The Storm Hits

"Look at the poles." I glanced up from my icy drink. Mom and I were strolling around South Horizons 海怡半島 hoi2 ji4 bun3 dou2, something I haven't been there since the MTR starting running there (although I still took the old faithful 592). We grabbed a few drinks and wandered over to the waterfront. Beautiful view, cold drinks, a nice catch up. Until we reached the poles. 

A row of lampposts run the length of the promenade, but several of them, at least four or five, appeared to be missing a vital element: their lamps. The one directly in front of us angled out over the water like a lollipop stick, bent to the side with no top. Only a lonely power cord dangling out of the top. Trees lay in tangled piles to the side and bricks were missing from a roped-off bridge. We marveled at an iron bench sitting on the ground, its thick legs broken off next to it. How much force would it even take to break a bench like that? 

Although life has quickly moved on in Hong Kong after Typhoon Mangkhut (just the day after hordes of workers were fighting their way over mountains of branches and through apocalyptic MTR stations to get to work), its effects can still be seen around the city. 

The day of the typhoon, the affects were certainly not felt from The Owl's Nest (our affectionately nick-named flat). I woke up to the pounding of rain on my windows, but nothing to outrageous. I even peeked outside, but when you face another row of buildings, there's not much to see. Not even a single tree blowing in the wind. 

As tradition dictates, I made pancakes. Pumpkin ones, and pumpkin spice lattes, and I watched several hours of The Office with my roommates. We half-watched witty work jokes and were half glued to our phones, seeing what was going on in other parts of Hong Kong. 

"NO!!!" I had gotten to the video of a giant crane getting torn off of a building and falling many stories below (twenty? thirty? seventy? hard to tell with those tall buildings). I hoped no one had gone outside for a mid-typhoon snack at the time. 

"Oh yeah, I saw that one. Have you seen this?" Story upon story of bamboo scaffolding was ripped off another building, dancing in the gale for a few minutes before also taking a dive. 

"I hope the people in Tai O are ok. Did you hear that some of them decided to stay put when they evacuated?"

Between sips coffee, we passed each other our phones to check out the latest. My parents texted a picture of their wall springing a row of leaks on the harbor-facing wall and a small waterfall down their window. Videos on Facebook or Whatsapp showed waves splashing up to the 8th floor, hotel windows blowing in, submerged shops, toilets blowing water backwards toward the ceiling, an aircon unit getting blown into the flat. 

And us? Every once in awhile our lights flickered. The door would rattle a bit. And sometimes it sounded like an airplane was buzzing our building. But other than that, we seemed pretty secure. Our stored water was (happily) all for naught. 

"I guess it's because we're in the middle of a lot of other buildings. And our building is kind of short (only 16 stories) and really long. No swaying." 

Our Owl's Nest may not have a sea view or nice greenery or even trees, but on a typhoon day, we reap the benefits. We survived, and our electricity did too! No leaks, no shooting toilets, no terrible stories. We had a relaxing day hanging out, and New Roommate even baked pumpkin bread that afternoon with the leftover pumpkin. 

Benefits to living in the middle of the concrete jungle. No view, but windows stay intact. That's gotta be worth something.