Wanderlust Wednesday [5]

For this edition of Wanderlust Wednesday, I am stoked to present duo travelers, childhood sweethearts, Erica and Shaun. They are living the dream - together! I know, unbearably sweet, right?  Be sure to check out their photos and buy some prints of their awesome photography!

Name - Shaun and Erica Kuschel (look that name up in German, it drives Shaun insane.)

Site - You can find us at http://www.overyonderlust.com!

Occupation - Well, right now we both do not officially have jobs (it is hard to convince your boss to have a year sabbatical in the video game industry) but before, I (Erica) was a wedding photographer and pedicabber and Shaun was a manager for Blizzard Entertainment.

Birthplace - I was born in Laredo, Texas (and brought up in El Paso for 13 years) and Shaun was born and raised around Mesa, Arizona. I would try to explain my ethnic background but it is too confusing with 1/16 of this, 1/32 of this, 1/3 of blah.

Current Location - Our hearts belong to our hometown of Austin, Texas. We have yet to find a place that suits our fancy like home.

Trips Made - Well, our list is quite "short" for now. Ask us again in a year and it will have doubled in size. We have been to Barbados (honeymoon), Japan, United Kingdom, Spain, Mexico, Cuba, Belize and Guatemala.

Trips on the List - After our South American tour we are hoping to head to Southeast Asia!

Featured trip - I think one of my favorite memories was drinking with salarymen in Osaka, Japan. We were lead into this hole in the wall bar by this awesome guy wearing black rimmed, square glasses, a golfer hat, and a Hilary Clinton shirt - where people were watching bad movies like Biker Boyz. The bartender brought out a bottle of Cuervo and we played a card game. Lowest card had to take a shot of tequila. I would just like to notify you that my Texas drinking ability does NOT match that of the salarymen who drink every night in Japan. I had to be carried home 8 shots of tequila later. Regardless, I still reminisce about the people that we drank with that night. Good times.

Teach, learn, share - We're lucky that Shaun used to be a mechanic so when we come across people who are in need of mechanic help, Shaun is always willing to help. I take pretty pictures and unless someone wants to know how to work a camera, yeah, I'm not much help. We both are always wanting to learn Spanish so I would love to keep practicing with people!

Worst Hostel - Playa del Carmen: We arrived when it was hot and raining outside. Our gear was wet and our clothes were soaked through. Even though it was supposed to be low season, it seemed as though this hostel was booked full and just enough beds left for Shaun and I - except in different rooms... on different floors. When I was led to my bed I noticed that I had the top bunk and something integral was missing. What was it? Oh yeah - the MATTRESS. I was already unimpressed as this room had no windows and probably the most disgusting bathroom I had seen to date. I think you could get herpes just looking at it. We were told a mattress would be placed on it later and to go out and have a good time - which we did and got back to the hostel at 2am. Slightly drunk I stumble into the hostel room and notice I am still mattress-less. Shaun and I ended up sharing his very small twin size top bunk with no protective railings all night.

Needless to say we left very early that next morning.

Do you have any tattoos? - Shaun and I have quite a few. I have my "ode to Texas" chestpiece complete with yellow roses, a horseshoe, and guns. My right arm has a half sleeve of Oogie Boogie from Nightmare Before Christmas and on my wrist, a matching sugar skull (Dia de los Muertos) that Shaun has on his left wrist. Shaun on the other hand has his last name on his back and an "ode to hot rod Chevys" chestpiece.

We would like to get work done on the road but I'm not sure if we will. I used to work in a tattoo shop for 3 years so I'm super picky about who gets to work on me.

Semana Santa en las Islas Filipinas

Yes, I do know that it's July and that Holy Week was way back in April. I have no excuses for the tardiness.

Also, it must said that I might post things about places and events but this is not journalism by any stretch of the imagination. This is just me, a guy who takes a lot of pictures and has a lot of accompanying opinions. If you want to know more about Semana Santa in the Philippines, here's a Wiki article on it. I didn't actually read the entire article because its pictures-to-words ratio really leaves a lot to be desired.

Caveats aside, everything included in this is true to the best of my knowledge.

