Travelling friends meet
Air sparking energy
Love and laughter
We talk of
Writing and friendship
Families and good times

An amazingly beautiful eve
Sky dramatic
Grey clouds chasing black
Lightning streak electric
Thunder resound thunder

at Zefferini’s

31 floors above

Our star Marjorie left Hong Kong for China, leaving China for Canada, another farewell

Becky off to celebrate her birthday, a production in great style, in her hometown in a Southern State, USA

Ellen planning a big summer trip, a safari maybe, and Lavinia off to meet Denzel, as in Washington, but in New York

And here are We

to see another Marjorie farewell: http://www.leela.net/blog/?p=30

Sunday. Ferry arrives and a mass of people emerges, fans out from Yung Shue Wan pier. Human tentacles spread, move into main street, slide up side streets and paths and into hives of homes, exploring. The more vigorous, armed with sticks and water bottles and hatted, veer off. They strip outer layers of clothing, too hot for December sun on their backs. They hike across the island, over the hump and head to Sok Kwu Wan, focused on seafood lunch. Fish, prawns, crabs, lobsters and sea creatures frantically wait, swimming in no-escape aquariums.

Overnighters study holiday chalet window vacancy notices.

City people seeking crucial country experience photograph dogs with their mobile phones. Many stop to admire and pat them. Free and business-like dusty dogs are everywhere: in the streets, in the alleys, in the restaurants, running back and forth quenching their thirst from plastic bowls set out by dog-loving shop owners. Other dogs, lap dogs, sophisticated and on expensive leashes, heads held high, lead owners through the crowd. The dogs, those island dogs, they have seen it all before.

Bicyclists, Lamma belongers, impatiently ringing bells, pedal past, avoid hitting the throng. Narrow trucks, on roads narrow, carry stone cement and steel rods to pile more homes upon homes. Mini-ambulances and mini-fire trucks pass by, keep watch. Policemen on bicycles greet Kailash Vernon, Gung the Zine, and Nick the Bookman, long beard lifted by breeze.

Trendy artists, photographers, writers and Da-da duos frequent bars, restaurants, craft shops and pavement cafes. Spicy Island, Deli Lamma, Island Bar, Banyan Bay, Bookworm and Just Green.

Shopkeepers wait, try on ideas, catch browsers with attitude, talk them into buying nothing needed – clothes on racks, casual and neglected chic, organic foods, potpourri, handicraft, candles and oils essential.

Town dwellers seek an alternate style, connect to their soul.

End of day. Visitors, having found themselves, leave. They thread their tired way like a sad song towards the pier and home. The last ferry moves away, diminished enthusiasm.

Lammaites, islanders who stayed solid, pulsing, dreading, waiting, through the day, now affectionately settle back, their lives returned.

Sun sets.

High tide rhythmic, no stars, was there a moon?

Old friendships renewed, new island friends made, Floating Petals signed.

Thank you, Sharon and Dan.

Shangri-la suite 1911. I meet Marjorie. High tea at Horizon, reserved for exclusive clientele. Large goblets of Red Cabernet sipped. Harbour channel busy with water traffic. A pleasantly peopled walk along Hong Kong Avenue of Stars, honoured handprints. We dine at Don Juan along the waterfront. Filipino waitress courteous, recommends exotic ‘Mojito’, drink of rum, lime, mint. Handsome Argentinean chef, ‘Are you ladies all right?’ Recommends spinach burritos, vegetarian, beef stock hidden in rice. We delay our good-bye. Chat of this and that, of immigrant horrors, Chicago slaughter houses. A red sailing junk floats by. Marjie soon leaves for Quanzhou.

And Let There Be No Light.

City of Lights, a name we have claimed for ourselves in a region of power shortages, outages and brown-outs. Hong Kong has the highest number of neon lights in the region.

It is said August 8, the double 8s, of 2006 has been slated for light-out.

City of Darkness. Let’s do it.

