As usual, when I came into Sabang beach resort on Puerto Gallera island in the Philippines, I went straight into VIP Dive to have a talk with John about doing some diving. After a dive on this particular day, we went to Captain Gregg’s for a bite to eat and a couple of beers. The topic turned to the dark underside of the Philippines, in particular the sex. John told us about the man over in small LaLaguna, an area of the resort with an expanse of white beach and small luxurious cabins for renting, who was notorious for his love of young boys. He never leaves his beach house, but often has boys staying with him. Most logical people find this disgusting and fowl, but “No one here is going to say anything when he is paying his 1,000 pesos a night for a room all in advance.” John stated so firmly. “The people here will be very Catholic and family oriented, but money makes them turn a blind eye and pretend they do not see what I going on.”
The conversation then turned to the institutional child prostitution that might be found on the island. “The last time I was here, a man and his Filipina-American wife stopped going into one of the go-go bars because they said that it had girls in the bar that were obviously too young. They said that when the police would come, they just slip out the back door, more than likely the police gave fair warning as well.” I said in passing, which triggered a thought in his head. “Yeah, there is a Japanese guy running around with a girl from the Sabang Disco that is so young, I would be embarrassed to be seen with her, but he is always running around with her.” He told us and he would know well, as his shop sits right on the walkway where men and women pass daily, and nightly. That night was the first I heard of Jobay, but over the rest of the vacation, we would meet more than a few times.
It turns out, that Jobay and her Japanese John were staying in the same hotel as me. I was not sure that this was the couple that my friend had spoken about but, I could be sure that this girl with the missing front tooth and a frame the size of a middle school student was not of age, and probably not even close. Her “boyfriend,” a Japanese man with a shaved bald head, had a scar running across his scalp with a mouth full of gold teeth and a well exercised 45 year old body, was certainly too old for her.
For the first couple days I was in town we would share smiles as she walked in and out of the guest house grounds. As soon as I saw her and her boyfriend walking, I was immediately interested in what was happening in her situation; What was her story? How did she get her? Why was she with that man? How did she feel about being with such an old man when she was so young? Was she really as young as she looked? What was her financial relationship with this man and did she view him as her boyfriend?
The questions filled my mind in an unexplainable way.
America views the life which she lives as the utmost taboo, the most illegal, despicable, immoral, unjust, invasive, and INTERESTING topic there could be. What news program could possibly get more ratings than the times when Michael Jackson is thought to be sleeping with a young child? Gary Glitter? All of these stories of pedophilia grab the minds and imaginations of the west, in good ways or bad, and I was sleeping not 30 yards from the site where it was definitely happening.
Our first direct contact came when I was sitting on the patio reading my PADI Advanced Diving Manual in preparation for a dive. As the rainy season was about to start, the rain drops were constantly parachuting from the sky, while not a downpour nor even enough to get you wet, the small droplets of moisture pattering at the neck and arms was enough warning to make people constantly pack an umbrella. Jobay walked out of her apartment, on her way to who knows where, fiddling with an old umbrella which was clearly suffering from rust in the joints and buttons. She saw me sitting and asked me for help, to which I obliged by taking apart the mechanism with a butter knife and making sure it could open properly. She thanked me for my MacGyver like actions and went on her way, but not before I could get her name, “Jobay.” At the very moment I was helping her, two fat-ass foreign girls walked by looking at me and Stanly like we were the biggest scum to ever set foot on the Earth. Fuck them, I was fixing her umbrella. Later that night, those two fat chicks had a threesome with a guy I know. To quote Stanly, “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”
Later in the same day Jobay was standing on the walkway next to the water, just watching the waves hit the barrier wall and obviously in deep contemplation. Since we had previously met, I did not feel too uncomfortable starting a conversation with her. I did however, feel a bit of fear that those sanctimonious obese women would come and view me as more than a lecher.
“Hey Jobay, what are you doing?” I asked to break the ice.
“Nothing, just I am bored and fighting with my boyfriend, so I come outside. Nothing to do now, but later we will go to play billiards.” She informed me.
"What is your boyfriend doing then?”
“Oh, he is just watching TV. I do not want to watch TV now, so I just take a small walk.”
