(Photo opposite: Men dressed in black and white sarongs wait to perform a ritual dance that will protect the temple.) Living in Indonesia for several years between “The Year of Living Dangerously” and before the “Year of Indonesia” and the invasion of mass tourism, I saw my Bali slipping away. But for those tourists who stay a little longer and dig a little deeper, the mysteries of this mythical island can still be discovered.

Sitting on Kuta Beach in Bali I see my eight year old friend Kutut lugging her bucket of soft drinks toward me. After several visits to Bali I notice that Kutut’s English has kept pace with my Indonesian. From “Want to buy a drink, Mister?” she has progressed to “Why do you come to Bali, Mrs?” A blank look rewards my explanations: beautiful people; dazzling scenery; exotic food; fascinating ceremonies. The more involved my explanation, the blanker the expression.

Since Charlie Chaplin and the movie world “discovered” Bali in the early thirties, Balinese have been perplexed by the invasion of tourists. Why would anyone leave the security of home and hearth and the sphere of known Gods to go where one lacks even a family? Now that Bali threatens to sink into the sea under the influx of shore-to-shore tourist buses, they are still perplexed. In this magical land where good and evil spirits are in constant and visible battle in dance, paintings and puppet shows, my laborious explanations cause Ktut’s blank look to become glazed and just before her eyes roll back in her head I give up and say, “We come because we like the sun.” “Aduh!” She understands. In a spontaneous expression of sympathy she touches my shoulder. “But Mrs., is there no sun in America?”

Why do I keep coming to Bali? Maybe if I keep notes for a day I can distill the magic essence.

Waking up in Bali in a simple losmen, usually a monastic room with a bed, a small table and maybe an attached bath, is to wake up in what has been called the “morning of the world”. The true losmen, often an extension of the family home, nestles under palm trees surrounding a small garden. The sleepy village of Kuta slumbered beside the Indian Ocean before the invasion of Australian surfers caused losmen to sprout under the coconut trees of families who had to have gardens anyway to supply flowers for the daily offerings to the Gods.

(Photo opposite:A royal cremation tower can require as many as 75 men to transport it.) During the day elderly men squat in back lanes plumping their fighting cocks, but at first light choruses of these cocks herald the dawn as young girl in colorful sarongs flit like a delicate flame from hibiscus to bougainvillea to jasmine. They place the blossoms in the miniature shrines for the Gods set in each corner of the veranda. Next comes the pastry seller, sweets piled high in the basket on her head, cooing “kue, kue, kue.”

The guests begin to stir. Some sit on the veranda drinking tea and eating black rice pudding topped with bananas and shredded coconut. The morning calm is shattered as a hip student lugging a yard-long radio blares by, closely followed by a barely-bikini-clad French girl, beach bound with towel, camera and mat, trailing a heavy scent of coconut oil.

The teacher from Australia on the “fly-drive” tour revs up his motorcycle and roars happily off on the crowded narrow road to Singaraja, a death defying Evil Knevil stunt on this small island where “to be” is “to enjoy,” and even death is a time for celebration.

Standing on the veranda intently observing the whirlwind activity is a gentleman from Java. Our paths were to cross several times during the day and I imagined that he was an official from the tourist bureau whose objective was to discover the source of the Bali mystic.

I decide to join the exodus to the beach, but first I must get past the temptations of Made’s Juice Bar where whirring blenders whip sweetened condensed milk, ice and mango, papaya, durian or avocados into heavenly concoctions. When I first came to Bali, Made’s was a thatched hut with a dirt floor. Now I walk up six steps to a cement platform where Made holds court in sunglasses and a T-shirt that reads “Made’s Juice Bar-New York”. Near Made’s I look into the roadside shrine where a styrofoam cup from Puri Ayam (aka KFC) has been pressed into the service of holy water.

(Photo opposite: The entire village participates in a cremation ceremony.) At the beach the surf pounds Kuta’s shore, the lifeguards move the poles closer to Legian Beach and the pile of corn disappears from beside the grandmother who spends her days fanning slivers of coal under roasting ears of corn.