Switch off all the lights except the essential ones, those needed for hospitals, traffic, air-control. Turn off the “neons.” Off with the lights in restaurants, offices, and homes. Yes, let’s plunge this polluted island into darkness for 5 to 10 minutes at sunset.

Drastic measure, drastic situation.

Yesterday, late afternoon, a huge pall of fog came up from the sea and obliterated the mountains of New Territory before moving in to blot out Central, Wan Chai, and Causeway Bay, bringing dusk too early, causing alarm.

People walk around wearing masks or with hands over their noses and mouths. News readers tell us not to our allow children out of class rooms, and the elderly and the sick are told not to go out of their homes. Hospitals fully occupied, doctors overworked, waiting rooms overflow. Children, lethargic, sit around in adult clinics, no room at the paediatrician. Sounds like science fiction, but science fiction it is not. It is Hong Kong in the throes of unprecedented pollution.

“Oh, what can we do,” say the politicians, wringing their manicured hands.
“The tourists won’t be coming to fill our coffers.” How illogical, how thoughtless! Can we first make sure our citizens are healthy before worrying about the tourists? Dead citizens cannot be there to receive them when the tourists decide to come.

Let us not take heart in the fact that other cities of the world are more polluted. Neither does it help us when we lie to ourselves by setting standards different from international ones, to measure low when moderate, moderate when high or severe.

Hong Kong is an island but pollution is not. Improving our air quality lies not only with us but also with our neighbours. Our own pollution constitutes about 30 % and the rest, that affects us, is from our immediate neighbours. To the north of us lies the vast continent, our mother-land. The regional air now is so heavy with pollutants that prevailing winds do not disperse our emissions any more. Let us not waste time and energy in blame. The authorities of all neighbouring regions must get together and sort this out, and now.

Let the silent and dark protest begin. Let us switch off the lights on August 8.

Hong Kongers are great dog lovers. To many, dogs are nearly human, they love them and care for them and spend much time with them. There are also others who want to own pets and so choose to reside in the country side; that is in villages in the New Territories. They have exacting careers and put in long working hours with little time for themselves or their pets. Love and passion come in small doses mainly on week ends. Often their dogs are left in the care of maids who are employed to do household chores; and not to take dogs for long walks, bath and feed them and pick up poo after them.

Some dogs are left unattended either inside the homes, in balconies, or on roof tops. In the village where we live one neighbour left their five dogs on small balcony while they went to work, and overwork, and often came home close to midnight. The dogs barked all day. Most dog owners or their maids pay no attention when their dogs bark incessantly day and night.

There are also many inconsiderate neighbours who walk their dogs. They carry newspapers and plastic bags and look as if they are intent on cleaning up after their dogs. These pet lovers are happy to keep their homes and gardens clean and walk their dogs to someone else’s gate or path or parking lot and allow their pets to urinate and defecate. When their dogs have done their business the owners or maids delicately walk away with their precious pets and their newspapers and plastic bags.

Some dogs are left loose and vicious day and night. They spend their day having much fun attacking passers by and by night running wild with packs.

The problem of stray dogs is further aggravated by people who believe they are doing good, getting merit points in dog heaven, by going round their villages leaving large amounts of food for dogs. This practice not only feeds the dogs, tame and wild, but also encourages a large population of well fed rats.

Calling the Agricultural and Fisheries department to alert them of wild dog situation is a fun process; one is sent from one department to another until one comes back to the first person spoken to. One fine day the dog catchers did arrive in our village. Since I called them and they had my address they came, in their van, to a screeching halt outside my home, several men jumped out exceedingly noisily. One pulled out a large butterfly net while the others whipped out their mobile phones to check out the autheticity of the report made and the exact location. The three wild dogs that were resting outside my gate slunk away from right under their noses and right before their eyes. I admire the men’s style but not their dog-catching skills.

We still have a huge nuisance of barking dogs, dog poo in our parking lot, and the wild pack has now increased to seven.