In Asia, Bigger Often Is Better

I regularly dip in and out of Channel V, Asia’s answer to MTV, and have noticed what seems to be a trend in Asian pop and hip-hop groups (is it still called hip-hop or am I just showing my age?). Most of them could easily form a football team as the average group contains between around fifteen members! Now, Girl’s Aloud have five members, the Sugababes three (even if they change their members more often than the guards at Buckingham Palace), the Black Eyed Peas four... I needn’t go on. With the exception of Blazing Squad, a group that proved that bigger is definitely not always better, and So Solid Crew, who had more members than anyone could ever count and who are apparently about to make a comeback, most western groups keep it to a family sized number. Asian groups prefer an extended family vibe. Perhaps it’s got something to do with the fact that many Asians love to socialise in huge groups and often organise large family gatherings. The extended family often live under one roof, or at least very close to each other. I don’t know what the reason is, but it does make for some very amusing music videos, where each member jostles for the attention of the camera. On the upside, I suppose, at least they don’t have to pay for backing singers or dancers, and they could probably fill an arena just with their own family and friends.

Expat (House)Wife

Yes, it has come to this. At the grand age of 27 I am turning into a housewife. Well, technically a flatwife I suppose, although that doesn't sound too flattering so I think I'll stick to housewife. I already cook all the dinners (other than on Sunday night, the one day of the week The Husband likes to prove his cooking prowess) and do all the washing and I would do the cleaning if we didn't have someone come in twice a week to do that. What? This is Thailand, everyone has a cleaner! Well, I have now started to iron The Husband's shirts too. I don't iron. I have never ironed, preferring the 'hang it up and hope the creases just fall out' approach. Oh, and I try not to buy things that need ironing. The Husband, of course, has lots of shirts that do need ironing and in the past he has always done it himself. This is not just because I was asserting my feminism but because he is slightly OCD when it comes to things like that. He buffed and polished his dress shoes over a period of three months prior to our wedding. His t-shirts have to be folded just so in his drawers - I recently discovered that he had been secretly taking his shirts out and re-folding them after I had put them away. The other day he re-organised the fridge as it wasn't quite up to his standards.

As I have more time than he does, I thought I'd be a good wifey and help out by ironing his shirts. As mentioned earlier, I do not like ironing at the best of times, but in 30 degree C heat, it is hell. By the end of it, I looked like I had been sat in a steam room for the past hour. And shirts are so fiddly to iron, with the sleeves and the collar and that little bit at the top of the back. It took me an hour but I did it, and was proud of myself. I was later told that my hour's worth of accidentally ironing creases into shirts and then spending twice as long ironing them out again was "passable". Well, that's fine. This Expat Wife is more than happy to leave the ironing to The Husband in future.

Food on the Go. Literally.

Walking up our road on the way to the gym this morning, I passed a man barbecuing chicken wings and pork satays on a cart attached to his moped. I saw the smoke before anything else but then, as I drew closer, a downward wind brought to me the delicious aromas of meat sizzling. My stomach growled, demanding that it be fed whatever was arousing it but I stood firm. I was on my way to the gym and not even those wonderful smells were going to tempt me. As I walked past, I glanced at the mobile BBQ and immediately wished I hadn't. It looked incredible. The chicken had been marinated and its slick bronze skin was glimmering in the sunlight. The sticky, juicy satays looked back at me, willing me to eat them. The vendor saw the glint of desire in my eyes and quickly said, "twenty baht, very good". I smiled and reluctantly shook my head. "Mai kaa," I said, "no thank you". I walked on determinedly, refusing not to be sucked in, and turned down a soi, away both in sight and smell from the BBQ cart.

Feeling proud of myself, I hummed to the song playing on my i-pod and walked up to the main road. Two minutes down the road however, I heard a tinkling, which normally indicates a food vendor trundling past, advertising his wares to anyone within earshot. It wasn't until the vendor had passed me that I realised that it was the very same BBQ cart from which I had only just torn myself away. Worst of all, he pulled in to the side of the road and stopped thirty feet ahead of me. Was he going to try his luck on me again, hoping that I wouldn't be able to refuse a second time? But no, he was merely stopping to turn the meat over - the chicken and pork was still cooking as he was riding along the road. Who says men can't do two things at once? As I walked towards the cart, I noticed that fumes from the mopeds, cars and coaches on the road were blowing all over the food. Suddenly, that barbecued meat didn't seem so appealing. This time it wasn't so difficult to walk on.

