Hong Kong has the kind of rain you can walk around topless. The vendors down Temple Street Market have no fear of getting drenched, even their cigarettes appear impervious to the slue.


The sounds of the city are dominated by traffic beeping like defibrillators at pedestrian crossings. A drum of metronomic ticks, quickening to trills or demi-quavers to signal it’s safe to cross.



One thing you need to know about Asians, they have a thing for karaoke. One street had a bar full of them, bookended by tarot card vendors and palm readers. The Asians don’t sing to impress. They sing for the fundamental joy of it. With gaiety and total lack of self-awareness.


The mainland has the spirit, the spunk. Hong Kong island has the tourists, the money, Lantau has the poverty, the ethereal magic. Tai O; the town that time forgot.


Oh yeh, Bamboo scaffolding is a thing.




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