Whoever it was that said ‘95% of life is just showing up’ is definitely right (Woody Allen, perhaps?). My friend Laura and I embarked on a journey to Bali with a very, very rough sketch of exactly what we would do, where we would stay, and how we would get there, and strangely, we were not worried about it at all. In fact, I am fast learning that in South East Asia, this is the best way to travel.

Play it by ear…

‘What should we do first — go to Ubud, or to Kuta?’ Laura asked me, as we sat on yet another excruciating (but cheap) Air Asia flight from Kuala Lumpur to Bali.

‘I don’t know… Ubud?’

‘Ok, Ubud it is. Let’s catch a taxi when we get to the airport.’

So said, so done. We arrived in Denpasar in a very lovely little airport that looked a lot like a temple and caught a ride up to Ubud, which was about an hour north into the lush mountains in the centre of the island.

‘Aye, boss,’ we said to the taxi driver, ‘where is an area of Ubud with lots of cheap, cheap guesthouses?’

‘Cheap? Hmm. I think Monkey Forest Road is good for you. Very cheap!’

‘Ok, drop us off in the middle of Monkey Forest Road please!’

An hour later, we were deposited in Ubud exactly where we needed to be — the centre of town. The road was very pretty, lots of little shops and boutiques, restaurants and bars, and a large number of young men sitting on the side of the road, smoking, and offering transport.

‘You need a room?’ one guy called out as we hauled our backpacks onto our shoulders.

‘Yes, you have rooms?’ we asked.

‘Yes yes, please follow me!’

He took us into a place called Devi Ayu, and we were pleasantly surprised to find that although the street front of the compound was not much to look at, tucked behind in a garden was a lovely little place with a beautiful pool and lots of greenery.

Laura and I gave each other that look — we liked it.

‘How much?’ we asked the young man.

‘130,000 rupiah a night.’

‘Per person?’

‘No — for the room. Two single beds. You like?’

Again, Laura and I raised our eyebrows at each other. A beautiful guest house in the middle of Ubud? For US $7 per person a night? SOLD!

Well... I suppose it will do. After all, you can't expect much for $13 a night.

Ubud is considered Bali’s culture and art centre, and we were not disappointed. Something I was not anticipating was the excellent shopping. Beautiful wood carvings, paintings, art, bowls, clothes, everything a travelling girl could want to bargain for. The nearby Ubud market was overwhelming — everywhere you look you saw something you’d love to take home. I had to resist the urge to hire a container to ship a whole load of goods back! I wanted to buy damn near everything.

Laura at the market, prior to buying everything in sight

The lazy way down

The next day we joined up with a tour company called Bali 2000 for a bike ride down Mount Batur, one of Bali’s many volcanoes. This I think was my favourite part of the trip and I would certainly recommend this company.

The guide picked us up at our place bright and early and we began our drive north of Ubud further into the mountains. The countryside of northern Bali is just stunning, lush, extremely green. And, of course, the volcanoes and lakes aren’t bad either.

I envy the local farmers who wake up to this view every morning...

We first stopped at a local farm growing cocoa and coffee, and now offering agri-tourism. This particular place was famous for a very special type of coffee — Kopi Lemak — made from coffee beans which have been eaten and excreted by the civet cat. The farm had a few civet cats in big cages and I suppose they eat a heck of a lot of coffee beans. The beans are collected, cleaned, roasted, and turned into what I have to admit was one of the best cups of coffee I ever had. Can’t imagine who invented Kopi Lemak though… how did they even think of doing this? It was damn good, but the farm was trying to sell a bag of beans for US $50. One cup I guess would have to do for now.

bottoms up! no pun intended.

After getting all hopped up on far too many cups of coffee and ginger tea, we were ready to start our biking. This was definitely a lazy man’s ride — it was mostly downhill so we got to enjoy coasting through the little villages and Bali’s famed rice terraces. The towns were just amazing, there was absolutely no tourism there; not a gift shop, not a guest house, just the people going about their daily life, tending the fields, taking care of the kids, making offerings at the temples. Everywhere we went, little kids jumped up and down shouting, HELLOOOOOOOOOO!! They were incredibly cute. I suppose they don’t see foreigners in their village very often.

Down de road

These girls giggled so hard when I showed them this picture on my digicam screen

Now something I never knew about Bali was that extended families tend to live together all on one compound, and all Balinese homes have their own temple and worship areas. I’ve never seen a country where people are so happy about their faith. And I’m not talking about a once-a-week visit to a temple or anything; I’m talking about a faith that encompasses every area of their life. They are constantly doing little blessings and offerings throughout the day and are highly devout and proud of their culture. It was great to see these little villages where everything they do, they do for themselves — not the tourists.

The famed rice terraces

At the end of the ride, we finished at one of the aforementioned Balinese family compounds, and were taken inside for a traditional homemade meal. This is called Nasi Campur – rice, chicken, tofu, tempe (which is also made from the soy bean), bean and coconut salad, and chicken satay. Good stuff.

Unfortunately, time was running short, and the next morning we left beautiful Ubud, and headed down to the coast to check out the action on the beach.

