End of an Era

Pig Organ Soup...mmmmmmmmm


If you happen to be reading this with an adult beverage in hand ('tis the season after all!) please pour one out for our dear friend whom we've recently deserted.  New Zealand, you may be the love of my life and I'm not sure I'll ever get over you.  The land of bountiful green landscapes, where the cheap cider flows like water and the compliments from the people (ah hem, men) massage even the most fragile egos into the most confident, arrogant ass holes (ah hem, us).  After two and a half months in the En Zed, I will miss it dearly for many reasons, largely because I don't think the men in South East Asia will adopt the Kiwi men's tradition of referring to me as "tiny".  

We found ourselves on the Equator this week.  A warm, sticky contrast to southernly New Zealand, Singapore is vastly different from our Kiwi comfort zone.  Whereas Kelly and I previously may have blended into the New Zealand countryside, here we stick out like a couple of turds in the public swimming pool.  

We arrived on a late flight and worried there would be no open place to dine at that time of night.  Because of the face melting humidity, it is actually more common for locals to tuck into their meals late when the sun isn't causing you to sweat into your pig organ soup.  Which, by the way, is delicious.  In attempts to impress myself, or to get a raging case of diarrhea, I ventured to try some of the more "authentic" local cuisine.  We were in town for such a short duration, I rationalized the spicy fish soup and pig organ soup as the cliché "When in Rome" motive.  I'm happy to report that all of the delicacies were some of the best food I've ever had, cost around $2 and did not give me a case of the boot scooting boogie...yet.  

The key take aways from our brief stint is that Singaporeans are food-aholics (there are more freaking food centers than people here), there are even more bats than food centers and it's hotter than Hade's balls; the one exception being our very, very air-conditioned hostel.  Kelly ended up wearing long pants, long sleeves and her HAT to bed.  Only then to wake up in the middle of the night to commandeer extra blankets from the closed reception desk in the wee hours of the morning.  The irony is not lost on us either.  

Today we are off to Bali to spend the duration of the year, in what we imagine, sipping umbrella festooned cocktails on lazy beaches, occasionally breaking to surf, swim and do yoga.  Can you say Namaste?