I had my first experience of jet lag this weekend, staying awake until nine-forty on Friday, thinking this would stand me in good stead for a good night's sleep, but I then woke up just an hour later feeling as though a whole night had passed and I was ready to face the day. I didn't really fancy the streets of Mong Kok at night so I persevered with sleep, only to wake pretty much every hour on the hour until seven the next morning.

After another shower spent trying to avoid the unbleached toilet brush hanging on the wall and keeping my clothes dry on the shelf I headed to the Metro, buying an Octopus card that I always mistakenly refer to as an Oyster, confusing the Islanders every time. As directed by the woman on the bus yesterday, I made my way to the Chi Lin Nunnery at Diamond Hill, where I perused the many, many Buddhas they had on display, careful not to take out my camera at any point as the security guards watched. The building was pretty impressive, as it was made completely of wood with no nails, meaning an absence of nails not the brand. I looked around the Nan Lin Garden too, which displayed many bonsai trees, but with a distinct lack of flowers.

As Lonely Planet suggested visiting Jade Market I headed toward Nathan Street, only to find lots of streets unlike the one I was looking for, golden crocodiles, and a rest garden. I took the opportunity to rest, but I think it may have been for men only as I got an abundance of strange looks. My lack of energy led me to a bargain orange, which I clung to like gold as I got the Metro back to Mong Kok ready for another sleep of five hours.

A longer visit may have been more beneficial to my body clock, as my nap made me miss my planned trip to the Star Ferry. Taking the opportunity to plan Saturday made me feel a little better, but a few annoyances took place first though, as the battery Dad had tested for my alarm clock suddenly didn't work so I had to buy a new one, the air conditioning was rubbish so I was sweating as soon as I moved an inch, and the little skinny man at reception keeps telling me the bus to the airport runs twenty-four hours a day, when I know from the Lonely Planet and a long walk to the actual bus stop that it's only runs from five a.m. I suppose I should just look online, as asking someone in charge of a hostel is apparently a foolish move when travelling in Hong Kong.