The first year we lived here, Elisa did not get a haircut. They do not have child-friendly salons such as the ones we used to frequent in Seattle, and I felt so overwhelmed at the thought of trying to get her to sit still in an adult salon that I just let it go. I heard of one place in Causeway that caters to children – for HK$ 315 a cut (about US$40 with a small discount if you come Monday through Friday) - but that seemed steep for a three-year-old. So, from time to time, when her hair was taking on jungle-like attributes, I would cut her bangs myself, with mixed results. This all changed when I discovered "Mr. Johnny."

My friend Sheryn, a perennial bargain hunter, mentioned that she had found someone in the local Dollar Saver Magazine who specializes in children's' cuts and makes house calls. I couldn't help but think, "Only in Hong Kong!" Sheryn is also a bit fussy about these things so when she reported complete satisfaction with her three-year-old daughter's experience, I decided to give the hair dresser, whom she referred to as "Mr. Johnny" a try.

It turns out that Mr. Johnny (or Johnny Chan as it says on his business card) has a day job at Magic Mirror, the hair salon in Causeway Bay specializing in children. Lucky for us, to earn extra money, Johnny moonlights as a travelling stylist and charges HK$250 for the first cut and HK$100 for each additional one thereafter.

We invited some friends in need of a trim to come over one evening and Johnny arrived, toy box in hand, to work his magic. Until that time, haircuts had been difficult with Elisa. However, Johnny's gentle nature – and fun toys – kept her and her friend Elijah so distracted that they hardly noticed they were getting a cut. And he did pretty well with Erik too.

Here's his information:

Mr. Johnny: 9108-7428

You can also find Mr. Johnny at:

Magic Mirror
Shop 230, 2/F, Caroline Centre
2-38 Yun Ping Road
Causeway Bay, HK
Tel. 2882-2122

It has been raining in Hong Kong. A lot. June was the rainiest month on record since Hong Kong began keeping track in 1884. While I read all the articles stating that 1,346.1 mm fell last month, I only had a vague sense of what this meant. Of course I had experienced the Black Rain on June 7 and was able to nod vigorously when this figure cropped up in conversation, but I never bothered to do the actual conversion to inches.

I am the first to admit that I do not have a good sense of the metric system. I diligently studied the conversions in eighth grade, when my Math teacher threatened us that the United States would "go metric" within a couple of years, and we needed to be on the cutting edge of this transition or be left to an uncertain future in a job where we did not need to count, weigh anything, or turn on an oven.

Well, the United States kept its Fahrenheit, yards and pounds and consequently – many years later - I have only a vague notion of what their metric counterparts all mean. Sure, in Hong Kong I have gained a minimal amount of metric literacy. For example, when people ask me the average temperature in Seattle in July, I can mumble something about the twenties before quickly changing the subject. I know that cakes bake at 180 degrees, and I can now confidently tell the butcher (if he speaks English) that I would like 500 grams of meat and know I am getting roughly a pound. However, I quickly get into deep water if the conversations - or conversions - go much deeper.

But the rain – the relentless, monotonous monsoon pummeling Hong Kong - got me thinking today, and I finally pulled out my calculator and plugged in 1,346.1 mm. I did a double take and repeated the calculation. The reason it feels like a particularly wet summer is because it rained almost FOUR AND A HALF FEET last month!! I couldn't believe it. Knowing that June is a rainy month in Seattle, I went online and checked the average rainfall: 1.5 inches. Nowhere near almost FOUR AND A HALF FEET! Average rainfall per year in Seattle? Thirty nine inches! An afternoon sprinkle by Hong Kong monsoon standards.

I became intrigued and plugged in 263.9 mm, Hong Kong's rainfall to date for July: over 10 inches! I will never again complain about the rain in Seattle. On the other hand, for the first time in recent memory, I experienced a lovely Fourth of July – warm and sunny. If anyone celebrated it here, he or she would have had a beautiful clear evening for fireworks. Sigh.

Shortly after my Mahjong class commenced last winter - perhaps anticipating our excitement - our teacher, Nancy, began to coach us on how to purchase a Mahjong set. She recommended several Mahjong shops, including Wing Cheong Ivory & Mahjong, located at 101C Wellington Street, G/F, Central, where I eventually made one of my purchases.

