I am presently in Asia, sitting under those good old golden arches, eating a fish filet sandwich with french fries and a medium sized Coke. I'm also considering the possibility of getting myself a twist cone very soon.

It seems to me that a lot of travelers would be ashamed to admit this openly, but I happen to be fine with my current dining choice. Just because I choose to stop by and say 'howdy' to the yellow-and-red clown, (literally, they have one at the front door,) does not make me any less of an avid globe drifter. Ronald McDonald and I go way back, and I am not about to forget an old friend now.

Too many times I've seen fellow travelers turn their noses up at 'western' franchises. “Why would you fly halfway across the world to eat something you can get at home?” they say. Or, “I hate it when people give in so easily. That's not experiencing a new culture!” And they're right, chowing down a double cheeseburger is no way to experience the local cuisine, but at the moment I'm not interested in local cuisine, I'm jonesing for something comfortably familiar.

Of course, that's not to say that I don't enjoy indulging in the local cuisines of the places I visit. On the contrary, there's something excitingly invigorating about having your first taste of pungent, saucy 臭豆腐 chou doufu, or burying your chopsticks into a steamy bowl of fried pig intestines. It makes you feel like an authentic traveler, braving the world head on and embracing all things foreign. When you experience the local cuisine, you learn that things usually taste better than they initially sound, and some things that seemed strangely unpalatable at first could even become a part of your regular diet given time.

It's true, getting a taste of the local dishes wherever you are is always a highlight of any trip. This is definitely a big part of the reason why we travel. But does this mean that we are restricted to solely enjoying the local cuisine? As globe drifters, should we be expected to completely deny ourselves of any food that is comfortably familiar just because it may be considered too 'western' by our traveling comrades?

When I am home, I eat hamburgers and french fries, hotdogs, pizza and deep fried foods. But I do not always eat these things. In fact, I usually don't. Coming from Hawaii, we actually have a very culturally diverse and extensive cuisine.

In Hawaii we eat white rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner, literally. We commonly use sauces like shoyu, bagoong and kimchee in our every day dishes. We have lunch-plates called locomoco, mochiko chicken and pork tonkatsu. And everyone in Hawaii knows that a big fat bowl of saimin noodles with fishcake and wontons is the perfect accompaniment to a rainy day. At home I am accustomed to having a vast majority of dining choices, western or otherwise, and my appetite at the time governs my decisions.

Sometimes other travelers will assume that the only reason you would go for a basket of fish and chips while cruising in Tokyo is because you just can't stand the thought of stomaching a big bowl of slimy natto. And this may actually be true for some. But as for myself, you can see that the art of eating has always been a multicultural experience, whether at home or abroad.

So, why am I sitting here at a western food chain? Well, simply because it's what I feel like eating at the moment.

I eat hamburgers because they make me think of backyard barbecues, and pork adobo because of its sweet, tangy flavor. I eat hotdogs because they have always been a cheap, quick meal, and bibimbap because my friend loves to cook it. I eat pizza because I love the taste of salty pepperoni and tangy tomatoes smothered in cheese, and fish-head soup with eyeballs to suck on because it reminds me of my dad. And I eat fried chicken with white rice and macaroni salad because I love mixing those crispy, crunchy golden flakes with rice and mayo.

I eat what I eat because I enjoy it when I'm eating it, and not because I'm too afraid to step out of the cuisine box. This globe is peppered with a plethora of scents, flavors, dishes and bowls of foods, all fantastically mixed, stirred, baked and fried to be eaten and enjoyed. 


Personally I feel that as long I'm always open to experiencing the local cuisine, than there's nothing wrong with me falling back on the old familiar every once in a while. When it comes to eating, I choose not to limit myself to just foreign or just familiar. I choose to go with what I feel like enjoying at the moment.

And at the moment I think I'm ready for my McDiggities twist cone.

And now we'd like to ask you: What do you think when it comes to dining out in other countries? Are you open to trying out other flavors, do you stick more towards familiar dishes or a little bit of both?

