Dec. 8, 9, & 10 - Hong Kong: Trapped in Paradise, aka the vomitorium, or "Jared's Revenge"

December 8 was pretty straight forward. It was our designated day for travel from Guangzhou to Hong Kong. In the morning, we packed - a surprisingly difficult proposition. In the afternoon, we took the train to Hong Kong. Travel days are never fun, especially traveling with a 1 year old you are still trying to figure out and a 5 year old you know all to well. Lots of kicking, screaming, etc. -- but enough about Sasha and I. I will spare you the details. We arrived in Hong Kong, went through customs (Hong Kong is Chinese, but they maintain separate customs, currency, and reverence for Jackie Chan), and somehow got a cab to our hotel - the Kowloon Shangri-La, a very nice hotel that was one of the few properties readily available during our stay. The rest of the evening was uneventful.

We started our day on December 9 with great expectations. After breakfast, we secured 48 hour unlimited on/off tickets on the Big Bus Tours. We spent the morning and early afternoon touring Kowloon. We saw a Bhudist monetary, the jade market, and the Peninsula Hotel, where all of the hoity-toity stay when in the area and where we stopped for high tea. Noel Coward purportedly wrote Private Lives while staying in room 314 and the Brittish officials signed the paperwork surrendering Hong Kong to the Japanese after they held out for just two weeks during WWII. After tea, we boarded the Star Ferry from Kowloon to Hong Kong for what I expect was Qiuchan's first boat ride. She seemed unimpressed. We, on the other hand, very impressed with the Hong Kong skyline. Hong Kong boasts approximately 8,000 skyscrapers, about double New York City and the most of any city in the world. We didn't have too much time in Hong Kong, basically seeing the harbor and Statue Square.  Foolishly, we planned to hit the rest of Hong Kong proper the next day. Wanting to start early the next day, we foolishly settled on takeout from Subway for dinner. 
Curse you Jared! Dinner tasted just fine ... the first time it passed our lips. After we all settled in nicely to our beds, complete with nice, clean, high thread count, white duvets and sheets, Gray drifted peacefully off into the arms of morpheus. Luckily, Sasha and I were still awake, so that we could fully witness with all our senses the subsequent eruption of partially digested Subway roast chicken sandwich and goodness knows what else. To say that the volume of vomit produced was substantial is an understatement. I fully believe that he passed an amount in excess of his body weight - how, I know not. It just kept coming ... On his white duvet, on his white sheet, through to the down comforter, through the down mattress pad, and almost through the mattress cover below that. He was able to muster enough force that my bed received equal treatment. He soaked both dust ruffles and even the carpet. Somewhere about half way through his first Linda Blair impersonation, I was left with a decision all parents have faced. Specifically, do I try and move him to the bathroom, sparing further local damage but risking leaving a trail of spew, or do I write off the beds and floor and wait until the heaving has abated? Seeing that the sheets and comforter could not be saved, I decided to just lean him up (did I mention that he was still mostly asleep?) until Mount Graysuvius ceased erupting. Mistake.

After a brief pause in the action, the flow started again, although this time with more liquid than solid, allowing for greater distance. Abandoning any thought of saving myself, I picked him up, cupped my hands under and in front of his mouth, and rushed him to the bathtub, leaving a trail of chicken and acid laced liquid hell. Placing him by the bathroom, I was finally able to fully wake him up, remove his pajamas (hello separate shower floor), and tell him that he will likely live, although he may not prefer that option at the time. I then rushed to grab all the towels I could find for an exercise called hotel vomit disaster triage. I began by first covering the standing puddles on the tile so that we would not slip in the piles of awful. It was somewhere during this process that Sasha came into the bathroom, making sort of whimpering laughing noises. I was surprised to see that her hands cupped in front of her were filled with vomit. I was surprised that she had been able to catch Grayson's vomit and was confused about the delay between catching it and entering the bathroom until I realized it was not Gray's vomit at all. It was her own. The first words out of my mouth were "food poisoning."  After deciding that i could do little for the happy couple, my next words were, "Now I have to call housekeeping and clean as fast as possible before it's my turn."  I set Gray and Sasha up as best I could, did a quick wipe down of the bathroom and raced out to the living area, beads of sweat beginning to form on my hairline, along with an uncomfortable nausea down throughout the mid-section. I called housekeeping and began to strip the beds and try and soak up some of the mess. By now, I can see that not even the mirrors on the walls of the bathroom and counter tops were spared. I am sure there will be evidence of our stay that is still being cleaned weeks from now.

After about 15 minutes, I'm still vomit free. A nice young man shows up and asks if we are ok in broken English. I respond: "Let me begin by first apologizing for the awfulness that you are about to deal with."  I then explain the disaster.  It becomes clear he understands very little English when he responds, smiling, with, "Do you need some towels?"  I attempt to communicate our plight by charading vomit and then dragging him into the room to view the carnage. He appears to understand and says he will return. About 15 minutes later, he returns with a manager type who asks if we need a doctor. By now, we are each a lovely shade of gray, but we decide that a doctor is not needed. Whatever is ailing us, does not appear to need professional assistance with respect to its bodily extrication. He explains that they may have to clean the carpet, and I point out that our baby is sleeping - bless Qiuchan for not waking and adding to the turmoil (she did not share in our Subway bounty, preferring a cup of chicken ramen noodles). He explains that they will do their best and, about 15 minutes later, two gloved up members of housekeeping set about cleaning up and replacing our linens. They clean the carpet a bit, by hand, and finally leave, advising us that a more thorough cleaning of the carpet will follow the next day.

We sponge ourselves off and crawl into bed, after strategically placing waste bashes and diaper disposal bags within reaching distance and placing towels on the sides of the beds in case of a second attack. Speaking of that...

About 15 minutes after we lay down, watching a bit of television to unwind, Gray says in a weak voice, "I need some water."  I ask him if he is going to throw up again, and when he does not immediately respond in the negative, I grab him and race for the tub, pulling off his top along the way. Who would've thought there was anything left in the little guy?  I held him over the tub, rubbing his back, and, sure enough, round two commenced. Lots of heaving. Modest production. About like a college freshman on his second round of the dry heaves. Believe or not, this disaster was contained and did not necessitate further room remediation, other than cleaning out the tub. After he was done, we cleaned out his mouth and he was basically fine, although he slept with me and I woke up every time he moved, believing that he was heaving again. Since then, Gray has felt fine. On the other hand, Sasha and I......

December 10 was supposed to be filled with more sight seeing and other touristy crap. Instead, it found our happy clan recovering as best we were able. I am happy to report that it appears as though we will all live. I never threw up, although for large portions of today I sort of wish I had. We did very little, leaving only for lunch and dinner - I suppose the fact that we could all eat is a good sign. On top of this whole incident, Sasha and I haven't been fighting colds and Qiuchan has intermittently battled lower tract distress. She actually lost it on the bathroom rug the morning of December 9. Don't you just know housekeeping will not be missing us one little bit? I remain hopeful that we will be able to get out and see more tomorrow, as it is our last full day in this beautiful city. Really, the whole thing has been funny, in a vomitful sort of way. Signing off for now, the Groeneveld Family.