Who'll Stop the Rain (Sydney - Hong Kong)

It's that time of the year again, dear reader, when the wanderlust overtakes my soul and I need to get out and explore the world. Also, I'm over Sydney's shit weather with August on track to break a 160 year rainfall record. A shout out to all those who believe climate change is a myth. Obviously that brings me to today's title, and yes I am going to continue with song titles. Who'll Stop the Rain by Creedence Clearwater revival all the way from 1970. Enjoy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIPan-rEQJA.

The journey to the airport was too easy, despite the early start and the rain. I may have mentioned previously that one of the many highlights of retirement is rarely having to set an alarm. 5:30am is somewhat of an affront these days. The Hughes car, courtesy of APT, was waiting downstairs before the allotted time so we were en route to Mascot by 6:45am. The back seat of the Audi A6 proved spacious and comfortable.

From Kowloon Park, purely to break up the text.

There was the requisite traffic jam as we neared the Departures on-ramp, but nothing that was unexpected on a Wednesday morning. And the rain continued. Did I mention that Sydney has had some inclement weather recently? 

Inside the terminal we made our way toward the Qantas desk and bumped into some friends we hadn't see for a few months. They were off to Bali. There was no-one waiting at check-in and we were soon in the queue for security screening. Not the sort one may be subjected to at US customs in the days of Trump.

It was here our smooth run stuttered slightly. Nothing happened. There were no tubs in which to place our items and so the line grew. People looked around perplexed. While we had not reached the wailing and gnashing of teeth, there was much muttering under the breath. Magically tubs appeared, people loaded them and sent them onto the conveyor and we were moving again. Momentarily.

From Kowloon Park, purely to break up the text.

We made it a very few metres to the other side of the body scanner and stopped once again. I'm so glad Sydney Airport Authority has spent so much money on this new system. The problem this time? An over zealous bag checker or a too finely calibrated x-ray machine. More bags were sent for a second check than were being sent through which ensured a repetition of the traffic jam outside, only with carry-on luggage.

At the head of the queue, were two young girls who were having their bags emptied and everything opened. Including lipstick. I've never been harmed by a lipstick before, although in the John Wick films. who knows what could happen? My first bag made it safely into my hands; my backpack was not so lucky. Nor was Jayne's. And so everyone milled around, waiting and striking up unusual, disgruntled camaraderie. A change of the bag searchers proved serendipitous - the process was magically expedited and we were soon ensconced in the Business Lounge, sipping bubbles. Yes dear reader, how the mighty have fallen. My Platinum status is gone forever and with it, access to the beloved First Class Lounge with it table service and champagne. Sigh. It was still raining btw.

Having endured the constant catarrhic cough (love a good alliterative phrase) of an elderly (read older than us) fellow lounger who we were sure would appear in QF 127 Business Class to Hong Kong to infect us right at the commencement of our odyssey, and suitably fortified by bubbles we walked the ten minutes to the gate. Boarding was slightly late but the new insistence on boarding groups by Qantas (welcome to the new century, other airlines have been doing it forever) works remarkably well. It also helps if you fly Business. And there go the last of my FF points.

Pretty sure you've got the concept.

The A330 is the plane they should be flying to Perth instead of those clapped out old 737s. Lie flat beds and plenty of space with the catarrhic woman nowhere in sight, made the almost 10 hour flight comfortable. Allowing for the fact that you are sitting in a metal tube in the sky. As to Cold Chisel and the words in that Australian rock anthem, Khe San, "in seven flying hours I'll be landing in Hong Kong", like what? Seven hours? Tell 'em they're dreaming.

HK Immigration was busy but the line moved efficiently and our bag rolled towards us as we approached the carousel. Magic. Out into the humidity we strolled to the taxi rank and straight into a cab. A note for anyone who has not been to HK previously, bring your cash. The trip to the hotel was almost $300HK -  about $60AUD but if paying by card, you will be directed to order an Uber.

