Hong Kong and the New Territories
Trip Start
Jan 20, 1997
1
5
Trip End
Feb 10, 1997
Hong Kong,
Hong Kong
Wednesday, April 2, 2003
We found the A20 hotel bus with only minor difficulty and were quickly on our way through the peak hour traffic of Kowloon. The Harbour Tunnel seemed to go on forever before we finally saw daylight , a movie we had not, unfortunately, seen on our QANTAS flight.
At the Wesley the assistant manager informed us that our room would not be ready for another half hour so we took the lift to the hotel coffee shop long awaited refreshments. After a cup of coffee and my first pipe since leaving Sydney nine hours earlier I began to feel a little off-colour
1 Hong Kong from the Peak
. Margaret, noticing my complexion changing from its normal ruddy glow to an unhealthy grey, left to pay the bill ($4 a cup!). The next thing I remembered was two young waiters grasping my elbows firmly and leading me to the lavatory. I couldn't understand their concern and remonstrated with them, insisting that I just felt a little faint. Margaret later told me that I had passed out in my chair and, as she enthusiastically told friends after we had returned, totally lost control of my bodily functions (a gross exaggeration!). My humiliation was overwhelming as the coffee shop was full of sophisticated looking Chinese. I could only hope that all Australians look the same to the people of Hong Kong.DAY 2 TUE We woke at 5.30am in our tiny room, both of us feeling fine (though I had butterflies in the stomach until midday). Our first and last hotel breakfast of toast, apple Danish and coffee, cost us $30, which I thought was a bit expensive even if we did have it in our room.
At 9am we met my brother Jonathan and his wife Maryann in the lobby. They had left India a few days early and were staying at a flophouse in Kowloon until they moved into the Wesley on Wednesday. After I had changed $A300 into $HK1745 we boarded a bus for Stanley Markets via Repulse Bay
2 Hustle and bustle of a Hong Kong Street
. We spent many happy hours looking at cheap souvenir stalls, mostly selling the same cheap t-shirts. I bought a tiny hand-painted imitation jade egg for a mere $HK20 ($3A). During the next three weeks I saw the same little eggs at markets all over Hong Kong and Thailand. Margaret bought some stuff, including a cap that she later gave to me when she found something nicer.After lunch in the Smuggler's Arms where Jono and I shared a pint of John Smith's Premium Lager, we caught the bus back to Kowloon. From the bus terminal we caught the free bus to the Peak. Margaret, Jono and I sat upstairs on the open deck while a nervous Mary Ann stayed below. The ride on the funicular railway would have been more exciting if the view had not been obscured by a haze of pollution. By the time we had finished our coffee at the Swiss Maid coffee shop my jitters had faded and I felt my usual jaunty self. We took a long walk along a pathway around the Peak, admiring the negligible view of the city through the haze.
An unusual sight greeted us outside the Peak shopping complex. A large black Daimler was parked at the curb surrounded by onlookers. Small groups of Chinese took turns to stand beside it and strike very serious poses. It was not until we noticed the coat of arms under the grill that we realised we were in the presence of the Governor's car. Adopting a suitable gravitas, we also took turns to pose beside the behemoth. I wanted to wait around for the arrival of Chris Patten but was overruled by the republicans in our party.
We retraced our steps via the funicular and free bus and boarded the famous Star Ferry for a slow but spectacular voyage across the harbour
3 Governor Patten's Rolls plus yours truly
. From the terminal we walked to Jono and Maryann's exclusive guest house, pausing on the way to walk through the Peninsula Hotel and examine its fancy shops and use the equally impressive toilets (where I had to pay some layabout to turn on the tap!).The guest house was not up to our standards, though it was rather colourful (mainly shades of dirty grey). Our companions proudly took us down the fire escape to experience the ambience-drenched alley behind the hotel. A smartly dressed constable followed us down all eight flights and on one landing we had to squeeze past an itinerant Indian hairdresser cutting the hair of clients who had walked in from the street. Fortunately their taste in restaurants was more sophisticated and we enjoyed an excellent dinner in an Indian restaurant located in the building for the quite reasonable price of $5A each.
We left an exhausted Maryann queuing for the flophouse lift while we set off into the night, Margaret and Jono for a supermarket and me for the five-floor HMV shop. Some time later Margaret and I successfully made our first solo journey on the MTR back to Admiralty Station from where we walked back to our hotel.
