its downs. And trust me; I’ve experienced quite a few of those downs throughout those four weeks. Traveling is not all about fun. We just want you to think that it is.

Trying out nasi lemak for the very first time. It tastes weird, but it was good.

In hindsight, now that I think about it, life on the road is pretty much like life anywhere else on the planet. The only difference is that you are constantly on the move. You still get to see new places, you still get to try out bizarre things, and you still get to meet a lot of people who are very different from you. There’s nothing really extraordinary about long-term traveling but at the same time, there’s something very, very extraordinary about it. I know; I didn’t make sense again.

Kuala Lumpur's Sultan Abdul Samad Building with a tourist who looks like he is lost.

One of the things I was really worried about for this trip was that the fears would do a number on me and I’d go on full anti-social mode, refusing to talk to people. I have known tendencies like that. But like what my friend Sonja, who I met in Malacca and a solo traveler as well, said:

“You are never truly alone when you travel alone.”

That’s true. But I also learned that not everyone you meet becomes your friend, and that’s okay. However, there were instances wherein I wished I’ve made the effort to initiate even the smallest of conversations because that could’ve made a very big difference. Instead of just being fellow guests, some people could’ve been my lifelong friends. But I don’t regret anything. 

Bridge with a lot of personality.

All the wonderful and not-so-wonderful people I met on this trip left a very huge mark. I learned a lot from each and every one of them - about themselves, about their countries, about the world we live in and I even discovered quite a few surprising things about myself just by interacting with them. I’m thankful I tossed the fears aside and really took the time to make meaningful connections with other people.

Yes, I was alone but for the most part, I didn’t feel lonely.

One of the many train stations in Kuala Lumpur.

There are so many stories to tell about this month-long backpacking adventure that I’m certain one blog post won’t be able to cover all of them. I won’t even try to attempt it. Ano ako, naka-drugs? But just to give you a summary:

My first few days in Kuala Lumpur was the toughest but was also the biggest eye-opener; the week I spent in Penang revitalized my lost passion for the arts to the point I might start painting murals again or finally get that fine arts degree I've been putting off for years now; my unplanned and extended return to Kuala Lumpur (Thanks to a lot of shitty things happening) was spent mostly on making tons of friends, purely by accident if I may add; in Malacca I fell in love and got myself brokenhearted all in a span of 24 hours; and Singapore made me realize how I badly need to organize and discipline myself if I want to achieve my goals in life.

Kat Torres of Excursionista would be happy to know that Melaka River didn't "engulf" me.

A few minutes after the plane took off from the runway, I made the mistake of looking out of my window. I saw Singapore getting farther and farther from my sight, signaling that this trip was finally over. My vision became blurry and it was only later that I realized I was crying. I wiped the tears off my face and tried to compose myself, but I was unsuccessful. I cried harder.

“I did it.” I whispered to myself.

“I really did it.”

A random shot I took near the Swettenham Port.

Throughout those four weeks I spent wandering around Peninsular Malaysia and Singapore, whenever I mention to the people I meet that I am a Filipino traveling by myself for one month their eyes usually widen in amazement and tell me that I am very, very brave to be doing this. My typical reaction was to chuckle and tell them that, “No, I’m not brave.”

But it was only during my flight back to the Philippines, as I was bawling my eyes out like a 3 year-old girl, unmindful of the strange looks the other passengers were giving me, that I realized - yes, they were right.

And so we meet again, Petronas Twin Towers. Beautiful as ever.

I am brave.

I was brave enough to leave everything behind; to leave the comforts of home and of my own country. I was brave enough not to listen to what other people were saying and let them dictate how I should live my twenties. I was brave enough to try out new things even though there will always be the possibility of failures. I was brave enough to put myself out there and show what a Filipino traveler is truly made of. I was brave enough to chase something I truly wanted and I was brave enough to take the necessary actions to make my dreams happen.

And that, for me, has made all the difference in the world.

Spending my last day in Penang by the bay.