Kickin’ it in Krazy Kuta

Kuta beach is very pretty, but absolutely overrun with horny Australian tourists with bad tattooes and Bintang beers in their hands. We sadly did not have the same luck we had in Ubud in just showing up and finding a place, so we had to walk from place to place asking if they had any rooms. Much to our surprise, all of them were completely booked, so it took us quite a while to find a room! But once we did, we plopped our bags down, changed into our sexy bikinis, and hit the town.

At one of the bars, we met an older Australian gentleman named Clive who said he had been travelling here to surf for over 20 years. He was sunburnt like a piece of old leather and wore a stripe of white sunblock down his nose.

‘I just got these stickers made,’ he said, handing us each one. ‘But check it out — there’s a typo! I gotta take these things back!’

Being an editor, I thought the typos were kind of cool. Can you spot them?

Very fitting slogan for Kuta....

No thank you! No more sarongs!

Unexciteable, in every way…

That night we decided we would have to check out the vibes and find a little action going on, since Ubud did not have much in terms of nightlife. Kuta had a lot of bars, and a lot of great bands playing, but we kept walking until we reached the next area, Legian. Laura and I found ourselves drawn inside the Apache Reggae Bar which was pumping out some Sizzla. After all, two Caribbean girls living in Asia are just looking for an opportunity to wine down de place!

We walked in the door, and were instantly swarmed by a group of eight very large, beefy and semi-intoxicated Australians from Victoria. The club was still pretty empty but they assured us that it would get better, and that the band was great. We were not disappointed — by 11 pm the place was getting more full, the band was jamming, and Laura and I were having a great time showing these boys how to shake their waist.

I did, however, have a little trouble with one of the guys in the group who was as persistent as the lone mosquito that keeps buzzing in your ear as you try to sleep, the one that you can’t seem to hit no matter how hard you try. This guy just could not take a hint even though I was paying him no attention. Eventually he came up to me, and said a line that really flabbergasted me:

‘Don’t you ever get excited about anything?’

Is this guy serious? I thought to myself.

‘What do you mean by excited? Excited about you?’

He shrugged his shoulders; obviously I hit the nail on the head.

‘Well, I’m excited about the party, about this band, and about the music. And I’m getting married in three months, and I’m VERY excited about that. But you? No, I’m not excited about you one bit.’

And with that, he just walked off! After strutting around like god’s gift to women all night, demanding everyone’s attention, he simply walked off to lick his wounds. Pathetic.

But, the fete was good. Oh gooosh, Laura and I wined down the place! I think they never seen bumsees move like that before. I only wish they had a reggae bar in Hong Kong.

Me and my bemo

On the last day, Laura unfortunately had a flight in the morning, we had to check out at 12 pm, and my flight was not until 8 pm. So I decided to hire a driver for the day, and go do some sightseeing and temple chasing.

We jumped in his car, struggled through the endless Kuta traffic, and went to our first destination — Taman Ayun, the garden and temple of the Mengwi dynasty.

It always amazes me how each country in South East Asia has such distinctive styles and architecture. For example, Chinese temples are entirely different from Japanese, Thai temples are different to Taiwanese, and so forth. Balinese temples seem to be quite heavy on the stonework, carvings, and dark wood. I quite like the style of the meru as well.

Exterior of the complex - the towers are called 'meru'

Next destination was the very famous coastal temple called Tanah Lot, known as the best place in Bali to see the sunset or sunrise. Unfortunately it was about 2 pm by then so neither of those was an option. But daylight suited me just fine.

Unfortunately it was high tide, so I could not walk over to the temple in the sea

The last destination — and my least favourite — was the most southern tip of Bali, an area called Uluwatu. The place was overrun with aggressive monkeys, stupid tourists who were aggravating them and screaming when they got too close, and local ‘guides’ who offered to walk with you and protect you from the monkeys with their big stick, for 50,000 rupiah. The temple itself was not much to look at and I’m really not sure why this place is such a big attraction, considering how much more beautiful Taman Ayun was. However, the view from the top was simply stunning.

I bet many a surfer have longed to get on those waves

After Uluwatu, it was time to say goodbye to Bali, and get my tail to the airport to head back to KL. I have to say, just once I would like an Air Asia flight to leave on time… but that seems a near impossibility.

Back in KL, the news of Michael Jackson's death was on the front page of every newspaper -- in Chinese, Malay and Tamil

The glittering Petronas towers at dusk

In retrospect, if I were to do this trip again, I would probably start by spending one night in Kuta to enjoy the beach and the bars (one day in Kuta is MORE than enough), then head up to Ubud for a few days to do more eco-activities such as hiking and biking, then head north to Tulamben for diving, and further to the north-west coast to see more village life. Bali is quite a large island and really has a lot to offer. I think I would definitely like to go again.

What’s that you say? You want more pictures?

I never thought that I’d say this… but I think I have had enough of travelling to last me for quite some time!

Since this recession (recess is on) began and my company began offering an additional 40 days semi-paid leave, I have been on the go every month for the past six months. And quite frankly, I think I am getting a bit tired of travelling.