“Hello, Miiisterrrr...,” I look up, just as a moped with two young Taiwanese guys zooms by us. The kid in the back has his neck craned, and his smiling face turned in our direction. He follows us with his eyes as they disappear out of our line of sight, then points at us just as they turn the corner. Again, I hear his fading voice calling out, “Hellooooo, Misterrr!”

I can't help but laugh. I've always read online and in travel forums about the stares and the pointing, the laughs behind hands or calls from the street. But to be honest, I rarely ever experience this myself.

Of course, this isn't because I haven't traveled before. I have my fair share of stamps and visas in my soon to be expired passport. But this young man's call of curiosity from the back of a passing moped was not actually meant for me. In fact, it was really directed toward my friend Ryan.  

You see, Ryan is 6'2" tall, with stereotypical American features; blonde hair, blue eyes and relatively fair skin according to Taiwanese standards. I am  5'7" short, with stereotypical Southeast Asian features; black hair, brown eyes and brown skin compared to many Taiwanese. But Ryan speaks both English and Mandarin while I can only speak English. Ryan is Australian, I am American. And yet, he always gets mistaken for an American. And me? Well, I don't even get mistaken for a native English speaker.

But please don't get me wrong, I don't mind this at all. I actually enjoy being able to blend in with the people around me. And I still can't get enough of the double takes and the stares of shock or confusion when, after sitting right across from me for half the duration of the train ride, the other person who previously paid me no attention suddenly hears me speak out in perfect American English. It's an amazing thing to me, this ability to go from invisible to visible with just one word.

And this common case of mistaken identity doesn't just happen to me in Taiwan. It seems like almost everywhere I go, I am mistaken for someone else other than an American. In Mexico I was Chinese, in Laos I was Thai, in Thailand I was Malaysian, in Malaysia I was Filipino, and in Cambodia my sister and I were Japanese. Here in Taiwan, many people mistake me for an aboriginal Taiwanese, Amis or Paiwan. Even in my own country I am commonly mistaken for being Mexican. 

I guess the answer to this phenomena lies in my mixed heritage.

When my true nationality is revealed here, many of the Taiwanese are curious and will actually question me further about this confusing juxtaposition. 

“But you don't look like an American. How can you speak such good American English if you look like Asian people?” They'll ask. No, really...they do.

I've come into the habit of just smiling, and then I try to explain to them in depth about the mixing-pot that is Hawaii.

“I am American,” I'll say reassuringly. “But I am from Hawaii, and the majority of Hawaiians my age are of at least 2, if not 4 or more, different ethnicities. Most of our parents have mixed heritage, too. Everyone from the plantations, in the 1800's and early 1900's, intermarried and blended cultures.”

“Oh, really?” They'll say, with looks of wonderment on their faces. “So what is your background?”

“My father is Filipino and Chinese,” I'll say. “And my mother is Native Hawaiian and Portuguese.” There is, of course, a few more in there, but I find it's best to keep the explanation as simple as possible to avoid further confusion.

I even had a man sit next to me during a meeting. He had just found out from someone else about my background. I looked over at him and gave him a nod. He leaned towards me and whispered, “You mean to say, your mother's mother and your mother's father are from two different peoples?”

“Yes,” I whispered back, trying to be polite towards the speaker at the podium.

“Oh, okay,” he said in fascination. He stared back at me. I could see his eyes studying my face, my eyes, my nose and skin. His mind wrapped around the implications of that truth. “Well, my name is Mr. Hsu,” he smiled, handing me a business card. “Here's my number. Give me a call. I want to talk to you more about the social studies of Hawaii and Taiwan.” And then he left.

And so what does it mean to "look like" an American? Well, the answer really depends on who it is you ask that to. As for me? I just smile whenever someone is surprised that I am American. Like I said, It's an amazing thing to me, this ability to go from invisible to visible with just one word.

And now we'd like to ask you: Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you had to break down preconceived ideas tactfully? How did you deal with that?

While I was away in Borneo, my sister gave birth in New York. Micah-Kai Brandstrom came into this world at 8 lbs 3 oz in a hospital on Long Island at the same time that I was getting on an AirAsia aircraft at Kota Kinabalu International Airport. I didn't find out about my nephew's birth until after my 10 hour plane slash bus ride transit, which brought me home to Kaohsiung, Taiwan. I heard about it on Facebook.

