"What had impressed me the most ... is that he seems not to have lost his spirit of wonder after having lived in Hong Kong for such a long time ... "

Notes

It's Everywhere

One glaring difference between Hong Kong and Canada is how everything in my old hometown is spread out.

All this open space is freaking me out.

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Long Distance Luggage

Everything was fine until I arrived in Vancouver.

Then it all went to Hell. Why? Because the baggage carousel kept jamming, extending the normal wait to almost an hour.

This delay almost caused me to miss my connecting flight, but while I'd just made it, my luggage did not. It was then scheduled to arrive on the next flight, but some genius in Vancouver thought it would be a great idea to forward it to Toronto, which would be swell if suitcases qualified for frequent flier miles. Since the bag had to be routed back across the country, I wasn't able to retrieve it until the next morning.

All this makes me appreciate clean underwear even more.

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Leaving on a Jet Plane

I'm leaving, on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again ...

Well, that's not exactly true; I return to Hong Kong September 20.

In the meantime I'll be knee-deep in all things Canadian; my last visit was six years ago. On the one hand I'm expecting a good dose of reverse culture shock, but on the other I need a break from the endless insanity that is Hong Kong.

But don't worry, I'll be telling stories from Canada while away, as I'm certain I'll be making all sorts of comparisons to the life I'm now used to living.

In the meantime, take a look at the Site Map for lots of BWG goodness, or check out the 10 brand new pics on the main page of Hong Kong Photographic.

We'll talk again when I reach the other side of the pond.

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Dude, Where's My Car?

Hong Kong Axiom #49: if your car is missing and shortly thereafter is found fully ablaze, you can be certain it was stolen by a triad thug.

More often than not, the vehicle is used in a battle with a rival triad gang: load up the car with bodies and weapons (knives, choppers, pipes, what have you), locate and intercept the other triad's car, deliver a beatdown, flee the scene, and finally ditch (and then immolate) the wheels.

It occurs to me that after half a dozen sweaty (and probably bloody) men have polluted your car, they've done you a favour by burning it.

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First, Class

A middle-aged man standing in the aisle of the First Class car on the East Rail line was lightly bumped by a younger man passing by.

Immediately the older fellow began barking, which got the other guy riled up. In short order the men were arguing, causing the more nosy passengers to stand from their seats so that they could get a good look (Hong Kongers love to watch a fight).

It took only 10 seconds for the argument to degrade into typical Cantonese curses, most of which revolve around one's mother.

My main thought during the hubbub was that First Class is a relative term.

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