HK airport. “Go right through sir’. Next left and there they are, Taxis. The body mind remembers. But, after a sleepless night on a 747, it all seems a bit tricky when I realise I’m not that travel guy anymore. I certainly wasn’t ready for my next sensory experience, a HK taxi and its roller coaster ride on a trolley of hope. “Where to sir”, was all he got out before he floored it. “Ah Shangrila – ok”. I don’t know why I even bothered, we were already half way to somewhere. Fast is all I remember, 0 – 12o kph in nothing flat, then 140 kph and flying among a highway on a brisk HK morning with the window slightly ajar. I’m feeling wind, cold wind in my face. I’m waking – quickly – I need to be awake in case this idiot slams into something. We go faster 160kph ‘Get you there quick’. I watched the Ayrton Sena documentary on the plane and want to strangle the driver. He swerves and then, as we hit the bridge, he slows slightly to 120 . It’s only a short respite though. Fangio speeds up once he’s set his bearings in the fog that’s covering the bridge. I guess he feels travelling blind at 160kph 500 feet above the water, is best because it means we’ll be off the bridge quicker. The saving grace is that HK is a relatively small joint where everything seems to pass faster. No sooner are we off the bridge than Dalek like cranes begin to pop out of the fog. There’s Salisbury Road. I know where we are and in a few hundred meters I’ll be home, safe at my hotel. There’s the Martini bar “Stop! I’ll walk from here”. Like hello. I’ve got another five days of this. Honkers – funny thing is – it works.
I’m here for a news conference that’s defining editorial principles and tools, to help build the foundations to establish a sustainable business model for news media. Maybe I’ll just hit the bar to ruminate with other Taxi passengers, or maybe, I’ll just go to my room and drink that bottle of 407 I brought over for Professor Quinn…mmm.