Every year, during Holy Week, the Philippines goes crazy. Not Girls Gone Wild crazy, because that would be sinfully blasphemous, but clinically crazy. Insane, if you would. Regular people walk the streets, whipping themselves into bloody pulps, only to literally bathe in gin once night falls to disinfect the self-inflicted wounds. Of course, some of that gin, if not most, also makes it into the bellies of the penitents.

Once Semana Santa (Holy Week) starts with Lunes Santo (Holy Monday), Filipinos are all abuzz with Catholic rituals. You can see penitents walking the streets, whipping themselves, dragging huge crosses, lying face down in front of churches, kissing the dusty earth while being whipped by the crowd. These practices are clear vestiges left by Spanish rule in the Philippines. We got rid of the whole colonialism thing, but we kept the die hard Catholicism.

If you ever make it to the islands during Semana Santa, try to keep your distance from the penitents unless you want blood splattering all over you. I'm pretty sure you can get STDs that way. Or at the very least, Mono, which is totally lame.

The whole bloodily gruesome week takes a pause on Thursday, because that's when Jesus was praying under some olive tree, or having his last supper, or something. Then it's Biyernes Santo (Good Friday). The fateful day of the crucifixion. On this day, there's a huge reenactment of the Passion in San Fernando, Pampanga (among other places). In a little, unassuming neighborhood tucked into the interiors of the Philippine city is a clearing made specifically for this day.

It's hot. It's hot as hell. There are people everywhere, which makes it more hot. The trees have been cleared away, making it even hotter.

In the center of the clearing is a raised plot of land with three crosses standing and casting eerie shadows Ben Hur style. There are vendors everywhere selling cold bottles of water from makeshift coolers of styrofoam and duct tape. Media crews from all over the world are everywhere, interviewing on-lookers, trying to find the most politically correct way to ask why Filipinos do this crazy shit. Why whip and bleed? Why nail yourselves to the cross? Why all this crazy?

The usual response? Panata. The Tagalog word roughly translates to vow or faith. Carabou dung and endangered tarsier piss. Tell the camera crews the truth. You get paid. I hate to dispel the miracles of religion, or whatever, but let me lay down some truth. I met a guy who used to participate in the Holy Week "festivities," and he gave me the low down. If you need money, you "volunteer" and if you get "chosen," you agree to a "contract" where you whip yourselves for a few years in exchange for a small stipend for your "faith."

P.S. - they cut themselves with razorblades before they start whipping so that more blood comes out. Some people use cow blood diluted in water to make it look more gory. I'm sure the whole self-flagellation thing hurts anyway, but the blood is mostly theatrics. My new buddy showed me the scars on his back, which he has since covered up in some pretty dope tattoos.

Anywho, before I go further down that tangent, back to my story.

Everyone waits. All morning long, into the afternoon. People take turns reading the Passion in a sing-song voice blasting through speakerphones that mangle syllables. It's hot, the sun burns, you can't understand anything being said. A few of the penitents whipping themselves faint in the ungodly heat(I mean seriously, who wouldn't?) and are carried off in stretchers. Then, 3:00PM arrives. Allegedly, about the time that Jesus is pronounced dead on the cross.

Men arrive, dressed in gaudy red capes and plastic armor, escorting a long line of Jesuses and thieves ready to be crucified. There's even a mourning Mary Magdalene. Three by three the Jesuses and thieves are tied to the crosses, nailed to the wood, and hoisted. There, they are on display to the gasping audience as they grimace in the unbearable heat, and probably the pain of being nailed to splintery wood. Probably.

When all the Jesuses are done redeeming mankind, about 15 or so, we all go home. Sweaty and dusty, but all a little less sinful. At least, that's the idea. Sabado de Gloria (Holy Saturday) is quiet, because Jesus is dead, and we all somberly reflect. Most people sit and reflect with a few bottles of brandy. Then Easter Sunday comes along, Christ rises, and we all rejoice. Again, usually with a few bottles of brandy.

In the States we just dye eggs and throw parties Martha Stewert style. Oh yeah, there are also those weird things called Peeps. Boy, do we have it easy.

I ate some stuff in Macau.

