The Wheels on the Bus

I'm not a fan of public transport here in Hong Kong, especially in winter. There are times, like when visiting Discovery Bay that I don't have a choice, and that's just where I was headed on Friday morning. Friday's bus ride reminded me why I have avoided public transport as often as possible. Firstly I have to state, for the record, I would take public transport in HK over public transport in Sydney any day. Sydney's buses and trains can often resemble some of the worst I've seen in 3rd world countries, and run on some kind of system that holds no resemblance to a schedule. My main issue with transport in HK is generally my fellow commuters and their bodily fluids full of airborne diseases, and their tendency to pick their noses, cut their nails and, I kid you not, floss their teeth. I'm all for multi-tasking but there are limits people!

As I creep into my 3rd trimester of pregnancy I am becoming ever more aware of something that frustrates many expats here - local tunnel vision, and it's never more obvious than when you're pregnant or somehow incapacitated and reliant on others to notice you and open doors/give up their seats/generally be helpful when needed. This tunnel vision, I believe has evolved in the local population after decades of living in a very small area with millions of others, in a dog-eat-dog society, where competition for everything is fierce and crowds are commonplace. It's purely a survival, self-preservation tactic but can also lead to an inability to recognise the needs of others. It's not a deliberate thing, I think it's just a result of living amongst so many others, this inward focus. In my experience there are many people here who are really friendly and really helpful, but there's no middle ground, and many others are really unfriendly and really unhelpful. So on Friday morning when I clambered onto the bus, at the last minute as always, and found myself having to stand, I did what I always do - I tried to catch the eye of someone who might, by the remotest chance, offer me their seat. All of the men appeared deeply engrossed in the day's papers, while the women guiltily looked away, pretended to be asleep or turned to their mobile phones as if just receiving an urgent message. If they can't see the pregnant lady, they can't feel bad for not getting up.

Now, I'm not hugely pregnant yet, but I am very obviously pregnant, it's kinda hard to miss. I could understand in the early days when I was just a little round in the middle and I could have been mistaken for being a tad overweight. Anyone offering me a seat in those days was taking a risk, as the chances of offending me were high and losing face over a fatal error in judgement such as that would be far worse than the guilt over not offering a pregnant lady a seat. But on a crowded bus, on a cold winter's morning, when a woman's belly is so close to your cheek you can practically hear her unborn baby's heartbeat, you've really got no excuse. I'm not saying at this point in my pregnancy I really need to sit down, I feel pretty good, and at that time of the morning I wasn't yet completely knackered - it's the principle of the thing, and the lack of common decency.

It reminded me of a time I caught a bus with a colleague after work one day. I was still sporting a mini-did-she-just-have-a-big-lunch kind of bump but K was heavily pregnant at 36 weeks. The bus was full of schoolkids, parents and helpers, all sitting down, while the 2 of us stood and blocked the aisle with our bumps. I definitely did not need a seat (although it would have been nice) but I could not believe no one got up for K. The number of mothers who sat there and let their kids clamber over the seats while a pregnant lady stood, wobbling in the aisle, bump dangerously close to sharp little elbows and errant schoolbags, was appalling. So, it's not a recent phenomenon and this particular gripe has been a long time in the making. When I was pregnant with J I was pushed, literally shoved out of the way by a man trying to board the MTR as I was getting off. No excuses for that kind of behaviour, none whatsoever.

I took the same trip this morning for my weekly physio appointment and the same thing happened. There was another passenger on the bus who caught my eye. She was also standing and looking at me with that "I can't believe no one is giving you a seat" look. She turned out to be a new nurse at the clinic I go to and as she was giving me my flu shot we talked about the bus ride. She was equally appalled, and being new to Hong Kong was quite surprised. It made me realise that being forced to stand on the bus has become so common now that it no longer surprises me. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not...

I'm a firm believer in karma and I keep hoping that if I always open doors for people with strollers or the elderly and infirm, or give up my seat on the bus, someday it'll pay off and I'll get the same treatment. But for the time being I'm going to stick with the Airport Express or the comfort of my own car, where I'm always guaranteed a seat (unless I have to go to DB again, in which case I'll just have to suck it up!).

Stay tuned next week for my rant on public toilets, titled "Seats are for bums not feet."

6 Minutes

J very reliably wakes up every morning between 5 and 6am. He rarely "sleeps in" until 6.30, so we generally have no need for an alarm clock. This week I've set one every day, just in case. On Wednesday morning, when J happened to wake up at 6.36am, I learned several, very valuable lessons, about the alarm on my phone, and the difference 6 minutes can make...

• The alarm on the iPhone will only go off if the phone is switched on. On Wednesday, mine was switched off.
• Murphy's Law dictates that the day my alarm isn't going to go off is the day my son decides to "sleep in." 
• 6 minutes can be the difference between yummy, nutritious, stomach filling porridge and boring, low-everything weetbix for breakfast.
• 6 minutes means unwashed hair and a ponytail, no earrings and lunch from the cafeteria.
• Getting up 6 minutes later meant that I was calling for a cab later and not getting through because everyone else in the neighbourhood was calling for a cab at approximately 7.20am on Wednesday morning.
• Not getting a cab meant that my husband had to drive me to the bus stop. J's "sleep in" meant that he hadn't had time for breakfast so I sat in the back seat and fed him his cereal on the way.
• 6 minutes of extra sleep and no cab made me 10 minutes late to the bus stop. I missed my bus and just made it on to the next bus. The difference between the 7.55am bus and the 8.05 bus is about 50 more passengers and standing up for the entire journey.
• Leaving the bus stop 10 minutes later meant arriving at work 5 minutes late instead of 5 minutes early.
• I spent the entire day flat out trying to catch up. I made up some time throughout the day but I still missed my bus home by about 2 minutes. The next one was 20 minutes later.
• Getting home 20 minutes later meant launching into the late afternoon bounce on the bed that is now standard practice before we launch into dinner-bath-bed, instead of my afternoon cup of tea and chocolate biscuit. 

This week I've spent roughly 100 minutes waiting for buses. I've eaten 5 tubs of yoghurt, 4 bananas, 5 cereal bars, and 10 carrot and apple muffins. I've spent $65 at the cafeteria, and $94 on Belgian chocolate milkshakes at Haagen Dazs in Tung Chung. I wore 5 different outfits but only 2 pairs of shoes. I've climbed countless stairs and only used the lift 7 times. I've sent my helper about a dozen texts to check on my son, and twice that many to my husband. I managed to be on time for work only 2 days out of 5 and I learned the difference 6 minutes can make to your whole day. 

Today I got 2 extra hours of sleep, breakfast in bed and a whole 11 hours with my son, and I learned just how much I love the weekend.