From Russia, But Not Always With Love

Before arriving in Pattaya, I'm not sure I'd ever met a Russian before. I'm sure I've seen them perform in ballets, and perhaps act in movies, but I don't think I've ever met a real flesh and blood Russian. In Pattaya, they are everywhere. If you see a Caucasian tourist here, it's a good bet that they are Russian. Pattaya seems to be a rather popular holiday destination for them. Sometimes, especially now in peak season, it feels like you are in Russia, only with better weather and food. Walking down the street, you are bombarded with their language. I say bombarded as they like to make themselves heard. I've lost count of the number of times someone has started to talk to me in Russian, assuming that I will know what they are saying. I might understand that happening in Russia, but not Thailand. Even restaurants, tour agencies and massage parlours advertise their wares in Russian.

Russians get a bad press - they're always the villains in films, memories of the Cold War still linger and there's a tendency to associate the harsh climate of the country with the people themselves. I don't want to speculate too much on whether the reality matches up to the stereotype but let's just say that they do seem to be quite a 'different' race.

Let me give you some examples. Coming out of the changing rooms at our club on Saturday, we were confronted with some rather strange behaviour by a couple of Russian girls. We had seen them arrive earlier in t-shirts and shorts but they had taken off their shirts to reveal bikini tops that really didn't leave much to the imagination, and they had rolled their shorts up so that the lower half of their buttocks were poking out. Not only that but they were taking it in turns to perform erotic poses against a tree while the other photographed them. This was all just outside the reception of the club, in full view of anyone walking past. Perhaps it is unfair to tarnish all Russians with the same brush merely based on these two girls but it doesn't seem to be an isolated occurrence. I have seen many a photograph taken in front of a seemingly innocuous backdrop - the Pattaya sign, the pier, a temple - but posed as if they were being snapped for a top shelf men's magazine.

Many of them also seem to be still stuck in the 80s and 90s, it's like 21st century fashions haven't quite reached them yet. They seem to be partial to alco-pops too. Something that is strictly a teen and university student drink in the UK seems to be a widespread phenomena across the ages in Russia. Smirnoff Ice (for the obvious reasons) and Bacardi Breezers seem to be particularly popular, at any time of the day. They also get extremely frustrated when the poor Thai staff at restaurants, bars, hotels, etc. can't understand what they're saying. Most waiting staff have come from rural Thai villages and will only just have learnt English so you can imagine how difficult it is for them being confronted by a large Russian man speaking stilted English with a heavy accent. I have trouble understanding some of them. They seem to think that everyone should understand them and start shouting when confused faces stare back at them. It's not pleasant. I saw one incident where a tiny Thai girl was sent away fighting back the tears after a Russian man shouted at her for bringing him a bottle of red wine when he asked for white.

But, there I go again, tarnishing the whole of the Russian population with the same brush. Pattaya for the Russians is like Malaga or Benidorm to the Brits. It's a cheap package destination that perhaps only a certain type of Russian might venture. Enough said.

When it Rains, it Pours

My prediction in my previous blog that it "might rain" was proved correct. It was, however, a slight underestimation of the deluge of water that fell on Pattaya that day and then again on Sunday. In the tropics there's none of that pathetic drizzle that can last all day, or even days at a time, in England. If it's going to rain, it properly rains, there's no mucking about here. And rain it did on Friday and Sunday. It began with just a few fat droplets falling from the sky, but quickly escalated into a full-blown rainstorm. The rain thundered down from the clouds and the noise was deafening. This lasted for perhaps an hour, then downsized to moderately heavy rain for a further hour before it stopped completely.

Saturday saw blue skies and sun, as did Sunday morning. It lasted just long enough for us to get a couple of hours of tennis in before we hit the showers, planning on walking to a little restaurant by the sea. When we went into the changing rooms the weather was fine - a little breezy but no hint of rain - but when we emerged twenty minutes later it had started to rain. That lasted for about fifteen minutes before clearing to allow us to sit at a table right by the sea to eat lunch (clams with chili paste and fried rice with squid - delicious). We then went for an aromatherapy oil body massage (absolute bliss) and we came out to rain-soaked pavements. It wasn't until later however that it really hammered it down. The occupants of the house across from us didn't have enough time to take their washing in from where it was hanging on their patio. It came from nowhere - it just started throwing it down and within a minute everything was soaked. The great thing about rain in Thailand though is that it isn't cold. Even the whiff of potential rain in England lowers the temperature by about five degrees C. Here it just pleasantly clears the air. And I just love that smell of rain on hot tarmac!

