It was the reverse in Abu Dhabi. In two years it never rained, except two days before I was to leave. It was the lightest of drizzles and lasted a half hour, but people rushed out into the streets and almost danced with joy. Friends called enthusiastically to share their experience of a remarkable phenomenon and my neighbors brought me pastries. The next day it was a bold headline in Khaleej Times, the local newspaper.
In Konstanz, my favorite town in Germany, it rained unseasonably in the fall as I returned from a concert in the university. It suddenly turned chilly, I lost my way on the unfamiliar road, ended up in a warm and friendly speakeasy, and practically spent the night drinking and sharing stories with new found friends.
It rained in Hong Kong as I got out of the Kowloon ferry and ran for cover. I stood transfixed as cataracts of water threw a mysterious haze over the waterfront, prosaic streets turned magically mysterious, and a street urchin materialized out of nowhere, to fetch me a steaming cup of coffee for triple its usual price.