We board the nine o'clock ferry to Macau. The departure hall is filled with Cantonese, we are about the only ones not gambling. They're crazy about betting on anything, even if it's dead. Only now do I realise that - at least in Hong Kong - most of the people are not at all interested in football because they like it, but because money is involved. They bet on the end-score, on the minute a goal is made, even if it hits the goalpost on the way to the net. The number of yellow, red cards, anything. Now it makes sense why someone would be so enthusiastic about a country such as Ghana scoring...

About one hour and two stamps later we arrive in Macau. It's like being back in Europe. Having been a part of Portugal, the small island is dotted with colonial era Mediterranean buildings, a sense of rustic calm emanating from their white facades. So much different from the hectic high-rise of Hong Kong, I immediately like this gambler's paradise. The heat is the same though. It hurts to walk in the sun, you can just feel it burning your skin, but somehow the ever present light breeze makes it much more pleasant than in HK.

Just outside the ferry terminal hordes of hostesses hand out invitations, free credit, to lure you into one of the many casinos. A few cab-drivers try dragging you into their cabs, others for a tour of the city. You'd be mad to do this however. Just around the corner the casinos have scores of free shuttle-busses whisking away the happy gambler into their lair. I wonder if there are free shuttles back to the ferry terminal as well. Or after our pockets are emptied we're left in the gutter?

Having been declared mad - this happens in about every city in Asia - we explore the island on foot. The Guia fortress on the nearby hilltop seems a good start. As we follow the map, we realize how small the island really is. That's always a good thing. The sun is scorching though so every excuse to enter a building is welcome. The view is fabulous from the top. Well, at least, it better be, it was exhausting to walk up there. To the west the giant lotus-shaped Gran Lisboa looms over most of the town, its grandeur dwarfing all other casinos around. The east is crammed with slum-like, filthy flats.

The hilltop's white buildings are a perfect match for the sun and a few newlyweds enjoy the opportunity to get the perfect wedding picture. Well, some of them. The poor groom is sweating in his white suite, the assistant dabbing his face every few minutes. He remarks lightly that they've been married already for a year, but the missus wants new photograph. Ay; you've been spanked my boy!

We make our way down the hill, getting lost and backtracking because the scale on the map is so small. We drop in- and out of the 7-Eleven stores found everywhere in Asia filling up on water, juices. You wouldn't survive here for long without.

Before going to the historic centre we're drawn like moths to the Gran Lisboa. It is truly magnificent. Just behind its glitter are the most grim slums of Macau. Millions change hands daily inside the casinos, and just a hundred metres apart people live on the streets, on less than $1 a day. Sad, really to see this huge contrast.

It is hard to miss the historical centre. You can just feel the crowd swelling, Chinese shops growing in numbers, and if that's not a big enough hint, the asphalted road slowly turns into cobble-stones. The Ruins of St. Paul are indeed that, ruins. All that remains of a once mighty church is its facade. I love it, it's like a piece of paper. Now you see it, now you don't. Just next to it is a fortress. Nice, but hot. We enjoy the shade on the top though and rest a bit, gathering strength after the climb. No wonder the Dutch couldn't take the fortress. It probably wasn't the hill, the canons, the defenders, the years' supply of food, but probably the heat :) Who could do anything sensible, let alone in full armour in this weather?

He, this really is Europe. Where else could we be visiting churches and fortresses?

There is one more thing to do. Gamble! We enter the biggest, brightest, most decadent casino, seen from about every point on the island: the Grand Lisboa. The entry hall has huge glittering chandeliers, bellboys open the doors and luxury just oozes from every corner of the building. We can enter without any hassle; and what a letdown. Shabby tables, scores of Chinese in shorts and sandals sipping cheap tea, eating cookies and playing. You can see that some have been here for hours, perhaps even the whole day, all that matters to them now is winning back their initial bet. Not like that is ever going to happen. But this is not the casino that we imagined from the Bond movies, this is even worse than the dozen-a-dime Holland Casino's we have at home. It would be a pity to piss away our money here.

Next up, Lynn. The casino is modest in height, but makes up more than enough with its surface. Plus the fact that at the front entrance they have water fountains playing to the tune of music - we can follow "Colours of the Wind" quite well - we decide on this place. The same decadent entrance, everything made of white marble, designer stores on the sides. Direct opposite to the entrance are huge glass windows giving a view of a beautiful garden. Golden - or at least some kind of gem - camels, beautiful ponds; yes, we like this. We have to drop off our bags at the entrance as it is not proper attire; and as we enter we can see this casino is of an entirely different class. Huge halls, ambient music, even the air is scented. Chinese in costumes, or if not, at least dressed for the occasion play at the tables. Our sandals feel very out of place here.

The fact that I'm only willing to bet HKD 20, which is only slightly more than two Euros doesn't seem to help either. I see people betting on chips of HKD 1000 like it's nothing, not even moving a muscle with the wrong turn of a dice. Well, you're either rich, or you aren't. Even though I'd know much more meaningful destinations for this than a casino.

As the minimum bet for a table with a real thingie - person - is probably HKD 100 I try my luck at one of the slot machines. There're only Chinese games, neither me nor Michel understand a thing about them. I press some buttons, but the credit is just going down. Finally I give up and take my losses. I walk out with HKD 1.80. Feeling too embarrassed to cash it in and get laughed at I tuck the slip into my pocket, put on my sunglasses and walk out like Bond, James Bond. Yeah!

Interestingly, Macau has its own currency; the Patacas. Its exchange rate is fixed at 103 to 100 HKD, being slightly weaker. Everyone happily accepts HKD as the currency, using of course the same price as it is in MOP, making a 3% instant profit. I need Patacas! Seemingly I'm not allowed to. All the banks I try either want to give me Hong Kong dollars or just plain out refuse to service me. What the hell? I want my Patacas! Michel's probably getting bored of me racing from ATM to ATM and finally the sixth/seventh bank accepts my request. I have my stamps, my fridge magnet, my souvenir money; I'm happy now. We can go home :)