Hong Kong

April 20–23, 2011

Televisions have become so affordable that you can now install them in elevator floors.

Hong Kong still has the same heavy car traffic.

And pedestrian traffic.

Pictograms warn about the harm of spitting in public places.

A subway entrance sign.

A street advertisement demonstrating the range of ailments which the establishment purports to cure.

I was in Hong Kong last April for an expo. I had some spare time, so I ventured out into the city, but got caught in a sudden torrential downpour near the central subway station. Attempting to find a cab was futile. By chance, I found myself in front of a Marks & Spencer, where I would ordinarily never set foot on a normal sunny day.

But now, having nothing better to do, I went in. Went downstairs. Wandered over into the men’s footwear section. To kill some time, I randomly pointed out a pair of moccasin-like shoes and asked the salesperson if they had them in size 13. Just something I like to do for kicks—there’s never anything available in that size in Asia. Ever. Neither shoes nor socks.

The salesperson brought out a box. The shoes fit.

A year went by.

Those Airflex shoes are the best thing I’ve ever worn in my entire life. They’re lightweight, dirt- and crud-resistant, comfortable, roomy, and generally awesome. I bought them thinking I would toss them in a month, but found myself unable to part with them under any circumstances. Summer, fall, spring—I wore them all the time. Although their age started to show after a while, there was simply nothing I could replace them with.

And here I am again in Hong Kong. I go to the central station. Walk into Marks & Spencer. Go down into the basement and over to the men’s department. And there they are.

There they are, my precious!

I buy what turns out to be the last pair.

I come back to my hotel. Take a final goodbye photo. A historical encounter.

I leave behind my old pair, which has withstood the test of time and continents. You’ve fulfilled your purpose. You’ve done a great job. Now a new, identical pair can continue to carry the torch. I check out of the hotel.

A mural.

I go to China. Every subway station has a special station superintendent standing on the platform.

Neon-green bricks are embedded into the floor at a 45-degree angle at the ends of the platforms. It’s effective, both visually and practically.

Train station. City. Hotel. Train station. Shenzhen. I go to Guangzhou. I come back. Then Hong Kong again.

I return to the same hotel. The receptionist says, “You left a pair of brown shoes here last time, we’ll send them up to your room.”

This makes me smile. My dear old comfy shoes. You’ve come back to me.

Now I can wear the new pair when I need to look more presentable, and the old ones will come with me on my next trip to Africa.