First and foremost, our teacher warned, never, but never buy a used Mahjong set; after all, one never knows what kind of residual bad luck it still may be carrying from its previous owners. She illustrated her point by telling the story of a friend, whose husband bought her wedding ring at a pawn shop. "They eventually divorced," she told us, explaining that clearly the ring was carrying some baggage that was too strong for her friend's marriage to overcome. She looked at us meaningfully, "You must not scrimp on your Mahjong set! Every home needs a good set of Mahjong tiles!"

As a novice, I set out for Wing's with my mental list of everything Nancy told us should be included in our purchase: the tiles, including a few blanks; instruction book; compass; terminus; gambling chips; and a price tag of thirty to forty US dollars. I liked the concept of the blank tiles, which Nancy explained were to be used in the event of a lost piece. If one were to lose, for example, a green dragon, he could simply take a blank to his neighborhood Mahjong shop and have it engraved to replace the missing tile. She also emphasized the benefits of larger tiles, which she claimed were easier to use and the mark of a serious player.

As a beginner, I wanted a set that included the English numbers. I could not foresee the day when I would not need this extra help. I entered Wing's, a family business that opened its doors to Hong Kong gamers over forty years ago, just as it was opening and asked to see the selection of foreigner-friendly Mahjong sets. The shop is now in the hands of the founder's son, who sat with his wife and young daughter behind the counter.

I negotiated hard and finally won a discount by using a common Hong Kong tactic, "Surely there must be a discount for your first customer of the day?" I walked out with a lovely set made in – Japan. Not exactly what I had in mind but nevertheless, it was beautiful, and not that much more than the sets produced in China. And so I completed my first, but not my last, Mahjong purchase.

After graduating from the advanced class, I began to feel snobbish about the English numbers that decorated my Mahjong tiles. I saw them as a hindrance to remembering the corresponding Chinese characters, which I had painstakingly learned. As I planned a trip to Nanchang, China in early spring, I included on our itinerary a trip to the local Mahjong shop.

Arriving in Nanchang a couple of weeks later, I quickly learned that an American woman asking for a Mahjong shop in China was odd, at best. In China, Mahjong represents serious gambling. A Chinese friend of ours lost all his money in Mahjong while still in college and has not played since. Initially, the concerned concierge at our hotel thought I seeking a Mahjong parlor. He seemed somewhat relieved when he finally understood I simply wanted to purchase the game.

The next day, as we drove out to visit our daughter's former foster family, I told our guide – mostly just to make conversation – I planned to purchase a Mahjong set that weekend. After a moment of shock, followed by a cough and laugh when I explained that I just played for fun, the Mahjong purchase became his personal mission. He and the driver worked their cell phones until he finally turned to me in the back seat, "Okay, we found one for you." I whispered to Erik, "I suppose that whether the one he found is what I want is irrelevant at this point."

Luckily, it was close enough. We braved a spring downpour as we ran down a market lane to the appropriate shop, where I happily bought a Mahjong set without the English numbers, this time for the bargain price of US$10.

When we moved to Hong Kong, learning to play Mahjong had been one of my goals. Nearly two years later, I sat back in my seat, hugged my new game, and mentally checked that one off my list.

Despite China's campaign to correct ungrammatical English and translation faux pas, I continue to be amused with each trip across the border. Most recently, Erik, Elisa and I travelled to Xian and Shanghai to meet up with some friends who had visited us in Hong Kong and were now exploring the PRC.

We stayed in budget accommodations and in Xian, specifically, the Canaan International Hotel (US$25/night). We checked in and received our room key in a small folder with a list of both "Must Go Places" and "Places you need to think about them before you go." For each item, there was a "Justification" for inclusion under its respective heading.

With respect to the "Must Go Places," there were no surprises. We were advised to visit the "Terra-cotta Warrior Museum" because "It Makes Xian Famous." I am sure the residents of Italy's Monteriggioni and Spain's Avila would be surprised to read that we should visit the "Xian City Wall" because "Xian Is The Only City In The World Which Is Still Surrounded By The Intact City Wall." But perhaps the key word is "City" in this "Justification."