DAY 3 WED Margaret and I found a little place down the street from the hotel where we were to have breakfast nearly every morning
4 The Tao O village way up north
. The Cosmic Noodle Bar was a theme restaurant, sort of a mini Planet Hollywood with posters from science fiction movies on the wall and a planetarium-style roof (lots of tiny stars which slowly changed colour). We met our companions in the lobby of the Wesley and took the MTR from Admiralty to Causeway Bay. After examining every high priced clothing shop in the area we strolled through Hong Kong Park, which was not particularly spectacular, flower wise, but contained interesting toilets (catering for both sitters and squatters). There was also a garden of silly modern sculptures located conveniently behind the conveniences and a little further on we were entranced by a pride of pink flamingoes which stood one-legged, stirring themselves only to engage in acts of violent copulation. At the bottom of the park we found a museum containing historical exhibits which were incredibly interesting and, more importantly, free. No-one else wanted to visit the Flagstaff Museum of Tea Ware so we lunched at a fast food outlet (Delifrance) and headed home.
J and M, exhausted by their weeks in India, retired to their hotel room, leaving Margaret and me to set off on foot down Lockhart Road. According to the travel manuals, Lockhart Road is supposed to be all that remains of Suzie Wong's Hong Kong
5 An arty pic of Margaret in tgardens of Lom Tei
. If this is true Suzie must have been a plumber as most of the shops sold sinks and basins. After having visited scores of clothes and shoe shops I found plumbing supplies somehow rather exciting. Margaret was less enthusiastic and we soon found ourselves back on Hennessy Road amongst the perfume and jewellery shops. We eventually stumbled upon the famous scent section of Lockhart Road and Margaret was able to stock up on Nini Ricci (Nino Rossi?) for a very low expenditure.Several miles later we reached Victoria Park which, like Hong Kong Park, was not fraught with interesting attractions. The most pleasing aspect of these colourless gardens was the signs prohibiting hawking (I was unable to locate the toilets and am therefore unable to rate them against those I had so admired in the other park). Our ultimate destination, the Causeway Bay Typhoon Shelter, was not a giant concrete cave as I had expected, just an artificial harbour full of small junks. Some of these craft trailed even smaller boats (paints?), many manned by a chook, cat or dog. Rather than walk all the way back to our hotel we caught a tram, a fifty cent extravagance which more than paid for itself in the relief it gave our tired legs.
We rested briefly in our room before meeting J & M for the evening restaurant search. Lacking my sense of culinary adventure my companions voted to bypass the snake soup shop recommended by a passing European and opted instead for the Spring Garden Restaurant. The jovial owner, Fatt Poon, a fat man, explained the menu and we sated ourselves on the set menu which, I secretly suspected, contained elements of snake. One of the other ingredients was jellied monkey penis, which was rather bland and not, as I had hoped, an aphrodisiac.
Jono, Maryann and I left Margaret back at the hotel while we went for a walk down Hennessy Road. The streets of the crown colony are even busier by night, mainly because its citizens have nothing to do in their tiny apartments. Sidewalk vendors sell roasted chestnuts and unidentifiable foodstuffs, the aromas from which do not cause occidentals such as myself to drool. Earlier we had seen a large basin full of tiny turtles for sale, hopefully as pets rather than as food. Leaving the youngsters to their own devices, which involved the exploration of every clothes shop along the street, I strode briskly into the night. If it were not for an old enemy (my bladder) I would have walked for miles. Rather than retrace my steps I took a side street and returned to the Wesley by the less populated Wanchai Road.
Margaret and I finally retired at 11pm after watching a mind-numbingly bad movie called "The Owl".
DAY 4 THU After breakfasting once again at the Cosmic Noodle Bar we met the kids and took the MTR to the ferry terminal, arriving just in time to catch the 10.15am Jetcat bound for Macau. Rain fell steadily as we jetted sluggishly across the bay and the grey of the sky matched Maryann's complexion as the craft rolled in the waves on its sixty minute journey.
We arrived safely and slipped through Customs without any problems. Jono immediately proceeded to a nearby ATM to withdraw some cash. Unfortunately he failed to follow the simple, explicit instructions and the machine swallowed his card. While we may have been laughing behind our hands at his misfortune (thank God it wasn't us!), we were really dismayed. We were obviously going to have to spend the next few hours trying to get the wretched thing back. Sure enough, our first tourist attraction after dismounting from the bus was the Hong Kong Bank. Every cloud has a silver lining, however, and I managed to get an evocative snap of Jono and Maryann looking frustrated as they tried to explain the situation to an uncomprehending Chinese bank teller.
