T, T's Parisian Friend and I went to Sai Kung last weekend. Sai Kung is not only beautiful, it's also only 15 minutes away by cab from the center of town. Why everybody says it requires a weekend trip to get there and back completely baffles me. So, the plan was to climb a mountain (Sharp Peak). And you know how much I love climbing. It's up there with sitting in traffic jams and running on treadmills. Endless.
So off we went. T walking at the speed of light and me panting along behind him, holding onto my knees for moral support. Meanwhile, T's friend, who smokes like a chimney and is skinny as a rake, walks the entire 5 hour trail with utmost calm and composure. As if he's taking his dachshund for a morning stroll by the Seine. His head held high, and with a certain swagger in his gait, he politely keeps me company by telling me just about the entire history of France, with anecdotes and tales of treason and defeat thrown in for good measure. All the while, my tongue is hanging somewhere on the floor and my calves feel like glass shards are shooting up them.
We arrived at the beach just as clarification was being made that it was the French, in fact, that had started most European wars and not the Germans. Much against popular belief...
The stinky village we passed after the beach, was prefaced by a story about how Les Halles was covered in cobblestones to stop the goats from digging up the corpses from the cemetery. Something this village might want to consider.
We then climbed up and down a few more hills and zoomed home on a motori...the wind whistling through T's hair.