Adventures In Macau

Well not really adventures IN Macau, so much as an adventure getting to Macau.

AC returned from his preliminary suit fitting to find me laying on the couch with a bizarre stomach ache. He had picked up some lunch, so I figured some food would do me good. "Is this a spicy chicken sandwich?" I think to myself. I should be fine. About 10 minutes later I'm doubled over, regretting that decision with every fiber of my body.

AC is kind enough to pack for both of us (strangely forgetting my Prilosec) and I hobble out the door. We walk all the way down to the Wan Chai station and decide it might be better to just take a cab than struggle through the MTR with a huge bag.

So we wait and wait and wait for a cab but can't get one to stop for us. A kindly lady comes up to us and says "taxis won't stop here," pointing to a series of double yellow lines next to the side walk. I thought back to how many cabs I have caught here in the past, but at this point we'd be open to moving to a new spot.

After finally scoring a cab, our driver complains that it's the "Rugby Sevens" tournament and traffic is just awful. This suddenly explains the influx of tall good-looking men in Hong Kong - rugby players. :)

We subsequently got yelled at in the ferry terminal for wandering around in a closed area looking for our departure gate. I am in so much pain I can't see straight. Suddenly, my mind wanders to my brother's recent cruise in Mexico. The cruise in which he got so violently ill from sea sickness, they had to administer a series of shots to stop his violent vomiting. I then remembered my boat ride to Molokini in Maui - barf city. I looked at Adam with panicked eyes, who said "the boat won't rock, I promise." That story quickly changed to, "the boat won't rock once we leave the dock, I promise. I shot a death glare over to Adam, as a took deep breaths and clutched the arm rests for dear life. Then they served food. Why did we have to sit in "super class" anyway? Suddenly, my sense of smell was nothing short of blood-hound strength as the then-rancid odor of barbecued chicken nearly thrust me over the edge. I quietly curse Adam for accepting but not eating his lunch, just letting it sit there and marinate the air around me.

I think I fell asleep at some point, because we were there in no time. Here's where things got really interesting:

Adam: Where is the luggage?
Me (pointing over to the other side of the boat): In a closet over there.
Adam: Oh, they'll get it for us.
Me (noticing all the people getting their luggage out of the closet and taking it with them): No, I think we should grab it.
Adam (charging ahead): No, they'll get it for us.
Me (noticing all the people getting off the boat with their bags): I really don't think we're doing this right ...
Adam: Okay, I'll ask someone. Excuse me miss, can you tell me if we are supposed to get our own luggage or pick it up inside?
Adam (how the girl heard it): Brumpf uh maph, kun yeep crad um so tree wear crumptr ihrm luggage uh tramps huampths?
Girl: grunt grunt grunt (then points in the general direction that everyone is walking).
Adam: See? She said we pick it up inside.
Justin: Are you sure she understood you?
Adam (getting exasperated with my apparent stupidity): Yes, we pick it up inside. If you are so convinced this is wrong, then walk back and get the luggage yourself!

At that point, I consider myself temporarily handicapped and figure, 'Okay Clarence-junior*, off we go!'

I wait on the other side of immigration. Adam comes out with no bag. "I need the tag!" he proclaims. There was no tag given, I explain. There was a closet with a curtain and that was it. "Then YOU come talk to him," Adam grumbles.

We go to baggage claim. No one is there. After about 15 minutes, they come with a load of bags and are quick to help all the customers behind us in line before us.

"No tag," I try to explain. "我沒有您的行李," the man says shrugging. "No tag," I repeat, drawing a small square in the air shaking my head trying to take my communication to the most basic level. "這不是您留給您的袋子在小船, 不講漢語的我的問題," says the man, this time a little more agitated as if to say 'it's not my problem that you left your bag on the boat and don't speak Chinese!'

AC and I are tensely silent. I keep muttering under my breath ... I so want him to accept blame, but know he won't. Not that it would do any good, because we were in full on Clarence-mode now. After getting two people to help translate, they finally escort us to lost-and-found to reunite us with our bag. After a long, awkward ride home we made up and watched The Discovery Channel.

*For those who don't understand the Clarence reference, he is AC's dad. He is a wonderful, loving man, only sometimes he gets a little fired up about stuff and stops listening. At this point, Adam's genetics got the best of him and we could only let things run their course.