My Town (as it is), by Pommes

Dear Gentle Reader,

Your humble scribe slept like a log, last night.

A log harassed and harried by both a rabid, toothless beaver and a lumberjack without the requisite skill or understanding for his trade.

He, the humble scribe, is currently passed out. So, today, I will take you on a quick tour of my world.

First, though, I need to address some concerns that I have seen raised.

The humble scribe and the Heroine take adequate care of my needs.

Not brilliant care, of course, ...diet? Really. Salmon allowances could always be upped. But, certainly, adequate care.

When I came back from the clinic, they made me a lovely herbal tea and brought me flowers, although I eschewed the tea for my regular cuppa fish sauce.

Anyway, they try.

So, today, I thought that I would give you a very quick tour around my town which is this apartment, as the denizens of Hong Kong apparently eat anything with a back that points to heaven.

I asked to go outside on my own, and told the humble scribe that I would do this whenever locals came along...

The humble scribe then broke down the math on the numbers of people in Hong Kong, their prevalence in the streets, and the number of restaurants per block.

We both decided that it was best if I stayed in.

So, here is my world, at least the salient bits...

Here is my bed.

Here is my daybed.

Well, that is what it looks like from the ground. Supposedly it is a sofa or a chesterfield, but by the time I leap up there it feels just right for a daybed.

Here is a closer look... it's padded just right for settling down into...

Here is daybed number two. I set the camera on timer, and gave myself a good half hour for a snooze, and woke up a bit disoriented.

This bed is nice, although the Heroine and the humble scribe hog it at night.

I could show you daybeds three, four, five, and six...

...But, I don't want to give you the wrong idea, so I might skip those, today.

Some people ask about the cuppa fish sauce.

(Miss Kitty? Dylan? Take notes...)

The daily cuppa fish sauce is what keeps my coat glossy and my physique rippling with good health.

Actually, it is more than just a cuppa fish sauce, it is a cuppa liquid papyrus extract, just right for an ancient Akkadian writing cat, supplemented with essence of fish.

The humble scribe thinks that the fish are there to eat any mosquitoes that might try to breed in the tanks.

What bumpf.

The fish are there for the same reason there are worms in tequila.

Flavouring.

I like my water tasty.

Now, don't worry. I don't eat these flavour sticks.

Nor the ones in the other rooms.

All these flavour sticks are too strong.

I prefer salmon.

Or, as salmon is not fresh here, koi.

Look at this smorgasbord I found the other day, on my way back from the clinic... I am hoping someone will take me here for lunch, or I start complaining to the readers... hint, hint...

Anyway.

I could show you more, my secret cave, the chemical weapons factory, or my favourite places to watch pigeons. But I'm a bit sleepy now, and bed number five is calling me with its dulcet siren call.

But, hopefully, this gives you an idea of my world.

Miao,

Pommes

Fine Plan / Fire Plan; too much stuff

DISCLAIMER:  Sigh, another post. Put down the phone and devote your full attention, or store to savour later. There is a slightly egocentric side to this post, in that the writer assumes that anybody cares in the slightest what is up with Regina and Chris. (The writer knows that everyone is clamouring to know more of the exploits of Pommes der Wunderkatzchen, sorry none in this post.)  DISCLAIMER END

Dear Gentle Reader,

Hello from the The Pinnacle where we are overlooking green park space (Signal Hill Park), blue water, and the ever idyllic Hong Kong Victoria Harbour (see above at night) awash with gently bobbing watercraft of all shapes and sizes (I should be a copy editor for Hong Kong Tourism).

We are now fully moved into our new apartment in Hong Kong; we have internet access via our non-firewalled neighbours...

So, I was gmail chatting with a friend the other day and idly commented on the sheer volume of stuff that Regina makes me haul around from country to country. 

There was an intake of breath that I sensed across the internet.  Obviously there were to follow words of condolence and empathy because I, of course, am known as an inveterate Zen minimalist.  Especially in the household "things" department.

Suddenly, to my infinite amazement, said friend (the invidious Steven L.) seemed to imply, actually, he flat out stated, that I am a pack rat.