“So where do you come from, what is your home town?”
“I come from Manila, but I have been staying here for four months.”
“Four months with your boyfriend?”
“Of course, we stay here together for four months.”
“Wow, you have been living in Sabang for 4 months. Do you dive or swim?”
“Nope!”
“Do you go hiking in the mountains or take trips around the island at all?”
“Nope!”
“So, what do you do everyday for 4 months?”
“Umm, I don’t know. Play billiards, go to a bar…like this.”
“You mean that for 4 months you have stayed on this island, in this town and you do not dive, you only play billiards and go to the bars?”
The thought horrified me; how could any person, especially a young female, live in that town for 4 months without enjoying the sea and without going out of town? How could a person keep from going insane when they only went to those girly bars every night? For some people it might be a brilliant life, full of reading and learning. But from the sounds of it, she was trapped in her own life as being the live in entertainment for a more privileged individual.
“Yeah!” she replied.
“So, you go to the bars with all of the girls with your boyfriend?”
“Oh, no. I do not like those bars, so I do not go in them much. If my boyfriend wants to go, I can just wait for him at home.”
It was a relief to hear that she did not have to go into those bars every night and watch girls bounce around in bikinis while girls were being rented at an alarming rate. It is a guarantee that if she were to enter these bars, she would not be accepted as “one of the girls” and others have a good time with her. Those girls in those bars are on the job and want nothing more than a payday, and she interferes with that; she is their competition. I moved the conversation to other subjects.
“So, do you speak Japanese or does he speak English?”
“I only speak small Japanese and his English not so good too.”
I found this funny because if his English was no good and her Japanese was not great either, there would be no way they could communicate, but regardless of my thoughts on the situation, they had been living together for 4 months.
As the conversation drew towards an end, I decided to ask the question that I really wanted to know, that was really on my mind all of the time;
“So, how old are you anyway?”
Her eyes grew big and she looked at me with investigation. I was not the only person that wondered about her age it seems. Maybe she was often asked this question. After pausing for thought, she replied;
“I am 17, but I will be 18 next month.”
Of course, if she were actually 17 then I would be shocked. To me it appeared that she was so obviously under age that she considered it a better idea to say she was underage, but only by a little than it was to say she was 18 because no one could possibly believe it. Our conversation came to an end shortly after that. Later in the afternoon, while eating lunch at the big apple, we saw Jobay playing billiards with her boyfriend. Their communication was minimal. “You bad shot. I good. Why? You drink?” This was the sort of daily activity that they had been participating in for four months.
The week wore on and I often observed Jobay from a distance; walking alone, standing alone and just thinking alone. One day, I saw her with a local boy who was obviously 13 or 14, they played together like peers. There was no older, no younger, no master or power. They played with the young flirtations of middle school students, yet her knowledge was similar to an adult. They poked and jabbed, play fighting and a banter that was obviously friendly. It was clear that Jobay was the same physical age as this boy and the boy was very young.
One evening, before dinner time I was chatting to Stanly on his porch when Jobay walked past, stopped at the end of the walkway and stared out into the open sea. She stayed relatively motionless for a few moments, so I invited her to the porch to chat with us. I dove right into the interesting questions;
“How did you meet your boyfriend?” I asked straight away.
“I met him through an internet seller.” She answered shyly.
“An internet seller? Don’t you mean a website? Like you were chatting online and decided to meet?” I tried to lead her into that direction. I thought that maybe she did not know the English to describe where they met. It is very common for girls from the Philippines to be on the internet trying to find husbands or meal tickets. But, she seemed to know my meaning and feel that the truth was something different.
“No, We met through an internet seller.” She corrected me.
I realized that she knew what she was saying and an image was formed in my mind of a website in Japanese with pictures of small girls and prices per month, sold like meat at the butcher, with happy Filipina mamas raking in a big percentage of the cash and ensuring the girls health as though they were race horses.
“So, is this man your first boyfriend?” I continued on, changing the topic.
“Oh no, before I was working in Robinson Mall in Manila and I met this older Filipino man and he was my first boyfriend. But, he was married and then had me as a girlfriend. That was ok, but then I found he had another girlfriend too. I did not like that, so I finished him. I still think about him, I cannot forget him.”
