I want this bag.

I'm buying this bag.

Yes, I'll look like an a-grade idiot, but look at what's in this bag.


It is officially the most hilariously stupid advertising ever.

The only thing I don't like about this is that someone else did it & not me.


[edit]: I really don't know what's going on with the formatting on this blog. It seems to have taken on a life all of it's own. I honestly don't press enter six times whenever I want a new line. This thing is just doing this all of it's own accord. I may move to a site that isn't awful at some point in the near future. Stay tuned.

Discordant updates from bits of my last few weeks & maybe a bit of what's to come...

Hokai! Time for my ever-extending 'regular' update on what's happening in my brand new life here in The Hongiest of Kongs.

So, I've got bugger all photographs to share for once, so I'm just going to use a good old-fashioned WALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXTWALLOFTEXT

There, that might weed out some of the reading haters.

So the let's get Kronkite on this fortnight. What it is, what it was, what it shall be.

Is:
Well, this kind of is what it is. I'm now really in the swing of things here I guess. Got my Hong Kong on. Eating a lot of Chinese food for some reason. Working my butt off. Well, by Australian standards anyway. Enjoying my little house. Not really enjoying my rubbish cable TV. Seriously, it's like the volume of channels dilutes the quality of the programming. If you've one channel, there's often something on at least a couple of times a week. With 75 channels you're lucky if it isn't just 40 channels of Gilligan's Island, nine different MasterChefs from five different countries, news in three languages about things you don't want to hear, the usual Bloomberg screamers (Buy buy buy screamers, or sell sell sell screamers, & increasingly the hold off for now because we're becoming more & more out of touch as the mountains of information flying around everywhere at the moment makes it really difficult to corral into a cohesive argument for or against any kind of action at all screamers) & documentaries about things that aren't true or interesting.

Oh, but life is good. Sorry, got a bit carried away there.


Was:
And life was especially good this last fortnight given that my wonderful girlfriend visited me here for the first time. Was pretty awesome to have someone to share my whole Hong Kong experience with who wasn't this blog (no offense), or my boss, who generally cops the frustrations & dumb stories more than the ups.  So, weekend before last we went with some mates on a tour of one of the local 'wet markets'. A wet market is just the Honky name for a food market. "A tour"? I hear you sneer. Hell yes, a tour. A guided tour. With a true to life tour guide. If you think this is a little bit touristy & knobbish, then you're probably right, but just for a minute picture the Queen Victoria market. Okay, got it? Now, put it somewhere that you can't remember how you got there in a place you've never been with fruits, vegetables & fish you've never seen before in conditions you're really not used to, all signed & spoken in a language you cannot possibly comprehend. Makes it a little more challenging, right? So this tour guide was a MAJOR history nerd who had gone completely native. He's an Aussie bloke who lives somewhere in the New Territories, which is Hong Kong's new suburban development boondocks way out past Kowloon, speaks Cantonese, & taught HK social history at one of the HK universities. His big redeeming feature however, was his monster reservoir of knowledge about food in Hong Kong. Where it comes from, how it's treated, how hygiene factors in, what to buy, when to buy it, what to do with it. The works. Was freakin awesome. I am now almost completely at ease going into those crazy little markets dotted all over the city & getting what I need without looking like a dickhead, without annoying any shopkeepers, or without buying something that is going to sit in my fridge slowly dying of fading good intentions.

As for the rest of the week we just hung out, ate a whole bunch of different food, looked around the city & generally riffed off the Hong Kongyness of everything. Was an awesome week. Oooooooh! And we went to the Peninsula for high tea. That place is way posh & it served pretty tasty food. I lied before, I actually do have a photo or two of this. Foods:

Some big, fat guy enjoying his high tea less than us. Check the surroundings though. I want to live in this hotel. 

Mini things. Maxi flavour.

We also had a trip up to Victoria Peak. Essential Hong Kong activity, especially on what one would call a clear day by Hong Kong standards. We sweated like only hairless mammals can sweat walking up the whole way, but it was worth it. Felt good & drank fruit juice while taking photos of stuff.

Photo of stuff.

