Because one Valentine's Day is just not enough...

Hong Kong, or rather, many Asian cultures in general, celebrate a few of them year-round as odes to their loved ones (or potential ones, for the single people out there). One of the colorful sequels in February to the first, Westernized iteration of Valentine's Day is the Lantern Festival.

The Lantern Festival, or "Yuen Siu", is characterized by children creating paper lanterns (I tend to think a la James and the Giant Peach, but that's probably culturally insensitive...) and going out into the night while lovers use the extra light of the night to stroll through parks, spend time with each other, and all sorts of other mushy-gushy romance stuff. But it's all good. Since the celebrations have evolved over time, more institutionalized and government-crafted displays have been set up for couples to meander through. So we as a group of displaced lovers in one way or another decided to go view them as a rowdy group of desensitized Americans about it.

Maybe not the best or most respectful introduction. And sure, sensationalized. But given the fact that we had just seen bouquets and elegant chocolate pieces and lines out the door for nice restaurants just one day prior, we were a little sick of the Asian brand of romance.

And, since we hadn't traveled quite that far out into the wilderness of the West part of the New Territories, we took the MTR about as far West as you can go: Tuen Mun. We're talking about an hour and a half of train rides and transfers.

Now, Tuen Mun is simply another residential town, meaning that most of the spectacles and tourism-setup displays that occur in Central and Tsim Sha Tsui would not be the case... Rather. Think about your hometown, as in, the actual place where you lived, not the urban area to where your hometown orbited. You know how every so often a small, charming little block party or festival was created for whatever purpose in the town square, and everyone in town went to it, not because it was actually cool but because it's just tradition to go and have a mediocre time with all of the same people year after year? And how it's so rare to see municipal money actually going to use, but in an amateur-yet-still-appreciative manner?

Well, this was exactly what the Tuen Mun Lantern Festival celebration was. Held in a gorgeous park somewhere in town, the park was (somewhat) aglow by satisfactory-to-not-half-bad created activities and lanterns to look at, all accompanied by the pandering of a gentle Chinese pop cover band.

This won't exactly be something that sticks out in my memory, nor will it fulfill much past a personal checkoff of another stop on my quest to visit each MTR stop, but it was a pleasant evening, all things assured. Didn't quite have the genuineness of, say, a more beat-up part of town because of the obviously artificial and somewhat uninspired attempts at entertainment, but it was yet another cross-section of Hong Kong life that few get to actually witness.

In some ways, that's refreshing. Even urbanites in 400 sq ft apartments in Hong Kong go to crappy town festivals when there's nothing better to do on a holiday weeknight.

Warning: somewhat sardonic language appears ahead.

 Lantern... Drums. Or something. They were the first things resembling lanterns we actually saw. Thus, it warranted a picture.

 Faces. And caricatures. And, well, way too concentrated of light sources for my cell phone camera to actually do justice to... Eh. It's pretty darn close to the justice I thought it merited. They're lights. It's fun.

 Luchador?

 Here was the most impressive part of the display: a large fountain in the actually gorgeous, well-foliaged park, with a large stock of animals and characters in various poses in the water. It was also the densest gathering of people in the place. Notice the flamingos in the bottom left... They were the best. Unfortunately, I have no zoom.

 "Hey everyone, Jeff was in China! See? Red lanterns! Nothing's more authentic!"

 The spotlights were a bit annoying, as if the focus of the evening lay on the Cantopop cover band and not the menagerie of illuminated animals walking on water.

 Attempt at artful eye movement, part 1. Would be more effective if the eye actually had anywhere to go.

 Attempt at art, part 2. Better.

 Front view of the animal/everything else scene.

 Inflatable kids and inflatable gold. What's more deserving of a picture than that?

("Well, I could think of any number of things in Hong Kong on a holiday that deserve more attention...")

Yeah, well. You, imaginary snarky audience member, are still reading down to this point. Joke's on you.

