Hong Kong Fluey
I’ve been mum the past few days because the nausea that randomly struck in the cab on the way to the airport on Saturday turned into some sort of full blown stomach flu. I’ve barely been able to keep food down in Hong Kong, which is distressing to someone who travels with the primary intention of eating. I’ve been biting my tongue (or rather, tempering my typing fingers) but now I can honestly declare this the worst vacation ever.
(I also just found out that my freelance review gig for nymag.com has been eliminated, which was no surprise after the recent Gael Greene debacle. I do wonder if it’s bad karma for recently speculating on how the economy hadn’t really fucked me up yet. At least I have a day job and it’s not as if penning a few short reviews a month subsidized SE Asian vacations, anyway. That said, I wouldn’t mind another side deal.)
I spent all Monday night throwing up with those severe kind of stomach cramps where you think a creature is trying to escape. I had to lie mummy-like still on the bed, even moving an inch would trigger another vomit attack. I began to have new empathy for the Zimbabwean cholera victims they keep showing on rows of hospital beds on CNN (and Al Jazeera—I’ve really taken a liking to that station and totally don’t get why Americans are so freaked by it. I learned more about the Hajj in the past few days than I have in a lifetime). At least I’d probably perk up in 36 hours or so. Amd all that hurling has left my ribs in pain, which must mean that my abs have been given a work out. Oh, and I probably didn't digest nearly as many calories as I thought I would. Great vacation diet.
So, today is my last day in Hong Kong and I’m determined to have fun. I’ll eat Sichuan food for lunch, something I’ve had to put off all week, even if it kills me. Tonight it’s schmancy Chinese food at Hutong. HK is obsessed with dress codes, as if the average citizen (or perhaps tourist) is brain damaged. Do not show up at Hutong in shorts, sandals or sleeveless. Our pricy Intercontinental buffet admonished, “no slippers or singlets.” I assume slippers are sandals and flip flops but singlet threw me for a loop. I’m guessing tank top?
I will buck up, keep my meals down and try to refrain from putting on a singlet. And I will be back in NYC Thursday determined to make the rest of 2008 a win.