Explaining why three male, unmarried room mates from Taipei were in San Francisco for ‘entirely independent’ reasons, raised some eyebrows amongst the people that we met. But honest, Abe was visiting family, Armando was jetting through en-route to Austin, and I was leaving Texas on the way back to Asia. These things don’t happen an awful lot, so I was bursting to see what it would be like to meet them in a country where we all speak the same language as the locals.

Through some minor level of planning, we found ourselves on a night out in a relic of 1970s kitcsh, The Tonga Room, complete with Filipino funk band that floats out into the middle of a small lake in the middle of the bar, and retreats again when the rain starts pouring down (yes).

[custom_field field=”Tonga_Room” this_post=”1″ limit=”1″ between=”, ” /]

Badly made cocktails, silly dancing and some sore heads set us up for a great morning of brunching and procrastinating on starting a hike off in Marin county…