Having one Qtip jammed up into my brain and then another one scraped against my esophagus by a stranger dressed in a hazmat suit while I am locked inside a hotel room was decidedly not how I expected to celebrate my four year anniversary of moving to Hong Kong, but here we are. Thanks, Covid.
Last summer, the two weeks quarantine upon arrival were in my apartment, which was hard for a laundry list of reasons, but I gotta hand it to the HK gov’t - they know how to make things much, MUCH harder! Luckily (I guess), after a year of going nowhere, even with the mandated hotel quarantine, I was desperate to get home so I took the plunge. In a way, I was almost looking forward to the adventure of returning to Hong Kong and trying out the new system. If nothing else, some character building and a good story, right?
We saw dolphins in the surf on the second night, and I sprinted into the ocean to try and make friends (if I recall correctly, I did an Ace Ventura impression. It did not work but by golly, I felt alive). I shivered on the walk back to the dining commons, made two trips to the pasta bar, and then by silent, mutual consent, the group decided running was hard and pasta was good, and sporadic dolphin chasing missions were more fun and probably counted as cardio.