The living spaces of Tuen Mun. Definitely an older, more established part of town. Lots of families. And the distance from the seedier areas in the main veins of the city were far removed. About as much of a suburb as my area, Sha Tin.

And that's that.

SoHo: where dreams come true.

I just wanted to post a little blurb here about my favorite district, after eating another lascivious bout of Mexican food: SoHo.

Ironically akin to its New York counterpart, which derived its nickname from "South of Houston Street", SoHo in Hong Kong stands for "South of Hollywood", another major artery of HK's Central district. Similar to New York's trendy spot, SoHo is the meeting grounds, nay, living sector and cultural center for every sort of displaced culture one can imagine in Asian cities, but... with a certain hipster flare.

Here, aromas from Italian pizzerias, wafts of fish 'n' chips from assorted pubs, and bold spices from Lebanese and Nepalese cafes all intermingle in the middle of the walkways, and carry on into gelatterias, African bars, and cobblestone-lined walkways, tongues of any kind being spoken.

And go down a block, and turn, running perpendicular to the above-ground escalators to reach the district (Hong Kong wins, folks), and you'll hit a mess of boutique fashion stops, pop art fiascos (loved the Mao impressions, though), and, well, even more restaurants. New flavors peeked around every corner. Always a small adventure looming with each new shop. I love this district.

(Not my photo -- this one is from the Internet.)

 The escalators are actually glorified moving sidewalks, but on slopes. Hysterical, and a surprisingly sound calf and balance workout from time to time.

 Now, hence the grainy quality, this is my photo. Ha.

 Our Swiss-German friend ironically showed this place to us, which has a killer chocolate fondue set, so we hear. On the to-do list, I can assure.

African bar. Just because. We're visiting this place later for sure.

Here, I'm a citizen of the world... But also with a little flare. I'm not a citizen of the world... I'm only a citizen of the world's "best of"... Or at least, the best that can be made into any number of established eateries. Sorry, Canada. Your food didn't make the cut. American burgers did, however (charming reputation we have, it always seems).

If the night calls for a dinner in SoHo, then, by default, it's a good night.

Taming the dragon's back.

Now that I'm well over a month behind in my blogging, hopefully I'll be able to knock out a flurry of the best-ofs the past few weeks here in Hong Kong (and elsewhere).

This is the briefest story of a reinvigorating hike that was much needed following the clout of people in Hong Kong for the New Year. So what else can you to release the tension but by hiking up a mountain? That makes perfect sense!

"No, Jeff. Everything but that statement would make sense. It's obviously a bit of a non-sequitur which is a logical fallacy ..."

Okay, okay. Shut it. Here's my story.

Steph (goes to UCal-Riverside) is an avid outdoor freak. So she assembles a group to go hiking on this day. It's supposed to be a 2-3 hour excursion on this winding little trail known as "The Dragon's Back". Which is awesomely located on the far west coast of Hong Kong Island, far removed from the urbanites and subway systems in favor of reeling, steep plateaus and graceful swoops of land from the South China Sea... Though we take the bus to get to the entrance of the adjacent park.

Setting: it's beautifully overcast, a bit cool, and definitely a lot windy. Having no idea where we're going, I'm excited. For some reason, the idea of getting lost in a place without buildings and grid systems and gallimaufries of feet and lights and bizarre fashion excites me. Again, there are around 13-14 of us... Yeah, that's probably close enough to the estimate. Anyway.

After taking forever to get there (partially due to the ridiculous amount of people, partially due to the place being way in the outskirts), we wait at the bus terminal in Whereverweare for one of Steph's friends, a local student, to lead us. We take the bus a half hour out of the suburban town, and eventually are let off at the obvious base of a small mountain. The place is serene -- gently sloping foothills all over, the South China Sea shown over some plateaued cliffs, dense foliage in all directions, and the only residential area (called Shek O) out in the horizon, away from the trail.

The trail is all dirt and rocks at the beginning, gently meandering through the thick brush of the forest, but gradually getting steeper, and just as gradually, more rocks start to appear that we have to hop over, making for a bit of an uneven walk, but a fun bunny slope of a trek nonetheless.

