Into the World:
The Random Thoughts in My Mind

Being on the road, the traveler often comes across situations where his own decision-making. And when the wrong decision is taken, the cost is unbelievably high in monetary terms (not to mention damages to self-confidence)...but it is those wrong decisions that tend to be, ultimately, the most memorable ones. And the same wrong decisions, by pure "virtue" of their being incredibly BAD decisions, lead to the greatest adventures ...but at the end, with the wallet all beat up, the traveler has to realize where is that fine line between "adventure at all costs" and "sound financing while on the road." Yesterday was that sort of day. The traveler planned to travel from Pristina, Kosovo to Dubrovnik, Croatia by transferring once at Podgorica, Montenegro. When the bus from Pristina arrived in Podgorica at 2am local time, the traveler, to his dismay, realized that the daily bus between Podgorica and Dubrovnik, becomes once every two days during winter times, a...

When I first arrived in America as a young 12-year-old boy, my family lived in a mostly immigrant neighborhood in southern part of Boston. The neighborhood school was filled with immigrants from Eastern Europe, especially the Balkan countries of Albania, Bosnia, and Serbia. As fellow students of ESL classes, I spent years with them, earning American culture, English language, and talking about the homelands we left behind. And talked we always had about our homelands, with bit nostalgia, and plenty of gratefulness that we all got out. Once the Albanian told me about the view of America people had back home. He said with a certain degree of cynicism, “back there, everyone thought America is a land where money grows on trees and the roads are paved with gold...I mean, literally.” The naiveté of the comment had such a huge impact on me that six years later, it became the first sentence of a college application essay that got me into Yale. The optimism with which new immigrants appro...

Being used to the heavy Xmas decorations and cheesy seasonal songs being blasted everywhere, the traveler feels a little empty moving through Turkey and Greece in the past couple of days. Over in Istanbul, it was just another day at work, everything operated as if nothing special is happening, save for extra-busy working conditions dealing with hordes of (mostly Asian) tourists. Over in Athens, the main sights are closed for the two-day Xmas holidays, but as for everything else, the cafes, the souvenir shops, and indeed the daily routines of the common people, operated in completely normal ways. Yes, in this corner of the world, there was absolutely no catering to the Xmas celebrations happening elsewhere. No Xmas songs, no Xmas lights, not even a word of "Merry Xmas" from the locals. The reason seems rather plain and simple: Muslim Turks (obviously) do not celebrate Xmas, and for the Orthodox Greeks, their Xmas falls on Jan 7th (a fact that I did not know until I was tol...

Sitting in the waiting room of the Sofia main bus station, the traveler gets solicited by another suspicious middle-aged man with dodgy English and even more dodgy purpose. He asks me where I am from, jot down something on a piece of paper, then walks away. Great, just great: another day in Eastern Europe, another day of being targeted for who-knows what scams the locals can dream up. The sketchiness of some locals is just too apparent, but still simply too commonplace a problem for travel guides to NOT address them more carefully to hapless, inexperienced, innocent-thinking tourists. (1) The first kind is the most straightforward: locals squeeze foreign-looking people for money. But the methods are, from personal experiences, quite innovative. There are semi-legitimate exchange booths advertising deceptively attractive rates only to charge hidden fees (e.g. in Chisinau, every third shop on the main thoroughfare, one cannot help but wonder how many of them are legitimate, and how m...

On the overnight bus from Chisinau to Bucharest, the traveler started talking to a Romanian who went to visit (unsuccessfully) his love interest in Moldova. Quickly, revealing his frustration that the girl's father was against his (second) meetup with the girl, he went on a tirade against the Moldovans, who he describes as "pretty empty in the head because they are still communist over there." He went on to describe Moldova as a country "that has nothing positive except beautiful women." Yes, he is a little bit biased with heightened emotional tensions, but his sentiment, at least here in Romania, is surprisingly common. To be specific, it is a sentiment of "we" against "them," a wholehearted attempt for locals here to separate themselves from the other former Soviet bloc countries up north, even though technically, Romanians and Moldovans practically share the same language, culture, and are of the same genetic makeup. Part of the sentim...