In the "Places you need to think about them before you go," there were only two items: 1) "Hua Mountain"; and 2) "Hair Salon with prostitutes in it." The Justification for Hua Mountain was that it "Could Be Fun. Could Be Dangerous Too." In terms of visiting hair salons with prostitutes, the explanation was more direct, "They Will Rip You Off." I couldn't help but smile at the correct usage of a common colloquial English expression.

One of the great things about living in a multi cultural environment is the wonderful foods to which one is exposed. Before my friend, Mai, left Hong Kong, she graciously offered to teach me to make one of my favorite Thai/Khmer/Lao dishes: Larp.

Mai was born in Cambodia, and fortuitously, much of her family - but not all - left that country in 1974, just before the Khmer Rouge seized control. While she left Cambodia as a girl, its cooking traditions remain alive and well in her family, and she was willing to pass some of them on to me before returning to the United States, her adopted home.

I especially enjoy the fresh herbs and vegetables that accompany many dishes from this region. Mai is passionate about SE Asian cooking and it was a joy to share a kitchen with her. Here's her recipe. I hope some of you enjoy it as much as I do.

Ingredients:

1lb ground pork/chicken/duck
1 or more lemon grass stalks, root trimmed and finely
chopped into thin slices.
3 kaffir lime leaves, finely chopped into thin slices
3 or more fresh red chilies (depends on how hot you
want) chopped.
4 tbsp fresh lime juice
2 tbsp Thai fish sauce (it's always best to start off
w/ 1tbsp first; you can always add more)
1 tbsp roasted ground rice ( I like to add more than
recommend though)
2 shallots finely sliced
A bit more than a pitch of sugar (1/4 teaspoon or so) to bring out the
flavor.
Serves 4 -6, accompanied by white rice.

Heat a large pan with oil. Add the minced meat. Stir constantly over a medium heat until cooked through. Turn off heat.

Add chopped lemon grass, lime leaves, chilies, shallots, lime juice, fish sauce, roasted ground rice, sugar. Mix thoroughly and it's ready to eat.





Optional- Mai likes to add shrimp paste. She uses very little as you can see in the photo.
You can try one tsp with tiny bit of water (just enough to melt it) and add that in along with the rest of ingredients.

What greens you choose to accompany your larp is all according to taste. People eat it with fresh mint, small green eggplants, cilantro, basil, lettuce and cabbage. The eggplants should be sliced almost through so you can break off pieces and then top them with larp. Try them all and see what you prefer.

Voila...here it is served with fish soup.

One of the more difficult things about living in Hong Kong is the transitory nature of our life. Most expatriates move here on two to three year assignments. While some end up staying longer, the majority return home as scheduled. Although we were slated to return home in September after 2 years here, I am happy to report that we have extended our stay for 12 more months. That does not prevent us from saying goodbye, however.

This June, two of my dear friends leave Hong Kong. Tracie, a neighbor with whom I have only recently become aquainted, has already departed with her family. Tracie has been a great friend over the last few months and inspired me to take Mahjong when she sent an email out to all the neighbors asking if anyone were interested in taking a class with her. I will miss our Monday games and frequent chats. Another friend, Mai, leaves us next Saturday.

Because no one has family nearby, friendships are accelerated in the Hong Kong expatriate community as neighbors meet at the pool and playground, explore the city, and spend holidays together. More importantly, we share stories of the daily ups and downs inherent in a life so far away from home and a culture that can be at times mystifying.

Our building complex acts as a small town where one cannot walk out the door without running into a neighbor and having a quick (or not so quick) chat. I had to laugh a few weeks ago when Nicola, who lives downstairs and also has a three-year-old, called me one Saturday afternoon, "I just ran into Mai who mentioned that Erik was out of town. Colin [her husband] is out of town too. Do you want to take the girls to brunch tomorrow?"

Such episodes are common, and with a small child, appreciated. It's always good to know there is company when you need it. In many ways, Hong Kong has provided me with the community I hoped to find, but didn't, after having our daughter and quitting my job in Seattle. Still, the transitions are hard.

