my HK ups and downs

Ah Hong Kong. For such a big town, you’re a bit of a squeeze.

Down in the rumbling belly of the MTR, I’m elbows out, head up, personal space pegged out and firmly on course.

Up on the top deck of the tram, I’m planning how to get me a window seat for a little natural (but pungent) air-con.

Riding the open air escalator that grinds away above the half dozen blocks of my favourite places to eat, drink and shop, up to my SoHo flat, I am sweating as though I’m clambering up through the grimy alleys on foot.

On the 8th floor, in my glossy little flat, I’m freshly showered, either boiling wontons, sprawled out watching food porn, or trying to sleep over the sound of my own noisy thoughts. Or is that just the hum of the air-con?

Down along the fetid streets, I’m plugged into Powderfinger or Missy, dodging the tiniest Little Old Ladies on earth and eyeing off the curious wares – a basin of goose tongues, a basket of dried birds’ nests, and WHAT part of the pig is THAT?

Up on the 35th floor of Central Plaza, I’m a bull in a china shop, and how the HK boys must love that.

On the 13th floor of ING Tower, the HK boys holler right back at me.

Up on the 38th floor, at Nikki and Trent’s, I’m wine-fuzzy, belly laughing and feeling right at home.

On the 11th floor at Happy Foot, I’m a puddle. Because 50 mins of foot massage and I’m anybody's.

Along in seat 4, row G, ‘house’ 3 at the cinema in World Square, I’m slipping into hypothermia. Save me Bruce Wayne!

Up on the 3rd floor of Treasure Lake Golden Banquet I’m dueling chopsticks with Lee over the last scraps of turnip cake.

Perched up on the brocade bar stools at the Feather Boa, that second chocolate Martini seemed like a good idea…

On Sunday, in Sydney, I’m going to stand out in the back yard, suck down some clean air, relish the cold and use up a bit of space. Sound of Music style.