I managed to set the alarm early enough on subsequent mornings to have breakfast with little Kathleen and Daniel, following which I could walk them to school with Dina on her normal morning run. A gentle stroll along the beach to ferry, latté in hand, I was again and again in awe of the view from the Discovery bay ferry as it sweeps around the Hong Kong Island between the projecting headland of Kowloon. Perhaps only marginally bettered by the Star Ferry across the short distance between the Island and Kowloon's tip, Tsim Sha Tsiu, or TST. Once off the boat it became apparent that I, more than anyone else around me was displaying poor taste in clothes as I was accosted several times by tailors promising wonderful and cheap suits. I ate well in HK, following the Lonely Planets recommendations I sought out a number of restaurants including the Spring Deer who serve an enormous lunch, a place famous for the crispy duck, but I was content with my spring onion cakes and spicy prawns. As the weather improved, I made a trip to see the Big Buddha, (Tian Tan Buddha, the largest seated bronze outdoor one in the world) the choice was either by bus up the long winding road to the top of the mountain, or the new cable car from Chung Tung (a not so pretty group of residential skyscrapers seemingly beloved by captains and their crew from the nearby airport.). If it hadn't have been for the 'slight exaggeration by the queue manager, 'only 30 minutes' I would have take the bus as it it actually took one hour and 50 minutes, I was counting, before I climbed into the cabin. The courteous locals decided to group the 'foreigners together, so there followed a babble of diverse languages and accents for the next 20 minutes. The Buddha comes into view well before the cable car arrives at the top station, and he really looks the 200 tonnes he is described as being - no one is gonna knock this fellah off the top of the hill! The route to the base of the statue has changed, so the American told me ( a ringer for one of the girls in Sex and the City) 'Touristified', a street of gift shops several thousand feet up a hill leading to a sacred temple and venerated statue. I look around me, and accept my place, one of several hundred tourists, and perhaps a few pilgrims tramping around the hill top snapping at anything that glitters. The memorable image, was not however, the religious artifacts, but rather watching contestants of a Japanese game show, individually race up the many steps to the base of the Buddha, screaming.....something.....at the peaceful giant. The extraordinary thing was that the contestants appeared to be teenage models not really with a physique for such physical activity, and the poor things, off camera, were in tears with pain and unable to actually walk afterwards! Spontaneously, I caught a bus down the mountain to a little fishing village called Tao O isolated on the south west tip of Lantau Island. The buildings arrange themselves around a bay, with the largest concentration earmarking the fish market. The stench of varied forms of fish and crusteasions is overwhelming, shallow tanks contain large fish struggling to breath sit next to lines of shelves and boxes of dried fish, nothing looked particularly appetizing. In a linear path around he bay the activity of the market faded and the homes of the local people lined the route. The village appeared so poor that I took photos discretely, I felt like the wealthy western voyeur that I was. The small and quite dilapidated silver painted metal clad buildings clung to the narrow headland while precariously balanced extensions stepped out over the water on fragile looking timber posts. The was a complete absence of colour fro the buildings, where the silver ran out, grey filled the gaps, it is as if the excess of paint used for covering the hulls of the fishing fleet was splashed liberally over the indigenous structures. Further beyond the trail, along narrow alleys, I came across an area where women were laying out large shallow baskets of a pink substance to dry out in the sun. Shrimp paste, the smell was overpowering, and as I chatted to a new found friend, Angela, I began to wish we could dwell in a less pungent aroma! In the evening Maureen and I ventured back to Hong Kong Island, to the regular Wednesday races at Happy Valley. This is one event I had previously heard of before arriving, and it lives up up its reputation. There can be no race course in the world with such a back drop. Lines of tall narrow towers wrestle for the better view, but rather than the bay which is the usual goal on this Island, it is to overlook the incongruous lush green landscape of the race course and the inner playing fields. The bright 'stage' lights of the stands send out a blinding glare shining against the surrounding urbanity, but the effect is pure theatre! The 'Gylos' or western foreigners mingle in the pen, drink wine and feast on bbq's of dubious origin, while the serious gamblers lean out from the upper levels watching form and betting heavily. It was great entertainment, and as Maureen's outsider delivered her $1200 from a $20 bet, a profitable one too!