Where to? Where the Cheap Air Fares Can Take Us

So we went, D. and I, on the weekend of my 24th, to where the cheap air fares could take us. The timing’s perfect since it’s the advent of more affordable international travel. We were able to fly out of the country without having to spend a king’s ransom.

The month before, we researched, consulted our friends and family, consulted Lonely Planet, planned our itinerary, the places to stay, the places to visit, the modes of transport. We borrowed B.’s Sony Carl Zeiss rotating lens camera. D. and I exchanged countless messages this comprised most of our chatter when we’re out having dinner.

The planning and dreaming part was not only crucial, but also cunningly pleasurable. We were often giddy and excited for the past few weeks. Four days for two countries proved to be a tight schedule, but we were able to cover pretty much what we could cramp in such a small amount of time. We mapped our path using the MRT and LRT stations, foot paths, a cable car ride, and commutes that would require us to take a cab. We accurately determined costs such as the bus ride from Kuala Lumpur to Singapore, budgeted for our meals, accommodations, booze, made sure to eat what the locals eat, exchanged currencies, and just be there, in for our little adventure. And every little detail she planned out makes me love D. to the littlest detail.

The Fully Air-Conditioned Sound of Speed

A Philtranco bus in Megamall will be taking us to the Clark airfield where the Air Asia flight to Malaysia will take off. While waiting for the bus, we had lunch at an Asian restaurant in Megamall called Lemon Gras. I think I dipped my grilled prawns and pork with too much hoi sin and chili, it caused my heart to race, beating six times in a second. I could have sworn my whole life flashed before my eyes and scarcely survived a heart attack. Or maybe it was just plain pre-flight jitters. Even in the lane by the parking lot where we waited, I vomited around six times, imagining both the perils that may prevail and the many many strides of happiness we are to stumble upon in the trip. I was too positively thrilled I had to publicly puke my guts out.

The bus ride to Clark was an unexpected relief, despite the fact that the bus arrived 30 minutes late, despite the noon’s nearly 37 degree Celsius heat over Edsa, the maddening kind of heat which could just empty the sanity left out of anyone. The North Expressway’s roads have already been widened, and drive was quick and smooth. D. and I shared the iPod to give it all a fitting soundtrack: Eliot Smith, Hed Kandi’s latest Winter Chill, Chicane, a lot of Chillout and Alternative. We sing along to Kent’s 747: “So this is all we need. The fully air conditioned sound of speed. A violent whisper. And this time it's for real. So this day I made plans for us to leave.”


The Clark airport is something like the Kalibo airport, with slightly noticeable improvements such as an LED light display announcing “now boarding” on its check-in counters (which wouldn’t exactly be the technology that can make you go “hu-wow”). I didn’t even notice any runway lights for evening flights. But then, this isn’t forlornly bad considering how much it cost us. I’m even elated since it easily turned out to be trouble-free. Instead of asking us about the purpose of our travel, the Philippine immigration officer even advised D. not to look for jobs in Malaysia, but to look for jobs in nearby Singapore since the career prospects there could be more promising.

Jollijeep in the Sky

But we did have Chicken Rice later on.

The flight departed as scheduled and I’m with D. in an altitude of around 27,000 feet above sea level. The announcements were made in Malay, Chinese and English. The plane was an old Boeing 737, five seats in a row with very little legroom. It must have been previously owned by a European carrier judging from the language used for communicating “no-smoking” on the cabin toilet, but I couldn’t really compare it to a rusty old Russian Aeroflot since I’ve never flown in one. This isn’t a flying coffin based my skimpy standards, and I even enjoyed the convenience especially when you’re paying roughly 200% lesser than the price of other airlines.

What’s even more interesting is that they don’t have seating assignments so it’s a first come first served basis. There are no in-flight free meals. Instead, the enterprising flight attendants are pushing a cart with drinks and snacks on sale. Jollijeep in the sky. The cabin smelled of instant noodles, instant porridge; “imported from Thailand” (I heard the male flight attendant boast.) A lot of the passengers were not Filipinos. The passenger beside us was probably a Malaysian with Indian ethnicity, his ears plugged with an iPod. And there were also a number of Caucasians aboard. But the ones who were Filipino were easily identifiable since they wisely brought Lala fish crackers and Goldilocks chiffon rolls or butter slices. Since the 4-hour flight won’t land in KL until 8:30pm, a true Filipino would have thought better to bring a more appropriate baon: Adobo, a boiled egg and rice in Tupperware. The Filipinos were also first to complain when it got hot in the cabin since the plane was getting ready for landing. D. and I probably got hungry from all the laughing, so were ordered the 2 USD porridge (still not a rip-off considering the price of the fare), instantly prepared by the flight attendant in her red mini-skirt. We later found out that Porridge was sold at 1.60 RM at a 7-11 in Malaysia. We brought home a couple for pasalubong.

