Late Summer in Japan and Hong Kong
This morning's weather in Osaka was reminiscent of the finest mornings of the English summer; you know, when the sun is shining in a way that instructs you to get up and enjoy it because it won't last long. The air was warm and fresh and the birds sang with the cicadas in discordant harmony. It was a shame to enter the clinically air-conditioned no-man's land of international air travel in Takaida, and emerge blinking at Quarry Bay.
After an unproductive afternoon in the office, followed by a brief but acquisitive trip to the Hong Kong Central Library (Collins, Lawrence, Wodehouse), I head back through Victoria Park. On the all-weather pitches, boys are playing football - except for the last one where inline skaters are circling silently. As I pause to buy a drink from the vending machine, the heavens open and the footballers, the skaters and the Filipinas dash for cover. I join them, darting from awning to overhang in a zigzag path to the bus stop, where the huge yellow 5X waits for no man whatever the weather.
In Kennedy Town, the thunderstorm has cleared the air, but not the streets. It is the seventh lunar month. The 7th night, a few days before, was Qi Xi; one of several festivals that vie for the curious title of the Chinese Valentine's Day. The 'Ghost Month' as it is also known is the first reminder that Autumn is setting in; even more so for the emigre Englishmen for whom the ubiquitous bonfires of Hell Money and offerings of food at the roadside are jumbled reminders of Harvest Festival, Hallowe'en, and Guy Fawkes'.
After an unproductive afternoon in the office, followed by a brief but acquisitive trip to the Hong Kong Central Library (Collins, Lawrence, Wodehouse), I head back through Victoria Park. On the all-weather pitches, boys are playing football - except for the last one where inline skaters are circling silently. As I pause to buy a drink from the vending machine, the heavens open and the footballers, the skaters and the Filipinas dash for cover. I join them, darting from awning to overhang in a zigzag path to the bus stop, where the huge yellow 5X waits for no man whatever the weather.
In Kennedy Town, the thunderstorm has cleared the air, but not the streets. It is the seventh lunar month. The 7th night, a few days before, was Qi Xi; one of several festivals that vie for the curious title of the Chinese Valentine's Day. The 'Ghost Month' as it is also known is the first reminder that Autumn is setting in; even more so for the emigre Englishmen for whom the ubiquitous bonfires of Hell Money and offerings of food at the roadside are jumbled reminders of Harvest Festival, Hallowe'en, and Guy Fawkes'.