When you're on the road, you can't be picky about how you get your news. After all, you were the one who bought the ticket that took you further away from your family to begin with. That simple fact, however, does not negate the feeling that, in some way, news of the birth of the very first baby in your family should not be delivered to you via social networks. But truth be told, I have to take it as it is.

A side note: While I was away in Malaysia, it was also my parents wedding anniversary  in Hawaii. Every year I try to call them and talk to them in person. This year it didn't pan out as well. I SKYPEd them once. No answer. My battery died. I borrowed my friends laptop and SKYPEd them again, a second, third and fourth time. Again, no answer. I finally left them a message the fifth time around: “Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad. I miss you guys.” Then signed out.

As soon as I got home to my apartment in Taiwan, I plugged in, signed on and saw the email from my brother in Hawaii. It was a new Facebook message: “Congratulations, you're an uncle!” 

I knew it was coming, but so soon? The first thing that popped into my head was, Is she alright? I pictured my baby sister, 9,000 miles away, exhausted and pale in her hospital bed, and my heart dropped. But I knew that there really was nothing for me to worry about. Chris would definitely be there with her, and my parents had flown out to New York as well, (which explained why I couldn't reach them, I'd just forgotten), so Crystal would be fine, and the baby was probably healthy and strong.

While I was reading my brothers Facebook message, an i.m. from my cousin popped up. I asked her for numbers, I needed to contact them as soon as possible. My only option? SKYPE. Crystal's cell, no answer, (of course, what was I thinking?), Crystal's home, again no answer, ( I still wasn't thinking straight), and finally my mom's cell, and I reach someone.

“Hello? J.R.?” I can hear sounds in the background. “Is that you?” 

“Yeah, mom, it's me.” My voice is quiet, I'm trying to mask my mix of emotions; frustration, worry, happiness and pride. “How is she doing?” 

“Oh, J.R., you would be so proud of her. She did good,” I exhale. “She was so strong.” Mom pauses. I can hear muffled sounds, and then, “Let me see if she's up.”

“No, mom, she's tired!” I try to stop her. But it's too late, mom probably has the phone held against her chest as she walks into the room. I can hear voices, soft and distant. Crystal...J.R. is on the phone...

And then mom is back. “Oh, she's still sleeping,” she says. “She's so tired.”

“Yeah, I know mom, it's okay. Thanks.”

“Here, talk to Chris.” She hands over the phone and I smile.

“Congratulations, dad! How does it feel?” 

He sounds happy, but tired. He says Crystal is fine but that she's resting and that the baby is big. We talk a little, just a light conversation, then he says, “Okay, I'll give you back to mom.” 

“Do you want to hear the baby?” she asks. “His cry is so strong. He reminds me of you.” I can hear dad in the background, He's not crying, honey. He stopped already.

Too bad, I figure. Anyway, it doesn't matter, it's not that big a deal. But then I hear a sound, high pitched and trembling. It's the sound of my first nephew, just born, crying his heart out 9,000 miles away from me. I smile with pride. He really does sound healthy and strong. It is a big deal.

When you're away on a trip, or living in a different country, it is a reality that you will be removed from the events that surrounded you in your life back at home. There is nothing you can do about it. That's one of the sacrifices you make to experience what life is like on the road.

But you don't have to stay completely out of touch. You don't necessarily need to disappear. In today's fascinating techno-gadget-online-digital world, we have the communication button at our fingertips. Sure, this click-of-a-mouse is not the same as being there to physically touch the soft cheeks of a newborn child, or to hold the hands and cradle the head of your exhausted baby sister to make sure she's alright, but at least it's something, and anything that keeps you posted on what's going on outside of your little travel bubble world is something to be appreciated.

“Okay, mom. Well, just please text Phil the pics of Micah when you have time, and he can post it for me to see on Facebook,” I tell her.  “Oh, and if anything else comes up, just have him message me and I'll call you guys right away, okay? I love you guys.”

