23 IN OSAKA (The Kitchen of Japan)

I stayed in Osaka for a week-long induction as a visiting JICA fellow 20 years ago.

Back then, my knack for adventuring was just evolving so the farthest I ventured was to the train station nearest to the JICA Center with the intention of visiting the Osaka Castle.  

That failed excursion haunted me so 20 years after, I led Pugad Baboy to a revenge tour of the Osaka Castke (circa 1583), scaling all its 8 floors for a panoramic view of Japan's 3rd largest city where he image of two oversized samurais from Bakal 2 were imprinted as eki stamps.

It was there where the wife fell for the dango. 

Before Osaka, the uncertainty in the Strait of Hormuz jeopardized our carefully curated trip to Japan.

It was not until Bulan passed through the gates of Kansai International Airport after his declaration was interrogated twice that the trains to Tengachiyaya, Tenjimbasisuji Rokuchome, Awaji, and Omiya delivered us to a  blonde Thai receptionist and her welcome pack of passport covers and the key to the hotel's sole famiy room with a balcony. 

Having registered as Boy Ramen, we were next led to a small shop whose young chef demonstrated the preparation of their signature cihicken paitan ramen --- our first authentic "Made in Japan" meal.

From Kyoto, we went back to Osaka to celebrate Balong's 23 years, reporting first to a ticket inspector of the Osaka Castle before the enticing smells of a grilled Wagyu beef skewer, a slice of sweet cantaloupe, and pan-fried tokiyaki, obanyaki, and okonomiyaki reeled us to the Kuromon Market where Balong hosted a birthday lunch of unagi, sukiyaki, yakitori, sashimi, kare, and Wagyu steak.

I mostly paid for the trip so I also got a shot of sake and a mug of highball. 

These were the starters for an aperitif of extra cold Asahi Super Dry, a Pilsner Urquell, and a Peroni at the  Asahi Beer Museum, just compensations for going through a high tech interactive recap of the brewery's history. 

But Balong's aspiration for a donburi dinner in the madhouse known as Dotonburi failed to materialize depsite our prayers at a Shinto shrine and the purchase of the first weird Kitkat flavors we intend to bring home. 

So we closed the day in Kyoto, in a crowded izakaya where with the help of Google Translate, we correctly ordered tempura, grilled mackerel, a plate of assorted sashimi, a bowl of ginger beef, and a slimy okra-based Japanese salad.

The boys had ginger ale, I had a beer and a highball. 

THE PHNOM PENH DELEGATION

Community, equality, inclusion.

Thus is the culmination of a reluctant trip to Phnom Penh within a 7-day spread that started as a pop-in to those who cease to sleep in the Science City of Munoz, they who spoke about the day of the moon through three consecutive conclaves.

On Day 1 of the Phnom Penh Workshop, such context was confirmed by the Garbage Man from a reunion in San Miguel, the last pilates session deferred as PR 2621 took off from an avalanche of Chilean red wine and Filipino beer.

Gems of wisdom and magic recapitulated Day 2 of the Phnom Penh Workshop --- rainbows of colorful fruits and rice pastries reflecting in the afternoon sky, domed to protect a Khmer beef steak and cold Angkor beer from the deathly embrace of summer.

The donor is a warm morning whose innocence elevated a consultant procurement into contract signing through a catch-up Georgian lunch that turned out to be thunderously heavy platters of khinkali and khachapuri, and loud as the traffic of  craft beer pints near Bassac Lane.

Love and marriage? 

The Bali Workshop intervened but a lovely Pakistani lunch of mutton biryani, nan bread, an array of bowled curry, and a tall mango lassi was wedded with a sky bar dinner of Khmer beef steaks, fried rice and corn, vegetables, and fish before vociferous Chinese pasengers were herded to Shanghai by PR 2622. 

The streets of Phnom Penh smelled of burning meat and docusigned requests that were guaranteed by The Divine Madman whose phallic amulet repelled demons, malicious gossip, and the evil eye that hounded the nubile clientele of the Salcedo Saturday Market.

In Bakal 2, the delegation concluded with the liberation of time by the Son of God, by hikers under the patronage of San Sebastian, and a cache of cold beer a day before fleeing to  Osaka...   

FLIGHTS OF THE KHMER HORSE

Sunflowers bloomed.

They romp like a fiery Khmer horse breaking through the stars.

It was the end of the harvest season, the beginning of the solar new year, and the moment when a second impact story booked almost all the flights to the Bali Assembly.

Maha Songkra (Scorpio Nights)

On the first day of the Khmer New Year, the approval of a requested reallocation enabled the Water Boy to partially settle monthly liabilities.

The security guard's wife burned slowly, a lighted incense dissipating into ashes of mediocre characters and inferior adaptations of a Bali Workshop that were blessed with bottled sanctified water from an ecopark of reheated pork barbecue.

Virak Vanabat (Balahibong Pusa)

On the second day of the Khmer New Year, the exchange rate for Year 5 was unveiled.

Sarah's obsession with ramen was ignited by a second pilates session, 10 hours to a vigil where more pork barbecue were reheated for charity by Joyce's and Margaret's interpretation of her. 

Vearak Loeng Sak (Warat) 

On the third day of the Khmer New Year, the public market was inlfitrated from the rear through the narrow alleys of Bakal 3 where Rica and the deities were cleansed by Joyce and Margaret.

San Sebastian was not martyred with arrows but clubbed to death, most probably a few days before the Chinese New Year.

San Sebastian is venerated by by the Ironman and the Bakal 2 Hiking Society as the patron saint of morning walkers who goes to a goto stall for a haircut at the cost of a chicharong baboy pack and two plastic platters of oily menudo.

The Khmer horse was unrestrained, all international flights were booked, a renedezvous at the San Sebastian Church predicated the Sunday Market.

In the virtual universe, travel taxes and imigration cards go through electronic gates...