HK traffic is manic. Happy to be in the back seat. Hotel check in was fast and attentive and our bags were delivered to our spacious corner room within minutes. The view of the harbour at night is quite pretty with the lights, like a poor person's Vivid. Bags unpacked, we headed to the 38th floor of the Mondrian Hotel to the bar for our complimentary welcome drink to discuss our itinerary for the next few days. It wasn't raining.

Looking back to the entry.

The view out to the harbour.

I'm still on Sydney time so I woke early and it still wasn't raining. Unlike home where there were dire weather predictions. Again. There was no reason to rush, Hong Kong plays late and starts late. We opted for breakfast in the hotel, not that we wanted much, pastries, coffee and juice will see us through to dinner. Jayne navigated the breakfast options once our high speed speaking waiter calmed down and spoke more slowly.

Even the turtles are into high rise.

A coffee report, dear reader? It was brewed but passable. The pastries were excellent. The juice freshly squeezed. We mapped out our day and headed down to the Concierge to discuss our options. 

Back in the room I changed into shorts and sandals and we caught the lift down to the Ground Floor. Catching a lift in Asia often is challenging. Well, confronting if you value personal space. It seems that a full lift is never quite full and we have been stunned by the number of people that emerge once the doors open. Memories of Mary Poppins' carpet bag.

The old and the new of Hong Kong.

I fired up the Holafly e-sim and put the address into maps and off we wandered toward the wharf to the Tourism Centre to discuss the concept of 'jump the queue' tickets for the Sky Terrace tram. I suspected it was an advertising ploy by a third party company and so it turned out. We will buy our tickets through the main website.

Hong Kong Island from Kowloon.

There was a slight breeze so the 84% humidity wasn't that problematic as we turned for Kowloon Park. Had I married a shopper, I would have been in serious trouble because our path crossed just about every designer store in the city. But I didn't and we walked directly to the park, an oasis among the towering apartment and office buildings.

WorkCover would love this.

There were numerous ponds and fountains which attracted the selfie brigade. In number. There was also an aviary which contained a very small number of larger parrots and cockatoos, some from Australia. Yellow Bitterns seemed to abound as did numerous other birds I am uncertain of, and an enclosure of slightly pink flamingos - a big drawcard for the park. Only one pond contained carp, surprisingly, the rest were overcrowded with turtles.

Flamingos with Bittern. Look closer.

It's high rise everywhere you look.

The Chinese garden was underwhelming compared to what we have seen elsewhere, Australia included. The highlight for some, not me, was the Hong Kong Avenue of Comic Stars. It featured many statues of, well, I guess, comic stars (1960's -2010's). Who am I to argue?

No idea who he is, but he looks hot. And angry. Mostly angry.

If ever I was researching kitsch and its origins I feel Hong kong would be a backbone of the research.

Supporting evidence.

Once again out in the shopping precinct (it never ends), we navigated our way back to the hotel. I was temporarily distracted by a wine store and popped in, purely to enjoy the air conditioning. The 10% off a two bottle purchase was too tempting and we left shortly thereafter: the proud, but temporary owners of a bottle of Petit Chablis and a Montepulciano.

It was beer time after we had recharged my phone. We chose to drink in the hotel, at our expense - it is pricier than a regular establishment. This was due to lack of local knowledge more than anything else. There are numerous 'pubs' or 'clubs' in the area, even in our street, but they were all closed. It is assumed they open later in the afternoon. Anyway, after photos snapped from Floor 40, where there is no rooftop bar (why?), we adjourned to the Avoca, Level 38, again, for two overpriced beers.

From Level 40

Where there is no rooftop bar

Great views, no alcohol, just a smokers' area. What a waste.

A quick side trip to a 7-Eleven for some snacks set us for a couple of hours of blogging and photo production, prior to dinner. Yep, you guessed it, here at the hotel at Avoca. The menu looked really interesting, if albeit, expensive. Ah, it's only money and you can't take it with you.

And that's probably enough for the first post. Stay dry Sydney. If that is at all possible.

Until tomorrow.