I had heard a lot about Dubai before I landed here for the first time. I had heard about the architecture, with buildings like the Burj al Arab being the talk of the architectural world. I had heard about the parties, with the hotels here housing some of the regions hottest and trendiest clubs. I had heard about the international nature, with expats living and working here from all corners of the world.

Dubai’s Gold Souq

One thing that was conspicuously absent from my preconceptions was any mention of anything actual traditionally Arabic. Any semblance to what the culture here was like before the 21^st century—I mean, surely this place existed before 1995, didn’t it?

After a few days here, I realized that it was exactly what I had expected. Until I had the good fortune of stumbling across the Gold Souq in Deira. I had no desire to buy anything—most of the 300-some stalls here are selling jewelry mixed in with the occasional typical souvenir shop selling magnets and t-shirts graced with smiling camels. But walking through the halls of this semi-open air market made me feel, for the first time, that I was really in the Middle East. Of course I hadn’t been here before, but this made my mind flash back to ancient times, when Dubai was simply a trading village leveraging its strategic central location and proximity to waterways.

Dubai’s Gold Souq

Speaking of which, after making my way out of the Souq, I made my way to the water taxi to cross Dubai Creek. And that happened to be the perfect compliment to a stroll through the Souq, until I got to the other side and was met with glowing skyscrapers and whisked back into modern-day Dubai.

Water taxi across Dubai Creek

A nice thought to bring us to the end of 2012, courtesy of Avenida Paulista…

My ID:  3:34pm, Tuesday, 22 March 2005:  Narita Airport

United Airlines Flight UA837 from San Francisco

While it goes without saying that most first-timers to Japan arrive through the Narita gateway, my first true experience with Japan was, quite literally, at Narita Airport.  The destination of my first trip to Asia was the Philippines, via Singapore, and my flight from the US touched down first in Tokyo.  I’m not counting the hour I spent around Gate 54 as my first foray into Japan, but it just so happens that I had the reverse route back, six days later.  This time, my incoming flight from Singapore left about a three hour window before I had to depart back to SFO.

Being the rookie traveler that I was at the time, I decided that instead of eating the same dried out sandwich and Pocky pack I had at Gate 54 earlier that week, I would stand in line at immigration to get my passport stamped.  I had my fancy Narita Immigration sticker 30 minutes later, and stepped outside to breathe Japanese air for the first time—in the Narita parking lot.  After a 15-minute tour of Narita’s long-term parking and train station, I thought better of my inkling to leave the airport, and went back to the gate for my flight…but not until I had experienced Japan for the first time!

My ID:  Train 4:32pm, Friday, 07 June 2002; Stazione Milano Centrale

Milano Centrale, home of MyID into Italy

My Initial Descent into Italy came via the rails, arriving into Milano Centrale after a night’s journey from Munich. Along the way, as the Alps bore down upon me like an intimidating older brother, I saw in the distance countless waterfalls so rugged that man dare not attempt approach. Cutting river valleys that housed rocky streams, and huge mountainside cliffs with trees above. Only water, strong enough to hold the ships of the sea and brave enough to tumble the likes of Niagara and Victoria, could experience these places up close. The Alp lakes were stunning, scattered with islands and vast waterways resting peacefully in the mountains’ pocket.

While I enjoyed my first day walking around Milano, the next few days heading further south in Italy left me with a few impressions, some of which I have subsequently discounted and others with I still hold true today:

• Rome has a lot of bad smells in it!
• I’ve even seen little kids smoking here; everyone smokes!
• Road rules don’t seem to apply to scooters—they are everywhere and do whatever they want!
• Every building has elaborate designs sculpted into it—outside and inside.
• Italian guys are so forward, aggressive and (if you’re a male) unfriendly. Could the stereotypes be true?
• Italian guys wear really, really tight jeans.
• The concept of air conditioning has no meaning in Italy.
• The shoes people wear here look like bowling shoes.
• Many people here have small, prissy dogs…..not the big dogs I’m used to!
• There is no hospitality here. Business owners are rude, and nothing is complimentary.

Over the next several weeks, my impression grew to be that of a stark difference between the North and South of Italy. The further north I got, the more comfortable I felt. This was shaped by a few experiences, such as seeing a brawl break out in a stairwell at Naples’ Central Station within minutes of my arrival there, and some of the shady characters I shared train compartments with in the south.

(Note: Please do not get upset, my Italian friends—this was all taken directly from a journal I kept the first time I was in Italy, and “MyID” is supposed to be an unfiltered, unedited account of first impressions! I know now these aren’t all true :).

One of the more interesting theatre graphics I’ve seen…

Amsterdam.

If my fascination with Japan is based on the, well, contradictions, it’s safe to say that my fascination with The Netherlands is based on, well…contradictions.  When I first arrived in Amsterdam as a wide-eyed 22-year old, just 4 days into my first foray overseas, I was shocked and uncomfortable with the overall grunge and grit found around every corner.  By the time I got on the Deutsche Bahn train at Centraal Station headed for Koln, I truly believed that everyone in Amsterdam was dirty, high and paying for sex on a daily basis.

Left with this sour first impression, I was surprised when the next year I found myself working amidst Dutch people for the first time, and found them to be among the most business-focused, precise and organized people I had ever encountered.  Now having perception of the Dutch spanning two opposite extremes, by the time I returned to Holland a few years later, I found it to be a completely fascinating and different place.  In reality, it was comprised of the same grunge, the same 300-some “Coffeshops” that could legally sell up to five grams of soft drugs to each customer, and the same scantily-clad Eastern European (and other) women on display in the Red Light District.  The difference, of course, was in my own mentality.

Amsterdam is a breeding grounds for individuality, where strange and different is not merely tolerated, it is embraced.  Which pretty much makes the term “strange” irrelevant around here.  Quite simply, nothing is strange, rather…everything just is.  This can surely come as a shock at first to people raised on a particular set of ideals, norms and visions, but will always prove to be a lively and passionate breath of fresh air the moment one proves capable of breaking the shackles of “norms” and whets their palette for any adventure that may be lurking around the corner…

The logo of Chang beer…a true Thai icon!