Wintry Weather in the Tropics

It's not your typical hot and sunny January day in Pattaya today. The sun is doing a very good job of hiding away behind a thick blanket of clouds and it's looking rather dark outside. It might just rain, which is very unusual for this time of year. When we first arrived in Pattaya, on January 6th, it was almost two months before we felt one drop of rain. It is, however, still very warm. I am sat in shorts and a strappy top, with the ceiling fan wafting mercifully cool air over me. Not that you'd know that by looking at what many of the Thais are wearing today. Dressed in jeans, jumpers and jackets, you'd think it was at least 15 degrees C cooler than it actually is. I suppose if you've lived all your life in a continually hot and humid climate, the tiniest drop in temperature would prompt you to grab your jumper from the back of the wardrobe. I'm just grateful not be sitting in front of my computer sweating and wishing I was by the pool! As long as the weather returns to being beautifully warm and sunny by tomorrow when I am due to fit in my weekly strenuous day of sunbathing, it can continue to be cloudy for the rest of the day.

Coming to Pattaya? Bring Your Earplugs

My ears have just been bombarded with noise - human voices combined with a high pitched squeal. This can only mean one thing. Yet another pick-up truck has gone past blasting out something incomprehensible from ginormous loudspeakers attached to its roof. This is by no means a rare occurrence. At least once a week a pick-up truck - the vehicle of choice for Thais that can afford more than just a moped - will crawl down the road advertising anything from Thai boxing matches to political propaganda by way of either megaphones or a recording through huge speakers. Half the time I have no idea what they are advertising as it is generally all in Thai.

The sheer volume at which these speakers are blasting out is evidenced by the fact that it sounds like someone is shouting at me through a megaphone on my balcony when in fact they are driving down the road a couple of buildings away and three stories down from our apartment. At least there is no music accompanying this one. A couple of months ago a truck drove past blaring out a recording of what sounded like a deranged woman screaming, though I think she was trying to sing. What they were supposed to be selling I have no idea, although at that moment I would have been more than happy to pay them to go away.

Like the Chinese, the Thais seem to love noise in general. They speak loudly to each other, even when they are standing right in front of the person they are addressing, and any free open-air concerts I have been (or rather subjected) to, mainly outside shopping centres in the centre of the city, have been deafeningly loud. I pity the poor people living in the city centre sometimes. At least I only have to put up with a passing pick-up truck. However annoying the noise being emitted, I know that it will be over in a couple of minutes. For now, the screeching has passed. Silence really can be golden.

Why Parents Love Thai Baby Snatchers

I was having lunch with a couple of friends who both have young children when all of a sudden one of them looks around to the right, to the left, then swivels round in her seat to look behind her. "Where is the baby?" she asks, bewildered. It seemed that in the second she had turned to say something to one of us, her baby had disappeared. She was in her high chair, with no way of getting down on her own. If we were in almost any other part of the world, we'd all have panicked, searched the restaurant and called the police, fearful that someone had abducted the six month year old girl. Not here. "One of the waiting staff must have gone off with her," the mother said, and carried on with the conversation she had started earlier.

The reason for this woman's nonchalance when faced with the disappearance of her baby daughter is that it happens all the time in Thailand. As I have mentioned before in this blog, the Thais love children and are particularly fascinated with western babies. They think nothing of running after them with a camera, taking shot after shot of a child they don't know, or trying to cuddle a small child they've never met before. Similarly, the staff at restaurants and bars will pick up your baby or toddler and walk off with them. They would never take them out of the premises but will walk into the kitchen with them, for all the kitchen staff to fawn over, or over to a fish tank, pointing to the fish swimming around, or they'll just wander around with them, rocking them in their arms.

I expect it's probably a shock the first time it happens but after you realise that they're not going to run off with your child, it's actually rather nice. The child is kept contented and enjoys the attention that the staff will undoubtedly lavish on him or her, and the parents get to have a relaxing meal. The staff love it too - playing with other people's cute little children is far more enjoyable than clearing tables. It's a win-win-win situation.

The Silver Lining

I never thought it was possible to sustain an injury from an air-conditioning unit. Unless one fell on you. That would probably cause quite a lot of pain. Actually, that thought is comforting me somewhat as I'm sure I'd be in a far more dire situation if that was how our air-conditioner had injured me. However, it is day two and I am still in pain. Not as much as yesterday, but it hurts nonetheless and I not good with any sort of pain. On the upside, I'm sure that without The Husband's help I would be in considerably more pain than I am now. Last night he pummeled my shoulder and upper back with his thumb and fist, trying to loosen my knotted muscles. Much clicking, popping and whimpering ensued but it seems to have worked.