The afternoon whines of the children, “Want to buy a drink, Mister - maybe later.” have become weaker when the insistent beat of a gong heralds a cremation ceremony. A serpentine line of tightly saronged women balance silver platters of offerings on their heads as they step deftly over topless sunbathers. The priest takes no notice as bare bodies jostle family members while clicking cameras record the transfer of the corpse to the cremation bull.

A squawk and a flurry of feathers lures me to a wall where I peek at a surreptitious cock fight, discouraged by the government but demanded by the Gods on occasions where blood must be spilled to sanctify the ground and satisfy the spirits. The careful tying of the five inch steel blade takes longer than the actual fight.

The violence of the fight is tempered by the melting sounds of the brass gamelon orchestra drawing me to a temple theater. There, men in black and white checkered sarongs, (black for evil forces balanced by white for good), with long spears and measured steps, perform the ritual dance that protect the temple.

Finally the royal corpses have been transferred with much ritual from the towers to the bulls while the boxes of the tag-a-long lesser ranking castes rest on piles of sticks. Suddenly the crowd jumps back as the beach becomes a blazing inferno. A sudden rush of heat mirrors the same intense rush of loss I always feel at a cremation. The transient nature of life is made visible as the results of weeks of preparation and the amassing of the wealth of a lifetime disappear in a flaming inferno.

I walk slowly toward the losmen. By chance my Javanese neighbor is ahead of me. In tandem we jump aside when what looks like a near-nude Hells Angels’ convention thunders by in a jumble of brown and white limbs trailed by blond and black manes. We pass the shaggy roofed pavilion of The Tree House Bar and Restaurant where Madonna screeches “Papa Don’t Preach to Me.” while a U.N. potpourri invoke a happy hour with Kuta Sunsets spiked with rum.

My neighbor and I seem to have the same itinerary. I notice him right away at the dance performance that night in the open-air temple on Kuta Beach. A scene of pure enchantment unfolds. The stage is the earth; the backdrop, waves breaking and flowing into endless darkness; the roof, a void saved by benevolent stars. A frangipani tree, gnarled and as old as time, shields the diminutive dancers and occasionally, as if in sympathetic vibration to the melting music of the gamelon, bestows a flower at their feet. Supple dancers, tightly bound from breast to hips in a fetching “S” shape, flashing streaks of red, green and gold, skim, bare feet over bare earth, under crowns of shimmering golden flowers. Dark eyes dart, disembodied heads move from side to side, rigid fingers mimic the trembling frangipani blossoms, all controlled by the music, or is it the other way around? The last mallet strikes a bronze key as the audience moves slowly, trance-like, to a remembered rhythm.

(Photo opposite: A cremation tower representing several weeks of preparation and a great deal of wealth disappears in a flaming inferno.) As I shuffle slowly homeward under palm trees that wave at winking stars, I wonder if the gentleman from Java, in the quest that I have imagined for him, has discovered Bali’s magic and can now sprinkle it over all 17,000 islands.

I have to admit defeat. I will never be able to explain my love affair with Bali to Ktut for whom my magic is the ordinary stuff of her everyday life. I can only tell her, “Yes, Ktut, we do have a sun in America. But there are other suns.”

My holiday kicked off about a week earlier than the holiday of students in my classes. Since on holiday, I manage to get up at 7.30 am or so. Getting up at 7.30 am or so means getting up quite late for me, but plenty early for students. A couple of students queried me why I get up that early. I filled them in that I’m very fond of getting things done slowly. Getting things done slowly takes stress out of your life. I relayed to them that I need about forty five minutes in the bathroom for…..you know…..A pile of these forty five minutes go by in the shower. The shower’s a bloody marvellous spot to mull things over.

Mulling the commodities markets over a little, that’s pretty much what I was up to very recently in the shower. Lashing out at evil speculators in soft commodities (read food) has panned out to be the favourite flavour of the month. You know the old saw. It’s rehashed every day. Speculators in soft commodities make the price of food go through the roof. They first dabbled in high tech stocks. They then diddled in dodgy mortgages. And they presently push the price up for wheat and rice and…..Yet does all this hype add up? It doesn’t hold water for me.

