Week Five: Happy Valley, Goodies From Home, and Macau

Taken on the observation deck of the Macau Tower, home of the highest bungee jump in the world; this might be my new life motto.

Sorry for the delay in this week's post- it's been a busy week, filled with readings I had little interest in, the assignment of a group project, and yet another typhoon (insert obligatory eye roll). In other words, classes are actually starting to demand at least a little bit of attention. As usual, though, I found some time (read: procrastinated) to explore more of Hong Kong life.

On Wednesday night, some friends and I decided to check out Happy Valley, the local horse racing course. I've never been to a horse race; to be completely honest, I've never even taken an inkling of interest in horses. I didn't even want a pony when I was a little girl. Nothing against them- my first college roommate was a dedicated equestrian, so I'm fully aware of the amount of dedication that horses require. To be honest, though, the only horses I ever really cared about can be found on poles, moving around in circles to happy childhood melodies.

That being said, I was a bit skeptical about how much fun I would actually be able to have at this place- but everyone else was going, and I didn't really have anything else to do that night, so I tagged along for the experience. When we arrived, I made two major observations. First, the spectators were predominantly Western- I think I saw a sum total of maybe 20 locals amidst the several hundred patrons. My second observation was the area in front of the track known as the Beer Garden, which featured several tents selling beer by the pint or the pitcher. Being an American, and thus being of the opinion that beer makes everything better, my skepticism waned.

The main attraction of the horse race is, of course, the betting aspect. The only gambling I've ever done was in the form of poker games with my brother's friends in high school and those scratch-off lottery cards that my grandmother used to send us for Christmas (I have what you might refer to as a 'progressive' family). We arrived at the course in time for the 5th of 9 races that night, so I grabbed a card and decided to bet $20HKD on the crowd favorite to place in the top three. My friends and I lined up by the fence to watch and see if we would gain untold riches from our four-legged friends.

Come on, #9!

Unfortunately, the horse that I had bet on didn't place. Disappointed and dejected, I decided to place my next bet on something that wouldn't let me down- a pint of Tsingtao beer. It turned out to be a better investment.

Drinks with friends > betting on horses

The rest of the week was pretty uneventful until Saturday. I mentioned in last week's post that I'd fallen victim to an upper respiratory infection, and my mother told me she was sending me a care package with some little goodies from home to help me feel better- soup packets, dried fruits and nuts, multivitamins, etc.

On Saturday afternoon, I received an email from the student mail office, informing me that my package had arrived. To put it plainly, 'little' is not at all the right word to describe the box I picked up. When I returned to my room and opened the box, I couldn't believe the contents: my mom had packed it full of not only the aforementioned goodies, but also some preserved packs of fish, Triscuits, granola bars, chocolates, even Pop Tarts!

I never thought I would ever become emotional over a box of Pop Tarts, but there's a first time for everything, I guess (I should probably mention that they're impossible to find here). I've successfully managed to deal with my spurts of homesickness since I've been here, but to receive a box filled with all my favorite treats made me realize just how wonderful and supportive of a family I have. I set up all of my new goodies on the shelf above my desk, and they've been serving me well for those times when I just don't want to trek all 15 floors down for food. I almost included a picture of my shelf so that you all could appreciate its splendor, too- but then I realized that would be a little too American of me ('Look at all my food! Be as happy as I am about it!').

On Sunday, some friends and I decided to go visit Macau, a nearby Special Administrative Region. After traveling to the ferry terminal, buying our round-trip tickets ($310HKD- not exactly cheap, but considering we were technically going to a different country, not so terrible), and enduring an hour-long ferry ride, we landed in Macau. At the ferry station, we found a tour guide who offered to take all seven of us to the major tourist spots for $100HKD each. We talked him down to $500HKD for all of us, and followed him to his minivan (looking back now, the situation was a tad on the sketchy side). First stop: the Macau tower.

Inside the Macau Tower main lobby, posed next to a replica made completely of noodles.

At 338 meters high, the Macau Tower is among the tallest architectural achievements in the world. The main observation deck is only 223 meters up, but it still offers incredible views (not to mention the opportunity to sign up for the tallest bungee jump in the world; I'm trying to convince my mom's boyfriend to do it when they come to visit next week).

The Macau skyline as seen from the Tower

Macau is most famous for its casinos (MGM, Sands, and the Venetian), but since we were only there for the day (and maybe because none of us were particularly lucky at the race course earlier in the week), we decided to forego the gambling for the historical landmarks. After visiting the Tower, we ventured on to a few more hot spots- St. Lawrence's Church, the A Ma Temple, the ruins of St. Paul's Cathedral, and the city center.