My Forgotten Country

From the Petronas Tower footbridge: somebody else's 41st floor cave.

And then it’s official: I’ve been to another country. D. was happy to tag along, and I love her for that. By this time, I already understood what “Keluar” meant. KLIA was an impressive airport, in terms of its organization and architecture, to think that there were no separate terminal fees, or were probably very minimal.

KLIA was a 45 minute ride to the hotel we’re staying at near the Chow Kit area. We first saw Kuala Lumpur through the window of a right hand drive vehicle. The highway was lined with tall trees, passed through with relatively disciplined drivers who almost (if not never) cut and intersect, and never exceeded the speed limit.

As we neared the city, you’d almost see the silver, twinkling lights from the Petronas Tower from everywhere, and the KL tower was like a jewel in the sky.

The hotel we stayed in was a 3-star with a surprisingly huge room with one queen and a single, even a tub, other standard amenities, breakfast buffet and a view (from our window) of the Petronas and KL tower.

We walked around the hotel area and just looked at what they sell at the restaurants. We had dinner at a nearby restaurant called Yusof. It wasn’t fancy but it was all right. I figured Nasi Goreng in most places in Malaysia would probably be authentic.

There was a troop of young people who were also at the restaurant, a few tables away from ours. They looked like the “varsity” type of kids. But it was 11ish on a Friday night and when I asked the waiter what they were drinking, it was all tea and Nescafe. In the Philippines, a town like this must have a mandatory videoke installed somewhere and there’s booze in every corner. A friend of this varsity troop, a tall and tough-looking guy of Indian ethnicity with thick facial hair, had just arrived. D. and we sort of had the impression that this one’s going to have beer. We asked the waiter what he ordered, and it was Milo, the Olympic Energy Drink. We imagined him ordering in the brusque voice of Filipino alpha males, “Pare, isang Milo nga dito oh, yung mainit”

Since we planned to spend most of the money for night life in Singapore, we decided against a night out. We went to the 7-11 bought a sim card with load, (really, really useful at 16 RM) a few bottles of Tiger that we’d drink in the hotel room.

Tomorrow’s going to be one of the longest we’ve ever lived.

Compared to Manila, the sun comes out around an hour late in this part of the world, just as it won’t set until after 7 pm. We were up at 6am and we watched the KL skyline transform from the hotel windows. We had breakfast at the hotel. In the wide variety of the buffet: croissants to omelets, pancakes to fishcakes, porridge to rice, including a whole tray exclusively for a thick curry chili paste, we found the local mi hon (fried noodles) as the most delicious.

We asked the waiter, the concierge, and someone from the street for directions on which train to take to get to KLCC. Although most of them spoke English that’s graspable, we got three different answers. So we had a long walk along the hotel area’s streets which were all named “Jalan something” and we made it to the Chow Kit train station.

Unfortunately, we weren’t able to figure out how the interchange would go in the train. There were three rail systems: Star, Putra and KTM. Although we were able to try out the subway in Masid Jamek later on, we had to take a cab to KLCC as were already late in meeting D.’s friend, Ge. Although I read about cabs being notorious for not putting the meter on, we didn't have that trouble in Malaysia, and the driver even insisted on giving the change to the last sen from the 4.60RM fare.

We got off at the foot of the Petronas tower. Up close, this structure is even more impressive and intricate than it looks: inspired by the five pillars of Islam, it’s the proud, bejeweled symbol of the nation’s aspirations, as well as its achievement. And a phallic symbol, which you should probably never mention to the no-smiles-serious-tour-guide in the sky bridge who referred to it as the “majestic Petronas tower.” We were there between 8:30 – 9:00 am and were booked for the sky bridge at around 10:15am. At 10:15am, they were booking viewings to as late as 3:30 pm.