Pack rat?  Pachyderm if anything, with my prodigious memory and smooth, unwrinkled skin... 

(Aside: Yes Regina, I have found the facial cream and will start using it.  

And when exactly did male wrinkles stop being cool, anyways?  

I desperately wanted to look like Robert Redford as a young man.  

I would stand in the frigid Albertan and Saskatchewan winters making absurd faces with exaggerated wrinkles, licking my cheeks to chap them, hoping the cold and dry would help my skin "set" to stay like that, just like parents around the world warn their kids about.  

And now my wife henpecks me to put skin cream moisturizer on.  Go figure. 

Aside Over.)

Anyway, back to my point about the mess in the house. 

I hold that I can blame Regina for making me carry all the stuff, like skin cream junk that clutters up our house, around from country to country and from house to house.  

Therefore, by extension, Regina is unequivocally responsible for the accumulation of unnecessary stuff cluttering up our house.  

Except of course for the wickedly cool stuff that I collect.  If you are appreciating it when you enter the house, that's my stuff.

But what a lot of stuff there is, no matter whom is responsible for it.  

I knew there was trouble when the movers came into the house, looked at each other, looked at me, and then laughed.  

I especially knew I was in trouble when the rooms were full of boxes (by full, I mean that there were no interstitial spaces to squeeze more boxes or bodies or Minotaurs into) and the moving guys said that they wanted to take a lunch break...  

And then they said, and this is where I became a bit nervous, "and we'll unload the second truck... the other half of your shipment... after lunch"...

I am sure my neighbours loved threading and wriggling their corpulent bodies through the tiny gaps in the hallways to get to what they considered their rooms.  

The good gentlemen from the concierge desks downstairs (yes, that was meant to be in the plural) came up to have a chat with me about the situation and how I intended to deal with it.  

I explained, repeatedly, that things would take a bit of time, but that I had a plan.  

They kept saying "Fine Plan, fine plan" back to me, in a curiously concerned fashion, and I would reply,"Yes, fine plan, its a fine plan" back to placate and mollify them.  

Only it didn't seem to work; the concierges never seemed to be mollified by my repetition of "fine plan" back to them.

It took me a day or three to realize that the concierge SWAT team were saying either "Fire Plan" or "Fire Man" and they considered the cardboard obelisk garden which I had created in the common space hallway to be some type of impediment to people, or even a fire risk.  

Sheesh, nobody appreciates impermanent art anymore.  

If only I had had some formaldehyde and a shark.

Anyway, things are looking up.  

I have been ruthlessly culling things.  

I even evacuated the Swiss Dust Bunny collection that I had imported here at great personal cost and in flagrant violation of the CITES convention (Convention on the International Trade on Endangered Species of Wild Flora and Fauna).  

(They appear to be multiplying in the streets; I am of course implicitly referring to the Swiss Dust Bunnies.  The only places where international conventions multiply in the streets are in Geneva or in New York.) 

We purchased two more armoires, and are getting some shelf-holder-upper-metal-tabbie-thingamiggers (see, my German is improving) sent to us by the ineffably wonderful Fabilicious to put more shelves and hence more things into one of the older armoires.  

This place will be almost as shipshape as a yacht when we are finished.  So, guests, come on over to check it all out.

My Dad is supposedly coming over soon, as is Fab, but others are strangely silent.  It's really nice here.  

I found the going away picture book that Nicole, Arne, und Julia made for us and there is a section in it for pictures of Genevusians (the technical way of describing people who live in Geneva as opposed to those who have been born and raised in it) who visit HK.  

These pages won't fill themselves, kiddos.  Get busy, visit, and pose for photos.  And Inga, don't think that a broken arm is going to get you off of your impending visit here with your Mom.

Lets call that a day, Gentle Reader, and we will see what comes next week.

Tschuuuessss,

Chris, Regina, and Pommes

Intro to Hong Kong; small apartment with coleslaw

Hello from HK from your Heroine Regina, your Hero Pommes and I, your Humble Scribe, Chris. (Sepiru is the transliteration of this:

which is Akkadian cuneiform for Scribe.)