“Okay, J.R.,” I can hear her smiling. “Love you, too.”  I'm about to click the 'end call' button on my Skype screen, but then I remember something.

“Oh yeah, mom, by the way,” I say. “Before I forget... happy anniversary.”

And now we'd like to ask you: How do you keep in touch with your loved ones?

A person is like a pixel made up of individual thoughts and experiences. The world is a whole made up of individual pixels. But the difference between a person and a pixel is that a pixel doesn’t reason on his part of a picture; whereas a person will ponder, sometimes for decades, on his individual contribution to the whole world.

To think that a single red pixel could even come to the realization that he is a part of a rainbow is impossible. On the other hand, to think that a person could never come to the conclusion that he is a smaller part of a bigger whole is equally as preposterous. A pixel will never, at some point in it’s minute existence, strive for a sense of place. It’s just there in it’s place. It asks no questions. It’s content just to be. But a person will question his existence.

There comes a time in an individual person’s life when he will ask himself, “Where do I belong?” For some the answer is simple. His place may be to stay and be and be satisfied. No longer striving for a sense of place, but instead simply finding contentment in his place. He asks, answers and he finds his place, a community to care for and nurture as his own. But this very person had to ask before finding the answer, and this sets an individual such as this as something far different from a pixel.

And then you have the individual who finds the answer to that question by taking a different route. Some say that such a person is making it unecessarily difficult to come to a conclusion, while others sit back and admire his daring creativity. But in any case, such a person asks himself the same question as his fixed-person counterpart, "Where do I belong?" 

But this time, this individual realizes that he cannot be like a fixed-person, but rather he knows that he'll find the answer to that question somewhere else other than in his current place. So he removes himself from his relative station and searches for a new place, a place where he can feel like he finally belongs. He'll take his time in tasting the rainbow, feeling every color and sensing every shade until he finds something that fits. This is in no way any better or worse than the person who has decided to remain fixed. It's just another way for a person to find his individual sense of place.

But to think that a red pixel could possibly uproot itself from it’s designated spot on the rainbow and rearrange himself in among the yellow’s is amusing, and at the same time disturbing. Because then the red pixel alongside a fellow yellow pixel would throw off the rainbow as a whole. 

Technically, the rainbow would no longer be true to itself because it’s yellow part would have something that seemed like an orange smudge due to the misplaced red pixel, and as we all know, a rainbow with an orange smudge is no longer a true rainbow. If a red pixel were to even think of pulling something like that off, than the whole picture would be an unreality, and the world as we know it would at best need to be revamped, and at worst, fall apart. But I guess that's why a pixel cannot reason on it’s part of a picture to begin with. But persons can.

A person can ponder and decide to remain fixed, become a part of the firm foundation that supports the world. Or a person could find himself pushing the boundaries of the known, discovering that he's better fit among the ‘yellows’ rather than the ‘reds’. And if not, he can move on into the ‘blues’ and the ‘greens‘. Sooner or later, he will have found something that fits, for at least a bit. He’ll call that home and build a place and be content with his individual answer to the question, “Where do I belong?” He will have ultimately found his place, a place to make his mark, a way to contribute in his small way his individual part to the whole picture. His place will inevitably be different from where he first began, but the world will still be whole. It will be changed in very subtle ways, because where he is now is not exactly where he was before, and this will have inadvertently affected the other parts of the whole around him. But it will all still make up an ever changing yet constant reality.

And now we ask you: Which do you identify with?

Today I am going to get my haircut. 

This seems like an easy task. I always like it cut the same way it’s growing, shorter, but not too short because then my hair stands up and I can’t brush it down, yet not too long where I’ll have to return to get it cut again in a few weeks. Normally it’s a quick errand you fit into your busy schedule of running around in this sometimes fast paced, crazy world. 

But when you’re traveling, sometimes the simplest of tasks at home can seem like a mountain of an obstacle in another country.

Last night I was thinking of what to eat for dinner. The fridge was mostly empty, with just the typical easy foods, like sandwiches and some leftover pasta from a couple nights before. Yet I was tired of eating those same old foods when just outside my apartment the options for good traditional Chinese food are endless. Different shops lined up from street to street with bright lights inviting everyone to enter. Families packed into crowded corners of the restaurants, with owners scrambling to find extra seats, all of them bringing  hungry appetites with happy faces, anticipating the tasty food they would soon acquire.  

