I answered the hotel phone to the petite voice of a Chinese woman representing the Toni&Guy Hair Salon. She was looking for Jeannie, who apparently had made an appointment to have her hair colored and cut. The woman politely informed me the purpose of the call was to confirm that her appointment would be canceled due to the typhoon.
“The what?” I interrupted. She responded with the innocent giggle I have grown to appreciate as an endearing trait of the women in this country.
“You did not hear it? There is typhoon level 8 coming for Hong Kong. It arrive tonight and stay tomorrow.”
I thanked her for the call, returned the phone to the nightstand, and then turned to look out the window of our 61st floor guestroom. The sky was a bit darker than it had been the previous day, but there was no reason to suspect a storm was on the way. Intrigued by this possible turn of events, I reached for my Asia guidebook and flipped to a section where I recalled reading something about extreme weather in Hong Kong. Sure enough, I found a special color inset amidst the black and white text with the heading, “Typhoons: What to do.” My eyes were drawn to the last sentence of the script—“If a T8 typhoon is headed for Hong Kong, retreat to your hotel room, close all the windows and drapes, and wait for the storm to pass.” Wow. This required further investigation.
I threw on some sandals and was standing at the front desk in two minutes. A group of Westerners had congregated at the counter. A bombarded staff member, with slightly less than total mastery of the English language, stood with wide eyes and pointed to a freshly drafted memo pasted to an easel. It started, “Attention Valued Guests…”
What I learned from the memo was nothing short of thrilling. Typhoon Molave was stewing, and apparently conjuring strength, in the sea to the south. Before midnight, the typhoon was to make landfall, and bring with it torrential rain and gale force wind. The worst of the storm was to last twelve hours. The memo warned that power outages were a great possibility, and generally offered advice right to boarding up your windows and tying down your house pets. I love a good storm. This had me excited. I raced upstairs to get Jeannie. There was an urgent trip in store—we needed provisions.
In the room, I was met with nervous eyes and an anxiety that nearly pacified my enthusiasm.
“C’mon, Jeanne, this will be fun,” I said. “We can sit up here in the room and watch the whole thing pass by. I already asked the concierge if the top of the hotel would rock back and forth, and he said no.”
Oops. I guess she hadn’t yet considered the teetering of the hotel as a possibility. Putting the thought in her head was an error. I gave her my best “I’m here to make everything alright” hug, grabbed a stash of Hong Kong dollars, and bolted out the door.
Once on the street, I realized I wasn’t the only one on the hunt for supplies. Every store, sidewalk, and street crossing was packed with people, all dashing about with an overt sense of urgency. A light drizzle began to fall from the sky, hastening the already rapid footsteps of pedestrians all over the city. All at once a thousand umbrellas popped open. I took two or three pokes in the eye from grandmas with wayward bumbershoots, but couldn’t be deterred from the mission. I charged on, and returned to the hotel with rations in hand, just as the sky opened up and released the wrath of the South China Sea.
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