The conditions on the Lviv-Kiev overnight “express” train are quite shocking. As the steam engine slowly pulled into the Lviv station to pick up passengers, what greeted us behind the already seemingly two-decade-old engine was a series of green-painted metal box carriages, the design of which has not changed at all since the Soviets standardized them, eh, more than half a century ago. The carriages can be described in one word: rusty. Rust covered the creaky doors and the metal stairs leading up to them. The inside was not much better. The curtain had 20-year-old (beer?) stains, only to be “outshined” by the 40-year-old rusty rods that are barely keeping the curtains in their proper positions. As the train slowly chugged out of Lviv station, one can hear the wooden frames of sleeping berths and windowsills making creaking noises the whole night, as if they are going to fall apart any minute. Passengers necessarily make their own beds with given sheets and beddings, while conduc...

Hearing about Kim Jong Il passing away almost immediately after a visit to the remaining Soviet architectures (with their red star decorations intact) on the streets of Vilnius and taking a clunking ride on the old Soviet era train carriages of the Warsaw-Krakow “Intercity Express,” was by all means, a surreal experience. Combined with reviews of some video footages of surprisingly genuine-looking mass mourning (more like mass crying) sessions in Pyongyang, and it seems like we are back at the old Second World. Indeed, even as the Baltic states and Poland, former bastion of Stalinist communism, transformed themselves into orderly capitalist economies and took up the membership (and the principles) of the EU, the physical and emotional signs of the socio-economic order that ruled the land barely twenty years ago are still very much deeply rooted and difficult to eradicate. Like their parents and grandparents, people here still emerge from their old Soviet concrete apartment blocks to ...

Whenever I am on the road, I have the tendency to let the adventurous and curious side get the best of me. Whenever I see a local restaurant, I go in to try out what the locals have for supper. Whenever I see a little alleyway leading down to a slightly run-down residential neighborhood, I take it to try to get the glimpse of local living conditions. And whenever locals try to have a genuine conversation with me, in however broken English, I respond positively by engaging them in their talks. Furthermore, I do understand that as one of the few Asian and American travelers out here in the relatively unpopular destinations of Eastern Europe, I do have the responsibility of representing Asians and Americans in a positive way through politeness, friendliness, and good-heartedness. The last, in my opinion, is especially important because there is an inherent need for foreign tourists to counteract the negative images represented by their national governments’ various actions. The local...

In a little backpackers pub in Riga, Latvia three Belgian lawyers on a weekend trip gave me a brief lecture on their view of their country’s future over a glass of locally brewed Cesu beer. When I questioned them a bit regarding the potential of the country splitting in half, the discussion got a little sentimental. The three, all from Flanders, blamed the French-speakers from hijacking Brussels, the officially bilingual capital. Especially, they noted the influx of immigrants from Francophone Africa. They say that the increase of immigrants is leading to creation of new French-speaking suburbs of Brussels outside the Brussels Capital Region, in the surrounding Flemish territories. Traditionally Dutch-speaking towns and neighborhoods are becoming more and more Francophone, spurring a movement in French-speaking Walloonia to seek greater “coalition” with the capital, much to the anger of the Flemish. The Flemish resentment is further bolstered by the transfer of wealth, through soc...

A young muscular Caucasian man tried their hardest to communicate to the staff at the ticket sales counter with his broken English. He was trying to confirm his bus going home from London's Victoria Coach Terminal to his home in Romania. It was his first time returning home from England for Christmas, and he was frantically asking me directions to his boarding gate as he dragged his massive bags across the crowded station. For millions like him, working on the other side of Europe for a higher wage, even as manual laborer (e.g. this Romanian is a construction worker), was made possible by the Europe cutting down border controls and treating other EU citizens as equals in every EU member state. A British citizen would remark that a presence of people like the young Romanian here is a reason for depressed wages, as the Eastern Europeans are willing to work harder for fewer pounds than the British. And with a few observations on the road, the traveler can confidently say that the ...