I think perhaps that regular massages might be in order. For the purposes of injury prevention and not because they're heavenly, of course. If we were in England I would be cajoling The Husband into doing it but, as we're in Thailand, where you're never more than a few minutes away from a salon or spa with massages that cost as much as a glass of wine in a London bar, I will be employing the skills of a professional. The question is whether I opt for a Thai massage or a gentler oil massage. Given that the last time I went for a Thai massage the therapist lifted me up into the air with his feet while pulling my arms back behind my head (amongst other positions that I never thought my body was capable of), I think I may wait until the pain has completely subsided before putting my body through that. Aromatherapy oil massage it is then. At least something good has come from all this!

Caution: Air Conditioners May Cause Harm

I am currently sitting rather lopsidedly in front of the computer, tentatively hitting keys, waiting for yet another spasm of pain to engulf my body and cause me to stop and wait for the pain to subside. I woke early in the morning with some slight back pain but just assumed that I had slept funny on it so I changed my position and drifted off to sleep again. An hour later I woke with a dull ache on my right shoulder. Attempting to shift around, I yelled out as pain shot through the entire right side of my upper back and shoulder. I knew I had to try to move and, if possible, get out of bed, to prevent it from completely seizing up, but every slight movement was agony. Ten minutes later I had managed to shuffle to the edge of the bed but lifting my head and upper body was proving to be a problem. Every time I tried, pain coursed through my back and I shouted out in both pain and frustration. I think I invented several new swear words this morning.

Eventually, half an hour later and desperate for the toilet, I succeeded in hauling myself up from the bed and made it to the bathroom, walking with my head at a rather peculiar angle and my body leaning to the right. I soon discovered that when you can't tilt your head back, taking paracetamol is rather tricky. I managed to swallow the first one by bending my legs and forcing my whole body backwards but the second one got stuck on the roof of my mouth. I now know that paracetamol tastes disgusting. Sharp and acrid. The foul taste prompted an involuntary sudden movement which sent me into further pain.

I am now sitting, very straight, trying to remember to move my head from side to side every couple of minutes to keep my back and shoulder from seizing up. The Husband reckons we had the air conditioner on too high last night and the cold air blowing onto my body has caused my muscles to lock. Just another one of the perils of living in a tropical country I suppose!

The Mysterious Case of the Disappearing Pavement

Being a pedestrian in Thailand is a dangerous occupation. Not only do you have to stay alert to mopeds speeding down the pavement - apparently they have the right to go anywhere they please, including the wrong way down the highway - you actually have to keep a constant eye out for the pavement itself disappearing. I've seen many a tourist walk along, looking around them at the sights and not at their feet - rooky mistake - when suddenly the ground falls away from beneath them and they're treading air before dropping a foot onto the road (the pavements are very high here!). I did just that (more than once, I am embarrassed to say) on our first day here and very quickly learnt to keep my eyes down, scanning the ground for any obstacles. For some inexplicable reason, the pavements here often just come to an end, reappearing fifty yards or so up the road.

Sometimes you will actually come across a group of labourers fixing a part of the pavement but that is even worse. Unlike in the UK, where they would put cones out to protect pedestrians from oncoming vehicles, you just have to walk in the road and hope for the best here. And as there are normally a good number of them all working on one tiny bit of the pavement, you have to walk quite a way into the road to avoid them. What on earth happens to these pavements that they need so much work? It is a question that will probably never be answered.

Other times the pavement will be perfectly intact but a hawker has set up his stall across a good portion of it, again requiring you to walk into the road to get around him. This is a bit of a pain although not too much trouble for The Husband and I but for mums and dads with pushchairs it is a nightmare. I went to Singapore with the mother of a (at the time) twenty month old and I think the thing she most enjoyed about the trip was the flat, pothole-free, never-ending pavements (OK, maybe she liked the shopping, eating, drinking and dancing more but she did really love the pavements!). Singapore does have excellent pavements though. Sadly, yes, I do now judge a country by the state of its pavements.