We took this on the deck outside of St. Lawrence Church: that's the tower behind us.

The entry to the A Ma Temple, one of the oldest temples in the region.

The steps to the St. Paul's Cathedral ruins, which are all that's left from the fire that burnt down the rest of the cathedral in 1835.

The center of the city, decorated to celebrate International Tourism Day.

The group with our tour guide, David, and his minivan.

Overall, this week was another great one in Hong Kong- I might have lost $20HKD on that disappointingly slow horse, but that hardly matters in comparison to receiving a box full of love from home and getting some fresh stamps in my passport.

Week Four: Typhoons, the Virtues of Soup, and Boating

"...Didn't have a camera by my side this time / 

Hoping I would see the world through both my eyes..."

-John Mayer, "3x5"

For the first time in my life, I'm actually thankful for the eleven hurricane seasons I've lived through as a Florida resident.  Allow me to explain.

Here in Hong Kong, we don't get hurricanes.  We get typhoons.  Some basic Googling on my part led me to the knowledge that basically, typhoons are hurricanes, but for some reason or another, they're just called something different here.  Anyway- the point is, I was expecting something like a hurricane when classes were cancelled on Tuesday, the typhoon warning level was raised to 8, and HKBU sent out urgent emails warning everyone to stay inside, take cover, kick out visitors, contact our families to say goodbye, seek religious salvation, etc, etc.

I might have taken liberties with those last two, but only slight ones.  For all the warnings, precautions, and exaggerated efforts on the part of school officials to make sure we all knew how dangerous the weather would be, you'd think we were actually at some sort of risk.  I was having flashbacks of the 2004 hurricane season, flooded roads, and week-long school cancellations.  I'm a Floridian, and when you tell me I need to be worried about the weather, I tend to think worst-case-scenario because that's normally what comes our way.  Suffice it to say, then, that I was more than a little condescendingly surprised by the little, tiny rainstorm that ensued.  No lightning, no thunder, no prolonged precipitation- I've taken power naps that lasted longer than this 'typhoon' thing.  

While all of the typhoon nonsense was going on, I became acutely aware that I didn't feel quite well.  I had a slight case of the sneezes, an incessant cough had been lingering on me for a day or two, and I didn't even feel like I had the energy to run a single mile at the gym, much less my usual 2-4.  I decided to visit the on-campus clinic since that big, scary storm had knocked out all of the other options for how to spend my day. 

Maybe it's just easy to say this because I'm used to sitting in waiting rooms for an hour, but the clinic system here in Hong Kong makes so much more sense than anything I've experienced back home.  Basically, when you walk in, you're asked to fill out your information on a (single) form (as opposed to several), and rather than sending you to an empty room to wait for the doctor, the receptionist directs you right to the doctor's individual office when it's your turn.

After waiting for maybe five minutes, I was called back to a clean, organized office where a pleasant looking woman with a mask was waiting.  I explained to her my ailments and let her witness my pathetic, miserable coughing.  She took a quick look at my ears, nose, and throat, and diagnosed me with an upper respiratory infection.  

The whole visit took maybe fifteen minutes- it took me longer to walk from my room to the clinic than it did for me to sign in, fill out my paperwork, see the doctor, and walk away with three days' worth of four different medicines in individual little baggies.  I felt like I'd just walked away from one of those movie-style drug deals, where the dealer menacingly says something like "I've got just what you need to feel better," gives a big (albeit somewhat creepy) smile, and procures a tiny plastic bag.  

Upon returning to my room, I managed to catch up with my roommate, Vera.  She was going to get lunch with some of her friends, so I decided to join her.  The only thing I could think of that sounded at all appetizing was soup, and I was in luck- the soup of the day was 'American Vegetable.'  Thankful for the small miracle, I hurried to pay for my bowl and grab it.  Unfortunately, the steaming bowl that was placed into my hands looked nothing like any vegetable soup I've ever seen.  It was basically just tomato liquid, carrots, onions, and cabbage.  No mushrooms, no peas, no beans, no tomatoes... the scarcity of substantial vegetables here never fails to surprise me.

I sat down and started diving into my soup.  It was a far cry from my mom's oxtail soup, but even though it was watery and had miniscule nutritional value, each spoonful made me feel a little bit better.  After a few moments, though, that blissful comfort was compromised by my roommate's staring eyes.