At this point, we're just sort of merrily following the trail, not really realizing that as we wind around the mountain, we're also gradually increasing in elevation, until a small break in the trees to see where we were...



The heavy fog in the distance added a perfectly... Irish sort of mystery to what would lie ahead and around each corner, as the visibility was a bit limited on the bottom of the hike.

At a point, the trail broke off into two distinct sides of a fork: one that had some shoddily-but-perfectly-fitting stone "steps" going upward at a berserk acute angle, and another that went along its merry way in about the same fashion, probably eventually looping around back to the entrance. Of course, we wanted to walk the Dragon's Back, so we went straight up to a point where the treeline vanished, only leaving some tall grasses (making the most beautiful susurrant ripples with the gusting wind) and rock formations.







But we made it all the way to the summit of said foothill/small mountain, and wow. Overlooking the sea and a small bay from this height, anything felt surmountable.





I had actually thought that this was the peak of the heights we would see... But I was wrong. Looking over the trail, I realized that we hadn't even made it to the "dragon's back" yet. The dragon's back actually referred to the winding trail that thumbed between the peaks of all of these cliffs, going up to at least 3 different peaks of different mountains. 

As we began to meander through, the weather at this elevation had drastically changed... The wind went from a heightened whisper to a holler, the temperature had dropped another 5-7 degrees, and gusts of up to 30 mph were walloping us from time to time. Noah and Matt, who had worn shorts thinking that today would mirror days' past, were freezing their faces off. Here, though, I didn't feel cold at all, partially due to the fact that I actually brought my jacket, but also because I was just flying with adrenaline. Kinetic energy carried me down large, jagged hillsides to tread to the next overview of the same awe-inspiring seascape, which involved, at times, peering way too close to the edge of the cliff and looking over, even with the spritzes of pounding wind.

The Irish-like fog was below us now. I was hyper with enthusiasm.



It was a bit ironic, I suppose, but I never felt a closer propinquity to any of the land here until I stood well above it, surveying all that composed our world.

Yeah, that was a golf course perched below us. Who knew?



View of Shek O, the small beach town from our precipice as we wound into the next peaks.

I was above the clouds, above the world... Or at least distinct from the world out there where I lived... I wasn't in Hong Kong. I was peering over it. Distinct entities, for once. This moment of supreme revelation happening as the wind blew my hair back in a smattering fashion, of course.

We eventually go all the way back down to Shek O, which was a strange, run-down, but very charming beach town, obviously hurting at the moment due to higher technology alternatives in the region compounded with it not being beach season here. You would have noticed that same charm, that same earnestness in its cadence of everyday Chinese people, humble in their indentured servitude as a town fully bent on tourism that wasn't there. Still, even then, you could find God's beauty hinging from every corroded overhang and empty seafood shack. It was lived. It was beautiful.

The longer that I've stayed here, the more I've come to appreciate places with this sort of charm. In Hong Kong, there's a huge infatuation with the modern, with the new immediately replacing the old, and accompanying that, writing over places with real history, real people. This was a place that avoided the "Hong Kong Robot Effect" and managed to still find its beach charm, somehow avoiding being swept under the same rug that led to the dismantling of some culture in favor of some sparkling shopping malls and illuminated Prada shops. These all have their advantages, I know, but for me, a balance of both is important. After all, one can't really learn a culture inside a marble-glossed, ultra-padded shopping center.

Sometimes, it's necessary to find that beach that's forgotten and take a stroll, peering out into the hazy distance, and remember that, even through a fog, we know there's always something worth finding. Even if it took a view from a dragon's back to really find.

CNY Part 8: (Macau, second act) how Macau stomped all over my heart (not really).

[setting: happily strolling through the diametric, yet beautifully adorned streets of Macau - complete with Asian swagger and European splendor. People. Are. Everywhere. Densest place in the world, and it sure lives up.]

