After not falling asleep until 5am this morning, the afternoon felt a little hazy, but the weather was beautiful enough to pull anybody out of a funk. I didn't come alive until about 11am. I poured myself some tea, rolled out the yoga mat on the porch, and laid in the sun to feel more like a human, less like a zombie. At around noontime, I decided it would be best for me to shower. But, then quickly learned that a shower wasn't going to work out since the little stream that comes down from the mountain to fill up our hot water tank chose not to trickle today...Consequently, making a bath impossible and suddenly, the hangover much worse.
Peter said my options were to boil a kettle on the free burner and bathe out of a bucket orrrrr... huff into the city once again and find a yoga class with showers, gym, or spa to go to, and basically pay for a hot rinse.
I picked yoga, naturally and went to a really wonderful class of Hong Kong island, and afterward enjoyed a rain shower head and wall full of body jets. yesss.
As if I didn't have enough hoorahs last time I journeyed for a drink, I stopped in Lan Kwai Fong again, but made sure to maintain my weariness of British bastards in sports jackets. I found a bar that looked mostly Chinese and sat quietly.
Not even 10 minutes there, I met a French guy. This man should really have been on the list of no-goes, but he seemed unusually less arrogant than most. Ferrick, from the UK was maybe about an inch taller than me, blonde, significantly less hairy, and probably the least typical French dude ever. We shared a few beers, met up with a energetic married couple from Spain and had a couple more beers at the JW Marriott Hotel. (oooh ritzy) And, definitely rang up the room tab, just having too much fun, chatting and bullshittin'. We laughed up tons of fun, and I'm talkin' weird, kindred spirits, best-friends-from-another-lifetime, newlyweds type of fun.
I attempted to exchange my contact information with all of them because they were such a delight, but when the pens came out and the numbers were written, I realized I had nothing to reciprocate. The only relevant information I could give was my name, and possibly my email address.
The similar scenario resurfaced, deja vu from the night before, and the Saturday before, and so on. I'm always blabbing the same excuses...
" well, I don't have a phone because I'm only here for a month. no, I can't give you my address. "
"yes, it's true, I fly back across the world very soon. Maybe we can meet again in the states?"
"i mean, i could give you my US cell number, but would that really do any good now would it?"
With all that said I'm sure I could find a way to reconvene if I really wanted to. The truth is...
this mysteriousness is a strange and powerful feeling.So, I have a little red notebook full of wonderful travelers or fellow Chinese... that.. I will always remember.
and, they... may never see me again. I suppose that's the life of a solo traveler. I just share a couple of laughs and beers and leave off into the darkness... I'll just be that one American girl that you met in Hong Kong one night, that you downed Whiskey shots with, and asked yourself where in the hell did this chick come from? And even though, I'll tell you the truth of just about everything... you won't believe much, and doubt that I can make it back by myself insisting of finding a better way, knowing that I will be okay, instead of just letting me take off into the middle of the night. But then, suddenly, I jet off abruptly, telling you there's only 10 minutes until the last boat departs and I will ride off towards the ferry pier to disappear into the hills of Lantau without a phone or an address. And, either you will remember me or forget, either way... that will be the end of story.
I will probably write about you in my blog, and wish I had a photo of you, like I always do, to go with every wonderful meeting. And then I'll move towards my pillow, leting the words take responsibility for my carelessness, dreaming it away. Goodnight.