I walked through the HK airport thinking I've seen all of HK and I've seen nothing at all. As I near the gate, I see a final chance to buy a toy for the four year old who is awaiting my arrival. I walk on past, thinking I have already done enough. Thinking that the rest, as they say, is history. Thinking that I'm glad her tastes are not yet expensive.

Downtown HK bristles with activity. Women in skirts again. How nice it is to see legs after these years in Beijing where pants are the norm on the warmest days. I need to up my game to as the competition is fierce and my flirting skills left me a long time ago.

A fleeting thought is how HK is what asian cities can grow up to be. Crowded, clean, pulsing, uniquely asian. Then I remember the 100 years of british rule and wonder how much of what I see is really euro. That big cities in asia will be like beijing or mombay.

Then I here the "road to ensenada" song and I dream a dream of home where there is coffee on the table and kindness in her hand. And I know that when my train goes of its track --- when i lose my sanity in order to stay sane -- that this home is just a dream. that i had another home, that when i went to ensenada I found hot coffee and a warm embrace. but i had to leave ensenada on that black and blue day of 1997. Had to leave because there is more to live than ensenada. so yes, i am still on the road to ensenada. Just in the other direction.