“How old were you when you were with that man?” I asked.
“Oh, about 16.” She stated ambiguously.
“Oh, so then you met this Japanese man?” I delved, trying to get some time reference.
“Yes, but before the Japanese man, I had an Australian boyfriend. He was a little old and we were only together for a short time.”
In my mind I thought, “Jesus, this little girl has been around” because she has. I began to really question her age because she said she worked in Robinson Mall; how old do you have to be to work in Robinson Mall? It must have been at least 6 months prior, so she could be 15, 16 or 17. But, it could have been a year earlier and now she would really be as old as she said.
I decided to turn the topic to her history, her family life and the like.
“So, did you finish school?” I asked.
“Oh, no I did not finish, but I would like to. In the Philippines, if you want to eat, you have to work. So, instead of school, I had to work.”
“So, does your family know that your boyfriend is a Japanese man?” I asked this very personal question.
“Oh, my mother does not know, but my cousin and sister knows.” She answered automatically.
I found the fact that the youngest daughter is dating an old man and living with him for 4 months on a different island, and the mother is totally unaware a hard pill to swallow. But, to quote John at VIP Divers, “As long as the money keeps coming in they won’t say anything.” Really, if schooling is free then they should at least be given the right to finish their schooling. However, I dwelt on the idea,“In the Philippines, if you want to eat you have to work.”
“Don’t your parents work?” I asked bluntly.
“My mom works, but it is not enough, I have brothers and sisters and my family has some other problems.” She answered shyly.
“What problem does your family have?” I probed deeper into the issue.
But, the wise girl that she was, she simply answered, “The same problem all Filipino families have.” This of course means nothing to me and I was not about to run around the village looking for “Curley’s ONE THING that is important in life” anymore than I was going to ask what problem all Filipino families had in common. (Curley is the character from the movie City Slickers)
It was obvious that this line of discussion had made her a little uncomfortable and she was wondering about the situation with her boyfriend, so she soon departed for her hotel room and Stanly and I enjoyed another beer.
We did not talk to Jobay much more over the rest of the week in Sabang. We had our passing “hellos” and we saw her in the bars with her boyfriend. He would be sitting with the other elderly Japanese men, drinking and dancing with all the bar girls, who were really having good times with the Japanese men. Jobay sat more reserved and silent, often leaving the bar and coming back later. We left for our travels around the other islands of the Philippines without meeting Jobay again.
We left Sabang on the 9th of July to travel to the Visayas area of the country. We flew from Manila to Cebu and for about 2 weeks, we traveled around to different cities and sites in those islands until we worked our way back to Sabang on the 21st of the month.
That night we went out to the bars and of course, we ran into Jobay and her boyfriend. Since we had been there before, something had changed in her attitude. She was now having a great deal of fun at the bar, talking to the bar girls and dancing with the guys. She was drinking and smoking and seemed to be more comfortable with her whole situation.
Stanley and I spent another two days in Sabang before returning to Manila the day before we both would return to our respective lives. Manila was covered in a blanket of rain that was flooding the streets and homes in certain areas. I went to a 7-11 in the pouring rain to pick up a card to charge my mobile phone so that I could continue to send messages to Jiao Jiao. I got the card and returned to the hotel, but I could not get the card to work. It said that the car I had purchased had already been used. I immediately rushed back to the store, once again through the rain, to get the card replaced. It turns out, the card was fine and I was entering the numbers incorrectly. After all of it was taken care of, the rain had ceased and I began the trip back to the hotel with my body plastered against the walls so that I could benefit from the overhanging roofs. As I got within site of my hotel, I saw someone waving at me and sure enough, Jobay and her Japanese boyfriend were standing right in front of me. I made formal greetings and exchanged well wishes and went on my way.
Across the street from my hotel was a live music bar with a cigarette vendor outside of it and she had seen Jobay walk past her with her boyfriend and she had also seen me greeting the couple. This emaciated female frame sat staring at me as I walked away from Jobay and her boyfriend and when I got within ear shot, she started asking me questions.
“Do you know that girl? Do you know that girl?” she spat at me like a hyperactive badger.
“Yeah, I know who she is…” I replied cautiously.
