WHAT is the secret of Japanese food? Tokyo is a city of restaurants, some 80,000 of the 600,000 in Japan as a whole. But even more impressive is the quality. The Michelin Guide has recognized Japan’s capital as also being the world’s gourmet capital for the best part of a decade. And that was even before the French food bible started to list traditional Japanese “washoku” cuisine. Continue reading “Tokyo: One Moment”
WIPING the sweat off my face with a cooling splash of water from a fern-covered waterfall, I peer through thick trees and foliage at the distant view of the tropical ocean. I am of, course, on Hong Kong Island. Wait a minute! Isn’t Hong Kong all skyscrapers and urban sprawl, among the most crowded places on earth with seven million people jammed into every available space? Am I enjoying some sort of heightened reality video game in one of its neon-bright arcades? Continue reading “Hong Kong: Go Green”
“SHOULD we get rid of the tiger? No, that would not be right. He has the right to live just as we do.” The quiet words seem unremarkable, except that they are coming from the mouth of a 17-year-old whose mother was killed by a tiger. “The last time I saw my mother alive was in the morning before I went to school,” says Jyoti Meshran, a shy girl whose sudden smile when we meet lights up the bright day even more. “When I came back in the afternoon, my mother was not there. She had gone into the forest to cut firewood. They took her body home. The tiger had taken a bite out of her neck – that was the only part that was missing.” Continue reading “India: Tiger Roar”
MANY YEARS have passed since I was last in Bukhara and the change is marked. Around the central Lyab-i Hauz pond, the ancient mud-brick buildings have been heavily restored, losing much of their character. The traditional cafés shaded by the pool’s trees from the bright Central-Asian sun cater to camera-snapping coachloads of tourists, rather than chattering groups of local men resting on topchan table beds. And the markets that once sold spices and sausages, antique jewelry and authentic karakul hats now offer cheap souvenirs and gaudy plastics. Has Bukhara changed, or has my memory over-romanticized it? Continue reading “Uzbekistan: Golden Smiles”
AS I EAT breakfast in the restaurant of my hotel, I can look down on Osaka Castle. Sitting atop a massive mound whose walls rise dramatically from the dark green waters of its wide moat, the picturesque castle is already besieged by tour buses at this early hour. Later in the day, it will be overwhelmed by massive numbers of visitors, who will strip the shops of souvenirs and fill camera memory cards with pictures. Continue reading “Osaka: Second City”
FOR A visitor, it can seem you have to leave Istanbul to see it. Looking back across the Galata Bridge at sunset, the city’s most glorious sights are laid out before me: the floodlit minarets of the mosque of Suleymaniye the Magnificent; the Topkapi Palace dominating Seraglio Point; the soaring domes of the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. Continue reading “Istanbul: Turkish Delight”
FROM the 300-metre Eureka Sky Tower, I can see all of Melbourne spread out below me, shadowed by dark rain clouds sweeping in from the horizon. Neon-bright towers blazoned with the logos of insurance and accounting firms – Ernst & Young, Aon – dwarf those raised to the gods of earlier ages: a sturdy 1950s bank, St Paul’s Cathedral. Beyond sprawl suburbs and neat parks, the whole cut by freeways and the mud-lazy Yarra River. Continue reading “Melbourne: Alley Cats”
I GOT into Tashkent at 4am in the morning. Had I woken up at that time, I would not have been at my best, so perhaps it was a blessing that I had not slept on a cramped economy flight via Turkey, after a 7am start in London.
THE JET-LAG wakes me at 5am and I rise to explore Macau, the quiet, rain-soaked streets already warm from the searing tropical day to come. Coming back to my hotel at 8am still befuddled by lack of sleep, I go in the wrong door and find myself in its casino.
I’M face to face with a bunch of Tasmanian Devils but I am keeping my nerve. Partly because I’m just a tough hombre, of course. And partly because they look very cute frolicking over a guide in Bonorong Wildlife Centre and nuzzling gently at her fingers. Continue reading “Tasmania: Sympathy for the Devil”