Exiting the main train station at Hamburg at 9pm a few days ago, the traveler was looking through the maps under the dim street lights to find his lodging for the night. Suddenly, an obviously intoxicated German girl approached me from across the street, asking first in German, and finding my incomprehension, then in English whether I had any alcohol with me. Even though I politely told her that I do not have any, the girl, finding out that I am from California, quickly forgot about the alcohol and began a twenty-minute tirade on how Germany sucks and she wants to move to California. In particular, she just kept on ranting about how much the weather is horrible in Germany, and even though she lived all her life in Hamburg, cannot tolerate the cold winters. But at that moment, the weather was still in the lower teens. Yes, the wind chill did make things a little uncomfortable, especially for the exposed hands, but otherwise, winter in Europe, so far, felt pretty bearable, and defini...

The Nobel Peace Center in downtown Oslo is currently running an exhibition on displaced peoples and refugees around the world. In terms of countries represented, all the usual ones are on display. Yemen with its Somalians washed up on shore, Serbia with people displaced by the war in Kosovo, Georgia due to war with Russia, Congo with civil war refugees, Columbia with people suffering from drug wars...the exhibition seemed like nothing surprising until, in one uniquely decorated corner of the exhibition space, Norway was represented. And the Norway portion was the highlight of the exhibition itself. Norway? The host of the Nobel Peace Prize does not normally come across as a destination of refugees from anywhere, partly because it is so far from another zone of conflict or sources of poverty, and partly because, frankly, there is little that attract refugees. With a small job market and super expensive cost of living (perhaps on average the highest in Europe), refugees on the botto...

Walking around cities of northern Europe, it is never hard to find the traditional and the modern side-by-side. The most glittering glass office buildings with the most cutting-edge design often stands next to the oldest churches dating from imperial eras centuries in the past. The best efforts of the city and national leaders to preserve heritage often cannot be fulfilled completely; it seems that even here, the businessmen do not like typing away on their computers in a 17th century building. The phenomenon here is not particularly unique. After all, every country in the world faces similar dilemma. Some sees a need to keep physical pieces of history alive for posterity, while indeed, modern business and people have certain needs that cannot be satisfied by those historical relics. Yet, strangely enough, here in Europe, and Copenhagen in particular, there is a unique feel of harmony as little pieces of modernity are injected into century-old townscapes. Over in Asia, modernity ...

After a tumultuous journey on a part-filled ferry , the weary but excited traveler finally launches himself upon the Continent, devouring every sight he can possibly manage. And the trusty (and excessively massive) travel guidebook has certainly not failed me when I am deciding on what route and sights to take in at every destination. But as I mentioned so many times before , traveling is a human experience , and the feelings and attitudes behind the sights to be visited tops the list of definitive memories. And after three days and four countries, the traveler would like to share a few impressions not found in the travel guides... (1) Red Light Districts are highly over-rated, really. The establishment has been a matter of imagination for people everywhere, especially in certain parts of Asia where the practice is, eh, a bit more "discreet ." Watching scantily clad girls moving about behind a window under a red light in some narrow alleys, really, is amusing only for ab...

It is sometimes shocking that sometimes, a single bus ride can leave a lasting impression that can hardly be ever changed. The situation is just long enough for certain views to be formed, but at the same time short enough for the views to be highly generalized stereotypes, most often confirming previously held second-hand impressions and stories. Yet, even as the traveler is typing away on his laptop on the hard ground of Brussels Central Train Station, at a savagely unmitigated 3-degrees-Celsius wind at 6:30am, somehow the impressions just stick in the mind more than anything else. For some reason, a quiet midnight journey on the cross-Channel ferry from Dover to Calais, tonight, was turned into a madly drunk 3-hour party by a horde of British and French high school students, nominally on some sort of school trip, but with no obvious parental or teacher supervision, seemed to be bent on spreading their notoriety far and wide on the Continent. From the second we the passengers got ...