“You stay away, she is really dangerous. The police will get you.” she continued.
“Wow, wow! I said I knew her, I did not touch her!” I defended my statement.
“She is young, very young. Police will catch you. You stay away.” she continued to hammer her point.
Sensing that this was going nowhere and fast, I agreed with her and continued to move toward my destination. It is ironic that with over a week around Sabang, no one had said anything about the age of the girl in a threatening way. It was more of a "don’t ask and don’t tell" situation. Yet, as soon as I got to Manila, the cigarette sales woman felt obligated to steer people clear of that kind of danger. And so, on the last day of my journey, my suspicions concerning the age of Jobay were confirmed by the woman who sold cigarettes on the street across from my hotel.
After a big fat burger king breakfast at the Hong Kong airport, I boarded my Cebu Pacific Air jet and immediately after takeoff I could feel the fun loving spirit of the Philippines as though it had been imported with this plane. After we reached our cruising altitude the hostesses got on the speaker and began asking for volunteers, people who were having their first flight with Cebu Pacific were most desired. So up to the front went the four or five volunteers, and they each took turns singing their favorite song for the payment of a souvenir. One woman, short and stalky, got very into her song and began shaking her booty like she was in an Usher video. Her bubbly hind quarters were gyrating rhythmically for a few short seconds and the passengers/crowd went wild with cheers for her extra-mile antics. She also received a Cebu Pacific T-shirt.
The plane was not filled to capacity, it might have just reached half full. But, more than 90% of the passengers were Filipina domestic helpers going home for vacation from their jobs in Hong Kong. The rest of the folks were old white guys, with smiles on their faces as they dreamed about the time they would soon be having. Having previously had the idea to set up a company which provides Filipina A-yi's in Beijing, I found this a great opportunity to find out about the working conditions that they get in Hong Kong, so I started a conversation with the women next to me.
"So, you are a domestic helper in Hong Kong?" I asked this foolish ice breaker question, it was obvious that she and the rest of the women on the plane were domestic helpers.
"Yes, I worked in Hong Kong for five years, but now I finished my job and go home." She replied.
"Oh, why will you go home?" I asked.
""I don't want to live in Hong Kong anymore, now I will try to get a job in the USA. My cousin lives in New York, I think I would like to move there." She said.
"That sounds like a good idea, so what was life like in Hong Kong? How did you get the job? How much do they pay? Was it good working condition?" I inquired about the things which I found interesting.
"I was working in Hong Kong five years, all with one family. My employer was good to me, nice family, otherwise I would not stay. To get the job we have to sign up with an employment agency in the Philippines, I payed them about 10,000 peso's, and then they find us a job. We sign the first contract through that company, but after that you resign with your employer. I made 3,500 Hong Kong dollars a month, that equals about 12,000 pesos in a month. In the Philippines we would only make about 4,000 pesos in a month, so our was in Hong Kong is three times that in the Philippines."
She spoke rather negatively about the situation, she was not happy of the fact that she had to go abroad to make a good wage. You could feel her angst actually steaming from her as later she said, "You are so lucky, you can just come to the Philippines and spend money, but we have to live here." She cooled a bit when I told her that most Chinese make far less than 4,000 pesos in a month and the ones with a University degree can make that or a little more. To this information, she seemed shocked.
Both her and her friend sitting next to her had a very dark view of things and I am sure it did not make their life happier. They were very negative about their situation, about their wages, about their country; "You need to be careful in the Philippines, sometimes the taxi driver will take you and rob you." I have never been one to be this bleak and I do not know well what they have been through, but it seems that the days will often be dark when looked at as dark.
This day was the first time that I had landed in Manila during the day, so I decided to skip the airport taxi and go out of the airport to get a normal taxi. As soon as I stepped out of the airport a few cabbies started to push for my business, offering prices as low as 15 USD, to which I scoffed and continued walking. Finally, I got the trip to the Duck Inn for 200 pesos.
Just my luck, tonight the Duck Inn had vacancy, it was not a weekend after all. I got my key and it was about 2:00, I inquired about my friend Stanly, and the desk informed me that he had been there, but he had checked out earlier that day. "Shit, I thought, what in the world could he be doing? Did he meet a girl that wooed him and he decided to take her to an island already? Did he get robbed and frustrated and decide to go home?" Regardless, I expected I would see him at 3:00 at the LA Cafe regardless.