First, let’s kick off by setting the record straight. Whilst the thundering herd dabbled in high tech stocks and afterwards in dodgy mortgages, savvy investment advisers zeroed in on the then dull commodities markets. At that stage, the thundering herd hadn’t yet materialised on the horizon of the commodities markets. Second, let’s clarify concepts. Speculating and manipulating don’t stand for the same sort of thing. Speculating means lawfully pursuing profits. Manipulating reflects the unlawful variety. Please don’t confuse these concepts.

Third, let’s have a blush at supply and demand. Demand for commodities across the board - including food - has dramatically stepped up due to emerging economies joining the party. My present stomping ground China serves as a case in point. Demand going north has coincided with supply going south, partially because of unhelpful weather conditions. That alone does explain plenty, at the very least to me. Fourth, except the chronically ignorant almost everybody’s aware that the US dollar is tanking mightily. There seems to be a pattern in the broader scheme of things. When the dollar does some cratering, stuff that you can drop on your feet does some climbing to the stars. Stuff that you can drop on your feet includes gold and silver as well as soft commodities.

Concluding Thoughts

All this sprang to my mind in the shower. The shower’s a choice spot to do some thinking. If memory serves it was Warren Buffet who dropped the remark that there’s no substitue for thinking. I’ll continue to let you know what goes on in my shower.

Real Estate in Puntarenas


WELL LOCATED INVESTMENT: SEAVIEW LOTS WITH HARVESTABLE TEAK

Location, location, location — Only a few kilometres from the Pacific Ocean and the Bay of Nicoya, these beautifully located and zoned building plots (some with sea view) , literally just off the Pan-American highway, are priced low in a high demand market, offering the extra benefit of an 8.5% price increase for teak and 40% for land in this area last year alone … Reap the rewards of local infrastructure investments bringing millions of dollars and increased tourism to the area. Costa Rica currently has a $ 1.9 billion annual tourism industry. !–more–

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(Photo opposite: Juan Carlos Varela) This past week the second largest political party in Panama, the Panamista Party, chose its candidate for the 2009 presidential election. Juan Carlos Varela will be the candidate for the 250,000 person strong Panamista Party. Other party leaders are beginning to congregate around Varela with the hope of building a strong party base for the 2009 election.

Outside of the Panamista Party people are asking themselves whether or not Varela can win a national election. He is not that well-known in Panama – though his family is well-known; they own the largest distillery in Panama. Election polls put Varela far behind the current top two candidates Ricardo Martinelli (#1) and Balbina Herrera (#2). Will Varlea be able to catch up to the leaders; this will depend on how well he can reach beyond his party base and pick up undecided voters.

The undecided voters for the 2009 election are mostly urban professionals who are either scared of Balbina Herrera because she is seen as too far left and too tied to the Noriega years, or are worried that Martinelli is too reckless. If voters turn away from the top two candidates because of their histories, then Varela could win in 2009.

In the end Varela is a long shot candidate: his lack of recognition and his need to challenge Martinelli for the rural vote – where Martinelli is very strong – make his climb to the presidency a difficult one.

In the 2009 election the rural vote will not be with the party currently in power. Rural voters are upset with the current government because of increasing prices, high corruption and the large influx of foreigners entering the country: foreigners are seen as driving prices up and fueling corruption. Martinelli and Varela will battle it out for who can best tap into discontented voters in the countryside. The latest poll conducted by the national daily newspaper, La Prensa, has Martinelli in first place – the first poll to place him as the front runner. Martinelli’s party - Cambio Democrático - is a small party; its institutional roots do not run deep in Panamanian political soil; it’s a party that was created by Martinelli in 1998 for Martinelli. Will Martinelli’s success broaden the appeal of his party: that will have to happen if he hopes to win.

