When I walked out of the Hong Kong airport, the heat of the city slapped me so hard across the face, it was like a woman catching her cheating husband with a long-suspected mistress. I was literally gobsmacked at how oppressive it was and that’s saying a lot, coming from a Miami girl. While I’m no stranger to tropical temperatures, this was something totally different; a whole other level. The overwhelming warmth simultaneously penetrated and radiated through every single pore of my body. The surprising thing was: I liked it. A lot.
Once I got my bearings, which meant shaking off one of the longest plane rides I’ve ever endured (17-plus hours, in coach, with swollen joints, head-bobbing sleep, recycled air and not enough wine in the world to dull me of my misery,) I cabbed my way into “The Pearl of the Orient.” That’s Hong Kong’s nickname and I was about to find out why.
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