On a winter evening, a strong and salty breeze swirls dry leaves from the ubiquitous gumbo limbo tree along the quiet streets. Soft porch lamps hint at life inside restored bungalows, eyebrow houses and towering two-story Victorians with double porches. The Key West cemetery beckons in the half-light. Crypts and coffins rise above the ground - and the water level. One particular memorial pulls me back again and again; "to the sacred memory of a broken-hearted mother." A life-sized limestone angel raises a finger to gently caution her young daughter, in the grave below, to be careful. Legend has it that the child fell to her death from an open window. A short while later, the mother joined her in death.
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My favourite time to explore Kennedy Town is Sunday mornings. Unlike many expats in Hong Kong, I like to rise early to see my adopted neighbourhood wake for the new day, something I share with the local Chinese. This particular Sunday I wake early and wrap up warm. Despite Hong Kong's reputation as a steaming Asian hot spot, it has its winter too. My neighbours, as usual, have beaten me to the rising and the shining; in the stairwell of my ancient low-rise apartment building there is already the tang of incense in the air and I pass smoking incense sticks poking out from tiny doorway shrines.
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A starkly stylized wrought iron crucifix, in a shop filled with intriguing crafts done by a family of talented artisans, drew me in. Rationalizing that it would fit in my suitcase with clothing stuffed around it, I succumbed.
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My husband and I needed to be in Newry, a small city just over the border from the Republic of Ireland, for an event in late August. We decided to spend three or four days exploring beforehand. We had been to the better-known Republic on several occasions, and love the friendliness of the people and the spectacular scenery, but had avoided Northern Ireland for all the wrong reasons. We were pleasantly surprised to find the same Irish charm and friendliness, but with a touch of British reserve.
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