I began this trip with a lot of questions about myself and how I wanted to live my life, intending to find the answers while I’m on the road. I thankfully had all those answers tucked inside my backpack and more after those 28 days were over. The funny thing, however, is that this trip left me with new questions; more questions than when I started on this journey of self-discovery.

Now I understand. The adventure never really stops. The road never really ends. Coming back home is just one of those pit stops. But the journey still continues.

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The Missing Shoes, The Street Art and The Lovely Filipinas

I scratched my head.

‘Okay, where the hell are my shoes?’ I muttered to myself.

Where did my shoes go?

I was certain I left them at that exact spot the previous night. I went to the one of the hostel’s caretaker to ask about it; maybe he put it away or something. I don’t know. When I told him my shoes were missing, he gave me this very worried look. We went outside and I showed him where I last put them. He scratched his head as well.

“I think it’s stolen. It’s common here. When the shoes are nice, people steal them. I’m really sorry.”

Okay. That was pretty lame. The hostel is open 24 hours and there’s at least one staff manning the reception every shift. So if my shoes were really stolen, somebody was blatantly dozing off on the job. I told him I’ll check it back later; maybe some other guest mistook my footwear as his/her own. That happens. I bade him goodbye and off I went to see Georgetown’s famous street art.

Seeing the steel-rod caricatures was something I definitely enjoyed. Apart from being cute, they also give you a peek into the rich history surrounding the streets of Georgetown, Penang.

"A cannon shot fired during the 1867 Penang Riots made a large hole in this area, hence the name Cannon Street.

Of course, a trip to Georgetown is never complete without visiting and taking pictures of the famous murals by Lithuanian artist Ernest Zacharevic. Zacharevic clearly did a fantastic job with these artworks. It’s just a shame that some of his masterpieces are now completely gone, while a few of those still surviving are not being preserved very well. Trust me; making murals is no walk in the park. Give Zacharevic’s work a little more respect than that.

Some of the Zacharevic murals are either completely gone or poorly preserved.

After a day of going around and trying to see as much of Georgetown as possible (Uh Kenneth, what happened to your plans of slow traveling?), I decided to treat myself at this fancy café called Café 55, which is located just a few steps away from my hostel.

The café was empty. Well, it was four in the afternoon. What did I expect? *Haha* I took a seat and one of the staff gave me a copy of the menu. She had this very sweet smile for me. A few minutes later she came back to take my orders. While I was tinkering with my phone; waiting for my food, another employee entered the café. She greeted me with an exuberant hi, but I was too absorbed reading another grammatically-challenged, highly entertaining and equally infuriating post from my favorite blogger, “Pepper”, so I was not able to return the courtesy immediately.

Cafe 55: the place where I met five lovely Filipinas.

“Ay! Hindi ako pinansin (He ignored me).” She told her co-worker.

I smiled. They’re fellow Filipinos. Okay, Pepper’s blog post will have to be read some other time.

When they finally served my food I said loud and clearly, “Salamat po (Thank you).” They were evidently surprised to know that I was Filipino as well.

“Ay sus! Pinoy ka din pala! Akala namin hindi kasi ang gwapo mo. (You’re a Filipino, too! We thought you weren’t because you’re handsome.)”

Uh…

#SuperMajorAwkward!

#DedmatologyTime!

I just plastered this very fake smile and traded a few inside jokes with them. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy because they found my often-malfunctioning face handsome enough or if I should be offended because they just insinuated that Filipinos are ugly. I never did figure out how I should feel about that. *Haha* I chatted them up for a few more minutes and found out that there are five of them employed in that café (I met the others before I left), and that they were all from Cebu. Cool!

I love meeting fellow Filipinos whenever I travel to other countries. It makes the roads I trudge a little less lonely. I finished my cake and my cup of coffee, and said my farewell to the lovely ladies with a promise to visit them again before I leave Penang.

