............................................................................................................At long last, jungle boy writes again. At least that's how Kenny Chow refers to me, and how he introduces me as well for that matter. Thanks Kenny. I arrived in Hong Kong via the night bus from Yangshao (12 hrs) on May 23rd, over two months ago! Said bus ride was the worse night of my life, and I swear I will never take a night bus to Hong Kong again. To begin with, the so called bed I was promised was on a slant, and not long enough. This was compounded by the fact that at the end of what was effectively a slide, was an ingeniously fashioned torture device I will dub the toe pinch. See, in order to cram more sardines into this tin can, the beds were over-lapped utilizing a plastic foot pincher that doubled as a foot cozy for the person behind, and a head rest for the person in front. This diamond hard plastic is molded into a wave shape in section, producing a convex 'back breaker' on one side, and leaving a convex curve that plots its way to an infinitely small, we're talking calculus small point between the floor at ones feet. This is where our friend gravity takes over. When I first prostrated myself on the 'bed', I found that with the right positioning and a bit of zen focus, I could utilize friction to keep myself stable in a aggravatingly close to comfortable hell. This hell turned to, 'Oh my God, I'll tell you whatever you want to hear' torture once the bus revved up its nuclear powered engines. Powerless to stop it, this shaking overwhelmed my feeble 'friction' powers, and I spent the rest of the night sliding with all my fat ass American weight into the toe pinch, readjusting, then sliding again. After a few hours, I said to myself, 'Self, it can't get any worse, right?' That's precisely when it did. As is often the case in Asian bus journeys, the driver, usually a 13 year old punk ass, will have a co-pilot. This person, usually an older, slightly lazier version of punk ass, serves a vital combination of roles, but who knows if he gets paid for any of them? He is firstly there as comic relief to the driver, which can be put better as making sure the driver is doubled over laughing and NOT watching the road as he pulls a pass up hill around a blind corner honking the horn (which I find helpful to sleep). Other roles include but are not limited to traveling salesman, hot chick spotter, hot chick holar-er, hostage negotiator, ebay entrepreneur, and bodyguard. Did I mention this person is usually drunk. On this harrowing night, the copilot was an especially fat and lazy one, even I could tell he wasn't funny. At the moment I resolved to grit and bear a sleepless night of pain without despairing, is when fat boy decided to come back in the aisle looking for a place to sleep, on the floor. You guessed it, right next to me. Now my bed was a good 2 inches above the floor, so its not like we were sleeping together.... but we were. Getting snuggled, as nice as it can be on a cold and windy night, did not help my newly found resolve. The straw that broke the camels back was when the flatulence started. I despaired. Then he thankfully rolled over to bombard the fella across the 14 inch aisle, and started wheezing in my face. This guy's breath could strip paint, and I sat there wishing to die. I covered my head with my shirt like a scared turtle, and debated whether to ask the bus driver to let me out in the middle of God knows where, or to take my scuba knife to my wrist. That's when, in a moment of inspiration, and without the aid of his copilot, the driver decided to take what I believe to be the shortcut down the stairs of a mountain. The pinching intensified, and my entire upper body was bouncing up and down on the titanium bed on which I layed. I think this eventually knocked me out, thankfully. When we arrived in Guangzhou, (Canton), I awoke to sharp pain and swelling around one of my ribs, and a bruised ego, copilot had ditched me to spoon the guy from Barcelona across the aisle. I was planning on staying about a week with my friend from San Francisco Kenny, and his wife Liz, who had moved to the fragrant harbor a while back, but I was destined to spend a month there, the whole time nursing a broken rib.
Hong Kong is a great city, like nowhere else in the world. Part China, part England, but mostly Cantonese, it defies classification. The harbor, the busiest in the world for the last century, is beautiful but its days are numbered. Pressure to fill it in for more realestate has already changed it substantially. I arrived at the doorstep of the San Francisco Towers to find Kenny, Liz, and Lu Lu, their incredible dog. I must have looked a mess, I'm surprised they let me in. They did however, and we spent the next day sweating on the other side of the island. This was a theme that would continue. Without a doubt, Hong Kong in June is THE most miserable, humid pressure cooker of a city I have ever been in. You simply CAN NOT go outside. You better have a back-up air conditioner too, or your living will written up. I can not stress this enough, it was crazy, even the locals admit it.
With this in mind, I decided to get a job and stay a while longer. I was lucky enough to have a connection to a nice guy who owns a Landscape Architecture firm in Hong Kong, and he agreed to hire me on for two weeks. This was great because I was running low on money, and they had great air con in the office. It was also a great opportunity to work on Macau Studio City, a multi-billion dollar venture including a casino, three hotels, a shopping mall, five swimming pools AND a roller coaster planned to rival the London Wheel in size. My job was to lead the design effort and coordinate the multi-cultural staff. Easy! I put in a good effort, and enjoyed my time there, but was also reminded of how fucking great it is not to work, so I counted down the days till I was to leave. It was great to see Kenny and Liz in their new setting, and I was there for her 30th birthday party as well!
I worked up until the VERY last moment the day I was flying out to London. I said my goodbye's, stole a pen, and was out of there. I did catch my plane, and the flight was fine, much better then a night bus in fact, but as always, I couldn't sleep, which might partially explain what was to happen next.
To be continued....
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