So we had over an hour to stroll around the Suria Mall within the Petronas tower. What’s impressive about this tower is that it had the mall, business centers, and even a performance hall for the Malaysian Philharmonic all in one place. We had coffee with Ge, who told his stories about Malaysia and picked up the 25RM bill for a cup of coffee, a glass of cold, blended coffee, and a bottled raspberry drink. The mall was something like the Podium in Ortigas.

The security check before entering the sky bridge was probably at par with airport standards. I was impressed with how they had it all organized: with the ticketed scheduling, the color-coded tags, while collecting absolutely no fees. The “no fees” part is just impossible where I come from. This is probably the most sophisticated structure I’ll ever see, if ever I don’t live to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa, or the Pyramids of Egypt.

And then I saw the city from another 41st floor. I thought of the view from my own 41st floor cave. This time, with how the street intersections, buildings, roofs, parks, trees are arranged, balanced and probably placed for maximum efficiency. The no-smiles-serious tour guide volunteered to take a picture of the three of us together. She even initiated a little small talk and asked us where we’re from. The Philippines, which Lonely Planet described as “a little off the fashionable South East Asia route… the forgotten islands of the region.” She asked about the tourist spots we had. “Boracay.” I replied. Her face titled to an angle and gave me a look of non-recognition. So I told her: “It’s a nice beach, like Phuket in Thailand.” The no-smiles-serious-tour-guide acknowledged with a polite nod.

We probably are forgotten.

And The Bargain

We took the bus to Chinatown, a town that probably every Southeast Asian city has. The bus was a non-aircon bus (like EDSA/Alabang-bound ordinary buses we have were) with an English-speaking lady conductor, and .75RM per person fare. We stopped at bargain book shops with many Kurt Vonnegut and J.D. Salinger titles. We had lunch at Chinatown with a Filipino friend, and the chicken-rice (Soy chicken with chili sauce and a vegetable side dish) was terrific. A few blocks away there’s the Puduraya bus station, which lived up to its reputation as hot and clamorous. It’s just a little more organized than Cubao. We bought our tickets to Singapore at 25RM each and were scheduled to leave at 2:00 pm. The lady selling the tickets was Indonesian by nationality, but spoke Filipino almost fluently.

My shirt was smudged with sweat from all the walking and KL’s noon sun. D.’s shoulders were giving up on the back pack since we’ve been carrying all our stuff for Singapore all morning. So I carried both our bags. But all the walking was worth it and the word “tired” was omitted from of my vocabulary. I’m loving D. and D.’s loving me every step of the way. We walked downtown to see the ordinary places: a Chinese temple, the Hindu place of worship (which looked like an illustration out of the Vedas and the Upanishads), streets lined with shops selling arranged bouquets of flowers, parking lots where it seemed like all the motorcycles of the world are parked.

While we were shopping in Chinatown, we experienced how bargaining could become an annoyance. We found a shop selling small Petronas Tower figurine bells which we were sure my mother would love, since she was mad about bells. We asked how much it was. The Indian hip-hop-looking guy wearing a jersey with a bling-bling dangling on his neck told us it was 25 RM. D. bargained for 18RM. The guy started to wrap it but I said it was expensive and we’ll come back for it later. When we were leaving he yelled at us, “No, you buy… opening time, man…” D. paid for it at 18RM and we had the bells. We spent a lot of time looking around and I got D. a Greenhills-quality Roxy shirt for 15 RM. There was a Chinese girl of about 12 helping out in a store selling football Jerseys. I asked her how much Brazil was and she said 40RM. I said I’ll buy it at 20RM and she gave it to me for 25RM. I let her have her undeniable ace as I wouldn’t be able to bear it if this little girl wipes that smile off her face.

We walked back to the Puduraya station. Just like yesterday, we’re off to another country.

I Am Lost Without You

The 5-hour bus ride to Singapore was extremely comfortable. In this huge bus, there were only three loungy seats in a row. There was even a small pillow for the neck, and a recliner for your legs. Except for a few minutes out of KL, we didn’t encounter traffic. The highway was wide, and the roadside was filled with trees which turned into thick forests as we went into the country side. The iPod really came in handy. There was just one stop over in Johor Baru.