How beautifully frightening is that strange cornucopia of colors, shapes, and textures? What made this more fun was the fact that the vendor did not speak a lick of English. That's what I get for wandering into Macau's alleyways. At least it was just a few bouts with language barriers and not something worse like oh, say, rape.

It was totes crazy trying to get some food, but I was starving so I tried my damndest. Luckily, I remembered my Kanji studies from way back in high school and although Japanese sounds very different from Cantonese, the characters are the same. So I recognized the characters next to the numbers 15 and 25 to mean "small" and "big," respectively. Alright, so 15 Pataca for a small order and 25 Pataca for a big order. I pointed at the number 15 and said, "CHIISAI." Blank look from vendor. Ok, so Japanese word for small is not the same in Cantonese. Ok, how about, "PEQUENO?" Is that Spanish or Portuguese? Both? Blank look again. Fuck. I am going to die of starvation.

Finally, I pulled out 15 HK Dollars (Hong Kong and Macau currency are pretty much equal in value and most of Macau accepts HKDs) and made a gesture to my mouth. The vendor laughed and started saying something to me, very loudly. I think she was asking me what I wanted to eat, so I made a general gesture at her entire stock as if to dare her, give me your worst.

And boy did she deliver. She handed me a stick of colorful (squid?) balls, a stick of what I think was tripe (?), a stick of tentacles, and a stick of some sort of green leafy thing. All four sticks were quickly blanched in boiling water then drenched in a spicy, peanuty sauce. It was a feast, albeit unorthodox, all for under $2USD, but I think the vendor gave me some free food because she was so amused by my pantomiming skills.

This was a much easier meal to obtain since it was in a restaurant off of one of the main tourist thoroughfares in Macau. Although the waitress couldn't really speak English, there was at least a menu that had pictures with a smattering of English words so I managed a little better. This is some kind of a braised beef in a curry noodle soup, all washed down with a very Macanese drink that is half coffee, half tea with a little milk and sugar.

USEFUL TRAVEL TIP: In Macau and Hong Kong, McDonald's does this great thing called Happy Hour. Usually it's lunch time (12PM-3PM), but some branches do it all day. During their Happy Hour, you can get an entire Big Mac meal for 25 Patacas (approx. $3USD). I know, why go all the way to Macau just to eat at a McDonald's? Uhhm, some people are allergic to tentacles...?

Batik from Bali, anybody?

While traipsing around Indonesia, daring each other to drink kopi luak (coffee made from fermented beans literally shat out by cats), I noticed a bunch of guys in dresses. Yep, EXTREMELY good times.

The sarong, also affectionately known as the Asian Kilt, is still very much in use in Indonesia. And I must say, it is great. Do you know how hot it is in that jungle? Goddamn, now I know why girls love wearing skirts. It's breezy! And yes, real men go commando under their sarongs.

Batik is this amazing thing that is made in South East Asia. It is a specific type of cloth that is created in a specific way (more on the process in a bit). In Indonesia, you can find the decorative cloth being used in a variety of ways, from collared shirts to handkerchiefs to place mats to man-dresses.

Here are a two examples of popular batik sarong styles as worn by men:

Fashion forward dude chillin' in a great shirt that brings out the highlights and patterns on his batik sarong. He's also accessorized with a cute little salmon sash. Kind of wish he'd gone with a complimentary color for the sash to better accent his waist, but hey, to each his own.

Look numero dos is another popular way men show off their beautiful batik. The look is achieved by layering a simple sarong with a very tamed trim above a more intricately designed batik pattern to subdue what could easily become tacky. The fancy front knot (a little difficult to see in this shot) also brings the sarong just high enough to smartly display his sturdy mankles. The dapper gentleman definitely understands that in fashion, sometimes less is more.

While in Indonesia, I was fortunate enough to visit a batik studio and got to see first hand how these precious pieces of jungle couture are made. It's a fascinatingly laborious process.

Now, LeVar Burton on Reading Rainbow style: Listen closely, friends, as I share with you the lessons I've learned!

Tools of the trade. On the upper right-hand corner are blocks of solid wax which are melted in the bowl-wax-melter-thing (red contraption to the left of the wax). Beneath the wax is an array of wooden handles with metal spouts which are filled with the melted wax before it's applied to the fabric. They also use stamps (square carved with the rooster), to apply intricate patterns to the fabric much faster.

