Sunday, March 25, 2012
barefoot running
looking for barefoot running gear and saw the poster saying "200000 years ago, people who didn't belive in barefoot running, got eaten".
Dislocated
Living in Hong Kong for almost 4 months by now, it is a surprisingly familiar yet foreign land to me. Living around central Hong Kong, you can get by with English almost everywhere - not until you venture to the alley ways behind the highrise. I can still get around with my broken Cantonese and had proper conversation with my hair dresser.
Going hiking every weekend (both Saturday and Sunday) becomes my weekend ritual, plus daily yoga lessons. Everything is within arm's reach. The hike to the peak (450m above sea level) takes about 1 hours from the time I leave the apartment. Continuing walking uphill, 20 minutes later I am in the tropical forest. Yoga studio is 10 minutes away, post office 3 minutes, bank 2 minutes.
Never mention the food, I quite enjoy exploring the small restaurants that ghost people would not dare to set their foot in. I can read the menu and order properly - many thanks to my extensive foodie blog reading.
This part of Hong Kong is almost like any big English speaking cities, New York, London or San Francisco (the hills, baby!). Yet the old, doggy, slizzy Chinese influences are everywhere. The office ladies dress in Chanel drinking the bitter herbal tea or fresh fruit juice from the street vendors (that's good for the skin, they said). 4-inch heels in the dirty congee shops.
A friend used to say that Tokyo is perfect for dislocated souls - for those people who cannot find their places in their own countries, they flee to Tokyo and the city has provided a quite place for them - no question asked (Japanese is too polite to ask). He thinks Tokyo is perfect fit for me but I am having a second thought now.
Going hiking every weekend (both Saturday and Sunday) becomes my weekend ritual, plus daily yoga lessons. Everything is within arm's reach. The hike to the peak (450m above sea level) takes about 1 hours from the time I leave the apartment. Continuing walking uphill, 20 minutes later I am in the tropical forest. Yoga studio is 10 minutes away, post office 3 minutes, bank 2 minutes.
Never mention the food, I quite enjoy exploring the small restaurants that ghost people would not dare to set their foot in. I can read the menu and order properly - many thanks to my extensive foodie blog reading.
This part of Hong Kong is almost like any big English speaking cities, New York, London or San Francisco (the hills, baby!). Yet the old, doggy, slizzy Chinese influences are everywhere. The office ladies dress in Chanel drinking the bitter herbal tea or fresh fruit juice from the street vendors (that's good for the skin, they said). 4-inch heels in the dirty congee shops.
A friend used to say that Tokyo is perfect for dislocated souls - for those people who cannot find their places in their own countries, they flee to Tokyo and the city has provided a quite place for them - no question asked (Japanese is too polite to ask). He thinks Tokyo is perfect fit for me but I am having a second thought now.
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