I’m by no means shy of learning this lesson time and time again. Not having something or someone really does make you miss it a whole lot more. Never these words been more apt than right now. Now, I’m not about to start any boycott of Hong Kong life – there’s no denying that it’s one of the greatest cities in the world and hands down the best year of my entire life – but it does have a couple of drawbacks. Anyone that’s had the pleasure of visiting this beautiful city will be well aware that space is an issue. You spend a fortune to essentially live in a shoebox. This doesn’t matter for a few reasons. The first is that you realise how little space you actually need as a person, which is, it turns out, very little. The second is that you rarely spend a lot of time there anyways – it’s a 24 hour city and you start to become a 24 hour human being.

Not having space does matter for one particular reason though, and that brings me nicely and in an incredibly indirect way to my point. Having no space, means having no bath, and that’s an issue.

I don’t think I’d ever considered myself an advocate for a bathtub. I seem to like the idea of sitting in a hot bath, with candles and bubbles and a good book and music for hours, but in the past I’m lucky if I make it past 20 minutes because mostly I get a bit flustered and incredibly bored. But after not having bathed for over a year, it rings true that its absence made me fall in love with it. The best bath of my life was three days ago, when I sat equipped with candles, bubbles and a view over Kuala Lumpur for a solid hour. If you’re going to have a first bath in 14 months, it might as well be on the 18th floor with a city view right?

 

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