Day 3: An Attempt to Escape the Smog

Over (or under if you take the express bus) the mountain and through the semi jungle lies Stanley... More markets, a dip in the bay and unfortunately more smog, too. Most of the photos just look hazy. Hazy: noun, what the locals call the smog in Hong Kong.

Another bus, another country, another adventure

I am sat on the top of a double Decker bus to Stanley on the southern side of Hong Kong Island. Can't help but recall our adventures via bus in Laos and Cambodia. There are differences today; the bus was built in this century, it is not held together with duck tape and there is no thumping of bad techno music to be heard. And, of course, this is a solo bus journey.
I've been fighting the urge to visit the same markets as yesterday. Staying within walking distance of the hotel is appealing. But the thought of missing an adventure is mire than enough to pull me along through the subway, onto the bus and ultimately  wapping 15 km over (possibly under as I've heard rumor of a tunnel) the hills to southern Hong Kong Island.
Typing on a tiny phone on a bumpy bus is less than ideal... so I will end with this... I am a lucky lucky girl and am trying my best to make the most of every possible opportunity.

Day 2: Birds, Fish and Gnomes (Oh My!)

Hong Kong Day 1: In Pictures

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Hong Kong

Thinking back to our trip to Bangkok, I remember thinking this is the land where West and East collide in spectacular fashion. Well, Hong Kong is the land the West consumed and the East is eager to reclaim! I have never seen so many high rise buildings in one place. Nor have I seen so many malls and shops. Around every corner is a Prada, Gucci, Dunhill, Longchamp, Tiffany, D&G, Coach, Valentino... You get the picture... And in-between are every other possible shop you could imagine including door to door malls and gallerias. And I suspect, from what I could see, they are full of people. As I type, it is Sunday night at 10:58 pm and as I look out my 40th story window I can see hundreds of people in the streets, the shops are all open and the neon lights are aglow! Speaking of 40th story, we aren't close to being the tallest building...by a long shot! The main thing reminding me that we are in Asia is the fact that I tower of most of the women and the majority of the men!

I have not fully formed my thoughts on this crazy little island. But I can say with certainty that I am looking forward to getting to know it. Today we wondered around Hong Kong Island, riding the Peak Tram to the top of Victoria Peak, took in the views of the Harbor and the skyline over a late lunch, then road the bus down to Central Pier to take the Star Ferry back to Kowloon and finally enjoyed drinks and dinner while watching the nightly laser light show along the skyline.

The bed is calling me now but I will try to upload photos tomorrow. I until then...

The Witchiest Witch There Ever Was...

My fondest memories of Halloween involve my mother applying rubber warts to my nose, green paint to my cheeks, gray color to my hair and long black plastic nails to my fingers as I would sit practising my best witch's cackle. For years, I choose to be a witch and my mother obliged. I wonder if she ever secretly hoped for me to be a princess or Mini Mouse or anything slightly less dark. There were other costumes, I am sure but none seem to stick so solidly in my memory. I recall a being a Gypsy; dressed in my mother's long white skirt rolled up countless times at the waist and a Hawaiian print shirt tied in a knot with plastic bangles on my wrists and several inches of my mother’s make-up plastered onto my face. I asked my mom what a Gypsy was and she gave me the reply that would become standard. “They are the people who left you on our doorstep as a baby.”  Looking back, I think the Gypsy costume was one of my mom’s last minute wonders, seeing as how my brother was a ghost fashioned out of a white sheet! But it didn’t matter; last minute or ages of planning my mother had a knack for making it happen on the big day. I don’t recall shopping for costumes or discussing options or the lead up to the big day. What I remember is my mom’s warm breathe on my face as she painstakingly applied mascara to my tiny lashes as I giggled uncontrollably. I can see her now stepping back to take me all in before applying a last minute touch of green or black paint.  I also remember her consoling hugs as I cried about the loss of every last one of those black plastic nails.  And then there are the photography sessions with the Kodak Disc that have produced a photographic essay of my transformation, year after year into one of the most believable witch’s to ever walk the trick or treat circuit since Salem Witchcraft Trials of 1692.

From the Sky Train in BKK