I’ve just returned from Bali, and can’t even begin to tell how enchanting the island is. No wonder it is referred to as the ‘island of the gods’. I have so many images and stories in my head, but simply don’t have the energy to write them right now.

Perhaps there is such as thing as ‘too much time on the road’. I don’t know how people can take off for three months — I find there comes a point where you just want to go home (wherever that may be), sit down on the couch, and watch a movie in peace and quiet. No more trains, no more planes, no more lines, taxis, bemos, tuk-tuks, bancas, motorbikes, buses. I suppose we all need our creature comforts.

Anyway I will get around to blogging about the beauty of Bali one of these fine days. Stay tuned!

I don’t usually write very private, personal things on this blog — as this is supposed to be a travel blog — but sometimes a blog can be a great place to vent, and to share ideas.

I’m in the midst of planning a wedding, and have finally realised just how wedding-phobic I actually am. I’ve been to some fantastic weddings, and some really, really bad weddings, but they all have a few things in common: high levels of stress, people running around like headless chickens, the bride about to have a heart attack, long ceremonies in the church that nobody even enjoys, until finally, the party starts, and people begin to have a good time.

So, I am trying to skip all the ’semi demi’, as my mother likes to call it, and just get straight to the celebrating part. Neither of us are religious, so we don’t need a religious ceremony, but we will need some kind of civil celebrant to make it official, so I’ve started my search.

Today I went to a place called Eden Marriage Registry, just a few minutes from my office, to check out a venue where you can do the civil ceremony. I walked in to the entrance and was met by a very friendly manager who was happy to show me the room. It was, in a word, horrendous. Dubbed the Sakura Room, it looks like a giant cotton candy monster vomited a garden all over the roof. Every square inch was covered with fake pink flowers, meant to look like Japanese cherry blossoms. It was the pinkest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

‘It’s very… pink,’ I said to the manager.

‘Yes, this is our most popular room,’ he said, grinning.

‘What kind of tacky, low-class people actually like this stuff?’ I wanted to ask, but I held my tongue.

‘Do you want to try walking down the aisle?’ he asked me.

‘Um….. what?’

He walked over to the CD player, pressed play, and suddenly a church organ version of the Wedding March came blaring out at top volume from surround sound. My eyes almost popped out of my skull. I don’t know how to describe the feeling of pure panic that came over me as I heard that song. Like Runaway Bride, I had the terrible urge to turn heels and head for the hills as fast as my flats would take me.

‘Oh god, turn it off! Please, no no no. This is not for me. Definitely, definitely not,’ I told the manager, and started heading for the exit.

He looked confused — what kind of bride doesn’t want to walk down the aisle as the Wedding March plays?

Me, dammit, I’m that kind of bride. And quite frankly, I don’t give a damn!

There is no way in hell that you could ever get me to put on a giant puffy dress and a veil, slather me with makeup and hairspray, have a bunch of bridesmaids getting drunk before the wedding, hundreds of people sweating as they wait in the church, walking down the aisle as everyone stands up…. god, please just shoot me!

This is why we have decided against any semblance of a ‘normal’ wedding, and instead will have two fabulous parties in each other’s side of the world. The first fabulous party will be here in Hong Kong on a fabulous Chinese junk boat with 35 of our friends and family, with all you can eat and all you can drink, cruising around the most scenic harbour in the world. The second fabulous party will be in Trinidad — hopefully at a holiday house on a small island — feting in a way that only Trinis know how in the Caribbean sea. These sound to me like a dream wedding. And anyone who tries to tell me differently can take the bouquet and shove it where the moon don’t shine!

I think it was the Discovery Travel and Living Channel that says, ’sometimes the best plan is to have no plan at all’. And that was exactly how this trip to Tokyo was — I had no itinerary, other than to visit my old friends, because I felt that after living there for a year I was not exactly a tourist. And because of this completely open agenda, I found myself doing some very unexpected, and unusual, things that I’d never done before.

My friend Kyoko called me on my second day there and asked very matter of factly, ‘Do you want to go to a maid cafe today?’ Now for those of you who don’t know what this is, it’s a type of place where the girls wear black and white frilly lace French maid costumes, and guys pay a lot of money to go to the cafes and get fawned over. ‘You want to go to a maid cafe? Really? Why?’ I asked Kyoko, as it is quite unusual for girls to go. ‘I don’t know… I’ve never been. Why not?’

We met in Nakano, and after killing some time wandering around this massive toy building and then having a cold beer and some grilled liver, we worked up the courage to go into the cafe.

The door opened with a ring of a bell, and a maid rushed to the entrance, singing out a perky welcome. When she saw it is just the two of us, she asks if we are with any men. Nope, it’s just us, two girls, we reply. I can tell this is a bit weird, but nonetheless she ushers us inside, and sits us by the bar. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was just a normal cafe with girls in costumes — didn’t seem like anything kinky was going on here. It was quiet, since it was just 6 pm and they had just opened, so there were only two guys there, one of which was playing darts by himself.