I shot her an inquisitive arched eyebrow (but didn't stop eating- nothing comes between me and my soup). 

"You're just eating.... soup?  That's it?"

Luckily, I didn't say the first thought that came to my mind, which was something along the lines of "Yes, damn it, that's what you do when you're sick, everybody knows that."  After all, I'm the outcast here, so it really isn't my place to imply that my actions are totally justified to someone who's only acclimated to the local culture.  So, I finished my spoonful and explained to her that in the States, it's customary to eat soup when you're sick because the warmth helps soothe your sinuses, it's easy on your stomach, it doesn't require any work besides heating it up, pretty much everyone likes it, and it just makes good common sense, obviously.

Apparently that's not the case here.  She was just shaking her head in disagreement.

"We eat sandwiches here.  Don't you want a sandwich?"

No.  Just soup.  Is that so wrong/weird/blatantly American?

My morning ritual.  Yes, I really did make a smiley face out of my various medicines.

I have no idea what the names of the pills in this picture are, but one was a decongestant, one was for pain, another was for my sore throat, and one just knocked me out for about 18/24 hours for the rest of the week.  By Friday night, I had attended one class, lost seven pounds, and convinced myself that a sniper was trying to kill me in the middle of the night (turns out, the blinking red light that I thought was a laser aiming device was my roommate's cell phone charger- nonetheless, I'm blaming the hour I spent ducking into the corner of my bed on the cocktail of drugs I'd been given).

Luckily, I was feeling much better by Saturday morning.  I was ready to get out of my room, have some fun, and reacquaint myself with sunlight- you know, all those things you take for granted when you're not miserably fighting with rogue sinuses that decide to stop working properly.  One of the French exchange students turned 21 earlier this week, so about 30 of us celebrated with him.  We boarded a private boat at Central Pier, loaded up with all the supplies we would need to eat, drink, and be merry all afternoon as we cruised around the islands surrounding Hong Kong.

I cruised around Hong Kong with 30 friends from around the world, what did you do this weekend?

We docked the ship close to one of the islands, and we noticed this little inlet with a natural waterfall.  This zoomed-in picture doesn't really do it justice, as we were a pretty decent swimming distance away; but here's a quick peak at it. 

Since the boat couldn't take us much further, those of us that wanted to explore it had to jump off of the ship and swim over to it (which, again, was much further than this picture would lead you to believe).  As I walked to the edge of the top platform, I was struck by a moment's hesitation as I looked down at the plunge I was about to take.  What if there were sharks?  What if there was a current?  What if one of us got tired, would the little canoe on the back of the ship make it out to us before we drowned?

My worries were interrupted by the constant splashing of my friends jumping in.  One deep breath and two seconds later, I had joined them.  It's almost funny how some of the greatest moments of my life tend to follow that unmatchable adrenaline rush of letting go, and that afternoon was no exception.  After I reached the rocky shore of the island, I found a cave just past the waterfall and explored.  I don't think I could ever fully describe what I saw through those scattered drops of falling water as I sat in silence with people who had only been strangers to me a mere month ago, but whom I now saw as friends; and as I think about it now, I'm glad I didn't have my camera with me.  There are some things that just shouldn't be cheapened by pixelated reproductions, and I'm happy to leave that moment as pure and untouched as the island itself.  

Hanging on to the tranquility of the islands with a little on-deck meditating.  And/or wine drinking, in my case.

We swam back to the boat for more eating, drinking, merry-making, and one of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen.  

It's hard to believe that I've already been here for almost a month (the exact anniversary will be on Wednesday).  I'll be coming home three months from tomorrow, 93 days to be exact.  All of my friends who have studied abroad warned me to savor every moment, because the time flies by so quickly in the rush and excitement of everything.  I like to think that I've always lived that way, but it took flying across the world for me to really grasp that concept.  Life's too short to hold back and not jump in.

Unfortunately, it's back to reality this week, now that I'm back to normal health.  I might be going to the Philippines next weekend, and my mom and her boyfriend are coming to visit in about 2 1/2 weeks, so stay tuned for more exciting updates as I keep exploring Asia and eventually play tour guide for about a week.  As always, all my love to everyone back home- especially today (Happy birthday, Jack!).  

Livin' the expat dream,

Natalie xox

Week Three: The First Sign of Homesickness, Temple Street, and the Discovery Bay Beach Party

Confession: I've always been a little cocky when people try to warn me about anything.  