Walking back into the midst of the bustling tourist island, and with the sun starting to shift to the horizon, we were all collectively feeling a bit dismayed that our trip was in its twilight.

Fun American moment! DQ does Macau. Easily the most bizarre piece of this little trek away... Needless to say, I was proud of the brand for making it this far out. Congrats.

We weren't alone, of course. All sorts of people going all sorts of direction at all moments. Little blips in time contributing to the macro picture... It's hard to focus at all. So much motion. All huddled together in one, air-breathing mass.

And even at our own micro scale, there was a clumping issue. As in. All 13 or so of us not being efficient. It's a recurring issue at this point (a couple people and I continually broke off from the group to go forward to new attractions when everyone else lagged), and by this point, it's bittersweet that we're leaving. On one hand, the dreaded inefficiencies will have escaped, which muddles in a strange ambivalence with the overwhelmingly positive reviews of all of the sights and culture here.

With just a few hours waning, we decided (in way too much time) to grab dinner and see the Venetian replica on the island of Taipa via bus. Being a less crowded place and getting to view the massive string of highways that lead over the clear harbor to Taipa was a treat, as the ebullient, just-so-adequately gaudy lights of the casinos flickered on in the distance. Sublime it was.

Alighting in Taipa, with much more air and a distinctly more folk atmosphere, we were greeted by some more authentic Portuguese shops, a street market, more cobblestone, and lines of small restaurants. The first order of business: getting my paws on some local favorites.

Home-made gelatin, of course. Not knowing what it was, I just pointed to the one with the most colors. The whole thing, despite the coloring, uniformly tasted like watermelon. I was disenchanted, but happy. Hadn't had that flavor in a long, long time.

Dinner was actually quite good (after way too long debilitating and walking past the actual good places, obviously), but I was able to enjoy a (not pictured) panko-breaded pork chop with the most perfectly blended Portuguese herb/cheese sauce and rice. Asian fusion? Oh yes. After this, it was time to make the 20 minute hike over to the casinos in Taipa, partially for the grandeur of the lights, but mostly because everything else closes at night. A ferry ride tentatively slated for 1:30 or so, we wanted to check out this scene that attracted more gambling revenue than Vegas. Poor Chinese people.

Nah, I'm not really that sorry, to be frank. To break chronology, Asian gamblers are the most miserable gamblers I've ever seen in my life. Nothing but a frown for a win, a bigger frown for a loss, and a languid sigh when the night draws to a close. Okay, back to our sightseeing. Above is the Hard Rock Casino and "City of Dreams" mall area, complete with Hyatt hotel. Love the trio there.

Macau isn't quite Vegas, though. Nothing is close to the centrality that Vegas offers on its strip (so I've heard and seen on the Travel Channel), but Macau is about 10 years, a few more megacasinos, a few more shows, and an amusement park away from being the next Vegas. No joke. Right on the cusp of entertainment hub. Cranes galore, though. It's happening. Sorry, America. A pan 180 degrees, and we're there. The Venetian, in all of its false Italian glory.

I was pretty impressed, won't lie. We ventured inside, as it truly is an emulator of its Vegas counterpart, probably down to the blueprint.

Yes, the famed indoor Venetian canal-inspired shopping center. The sky right there? A perfectly molded ceiling going in a semi-dome shape to capture the mood. Too blue water (definitely too blue for Venice) splitting the massive indoor complex, and schizoid, arching bridges in every which way.

Not Venice by any stretch of the imagination, but in terms of what people dream about Venice... The good parts are all there. No pooping pigeons, no yelling Italians, no broken cobblestone. Dream Venice, it was. With the smoltzy cha-ching of dollar signs (or RMB?) in the eyes of the passersby. 

So that was our night. A group of seven was headed home for the ferry, while another group was going to stay a little longer and explore some more and maybe lose a small portion of their life savings at a roulette table. 

