There was an ominous knock on the apartment door last night around 7.20 pm.
Ominous because at that time, it’s more than likely to be the impish and mischievous apartment manager. He has time to spare, and so thinks nothing of frittering away mine, at just the time I’m in dinner digestion mode, and more hostile than hospitable.
And so it proved. But this time, ‘Mr. Duc’, as I call him, wanted not to smoke and shoot the breeze, but take photos of my passport.
They’re evacuating the city.
This is all about
As it is, my original plan to return to NZ in August now looks dubious, with flight prices up at NZD3000 and above. Prices settle late September, but that won’t happen in the midst of Alarm and Lockdowns.
It’s a moving feast. On that topic, my stomach is saying I should move breakfast to, er, right now.