Vancouverites do not know the meaning of rain

Vancouver has spoiled me. Utterly. Thoroughly. I’ve stopped carrying umbrellas on days it doesn’t look like it’ll rain because what’s a drizzle? (Or a mizzle — one of my favourite words for a misty kind of rain.)

Well, I’m never going to make that mistake again. Just got caught out in a tremendous downpour in Hong Kong. We’re talking sheets of what feels like pelting rocks, except it’s all wet. You actually cannot see more than a metre ahead of you and the taxi ride home was a terrifying experience, since my parents decided they would like to live on a hill with a twisty, turny road that doesn’t actually offer pavements for pedestrians on both sides of the road or crosswalks, and the driver openly admitted he couldn’t see a thing.

Now to dry myself off and to wait anxiously for my parents to make their separate trips back. And a note that I’ll be moving a majority of these kinds of posts from now on to my post-UBC blog.

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