The night before, we came home to find
the lock changed on the door not to our own room but to the section of the hotel our cubicle was in.
This baffled me, though I thought perhaps
a jilted lover, or non-paying guest, had to be shut out.
Early the next morning, I was awakened
by repeated pounding and muffled shouting at this outer door. I thought it was an alcoholic or spurned lover, and tried
to go back to sleep.
Finally, I heard the manageress, Mango,
calling out as she strolled down the corridor, Passport Police!
I had heard of these raids; however
all the urgency in the world could not influence me to open the door without taking the time to get properly dressed, and
to brush my hair.
Imagine facing the police poorly groomed!
Really! And yet from the urgent cries
and shouts in the hallway, I wondered if they could so unreasonable as to expect that. Unhappily for us, our room was
near the main entrance.
Joe was very patient about the whole
fracas, considering he had recently been living in a half a million dollar apartment owned by his Cantonese Canadian family.
He is somewhat undertravelled as well, having only been to Calgary.
The pair of police officers seemed puffy
cheeked and also not too happy about having to get up at four or five in the morning to do these Immigrant Raids on the budget
hotels of Nathan Road.
Seeing we were Canadians allowed them
to quickly retreat as the possibility has crossed their Asian Minds that Canadians might not be too anxious to leave the wonderful
world of free schools, free hospitals, government pensions, and moderate climates that don't cause your skin to break out
in a rash from sleeping with your limbs too close together.
I slept too long into the morning from this, as
I usually am on the way out the door before 8 a.m. and managed to miss breakfast at Delifrance.
We went to the American Cafe near American Express,
and Joe had a Korean wrap sandwich and I had my usual fishburger with double coffees.
After that I had a long long day on this website,
working for more than 6 hours. We went for another snack, and I had a Hong Kong coffee, which is a glorified name for
Instant Coffee with Tinned Milk, and Joe had another Asian snack, bits of meat stuck onto long wood sticks.
Do you want some? He asked.
No, I said, I am not hungry, and I
don't care for meat either.
We went back to work on computers, and finally ended
up at Cafe de Coral, where I had seafood pasta, and he had the same.
This is almost Italian, I said, All
I need in cheese.
Wait a minute, he said, jumping up, and
returning with a green cylinder of Kraft Parmesan.
I don't believe this! I said enthusiastically
sprinkling huge amounts of the powdered cheese onto my dull white noodles.
After this enjoyable meal by the Star Ferry Kowloon,
we returned to our luxurious hotel where we watched a documentary on The American Musical with film of George Gershwin, Irving
Berlin, Cole Porter, Ethel Merman, and Ethel Waters.
The day closed as awkwardly as it had begun, as
I developed a terrible migraine, possibly from the change in the air, heat to rain. Joe went through all our luggage
looking for the aspirin bottle, and not finding it, rushed to the nearest pharmacy to get me some pills.
They did not seem to work after ten minutes,
and I lay motionless, holding my head in real pain. Then suddenly it was the next mornng, and I was without pain, and all was well.
