Dedicated to sharing the beautiful, frustrating, and oftentimes awkward cross-cultural experiences of life as an expat.


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Peanut butter hummus and hummus with olive oil alongside flatbread.
International flavors find new roosts in Nyaung ShweInle Lake, as Myanmar continues to dish up prime places for adventure seekers to feast upon.

Nestled just off Yone Gyi Street near some of the touristy town’s most popular hotels is One Owl Mediterranean Bar and Grill. Offering an array of Mediterranean and fusion dishes you likely won’t even find in Yangon yet, One Owl Grill is a must-try restaurant when savoring Inle Lake.

Owls of all shapes and sizes and colors perch on walls of the tastefully decorated space. Its cozy interior spills outside through large open windows at night, leaving an entire street corner aglow. Almost as inviting as its open feel are two very clean, well-stocked restrooms.

Prices are extremely reasonable at One Owl Grill, especially for the authenticity provided. If you're hungering for something healthy while exploring the area, definitely go for the hummus with olive oil. 1,800 kyats gets you a good size bowl alongside a piece of freshly baked flatbread.

Red Owl at One Owl Grill in Nyaung Shwe, Inle Lake.
If you’re in the mood for a bite of familiarity under four bucks, enjoy the scrambled eggs and bacon on flatbread for breakfast starting at 7AM. Dinner options such as sautéed pork leg with vegetables, and fried rice with garlic aren’t only delicious, they’re filling, and both are available for less than two dollars each.

Staff members are friendly, helpful, and open to feedback and suggestions. It was fun to help determine the final ingredients of a signature cocktail at One Owl Grill. Let me know what you think of the Ngapali Sunset. My favorite drink was the Red Owl, however. Hints of tamarind, strawberry, and lime combined in a beery brew makes for a very refreshing swig or three after a long day of boating and biking around Inle Lake.

Be sure to stop by One Owl Mediterranean Bar and Grill when in Nyaung Shwe, Myanmar. And nest awhile. Your taste buds will thank you. One Owl Grill can be found on Facebook, and check back often for its website to be fully up and running.

Sautéed pork leg with vegetables, fried rice with garlic, hummus with olive oil, and a mojito at One Owl Grill.

Exterior front of One Owl Mediterranean Bar and Grill in Nyaung Shwe, Inle Lake, Myanmar. July, 2015.

Customers ready to order at One Owl Mediterranean Bar and Grill in Nyaung Shwe, Inle Lake, Myanmar. July, 2015.

Decorative road signs outside One Owl Grill in Nyaung Shwe, Inle Lake, Myanmar. July, 2015.

Side view of One Owl Mediterranean Bar and Grill in Nyaung Shwe, Inle Lake, Myanmar. July, 2015.

Art on walls inside One Owl Mediterranean Bar and Grill in Nyaung Shwe, Inle Lake, Myanmar. July, 2015.


FACEBOOK: One Owl Grill
WEBSITE (Under Construction): One Owl Grill


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Chase Chisholm surrounded by nurses in an emergency room of a hospital in Yangon, Myanmar.

I refuse to only share about the high points of living overseas because that’s not life. It’s not real. A huge draw to being abroad (for me at least) is the struggle that comes with it—the hardships which add more depth. Risks are real. Especially when you choose to travel and/or live in places deemed somewhat dangerous, a little lawless, and always unpredictable.


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Lightbulb sign inside Fahrenheit Bar and Cafe in Yangon, Myanmar.

For craft drinks and Mexican fusion food in Yangon, Myanmar, head to Fahrenheit Cafe and Bar. It's open daily from 5 to 11PM, and is the perfect pre-party place to be in the city.


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There’s a field. Out there, somewhere, there exists a field where we’re to meet again one day. Someday. I know it. I hope for it. And I picture this field to be basking in morning sunlight, to be tranquil, to be the most perfect place for reading under a lone tree with nothing but breeze as disturbance.

The haven that’s served as our field for the past two months; however, has been anything but serene. It’s been my dang kitchen floor. My cramped, dimly lit kitchen has been our refuge. Save for a noisy water pump and flooding several times due to the rainy season, we’ve made this space our special place, our field. 

I’m haunted by it now. By the images of times we’ve spent there. I see them so clearly, so very vividly. I don’t even have to close my eyes to relive our first kiss, particularly the moments leading up to it. I picture it in front of me as I stand in the doorway, staring at what’s just a kitchen again. Not the magical place it became. I see us cooking side-by-side, making messes and getting tipsy off wine.

I find it unbelievably healing to share this, and I’m realizing I’ve never actually been heartbroken before. I’ve been in love, and my heart has hurt. I’ve also hurt others. I’ve just never really been the brokenhearted. It’s good to live this. It’s needed. I can now more fully understand deep sorrow; the extreme realness that goes along with grieving. I can now relate better to those I’ve hurt.

From early on in our time together, I said I’d devote an entire chapter or two of some book or memoir I might end up writing to our love, and on the importance of falling in love no matter the circumstances. This post will serve as the beginning of that tale, of our monsoon love story.

We were sitting at a table outside a restaurant when I mentioned this. It was dusk. An old church steeple towered to my left, silhouetted against sunset rays bouncing off cloudy puffs. Earlier that day, typhoon-force winds and rain kept us cooped inside a well-known joint where we enjoyed Shan noodles and light conversation. That’s where I captured the first of many photos of this heart I fell for. To remember how embarrassing it was for such a beautiful soul to pose brings a big smile to my face.

I knew the day would come, this day, where I’d be left undeniably heartbroken and holding onto nothing but hoping we meet again in that field one day. The field we dreamed up and talked about. Some day. But, I did it anyway. I let myself fall. I know I was fallen for as well. What we’ve had has been special.

Whether it’s the wrong time or we’re not right for each other, I’ve learned you can’t fall in love with the potential of what could be, even when you can see it staring back at you through teary dark eyes rimmed with a tinge of blue. It’s like falling in love with impossibility. 

As Myanmar’s monsoon season comes to an end, so does our time together. Not our love. Love remains and continues to pour down so heavily upon us. It seems you finally get who the person is next to you during your final hours. You finally see them for who they are, and what they’ve been trying to communicate all along. You no longer look for faults in each other. You no longer dwell on miscommunication. You no longer push or rush into things. You simply take the time to thank each other. 

You let the tears create wet spots on the pillows. 

You study the face in front of you. Every little detail you don’t want to forget. 

You reminisce. You apologize. You hold each other. You laugh. 

You allow the reality that it could very well be the last time to do any of this set in. 

You owe it to yourself and each other to do this, although it truly, truly is one of the hardest, most painful experiences worth having. 

And when love seemingly walks out of your life just as fast as it came storming in with the rains, you exchange those wrenching but necessary last looks, and you watch it go down the street until you can’t see it any longer. Just in case one day, someday, you don’t get to embrace each other again in that field out there, somewhere.


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Colorful, broken glass bottles at Nagar Glass Factory in Yangon, Myanmar.

When I first heard about Nagar Glass Factory just outside of Yangon, Myanmar, I couldn’t think of anything other than what treasures I might discover there. Every moment leading up to the first time I got to go, my thoughts were fixated on piles upon colorful piles of handmade, blown glass just waiting to be unearthed.