Plastic Fantastic

I went to Tesco on Monday to restock a very empty fridge after our trip to Hong Kong and, as I always do, took along my reusable fabric shopping bags. In our increasingly eco-conscious world, this is fast becoming the norm. In a last-ditch attempt to save our sickening planet, the citizens of many countries are shunning plastic bags in favour of reusable bags that won’t clog our rivers, suffocate our animals or pollute our seas. Thailand, unfortunately, is not one of those countries. The Thais have an enduring love of plastic bags and try their hardest to use them, and as many of them, as possible. They even eat and drink from them. If you buy an iced coffee or a juice from a hawker, chances are it'll be poured into a plastic bag, tied tightly at the top. Similarly, soup or indeed any other edible items bought from a street-seller will be popped into a plastic bag, twirled around and tied securely. Sometimes they will even put the plastic bag containing your food or drink into another plastic bag. Anywhere you go, whatever you buy, the shop assistants will try to put your purchase in a plastic bag. I once bought a single pen and the cashier immediately produced a large bag before I stopped her, saying that I could just put it in my handbag. As always in these situations, I was given a look which was confused yet amused at the same time. Another strange farang with their weird ways, she was probably thinking. I mean, fancy wanting to put a purchase into your own bag when you could have a brand new, shiny plastic bag completely free of charge.

I have long been bringing my own reusable bags along to the shops with me and, in England, it was easy. No-one batted an eyelid, in fact the cashiers encouraged it. In Hong Kong, previously a plastic bag nation, customers are now charged a small amount for each plastic bag they use. When I was at a supermarket while I was there I noticed that almost everyone in the queues at the check-out had their own cotton bags. In Thailand, however, they actually make it difficult for you not to use their own plastic bags. Upon entering Tesco I was ordered to leave my bags at a customer service desk, presumably to make it harder for me to steal, although they didn't seem concerned about the enormous handbag hanging from my shoulder. When I was ready to go the till to pay, I had to push my rather heavy trolly all the way down to the other end of the store to collect my bags so that I could use them to pack my shopping in.

After loading up my shopping onto the conveyor belt, I strode to the front and put my reusable bags onto the surface, next to an open plastic bag the cashier had readied. She glanced at my bags, scanned the first item and then promptly dropped it into her plastic bag. Ok, not to worry, I thought, it's meat so it should probably go into a plastic bag anyway. The yoghurts, too. Except she put each pack of yoghurts into a separate bag. That was really not necessary so I, the annoying farang, intervened. She glared at me as I took out the second pack of yoghurts and put it in the bag with the first. I know from previous experiences to be prepared so I held up my cotton bag, opened it wide and, as soon as she scanned the bag of honey pears, I motioned for her to give them to me and from then on just took everything and packed it all in myself. That is another gripe I have. The cashiers seem to think that each bag can only hold one or two items, simply adding to unnecessary number of plastic bags used. If I let them pack my bags, I would still have to use five or six plastic bags as there would only be a bag of crisps and a couple of cucumbers in each one.

It's a bit of a battle but I emerge triumphant, having only used two plastic bags - one for meat and fish and another for the yoghurts. Let's hope I can hold my nerve on my next supermarket trip.

Danger! Men At Work

Health & Safety doesn't really exist in Thailand. It makes an interesting contrast to the UK, where it's getting to the stage whereby you won't be allowed to leave your house without a suit of armour to shield yourself against the myriad of possible accidents that may befall you. I was reminded just how different Thailand is in this respect on my way to the gym this morning. My usual route to the gym takes me past a construction site on which a large residential development is being built. There are hazards at every turn and yet the labourers wear just thin cotton trousers, a long sleeved shirt, flip-flops and a cloth tied round their heads to protect them from the sun. They seem less worried about protecting their heads from falling objects or from themselves falling from scaffolding which they are not attached to. They are provided with no protective clothing, work boots or hard hats whatsoever. Even more worrying is the presence of children at the weekends and after school, running around the site and playing games around welders and carpenters, dodging sparks and machinery.

As I have mentioned in previous blogs, the Thais have the same cavalier attitude to vehicle safety. It's perfectly normal for a whole family, including a baby squished in between mum and dad, and sometimes a couple of pets, to ride around on a single moped. Huge groups of construction workers squeeze into the outside part of pick-up trucks. I'm not saying that Thailand should be more like the UK when it comes to health and safety - God knows, no country need have their hand held by the state in the way that the people of the UK are subjected to - but at least give those poor workers a hard hat!