Before the fabric can become batik, the designer decides which patterns will go on her carte blanche. Some patterns are predetermined by templates, but some batik artists, like this fine woman, just goes at it freehand. She draws from centuries-old patterns with each having its own meaning. For example, certain patterns can show where you're from, your social status, your thoughts of the weather, etc.

To get the show started, the batik artist takes one of the wooden handles and fills the cup on the tip with melted wax. The wax then drips down as she draws on complicated patterns handed down from generations upon generations of cultural history. The woman on the left was way ahead of the other woman and was all like, jeez girlfriend, hurry yo' ass up so we's can get paid coz I needs mah skrill to buy milk coz my baby daddy been left for Brunei like months ago and the lazy bastard sill ain't sent us no child support! And the other woman was all like, psshh chica, don't be rushin' me, you gotta chill coz we in paradise tho mija.

After the wax dries, the batik artist dips the entire piece of cloth in a single color of dye. The wax prevents the dye from coloring the cloth so you get a cool looking negative. Once the dye dries, the batik artist goes over the cloth again with wax and dips it again in dye to get another layer of color. This woman is only two colors in, but look at how awesome it looks already. I love how the jungle sun hits the opaque wax and dyed cloth. It's kind of poetic, or something.

The waxing and dying process is repeated over and over again until the design has been fully colored in and the cloth is laid out to dry one last time before the entire cloth is dipped in a solution that melts the wax off, revealing the product of hours upon hours of tedious work.

After countless hours of drawing and dripping and waxing and dying and drying and re-melting and such, the final product is something like this. A symphony of colors and patterns. Then, they charge you up to thousands of dollars (US) for pieces of cloth you can't wear outside of Indonesia and Malaysia without looking like a complete hippie. Yay, culture!

Happy birthday, America. Long time no see.

Fell off the blogger wagon again. Fuck. It really is extremely difficult to post regularly. I am trying my damndest, but frankly, I am too busy doing things that I'd rather not share. You know, like having explosive diarrhea and sinking into hot, steamy love affairs with yoga instructors. Not at the same time, of course. No worries though, I will eventually put every disgusting and sordid detail into a memoir. Correctamundo amigos, I will charge you for the good stuff. Mama ain't raise no fool.

In the meantime, here are some fairly mediocre pics of Macau:

Macau is this magical place that speaks three completely different languages.

It's so easy to forget that you're in Asia. Except when you look around and see all the Asians.

Seriously. How trippy is this? This is ASIA! NOT Europe. I'm still shaking my head as I type out this caption.

Then I walk into a supa-Asian scene like this and I breathe a little easier.

Since this is a travel blog, I feel obligated to say something useful so this last pic is of the zodiac ceiling in MGM Grand Macau. Macau is something like the Las Vegas of Asia. Also, cool fact. All of the casinos have free shuttles so you can get around town by pretending to be staying at one of the gajillion casinos of this tiny island nation.

P.S. - Happy Fourth of July!

Happy Engrish time!

Surprisingly, Hong Kong isn't very Engrishful. For the most part, they have better grammar and spelling than in the US. Those Asian kids sure do love to study. Also, they were a British colony for a while. So, yeah. Not much Engrish action going on.

I did, however come across what seems to be a fad (?). I'm not sure if these are done on purpose or if they really are just poor translations. But since the only Engrish I noticed was on coin purses, I don't know. Seems purposefully done. Whatever be the case, I have never giggled at coin purses like I did at these.



Unemployed men are less gloryful.



Apparently the pine needs a cool 5 mil. Probably lost it all at the race track. Or, to hookers and blow.



If you can't see it, the leftmost one says, "RARE LIFE & AWAY MONEY" [sic] - your guess is as good as mine.



Okay, so this isn't really incorrect or anything, but come on. "LITTER CUM." Seriously. Funny.

Wanderlust Wednesday [4]

For this Wanderlust Wednesday, I am very excited to introduce Krys Simon, one of the most beautiful people you will ever meet. Beauty that doesn't just run skin deep but one that emanates from the depths of her soul, manifesting itself in everything she touches with her talented hands. I cannot praise her enough for all of the amazing things she has done and continue to do. I hope you enjoy her stories as much as I do!