It's not that I have an invincibility complex or anything- my myriad of injuries acquired as a child and my far-from-perfect driving record have kept me fully aware of man's limits.  However, I think growing up as the youngest of three children instilled a certain identifiable sense of indignation in my personality that I probably couldn't fight if I tried to.  

That being said, I always scoffed just a little bit when friends, family, and Stetson personnel told me that I'd probably experience homesickness during my stay here in Hong Kong.  I mean, I always knew that those who were issuing the warning meant well, but to be quite honest, I never thought it applied to me.  I was raised in a military family- up until I was 10 years old, I didn't even live anywhere long enough to feel like I had a home to be sick for.  When I left for college three years ago, I was more than ready to watch Middleburg fade out of my rearview window.  My independent streak has always served me well.

It came as a shock, then, when September 9 rolled around and I found myself desperately wishing I could hop on a plane, endure that 16 hour flight, and come home.  I didn't want to leave my room.  I didn't want to sit through any more classes where I was the only exchange student.  I had no interest in talking with my friends, much less going out of my way to make new ones.  

After a solid two days of lethargic misery, I had to admit that the impossible had happened: I was homesick.  My desire to prove something to myself by being here took a backseat to my desire to go back to the life I knew this summer.  I wanted to share a glass of wine with my mom, hold my boyfriend's hand, and joke around with my sister and her family.  Most of all, though, I wanted to tell my brother 'Happy Birthday' in person instead of over a Skype call.  Despite all the ways technology has made staying in touch easier than ever, I felt more alone when I disconnected the call than when I had dialed his number.  

My brush with discontent left me feeling more alone than I ever had in my life.  I began to identify with Michael Buble's song "Home" more than I'd actually care to admit (though now, of course, I can laugh at the image of me sulking in my room to the yuppiest singer in my iTunes library).  Slowly though, after several encouraging conversations with my support system from home (and after repeating aforementioned song an embarrassing number of times), I snapped out of it.  The proverbial fog lifted, ol' Mikey started to sound annoyingly whiny instead of brilliant, and even the rice down at Fiesta stopped tasting so damn bland.

Feeling refreshed, I finished the week more determined than ever to really throw myself into the culture of Hong Kong and to get to know as many people as possible while I'm here.  On Thursday night, I joined a group of students from the European Studies department for a trip to Temple Street, a popular night market known for its local cuisine and abundance of fortune tellers.  

Our first stop was a restaurant that, to put it lightly, I would probably never set foot inside of back in the States.  I forced myself to stop trying to count the number of health code violations I was subjecting myself to, and instead focused on making friends with the people at my table.

Loki, Me, Andy, Joey, Tonny, and Manuel

As with most 'authentic' restaurants I've visited since my arrival, the food selection had to be ordered by someone who spoke Mandarin.  Luckily, we had Andy at our table, and he took the responsibility of ordering food for our table.  The food was delicious, though I'm glad that I'd already finished eating when I saw a bug crawl across the banner behind Tonny.  Maybe it's the American in me showing itself, but I probably won't go back there.

Once everyone finished their dinner, we proceeded to explore the Temple Street night market.  I didn't really see anything that caught my eye until we rounded the corner and saw booths offering mystic direction for reasonable prices.  I don't necessarily buy into everything that fortune tellers say, but I think it's interesting that so many cultures embrace the art of tarot, palm reading, and numerology.  I've had two readings done in Cassadaga, so it should come as no surprise that I insisted on finding someone who could tell me my fortune by the end of the night.

I convinced my friend Craig (another American) to join me, and we enlisted the help of two local students to translate.  Since we couldn't read any of the signs that hung above the individual booths, we chose the mystic who looked the most authentic:

Check out that beard! 

This guy spoke absolutely no English, but we figured his gray hair, black shirt, and impressive facial hair lent him enough credibility to earn our money.  I decided to go first, and for $200HKD, this is what I learned:

• My current boyfriend is too strong for me (sorry, Jack).  My husband will have to be less intelligent than me, emotionally weaker, slightly feminine, and he must have a receding hairline.
• I'm going to get a job after I graduate (which is good news), but it will be in law, architecture, or finance.  Obviously, that English degree I'm finishing this year will serve me well.
• I need to have children between 2013-2018.  Considering I told the man my birth date and I'll turn 30 in 2018, that didn't strike me as a major revelation of any kind.
• I'll be very lucky until I'm 56.  No elaboration was given as to why things will change for me in 2044.
• I'll make a lot of money (call me materialistic, but this one made me feel a little better about the prospect of marrying a sissy boy).
• Apparently all of my major organs are going to go rogue- like my liver, kidney, and heart- and I should look into Chinese medicine when they start turning on me.
• I'm going to weigh 200 kilograms at some point in my life (translation: 400+ pounds).  Interestingly, though, he followed this with the advice to avoid wearing black because it will hinder my chances for having children.  Sorry, bud- if I'm going to be that big, you better believe I'll be wearing black from head to toe.
• I'm aggressive in personality (true) and really pessimistic (false).  
• I should wear only red and yellow.  Again, maybe it's the American in me, but I refuse to limit myself to that color combination.  I'll take my chances with black

After we left Temple Street, Craig, Tonny and I were invited to experience a crash course in local desserts.  Having never turned down an offer for chocolate/ice cream/sugar in my life, I gladly joined (and if it's in my fate to weigh over 400 pounds, then saying no wouldn't have helped, anyway).  Most of the treats we sampled were delicious, but there was one in particular that I remember vehemently hating.  Basically, it consisted of some kind of black, runny sesame seed liquid which hid these flour dough balls filled with sesame seeds.  Two words: never again.

If you're ever offered something that looks like the bowl in the middle of the table that's overflowing with black liquid, say no.  There's a reason that bowl is still full and every other one is empty.

The final highlight of the week was an 80's Beach Party that took place at Discovery Bay.  About 30 of us exchange students decided to check it out together.  We set out for the shore armed with our towels, wayfarers, and desire to obtain the promised free drinks that were allegedly waiting for us.

When we arrived at the beach, though, free alcohol was nowhere to be found.  Instead, there was an overabundance of small children, foreigners (but not party-people foreigners like us), and groups with matching ugly t-shirts.  Apparently, the only party taking place by the water was a Cricket tournament.  We'd been duped.

Or so we thought- until we found an energetic local who pointed us towards a deck that was practically overflowing with free margaritas and Carlsbergs.  I don't know what it was like when Moses and his wanderers finally saw the Promised Land after 40 years of wandering in the desert, but I imagine it to be something like the overwhelming sense of relief we experienced after wandering around sober for ten minutes.  

The day was more fun than should be allowed, and that's putting it lightly.  I think one of my favorite things about the exchange students I've met is that we all at least have a basic desire to let loose while we're here, and let loose we did.  There was more laughter, silliness, and tequila packed into the few hours we spent on the deck than I've experienced in quite a while.  It's funny how those three things tend to show up together.

Laughter- the universal language

This weekend was by far the best cure for homesickness I could have asked for.  I'm looking forward to three more months of moments like these.

Love, hugs, and happiness,

Natalie xox

Week Two: The Big Buddha, Legally Drinking, and Classes

"Your work is to discover your world and then with all your heart give yourself to it." 

-Buddha

This week has been a transitory one, to say the least.  While I'm still continually amazed at all there is to see here, I've had to work on shifting back into school mode.  My dorm room is starting to feel just like my old rooms at Stetson, the food at Fiesta is beginning to feel too familiar, and classes started on Wednesday.  I can't really just focus on being abroad in my Facebook and Twitter updates anymore; I have to include that pesky word 'studying' these days.

(Not that I've actually spent any time studying yet, but nonetheless, the vacation-y feel to the past two weeks is being forced away by classes and syllabi and required readings.)

Rest assured, though, I took advantage of those last few days of unscheduled bliss to do some exploring.  This week's big finds: Lan Kwai Fong and the Big Buddha on Lantau Island.

Last Thursday, the Stetson crew and I decided to explore Hong Kong's night life scene.  We ventured downtown to an area called Central (which, as the name would suggest, is located right in the heart of HK), home to a district called Lan Kwai Fong.  We picked up some new friends before leaving campus- Gabriela from Mexico, Tonny from Denmark, and Camila from Kazakhstan.  

Flor, Tonny, Josie, Me, Nico, Camila, and David

Photo Credit: Gabriela Gomezd

Our first stop was Bar George, which we thought to be a latin bar from the music emanating from it; unfortunately, we were wrong.  We made our way to the back of the club and found ourselves in a room that was playing what I can only describe as music that would make a great playlist for Adult Night on a Disney cruise line.  Case in point: no bar should ever play Summer Lovin' from Grease, much less a montage of all the songs from the movie.  Further, no bar should ever follow that up with Abba, Corey Hart, or Gloria Estefan.  We stayed for a few drinks, enjoyed the unintentional entertainment provided by the very drunk patrons, and left.