It is raining today, which means it is only marginally warmer than mid-day in Geneva (Switzerland, our last home), though much wetter.  

On other days it has been considerably warmer, although I still find myself just as wet.

Pommes seems to be settling into his new apartment well, and we take him onto the roof top terrace for a Dubonnet (well, we get the Dubonnet, Pommes chaperones us and acts as a guide cat to get us back to our apartment). 

Pommes seems to enjoy air-conditioning, but he looks longingly at the horizon. 

I think he misses pulling Swiss birds from the air.  

Maybe he finds the local cat dialect strange here?  

I should clarify, Pommes' new home is our temporary, serviced apartment.  

We have made nothing more than noodle soup in our serviced apartment because it is just too small to comfortably cook anything, and normally I can cook anywhere.  

By small, I mean 40 square meters (430 square feet) including us, our 120 kilos of air luggage (265 pounds), one new sofa, one bed, one ottoman, one small kitchen, one bathroom, one bedroom, one piece of furniture, one tv, one wife, one cat, and me.  

It just seems too stuffed to work in, let alone walk in. 

But, all that said, Pommes seems to like it-- many surfaces with many layers for him to prance on and lie on and scratch on.  

By "scratch on" I refer to what was once the one new sofa.  

Now, slightly battered and shredded, we call it coleslaw. 

Regina called me before I left Switzerland with a slightly frantic, "Bring darning needles".  

I did. 

I also brough crocheting needles and upholstery needles and other oddments.  

Quite the damage our little Pommes has done to the fabric covered(ish) surfaces in this apartment.  

It takes ages to condition Pommes to a new scratching post, but he seems to have a natural affinity for sofas. 

Feline sofa killer, that's Pommes.

Fortunately, we just found an apartment.  If we are lucky (!) then we get to bid for it.  

I would tell you the initial asking rate but that would be (a) gauche and (b) might put my bankers into catatonia.  

Suffice to say that Tero was right. Hong Kong is the most expensive rental market on the planet for very obvious reasons.  

I have no idea why we ever complained about inexpensive Switzerland.  

My left kidney is earmarked for the first month's rent.

Regina says more planning is required for month two.  

That said, I will never mention rent again.  I will just put my head in the sand and pretend it is not real.

Hmm. On a positive note, the Hong Kong skyline is tremendous, and I think that we are going to live in Kowloon which is fantastic because then we can enjoy the Hong Kong skyline instead of merely being a part of it.  

For those that have never been to Hong Kong (yet) the Star Ferry is: the coolest thing in the world; my favourite place to stand; and only a 5 minutes walk from the place we hope to move into.  

For those who know Hong Kong, it is almost like coming home because our (hopefully) new apartment, the Pinnacle, is right around the corner from Chungking Mansions. 

There was even a big apartment that I was trying to view there, just because it was in Chungking Mansions, not that we wanted to live there!  

If you have never backpacked through Hong Kong, you likely will not know of Chungking Mansions; let it suffice that CKM was notorious amongst those seeking inexpensive short term digs in HK.

Anyway, I expect to be ultimately working in Central which would be great because then I could take the Star Ferry to work every day and enjoy the view from the water twice a day.  

I have to become more (read lots) proactive, but this whole leaving Switzerland and finding a place here process has been a tad bit engaging and time consuming.  

Anyway, I thought that as your scribe I should compose a quick note to to let you know that we are alive and well, after completing all the paperwork to leave Switzerland. 

(Notice how there has been complete radio/email silence as to the whereabouts of my right kidney and my spleen.... coincidence?...)

All right then, here ends the letter for today.  

I have to go find some chicken feet for dinner, or something else.  

Oh, and we are looking forward to guests.  Start coming soon. :)  

I am keen to see how long creme brulée lasts in this humidity. 

My guess is that I will keep torching it to just beyond the teeth.  

Of course, the apartment we have on offer (hopefully) comes with only electric elements (groan) and no oven.  So I am going to have to look into buying one.

Tschuess,

Chris, Regina, and Pommes