And then last weekend, it was time to wrap up with a few cocktails at the Intercontinental. I've been really curious about this hotel since I read about their infinity pools. The hotel itself sits out over the water of the harbour, right above what they call the 'Avenue of the Stars', a cheesyass knock-off of that boulevard of fame or whatever it's called in LA where stars are laid out with actors' names & they stick their hands in the cement. The lobby lounge itself was hotelish enough: A live jazz band playing innocuous tunes in the background, just that little bit of character lacking, comfy chairs, an over-abundance of waiting staff & a drinks list that seemed to have become frozen in time. Actually, the whole place has to be honest. It is starting to shows signs of its age with the cream & brown colours, plastic flowers & tiered floorspace, it's got 80's flavour like a bunch of blonde flattops rocking guitar-shaped keyboards. Anyway, we went there with some mates mostly to sate my curiosity, but also to see the nightly light show, where the local government coordinates with local building developers to waste monstrous amounts of energy flicking coloured lights on & off of all the buildings on Hong Kong island to give a really pretty effect while blasting floodlights into the sky that could honestly bring down the moon if they concentrated on it they're so goddamned powerful.

But we missed it.

We'd all pigged out at this really good Indian place hidden away in some god awful looking Tsim Sha Tsui low-rise building, & then tried to make our way to the hotel without getting rained on in a big way. So that was a bit of a shame, but the fact we had nothing to do but drink & wait out the storm that had followed us there meant we had a pretty good time anyway. Although no light show, we did get a good glimpse of a bunch of storm clouds sliding down the hills & over Hong Kong city. The only decent shot I go is the one below, but take my word for it, it was pretty cool. Well, I was excited anyway...

Gotham City!

But of course, things had to come to a temporary end with a goodbye at the airport express train terminal. But it was a happy goodbye & a good end to a great week. And just in time for a return to the pile of work that was no doubt building up on my desk after a few days off.


Shall be:
Now, given that I'm here just floating around, I've been instructed by someone that I've got three weeks to develop a new hobby. Seemed like a reasonable request at the time, but it's not a lot of time when you're regularly finishing work just in time to get home do a load of washing, talk to yourself a bit, cook, then wander in very tight circles on a very small piece of floorspace muttering & plotting nothing in particular....hang on, wait. That sounds shit. Kill that. Forget I said anything. I mean, it's not a lot of time when you're busy. And yeah...when you're busy...oh, who am I kidding. I need to find something to do with myself.

I've taken to waking up at the same time every day, which is actually working out pretty well for me so far. 6:30am every day I'm out of bed, bright-eyed & bushy tailed. Well, yesterday morning I was blurry eyed & banging into things while still talking to my dream friends about flying houses, but I was still up & 90% of the time it's relatively pleasant. It was put to me by a bloke who came to our work to tell us how to be more 'resilient'. Evidently he was some kind of Guru on Everything in Life Ever given the amount of stuff he covered, but wading through the thicket of bullshit he laid down every 15 minutes of that 8 hour-long session, he did hit on one thing I was really concerned about. Namely, sleep. He said if you wake up at the same time every day you'll sleep better. Then of course, went on to yak yak yak about ultradian rhythms, & how we work in conjunction with the sun & probably some other bollocks about how his swami helped him ride the ancient meridians on a wave of self-righteousness to sacred Nirvana where he saw straight into the browneye of eternity, etc. Point is, that one thing made some sense to me. (The sleep that is.) So getting up early each morning has really helped me sleep better & now that I've become sick to death of being the first person into work, I've decided to go to the gym in the mornings. In an effort to make this something I've got a stake in beyond the usual guilt & terror of becoming a fat, white expat, I hit the pharmacy last night & bought a bucketload of toiletries & essentially moved house this morning. Most of the stuff that I require to make myself presentable in the morning is now located at the gym, so unless I got there I'll probably get that whole 'homeless but he's okay' vibe going at work. Body & hygiene ransom. I'm a winner.

So that's one thing. But I mean, if you're one of those people for whom the gym is considered a hobby then...you know...that's kind of....well, gay really. So gotta find something else. Hong Kong being the socioeconomic freakshow that it is, this is not an easy thing to work out. Ballroom dancing is - as was the case in Australia -  expensive enough that I'd probably be better off just making my hobby weekend flights to everywhere in Asia. So that's out, which sucks as it's fun. Rowing? What about rowing? Oh, no sorry, that's some kind of ultra-elitist wanker sport here for people who spend their youth being fit & rich until one day they're wearing their MCC blazer on the bus everywhere & complaining about gout & getting up to pee at night (but are still rich). It's like $30,000 Aussie to join the Royal (pffft) Yacht Club who apparently have some kind of rowing monopoly & then you have to pay god-only-knows how much in monthly fees to keep their stupid boat house air-conditioned all year around. Presumably so the italian marble flooring & golden boats don't get too warm when the army of cabana boy schleppies prance out in their white shorts & canvas shoes to polish the fixtures with champagne...okay, anyway, you get the picture. Rowing is for pricks & is out. Going to learn Canto at work! That will be cool. I'm assuming given that it's being run by people who actually work at my work that it's not going to be the most structured learning environment however, so calling that a hobby is not going to work real well. Gaah, what else...?

