As I strolled along the Aberdeen promenade, an old woman steering one of the remaining sampans flagged me down. Did I want a tour?
Well, why not?
For seven bucks she sailed me away. We cruised past trawlers and other sampans. Their boat decks were as domestic as house porches, with potted trees providing shade. Laundry hung on lines strung from mast to stern. Family pets snoozed in the sun. A young boy in his school uniform rode with us until we dropped him off at his sampan home.
After the tour I traveled to Stanley Market, yet one more shopping spot notable for shoes, souvenirs and linens, but lunch was on my mind and I found a small French cafe. From my window table I soaked in the street activity and noticed an old man smoking a cigarette and chatting with his buddies. It was two in the afternoon and the man was dressed in his pajamas. Here was a guy after my own heart. I see no good reason why PJs aren't as perfectly acceptable for daywear as they are for bedtime.
In Beijing I'd seen the same thing. Men and women gathered on street corners in their silk slippers, robes and pajamas. Didn’t we used to be like that? Wasn't there a time in suburban North America when we stepped outside, picked up the morning paper, struck up conversations with neighbors, shared coffee, checked our gardens and enjoyed life — all in pajamas?
If the whole world spent a little more time in its pajamas, we'd be a heck of a lot nicer to each other. Thank you, China. I intended to return home with a credo that wearing pajamas in the afternoon was A-OK. I finished my sandwich and promptly bought a new set of pink silk PJs at the market.
My idyllic trip to this other side of Hong Kong Island brought to mind how long I'd been sunk in urban crush. It was time for a quiet, sparse experience and one of the outlying islands answered the call. A mere half-hour ferry ride from Hong Kong, a fishing village on the island of Cheung Chau was my destination. Cars are barred on the island; everyone bikes. Firemen drive around in bright red golf carts.
Do you know what Cheung Chau is famous for? Jason had asked me earlier.
The Bun Festival, of course. I gloated because I'd done my research.
Suicides.
Shut up.
Seriously, sometimes you see people carrying bags of charcoal on the ferry. They go to the island, light up and asphyxiate themselves.
Seriously, Jason, shut up.
Just saying.
Guys can be so morbid. I put the myth aside and sailed on.
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