I stayed, mostly to heckle people playing "give your money to China" on the slots, as well as to see the beyond-lavish layouts of the casinos. Plus, I have no idea how to play baccarat, and all of the games that I do know were beyond high roller for my fledgling self to handle.

Funny moment: my friend Steph is at the roulette tables with her starting budget of HK$200 (less than US$30)... Bets on black, no go. Then Ainhi goes, "just put it all on 6." Steph doesn't, but puts it all on black again... And it hits six. 

Steph breaks even, but is way too shaken by Lucky Ainhi to think wise of herself. Her $100 bet would have gone 36 times over... And she would have been able to buy us a hotel room for the night. 

As I sipped my complimentary orange juice (gotta love being of age in China), it was all framing to be a perfect swan song to the end of my Chinese New Year fest.

...

So of course it can't do that. Matt gets a call from the group of earlygoers at the ferry docks: because work formally begins the next morning, everyone else is also trying to leave. So we don't have a ticket home until 5 the next morning.

Stranded all night on an island of vices because we weren't quite fast enough from the get-go. Remember when we had that blurb about buying return tickets at the original gate? Hmmm.

Since we now had to stay up to catch the 4 am bus to catch the 5 am ferry to catch the Hong Kong MTR at 7 am to go home and crash, we decided to get a fourth meal... Guess what was the only other open place outside of overpriced casino bars? Mmm, Mickey D's. That was my sustenance for the night.

From there, we ventured into the Hard Rock -- and a whiff of cigarette smoke, a flash of a slot machine, and a craning of my neck past a barrier, I saw it: soccer. We were staying up late enough in Macau to catch the Chelsea-Liverpool game! It was great. 

(I apologize for the lack of photos here... No cameras allowed in casinos, or you get booted.) After that 2 hours of pure bliss (Liverpool with the rare victory -- though I type this right after they smacked ManU), we were left with another familiar problem... A couple of hours before our shuttle, and nothing to do.

Some wanted to go to other casinos; some wanted to stay put in the Hard Rock; some wanted to walk around the further parts from town and risk even more... So as this constant, 13-fold discussion quakes... Brooke and I decide that we'd rather go people watch at the Venetian. Everyone else later follows, breaking into pairs or trios until we all meet at the bus stop at 4.

Awesome! It only took 12 hours to figure out the best way to travel around town!

These are snippets of my all-too-cynical views as Brooke and I decide to play the people watching game as Chinese people lose their money. And it was strangely easy, considering all of them had even retired for the night.

In the casino lobby. Some in Starbucks. Getting some serious REM. Some being woken up by security to proceed to their rooms or a chair. Some being ushered away for falling asleep at a table. It was hysterical, and just what I needed to make it the last couple of hours.

At 4, surprisingly, nobody was late. Nobody was struggling. Everyone made it to the ferry, through customs... Despite the fact that we were beyond rattled after that night. We weren't exactly a pretty bunch, that's for sure.

I don't have any recollection of the ferry (I remember trying to sleep but not really succeeding), exiting, getting my passport stamped; none of it. I do remember, however, sitting on the MTR in a daze and watching the sun rise.

For some reason, it was breathtaking.

End of one story, and on to the next without a breath to spare.

And that, my friends, is how I missed the first quarter of the Super Bowl.

CNY Part 7: (Macau, first act) how Macau stole my heart.

This story has two distinct acts describing my sentiments about our trip to Macau. Here's the first installment to a little story called "The Ceaseless Trip to Macau", or alternatively, "How I Missed the First Quarter of the Super Bowl". Take your pick.

[setting: basking in the ebullience of a truly fantastic few days of break during the Chinese New Year vacation].

After some deliberation the night prior, a barrage of information streams and hearsay, and eventually, the revelation that Chinese people like to gamble so much that they can book every single available hotel room in an island, a large group of us decided that Sunday of Chinese New Year weekend was the day to visit China's other "Special Administrative Region" (or as I like to say, "all the fun of China without the communism"): Macau.