Yet there we were watching from a sad, dark distance, like two hungry helpless street dogs licking our lips, seeing young and old enjoying their savory dishes. 

“Wow, that looks gooood,” Jay said. 

Sadly, looking at the posted menu, we only saw Chinese characters that we didn‘t understand. 

“We don’t know how to order here,” I said. “Let’s find a place with pictures.”  

Pictures of food are our savior and the only means to eat a decent meal out, a picture of duck or chicken on top of rice, or a bowl of noodles with pieces of beef, simmered until the meat is soft. We have, in a sense, become picture hunters, hunting for restaurants that have photos that we can point to with our hands and nod in agreement to, with wide smiles. To the Chinese restaurant workers, we probably sound like cavemen from a foreign land, our English words sounding like grunts, while we nod our heads because we want delicious “FOOOOD!”  

Although a short time has past, we now have our favorite hunting grounds that we visit regularly. The restaurant workers now recognize us, and know what foods we enjoy. Little by little, life has become easier. Even though I am in a country different from what I am accustomed to, I feel the normality of life getting easier day by day.

Days don’t always seem like being in a battlefield, where I have to be on my toes. No longer am I scared of walking, or riding my bike on the busy street, with cars and motorbikes flying by me at arms length. I don’t bother caring about loud fireworks popping at random parts of the day. Sure, I can't speak Chinese, and I don’t know how to buy everything I want, but in reality I have been getting by just fine. 

Now for my next battle:  What do I say to my barber today?

And now we ask you: When living in another country, how do you deal with not being able to get seemingly everyday things? Or what hardships do you imagine you might face if you ever made such a move? Comment below and let us know!

Jon grew up in Honolulu,
 Hawaii, and has worked as
a community volunteer in 
the cities of Altamira and 
Puerto Escondido, Mexico. 
He currently lives in Taiwan.

Some people just have a knack for making new friends, while the rest of us like to take our time. How do you react when it's time to make new friends in a new place? 

I buzzed my head with a #4... or, to be exact, Brian did it for me. We were sitting around in Nick's living room, and he asked me if I wanted to buzz my head. When I said "maybe," and the girls said "no," I immediately replied with a quick stripping off of my shirt and a shaving of my head.

That evening I went home... or, to be exact, to the Ostrander's home (of which I am sitting for the next three weeks), and I closed the night with a thought on cats. My mind is jogged by one named Savannah, who is desperate for human affection intent on pawing me with her claws and rubbing me without restraint as I ponder life's questions while draining my bladder. My thought is as follows...

Cats are like me in that they put on a facade of aloof-ness, purring around with an air of independence, self assured and free from want. But if you leave them for a few than they'll be all over you. Affection starved and baring all, they have no problem wearing their emotions on their fur, throwing themselves upon you as if they were expected to. The catch is that, when you give a cat what he wants, that is personal affection, then he's back to being self reliant and un-needy. And it's because of this that I am like cats.

And yet I've reasoned out a line of thought to get past my catlike qualities. This was brought on by a series of several nights, of which I am about to relate.

I left the cats at home a night back when my family was on island for the Labor Day weekend and they camped down at The Bay. I worked that night, and I didn't get off until 11. But as late as it was, I still went. I caught a ride down with Nick and Brilei, Leslie rode with Feline to keep her company. Feline wore a silly cap which made her look like a french mime.

When we got down to the beach campsite, however late that was, Melanie, Simon and Cressentia were still up talking about sign language, Kat and Kaimana were both ready for bed, and the haole boy Keith was trying to get Kaimana to sleep. The suburban was gone, which meant that I was stuck wearing my p.j.'s and nothing to swim with. I informed a certain Brian that I would not be joining him in a midnight swim, but happily enough, Simon was prepared, and the two went off to swim with the sharks.