Between 7:30 – 8:00pm we were already at the Singapore immigration. It’s a good thing G. advised us not to leave our bags when while have our passports stamped since bus drivers are known to have a shorter string of patience on waiting and are likely to leave passengers behind.

We took sometime since we weren’t able to fill out our departure cards beforehand. When we got back, the bus was gone. If our bags were still on that bus, that would have been a really huge hassle. The bus was supposed to take us to Boon Lay. The few Singaporean Dollars I had with me proved to be a bonus, since we just rode another bus (about 1.50SD each) from the immigration (I imagine to be somewhere in Woodlands) to Queens. While on the bus, it’s too noticeable how Singapore’s highways are peppered with directions and speed limit sings.

What probably was the most thrilling part of the whole trip was that we didn’t have any reservations in Singapore. And so we were there, walking on foot and looking for the street of the Lonely Planet budget-recommended hotel. D. picked it for its ideal location: it’s proximity to bus and train stations, and areas of interest such as Orchard Road, Sin Lim Square and Little India.
It was true that you’d really feel safe walking the streets of Singapore, and from what we saw at first the streets were really tidy. We just felt confident that we won’t get mugged or robbed. We looked at our maps feeling like real backpackers in this backpacker heaven, and we just walked rightly into place and found Jalan Besar, the street where the hotel was located.

The staff at the hotel, Lawrence, was quite friendly and helpful to the point of being endearing. We settled for 70SD double room with a queen and single bed, toilet and bath, but it was really small for a 70SD room. I didn’t have Singaporean dollars yet so I made a 50USD deposit to be returned after I change currencies. After accounting for what we paid for everything in this city, we didn’t wonder why this so-called “fine” city is also the most expensive, and yet worth the visit.

After we unpacked, I was first to take a shower. I told D. to get ready and I’ll be out to change currencies. Lawrence from the hotel gave me directions where I can find a money changer. It’s a 12 to 15 minute walk towards Little India, near the Mustafa mall. And yes, as I was on my own, I was lost.

D. was waiting outside the hotel and saw as I was walking very briskly towards her. It was almost embarrassing, literally and metaphorically true, that I was lost without her. Lawrence,

the hotel staff, was kidding around telling D. I was kidnapped. He assured her later on, that nobody gets kidnapped in Singapore. We hailed the next cab and headed for Orchard Road.

Be Happy Now, La!

We walked along Orchard Road. We walked along the wide, tiled sidewalks of spectacled malls: Wisma Atria, Lucky Plaza, Takashimaya, Paragol, HMV. And this is where we saw the well-dressed Singaporeans shopping, dining and drinking on a Saturday night. It was an interesting-enough stretch, with its many neon lights, sophisticated interiors, trendy places, and hip-looking people. It’s something similar to Greenbelt, but this stretch just seemed: larger and richer in character.

What surprised and pleased us the most was how many Singaporean well-dressed, westernized-looking bagets in groups, or even twenty-somethings in office attire, just sat in staircases or sat in street sides with a bottle of liquor and chaser, such as a bottle of Jack Daniels and Coke, or bottles of beer from a nearby 7-11 stall or from a grocery. I’ve imagined stereotypical Singaporeans to be workaholic types who lived the life of zombies. But they were loitering like high school kids, they littered, smoked and drank outside the malls. And I don’t mean bars around the malls or in the street. They sat in the pavement as if having a picnic with booze. You can’t even do that in a country like the Philippines. We didn’t have policemen in civilian clothes, but that’s enough to get you arrested. As Herbert suggested, Lee Kuan Yew must’ve barked an order to the nation of 3 million, “Singaporeans, be happy now-LA!” I wonder how successful that state-sponsored dating scheme is.

With the wide array of bars and places to dine, we just had to pick one that caught our fancy. I think we picked a very good one for dinner and the first drink: Pre Rogue, which is right beside Alley Bar. A pleasant, pretty Singaporean waited on us for what probably was one of the most expensive and rightfully remarkable meals of my life. The interiors were perfect since the walls had a certain old-architectural flavor and the place had a good crowd with the expatriates and locals. We just had satay with sticky rice, chips, Heineken for 11SD each, fancy bottled water called for 6SD, and Marlboro lights for a debilitating 13SD - a price could’ve bought us two reams. I’ve never had Heineken in my life and I just found out how terrific this German beer is. And D., my dashing date, was clad in her tube top and was looking delicious herself. We also took a peek at Alley Bar, where there was a performer playing jazz on a saxophone and good crowd that’s hyped up. It’s almost midnight, so it was time to turn 24.

