Macau, It’s Hot Out.

I suddenly feel like having sherbet.

Macau — Green molars rise from the water as we cross the South China Sea to Macau.
The sun is already a flamethrower.

I’ve taken an impromptu journey aboard a Turbojet hydrofoil with a colleague’s spouse — it’s like we’re collecting Chinese Special Administrative Regions. (Now, with fewer human rights violations!)

Upon reaching the island, we’re greeted by brightly painted concrete buildings in teal, yellow and a mosaic of ice cream flavours.

White marble scattered outside the mint green St. Michael’s Chapel is ornately carved into angels (“angles,” as we see a couple signs say), crosses and the Virgin Mary. The cemetery also boasts a bust with an epically robust moustache.

It's all a façade.

From the ruins of St. Paul — the former ‘Vatican of the East’ — and its massive facade, which looms over the centre of the city, to the colourful Senado Square, the island’s Portuguese heritage is obvious in much of its architecture, particularly in the UNESCO-recognized historic centre.

The colours are vivid, as is the history.

Vendors hawk jerky, laid out in sheets and cut into strips. Bakeries perfume the air, packaging endless bags of flaky egg tarts.

Setting itself up as a dystopian counterpoint, every third shop once we leave the historic centre is a Nike Store. Something about the frequency, paired with the plastic-wrapped shoes, gives me a sneaking suspicion they’re not legitimate. Or, the Macanese really, really like their sneakers.

At least their colours match the buildings.