Even our three-year-old daughter is not immune from from the cycle of farewells. Sophie, Mai's daughter, is Elisa's favorite friend in our complex. Just last week, when we were discussing her birthday, still months away, she specifically asked if Sophie could come to her party. I had to explain (again) that Sophie will not be here because she is moving back to the United States.

On the other hand, with Tracie and Mai, I am lucky. They are both Americans; Tracie is from Portland so I am confident we will see each other again once we are settled back in the Northwest, and Mai will be in San Francisco, another frequent stop for us. I have many other friends – from the UK, Australia, Hong Kong, Singapore, and New Zealand - whom I will see much less frequently once we return home.

On the brighter side, I have become acquainted with the family who will move into the apartment above ours. Rahul, Rochelle and their three children will move here from North Carolina in August. While of course they do not replace Mai and Sophie and Tracie and Mark, we look forward to a new friendship as the cycle of change continues.

A friend told me about this clip on Youtube of last Saturday's black rain on our street, Old Peak Road, here in Hong Kong.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WaXEQ0cV8M

Yesterday was the fifth day of the fifth lunar moon or, as it is known in Hong Kong, the day of the Tuen Ng or Dragon Boat Festival. The holiday is in honor of Qu Yuan, a celebrated poet who lived over 2000 years ago.

According to local legend, Qu Yuan, a minister in one of the old Warring States, sat by a river and wrote a long soliloquy of his life before throwing himself into the water as a protest against the corruption of the era. Locals took to their boats and frantically paddled around looking for him. When they realized that he was likely drowned, they beat drums to scare away the fish and threw rice dumplings into the water in hope that they would eat this instead of Qu Yuan's body.

The focus of the festival today is on the dragon boat races that take place in various locations around the Territory, where leagues accommodate both the serious and fun-loving. The boats, which typically measure thirty or so feet and hold 20+ paddlers, are carved with ornate painted dragon heads and tails. A drummer sits at the front beating a large drum to keep pace.

Each April, dragon boats begin to appear on the waterways of Hong Kong, where racers practice diligently for the annual event until the great day arrives. Erik and I had never attended this annual Hong Kong event and decided yesterday - a beautiful day following the record breaking rainfall on Saturday of nearly 12 (!) inches - it was time to investigate this ancient Chinese tradition. Besides, our friend, Adam, was racing for Microsoft, and we wanted to go to support him and his teammates.

We boarded a crowded bus at 9:00 and set off for Stanley, one of the many locations where one may find races. We were joined yesterday by 10,000 other spectators and 4,000 racers serving on 200 teams.

While many watch the races from the beach, companies also provide junks from which one is able to view the spectacle. The junks are tied together in three neat rows and run perpendicular to the shoreline. Small sampans run in and out ferrying passengers to their destinations. We decided to watch the races from the Microsoft junk and boarded the designated water taxi.

Dragon boats are long narrow canoe-like boats built for speed. While many of the company teams tend to be amateurs out to have a fun day, the competition can be very intense, and it's usually fishermen who win the final round. We watched several races: twelve boats at a time took their places at the starting line, waited for the crack of a gunfire, and then sprinted toward the shore and thousands of cheering spectators. Each race took approximately three minutes.

We stayed long enough to watch the Microsoft boat place second in the first round (they eventually made it to the Silver Cup Final) and then walked into town for lunch. The bars and restaurants, already at capacity, were gearing up for the party that would take place along the waterfront later that day. Elisa, Erik and I discussed whether or not we would join a team next year. Elisa, our three-year-old daughter, made it clear she was definitely in, but Erik and I were not so sure.

I am finally experiencing my first "black" rain in Hong Kong. A black rainstorm is, as you would guess, an event where day appears as night due to the sheets of water coming down and dark clouds hovering over the city. Old Peak Road has become "Old Peak River," and we watched as one car floated for a few moments before finally stopping on the side of the road, and a taxi pulled over as water sloshed against his doors.


BLACK RAINSTORM WARNING SIGNAL

Black Rainstorm Warning Signal Special Announcement issued
by the Hong Kong Observatory at 6:40 a.m.