“Ingat ka, ha? At saka enjoy ka sa bakasyon mo (Take care, okay? And enjoy the rest of your vacation).”

Yep, Penang now seems a little less lonely. But my shoes were still not there when I came back at the hostel. So I guess it was really stolen. Shit happens. Well, look on the bright side. At least I still have my flip-flops. And it’s a good thing that I have this kuripot (stingy) habit of buying my footwear only when there’s a 70% off sale. *Haha*

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Penang Snapshots: Love Lane

What really drew me in the first time I arrived here in Georgetown, Penang were these quaint two-storey buildings with Euro-Asian architecture. These buildings can be seen in almost every street, nook, and corner within the Georgetown historical enclave. But the ones along Love Lane is probably my most favorite.

According to Chinese locals, Love Lane was the place where rich men back in the day kept their mistresses. That’s funny because most of these men, they said, resided in Lebuh Muntri (Muntri Street), which is just beside Love Lane. I can just imagine the teleserye-worthy confrontations happening everyday between the wives and the other women, and of course with the husbands getting caught in the crossfire. *Insert evil laugh here*

Today, however, Love Lane is not the Mistress Central of Georgetown anymore (Or maybe it still is; who knows?). Numerous establishments can now be seen along this street. There are budget accommodations, fancy cafes, local eateries, souvenir shops, and even laundry services if you’re too lazy to wash your own clothes like me.*Haha*

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The Road to Penang (Or the lack of it)

I'm sure it's pretty obvious where I am, right? :]

I opened my eyes and immediately grabbed my phone to check the time. I beat my alarm clock again. How I wish my body does that when I am in the Philippines and I badly need to wake up early. Anyway, I got out of bed; making sure I wouldn’t disturb my dorm mates who, like me, decided to skip the pub crawl thing our other friends decided to do on a whim the previous night. It was three in the morning and there is still no sight of them. Either they’re still drinking themselves into a coma or they’ve already passed out on their way back to the hostel.

I did my usual morning rituals (Don’t worry this did not include offering pig’s blood to some pagan deity), groomed myself, and double checked that I had everything with me before I go downstairs and wait for my taxi. Just as I was descending, I saw my ‘pub crawl’ dorm mates climbing up to our room. Most of them were on all fours and crawling, just as I’ve predicted last night. I wanted to laugh. After a lot of drunken and incomprehensible exchanges, I bade them goodbye. They wished me a safe flight and made me promise that I have one helluva time in Penang. Well, that’s the plan.

The taxi arrived on time. I thanked the staff for making my stay at their hostel a wonderful experience and I threw myself and my bags inside the vehicle. A few minutes after we hit the road, out of the blue, the driver asked me, “Where’s your girlfriend?” Can this morning get any more interesting? “She’s back in the Philippines.” I said, smiling mysteriously. And thankfully we left it at that.

We arrived at KLCCT around 5AM and I checked in for my flight without security people throwing themselves at me to stop my fictitious diabolical plans. I sat down somewhere near my departure gate and tried to catch a few minutes of sleep. It didn’t work. I was too engrossed watching the football match between Barcelona and Mallorca. Too engrossed actually that I’m sure I was close to having a heart attack. I promised myself never to watch a football game again; unless I’m inside an emergency room where I could readily be resuscitated and defibrillated.

A few minutes before seven, the public address system announced that my flight was moved to eight. Samamapakingbets. I was left with another hour to figure out the reason for my blip existence on this planet. Nah, that’s too boring even for me. So I started singing all the songs from Les Miserables. Aloud. By the time I got to ‘I Dreamed a Dream’ nobody was brave and stupid enough to sit beside me. Eight came by and the ground crew started checking our boarding passes and ushering us inside the aircraft.

Unfortunately for my nose, my seatmate has no concept of personal hygiene. Zero. Nada. Zilch. It was comparable to inhaling second hand smoke. Actually no, it was worse. It was like driving along EDSA with your car’s windows down - pure respiratory torture. In spite of that, however, I quickly drifted to dreamland once the plane was up in the sky. After an hour, which felt like it was only five minutes, the plane was ready to land on Penang International Airport. My nose has never been that happy to be disembarking from an aircraft until that morning.