The winter break at the LSE officially begins on the 10th of December, and with it my month-long required absence from London (my dorm building, unfortunately, would not accommodate its residents without extra fees for the duration of the break). Instead of paying extra to stay in a London without classes and assignments, a long-needed temporary exodus from the rainy metropolis is being "planned," or more in line with reality, itching to be enforced as a matter of purely spontaneous exploration of epic proportions. Week-long solo backpacking trip for me is not anything new for me, but the ambition regarding the upcoming trip due to begin in days, even in my mind, tops all previous ventures by its sheer magnitude. The longest previous trip was mere 2 and a half weeks affair (San Diego to Fairbanks, Alaska by bus), and the most number of borders crossed was no more than 4 (A southern China bus/boat trip that also involved Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan). But this one, with 4 c...

One of the best things about heading to parties here at the LSE is that there is simply no guarantee what sort of exciting people one would meet. Especially in house parties organized by a few housemates from different countries and backgrounds, when they all bring their friends to the party, the house simply turns into a little United Nations. One hears of stories, whether it be work, travel, living in foreign lands and situations, that one previously perhaps only exist in imaginations, or maybe in ways that one have never even really thought about... For my part, I do my best to contribute to the unique blend of international story-telling at these parties, but often faces a dilemma. As an Asian, I am often tempted to tell the many unique, interesting, and sometimes truly thought-provoking stories I experienced from being Asian and living in Asia, but I often find myself fighting a lonely battle on that front...that is, I am going out that task with absolutely no back-up whatsoeve...

Hanging out with the masses of different foreign students here in the LSE and in London, there is often a very clear trend when communicating in English. While people of every other nationality makes a concerted effort (or at least, do not mind) to pick up the standard British accent, the Americans not only makes a concerted effort to reject British English in every single way, they actually, at times, accentuate/highlight the peculiarities of American English so as to make their audience be perfectly clear that they are hearing from an American. As the Americans get together in the local pub, and start lashing out about how "weird" is the English they hear from English people in a place called England, one has to think about just exactly what makes the Americans so confident and bold (to put it positively) or so arrogant and reckless (to put it negatively) to actually criticize a language at its very historical origin. It is as if the Americans are somehow perfectly conv...

We all concede that drunk people tend not to watch what they say when they are drunk (and surely they will not remember what was said a day later), but sometimes certain drunken comments can simply destroy a good "drunkenly euphoric" moment in, literally, an instant of time. The speaker tries to bolster his own credentials by sprinkling some, what he himself conceives to be, strips of pure gold on a night of gradually built up good impression over hours of genuinely friendly conversations, only to destroy that image by, well, trying a little bit too hard. Few comments can galvanize a group of young professionals and grad students to resort to pure hatred and the most vulgar profanities being used in their minds as talks of the "future." Whoever that touches the topics of what we are going to do after graduation and/or few years of entry-level work better keep the conversation focused on the general, non-personal, humble variety...or the result is a walk straight ...

Just another of the grind here in the LSE Library, on the gigantic working table with six strangers coincidentally sitting quietly, each intently focused on his or her little section of the table in front of them. Each buries his or her face in the massive pile of academic books, journals, and/or a notebook computer opened to some online journal article. Each person invariably takes out a notebook, frantically jotting down lines after lines of neat notes as they flip through pages or scroll through screens... But they all do zone off, very inconspicuously. Their eyes are still on the books, journals, computer screens, but their minds are obviously somewhere else. Their eyes no longer keep moves along with the endless mesh-mash of words and sentences. Its like staring out of the window or the wall back in the classrooms of high school, only we here at the library table, perhaps because of the six others (plus however many at the adjacent tables) watching over the each of us constan...

People often say grad school is the scion of "flexibility," an almost sacred place where people can genuinely pursue academic interests of their fancy, at their own pace, in a sea of endless resources. It is sheer independence, on one hand reflected in the I-don't-give-a-damn-what-you-do-as-long-as-you-pay-your-fees attitude held by the school administration , and on the other hand illustrated by just how much leeway the students are given to "pursue their own studies" as long as assignments are turned in at the proper deadlines. ...Or perhaps, not even. While crazy weekend all-night dance parties seems to become more and more far-fetched for the "mature" (i.e. older and less energetic) grad students, in their place came literally any excuse to have an alcoholic gathering under any occasion . Every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday became Friday and Saturday nights, and stepping into the local pub at any moment in time no longer brings any s...