I love mornings in all cities! Usually, rather because the fresh air still holds the pins and needles of the morning and the rays are too weak to ooze away the sleepy dew drops; or rather because it’s agitated, noisy from the cart wheels and smelly from the dry fish, as Hong Kong is.
In between corporate glass giants you can find squeezed shops that are selling all sorts of weird dry plants and creatures from an early morning hour. The narrow streets that run up the hill as serpentines, are filled with people pushing carts in flip-flops and waist up naked. Among them locals and tourists muffled in winter coats rush their boots towards the nearest subway station.
Buddhist temples, tiny high British built trams, steep streets with handcrafted local artistry figurines, designer jewelry, fisherman and models, all seem to have found an equilibrium in this unparalleled scenery. Open-air Spanish bodegas next to French bistros and British pubs attract mainly pale skins who are climbing high bar chairs and occupy the tiny round tables with pints of beer and laptops; while the “mom and pop” Chinese restaurants seem to be very popular especially among the locals. They are all crammed in between Victoria’s Peak and the harbor, sharing the same sidewalk, soaking in the same city light.
din.realitatea.mea 