The End of the Holiday

Expat Wife apologises profusely for having been such an absent blogger over the Christmas period. She was of course mainly entertaining The Husband and not at all sipping gin and tonics on the sofa in front of Gavin and Stacey and Project Runway. The Husband and I are now back in a very busy Pattaya, right in the middle of the peak holiday season. Before I return to the goings-on on these sunny shores, I must mention a few of the stand-out days and nights over the remainder of our holiday in Hong Kong.

A few days after Christmas the Husband and I, plus our friends Jenni and Adam, went to Disneyland. This latest addition to the Disney empire has in fact been up and running for over four years but, as a loyal Ocean Park girl, I hadn't yet been. I did actually feel a tad guilty as we boarded the Disney train, complete with Mickey-shaped windows and strap-hangers and bronze statues of Disney characters in display cases - there was no mistaking where we were going - as I felt I had sold out to the Disney machine. I silently promised I would return to my beloved Ocean Park, a marine-focused theme park by the sea that has been in Hong Kong longer than I have been alive. It was a fun day out, with the highlights being the parade, the Lion King show, Space Mountain and the teacups (yes, the teacups can be fun, you just have to spin them really fast!), however it doesn't compare to Ocean Park. It's more expensive yet far smaller, with fewer rides and attractions. There are, however, many more shops. Disney has done exceptionally well to provide as many opportunities as possible for visitors to part with as much cash as possible - there's even a top jewellers - but not enough to give us value for the money we paid at the ticket booth. Then again, the Chinese love spending money so maybe that is just what they want to do all day.

As we do on most trips to Hong Kong, we took the ferry over to Lamma Island to hike, play games on a deserted beach, and eat a deliciously fresh seafood lunch. We also drove to Stanley, on Hong Kong Island, where we shopped till we dropped in the market, followed by a well-deserved beer in a bar by the sea. New Year's Eve was a rather drunken affair. I have now discovered that all-you-can-drink deals and me don't go well together. Enough said.

The stand-out event of the latter part of the holiday was certainly the Hong Kong Tennis Classic and the players' party which preceded it. The Brother works for the company that organises the tournament and The Mother runs the Player Services department so they arranged tickets to the party for us where we drank Champagne and nibbled on canapes with the likes of Maria Sharapova and Venus Williams. The Mother and Brother also managed to score free tickets for us in a box for the opening night of the tournament. It was a great line-up, featuring some of the world's best players, though the closeness of of one of the matches meant the evening's matches didn't finish till after midnight. After eight hours of tennis viewing, coupled with the chilly weather, I was more than ready for my bed by the end of it, but it was a great night.

The evening we arrived back in Thailand coincided with two of my cousins' last couple of days in the country so I met up with them in Bangkok for some eating, drinking, sunbathing and shopping. I had my first experience of Chatachuk Weekend Market and what an experience it was. It was vast, hot and slightly suffocating, especially in the warren of lanes in which you could so easily get lost, never to emerge into the light again. Katie bought so much she had to buy a large shopping bag which she then had to lug around Bangkok. Her suncream also exploded in her bag, all over her wallet, i-pod and mobile but we won't mention that.

I eventually made it back to Pattaya on Saturday night when The Husband very kindly picked me up from the airport after saying goodbye to the cousins. So it's back to reality now. At least reality here is sun, swimming pools and seafood and not snow, scarves and sandwiches. I think I can handle this reality.

Gorillas (or was it just a wild cow?) in the Mist

Farewell 2009, hello 2010 and the start of a new decade! This is a tad late perhaps but I am only just feeling up to blogging. I said goodbye to 2009 by having one (ok, perhaps rather more than one) too many drinks and could barely make it out of bed on New Year's Day. I only hope that the saying that the way you spend the first day of the year is a sign of things to come for the rest of the year is not true. The second day of 2010 was rather more active, with a walk around the streets of Kowloon followed by a couple of hours of tennis.

Today we embarked on a hike up, around and down the highest mountain in Hong Kong, Tai Mo Shan. The walk promised fantastic views, however as we spent most of it in cloud, we could barely see ten feet in front of us, let alone the sweeping vista of Kowloon and across the harbour to Hong Kong Island. With the cloud lying low over the dense forest, it was very Gorillas in the Mist. The Husband thought it was incredibly amusing to race on ahead of us and then pop out from behind a tree/bush/boulder, thumping his chest like a primate. We did not. Lush valleys, babbling brooks, verdant hillsides, a wild cow or two, and stunning waterfalls made for a wonderful if rather exhausting walk. I'm now off to collapse on the sofa with a G&T.