Taking suggestions by the way people. Feel free to throw them out there.

Maybe I'll buy an electric guitar & take that up again? Make my neighbours hate me with a vengeance. Nah, that'll take up too much room, get boring & perhaps a certain girlfriend will ram it down my throat when I try to play Slayer solos all day. Also the neighbour vengeance may hurt. I totally want an electric drum kit, but given that I had to opt for a smaller washing basket on account of space concerns that is completely out of the question for now. Also, I need to do something social. Painting classes? No, I don't like mess. Writer's Club? Hell no, thought about that a bunch of times & the thought of someone actually READING something I made fills me with paralysis-inducing, heart-wringing terror. I really don't get ball sports, so that kind of thing is out. I really can't get enthusiastic & competitive about goals unless those goals are a) being scored by someone else & I have a pie/beer/both in my hand, or b) something I'm going to get paid for. SUPERHMMMMM....

Really peeps. Help a man in need out over here.

Good gravy. What utter drivel. So that's the fortnight to come: Thinking about perhaps doing something. Rock on Luke... Oh, & my buddy is getting married soon so there's a buck's night happening in Macau. That's kind of equal parts exciting & terrifying. Those things freak me out a little. Expectations of bad behavior, vindictive drinking, & vicarious mongitude are a dangerous combo. Lucky I'm a supertanker when it comes to booze resilience. I'm crap at hangovers though...not looking forward to that. Anyway, the Code being what it is, don't expect a report of that here. I will however, delight in giving a minute-by-minute breakdown of the following day. It goan be purdy.

So until then...

Back from the wilderness...

Or at least a small island just off HK anyway.


Lamma Lamma Lamma! Let me hear you say "weeeeeee like seafood!" Ooh yeah.


Just a half hour ferry ride from the insane bustle of Central Hong Kong a mildly sleepy little island sits watching the constant flow of visitors pouring off the boats at 20 minute intervals intent on a good ol' fashion bushwalk over fully paved footpaths followed by the emptying of the region's breweries & oceans straight into their mildly wearied & massively famished bodies. In short: Good, clean fun.


Someone from my work organised for a big group of us to meet up on Sunday morning (yes, it took me a week to write this. What?) & catch the ferry across to Lamma Island for a walk from one side to the other where we would finish up with a big seafood lunch. Great plan. Tops. But as it turns out, no matter how upwardly mobile someone might be in the workplace, it means absolutely bugger all when their trying to drag their arses out of bed on the Sunday of a long weekend. So from an expected group of around 10 people, eventually I managed to find the other 3 guys who'd decided to make the oh-so-early time of 10:30am & we set off on our odyssey. Oh, actually, while I was waiting I saw some awesome fashion crimes. I swear the minute a guy gets married on in this city they cease to give any shit whatsoever about what they wear. Their criteria becomes a) Is it branded & b) Is my wife not angry. If there's two ticks, then they're off. Check this picture of a guy wearing two individually horrendous articles of clothing together as one barf-friendly ensemble, flanked at equal distance in the background by a grown man in a Spiderman shirt & some chick who has evidently pinched Michale Jackson's pants from the Thriller filmclip:

People...

So reconciling the fact that I'd have to spend the day on a somewhat remote island with people like this, I gave a little sigh & started looking around to see if anyone else had arrived. They hadn't. Oh well, more waiting. Eventually however, the four of us found each other, cursed & ridiculed the lame-os that had chickened out of a light walk on a Sunday morning, & then hopped onto the ferry.


As one of the deckhands closed the door/gangplank thing, the ferrymaster evidently received some sort of telepathic message & started backing, not just out, but the hell out of that peir mooring. And as soon as we were pointed towards sort-of-not-land, BOOOOOOONT! We were effing off! Goddamn that man likes his job. We basically wakeboarded in a thirty tonne boat for about twenty minutes among light chatter & a many comments about the number of people who were streaming to & from the "Vomit Bag" dispenser as we alternately looked each other in the chins & foreheads. I think the trip was around half an hour, but honestly after getting locked in a decent conversation & losing all concept of time by having my brain jostled up & down in the same way that you buy a bag of chips from the supermarket but realise only the bottom fifth is full & so everything in there has been turned into salt & vinegar flavoured chalk, I really can't say for sure. Also I forgot to check my watch. I'm details focussed during the week, the weekend is my coma time. Anyway, moral of the story is we made it in one piece after a journey that was as comfortable as the devil-worshipping nautical methhead behind the wheel could have made it.


