It was the moving sidewalk that did it.
Anyone who’s gotten within ranting range of me in the last few weeks knows I’ve been more apprehensive than usual about this trip. I’ve spent a lot of time on the road of late, and leaving for yet another year, while for a damned good cause, has its share of downsides. I’ve approached this trip with an uncharacteristic trepidation.
Fortunately, I had a fine flight. Cathay Pacific fed me well, and with an entire row to myself I constructed a crude pillow-and-blanket fort and wedged myself against the window for twelve hours, rousing myself mainly for innumerable mealtimes and the first half of the startlingly mediocre
Poseidon When I arrived in Hong Kong’s cavernous new airport (which must be seen to be believed), I lugged my twenty-pound computer and the rest of my carry-on luggage out for the multi-kilometre walk to the next gate. I stepped, quite instinctively, on the right-hand moving sidewalk, and was of course repulsed, since everything moves on the left here.
In that insignificant moment I finally realized I was in Asia, abroad again, and felt a startling sense of eagerness. Vancouver is always home to me, and I’ll continue to miss it and my friends and family there. But I’ve also begun to understand that I feel an odd contentment on the road. I’m at home when I travel.
Of course, I imagine the Hong Kong International Airport is a mite more accessible than the sprawling, screeching monstrosity of Bangkok. Let’s see how I feel in a few more hours, when I touch down in Thailand.
P.S. I’m coming back to Hong Kong as soon as I get the chance… maybe I can spend a week here on my return leg.