We take a seat by the bar, and order a beer. The young maid who brings us our drinks asks us a few polite questions (even though usually the guys are supposed to pay the girls to talk to or sit with them). This was a great chance for me to practice my Japanese, since she didn’t speak English, so Kyoko and I ended up getting into this long discussion with her.

Her name was Haruka, was very cute and bubbly (naturally, not just for the job), and she told us her story how she came from Yamaguchi-ken (countryside of southern Japan) to try to become a professional singer in Tokyo. Small town girl with a big city dream, I guess. We ended up chatting with Haruka for a good hour, and even as a few more guys began to trickle into the bar she seemed to prefer to stay behind the bar talking to us. Can’t say I blame her… who’d want to have to be all sweet and nice to scuzzy guys who have to pay girls to talk to them? We had a really good time, and I was surprised to see how normal these girls are. I guess I did not realise that I too had bought into the misconception or stereotype that Japanese girls, especially those who work as French maids or hostesses, are weird or have some kind of kinky fetish. I suppose there always is room to learn more about a foreign culture, even if you think you know a lot already.

Unfortunately we were not allowed to take pictures inside the cafe, so we have no pictures of dear genki Haruka-chan. But here are some other highlights of the trip:

Me, Taeko, Kyoko and Emi get a foot soak at the amazing and gigantic Oedo Onsen

Just another crowded day on the Chuo line at Shinjuku.... 'Must... get... in... to.... train...'

Old architecture at the amazing Edo Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum -- the inspiration for the set of Miyazaki's famous anime film, 'Spirited Away'

Unagi my love... please don't ever leave me.... now come to mama....

The gang's all here.... from left to right: Jana, me, Taeko, Kyoko, Joanne and Monsieur Philippe. We ordered damn near everything on the menu!

Street touts at Shinjuku's Kabukicho area -- they all dress the same, in tight black pants, pointy alligator skin boots, with long bleached hair.

Although I lived there for a year, the city still manages to amaze me. The thing that I love the most about Tokyo is that inevitable moment when you are out somewhere in the city walking about, suddenly stop and look around, and get this giddy sort of feeling of ‘what in the HELL is going on here?’ It is a sort of complete bewilderment that comes over you, this awareness of finding yourself somewhere that is just so completely foreign, so utterly different and unique, surrounded by bright lights of signs you can’t read, listening to voices that you can’t understand, not knowing what is going on at all, observing everything, and all in all just in awe of this megacity and all its wonderful weirdness. Some people hate Tokyo, and say it is just a giant oversized neon concrete jungle, but I love it. And I will definitely be back in the future.

To see more pictures, please click here!

As an ex-colony, places like the Hong Kong Cricket Club, the Yacht Club, the Jockey Club and the Golf Clubs tend to be bastions of the ultra wealthy of Hong Kong, with the usual levels of restrictive access and members-only priviledges.

However, I recently discovered a very fun way to live The Life of Riley, as my grandmother calls it, for a mere HK$10.

Some friends invited us to go to the Hong Kong Jockey Club Happy Valley Race Track on Wednesday for a night at the races. I’d been to the races in Trinidad before, but had not been to any in Hong Kong before, so of course jumped at the chance.

But it was quite different to what I was expecting. We entered the stands for a whopping HKD 10 entrance fee (paid by Octopus card), and found ourselves a spot right at the side of the racetrack, and didn’t even have any chairs. I thought this was funny, beacuse in Trinidad, the ‘grounds’ are usually considered as the ‘ghetto’ section, while the stands were far more posh. It is quite the opposite in Hong Kong — the stands are where all of the foreigners go, while the stands are full of Chinese race enthusiasts.

This is for two reasons. One, racing is immensely popular in Hong Kong, being the only legal form of gambling, so the hardcore Chinese gamblers always find themselves at the races, and are extremely focused on the results. Two, the grounds are where the Beer Garden is located, and because practically all foreigners in Hong Kong are raging alcoholics — at least in comparison to their Chinese colleagues who rarely drink — that’s where the foreigners go for a cheap night at the races, drinking pitchers of draft beer, and screaming as the horses raced by.

We didn’t do any real betting, but I did manage to win $13 (bets started at $1 per race), so I suppose a made a small profit and at least covered my entrance fee. It’s a fantastic experience to stand next to the tracks and be so close when the horses run past. Far better than sitting in the stands, I think.

I’ll be heading to Tokyo tomorrow for a week to visit friends, so will probably be doing a different type of racing — Japanese people seem to love running in the train station. Perhaps it is a chance to get some extra exercise, or just that they value punctuality. It’s too late for the sakura (cherry blossoms), but hopefully I can still enjoy the spring in the city.

More pictures and stories when I get back.

‘Are you sure you want the livers?’ my friend Aris asked me today at work, after I asked her to write the words ‘chicken liver’ in Chinese characters. ‘Most shops throw the livers away — they only keep the kidneys, because Chinese believe the kidney is very healthy for you. You sure you don’t want kidneys instead?’

