What's Stopping You?

My spell check program has stopped acknowledging the existence of contractions. Every time I type an apostrophe, it complains. I am just saying.

So, I was going to tell you about Shenzhen, and though my time on the other side of the world already feels painfully far away, it's important to me that I document the rest of the trip.

I got up early and gave Thorn Chain a call, as we'd agreed that the first to wake should call the other. They were still in bed, and I spent a good long while online trying to hunt down that beautiful Shen Hao that I wanted. There was a phone number for a store in Shenzhen. I think I wrote about this part already. The number had a message in Cantonese in it. I went downstairs to the lobby and had the clerk on duty translate for me. He grinned apologetically and said, "It says this number is, how you say, not there. Not working. Gone."

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The tip that sent me yesterday to Stanley Street in search of cameras may have been good in 1998 when it was written, but tourism has since overrun the area. No matter, extensive searching has proven that my sweet, lovely lass, Shen Hao, does not live in Hong Kong. Perhaps she lives in Shenzhen, as according to the website, she may often be found at a Le Kai's Photograph Picture Society. I have a phone number, which gives me a message in Cantonese. Now I must find someone who speaks Cantonese. Now, where in Hong Kong am I going to find....?

Yesterday was on the downlow. Moon Howling Wolf was delayed at the park and I was engrossed in my camera hunt, so we didn't find time to hook up until late in the evening. We stopped off at a tailor shop, ironically owned by Hindus, and ordered some custom tailored suits and shirts. Thorn Chain insists that any shop in HK would have been that aggravating to deal with, but for some reason I'm less patient with Indians.

It's the accent. It irks me. Itches under the skin.

I am such a terribly broken Desi.

Afterwards, we headed back to Temple St, and I bought a few things, not much. It's odd, trying to figure out who I ought to buy prezzies for. One of the hazards of growing up in a culture that doesn't believe in gift-giving. Before I met Angel, I think the most intimate gift I ever got was a gift certificate that had "Happy Birthday!" written on it by hand.

Today, we're headed to Shenzhen, for reasons that are not entirely clear to me. MHW shrugs and says "Shopping." It's important to him, and apparently he and Thorn Chain waited on Shenzhen until I visited, so I don't press the issue. I didn't really come here to shop, though.

We got cornered by a barker (that's what I call them, I have no idea the real name for them) selling massage services. I had scheduled one to happen in my hotel room for later today, and while we did the suits MHW told me we'd be out of the city, missing my appointment. He felt bad about the miscommunication, I think, and so we decided, hungry as we were, to check out the foot massage place. Neither of the Moonhowler kids have had a foot rub before. I figured it would be a cheap shot, since it cost less than HK$100, but it turned out to last just as long as the one my hotel advertised for HK$380. (In US$, that works out to be $13 versus $50). Now MHW won't stop complaining that he didn't know about these things four weeks ago. "I assumed it was thinly veiled prostitution!" he defends.

We called it an early night, the better to try to make it to Shenzhen before it all closes. The cabbie refused my tip, saying "In China, money is not the only way of expressing gratitude." Surprised by his fluency in English, I responded conversationally (rather than the pigeon-talk you have to use, pairing down sentences to the simplest, most important words -- I used to think that was demeaning to the people you were speaking to, now I think it's a painful admission of my own insular nature. Gweilo! Doesn't even know how to say thank you like a countrymen.) Turned out, he wasn't fluent. He just had learned that particular phrase very well. Must've spent months practicing it.

Makes you wonder.