Les Aventures Whirlwinds

Once your plane brushes Chek Lap Kok tarmac, life changes. Upon disembarking, you’re either cocooned in a cosmopolitan rainforest or invaded by arctic chills inviting a curse under your breath, for not packing garments sufficing comfort. A shuttle scurries passengers to arrivals showing how colossal the tiny city is, by the myriad of ports passed in transit. Immigration teases as you weasel through the multitude of visitors also fervent to horde tax-free luxuries, equivalent to a week’s casual work. Foot-tapping an hour, you imagine being local, prancing through that smart-gate to freedom but on the bright side, your suitcase is ready to go. Formalities sorted, ‘tremendously eager’ is an understatement until the what-the-hell realisation of the airport’s unusual site. A cheeky grin develops at the challenge of locating the shenanigans you seek.

Delight! Extensive MTR lines, double-deckers, mini-busses, trams and ferries guarantee commute in any direction. The priority: accommodation. Taxi it is! Hand gestures and basic Mando are adequate to engage the driver but you wasted 20 on the wrong quick-learn phrasebook, as Cantonese rules, here. At halt, doors springing open sans touch combined with the next passenger’s impatience to get home, push you out. The heart sinks because light faded quickly. Little do you know 7-Eleven isn’t the only thing here open 24 hours. Desperation triggers a cry for mum but tired feet eventually find a balcony and the opportunity to meet your host city for the first time.

Skyscrapers flashing lights greet you with the "ching" of tea ware and “ting ting” of old streetcars, screeching along the metal snail-trail infiltrating roads of hard labour. You see people giving way to SUVs, all-weather umbrellas sprinkling overpopulated pavement, and bourgeois toddlers evading panicking nannies, while the infamous bum-bag, map-and-camera combo distinguishes expatriates from tourists. The overcompensation of neon signage penetrates your eyeballs that you head-jerk to the side for protection. A scent of eau de yuck spreads: polluted ocean mixed with dry -apparently edible- specimens lining the street markets. You picked a bad airspace to loiter, permitting the mystery smog’s lasting impression.

Stunned, you wonder if it’s a destination boo-boo. You were the type to quit but decided you’re now fresh, audacious and yearn to experience life at speeds mimicking Formula One. It's in this two minutes you realise Hong Kong is your playground.