My transportation options going to Georgetown were the following: bus, taxi, and rent-a-car. Since I have no international license (And I highly doubt LTO would even grant me one due to my suicidal driving skills), renting a car was definitely out of the question. So that leaves the bus and the taxi. The taxi costs 27 ringgits while the bus costs 3 ringgits. No brainer. I made my way to the bus stop and plopped my arse on the bench and waited for bus 401.

After 20 minutes, a herd of noisy Chinese tourists, a whiny Korean teenage girl, and a highly graphic, projectile vomiting-inducing PDA from a white guy and his iguana-piranha hybrid of a Southeast Asian girlfriend, the bus finally stopped in front of me. I paid the fare and sat down. If my understanding of the bus’ routes is correct, I have to alight at the 12th stop. Well, if I miscalculated it (Wow, mathematician?) this is certainly not the first time I got lost. *Nyahaha* But thankfully it turned out that I was right.

The bus dropped me off at Lebuh Chulia and the first thing I saw were tourists taking pictures of one of Penang’s famous street art. Cool! I promised to go back later and take a picture of that for myself. On my way to the hostel I came across this couple who seems to be having some sort of an argument. And of course, they just really had to do it on the center of the street. From what I could make out of the conversation, the girl was accusing the guy that he didn’t love her; that he was not making too much of an effort; and that he was not as emotionally invested in their relationship like her. This is like a mediocre Filipino teleserye coming to life right before my very eyes. I wish I had a bucket of popcorn I could munch on.

As entertaining as this all was, especially when the girl got to the slapping and crying (You'd have to agree that that is always the most exciting part), I cannot shrug off this feeling that something bad is about to happen. Well, witnessing a couple melodramatically showcase their relationship problems to the public is not exactly the good omen you'd expect on the first day of a new adventure.

I just hope this bad feeling got it all wrong.

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Departing For A New Adventure

“Passengers for flight AK1951 please prepare for boarding.”

‘That’s my flight.’ I muttered to myself. I fetched my bags and went at the back of the line. While waiting for the airline personnel to check my documents, there was only one question I kept asking myself since I woke up that morning:

‘What in the effin’ hell were you thinking?'

I took out my return flight ticket and stared at it. Departing: from Changi Airport, Singapore on Tuesday, April 30, 2013. It was April 3. That’s 27 days of non-stop solo traveling; close to a month.

‘Really, Kenneth, what in the effin' hell were you thinking?'

I’ve been toying with the idea of traveling out of the country on my own since I came back from that solo trip to Liwliwa, Zambales last September 2012. I just didn’t think that that delusion would actually creep out of my schizophrenic mind and materialize in this dimension. I blame all this on Air Asia. If they didn’t put up that seat sale late last year when I had this momentary phase of dementedness, I wouldn’t be here now in Kuala Lumpur writing this blog post.

And I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.

Up, up, and away to a new adventure.

This is my very first time to travel internationally without any companions and my very first time to travel longer than my usual 5-day getaways. I know; 1 month pales into comparison with other travelers who stay on the road for months, even years. But for a borderline OCD like me this is a huge thing.  I thrive in repetitiveness, routines and familiarity (Probably the reason why I’m an effective nurse). Four weeks thrown out of your comfort zone is no laughing matter.

But what pushed me and what keeps pushing me right now to go on with this trip is the thought that this is an enormous blessing. Others are only able to do something like this so much later in their lives. And many people never even get the chance at all to embark on such adventures. So I’m very, very thankful that everything conspired for me to be able to grab this opportunity and fulfill an insane dream.

Yeah, it’s still scary. But the gratitude I feel somehow eases the fears.

And the thought that I might snag a cutie during this month-long adventure definitely helps too. *Evil laugh*

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