Name - Krys Simon

Site - www.kryssimon.com, www.superlaughter.yelp.com, www.kryssimonsays.blogspot.com

Occupation - Professor Associate at California State University (East Bay), while selectively freelancing in web design and iPhone/iPad app development.

Birthplace - Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. 100% Filipina, 100% Sucka Free.

Current Location - California girl, still in love with the bay…

(Golden Gate Bridge, California)

Trips Made - US (Oregon, New Mexico, Arizona, Virginia, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, DC, Virginia, Florida, Hawaii), Canada (Montreal and Quebec City), Mexico (Ensenada, Puerto Vallarta, Cabo San Lucas, Guadalajara), Philippines Islands (Pampanga, Baguio, San Fernando, Luzon, Angeles, Quezon City, Manila, Boracay), Brazil (Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, and some area in the Amazon), Peru (LIma and Callao), Australia (Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne), Italy (Florence and San Gimignano), China (Hong Kong and Macau)

(Puerto Vallarta, Mexico)

Trips on the List - Heading out to Berlin soon and will probably venture out around Europe during my stay. Shortly afterwards, I plan on visiting a good friend in Beijing and will probably venture out as well (hopefully I'll get to rendezvous with my long lost cousin along the way). I'm also currently applying to several humanities grants for our research thesis project on the Tibetan Book of the Dead, which will fund our backpacking trip around India.

I'd like to visit the family in Australia sometime next year and hit up New Zealand along the way. I hear the surf and the wildlife there are phenomenal! I've also been wanting to visit Alaska too and then continue island hopping around the Philippines. Next stop, Cebu!

(Freshly "enhanced" Brazilian national monument, Sao Paulo)

Featured trip - This was in 2007 during our stay in Brazil, my then-boyfriend and I had just spent a day traipsing around the favelas, sippin' on Guarana. After hitting up a dope ass Chemical Brothers show in Sao Paulo, on the drive back home, we were stopped by what looked like guerrilla terrorists with their rifles and all. Forced out of the car, they raided the shit out of us. I totally thought I was gonna get raped and was ready to die in attempts to judo kick their ass. But Dolfo seduced them in portuguese somehow, mentioning that we were coming back from a Chemical Brothers concert. Apparently, they were also CB fans and started choppin' it up like we were all homies. Pat on the back and an escort back home, we made it back to Dolfo's place safe and sound. The following morning, we take a plane ride to the Amazons to spend a few days at their private resort (his parents were head physicists at GE Brazil so they had hookups). That trip was pretty intense.

(Masantol Elementary School, Pampanga)

Teach, learn, share - "My culture gives me fire. My people give me strength. My words are a declaration of will. My work and my actions are a shout out to the world that no one is going to tell me what to do." Growing up female, first generation Filipino, and American, I've always understood how truly privileged I am of all this opportunity my family has worked so hard for, so that I don't have to live in a state of revolution they went through for me. Traveling alone is a simple reminder of that.

Despite the poverty I've encountered during my travels, I've found the most kindness and generosity from the very people living in it, and I try to carry that with me back in the States. When I feel that I've lost touch with that humility and gratitude, drowning in my hipster pretentiousness and self-entitlement, it means that it's time to take another trip back home. I'll island hop and get those highs again, where everything shines with boundless potential, and i'll remember again never to take my life for granted.

So I guess my tip to you all is… just fucking travel! I can only hope that it will broaden your mind and open the doors to self-awareness. As it should.

(Fishball vendor, San Fernando)

Worst food - I'm always down with street food. ALWAYS. Even if it means sitting on a toilet for a day. Don't be surprised to find me in some random street stall, hovering over a vat of hot oil, poking at all that fried deliciousness. But there was this one dish I had in Hong Kong that every local recommended, chou doufu or deep-fried stinky tofu. This fermented tofu dish was served with some kind of thick hoisin sauce that smelled like heaven. But after one bite, I thought something died in my mouth. It tasted so putrid!

Pig blood? No problem. Under-developed duck eggs? Delicious. But stinky tofu? Hells no.

