Off to Heong San Ou

It’s that time of year, the time of the annual pilgrimage to the entrepôt turned enclave of many names, to the Chinese equivalent of Jersey most recently depicted in the latest Bond movie as a place of clear skies and beautiful Eurasian women constructed on the back lot of Elstree Studios. 

Without I hope suffering the withdrawal symptoms of an American Four Star General going cold turkey after sending 30,000 emails to Florida’s answer to Pippa Midleton, I will be relieving myself of blogging duties until next week, when you can expect to get the full Ulaca on the Sofitel Hotel, two family-run restaurants in Taipa Village and whatever else tickles my fancy, excluding brassy objects making a loud noise as they race around the pulsating Gaia lighthouse.     

But enough of those Russian hookers – unless the wife is willing to finally fulfill my ultimate fantasy.