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No Wars Here & Other Stories...Snapshots of Hong Kong April 1997, by
Naturally enough I was worried all the way on the Cathy Pacific flight to Hong Kong.
It was four years since I had been to the East and in the mean time I had bored friends and relatives to tears banging on about it. On the strength of two days in Hong Kong I had persuaded my friend to come out with me and visit the city while it was still British. I had raved about its beauty and its charm and now… suddenly I realised I had hardly seen the city at all and really Hong Kong might be as mundane as Basingstoke. I wondered if my companion would ever forgive me. I chewed my nails and fretted. Inexorably the plane progressed across the vast continent of Asia and then began its descent.
Once again Hong Kong rose up shining out of the sea as the Boeing curved around to begin its
approach. This, one of the most famous flights into a city is shortly to be lost. The new airport on
Lantau Island will soon be the gateway to Hong Kong.According to the Western media, it will be
more than a flight path that would disappear. Hong Kong's imminent return to China was viewed by
the Western media as a 'bad thing' at best or the most abject betrayal of western democratic ideals
that had ever occurred in the benign rule of the British Empire.
I was here not to judge this issue - but purely to investigate a city, which had seemed to be so beautiful when I had first visited it and to give it the time, which my previous journey through China had not allowed.
The moment my feet touched the ground I knew I had done the right thing by returning. The energy of the city flowed through me once more and the same strange sense of being completely at home and at ease amongst the most extraordinary scenes reassured me.
The first evening of my stay and fighting Jet lag my companion and I walked out of the hotel in
Waterloo Road and found ourselves in the most glorious food market. Here, Chickens in cages
awaited their fate along with the fish and even some doves were curled up into a cage. A customer
demanded a chicken and I waited spellbound for it to be slaughtered. But the new keeper tied it up
by its legs and strode off with the squawking bird. I was fascinated by the imminent death for these
animals but not appalled. It seemed healthier to be so near to the food chain. And better than
buying anonymous bits of plastic from a supermarket which hides the smell of death from its
customers. Most of all I wanted to reach for the heaviest saucepans and the sharpest knives and start cooking. The freshness
of the meat and the quality of the vegetables on display could only be delicious.
The sound of Hong Kong is overwhelming and includes the constant chirp of mobile phones. It's practically
part of the birdsong - I shouldn't wonder. Even, incredibly they work on the underground. My travelling
companion assured, me that even squatting on the bog does not guarantee an escape from the telephone. The
mobile salesman may be contacted anywhere. An image too startling to dwell on.
My companion, a dedicated photographer was soon besotted with the scale of the city and decided immediately that his camera work would not be complete without a wide angled lens. He had come to the right place. We spent a long time in a camera shop while we searched for a 24mm wide angled lens for his Pentax, the better to capture the captivating buildings.
he salesman knew his subject and they spent an hour in slow and detailed study of lenses. As a lesson in sales technique it was a masterpiece. The salesman was, after an initial struggle to sell the most expensive lens, taken by my companion's knowledge of his subject. Then the salesman searched his shelves for the right product for us. Finally he found it. We decided it was what we were looking for. Then there followed polite discussion on price the best methods of payment. Cash is always cheaper. When we left, everyone was satisfied.
Afterwards we caught the tram and spent the afternoon riding from Happy Valley to Western Market, taking photos all the while from the back and upper deck.
Our hotel, we found, was offering trips to Aberdeen Village for the princely sum of £45. It looked quite tempting, the village I mean and not the tour. So the next morning off we set on the local bus. I am afraid it was frankly disappointing and a terrible tourist trap. However the journey through from Central to Aberdeen was just lovely with great views of Happy Valley and the racecourse. Gardens fell and spilled over balconies and tumbled down into the harbour which was sadly misnamed in Chinese as 'Little Fragrance Harbour.
We saw cockroaches scuttle amongst the fish baskets. The guidebooks sternly warn against the shellfish, which carries amongst other things the risk of hepatitis B & A. Little old ladies lurked like mantis along the waterfront. They wanted £35 each to take us around the harbour in a leaky sampan.
Anyway they looked very precarious and not tempting. While the life of the boat people must be very harsh - constant damp and no privacy - I did not feel like contributing to their lot.
If you need to flee from the incessant traffic pollution of Hong Kong Island, take the ferry from the Star Ferry Terminal and hie thee to Lamma Island. We got off the ferry at Yung Shue Wan and there found the last refuge of the sixties. People arrive for a holiday and, seduced by the Island's laid back charm, decide to stay. Until the Chinese take-over there was no shortage of work for English speaking bar tenders. There are no cars on this island. Hence the air is pure and a delight to breathe. The people walk up delicate and winding streets to their houses. All the shopping has to be carried. More than one hooked their shopping onto a yoke and plodded home. At a local pub a resident who expounded the success of the Babylonian Calendar and the ancient Phoenicians' ability to predict the future entertained me. He glanced around the room quickly. 'It's all going to end in the year 2000' he said. 'That's what they believed.' As always I find myself getting fretful when facing these theories. How can they? Exactly? Since they lived before Christ why on earth should they pick on a year precisely 2000 years from his supposed birth??