In 2004 I wrote, “2005 means I will be 24. That’s definitely something I don’t want to think about.” I never thought I’d have what I wished, of going away with the woman I love, and turning 24 while out travelling. When I was 17, I wrote a story about turning 24. “…turning twenty-four seemed unusual, twenty-four sounds --- nauseatingly ancient. It suddenly occurred to me, from some random palpitation of brain waves, that being another summer older is like having a venereal disease.” The palpitation of my brain waves took a sharp turn and reckoned that turning twenty four was a joy I least expected. Why the fuck did I ever dread to turn 24? Why was I ever afraid of the future?

After paying what the grand 60SD bill, we went to bars after the Alley and found many other interesting, crowded places. There were even those that had San Miguel Beer, which would be on sale at 5SD during the 1am happy hour. But we didn’t want to give Boat Quay a miss.

We took another cab to the Boat Quay and had the after-midnight surcharge which ran the fare to around 7SD. The streets towards the Boat Quay were lined with bars, and we walked the entire stretch to check out the places. Short-skirted women, locals, and many foreigners walked around parading themselves or scouting a bar. Boat Quay is a bit similar to Boardwalk in Manila, although Boat Quay had much more decent (and therefore more expensive) bars, as well as a neater, tree-lined footpath that is (unlike Boardwalk) not directly beside the highway, not directly beside the river, and the water did not have smell that some people found appalling. Boat Quay, after all, was described as the liveliest nightspot in the city, a picturesque area of old restaurants and shops. Among the pubs, lounges, bars in Boat Quay were soccer joints, and dance clubs.

D. and I wanted to see how these Singaporeans would dance in a club. We both weren’t into dancing, so we sat outside in a table by the river. They sold a drink-all-you-can cocktail for 15SD for men and 10SD for women. We decided against it since we wanted to walk to other places and each had the 10SD Heineken, and the waitress gave us an on-the-house bowl of assorted chips, nuts and pretzel twists. We took a peek inside to see what its like and we saw the Singaporeans in choreographed club dancing as if they’re practicing for an intermission number, and some women who were just dancing like mad by themselves. When we used the toilet, it’s as if the whole club threw up all the drink-all-you-can cocktails. The toilet bowl was all puke. After all, they weren’t zombies who went obsessive-compulsive about following the law.

We walked further from Boat Quay to the Bridge near the Fullerton Hotel. It’s an interesting walk since this seemed like historical places because of the statues of Chinese traders and Englishmen, and historical markings on the bridge. We found out later on that if we walked farther to the second bridge, the Anderson Bridge, we would’ve found the Merlion they built in 1920. But our legs would’ve gone wobbly if we did.

We took a cab back to Jalan Besar. On the corner from where the hotel is located, there’s a hawker-center like restaurant that housed cab drivers and some locals who drank Tiger. They weren’t exactly dressed like locals for a gimmick in Orchard Road. Big bottles of Heineken were sold at 6SD. We guzzled two of those. The beer was good and relatively inexpensive I finally had a thirst-quencher, and even reached a sufficient level of non-sobriety. I can’t even have a Heineken either in cheap or expensive places in Manila. This beer is one of the most unforgettable things in Singapore. We went back to the hotel after the drink. There’s a bit more of Singapore tomorrow.

I didn’t sleep yet to live out a dream.

Cable Cars and Badoodles

We checked out of the hotel in the morning, and bought bus tickets back to KL before heading to Sentosa. This way we can spend more time in Sentosa.

For breakfast, we shopped around for the Indian Roti but the stores nearby didn’t serve any. Our walk led us to the McDonalds near the Bugis station, since we had another thing to confirm about the McDonalds in Singapore anyway. It’s a sin to eat Mcdo in a country that prides its hawker culture, but it’s a pretty interesting sin. They say it’s a twilight-zone-like experience to see older people serving your cheeseburgers and fries, especially if you’re used to the disturbing perkiness of McDonalds cashiers in the Philippines and their below-25 age limit. Indeed. But what was also expectedly disturbing, is that we paid 12SD for hotcakes and sausage and a big breakfast set.

