... and don't we just love the clean air!
Wandering out this morning inadvertantly was a nostalgic trip down memory lane. The aftermath of any storm is always interesting, but a typhoon is almost a kind of ecstasy.
Ah, that was why I loved Hong Kong... the gardeners walking around in coolie hats and rubber boots... and a wife beater shirt and striped shorts... straight outta Lily Wong comics.
Thankfully no torrential rain like yesterday, but I suffered from out-of-shape legs... Jeeeez, did I really do that much walking when I lived here? Well, yes, I did. Bali life is so tame compared to all this. You know what they say about Bali Belly? The gastrointestinal ailment, usually a kind of food poisoning? Well, the real Bali Belly is the two or five or ten extra inches that the expat gets when he or she moves to the easy life of Bali. No exertion, no walking, and all the drinking, eating, and smoking that you can handle.
So I went to apply for the India visa (Mrs Gupta told me to get there to apply at 9 am, but those of us queuing at the Visa window were treated to a procession of Consular staff who began trickling in at 9:12 and were still sauntering in, in dribs and drabs, by 9:43, when I was handed my claim slip). Gupta herself didn't get there until 9:20, and I assumed she was needed in the back for pre-work chanting or to hear the "bureaocratic boost of the day." But when she emerged at 9:32, she began paper shuffling operations. Woops, forgot the receipt book. Back in three minutes. Maddening stuff.
Back in the hotel, my man says we can stay another night, that going to Macau is not really necessary, that he can make it a day trip. My dogs (Yankee slang) say, "yes, yes, stay Hong Kong." Here in our aerie above the harbor, all is wonderful.
The shopping list dwindles as I pick up Cuprinol, progest cream, all those amazing things not available in the land of begging to the Gods.
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