Jono's card fiasco used up most of the morning, so we decided to have lunch before seeking out Macau's famous landmarks (a broken church, a Protestant cemetery and numerous large government buildings). Jono and Maryann immediately located a fast food eatery while Margaret and I chose a rather high class restaurant specialising in Portuguese cuisine (I had Portuguese sole).
Our map of Macau left a lot to the imagination and we walked for miles in search of Sao Paulo Church (facade only). After wandering around the streets for half an hour we found an obliging local girl who was only too glad to provide detailed instructions. The famous facade appeared suddenly at the end of a long, cobbled alley, though we were not sure that all the walking had been worthwhile. Nearby St Anthony's was a more complete example of religious architecture, especially memorable for its over-abundance of holy statues (probably donated by Australian churches after holy statues became uncool in the sixties).
Well and truly in the church visiting mode we began our pilgrimage to the Church of St Lawrence, where we were supposed to meet our companions. The weather had deteriorated dramatically so we were almost relieved to stumble upon the ancient Protestant cemetery of Macau. Wrong branch of Christianity! We skipped the boneyard and entered the courtyard of what proved to be a museum. The curator was anxious that we tour the building. "Please to see my museum, madam", he implored. I dislike being addressed as madam and suggested to Margaret that we wait until he had returned to his little room before making a rapid exit, which we did.
The Church of St Lawrence eluded us, however our disappointment was soon washed away by a downpour which left us soaked to the skin within minutes. So wet were we that we abandoned foot travel and hailed a taxi to take us back to the ferry terminal, where we boarded a Turbocat for the slow voyage back to HK. The Turbocat was much more luxurious than the Jetcat and even showed a movie, Dragonheart. Unfortunately the film ran for ninety minutes and the trip only took forty five. I didn't enjoy it anyway as the sea was extremely rough and my Portuguese sole was held down by sheer willpower.
We finally found Jono and Maryann and, weaving unsteadily down the street , the four of us repaired to Jo Jo Mess for another Indian dinner.
DAY 5 FRI Exhausted from yesterday's exertions Margaret and I rose later than planned. We strode purposefully through the foyer of the shiny clean mall and into Admiralty Station along with hundreds of rushing commuters, eager to begin the most adventurous tour of our holiday.
The trip to Tsuen Wan at the end of the MTR line way up north in the New Territories took an awfully long time. Tsuen Wan, of which we had never heard, proved to be a large city devoid of other white faces. We had little difficulty in finding the Sam Tung Uk Museum, an old but well-preserved Hakka village which must be at the bottom of every tourist's list as it was empty of all but museum staff. We had minor fun answering the questions posed on a computer screen beside an exhibit of fused dishes. Were the dishes stuck together because they were meant to be an ancient version of modern art? Perhaps they had fused because the oven was too hot? We guessed the latter and pressed the appropriate button. Correct! At each end of the room sat bored-looking young female staff who became suddenly animated when we showed interest in a display of plate shards.
From the museum we walked back to the MTR station where we spent some time looking for the No.51 bus. Margaret asked some young schoolgirls for directions to the bus terminal (they spoke reasonable English) and we eventually boarded a double-decker for part two of our journey. Margaret hadn't seen the rat which ran between her feet as we waited, which was a good thing. The long journey to the Kam Tin Walled Village took us through the countryside, past innumerable car wreck yards and pleasant green fields. We didn't see the walls which one would expect to be surrounding a walled village, though we did stroll through an authentic Chinese food market.
Margaret has asked me to note for the record that she is the one who always worked out how to get from one place to another. It was through her efforts that we found the bus to Yuen Long. After driving through the hills for half an hour we realised that we were on the bus from Yuen Long and disembarked at the next large, anonymous city we came to. Another bus took us to Lom Tei, where we visited the Miu Fat Buddhist Monastery, a very ornamental place containing three large gold Buddhas (the Buddha Brothers?).
We were starving after all those hours on public transport and decided to sup at the monastery's famous (according to Lonely Planet) restaurant. Having paid the equivalent of $A30 we were shown to a large table in the canteen-sized but deserted dining room. An unsmiling lady brought us a large bowl of rather grey and bland soup, followed by a plate of beans and onions. This first course was acceptable, though we could have done without the slime sauce. As we devoured the soup and beans the lady returned with a plate of spinach and what appeared to be noodles in slime sauce. The "noodles", on closer inspection, turned out to be a life form not previously encountered during our ninety six years (combined ages) on the planet. Margaret was forced to spit out a mouthful after ten minutes of chewing had failed to make it digestible. Just as we were overcoming our nausea the waitress turned up with a large dish of tree fungus in slime sauce. I can usually cope with food that I can recognise and I recognized the fungus all right. I had last seen it attached to a dead branch on our jacaranda. We made a gallant attempt to reduce the piles on our plates but fled from the room while nobody was watching.
