Adventures in Lamma Island pt. 2

So there I was, dripping wet in the rain under a rock, trying to protect my camera and journal from the howling rain, and wishing that I had decided to leave five minutes earlier. The voice over the intercom had stopped, and I could just barely make out the outline of the beach from where I was. Peeking out of my shelter to look up at the sky, I realized that the rain was not going to let up anytime soon. Steeling myself, I put my camera and journal under as many layers of clothing as I could, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the tempest. Locating the beach again, I made a beeline for the sand, praying that I would not fall on the now very slippery rocks. I managed to make it to the sand in one piece, and found a small restaurant with an awning near the beach where many of the other beachgoers had gone to find shelter. Finally out of the rain, my adrenaline levels slowly coming down, I realized that I was pretty wet. In fact, the only other way I could think of to get this wet was to jump into a swimming pool with my clothes and shoes on. Luckily, my camera still turned on and only half of my journal had gotten soaked through. I took off my jacket and hung it on a chair, hoping that it would dry a little. As I stood there, dripping wet and shivering in the wind, a really nice Chinese man who spoke a bit of English invited me to come sit with him and his family and bought me a bowl of this hot bean curd dish. We talked for a little while, and I learned that he was a teacher in the New Territories who was enjoying the weekend on Lamma with his family. We had a nice conversation, and after a while the rain started to die down a little bit. The man told me I should probably try and make my way back to the Bookworm Cafe before the rain picked up again, so I thanked him for the bean curd and started back towards the main street, shoes squishing with each step.

When I finally made it back to the Bookworm cafe, one of the waitresses named Elaine let me take my jacket over to her friend's shop to hang in front of a fan, and Ken told me I could wait (and dry) in the cafe. I ordered a hot chocolate, and later on Ken brought me some soup and tea which, while doing nothing for my clothes, at least stopped my shivering. It is amazing how fast wet clothes dry if you are wearing them. After about six hours of reading, tea drinking, and talking, my clothes were almost dry (except for my shoes which took the entire plane journey to Istanbul). At nine o'clock, the cafe closed to tourists, but by this time a bunch of the locals had shown up and we drank wine, talked, and played Uno until about ten, when we all migrated to a nearby restaurant to celebrate someone's birthday. I had time to eat a little bit of seafood with them and then, unfortunately, had to leave to catch the ferry. I waved goodbye to all my new friends, promising to keep in touch and thanking them for their hospitality.


It is funny how one of the most memorable moments on my trip happened on a layover, but I guess that is the way it goes. The more and more I travel, it seems that the people, rather than the places or the monuments, are what make the difference between good and bad travel, and so far I have been lucky to meet some extremely cool people.