Whenever I travel, (and that’s very often) I get confused about the time, date, and location. Right now, though, I’m sitting on a vibrant orange bed (the bed my brother and I are sharing) and writing this journal entry in hopes that you can get to know me better and I can share some knowledge with you.

My name is Mackenzie Amyx. And I’m eleven — no, wait twelve. My nine year old brother, Christian, and I are home schooled. So we have the flexibility to travel with my dad when he needs to go to conferences.

Since Saturday, we’ve been traveling. That’s two days spent flying, waiting in security lines (ugh, I hate security lines), and sleeping in the airport. It was miserable because we were all kinda sick with a cold and my nose would not stop running. I’m a little disappointed because we spent Easter Sunday trying to sleep in the freezing Beijing airport.

The Beijing Airport is so frustrating. The lines are so slow, there are minimum number of workers, and their rules are sometimes just dumb.

At security, they make you walk through the scanner, but they still pat you down if you look suspicious. (Or maybe they only do adults) The worker lady pretended to pat Christian down. (Poor innocent little Christian) He looked bewildered. She let him go, but it set us all laughing.

Their system takes so long. My brother’s backpack had to be examined just because he had one too many ounces of toothpaste. My mom wanted to dump some out in the trash can, but they said that we would have to go to the other side and get in line again. We ended up giving up the entire tube of toothpaste.

Finally, we arrived in Singapore at 6 a.m.. (Singapore time). When we stepped off the airport tram and into the Metro, a blast of humid air bombarded us. I noticed myself pulling at my shirt collar. At first, the change in weather felt nice. It was moist and soothing. During the flight, the extreme air conditioning had dried my sensitive skin. It felt good to be moisturized through the damp blast of warm air.

We made our way through the metro station, which was super squeaky clean. When we hopped onto the train, we noticed a gap about two inches wide between the floor of the metro train and the metro station. So if you ever decide to go to Singapore, mind the gap!

Soon, we got off the train and exited the station. Following the directions to our apartment, we walked painfully through the heat with our luggage. I finally understand why luggage is called luggage; you lug it around!

The heat was unbearable. We walked a block, and we were drenched. My dad said Singapore was modern and clean, but as far as I could see it reminded me of Thailand. (Thailand is my dad’s least favorite place.) I was glad we were only staying for three days.

Well, my mom did say we were going to an older area. I don’t recommend it. Go to newer places instead. As we walked, I observed the locals. Most of them were older. Malaysians, Indians, Chinese. It was South-East-Asia-topia. The people had some teeth missing and lack of shoes. They were dressed in T-shirts and shorts or a button.-down shirt and a skirt of traditional dress. There were barely any restaurants and mostly street food places instead. After what seemed like infinity, we arrived at the apartment.

The apartment was cool and big, but barely furnished. But it would do. We had lived in way worse places. We unpacked and settled down. Then we went out for lunch.

We saw a place where all the locals were gathered. It was street food restaurant. The food looked great, but they didn’t accept credit cards. Here’s a travel tip: Wherever you go bring some currency, even if you don’t think you’ll need it.

At the airport, my parents had asked if we needed Singapore money for food. They had said that restaurants accepted credit, but I think they thought we were going to a more modern place. Still, regardless of where you go, bring cash. For 5 minutes, we perambulated the neighborhood for somewhere to eat.

No one accepted credit card. Finally after a walk in the sweltering weather, we arrived at the currency exchange. (The banks in Singapore don’t do currency exchange!)

We chose a close by street food restaurant, being famished. The food was okay, we had to pay 2 dollars for iced tap water, and there were no napkins. At least they had plates and utensils.

On our way back, we went grocery shopping. A pungent odor bombarded our olfactory senses. I wondered what it was. Gradually the smell became stronger. It was durian. (Dun, dun, dun!!!)

Durian is a greenish-yellow tropical fruit. It’s smell is really strong and can be observed from faraway. We were discouraged by the odoriferous stench, but my mom urged us to try it because her mom (my grandma) loves it.

There was one guy selling packaged durian meat but I thought, “Who knows how old that is!” We went with another guy who sold and specialized in only durian. He chose a huge durian and chopped it open with a knife. And we brought it home.

At home, we peeled open the durian, holding our breath. To me, the meat looked like fleshy, yellow caterpillars. To my brother, it looks like “a mashed-up banana in a sack”. We scooped out the fruit with our hands. It was gross and felt like cheese sauce. It was all mushy and creamy in a gross, macanaccady kinda way.

Now to describe the taste. One person said, “It smells awful, but tastes heavenly.” But… I can’t say I agree. To me, it’s more like, “It smells awful, and tastes even more awful!” It tastes like sweet onions and garlic. I can’t understand how some people treasure it as a delicacy.

Later that day, I fell asleep at four in the afternoon!

 

Stay tuned for more adventures.

-Mackenzie

This blog is moderated by Mackenzie’s parents:https://medium.com/@ScottAmyx/ All comments will be reviewed and approved before publishing.