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