The little barmaid rolled her eyes up as she served us and overheard the conversation. She was travelling around the world and was full of gossip. She was greatly concerned about the Chinese take-over and was moving on soon. She was particularly disgusted by the attitude at British Government house. She had spent a tiresome afternoon trying to sort out a work permit for a friend who had arrived a day too late to qualify for an automatic visa. A senior member of the British Consulate had come down and told them, 'I am leaving in a month and don't give a shit because you can't get a permit to work. That's your problem and not mine. Starve in the street for all I care.'
The journey back into Kowloon showed that the handover to China was a major topic of conversation. A German Swiss had button holed a Hong Kong Chinese shop Assistant. 'I fear for you,' the European kept saying. 'I will watch the papers to see what will happen to Hong Kong. You will have no freedom you know.'
The saleswoman grew irritated. 'We are getting rid of Colonial rule' she said sharply, We are returning to our mother. To where we belong.'
The unthinking cruelty toward the weak is constantly on view in Hong Kong. The plight of one fish particularly distressed me. It was nearly a metre long in a tank so small it could not turn round. Fungus had attacked its eyes and mould and raw patches flawed the once beautifully marked skin. It hung suspended near death.
Walking around the run down streets of Mong Kok I came across a kitten dying of cat flu. Further up a beggar lay exhausted on the pavement. I could offer aid not to the fish, the cat nor man. The few coins placed by him as much use as a plaster on a severed artery. And so I walked on.
If you can I strongly recommend you take the train or bus to Sha-Tin. An area of Hong Kong
about fifteen minute's train ride away in the New Territories. There you will find not only the ten
thousand Buddha temple but also a dancing fountain. The temple although not very old has the
instant soothing effect that I remember from most of the temples in China. Take time to count the
statues of Buddha and admire the beautiful fish in the little garden at the top. Do not fear the
400-step climb to the summit. The gentle Buddhists have installed escalators.
I like the spirituality of the East. Everywhere there are little shrines, set in the pavement and in the shops. Amongst this huge capitalistic society is a soul which can be accessed even in the city's greatest din and there is a stillness in the beat of the city. It is, as someone commented, as if capitalism has been painted on to Hong Kong's surface and the old and constant ways remain beneath. Rather like Buddhism in China after communism? I don't know enough to judge.
Back in Sha Tin I needed change for the photo booth. This started a ten-minute detour to get some. This
turned into a three-hour journey of amazement and discovery of the gleaming shopping mall. Walking through
the centre I glanced out of the glass walls and saw tower blocks opposite sparkling like diamante.
I walked out of the centre and up some stairs to photograph this amazing scene. On the roof lay a swimming pool reflecting the neon in its untroubled surface.
Slightly below there were some tennis courts laid out. I compared Hong Kong's towers to Britain's
sad efforts. It seems that children are accommodated here with small parks and play areas every
where.
On the way down there was a musical and dancing fountain. It spurted and shot columns of water in time to Elgar and Beethoven amongst others. Silver ropes of water twisted down out of the fountain. It was magical. A wonderful exhibition of Joie de Vivre -in what was really an out of town shopping centre. Watching this fountain I tell myself that this City like all others has its share of misery, drudgery and sadness. But running across its glittering surface this is very hard to see.
The contrast between gleaming marble, steel and opulence of the city and then its staggering amount of dirt
and death is one of the reasons I love Hong Kong. It is not a city that is going to lie to you. The elderly Chinese
plonk themselves down without ceremony and fan themselves with brightly coloured paper fans. Old ladies
squat on park benches. Their beady eyes seem not to miss one heartbeat of the throng. One evening I waited
for my friend while he used the local gents. He seemed to be gone for an age and, waiting outside, I quickly
became aware that something was going down. A little huddle of chefs from the nearby restaurant whisked in
and out through gleaming steel doors. Each time they shot me furtive glances or disapproving looks. Every five
minutes or so they checked to see if I was still there. I became increasingly self-conscious and kept looking at my watch and
tapping my feet. Eventually one of the cooks had enough and shot past me to the toilet. Shortly after this a butch looking
supervisor and a security guard also entered the gents. I studied my timetable and wondered if my friend would need rescuing
and if so how. Eventually he appeared, grabbed my arm and dragged me out quickly. One of the guys in there was jacking up'
he said. 'I saw his shadow on the washroom floor trying to find a vein.'
'What about the security guard.' I squeaked Britishly.
