Hong Kong stinks

"What's wrong with the sky?" the child of one of my Hong Kong friends asked on a recent visit to the US. She replied that outside China, the sky is usually blue.
Hong Kong on a good day is still beautiful.
But most days here are not good days any more.
Ok I admit it, Hong Kong pollution has beaten me. As much as I love the place, I can't ignore the toxic smog. Today is white grey, with the Kowloon mountains and most of the harbour hidden by fumes.
I shudder and reach for my inhaler.
I have spent more than two weeks in the last two months in a ward in a private hospital, hooked up to a slow drip. I came back from Malaysia with lungs darkened by the smoke from the forest fires across the straits in Indonesia, where criminal magnates are clearing land.
But Hong Kong's lethal mix of power station stench, motor fumes and factory stink almost finished me off. A crisp youngish pulmonary specialist, gave me the once over with a stethoscope, and packed me off to hospital for a crash course in intravenous antibiotics. At first it wasn't too bad. I was really there so they could monitor the drug impacts.
People fed me and washed my clothes. They let me out in the afternoon and evenings to walk around the Peak . In between, I could lounge in my own room watching CNN or using broadband. I asked one of the nurses whether this was what being married was like.
She said not.
After a week, even the novelty of having Nuns pray for me started to wear off.
They let me out for indifferent behaviour. But within a week the condition returned and I was re-admitted. This time it was not so much fun. The drug doses were increased, building up to a twelve hour infusion. My veins started to resist and began to swell and hurt. When I was on the point of passing out from drug overload, the doctor called off the infusions.
It took me about a week to get over from the second hospital term. I am not sure whether my long suffering travel insurance company will ever recover. The good Christian hospital where I lodged, wanted cash in advance and lots of it.
I won't be back for a while. I've been offered good jobs here, some of which I have hankered after for a decade. But I won't be taking them.
A Hong Kong think tank reported recently that if the Hong Kong government acted now, air pollution would improve by 2010. It's not soon enough for me.
Next week, I leave for Australia, where the minds may be smaller, but at least the air is clean.

At Home in the Pearl of the Orient

We stepped out for a few beers at the Globe, a little expat pub in Hong Kong's Soho district. The place was packed with suits playing darts..a game which I have always considered a blood sport when practised in crowded, smokey and drunken conditions. Then it was down to Gunga Dinh's for a few curries. The pommy architect, we were with, kept calling the Indian head waiter "Gunga". I don't think our pommy friend knew his colonial literature all that well. The waiter did. He just smiled through his gold teeth and overcharged us. Walking down the hill afterwards, we saw a Chinese man dressed as Elvis. I said," There you are. We thought he was dead. But he's been in Hong Kong all the time!". We ended up at the Foreign Correspondent's Club where they have late night jazz on Fridays in the basement bar. The band was as they say, "smoking". The Filipino bass player looked like Bo Diddley. Maybe he's here, staying with Elvis.

We caught a A$5.00 cab ride home through the damp back streets, glittering with pink, yellow, red and purple neon.