Sidenote: I ordered my first legal drink at Bar George- Black Thorn cider (they were out of Strongbow).  So far, legitimacy isn't as fun as sneaking drinks at Bill & Franks.  C'est la vie, I suppose.

Once we left Bar George, we discovered one of my personal favorite things about Hong Kong: 7-11 (I mentioned the overabundance of the convenience store chain in my last post).  Apparently, it's customary- and encouraged!- to buy alcohol from 7-11 and drink outside.  There aren't any laws that limit open containers in the streets, like there are in the U.S. (excluding alumni weekend, of course- anyone from Stetson knows that law gets overlooked when former Hatters come to party).  So, with that in mind, we purchased some Carlsbergs and set up shop in the street.

Here, the group decided to split- some people wanted to hang around LKF, but Tonny and I wanted to catch up with his roommate at another bar called No. 9.  After asking several people where to go, we eventually found our destination, paid our entry fee (not so bad for myself at $80 HKD and a free drink ticket, but poor Tonny had to pay $240), and boarded the swank glass elevator to the top floor of the club.  

For Stetsonites, I'll put it this way- No. 9 is everything the P Lounge wishes it was.  Like many places in Hong Kong, this place literally pulsated with Western music served up American style (that is, loud enough to drown out any chance of communication with your friends).  Despite my general disdain for overplayed R&B radio hits, I liked the atmosphere; for the price, though, it won't become a regular destination.  

The next morning dawned a little too early (11:00 am- apparently that 'beer before liquor' rule isn't always true...) with a phone call from Josie, asking if I wanted to go see the Big Buddha in half an hour. 

Um, duh.  Of course I was in.  I wondered if paying my respects to the largest Buddha statue in the world would earn enough karma for the universe to grant me relief from my headache.

Traveling to Lantau Island, where Buddha sits, proved to be a bit of an adventure.  We hopped on the MTR to Central, where we boarded a ferry.  Unbeknownst to us at the time, we had just committed to a slow, nausea-inducing commute that would take almost an hour.  Once we finally arrived at the island, we were tired, cranky, hot, sweaty, and hungry, so we did what most Americans would do in that situation: we found the closest McDonalds and feasted like there was no tomorrow.  Funny how that always seems to do the trick, no matter the situation.

Victoria Harbor as seen from the back of our ferry

Having satisfied our need for sustenance (and/or familiarity, and/or reasonably priced burgers and fries), we boarded a bus to the top of the mountain.   Once there, we spent a solid ten seconds trying to figure out how to find the steps to Buddha's throne before realizing that we should just start walking towards him; it's not like you could miss him or anything.

Our first glimpse of Buddha, as seen from the bus station

As with everything cool in Hong Kong so far, there was lots of elevation involved in getting to our final destination.  I'm telling you, between all the hills and stairs I've climbed in the past two weeks, I'm going to have the sexiest legs at Stetson by the time I come back.

So. Many. Steps. 

Unfortunately, I'm obligated to do more than legally drink and visit popular tourist sites while I'm here.  Part of that whole 'studying abroad' deal is having to actually sign up for classes.  So far, I'm taking Critical Research Methods (Journalism), Language and Education, Studies in Hollywood Cinema (!!!!), and Introduction to Painting.

I've been to all of the classes except Hollywood Cinema (which only meets on Monday mornings, so I'll let you know next week how that one goes- though something tells me that it's going to be a breeze).  I might drop the Painting course, considering that a) I have absolutely zero artistic talent beyond crudely drawn Trogdor the Burninator images and Garfield sketches I used to sell at recess in 4th grade; and b) It's located at the Academy of Visual Arts, which is on the other side of the town.  Forty-five minutes to an hour of traveling every Thursday to make it to a class I don't really need is beginning to seem like a bit much, and I've only been once (of course, my lack of knowledge on how to get to the AVA building and my subsequent $50HKD taxi ride might have something to do with my position on the matter).  

So, in summation, boys and girls: legal drinking isn't as fun as it's cracked up to be, but drinking in the street is every bit as glorious as it sounds; the Big Buddha is worth the journey, but skip the ferry and take the MTR fast track; and appreciate the many course options you have when you're not an exchange student, because we don't have that many offered to us here.

Check out more pictures from my adventures here.

Also! If you'd like a postcard, let me know your address.  I have plenty to send and postage is cheap here :)

All my best,

Natalie