'Probably the drug dealer' was the laconic reply.
It was after this when I was in down town Mong Kok checking the local electrical shop when this girl walked in. She had a waist to die for and shapely legs but what really grabbed my attention was a large dragon tattoo which peaked out from below her cropped jacket and possibly extended to he shoulder blades. Her hair had been bleached to a henna red but was growing out and the roots were a glossy black.
I contemplated all these things as women do and felt that something didn't quite add up. There was something a bit sleazy about this girl that didn't fit with the obvious technical knowledge she had about circuit beakers and adapters. Our paths continued the same way up the street until absolutely exhausted by the heat I sat down on bench. The girl sat down almost opposite me. Suddenly out of the crowd another tall woman with the bad skin of a drug addict appeared to greet her. And abruptly in the angle of their faces and a sudden movement the truth became clear. Both were men. Very good transvestites who were soon lost to view in the Nathan Road Subway.
If you have time, take the trouble to find Garden Road. We found ourselves there one afternoon and
wandered in the hills behind Hong Kong speechless with its beauty. The haze lifted and the silver city of my
earlier impression revealed herself. A long walk down brings you out into the Botanical and Zoological Garden
where a black Jaguar waits with an unblinking stare.
The Chinese Travel Service has not gained any charm in the last four years. Gentle reader I did try to return to China but the CTS needed our passports for two days which became impossible as we needed them to get to Portugese Macau. This island too is destined to return to China in 1999. However, there appears to be no great appeals going on on its behalf by an indignant West. Hmmm. Anyway Ho-Hum the CTS were doing their interminable bureaucratic thing. And really one day in Guanzhou didn't really appeal. My memory did not hold wonderful memories of this dirty city. So we made our way to the gleaming new ferry terminal which would speed us to Macau.
There my friend became speechless with joy (nothing to do with me). The ferries, he said, were an absolute replica of those used in Thunderbirds. That and great sky scrapers emerging from tropical hill decided him that Hong Kong was a city of dreams.
Frankly I wasn't really taken with Macau finding it grubby and tiring after Hong Kong and the place peopled with lunatic bus and moped drivers. However the old back streets of Macau reminded me of China. Constant spitting, little birds in cages, noise and bustle. After the hi tech smoothness of Hong Kong I felt utterly exhausted and was very glad to leave. Everyone else I have met loves Macau and raves about its Portuguese charm. But to be honest I didn't see it. Maybe I should go back when I am not so tired. Check it out for yourself and let me know.
Of all the islands Lantau became our favourite: a place about which I have no reservations whatsoever. You see what sweeping judgements I make on a mere afternoon's acquaintance. This is where my friend and I will set up an Eastern base if at all possible
Here we also met David Costello and Simon Calverly the editorial team of the Islands Orbital. They guided us to a beautiful seafood restaurant Sang Lee Sea Food Restaurant. Highly recommended. There we lamented it was our last day. For us, this has been a fantastic time. It has confirmed how much this part of the world inspires me and how instinctively I feel at home here.
The ferry ride back from Lantau showed the Hong Kong skyline. Absolutely translucent and almost
too magical to believe in. And, in once sense this is true. For behind the gleaming steel and marble
lies avenues and alleys of appalling squalor. In our hotel, when we asked to check our baggage they
were storing for us, showed that by opening one tiny door in the luxurious foyer, you would see
bare concrete walls, a pungent smell of drains and open sewer not so very far away. Around the
corner in Victory Avenue a little magpie gasped in its cage. Its wing was broken. In misnamed
Peace Avenue a pile driver hammered steel into place. The skeleton of a new building. And
everywhere in the heat are the countless little shrines and temples. Stillness in the beat of the city.
I can not tell you how Hong Kong will fare under China. Nor can anyone else. The feeling on the
street was that the overwhelming majority of the Hong Kong Chinese was glad to see the back of
good old Britain. Money will look after itself and the businessmen we spoke to were confident of
their future. It seemed that the poorer Westerners who had settled in Hong Kong had the most to
lose. When I was in China four years ago I found myself captivated by its spirit. As you see I still
have not untangled myself. The harsh conditions of poverty and famine lead to harsh solutions. It is
to be hoped that, as she opens up to the world and benefits from the twentieth century technology
that conditions will change. There is a courageous spirit abroad in the Chinese government, which should be commended as
well as judged.
It was while in Kowloon that I saw the ideal job advertised by the BBC. It intoned how it had correspondents based all over the world, getting to know the people and the politics. Sometimes, said the BBC, getting to know the country took years. Frankly this sounded like bliss. I am going to write to BBC and ask to be based in some innocuous island. Every so often I could email in.
'No wars here: off to the G&T club. The locals send their love. Toodle pip'
Enjoy your travels were-ever you are.