No, I explained to her; since I was small, my family has been cooking delicious chicken livers. First marinated, then coated in flour, dipped in egg and covered in breadcrumbs, pan fried chicken liver is absolutely delicious. And it’s something I haven’t eaten in years, since as Aris explained, it isn’t popular in Hong Kong.

‘Hmm, the recipe sounds good. I’ll have to try it some time,’ she said with a smile.

Clutching the small piece of paper with ‘chicken liver’ written in English and Chinese, I bounced out of the office on the stroke of 5.30 and walked to Sheung Wan, the district about ten minutes walk from Central.

Considerably ‘more Chinese’ compared to Central, Sheung Wan has an excellent wet market, selling any and every kind of meat, fish and vegetable you can imagine. I figured if I was going to find chicken livers, it was bound to be here.

The market was crowded, being a Friday night, with people buying fresh goods to cook over the weekend. Huge purple eggplants, giant ‘daikon’ (excuse the fact that I only know the name for this radish in Japanese), pigs entrails hanging from a large metal hook, live fish plucked from a styrofoam cooler, beating its body against the scale in which it has been placed, and even cats — live ones — sitting next to the store owner, its safety guaranteed by its blue collar.

I went into the first place that had whole, plucked chickens hanging up by the entrance.

‘Do you have this?’ I asked in English, handing the woman the piece of paper.

‘No ah, sorry la,’ she replied with a smile.

I kept walking. I found traditional noodle shops, hand made, of every variety. Flat noodles, skinny noodles, white noodles, yellow noodles. On the corner, two old women were laughing at some story. On their little wooden table, they were selling rice balls wrapped in banana leaf, traditional rice flour cakes which are served as a dessert, and a variety of other things I couldn’t even identify.

The old lady on the right looked up at me.

‘Homay ah!’ she exclaims.

This is some Cantonese that I actually do know — ‘It’s delicious’. I smile politely and inspect their wares. She sees the piece of paper clutched in my hand, and recognises the Chinese. She motions for me to let her take a look. Her friend peeps over her shoulder and says something. I stand by wishing I could understand. The woman on the left stands up, and points me up another small alley, presumably to a shop where I can find these elusive and unpopular chicken livers. I thank her in Cantonese, to which she laughs.

Up the alley, I find the shop on the right. I discover it’s a frozen meat shop. At the entrance, laying pitifully on the sidewalk, is a pig’s leg, stiff and frozen, wrapped in a crocus bag. Its little hoof sticks out, and I wonder how long until they take it inside.

Inside are rows and rows of frozen balls — meat balls, lobster balls, crab balls, fish balls, chicken balls. These are common street food, either cooked in a huge vat of some savoury soup, or roasted on a flame.

The people inside are, as usual, having some kind of jovial conversation. One woman looks me up and down (me in my suit and high heels), wondering what I’ve come here for. I hand her the piece of paper, and she says, ‘Ahh, yes yes! Come come.’

We go to one of the freezers, and she pulls out a big plastic bag. Finally, my chicken livers have been found.

‘$14 for one pound. How much want?’

‘One pound,’ I reply.

She carefully puts them on the scale, and plops my frozen livers into a plastic bag, resting the bag on top of the rows and rows of frozen lobster balls. I hand her a crisp $100 bill, and she reaches up and grabs a small red bucket, suspended on a pulley above the market. Strange place to keep cash and coins, I think, but they must know what they are doing. I thank her for the purchase, she thanks me, and I head out the door.

Around the corner I walk through an area of the market I’ve never seen before. The meat shops disappear and turn into shops selling all kinds of goods. One particular shop has stacks and stacks of flat boxes, with paper models of things we use in our everyday lives. Every year, families trek into the mountains to visit their ancestral burial plots for the grave sweeping festival. The families clean the plots, pick out the weeds, remove any kind of garbage, and do a general tidying and honouring of the dead. The Chinese also believe that what you burn will float up into the heavens, providing your loved ones with things they need. Typically people burn fake paper money, but nowadays you can buy representations of pretty much anything. This shop has a box of paper mah-jong. Another box holds a paper gold watch, a nice necktie, and a man’s shirt. One box holds paper cigarette boxes, obviously for an ancestor who enjoys a good smoke. There’s a paper mobile phone, a hairbrush, even a pack of cards.

I notice that the shop next door is a funky new art gallery. It’s been completely redone, a new paint job, nice glass doors, air conditioning, good lighting on the art. Seems that more and more of the modern world is encroaching on Sheung Wan, and that the smaller shops selling tofu and chicken livers are moving out. But I’m glad to see so many stores are resisting the new businesses that are moving in. Or perhaps it isn’t resistance. Maybe it’s just peaceful coexistence.

I keep going through the alley, and am back down on Queen’s Road Central, the main street that runs through the business district. The market disappears into the shadows of the skyscrapers as I start to make my way home, bag of chicken livers in hand.

Our apartment has become a bit of a B&B recently. Right after Katie left, Seiji’s mom and sister came for a long weekend, which could only mean one thing — even more excessive consumption of dim sum.

