Hong Kong is a city of, well, let’s call them street scents. Not all of them so sweet. They assault suddenly, when you emerge from the subway, turn a corner, or walk past an alley. One source, on seemingly every block, are open-air shops selling mounds of dried goods – whether plucked from the soil or the sea. These are a mystery to me, as I can’t distinguish which are for medicine, soup or tea.
In this case, I recognized the pile of dried shrimp. And the friendliness of the clerks.