In the last three presidential elections in Panama – 1994, 1999, and 2004 – the presidential winners were all from the two major parties – the PRD and the Panamista party. Martinelli is the first presidential candidate to be a front-runner without a strong party to back him up. Third party candidates have done well lately in Latin American countries where discontent is running high. For example, Ottón Solis was a successful third party candidate in the Costa Rican presidential elections of 2006; Solis almost beat a popular ex-president, Oscar Arias, in 2006. For Martinelli to win the 2009 election, he needs to keep speaking directly to the discontented voter. Because discontent is growing very quickly in Panama, especially among the middle and lower class voters who have not really benefited from the real estate boom or large amounts of foreign investment. Remember in Panama, only about 4% of the population makes more than $1000 a month.

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A few days ago, I enjoyed having an extensive lunch in one of Changchun’s restaurants. It’s worth chatting about that restaurant a little. The restaurant’s situated in Changchun’s city centre. It’s named Shi Jian. To make a long story short, Shi Jian’s mainly worth chatting about because it serves both Chinese and Western cuisine. That’s arguably the reason why the restaurant jumps to the cutting edge among other restaurants in Changchun.

You can’t gatecrash into Shi Jian. You’ve got to buzz at the door to be let in. The restaurants radiates a cool and dark ambience inside. The dark interior contributes to making Shi Jian an out of the ordinary experience. The waitress will hand you a bilingual menu, in Chinese and English. The bilingual menu forms the exception to the rule in Changchun. Plenty of traditional Chinese restaurants offer their guests a pot of free tea. Shi Jian comes up with a glass of water. In loads of traditional Chinese restaurants there’s no coffee on offer. Shi Jian, however, serves coffee in all shapes and sizes ranging from cappuchino and mocca to espresso.

Similar to restaurants in the United States, Chinese restaurants come across as rather noisy spots. In both countries, guests in restaurants don’t talk in low voices. Shi Jian strikes you as very quiet when put into context. The restaurant’s split up in various sections. Within the respective sections, there’s plentiful space among the tables. All this presumably keeps the noise level low. Which I do appreciate. Friends across the globe ask me again and again and…..to speak louder. I refuse to do so. Last but not least, whilst having lunch or dinner in Shi Jian you can listen to low key piano music. The music is where it belongs - in the background. Which means that I don’t have to raise my voice.

Renminbi Or Euro

Even currencies won’t make me raise my voice. Yet it may be worth briefly touching on the topic which currency may replace the US dollar as the present reserve currency, at the end of the day. It must’ve dawned by now on almost everybody and her sister that the US dollar resembles an awfully flawed currency. It’ll bite the dust, sooner or later. Common sense tells me that it depends which currency will step in. By the way, I’m fond of recommending students the response “it depends” when they’re queried and don’t know what to reply. “It depends” sounds plenty brighter than I dunno. And the person asking them is most unlikely to expect that response. That response will give students a few seconds to mull what it may depend on.

Be that as it may. In our context the decision may depend on the time frame. If the US dollar will be replaced as the reserve currency by tomorrow morning, I’d go for the Euro to step in. However, if memory serves it was Doug Casey who noted that “if the US dollar is an I owe you nothing, then the Euro’s an who owes you nothing”. That phrase nutshells my doubts about the Euro. I wouldn’t put an ounce of gold on the bet whether or not the Euro will still be around in twenty years time or so. The European Union looks structurally flawed to me. The European Union introduced the Euro years after I left old Europe. I’ve never ever used the Euro. As a point of reference to make up my mind whether or not something’s a bargain I resort to the New Zealand dollar. But the New Zealand dollar won’t shake out as the future reserve currency, neither tomorrow morning nor in twenty years time.

In twenty years time, I’d go for the Chinese Renminbi to step in. Even though China faces a few challenges - e.g. a shortage of water - for the long haul the Renminbi can solely climb to the stars. The Chinese currency’s most likely to start a new chapter in financial history. The Euro’s unlikely to stand the test of time.