We walked to the Little India station. It was our first time to ride Singapore’s MRT and we can’t help but be impressed with how their train terminals and facilities are incomparable to ours, and are even better than airports in Philippine provinces. The system for train schedules and locations was easy to figure out. You can buy tickets from touch-screen machines. There was even this 40” monitor that indicated the number of minutes the next train would arrive, the time, and flashed a George Elliot quote. Inside the train were smaller monitors like that. And there was orderliness all around.

You can tell it was Sunday since the train was filled with families, lovers holding each other’s hands, groups of thin young girls clad in mini-skirts and boys who probably looked too young for their age.

The train ride was a quick one and we got off at the North Harbor station. The cable cars were already visible when we were walking. Laughing at the idea, we just had to look at where they were all coming from to find out where we could get the ride. It came from the top of this building, with tickets sold at the lobby. Being one of the highlights of a trip to Sentosa, it was a good price at 10SD per person, back and forth.

The scenery from the cable car was marvelous, since you can see the ports of Singapore, the thick greens of Sentosa Island and some skyscrapers from the city. All this from a tiny booth hanging on a wire. Cable car rides also have a way of making your badoodles feel funny; I had to hold my balls for a while to check if they’re still in tact.

By the time we arrived in Sentosa, we shopped a little for souvenirs. I thought the beach was just outside the shop. It turns out that it was a bus ride away, the one with “blue” color-coding. The good thing was that bus rides around Sentosa didn’t cost you anything.

Singaporeans have it easy, if not perfect. There’s even a concrete parking lot beside the beach. Along the beach were young couples in their Roxy and Billabong bikinis and board shorts, basked in the sun, reading magazines, eating take-away food, maybe making out a little. We laid a sarong on the beach and just hung out for around for a few hours, taking pictures. There were restaurants and liquor/drink stores around the beach with comfy wooden beach chairs and billiard tables. I had another Heineken (cheaper now at 5SD) and D. had a Vodka Cruiser.

Some travel books and travel websites describe this Island as “plastic,” and I half-expected it to be that artificial. Even the beach sand was imported from another country. They had a Palawan beach here, but we didn’t feel that it had even half of the authenticity of Palawan.

We took the cable car ride back, and a train to Bugis station. We had lunch at one of the bigger hawker centers. We had noodles whose name we didn’t bother to translate but it an unspeakable, universal language we hummed “mmmmm.”

The only regret perhaps, is that there was no time to go shopping for electronics at Sin Lim Square, and we missed SunTec city. But considering how far we got in Singapore in a span of 24 hours and less than 200USD, I’d say we’ve gone a long way.

A Blissful Trip

Late in the evening, we were back in Kuala Lumpur. I resolved to take a cab but D. was insistent we try out the train. We found the train - the subway going from Masid Jamek to KLCC. We saw the “majestic” Petronas Towers up close at night, lined with bright white light, like a building laced all around with giant, sparkling silver bracelets.
We went to Suria Mall again. We managed to get some pasalubong, postcards, and a delicious roti bread from a store called Roti Boy. So that’s where that overpowering baking-bread smell comes from.
One of the disappointments we had in Malaysia, was our failure to try the fish head curry. But the equally unforgettable chicken rice, which we had that night, was more than a consolation.

The 720am flight back to Clark airfield in Manila had many Filipino passengers. We saw an acquaintance we made in Singapore, a newly-married couple who brought their 1 year old. They also went to Malaysia and Singapore. I couldn’t forget the chocolate bars they gave us during the bus ride from Singapore to KL.

On the KLIA airport, something very different reminded us that we were on a flight back to the Philippines. In front of the gate for the flight to Penang was an orderly line. In front of the gate for the flight to the Philippines were a lot of people huddled in a mess as though the gate was the SM Megamall entrance during opening time. We heard the Air Asia flight attendant let out an “Oh my god.”
We really were on the way home.

I remember the day we paid the tickets for the KL/Singapore trip. I sent D. a text message:

Let’s just go, unafraid of where our dreams, where the wind would take us. We are, after all, riding in an air of bliss. Let’s live, laugh, love, dine, walk the walks and have our own stories of adventures and misadventures to put our grandchildren to sleep. And it won’t just be a conventional package tour. We will remember, one day, how we made each other’s life --- truly a blissful trip.