At about 3:15 I popped into the LA Cafe and quickly heard my name, "Jake!" but it was from a very girly voice. I turned around and saw this short and chunky Filipina girl, as she waddled over to me like an Umpa-Lumpa. "Don't you remember me?" she asked. "Apparently not, you have aged well!" She said, "Oh, I cannot believe you forgot our romantic..." HAHA, just joking!
At 3:15, I met Stanly in the bar. As I walked up to him, I noticed that he had some old cougar chewing on his ear. I sat down, ordered an SMB, and we chatted away for a bit, in between the day time freelancers walking up with, "Hello! Where are you from?"
We moved off the bar to a table where it was more difficult for girls to approach us. We chatted about the old times. Then, some badger of a woman, with a vicious smokers hack and a voice that would make Bruce Springstein weep came up, Stanly knew her by name. "Hey, Stanly, how are you?" Stanly introduced her to me, the name I cannot recall. She claimed herself to be like a big sister, trying to keep people safe. At the same time some girl with her breasts nearly showing was pushing into our business, or trying to get our business pushing into her...haha... The badgerous one started going on about how we should be careful. "Many of the girls in here are very dangerous. Some so dirty, have disease, some like to steal things, you be careful!" When she said "disease" her eyes went to the girl with the cleavage, when she said "stealing," again the same eye pointing. My take on it was simply some old hag jockeying for position. While her body was sagging and she looked of 20 years on the drink, she could not be faulted for her effort in attempting to make us think that she was the one that was different.
We chatted in the bar for a bit, until the girls coming up to us an trying to get us to buy them a drink or take them home for short-time got so annoying that we went out to get Stanly another room at the Duck Inn, and then we went to eat on the pier.
You could feel that this was definitely a different time of year than the previous times I had come to the Philippines. On the pier, the restaurants were nearly empty and the wind was such that it was a little chilly. The food which we had also left something to be desired and the service struck me as feeling like they had used up all of their great manners during the peak season and now they could relax a little.
Stanly and I chatted and he had enjoyed enough of the city of Manila and the bar birds that flock to their drinking trees. He had intimate encounters with two already and felt as though he might have contracted something. So, we planned to go to Sabang the next day, the place that always welcomes people. And that ended our night of partying, for we needed to be up to go to Sabang at around 7 in the morning.
Here is a picture of Stanly and I meeting, and then one of his dirty birds.
His bird...
The following day, we arrived in Sabang and got our place to stay, down at the end of the beach where the rainy season waves were crashing hard against the walk way and covering those walking with sea water. That first night was the best weather of the whole trip. Here are some photos of the sunset.
And here is a video taken from my room, to end this post.
At 10 o'clock, I wandered out of my shoe box to try to find some dinner. I jumped onto the elevator as the sole passenger. A few floors down, a linebacker of an Indian woman walked onto the elevator as well. She was clad in her colorful throw-over and lengthy dress. She gazed at me with her large dark eyes, then her mustache crinkled like a tsunami as she gave me her seductive smile. "You like massage." she whispered to me in such a way to ensure her husband or friends did not hear her offering such service. I politely refused her offer, and as I would pass her multiple times on the street, as she sat out front of the building with her friends who were all dressed similarly, we usually shared a knowing look.
As I turned the corner, my favorite meat and rice place was still open. Only recognizable by its class windows filled with hanging meats and the constant steam rising from the counters and a steady in-and-out flow of customers to taste the flavors of won ton noodles or meat, which arrive at your table immediately after order and never fails to please.
The middle part of the story is something that I do not really want to post here, but I have posted it on my Lulu site. It is short and not especially entertaining, but maybe worth a look. Lulu charges 19 cents for the download, I charge 11 cents just to make sure that you are choosing to read it. Here is a link.