I’ve recently become completely enamoured with the night markets of Kowloon. Between the stations of Jordan and Yau Ma Tei is the popular Temple Street night market, a long pedestrian zone of stalls selling tourist crap, seafood restaurants where everything is still wriggling, fortune tellers, old posters of Chinese advertisements, and even a certain area selling a wide variety of erotic paraphernalia.

Personally, I don’t think the food at the bigger street restaurants at the market are particularly special, and to tell you the truth, they are a bit overpriced. I may sound like a bit of a snob, but chances are that in Hong Kong, whereever they have a lot of tourists eating, it probably isn’t quite as authentic, and is likely more expensive.

But if you veer off of the main boulevard of the night market and wander the tiny, dank back alleys, you come across a virtual cornucopia of cheap, delicious, and very authentic local food.

My favourite place is called Yat Bun Dim Sum, a tiny family run restaurant has tables that spill out onto the sidewalk. It’s one of the few places that you can find dim sum served in the evening, as typically dim sum is only served in the mid-morning through lunch, and tends to finish around 2 pm. We like to pull up a few stools here, order some delicious little bamboo baskets of steamed goodness, order a few big bottles of Blue Girl, and enjoy not only the food, but also the street life.

Around the corner is also another tiny place (why is the best food always in the tiniest places?) making this sort of flat bread, one that is about the size of a pita bread, but encrusted with sesame seeds, and infused with diced leek, and another that is stuffed with savoury minced pork and onions. And these tasty treats cost a whopping USD 1! Fantastic.

Here are some pictures from us perusing the night market, munching here and munching there. I better be careful though — I think I may be turning into a dumpling.

Famous for crabs

Have not eaten here yet -- but definitely intend to!

At my favourite place for night dim sum

See? Even Obama digs the night market!

Guangzhou holds the reputation of being ‘the place where everything on earth is made’. That means that the plastic keypad on this computer was made in Guangzhou, the telephone on my desk was made in Guangzhou, and, most likely, the Marks and Spencer blouse, which I bought here in Hong Kong, was made in Guangzhou. And after being there on a weekend trip, I can see that this reputation is well deserved.

Vacuums and mannequins seem a strange juxtaposition for this window display

This was my third trip to China – the first being to Chengdu on a mega hiking trip up a sacred mountain, and the second being to Beijing to wander the Forbidden Palace and walk the Great Wall. I hadn’t been planning to visit China again, but my friend Katie, whose Chinese side of the family reportedly had to sneak out of China during the Opium Wars, was in Hong Kong for a holiday, and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see ‘the real China’.

Wish I could read more Chinese!

Just two hours by train north of Hong Kong, Guangzhou is not exactly a ‘tourist destination’ the way that Hong Kong, Shanghai or Beijing is, even though it has a very rich and very fascinating history. It is best known for being the first area of China that allowed trade with foreigners, and with it came the first foreign settlement. Back in the days, the foreign traders could not pronounce the province name ‘Guangdong’ properly, and Anglicised it to become ‘Canton’, which is where the word ‘Cantonese’ comes from. Today, it is still a centre of commerce and export, and you are more likely to see a trader from Dubai than a tourist from Canada.

The busy Haizhu Square

According to statistics, Guangzhou city has 8 million people (with likely a few million more in the woodworks!), which makes it the third most densely populated city in the mainland. Walking through the streets was a complete sensory overload – women carrying a bamboo pole with two packages hanging from either side, a man on a bicycle with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on a refrigerator, tiny shops with a million goods blasting fast-paced Canto-pop while cute salesgirls clap to get your attention.

But it’s not all like that — in the back streets, we also found tiny homes with old ladies scowling at passersby through the gate, tea shops with giant cakes of compressed tea leaves, and huge bamboo steamers full of char siu bao at a sidewalk cafe.

I love street eats!

My colleague Malcolm who works at my company’s Guangzhou office, had invited us to stay in his beautiful, huge 3-storey townhouse (which is half the price of my crappy little 1-bathroom apartment here in Hong Kong), and to show us around. He took us to the Glasses Market to get what he claimed would be the ‘cheapest, fastest, coolest glasses you’ll ever get in your life’. The mall was five storeys high, and full of nothing but optometrists, frames shops and sunglasses. Inside a little shop with about 5,000 frames, we met the sweet and petite Lina, who spoke fantastic English, and helped us pick out some very funky frames. I needed one pair, Katie needed two, and Malcolm decided on one, just for the heck of it.

“Do you think we can get these back tomorrow?” we asked as she took our orders.

She looked at her watch for a second, smiled brightly and said, “Yes, of course! Come back in the morning!”

I soon came to realise that the word “no” does not exist in China. If you want some kind of service or product or business, they will never tell you they can’t do it. You want it, you got it. That’s how come their economy is exploding – these people work harder than anyone on the planet and are not afraid to put in a few extra hours to facilitate a customer and do the job. I think the average laid back “nah, ah cah do it today, come back tomorrow” Trini sleeping under an almond tree could learn a thing or two from the Chinese…

'Yes, of course we can do it!'