Who knows? Let’s wait and see as to the shape of things ahead. Perhaps there’s a reason why I’ve got a suitcase in China.

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Dear Reader,

I would like to introduce “Tonga” to this blog.

You rarely hear of Tonga, rather “The Kingdom of Tonga,” because the Tongan government is not very proactive in promoting itself. Thanks to the coronation celebration of our new King and guests like Elton John and Mick Jagger, the event has attracted some press on this obscure and tranquil refuge. No one here is complaining about the lack of limelight since there are some advantages to finding an unspoiled haven in today’s discovered and filleted world. Without any fanfare quite a few of us have found this secure hideaway of natural beauty and freedom beyond comprehension. Our expat community is steadily growing with little prompting and with it, so has the opportunity here. I have been the catalyst in developing the country having the distinction of being the first to really attempt it and being presented with the first license to do so. The setting is particularly stunning in the Vava’u and Ha’apai Island Groups and, being a sharing kind of guy, it was difficult for me to keep such a treasure a secret. Now it has become a bit of a business. I tend to it with the same consideration I would with my own revered family, quite honestly and forthrightly.

No, this Tonga is not in Africa in spite of what the US Post Office seems to insist; forever sending our packages to the Tonga there. This gentle Tonga is located in the middle of the South Pacific near Fiji and equally south of Samoa. Tonga is a remarkably safe, free and beautiful place to reside, particularly in the Vava’u Island Group choice of Tonga’s 3 major island groups. A huge reef system protects these emerald island jewels of Vava’u with their white sandy beaches that provide a lake-like water wonderland, safe for small boats and insulating us from nature’s worst. Here you can own a home on the water with a boat on your own dock out front on placid waters and still be only a few minutes drive from the main town and the airport. Tonga has it all, hospitals, building supplies, fresh food, satellite TV, Internet, and even an Ace Hardware. Vava’u is situated about perfectly in the latitude of 18 degrees south of the equator; not too hot and not too cold; not too big and not too small, a storybook place for us all.

History abounds in these islands. The islands were dubbed “The Friendly Islands” by Captain Cook as he sailed through here in the mid 1700’s; and the name still aptly applies. The famous mutiny on the Bounty occurred in Tonga in 1789. Those of us living here better understand that incident for the underlying factors that may have been the true motivation for mutiny. Even if Captain Bligh were a sweetheart, the absorbed in Tonga crew being confronted with the choice of remaining in our paradise or returning to (not so) jolly old England may have been compelled to choose paradise—in the face of it you might consider mutiny too. To some degree, all of us living here have I suppose.

Tonga is a kingdom but unlike the storybook Kingdoms where tyrants rule, Tonga’s government is tempered by a lot of English, Australian and New Zealand influence. Tonga is an independent Kingdom with a remarkably free and open society and wisely with English law, English language and English judges, which tends to secure not only investments here, but life in general in this benign constitutional Monarchy. Crime is virtually non existent in Vava’u, the crown jewel of the Tongan island groups. The police have no guns and no need for them and the jail requires inmates to return before 6pm, or, as the sign used to say, they are “locked out.”

However, like some of the storybook kingdoms, we do have our Alice in Wonderland moments and “Mad Hatter” kinds of interesting and humorous experiences, but no one has ever had to paint the roses red. It is hard to relate the whole living experience here in a short blog, but the summary of it is; it is like coming out from under ether. As you wake up you come to some realizations that, prior to Tonga, you have not been living life on all eight cylinders. Life has more horsepower when unthrottled. The saying, “you can’t see the forest through the trees” takes on a new understanding when you look back at what we were and from whence we came with a new and enlightened perspectives. Admittedly, some have abused the lack of restriction as some kids might when the teacher leaves the classroom, but all in all, the experience is worth the “selling out” back home and joining this progressive group of seekers of a lifestyle denied the masses in most of the overly proscribed world.