I walked into the 7-11 to buy some water to drink in my room, and it was filled with Africans and a few Hong Kong folks drinking and smoking up a storm. Not just drinking beer, they had purchased bottles of spirits and were pouring them into cups and making mixed drinks as well. Essentially, this 7-11 had been turned into a cheap bar by the people of the area, and it was the type of bar that you did not want to mess around in, less ye fear not an ass-kicking. It was this 7-11 bar that nearly 2 years before, as I entered with a Korean girl I had met on the Star Ferry, had felt so threatening at night on my first trip to Hong Kong. The Korean girl had been approached by one of the African men, he was claiming how he must see her tomorrow and how she had to meet him, all the time trying to put his hands on her. As I came out, and he noticed that she was waiting for me, they turned their advances towards me. "Where are you from?" He asked in an aggressive and threatening tone.
"Canada." I lied like a twat, hoping to avoid any "Fuck America" sentiment.
"So you speak French, I also speak French, but my French is better than yours." He expressed his dislike of me with his tone.
"No, I do not speak French!" And we walked away.
But those days had long passed, and I was familiar with what the situation is like in the TST and was not surprised at all by this. I only felt sorry for the cashiers in the store, for they had to deal with this folks everyday, and probably do not get compensated for their troubles.
The time had slipped past 12, and thus I had to sign in with the building guards as I entered. I had to weave my way through the empty halls to the elevators that continued to run at this hour. The elevator creaked and squeaked all the way up to the 15th floor. As the doors opened to my destination, I stepped out and immediately felt a chill run through my spine. It was once again silent, but now it was late and dark to boot. I walked around the corner, hitting the straight hall to my guest house door. In front of the door stood a shirtless Arab man with a towel wrapped around his waste facing the door. As I drew closer, he turned to face me and then scurried like a scared cockroach back into the door directly to the left of the guest house. As I got to where I could see the door, I could see him still watching me, as though he were threatened, a scared cat. His head was shaved bald but he had month long stubble covering his thin, elongated chin. He hid safely behind his own metallic barrier door and watched to see what I was doing. as I drew nearly parallel to him, making it impossible to see me from inside, he opened his door a bit and poked out his head, and there I could get a look at his Gollum-esc eyes staring at me, not with curiosity, but more as a stalker, waiting for the opportunity to pounce. The nervousness that his stare created in me was coupled with the door not being easy to open, so after a few tries I finally got into the metallic barrier door. I could not be more relieved to have gotten in safely with that man outside. His actions were those of a mentally challenged or straight up crazy person. I was not fearful of this vampire, but felt certain that single woman should be, for he gave me the aura of a rapist without knowing it would be wrong.
Here is a picture of his door in relation to the guest house door.
The next morning, I took a Cebu Pacific Airlines flight to Manila, total roundtrip fare was 1,800 Hong Kong dollars. The trip had really just started.
It was an exciting Saturday night, the night before I would go to Hong Kong on the way for my 3rd trip to the Philippines, this time to vacation with my roommate of yore. This Saturday was not a normal Saturday by any means, for this Saturday was England v. Portugal in the World Cup, and it was also the night of the Club Football Five-a-Side awards banquet, so my rowdy friends and I all packed into Brown early to enjoy the fantastic buffet dinner and bottomless beer until 10, before the game started at 11. As kickoff drew closer, the bar swelled to capacity and the murmur of the crowd began to be drowned by the beats of the DJ. Then, the game began and all were silent. And England fell in the end. Yet, this was not to kill the party, for the Boisterous Brazilian crowd filled in on top of the dead dreams of the English, to once again fill the air with electricity as beautiful girls danced on the bar to the same beats as earlier. A 2am start time did nothing to damage the heart of Brazil, but I was very tired. Jiao Jiao wanted nothing more than to spend time with me that evening, so after the first game, we went to Mix for dancing. At Mix, I was able to dance with Jiao Jiao while watching the France v. Brazil game, but at about 4 am, I had not more energy, and had to go home for a short rest of around 1 hour before departing to
the airport. And in the airport, I could barely stay awake to listen for my boarding call. On the plane, the women sitting to my right were immersed in two hours of conversation while the woman across the isle to my left continually stared in my direction. I noticed her looking at my through the corner of my eye, sensing that she wanted to say something, I uncomfortably continued to read my book, "Smoke Jumper," a love triangle story with a lot of travel adventure, the first part is the best.
As the plane was reaching the 20th minute of a 30 minute decent the woman to my left looked at me and very directly spoke, "How long did you stay in Peking?"