That night Malcolm took us to a famous seafood restaurant along the Pearl River. Inside the massive restaurant is a wet market, with tanks full of giant crabs, eels, alligators, turtles, fish of every kind, water bugs, any and every thing that you could imagine lives in water, waiting for you to point to it and say, “That one, I want that one.” We decided to dine on some eel. Katie picked out a nice fat one, the man grabbed the net, and ten minutes later, it was at the end of our chopsticks and into our bellies.

Wonder how these taste...

“Did you see the alligator?” Katie asked as she returned from the bathroom. “What alligator?” I replied. “Just head to the right, you’ll see it.” I drained my beer, got up and walked through the restaurant, looking for this alligator. But I was too late – all that was left was its head on a tray of crushed ice. The rest of its meat had already been selected by some hungry diners, and the chef was busy chopping it up. Doesn’t get much fresher than that, I suppose.

Another interesting area was Shamian Island, which is the original foreigner settlement. This tiny area of the city was the only place foreigners were allowed to live, and they had a strict curfew of 10 pm. They were not allowed to intermingle with the local Chinese population, and according to the history books, any foreigner caught trying to learn Chinese would be executed. So Shamian was quite an entirely different place to the crazed streets of the city. Old European architecture, a beautiful old church, large swathes of green, fountains, huge trees providing endless shade. I swear the temperature in Shamian was a good 5’C cooler. All over the island, young Chinese couples in elaborate dress were taking wedding photos, and families strolled around in the cool of the parks. We also saw a lot of foreign families with a tiny Chinese child, as Shamian is still home to many of Guangzhou’s embassies, which authorise Chinese adoptions.

Strangely enough, in China it is custom to take wedding photos a whole year before the big day!

Although Guangzhou is a really exciting, lively place, at times it was a bit too overwhelming – too many people, too much action, everywhere you look your eyes see something new. “I don’t think I can see any more new things today,” Katie said as the afternoon began to head into evening. “My brain can’t take any more stimulation!”  But I have to say I was very glad that Katie came, or else I probably would never have made it to Old Canton, to see ‘the Real China’.

To see more photos, please visit my Guangzhou online album.

‘Ahh… yes yes YES!’ our divemaster Amm exclaimed as our small boat cut through the water towards tiny Pulau Kaka, sending schools of tiny fish jumping out of the sea. He pointed in excitement at all the wildlife below, laughing like a kid in a candy shop. ‘This is gonna be NICE!’ he grinned, his wiry brown arms picking up his tank and BCD and slipping it on over his head like a backpack. ‘All right, nice nice nice! Everyone ready? Okay let’s go!’ And with one final whoop, he sprang off the boat into the sea. The diver next to me smiled and shook his head as he put on his fins. ‘Man… I wish I could be that enthusiastic about my job!’

At lunch time, Divemaster Amm mimes a romantic serenade as the East Marine crew look on in amusement (or perhaps bewilderment)

Indeed, I’ve never met such an excited divemaster who truly loves what he does, even after so many years. Some divemasters just sort of bob along next to the group, fulfilling their duty but often showing little passion. But not Amm — he’d been in the sea since he was a baby, picking up sting rays, testing out whether a moray eel would bite off your fingertip if you stick it in his face, and diving for lost treasures from shipwrecks. And who wouldn’t be enthusiastic about being a divemaster in Langkawi? With brilliant green seas, luscious coral, and huge schools of fish, it’s like working in paradise.

Do I really need to say how freakin' gorgeous this place is?

This was my first time to Malaysia and Langkawi was truly a beautiful island. The ocean is completely calm like a lake, no matter which coast you are on, and you always have some lush mountains wrapping their protective arms around you.

The remote Tanjung Rhu beach

But I have to admit, although it was beautiful, it was also a bit strange being on holiday in a tropical Muslim country. I always felt a bit self conscious being in a bikini on the beach, wondered what was proper, and it was quite difficult to find alcohol in the restaurants. It almost made me a bit nostalgic for the decadence and freedom of Thailand!

Langkawi was an interesting mix of Malay, Chinese and Indian people, which meant that the food was just fantastic (and also made up for the lack of alcohol). Every meal we tried something different, frequenting the hawker centres and night markets at various locations. I’ll admit, sometimes the hygiene at these places are not particularly the highest, and you’re not sure about the level of cleanliness, but when in Rome, do as the Romans. And with US $1 = $3 Malaysian Ringgit, that means we ate like kings and queens for just a few dollars a day. I bet that living in Malaysia would easily help you put on more than a few pounds.

Once in a while, we controlled our instinct to devour everything long enough to snap a photo or two of the food

For the first few days we stayed in Langkawi’s main town, Kuah. And what a quiet town it was! Nothing opens until 10 am so in the morning it is completely deserted. But people seem to stay out eating and drinking (in the Chinese restaurants, at least) all night long. Sadly, much of Kuah was either run down or abandoned, with endless empty buildings. Even some brand new complexes looked as though the tenants simply never moved in. It was strange to see such a beautiful island where business did not seem to be booming.

Signs of decay in Kuah Town....

