I'm back from Hong Kong (part I- Thursday, Friday)

Apologies for not updating, but my time in Hong Kong was far too insane, and the lady in the manager's office (the only place where I could find even a trickle of internet leaking through the walls) seemed not to like me. I think I scared her dog.

We got a thorough tour of the block, searching for our hostel after arriving in Kowloon, Hong Kong. We finally found it hidden on the fifth and seventh floors of a high-rise which also contained a cramped shopping center. The smell of the heavy oil used in the food stands outside hung like a curtain in the dilapidated stairwells. Our room was small. The floor was white tile, and there was a bunk-bed set against the far wall. A yellowed air-conditioner pumped cold air into the room. Below the air-conditioner was a small window which offered a grimy view of a narrow, blackened alleyway, which was so criss-crossed by trash-laden pipes and cables that it was impossible to see more than twenty feet down. The bathroom saved on space by having no separate shower area at all. Instead, the nozzle sprayed directly down onto the toilet, the sink, and the showerer.

Within the first three or four hours of our arrival, Leila (Daniel's contact in Hong Kong) had managed to track us down. We had returned about an hour earlier from a large outdoor market ("The Ladies' Market"), where I had managed to pick up a great canvass messenger bag (I think I managed to avoid the dreaded "manpurse" look). Unfortunately, I had not yet really learned how to haggle in terms of Hong Kong dollars, so I feel like I got gypped into paying more than I had to. It still wouldn't have been expensive (meaning over $20 US), if I hadn't seen a far more awesome bag after buying the first one. I ended up bartering! I traded the bag I had just bought to another stand, and threw in $50 hk (about $8 US), to get the bag I currently have. And I love it. So bah.

Right. Time for me to confess to some stupidity. So, remember how earlier I couldn't get into the Shibuya nightclub because of my damned sandals? Well, the first order of business after Leila found us was, of course, clubbing. And, of course, the only footwear I had brought to Hong Kong was...

So, my desire to save money, my desire to go clubbing, and my hope that either dress code would permit sandals or I would be overlooked, vied in my head. The compromise I came to was to attempt to get into the nightclub, and, should I be rejected, to find some shoes in the area.

In the end, of course, I did not go clubbing that night. All the stores were closed by the time we arrived, and despite the valiant efforts of a strange New Zealander named Rhys (who at one point, a little drunk, gave me his shoes), I was unable to enter the club. I tried my best to persuade Daniel, Maya, and Rhys to go in without me, but in the end we wandered, drinking and eating casually, through a classy district full of clothing shops, night clubs, and sleek bars.

At one point, Maya and I pushed Daniel (who was in a box) down a hill, and then all three of us climbed onto a crane trunk that was parked nearby.

The next day, however, shoes became a priority, and I found some. I was able to bargain down to $140 HK for them (about $18 US). So, not bad. The day before that was spent touring various gardens and temples around Hong Kong, but I'll let the photographs speak for that when I buy that blasted USB cable I need and upload them off my camera.

So, Friday night, cheap new shoes on my feet and a spring in my step, I went clubbing with Maya at the very same club I had been rejected from the night before. Daniel stayed home to recuperate from the day's exertions.

I have to say, the evening began inauspiciously. After entering the nearly deserted club (ten or eleven guys sitting around the bar drinking, no girls, no one dancing), and having a couple of drinks, the music suddenly stopped. The lights came up, and the club was filled with police. Roaming in teams of two or three, they began checking everyone's ID. Apparently, they were looking for underage drinkers. After scrutinizing my passport and scribbling something on a piece of paper, the last officer finally departed and the music resumed.

Two cranberry vodkas and a rumcoke later (did I mention it was an open-bar night?), things began looking up. Maya and I started dancing, because that is what we came there to do, and we were determined to succeed. Eventually, we were joined by two others, one of whom had been relentlessly hitting on Maya all night, in the crudest possible fashion. About an hour later, girls showed up. Yes!

The night got fun fast as more people started dancing and the DJ woke up and the alcohol kept flowing. Around 3am, the open bar ended, and we decided to take a taxi back home to get at least a little sleep before...