(Financial District, Hong Kong)

Do you have any tattoos? - My mother and father's first name are written above my wrist and their last names below my triceps (mother on right side and father on left side, respectively). "Hope" in hebrew is located on my right forearm, "Fear" in hebrew on my left forearm, and a large phonograph below it. Rodolfo's name is on my left wrist. "What nurtures you destroys you" in Latin is written along my left rib cage. An octopus (my sister/power animal) hovers along the bottom right side of my back and thigh. A couple of her tentacles are wrapped around a branch of cherry blossoms, which covers the left side of my back and shoulder. I have a yin yang behind my neck, 510 inside my lip, my birthdate behind my left thigh and a crying minotaur from Radiohead's Amnesiac album above it.

Yeah, I've got a lot of tattoos but I've already made the decision to have my body covered eventually. There's no rush though, I've got my whole life to do so and I would love to tattoo and get tattooed during my travels soon.

If you stop dreaming, then you're just sleeping.

Image: Sai Kung Harbor - Politically part of HK, geographically part of Mainland China.

All this running around Asia has got my head spinning. People ask me if I will go home once I'm done with all this soul-searching. My usual reply is an involuntary cock of the head, facial features rearranging themselves into a confused snarl.

First of all, who said that I'm searching for my soul? Actually, I think I might have too much. So much that it drives me a little crazy. Literally. Secondly, if I were "soul-searching," why would I ever willingly stop? It's like saying that dreaming is only for sleeping. Well, I say, fuck that.

Thirdly? There's no thirdly. Just a Firstly and a secondly, but they were both doozies so I think I can get away with it. Anywho, the following is another attempt at being a writer. Enjoy!

I dwell too much in my head

So don't get offended if I seem offensive, I'm just

Searching for space between make-believe and nightmares

Searching for lonliness while engorging on emptiness

Creating faceless wraiths of shadows of inklings of people

As I sit on foreign toilets purging myself of diarrhea

Why can't creators create in the non-exotic

Stop looking for inspiration in blanched tentacles in crowded Hong Kong alleys

Sai Kung coffee shops lined with writers watching passers-by waiting for lessons

On how to be human

Singaporean bars filled with thirsty scholars guzzling down the dreams of starving artists

I walk and walk to see and see but I can't seem to make sense of it all

Why is it so hard to be natural

Forcing sagging stories into chiseled slabs of some

Hard stone quarried from some realistic setting captured by some metaphor with a moral

I sleep too little

Overflowing with ideas that never amount to much except for frustrating fits

Of insomnia

Of explanations

Of giving everything up to be someone else doing something else

All underneath the shadows of Philippine volcanoes sipping instant coffee

Blurring the lines between night and day possibly purposefully who knows

Who knew imagining could be so hard

Even in humid jungle heat

Especially in humid jungle heat

Unfamiliar mounds of earth covered with unfamiliar sounds of words I can't pronounce

Asking strangers in hostels if they can understand me when I say I'm Californian

Balinese cloves rising up in thick smoke sweetly calming bundled nerves

Trying to unravel plots that prove to be too simple or just non-existent

Like the lady bits of Thailand's lady boys

I talk to myself too much

And I call it research because well it is

To lose touch with reality to better convey reality is what we call sublime

Or at least I think it is

Think it aloud as I stroll through Portuguese Macau hunting for Europe in China

I'm too far fucked you see to make any more sense to sensible people

Mixing myth with history making men turn into trees because a limb is a limb

And I think I love puns way too much

And I worry what the critics at the New York Times will say even before I've written a single word

Because tiny island lizards make clicking sounds, chiding my too sultry nights

Filled with too much avoiding

Sitting in Semarang in the middle of mosquito swarms I wonder if dengue fever will help

Help with writer's block with vivid hallucinations

But I never get sick, just cough from diesel soot and cigarette smog

And don't you dare compare me to Eat, Pray, Love.

I want to give up too much

Have some milk, Hong Kong style.

Image: Dun Nai (Milk Pudding) with red beans.

I excitingly pinged a good friend of mine from San Francisco the following, "I'M IN HONG KONG!!" The next thing I know is I get an email from her outlining a few of the places that I cannot miss while in HK. God, do I love having foodie friends.

