by Rick Green

There's something infectious about the atmosphere of a European football match or the French Quarter in New Orleans during Mardi Gras. Many Cantonese, however, reserve this kind of fervour for dim sum, which can have all the cacophony and excitement of festivals or sports matches.

Dim sum, meaning "touch the heart" or "heart's delight", is the equivalent of Spanish tapas or Mediterranean mezze — small sweet & savoury dishes people order to consume while socializing. Yum cha(literally "to drink tea", but in this context it means going for dim sum), however, is a daytime affair and is most popular with families as Sunday "brunch".

Dim sum's origins are obscure, but it was the Cantonese who began preparing these morsels for teahouses in China during the Sung dynasty. Since the 10th century, a repertoire of around 2,000 varieties of dim sum has evolved. Most are deep fried or steamed (served at the table in bamboo steamers) dumplings, meat dishes, and rice or noodle dishes, but there are also sweet dishes like egg custard tarts, mango pudding, red bean soup, and deep fried sesame balls.

by Rick Green

A tantalizing aroma wafts upwards, enveloping the senses, drawing my gaze into the shimmering blackness. There was a time when I wouldn't have given my coffee a second thought beyond the first sip. Yet, it represents so much more, which you realize when pursuing the path of coffee.

Most think of coffee as just a cup of joe, but that's as true as saying wine is only red and white or beer is straw-colored fizz. A trip to Germany exposed me to other possibilities and launched a never-ending journey of discovery. Coffee is no longer just regular or decaf, light roast or dark. It's a portal to the world, a gateway to future possibilities.

Sound far-fetched? Consider that coffee is commonly associated with place — Java, Colombia, and Brazil are the most familiar. Antigua, Harar, Kilimanjaro, Mocha, Sumatra, and Tarrazu are others regularly served up by the specialty coffee market — Lonely Planet in a cup.

by Rick Green

My stomach tightened. Something seemed wrong. Half-expecting to come across the scene of a horrible crime, maybe even the perpetrator in the act, I was nervous. My rational side said I was being silly, subdued the emotion, and pushed me on.

Looking back, I realize that having grown accustomed to a continuous cacophony of chattering jackhammers, thumping pile drivers, angry car horns, and the multitude of other sounds emanating from the perpetual frenetic din of Hong Kong, solitude was no longer a normal state for me.

Hearing the breeze rustle through the trees, smelling the verdant vegetation, and finding myself completely alone was unusual. But more than an antidote to sensory overload, that first foray into Plover Cove Country Park in the northeastern New Territories was a discovery of the other side of Hong Kong, a side few visitors—and even residents themselves—experience.

by Rick Green

Measured elephantine blasts from the gleaming twelve-foot brass and copper horns erupted over the backdrop of the brisk Himalayan breeze. Accompanied by smaller horns and assorted percussion, the musicians struck a lilting cadence that drew out a troupe of costumed monks from the arched entrance of Chyodi Gompa.

The stout maroon edifice is the last remaining training monastery in the Kingdom of Mustang, a semi-autonomous region in Nepal on the Tibetan border. Chyodi rises prominently from amongst a warren of houses enclosed within the medieval walls of Lo Manthang, Mustang's capital.

The musical commotion attracted a handful of scruffy onlookers who gathered themselves along the top of the earthen walls defining the courtyard's perimeter. As the masked performers lurched down the broad steps, they gradually fanned out into the gray, dusty enclosure, whirling in a mysterious choreography that spoke a fantastic language.

This represented the myth of Dorje Jono, a Buddhist deity who saved his people from the vagaries of a drought brought upon them by his demon father. Normally the tale is performed over three days during Mustang's annual Tiji festival that falls sometime between mid-May and mid-June. However, the Chyodi monks treated us to an abridged performance since our trekking party arrived a month too early.