Bigger is better

Hong Kong is fantabulously brilltastic.

This statement, one you have no doubt heard at least once a day since you could comprehend speech, is one I can safely say is as true as other true things I have uttered those times I uttered true things. It has everything really, great transport, cheap yet bmx cool food, sickmad museums, the largest buddha that happens to be sitting and free tai chi lessons every second day during the working week.
People are friendly and know you don't have a clue how to speak their language, and are ok with that. There is always something to do no matter the hour, be it go to the beach or just chillax in a rad cool park watching a totally extreme tops kung fu demo.

I enjoyed my time in the H to the K, it was a solo flight, although I couchsurfed with a very international group of english teachers they worked, and did their thing, and I did my, (far more awesome), thing.
I find solo much easier for exploratating, photographeration and street-marketing-it-up, as my pace was the inspiration for the Tortoise I feel bad for waiting 3 minutes for lights to change so I can get a street shot without the bus in the way. But, as I now trawl through the mess of thousands of unsorted photos i find my favorite are often taken with company...

To conclude another long late night rant about little, I left Hong Kong hardly having touched my to-see/do list but happy that I saw the crazy town, and now I am in Bangkok.

You know its time to think about going home when you want to use the airline codes for all the city names.

Rush Hour

Morocco, surprisingly, was not as hot as my present locale, it brushing the top end of the 30s here in Hong Kong. Hong Kong? You exclaim! But you were meant to write about sand raiders and lost tombs and whatnot from your magic wireless in the desert! Alas, my friends I lost my magic wireless somewhere in Berlin after a bad poker hand.
But even with no magical wireless internets, and often no internets at all (shock horror!) a marvellous time was had by all. Morocco was filled with amazing sights and sounds, often awful smells and seemingly endless touts and hawkers who were summarily ignored, and shooed away with the ever useful No-stare.

Everything about morocco is different to what I have encountered elsewhere on my travels, the people, food, architecture, and even how often they eat (I do not suggest going during ramadan). Alas my visitation to north africa was cut short by lack of working phone numbers for the finn air Paris desk, thus I had to return to try to change the flight or, failing that, catch it (not liliputian style) and go where the pilot decides to take me. Obviously I could not change it, and the pilot decided to do what he was told and go to Hong Kong.

So here I am, in Hong Kong with a slight cold (it seems whenever I go to Asia I am with cold just before I arrive, thus freaking out the quarrantine minions at the airport and wasting valuable asia time. Luckily this time I avoided quarrantine, it was like frogger).
I am very happy to be here, as a fan of Hong Kong cinema (well the kung fu/police movie bits)I am simply happy to be where Jackie Chan might have been. I keep expecting to see running battles between rival Kung Fu clans or a lone fighter taking on a horde of hooligans in a back alley complete with slow mo replays and awesomely cheesy 80s soundtracks. Although this has not yet occoured, I remain hopeful.

A(n?) European Eviction

Arrival in Brussels, after a suitably horrible flight, was eventful. At the border to Brussillian lands I was asked to accompany a police officer to a back room after my passport was scrutinized at length. I was then informed in somewhat broken english that I had 3 days left on my schengen visa before I risk capture by roving bands of passport chekering police and I had to go with the be-bearded officer to phone to call my travel agent in Australia (which would have been closed at the time) to change my flight out of the EU to a more suitable time.

After managing to convince the simple fellow of my intentions to leave post haste he decided not to inform the immigration office of my predicament, which has since been allieviated by going to Morocco, where arabic keyboqrds make mockery of my spelling skillz, ramadan makes eating a game of hide and seek (i seek an open restaurant, which despite their size, hide very well) and awesome sights come in spades.

I keep this short dear readers as I must be off to scrounge for food before embarking south, towards the grand and famed sahara where there will be camels and, assuming global warming has not played its hand again, sand in simply silly amounts.

Era

The Irish Era of the expedition is drawing its curtain, the actors retiring, and props going into storage, for I (its star) am going to Brussels, a city I passed through on my way from Paris to Amsterdam on a bus. Unfortunately I did not really notice it, as I was engrossed in Neil Gaimans Neverwhere at the time, but if I had I am sure I would have something more to say about it.

Ireland has been good. Simply that.
I have enjoyed my tenure here immensely. I can now tell a horse the general direction in which I would like to travel and with a certain amount of luck the horse should then set off in said direction. I am also very well acquainted with the leavings of said horse. I have learnt that if someone says "Wheres the crack?" in ireland it means "Wheres the Craic?" or wheres the fun? in normal english, of which there seems a distinct lack in these here hills.
I have also seen more water falling from the sky then I have witnessed in six months back home.

I do leave with regret however, as I do with most destinations I have called upon, because I have seen little of this startlingly green country besides the farm and Dublin, and have met more Canadians than Irish. But as with any problems encountered while traveling, you must look to your goal, stick to your plan and find the next horizon.