Apparently, Yee Shun is an institution here in Hong Kong with several locations all over the mini-nation. The first one I tried was in Causeway Bay. Very easy to get to, just around the corner from the MTR station. Actually, there's an entrance to the MTR station a few stores down from Yee Shun. I don't remember the actual exit letter (HK MTR stations label their exits with letters for easier navigation), but this particular Yee Shun is fairly close to Times Square, so keep an eye out for that. Or, just walk around HK and you are bound to bump into a Yee Shun somewhere.

Hong Kong milk pudding is an odd, odd thing. I was expecting something more along the lines of bread pudding, or just pudding. You know, that pudding consistency as popularized by Bill Cosby. When my order came and I dipped my spoon into the bowl, which looks deceptively small, I was surprised by the gelatinous consistency. It's almost as if a flan went on a diet and had a love child with a mold of Jello, the resulting milk pudding inheriting it's parents' textures and consistency. If any of you are familiar with the Philippine dish of sweetened soft tofu, called taho, it's very similar to milk pudding in both flavor and texture.

As per my friend's suggestion, I ordered my first milk pudding with red beans. The red beans helped to cut the sweetness of the milk pudding down, helping me to better appreciate the flavors. The red beans also lent its slightly chalky texture to the dish, complementing the silkiness of the milk pudding very well.

Image: Milk pudding all gone.

All for about $25HKD, approximately $3USD, you get a big bowl of steaming milk pudding topped off with red beans and a tall glass of piping hot tea to wash it all down with. It was cold and raining when I first had Yee Shun's milk pudding. I can't think of a better way to duck out of the wet cold HK streets.

A Hong Kong Love Story.

There is a market in Hong Kong dedicated to birds. Yuen Po Street Bird Market is directly west of the Mong Kok MTR station. It's very easy to get to, as the MTR signage is unbelievably detailed and clear. Even above ground, there are tons of maps clearly pointing out historical sights. However, in the event you find it difficult to locate the Bird Market, you can always go up to a local and ask. Most Honkies speak English, and even if they don't, just flap your arms and whistle, the universal pantomime for bird, and you will be sure to find the market, as well as a few new friends.

You can find any of your bird needs at the Yuen Po Street Bird Market. From beautifully handcrafted cages to exotic birds to live crickets to feed your new exotic bird in it's beautifully handcrafted cage.

Anywho, whilst rummaging through the little treasures of the Market, I bumped into these two. The following is a little flip-book-esque look into their encounter. Enjoy!

He notices her from across the cage and slowly inches toward her.

Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, of course.

They exchange a few pleasantries.

Talk about the weather, iPod playlists, and their puppies.

His heart starts to beat like a canary's.

No longer able to hold it back, he leans in for a peck.

Taken aback by his forwardness, a moment hangs between them.

Both weigh their individual pasts against their possible future.

She finally responds. Let's be lovebirds.

At least for the day.

"Ni Ho Ma" Hong Kong!

Image: Building photo collage.

My initial thoughts on Hong Kong? This is one big ass China Town.

Suck it, Julia Roberts.

Indonesia was quite a trip. Some parts more pleasant than others. Bali, for the most part. was one big party. However, I was quite lucky to have made some friends on a chance encounter on a ferry boat, so my experience in Bali might be a little out of the norm. It's fun to luck out every now and then.

I don't think I will be going into further detail about aforementioned newfound friends because the Balinese Board of Tourism might not appreciate our activities. Also, I think my nieces might be reading this blog. Although, I will say that Bali truly is a paradise with many faces. Whatever face your paradise takes on in Bali is completely up to you.

Before I say bye bye to Bali and hello to Hong Kong, here are a few shots I took on the occasions I remembered to bring my camera. Enjoy!

Image: Temple statue covered in cobwebs, obviously.

Image: Traditional Balinese architecture.

Image: More temple statues.

Image: Batik - traditional and elaborate method for dyeing cloth using waxes.

Image: Rice fields on the face of some mountain with a name I can't pronounce.

PS - I must admit that I keep ragging on Julia Roberts even though I haven't seen the movie. I hear it's terrible. I mean, how could it not be?