Macau lies a mere hour and a half ferry ride from Victoria Harbor, but requires a passport to enter, a security check, and a line through customs to enter. The former Portuguese colony-turned-gambling destination might as well have been a country of its own, even with its great deal of autonomy.

Little did I know that such a lighthearted plan, like heroes' past, suffered from a long-running fatal flaw: the inability to plan, and the inefficiencies of a large group. I should've seen it coming. In fact, I kind of did. But that doesn't unravel for way, way longer. There's plenty more awake time to get to those events.

It all started at the train station. We were supposed to all be there for 9. I thought it was a good 6-8 person group. Which is fairly difficult to accommodate for most. As in, nobody could ever dream of having room for us. Brooke and I know this, look at each other, and sigh. 

With the addition of some of the Irish and other European girls that we've come to know pretty well here, we were 13. Thirteen, as in "there's no chance we'll move quickly today". 

A half hour delay for us to even get on the train isn't good news for the rest of the day, but we shrug it off, nervously. It loomed. Foreboding.

We make our way over to TST, where the ferry terminal is. Ferry terminals are basically super ghetto airports, but without any semblance of security, which is kind of scary in a terrorist-cozy world. Arriving at about 11 at the terminal, we hop in line for a noon ticket... Sold out. Everywhere. Chinese people are crazy this weekend with gambling. Only spots available for 13 are on the 1:30 boat. 

At first, we all lean for the "let's just go home and rest option" implicitly, including myself, but then a strange campaign by a few with the "we're already here" (counterargument: no we're not?) to just get the ticket, get there by 3, spend 7 or so hours on Macau, and then catch the latest ferry back for a little sleep loss, no harm or foul. Everyone is now huddling around, meaning that despite everyone talking about it, nothing is getting done. After a group appeasement, we buy our tickets, and leave the terminal for lunch in TST somewhere.

The debauchery continues here. Stop in some hole in the wall, and it was really quite ingenious what they did. They must have been frothing at the mouth seeing a group of 13 foreigners stepping into their entrance. The lady notices us wonderbreads, and hands us a special English menu, comprising of more pictures, English translations, and above all... Inflated prices to the Chinese version of the menu. To retaliate, we all order stuff by pointing at pictures on the wall next to low prices for the day. Two can play at their game, and our frugality defeated our actual appetites in this bout.

We rush back to the ferry terminal, and get in the huge line for our ferry. Passports stamped, etc. Ferry ride was a fast hour, pleasant. The advent of the past 5 years in boat jet engine technology has catapulted this industry back to industry, and an easy hour and fifteen later, I'm waiting in customs for my first real travel outside of Hong Kong. According to Ainhi, our resident translator, our rowdiness in getting in line and conversing with one another merited some snickering curse words by the surrounding Chinese people around us, especially after we ran out of the ferry to grab a closer spot in the passport lane.

It was a new world, an almost-understandable world for me. Everything was in Portuguese. I could read the signs! I hadn't had that luxury in so long. This place already made me smile in the perfect island sun.

A quick background about Macau, for those who don't really know its claim to fame. Macau currently holds two perplexing records: its citizens live in the most densely populated place on Earth, yet also enjoy holding the world's highest life expectancy. Didn't see that one coming, did you?

Bathrooms, map collecting, and concession-grabbing (thirteen) later, we walk out to dissect the bus routes and after way too much debilitating, we finagle our way on a shoddy bus for the main cultural square downtown. 

Notice the sign: "... of lighting area for crackers." Definitely talking about me. Thanks Macau.


We drive out a bit. And wow.

Macau is the most beautiful place I've seen to date on this trip. It is amazing. For one, the personality exudes, oozes, and whispers personality in soft, susurrant waves. Each street teems with European flare, yet also hides a culture all its own from the Euro-Asian fusion. The subtle interplay between classical European architecture, coupled with marvelous high-rise apartments and traditional Asian hotspots and utility in designs (outside of the conspicuous consumption-mirroring, glass-and-metal behemoths that were the casinos in town). In my mind,this is what Hong Kong should have been, and kind of what I thought it would be. And the line is almost literal. On one side of town, there are huge, arching, architectural marvels; but on the smaller parts, you have these massive European squares, complete with columns, stucco pastels with personality, cathedrals, and Portuguese influence. In the same breath (literally, you cold hold your breath, walk into the back alley and find this), we saw some worshipping in a Buddhist temple. 