After Kuah, we moved to another hotel in the main tourist area, Pantai Cenang (’pantai’ meaning ‘beach’), and much to our dismay discovered that the annual Langkawi Water Festival was starting that very day. People swarmed the beach, loud speakers blasted music, kids bought balloons, vendors sold lots and lots of cheap eats, and the traffic was endless. That’s how we decided to take a day trip to Pulau Payar for diving, to get away from the crowds (turns out we are more antisocial than we originally realised).

Keepin' cool on Pantai Cenang

The coolest dude on the beach

A lady watching a beach basketball game

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once the festival was over, Pantai Cenang was much more relaxed, and people were free to roam the beach at low tide, enjoying a prolonged sunset that didn’t finish until 7.15 pm. Sunburnt and happy, an ice cold bloody mary at the Beach Garden Bar was a great way to end the day.

Just another evening in paradise

The only downfall of the trip was flying with Air Asia. I’m glad the flights are so dirt cheap, but I have to admit, that airline is so ghetto! In an attempt to be cool, they have started playing music throughout the duration of the flight, which meant I had Mariah Carey shrieking in my head at 30,000 feet. I better figure out a way to make more money so I can travel business class! Never again will I fly Air Asia.

As a last note, to get back to the topic of diving, I’d like to say that anyone who has been told that Langkawi does not offer good diving is being misled. Sure, I bet it’s no Sipadan, but the diving was excellent. Visibility was very high, at least 20 metres, the wildlife was fantastic, with nudibranches, giant moray eels, massive groupers, lionfish and barracudas. Yet Pulau Payar Marine Park has a bad reputation as being ‘not worth it’ which is apparently does not deserve. I would recommend it to anyone. But that’s just my two cents for all you divers out there who may be reading this.

Now, after returning to Hong Kong, this week I have a visitor, my dear lifelong friend Katie, so it seems Emily’s B&B is busy once again. It has been great fun to show her around as she is the only person in the world – other than my man – who considers food to be 99% of the travel experience. ‘Dumplings,’ she said to me over email, ‘all I need is dumplings.’  I’m more than happy to oblige. But more on Katie’s visit on the next post.

Today I was talking to an old friend of mine (known her about 10 years now, after meeting in university) about dreams. And I don’t mean the ones you have at night in your sleep — I mean dreams about your life that you have while you are awake. She recently moved to Australia, as she is marrying an Aussie, and was telling me about her job, which she found not entirely so stimulating. So I asked her, when she was young, did she have some sort of dream about what she wanted to do? And I was quite relieved when she replied, ‘no, not really!’

I have often been wondering whether it is normal to not have a specific dream about what you want to do. I am coming to realise that some people have a clear cut idea in their mind about what they want to be, and some people just sort of wing it. My friend Laura has wanted to be a teacher ever since she was a little kid and is doing that right now. In Hong Kong I know many pilots, and pretty much all of them have had dreams of flying since they were small. I know a cook, a designer, an accountant (which I still think is weird — how can you dream about being an accountant?), a ship captain, a bar owner and a stay-at-home mom, and they have all said they are doing the thing they always wanted to do.

At the same time, I know the same number of people who, like me, don’t have an exact idea of what they want to do, and never really knew, but they know that what they are doing at this moment is not it. A friend of mine from Mumbai has been an accountant all her life, but she now tells me about her fantasies to write a kids book, or open up a little organic vegetarian Indian restaurant somewhere. Another friend who has worked for a large multinational ever since she was in university recently quit — after 10 years at the same company — and is trying to figure out whether to become a fitness instructor or a teacher. Just goes to show that job security and a fat salary does not equal happiness and fulfillment.

The reason this has become an important topic recently is because soon my job contract here will be coming to an end, and I will have to start making some decisions about what I am going to do. My poor friends (and my poor boyfriend) have heard me say time and time again how this kind of job is not for me, how spending 40 hours a week editing financial documents and getting a sore neck and bad eyes is not what I plan to do for the next 35 years. But the question is — what do I do next?

Here have been some of my more radical ideas of my next job/career path, in no particular order:

1. Erotica writer (and I’ve already tried my hand at a short story… who knows if it’s any good…)
2. Tour guide in Japan (definitely a possibility, but have to learn more 日本語）
3. Marine Archaeologist (a crazy idea, as I can’t imagine finding a job, but must be one heck of an interesting career to go excavating shipwrecks)
4. Lasagna My Love (a small catering business specialising in homemade lasagna, delivered to your home)
5. Foodie Guide (who takes people around to special food places on gourmet tours)
6. Divemaster (but where? work illegally in the Philippines? for less than US $500 a month, if that much?)
7. Fake brand name chopsticks (such as Louis Vuitton and Prada, made in mainland China)
8. Online T-shirt company of badly translated shirts that I find in street markets in China (I love bad translations, or ‘Chinglish’)

And so on. As you can see, I’ve thought about a number of crazy and sometimes silly ideas, perhaps some of them are possible, perhaps not feasible at all. But it is fun to fantasize. Even if some of these ideas are not possible, the simple act of fantasizing has helped me bring one important thing into focus — I cannot be a cubicle drone for the next 30 years. How to get OUT of the cubicle… that’s what I’m trying to figure out.

Any ideas?