No one speaks English in Hong Kong. Surely an overstatement, but hardly an exaggeration.
Cab drivers, people at the supermarket or at building administration, security guards, policemen, hawkers in the market, waiters at the noodle place, sellers of tickets to get into the movies, a train, a show.
No one speaks English.
I get by with a lot of pointing and gesticulating. Cab rides are prefaced with Hail Mary's (May he not bring me to somewhere I'm not familiar with.). I assume orders at restaurants will be wrong (unless you literally point to what you want, chances are, it will be wrong.) You can't ask what that extra $9.0 is on your grocery tab (you find out at home that you picked up two not one pack of biscuits).
You can't ask if a store offers something in a smaller size, bigger size different variant or color. To explain to building administration that your sliding door has come unhinged and refuses to "slide" you need to act like you're playing charades. Bedroom. (put hands near head to mimic sleep) Cabinet. (make a giant air rectangle with your hands) Sliding door. (make sliding door motion) Is stuck (make stuck sliding door motion).
And what makes matters worse is that Cantonese is just deathly annoying. People here speak loudly (so do the people in New Manila, but there you can understand what is being yelled at you.) and make such vulgar sounds. If people were speaking in French, I could live with not understanding anything. I'd just pretend the waiter was trying to hit on me.
I didn't anticipate that the breakdown of communication would affect me so much. I have absolutely no idea what's going on. There are a bunch of posters hanging on the walls near my apartment building. They might be for a lost dog, an apartment for lease, proposed legislation, personals. I can't tell. It's like living in a bad dream and there are all these Chinese people speaking very loud Chinese at you. And everything (and I mean everything) is in pinyin.
Wait. The Chinamen are real.
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