TV, yes we have it, satellite and all, but most of us have noted that real life here seems to occupy us affording little time or interest for sitting in front of a tube watching someone else’s faked episodes that fall short compared to our own newly enriched lives. Somehow watching lowly politicians make fools of themselves and scenes of war and terror lose out to watching the whales swim by from your veranda, or a short boat ride or drive to a secluded island beach for a picnic with friends and family. We seem to have no idea of how much influence that wretched box of programmed media of demented minutia has upon us. Getting out from under the tube and cleansing your mind of fears and subliminal controls is very therapeutic.

In summary; Tonga has a great deal to offer in the way of lifestyle, opportunity and just plain retirement living. Its growing expat community is attracted in part by the inviting condition that you can retire with residency here with just $6,000 USD per year of “assured income.” There are investment opportunities from 9.8% bank interest to land investments that track 100% increases in less than one year periods. Building rental homes is one market that is growing nicely. You can live inexpensively or in affordable luxury, relaxed and with no fear of being over taxed or axed.

Living in an ancient and friendly culture has its advantages. It is a bit of a hideaway from the uncertainties and perils of dubious governments and rabid leaders unleashed. Many here have sold out of their homelands opting for what dreams are made of and not letting the big bad wolf get in the way. In Tonga, our real freedom and life in an environment secure and serene makes a mockery of where they package and have to repeatedly sell this freedom stuff to the public in concealed bondage. The proceeds from our sale of the house and expensive car back there have some of us living good here. Very few of us miss or long to return to the scene of the crimes, but to do so is only a day’s flying back at the worst. It is a small world truly, so why not move across the pond where the grass is truly greener? That is a rhetorical question that shouldn’t need an answer, just action. Just do it. You will be glad you did.

Robert Bryce is the original “realtor” of Tonga, lured into real estate by expat demand and willing to lend a hand to the good folks who wish to grace these shores. Let us all be friends.

Communicate through www.SouthPacificRealEstate.to

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I am young, cultured, and something of a foodie. If you’re going to take me to dinner, I want it to be somewhere original. So here are some of my suggestions for “Places to take a 20 year old woman, whom you wish to impress, on a date.” Most of them I would consider relatively inexpensive in their own right (maybe $100 for two, if you both enjoy food and have a high alcohol tolerance), though if you add in the flights to some of the farther-flung places, it may be more of an anniversary gift…

This list is by not means exhaustive, nor necessarily indicative of the best a city has to offer; they are simply ones which have stood out for me.

Brick, San Francisco, USA
(1085 Sutter St., San Francisco, CA 94109)

(Photo opposite: Brick) In just over a week in San Francisco, we ate three times at Brick, newly opened when I visited in summer 2007. The interior is, unsurprisingly, bricked, but large windows and warm woods ensure that one does not feel like one is sitting inside a chimney. There is a large bar in the middle at which people can sit, separating the dining and drinking areas, about ten tables in each. Brick has an arty, youthful feel, but is not terrifyingly “trendy”. In a place such as this one might expect the staff to be achingly hip and just a touch disparaging, but the opposite is true. As a Brit I am always easily impressed by the American hospitality industry, but I found them to be friendly in that rare and lovely way where one doesn’t feel patronised, and they were really knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the food.

Ahhh the food. The menu, like the wine and cocktail lists, was short and punchy. Appetisers and entrees fitted on a piece of A4 card, the dishes a select few, always with equally enticing meat, fish, and vegetarian options, and varied every time I was there. Standout memories are a carpaccio of raw tuna (on which note I am going to very quickly sidestep and give honourable mention to the diced yellowfin tuna on the sushi platter in the bar of the Four Seasons hotel not too many blocks away), a cut of pork coated in cocoa beans, and the “Soft Dark Chocolate with Green Cardamom, Mint, and Cocoa Nib Soil”…the waitress raved about how excited the chef was about this new creation - how right he was to be so.

