So Tommy was recently asked by a visiting colleague if it rains often in HK.  Tommy replied that it doesn’t rain all that often, but when it does, it comes down all at once. This is a problem when the city is basically built into a hillside and most slopes are paved. In fact, almost every slope in HK is identified by a serial number in an effort to identify and prevent potential landslides before they happen.

Last night, the black rainstorm warning signal was raised. Rainstorm warnings range form amber, to red, to black.  Black has been raised only twice in the past two years; we’ve seen quite a few rainstorm warnings. The storm last night produced hail big enough to break windows at a local mall.  Interior flooding seems to be everywhere. The volume of rain is unnerving, particularly when your throw in dramatic thunder and lightning, monsoon winds, and landslip warnings.

Because we don’t have local news, we are tied to our weather apps.  The Hong Kong Observatory provides the most detailed information about weather in HK. It is a government run site, but so far has proved reliable.  If you have the iPhone app, this is what you will see:

Each warning has an explanation:

Another bout of rain just came through and the amber rainstorm warning is still up, but it looks like things are settling down to just wet, wet, wet with some occasional thunder and lightning.

Since the expanse of windows is one of the best features of our apartment, we were pleased to learn periodic cleaning was included in our rent.

When I scheduled our first window washing, I was surprised how readily I was able to reserve a “slot”.  I envisioned some suspended platform or swing contraption would be employed; I had witnessed just such a platform being used at our 12th-floor serviced apartment. I thought it could be a long wait to schedule a cleaning, given building management must have to schedule according to when the apparatus was available, when enough tenants had requested cleaner windows, etc.  For some reason, it never occurred to me the outside of our 29th floor windows would be cleaned from the inside.

On the day of the cleaning, two guys turned up at our door with buckets, squeegees, and a ladder. They slipped off their shoes and brought the equipment inside.

I took these pictures surreptitiously, with my phone on silent.

All I could think of is how I would overbalance if I attempted this.

How long can you hold your breath?  It takes these guys about 30 minutes to clean all the windows in our apartment. No safety gear. No harnesses. Wikipedia says this about window cleaning: “Risks include slipping on water or soap, and falling from heights.” No kidding.

The other day, Ty’s electric guitar stopped making sound.  His guitar teacher asked if we had a soldering iron.  In my house in the US, I kept a well-stocked garage. My tool collection included a broad array of hand tools, a circular saw, two different electric drills (corded and cordless), several pairs of safety glasses and, yes, soldering equipment. I like fixing things. I did not want to be judged as the kind of person who doesn’t keep a soldering iron around for potential repairs. I now had a mission: find soldering iron, repair electric guitar, restore handy soul.

When we moved to Hong Kong, I figured I wouldn’t need many tools. I was half right.   Building management sends help for blown lightbulbs, clogged drains, dodgy hinges and squeaky floors. But most repairs here are surprisingly makeshift. I’ve heard Hong Kong apartments compared to stage sets.  As long as you treat things very gently, and don’t look too carefully, you have nothing to worry about.

Let me give you a couple of examples of what pass for “repairs” here.  When we had water leak through our windows during the last typhoon, our building (eventually) sent workers to repair the water-damaged paint and plaster. Less than 24 hours after the wall had been repaired and repainted, they sent two more guys with a hammer, a silicone gun, and masking tape.  This is what the wall looked like when they left:

Another repair that left me shaking my head?  My boys play soccer in the squash court in the basement of our building. The soccer goal has suffered some abuse (not my kids, I swear), but it has been “fixed” by the building management. With masking tape.

Masking tape. Perfect in damp environments.

This is not to say there aren’t ingenious fix-its around.  I still marvel at the bamboo scaffolding used throughout Hong Kong (see the end of Gazelles Rock).  We have also seen a supersoaker water gun appropriated with surprising utility as a cleaning tool.  Just yesterday, we encountered this guy loading one with weed killer and then shooting at weeds growing in a rock wall. I particularly appreciated the orange safety vest.

Toy water gun as weed killer delivery tool: entirely inappropriate and totally effective.

So where to find a soldering a gun?  As it happens, mixed in with stationery shops and restaurants is a tiny shop stuffed with adhesive hooks and power strips. Toward the back, there was an entire display of soldering irons.

I love the screwdriver cage “lock” to the right of the display.

I was tempted by the HK$500 blue gun down in the corner, but settled on a an HK$88 model with middle-of-the-road wattage.  A few links of solder were contained in the kit, and I bought an extra packet for good measure.  After all, I may be soldering a lot now that I have the right tools.  Mission accomplished.

At the beginning of the 2013-14 school year, our boys’ school moved out of Hong Kong to the New Territories.  Transportation links exist, but not direct ones. To get to school from our house, I would need to get myself to the MTR (walking, shuttle, or taxi), transfer lines, then take a minibus for another 20-30 minutes. The boys school bus takes about 45 minutes each way.  Even with the challenge of a steering column on the right, and driving on the “wrong” side of the road, a car seemed like a good idea.

With this in mind, awhile back I bought a 2007 Honda Odyssey. I felt this car was a fine choice; it’s able to seat seven and it’s a little banged up so no one would notice new scratches. For locals, this car immediately identifies me as someone too poor (and perhaps too stupid) to get a real car.  It also indicates that Tom is not successful and possibly does not have his priorities straight.  Although a Ferrari, Porsche or BMW might have been a “better” choice, the “best” option for our family would have been a shiny van with window curtains for privacy and heat protection, and a driver to make sure we always have transportation, yet never have to actually drive or park.

The owner of this car has a driver. I know because the building called me down to move my car; the Ferrari was parked about an inch away from my car. Naturally, I insisted the Ferrari be moved first.

Driving in HK is a bit of an adventure.  Steep, impossibly narrow, high-stakes, one-lane two-way roads are common. I’ve had to back down roads after meeting someone coming the other way.  If I happen to be a front-seat passenger, I often close my eyes because the car is traveling nauseatingly close to a rock wall, double decker bus, or aggressive taxi.  We regularly travel a road which is steep enough that an anti-slip coating needs to be re-applied every year. If you have to stop in the rain on the way up this hill, your wheels spin before moving you up and forward again. If you are driving on the relatively wide, flat highways, you better know where you are going because any signage will misdirect you faster than you can say “Wan Chai or Chai Wan?”. I’ve heard many stories of expats regularly losing their way on looping, incomprehensibly labeled roads. I have no sense of direction whatsoever, so the idea of hours lost in the (narrow-streeted) wilds of Hong Kong was daunting. I was comforted by one friend who assured me “it’s an island. you can’t get that lost – unless you end up in Kowloon”.  I have ended up in Kowloon. Thanks to google maps, I have also been (mis)directed onto pedestrian walkways and down hiking paths.  A year on, though, I can find my way to and from the boys school; I know when to slide left when the sign indicates right, the difference between a sign for a tunnel that goes under water versus through a mountain, and I have my own auto toll dashboard reader that lets me speed through tollbooths like a driver in one of those aforementioned shiny vans.

The parallel parking skills I perfected living in downtown Boston do not help me here.  There is almost no street parking, and the garages are usually vertical affairs with tightly wound ramps. One apartment we looked came with a parking space that was above another car – you were required to use some sort of elevator system.  Even the parking space in our own building is quite small – and the short journey to park involves a harrowing turn with centimeters of leeway on either side, and then snuggling up to a cement wall so closely that your side mirror is best turned in.

On the way out, you must be careful not to back in to the black Ferrari, not to ding the yellow Ferrari mere inches to your right, and not to clip the never-moving white Maserati at the top of the ramp.

So far so good. No luxury vehicles have been harmed.