My suspicions about the nature of Hallowe'en in Hong Kong were correct.
In the middle of the busiest intersection in Hong Kong, I saw the Grim Reaper, scythe and all. Everyone stared with bemused expressions on their faces.
He looked embarrassed.
Prostitution isn't illegal in Hong Kong.
However, according to the law, it's illegal for anyone to solicit another person in a public place for an immoral purpose.
Is it me, or is there a hideous double standard at work?
Having a beer at a pub is no different from anywhere else.
One thing that is, however, are the beer girls. What are beer girls?
Some of the more popular beer brands in Hong Kong, such as Heineken, San Miguel and Blue Girl hire willowy young women to give attentive service to patrons who order the brand they represent.
They dress in ridiculous outfits: imagine gaudy brand colours, skimpy mini skirts, and white platform ankle-breaker boots. The girls pamper and pout. They make sure customers always have fresh, dry coasters. They watch to see when the glass is bottoming out and offer to bring a fresh beer.
It would be demeaning were it not so cheesy.
I went downstairs to the 7-11 one minute from my flat and noticed two things:
· at 4am, Hong Kong is dead quiet. Little is moving, except the occasional vehicle, and ...
· the two plump and shiny rats strolling about, picking at the day's uncollected refuse at leisure.
This is the Hong Kong they never tell you about in the travel brochures.
One thing that makes my skin crawl are four teenaged girlfriends, two Asian and two Caucasian, walking through the streets of singing Say My Name at the top of their lungs.
Spotted on a clearance table in an underwear store:
From where did it defect, and why would I buy it?
I ordered a pizza; when I gave the woman my address and phone number in Cantonese, she repeated the details back to me in English.
Life keeps getting more and more surreal.
I hate mobile phones; Hong Kong is rife with them.
While standing in a queue at the bank, I was subjected to a cacophany of twittering, tweeting, and chirping, not to mention an endless parade of muzak/midi tunes butchering everything from Mozart to the Beatles.
It was nothing a good short-handled sledge hammer couldn't fix.