I was being accosted and did not know how to think about the situation. "Why do you ask?" I asked in an investigation of her motives.
"Oh, I am thinking to move to Peking and give up Hong Kong. So, I am wondering how you feel about Peking. I see Peking is developed and good, but Hong Kong is low, not good." Immediately, I leveled this woman a nutter. She was a little old to be giving up her hometown for a new city, a bit silly to call Hong Kong low on a flight to Hong Kong and she had been illustrating her words to me by writing "Peking" and "Hong Kong" on a paper and pointing to them as she said them, as though I could not hear her. If she was not a nutter, then she must be trying to bait me into calling one of the two places a "shit-hole" and I was not biting.
"Well," I answered cautiously," Hong Kong has very convenient transport, cleaner air and lots of quality products at a decent price; where as Beijing has transport problems, pollution and it is difficult to get good products."
"So, you like Hong Kong better." She pressed me as though she were Tyra Banks interviewing any man on her Nutt-Cutter show.
"I did not say...ugh..." The breath was bounced out of my lungs for a second as the plane touched ground in the middle of my sentence, that was a first. I gripped the arm rests and regathered myself before continuing.
"I didn't say that! Beijing has good apartments at low cost, food is cheap and it is getting better quickly."
She seemed slightly disappointed that I did not have a go at either city. She ended our conversation with "Okay" and that was more than enough for me.
The plane taxied to a stop, people got their things and waited in the isle for the door to open. From behind, an Asian man dressed in all synthetic fabric with some outdoor name brand, a sportive watch and Bole style sunglasses all surrounded with skin so evenly tanned that it must have been artificial; began trying to sneak around me. This same goon had earlier had tried to occupy another man's seat in front of me at well past the midpoint of the flight while the man, a father, was taking his son to the toilet. Sporty-Asian was saying to the mother "Change seat!" while nodding his head. Of course she refused. Now, he was trying slip his greasy tan scales past me, pointing to his fake diver watch and saying "No time!"
"What? The doors are not even open and there are loads of people in front, where the ...are you gonna go?" I said in an annoyed and condescending tone. I question his understanding of the words, but he said "Okay" and backed off.
As we walked through the door of the plane I sarcastically said, "Now you can go" and he jetted past people like a race car driver. His calves were well shaped, obviously from lots of exercise. Maybe he was late for a hiking competition. I could not help hoping to see him as I walked through the baggage claim.
I took out 2,000 Hong Kong dollars from the bank and jumped on the Airport Express to TST. You can see the videos of the Airport Express and the MTR here.
I do not often expect to have much adventure when I come to Hong Kong. I always stay in Myrador Mansions, for no reason apart from price. I had previously stayed on the 12th and 13th floor in Myrador. As I arrived at the elevator, a Chinese woman approached me with the offer of a room on the 5th floor. It had two beds and she wanted 365 for it. I was not interested in paying so much for such meager accommodation. So, I walked up to the 12th floor and inquired. The woman at the front desk said that she would have a room at 3pm, I booked and paid 160, left my bag and went to the Internet cafe to check my email and sit in the air conditioning for a short while, as I waited for my shoebox room to be ready.
As I walked to my reserved computer I passed an African man and on his screen was a massive picture of a black man violating an Asian girl from behind. Potentially, he is not in Asia simply for business. I wasted my time in the cafe until the room was set to be prepared, then I returned to the hotel.
My room was not on the 12th or 13th floor, instead I was now staying on the 15th floor. This was a new renovation and the only guest house on this high level. It felt very dreary and dangerous; all of the doors had magnetic barrier doors and they were all closed tight. The hall was clear and it was as quiet as a funeral parlor. In a situation like this, I prefer activity and movement, people looking, moving and available to help!
When I got through the two security doors to enter this new guest house, I noticed my room was by far the smallest I had yet to stay in at Myrador Mansions. The bathroom was so small that a person could literally do the three S's (Shit Shower Shave) at one time.
I was so shot out from the wild night before that my fuel was totally drained by 4:30. I turned on the air conditioning, lay down and did not wake until 10. Lucky for me, that is the time that Hong Kong starts moving a little bit.
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