A few nights previous (while at the very same campsite), I had been moody and aloof. Quiet and anti social, I distanced myself from the 'group', content on wallowing in my feelings of loneliness. My mind was consumed with memories and thoughts about my friends that I had left behind in New York. I remembered how we would bonfire at the 'Bay of the Most Beautiful Sunsets' and of how, once a year, we would bundle up on the sand and we'd watch the fireworks from across the Bay.

And the night felt quiet and empty without them... it seemed as if every falling star reminded me of how slowly by slowly they were all falling away from me. The group tried their finest to get me to wrestle with them, yet I felt as if my real friends weren't with me on that almost perfect evening. I fell asleep that night struggling to hold on to whatever memories I could... but the sand was hard, the ocean was loud, and the stars seemed harsh and blinding.

The next morning was pitiful. I crawled into the shade while everyone else played in the water. I tried so hard to want to get up and join them, but my mind forced myself to sleep in the midday heat. When I got up and found that they had left, I felt the emptiness inside of me deepen. The heat was making me dizzy. The flies were driving me irritable, and I felt like I was going insane. Why did I need anyone?

And then I remembered how, a couple days prior, I had jumped out of bed at the sound of the phone ringing. The cats had been all over me that morning, and I had closed the door to close them out. When I answered the phone, it was hungry Brian looking for a friend to lunch with. I looked at the time on the microwave, and it read 11:20. "Sure," I said. "I'll meet you in 30." I hung up the phone and telephoned Ash. "Sure," she said. "I'll pick you up in 25."

We got to The Cafe, Ashley and I, a half an hour later, and Brian was a quarter to done. So she called up her daddy and Richard came over, then Brian could leave us alone. Well Richard ate nothing and I ate tempura, and Ashley had something like spam. When Leslie came by, we asked her to sit, then Richard decided to leave. Before he could leave, tho, Chrissy stopped by, and she ordered her lunch, but to go. Then she sat at our table, and asked Dick "How you doing?" And he ended up staying a bit longer. By the time we were finished, Lesleigh and Rachel had come and the kids were all hungry for lunch. So she got them both lunches to go in a baggy, and then we all left with full bellies.

I realized then that friends come in various packages. Some of them are canned pretty darn good, well preserved and everlasting... good for eternity, hardy and weathered. They may be like a favorite trinket you place on a shelf, one that you can take down and show off, or admire when everything else seems so imperfect. Or a friend could be a dusty photo you can return to whenever you feel like the memories are slipping away. Some friends are momentary, a quick fix like a double espresso on a drabby day. And some are permanent figures, like the firm foundation of a standing fixture. Whatever a friend is, they're there for your well being. And you are there for theirs.

So back to the night when I got off of work at 11, and went down to the beach with Nick, Brilei, Leslie and Fe the french mime... it was then that I made up my mind to try and be happy with all that I had. It shouldn't matter that my friends in New York were all working together at the annual Hampton Classic horse show and I wasn't. Because I'm here now, lying in the sand with a group of new friends, pretty and polished and ready to play, each of them with their own personality quirks. "You wanna wrestle?" they asked me, and again I said, "No."

But this time it wasn't because I didn't want to be there with them. The truth was that I was there and that they loved me for who I was, just like friends should. They too had friends they were missing. They had lives outside of what I knew about them. But they chose to be there with me, and they smiled at me, even when I turned them down on their offer for a wrestling match.

So I sprawled out in the sand with Scott's radio on 'Oldies 104.7', and I smiled as I remembered how Nick flipped Brian with one hand while eating a cookie with the other. Leslie lay there on her cot with her ever ready listening ears. Kat said goodnight as she tucked herself into bed next to Sammy. And the lantern was bright as it shone down on Keith and Fe playing trumps with Brilei and Brian.

I fell asleep in the sand again that night... but this time it wasn't as hard as it was a few nights prior. The ocean rolled quietly as I shut my eyes, and the stars were soft and unassuming.

And now we'd like to ask: How do you deal with having to make new friends in a strange place? Do you find those fast and furious connections? Or do you pace yourself? Do you sometimes find it hard to "let go" of your old friends and make room for the new? Or is at all good for you? Comment below and let us know!