Bait Sissi, Aleppo, Syria
(Sharia’ as-Sissi, Jdeida)

Any guidebook on Syria will point you to this Aleppan restaurant (even the shoestring ones, such is the beauty of the prices in Syria). However, they will also point you to about 5 other very similar sounding ones, and don’t necessarily give Sissi top billing; a big mistake if you ask me. A very large percentage of restaurants in this country are ensconced in beautifully restored Arabic-style houses (i.e. built round a courtyard), and Sissi is no exception; there are lovelier and uglier, but you will rarely find better food. Apart from a (surprisingly good) “French cuisine” section (featuring a killer onion soup) the menu differs little from other decent Aleppan restaurants, but the selection is wider and the food is simply of a different class. The “Aleppo” Kebab is famous, but the Cherry Kebab is the real gem (as a vegetarian I didn’t order it myself, but spent most of my evening stealing the sauce from my companion’s plate), and the usual Syrian dips/salads selection is expanded and improved upon from most of Sissi’s competitors.

Do not expect to find yourself surrounded by locals; this is resolutely a foreigner’s spot, the separate bar on the lovely Jdeide Square full of Dutch and French travellers having a gin and tonic without feeling too heathen in the otherwise conservative city. If you want a “Syrian” experience, go to the fuul/fatteh/falafel conglomeration by the ultra-glamorous tyres-and-car-parts section of Aleppo. Though your accompanying lady friend may not thank you for it.

Hare & Tortoise, London, England
(11-13 The Brunswick, Brunswick Square, London WC1 1AF)

The cheapest on my list, this quick and easy Japanese restaurant serves huge bowls of hot food at fantastic prices, especially given its central London location. Most conceptions of Japanese food are of tiny portions of sushi for less-than-tiny prices, but not here. Speedy service by an all-Japanese staff brings you bowls of Curry Laksa, Ton Katsu Curry, Salmon Teriyaki, Cinnamon Duck, and Vegetable Satay. These are just a few of the dishes on a pan-Asian menu whose main challenge to you is picking just one thing to eat. There is a decent selection of Asian beers, and if you fancy impressing your date with your worldliness, you might try ordering a Japanese drink such as calpico. It’s usually pretty busy, but there are booths around the back if you’re looking to keep your conversation private…

Carnivore, Nairobi, Kenya
(Langata Road, past Wilson Airport)

Granted, this restaurant is not as unique a concept as I first thought when I visited. I have since encountered a fair few “Churrascarias” in the States (and there is apparently a magnificent Brazilian one on Upper Street in Islington, London), but personally I enjoyed knowing here that the crocodile and hartbeest (no, I don’t know what one is either) on the massive cylindrical barbecue could have been plucked from the backyard…

For those unfamiliar with the concept, you have a little card/flag/etc. in front of you. Place it one way up and waiters carrying an array of meat in copious quantities (here on swords) will load their wares onto your plate. When you’re all steaked-out, turn the card around and they’ll leave you alone for a while. There’s also baked potatoes, local salads, and the like. Carnivore is squarely on the tourist track, but it’s hard not to be in Nairobi, and the meat selection really makes this place. And who knows – the sight of you tearing cave-man style into skewered meats may just give her ideas…

Meson de Candido, Segovia, Spain
(Azoguejo, 5, Segovia, 40001 España)

(Photo opposite: Meson de Candido is situated next to a Roman aqueduct.) This is not the time for my thoughts on northern Spain being under-visited, but I will take this chance to wax lyrical about Segovia, a hilltop town with a beautiful cathedral, café-lined square, and castle, the Alcazar, the silhouette of which will be familiar to any girl who’s ever watched a Disney film. Perhaps the most famous sight, though, is the Roman aqueduct, which still traverses the town. Situated next to its tallest section is Meson de Candido, a restaurant apparently famed throughout the country. A sort of “Ye Olde…” affair, the menu feels like something that would have been served as a banquet in the Alcazar 600 years ago. You can even get a roast suckling boar or half a lamb for your trouble. People not partial to entire farmyard animals on their dinner table should not be put off, however. The menu is extensive, and includes impressive amounts of fish, shellfish, and vegetable dishes. Also appreciable is the fact that the dessert menu extends beyond flan, usually the only sweet dish to be found (don’t despair though fans, they have it here as well!)