What a world, what a life.

 Notice the gargantuan entity looming to the right-center of this photo... This is by far the most impressive building (on the proxy of "how on Earth is that thing standing up") I've seen here. More snippets later.

 The spectacular Catholic church here.

Had to capture that. Beam of sunlight giving the gentlest reminder that He was there. He's always there. Perfect.

The temple.

So we meandered through the Asian-narrowed, yet European-cobblestoned streets, where Portuguese restaurants bordered Chinese pharmacies with ancient remedies, people of all backgrounds meshed together, bakeries selling Portuguese egg tarts also sold Chinese almond cookies (ripe with free samples) with Chinese characters on top. Peeling Portuguese marvels leaned against renovated apartments, held up by bamboo scaffolding.

At the end of this alley lay the first of the Portuguese landmarks here: the ruins of St. Paul's. St. Pauls was an old mission-turned-Catholic-school in the area in the 1500s. A fire set the building ablaze, but by some kind of miracle, a single arched wall stood, and to this day, still stands, high on steps above the rest of the city. I saw plenty of arches and grand arcs in Italy with the same grandeur, but I tend to prefer the solemn, yet dignified ruins of this region's dual identity. In all of its subtleties, it still remains amazingly complex, the duality and interplay of the cultures.

The stairs leading up to it, minus the avid bunch of walkers and not sitters, mirrored the Spanish Steps, I tended to think. Overall, though, it was impressive.

Again, the classical European Renaissance attention to detail looms heavy, yet you could read a plaque in Cantonese. The idiosyncrasies here never failed to perplex me in the most heart-warming way. As of now, the whole problem of getting here, the muddled inefficiencies of moving at a snail's pace (thirteen), it all took a backseat to the displays here.

"Oh, I spot a social commentary photo!" You got it, reader. You got it. The view of the Grand Lisboa (see what I mean with the standing!?) from the back of the ruins.

Note the cobblestone. Picturesque, no?

Adjacent to the ruins was the other major Portuguese landmark: the Macau fort, settled high on the neighboring hill. Everything felt peculiarly European as we made the trek up.

 Don't know how old the fort really is, but it was old enough to have cannons and stuff. So I'd say that classifies as "old".

 My baby.

 "Really Jeff, another look-at-my-artsy-juxtaposition-of-old-and-new shot?" Hey, you try making good shots come from a 2 megapixel cell phone camera.

I found this particular view, from the back side of the fort looking out into the residential areas of the main peninsula, very endearing. The heavy growths of trees marking the end of the European complexes were apparent, and the dividing line into a population where only 2% of the people can actually speak Portuguese, yet still has it on every street sign. All in the name of tourism, perhaps? I tend to think they're proud of their extremely diverse heritage.

So we made it through the tourist attractions, and the tourist attractions, like the sirens they're supposed to be, were mellifluous as Macau, with its never-ending bustle, piqued my genuine interest. But was it just a facade of the tourist? Or was the real European charm sitting there the entire time? 

I point to the latter, now, knowing that people actually live here, and that these people love life enough to stick around longer than anyone else, despite the constant influx of mainland Chinese people who smoke and gamble with their lives. That, combined with the irreproachable charm of the people, the personality emanating from its core, and the vibrant culture had me hooked. An afternoon into the adventure, and I was a Macau junkie. Call it Kashmir.

Macau lulled me into a fantastic complacency, and even after the events to come, these reverberating clips of imagery made it a truly unforgettable burst of vivacity, and a city that never ceased to amaze me with each passing cobblestone. 

Stay tuned for more later.