Good Morning Hong Kong! Or Evening? I’m Not Sure.
I don’t know why. Well I do know. It’s because I’m an anomaly. But I love flying. Most people don’t. Actually, to clarify, I’m probably the only person who enjoys flying. I’ll put up with the long lines to take off my shoes. I’ll deal with the tired, inattentive, and often rude airline employees. I’ll face all of it because I love to fly. The idea of sitting on my backside, sleeping — albeit restlessly — all while moving over the earth at 500 miles per hour and covering thousands of miles is incredibly appealing. This is at the front of my mind because on the way from Amsterdam, I read Bill Bryson’s book, “A Walk in the Woods” about hiking the Appalachian Trail. He covered about 10 miles on a good day. I’ve done about 11,000 in two days.
So I’ve just landed in Hong Kong and my impressions are skewed. It’s a gray, dreary day. So foggy, I guess, that our pilot missed a turn on the taxiway. Apparently, you’re not allowed to drive through the grass here so he slammed on the brakes. That doesn’t sound like much if you’re driving your family’s station wagon. But this was a 747. Screeching tires, screaming babies, luggage flying. Okay I’m exaggerating. We were all jet-lagged.
Then, there was the trip from the airport to the hotel. For some unexplained reason the driver had a colleague with him. Neither one said much. But that’s not the interesting part. The driver also had this weird thing for the gas pedal. But, kind of like a diabetic eating chocolate, he didn’t want too much at once. He’d give it a little gas and let up. Give a little, let up. Give, let up. The whole effect was that the car felt more like a rocking chair than an automobile. Believe it or not, I was actually relieved when he put on his bluetooth headset because it gave him something else to concentrate on.
Anyway, I’ve safely checked into my hotel and am perched on the 42nd floor of a tower in Hong Kong (although the room key outsmarted me and required not one, but two hotel employees to train me). What a crazy trip this is. It’s Friday at 5:45 p.m. It’s Friday at 4:45 a.m. for most of you. I think? You’re asleep so you probably don’t know, either. Anyway, it’s time for a shower — I still need to wash the Red Light District off of me.
Good morning. Or good evening. Anyway, good something.