The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) by Michele Gorman Page B

practically ringed with clouds, Buddha sits smugly watching tourists hyperventilate towards him.
    ‘Come on, Hannah, don’t be lazy,’ Stuart cajoles as we leave the bus. ‘Think how lovely it’ll be when we get up there.’
    Lazy? I’m not lazy. It’s hot. Stairs and I are not firm friends. We’ve almost died once already. I don’t want to add stroke risk to my day. ‘Sure, okay, let’s go.’ I’m hardly going to let our new best friends think I’m lazy, am I? Besides, I can tell these are men who believe that rubbish about the journey being part of the adventure. Stuart is clearly the leader among the twins, although he’s more a benevolent dictator than a Chairman Mao. He was probably born first and his two-minutes-younger brother lives happily under his regime. I know exactly how Brent feels. After all, I’ve gladly followed Stacy’s lead most of my life. It’s comforting to have someone you trust take control. She’s already staked her friendship claim on Stuart, having planted that flag firmly between his eyes on the day they met in the office. It is fun having them to play with. And they’ve worked here since graduation, Stuart in business and Brent in architecture. So we’ve got real, live, know-their-suey-from-their-wonton tour guides.
    Twenty minutes of breathlessness later, I’ve proven to myself that a giant Buddha close up is just a more in-focus giant Buddha.
    ‘Isn’t that a nice view?’ Brent enquires. After a climb that would give Edmund Hillary a nosebleed, he isn’t even winded. I guess the fact that Hong Kong is the world’s most humid StairMaster keeps one in shape. It really is remarkable how tenacious those first colonizers were. I’d have taken one look at the steep mountainsides and set sail for Bali.
    ‘Yep,’ I manage between breaths. The twelve-foot high bronze attendants surrounding the big man are very pretty too, each kneeling, serenely offering up a gift of some kind. I admit they’re almost worth the deodorant lapse. Quietly I count the statues, savoring the few local words I’ve learned. ‘ Yut , yee , sam , say , erm…’
    ‘ Mmm ,’ Brent says. ‘That’s the word for five, not erm. And luckh ! Have you been learning Cantonese?’
    ‘Oh, just a few phrases. I figured it’s the polite thing to do.’
    ‘Go on then, can you keep counting?’
    ‘ Yut , yee , sam , say, mmm, look, chut, bot. oh damn, I know it.. . Sep, gau!’ I announce triumphantly as a few people turn to acknowledge my efforts.
    ‘Oh no, Hannah, that’s not what you mean! Oh me lover. Oh dear.’ He laughs. ‘Nine, is gow , not,’ he lowers his voice. ‘ Gau . Ten is sup , not sep . Maybe it’s best not trying to say nine anymore. If you have to, just say it in English.’
    ‘What did I say?’
    ‘Wet cock.’
    ‘Oh Jesus.’
    ‘It’s not your fault. It’s a very tonal language. You have made my day though!’
    No wonder those girls are giggling behind their hands. Apologetically I smile, sending them into another fit. ‘Moving swiftly on, please,’ I say as seriously as possible. ‘Do you do a lot of these excursions?’
    ‘Nah, just when new people come to town. We tend to stay in Central and drink instead.’
    ‘Good, then we can be friends.’
    ‘Not a fan of nature? I’d never have guessed.’
    Given that we’ll never have first-hand exposure to one another’s reproductive systems, there’s no reason to lie. ‘You’d never think it to look at me.’ I gesture to my inappropriate dress. ‘But I’m not really a nature girl. I’m not crazy about hills either.’
    ‘You’ve moved to the wrong city! Though everyone takes the escalator so we don’t much notice. Your new flat will be on Robinson Road, right? Then it won’t be too bad for you. Speaking of your flat, Stacy says you’re moving at the weekend. Stuart and I could help you move if you like. We’re just up the road.’
    After Stacy’s co-workers warned her that it was impossible to find a