Then this happened:

HAHAHAHAHA! Oooooh. Engrish.

So, I guess the message was that they didn't want any loaded guns on their island. That puerile humour distraction aside, I can say that I was actually a little surprised with Lamma when I first stepped off. I think I've said this before on this blog, but when you live & work in the little bubble that is Hong Kong city you can tend to actually forget that this is still China. Still, it was plenty quaint & all that. Observe my software using skills as I stitch these photos together in a way that lets me take credit for it:

Oooooooooooooooooooooooh

And the other side of the arrival pier:

Can't remember the name of the town we arrived at, but it was a small little place speckled with an equal third each of gwai low visitors, HK locals getting away from it all (well, getting away from some of it at least), & true locals who looked pretty much like they'd all been especially helicoptered in that morning from Koh Samui with daggy old t-shirts & everyone either sitting on their doorsteps languidly fanning themselves or winding their way through the narrow streets on bicycles. It was kind of a cool little town & I'm definitely going back for some outdoor barbeque & beer action, but for some reason it happened to host one of the cheapest fine cheese shops in the whole country. I have NO idea why French brie & English ash cheddar would be cheaper on that little dot of nowhere, but there it was. Cheap cheese. Freakin' odd.

Streets

And streets 

a THIRD street 

And nope, that's pretty much it. This unbelievably ugly thing de-marks the end of town & the beach.

Ahhh, fun in the (smog filtered) sun at the (power station) beach.

The start of the trail to the other side of Lamma was a little more crowded than I'd anticipated...

This next photo needs a special introduction for two reasons. Firstly, I need to post this as it's one of only two (bad) photos of me with me actually in it that I got all day no matter the fact that I look like someone who was hit really, really hard on the head as a child & has been extremely happy ever since. Secondly, It's the best shot of one of Lamma's defining characteristics. Yes, it has nature & (real) birds (actually) singing, & yes it has half decent beaches, & yes yes yes, it has awesomely fresh & abundant seafood, but what it has more than anything else is a whopping great bloody coal-fired power station hanging all zabbly right off the side of it's most popular swimming beach. I mean I don't know about the people back home, but if I was going to crank out a 70 metre tall poisonous eyesore the size of a city block I would SO dump it right on Brighton Beach. BOOM. Enjoy the vista of your plummeting property value, locals. You're welcome.

Me posing with the power station. I call him Gareth.

Anyway, the poor photographical skills of my coworkers aside, this was an uuber pleasant walk through what was - by Hong Kong standards - an uncrowded & very green island. With few slopes & a gentle breeze, this was more of a meander than a proper walk but it got us out of the house, reminded us that there are birds in the world & gave us all a case of the squelching megatropical mondo-sweats. Actually that last part wasn't so great, but hey, it's the tropics. Whatarayagonnado, right?

Check that humidity. 

And it was all of course, followed up by the real reason that we were there: A million ice cold glasses of beer & a pile of seafood that would make one of those killer octopus things think twice about it's love handles. Mo' photos for y'all. This time it's all about the food. Thanks for coming. Talk again soon. Nom nom nom...

Decent view. Nice. Quaint. 

Wasn't busy when we arrived.

Then it got real busy all of a sudden...

A few of my coworkers, their partners, etc.

Gigantic mess caused entirely by me. It was really yum. 

LOBSTERS! *SQUEEEEEAL!*

Almost best fish ever. OMGsotastylol.

And what lunch would be complete without me getting boozed & acting like a twat whenever a camera is pointed at me. I was happier than I look here. Also, I think there's a lot of food in my mouth by the look of things.

In conclusion:

Everyone should go to Lamma island. It tastes good.

I HAVE THE POWER!!!

This is even better than the 90's! I now have the Internet. I can finally call my home 'home' now that I can get home & look at dumb webcomics, download crap I don't need, laugh at YouTube clips that add no value to my life, check the news thirty times before I go to bed & complain that the cable tv is glitchy & there's nothing on.

Awesome!