The Rainstorm Warning Signal is now Black. This means that
heavy rain has fallen or is expected to fall generally over
Hong Kong, exceeding 70 millimetres in an hour, and is
likely to continue.

Because of seriously flooded roads and inclement weather
conditions, you are advised to take shelter in a safe place
and stay there. Parents, students, school authorities and
school-bus drivers should listen to radio or television
announcements on schools. Do not attempt to travel until
the Black Rainstorm Warning Signal is no longer in force
and traffic conditions have improved.

Please listen to radio or watch television for traffic
conditions and further announcements on the rainstorm.

DISPATCHED BY HONG KONG OBSERVATORY AT 06:40 HKT ON 07.06.2008

This is what my father wrote to me last fall when I informed him that we had purchased an automobile. It is a fair response, given Hong Kong has amazingly easy and inexpensive public transport. For times when you need something more, there are reasonably priced little red taxis. However, last fall, when I needed to take Elisa to school every day - and pick her up afterwards - we began to think more about purchasing a car.

Not owning a car had been a significant draw to Hong Kong. I did not drive while living in New York for eight years and never missed it. The same was true for our prior tenure here when we appreciated two carefree and "car free" years. However, as with many things in life, everything changed when we added a child to our Hong Kong mix. And so we began looking at cars.

Used cars were purported to be quite affordable in Hong Kong. Chinese culture is such that previously own vehicles are not deemed suitable; after all, who knows what kind of luck the last owner experienced in his car. One would not want to purchase a person's car, and by association, sign up for any accompanying bad luck. This meant the used car market mostly served the expatriate community.

As former Honda owners, we initially thought we would simply replicate what we had at home. Unfortunately, we quickly learned that in Hong Kong it is much easier to buy a luxury, rather than family, car. It should not have been a surprise, but we were still taken aback by the shortage of used family cars. Of course advice was plentiful. "Whatever you do, do not go through a dealer! They are all thieves! Just tell me what you want, and I'll find it," said Joseph, our doorman. An American friend told us that we should visit the "the car mall," located under the Grand Hyatt in the Wan Chai neighborhood of Hong Kong to gain a better understanding of the market.

A trip to this underground expanse of luxury cars confirmed rumors that there were more Rolls Royces per capita in Hong Kong than in any other place in the world. We strolled aisle after aisle of Rolls Royces, BMWs, Mercedes, Maseratis, and Porsches. Perhaps there were good deals to be had, but we still wanted a Honda.

Another friend recommended I monitor www.asiaexpat.com, and I began checking the new listings daily. Most non luxury car listings were European and fell into the minivan and SUV categories, which seemed crazy in a city of quaint, narrow lanes. I was perplexed at the relative plentitude of Volkswagens versus Hondas until someone mentioned that perhaps VW had a plant in China. Eventually, we purchased a used VW Golf from a woman returning to New Zealand.

It turned out that purchasing the car was the easy part; next, I had to learn to drive on the "other" side of the road. The first morning after our car purchase, Elisa and I approached the car and I automatically opened the left front door and was in the process of sitting down before I realized that there was no steering wheel. "Whoops!" I chuckled nervously and looked back at Elisa, oblivious to my faux pas. Backing out of our parking space, I looked up to the right for the rearview mirror, and again laughed, noting that of course, the mirror would be to the left.

As the days passed, I judged my driving success by the number of times I hit the curb on my way to and from Elisa's school. I would walk through our building's front door and Joseph, our doorman, would meet me. His inquiring gaze elicited the daily count. "Bad day! I hit the curb four times!" I would report. He could only shake his head and laugh.

While we had bought the car to take Elisa to school, in the end, it opened a whole new world for us to explore. The first weekend, we drove to Sai Kung, in the New Territories, for lunch. The following Saturday, we got up early and went to South Bay Beach, not served by public transport. Then I drove Erik to work one morning. Soon, we were converts, exploring the far corners of Hong Kong, amazed at the nooks and crannies we had somehow missed over the years. While we still mostly use public transport, I have to admit that having a car in Hong Kong is not so crazy after all. As for the curbs, I have not hit one in at least month.