There's something special about festivals that call themselves writers festivals, rather than literary festivals, and spotted Bi Feiyun sitting in the lobby as I went for lunch.
Bet he's not written a think since I last saw him at the prize event last year: there's something highly disruptive about winning prizes like the Booker/Man Booker. And then who else should I run into here, than a bunch of Hong Kongers standing in the hotel lobby.
Thanks to Jean who was the best of volunteers, taking me out to find a very delicious beef randang. And then a few hours wandering the streets with a taste of pork knuckle in vinegar; and cracked pepper pig stomach and chicken soup with a spicy sweet soy sauce.
Everyone very friendly. First event tomorrow, after a rather long lunch.
Tonight we're off on a boat trip. Ten writers sent up the river: will we survive? Will I be sea sick..?