A few miles away by LRT (Light Rail Transport) we found the Taoist temple of Ching Chung Koon, where we ate nothing. Scores of very old bonsai plants filled the courtyards. Numerous rooms were lined with small photographs of deceased people who greatly outnumbered their visiting relatives. We left this fascinating place and caught a small bus to the Tuen Mun town centre en route to the Tsuen Wan MTR station, pausing only to buy some strange lollies in a cavernous mall. The forty five minute train trip back to Wanchai allowed us to rest and renew our energy in preparation for our next foray into the world of Fu Manchu.
Tired, but still hungry to experience all that Hong Kong had to offer we left the comfort of our pigeonhole room at the Wesley and boarded a train for the short trip to Jordan station. The Temple Markets were interesting to a limited extent. Margaret and I bought a few t-shirts, a couple of CD's, a nice brown rock egg and a few other souvenirs and shared some curbside tucker with Jono and Maryann. After such an eventful day we were glad to crawl into our beds and fall into instant unconsciousness. I need not add that we had both showered first.
DAY 6 SAT Up at the crack of dawn this morning and down to the ferry terminal by MTR. We never ceased to be amazed at the efficiency, not to mention cleanliness, of the Hong Kong rail system. Trains arrive every three minutes on the dot. Despite this, we often found hordes of Chinese racing towards us as we alighted from a carriage. We could imagine their desperation that they would miss this train and have to wait three minutes for another one. How would a Chinese husband answer a wife who demanded to know why he was three minutes late? Was there another woman?
The ferry trip to Silvermine Bay on the island of Lantau took a very long and freezing sixty minutes. With time to spare before our bus left for the World's Biggest Buddha we forced our way through the gale-force winds to a crowded little Macdonald's where we warmed ourselves with coffee and McHot Chocolate. The almost deserted little town looked as though it had been struck by a neutron bomb. We visited a tiny supermarket then walked down the road to a couple of tourist "shops" selling postcards and warm clothing and not much else. The proprietor of the first establishment watched bemusedly as we each tried on all the gloves and hats in the store. Margaret bought a fur hat which defied description, convinced that it made her look like a movie star (maybe it did, everyone we passed turned to stare!).
Comparatively warm in our new gloves, beanies and the fur hat, we caught a small and crowded bus which chugged laboriously up the steeply winding hills. At one point the bus stopped to allow an old woman to relieve herself rather graphically just outside our window. I'm sure she had inhibitions which we didn't share (different cultures and all), but it took us a long time to get over our shock.
After what seemed like hours we arrived at the Po Lin Monastery. From what we've seen in our travels, Buddhist temples are basically similar everywhere and Po Lin was no exception. I do not wish to appear indelicate by discussing rest rooms; indeed indelicacy is foreign to my nature as Margaret will attest, however I feel that it is relevant to note that I rated the lavatory as only fair (non-flush squat toilets do not impress). Margaret and Maryann spoke in glowing terms of the ladies' convenience, constructed as it was with very low doors which allowed the occupants to maintain eye contact with friends in other cubicles as they exchanged pleasantries.
The main attraction in Lantau is the 33 metre tall statue of the Lord Buddha which was completed only a few years ago. We dragged ourselves up hundreds of stairs to the foot of the Master and paused, puffing and freezing, to admire the splendid view over the island. Maryann was approaching freezing point by this time and her faithful lapdog caring husband volunteered to take her home on the next available ferry, leaving Margaret and me to labour on.
We had heard tales of the legendary "Venice of the East", Tao O village, and boarded another little bus for the trip over the mountains. We were not delayed by urinators this time and soon arrived at the stilted township. Rather than Venice, Tai O resembled a run down Hanuabada . Small and cramped box-houses leaned skinny-legged over a khaki creek, collapse inevitable and seemingly imminent. Ever curious, we walked the length of the main street (alley would be more accurate), gazing through open doors at the messy little rooms. We have learned that the further you get from a city the friendlier the people are, and the smiles and greetings we received from the inhabitants of Tai O confirmed this wisdom.
At the end of the village we encountered a noisy group of locals buying fish, fruit, chooks and toilet paper from small sampans that were unloading at the jetty. I'm sure we could have picked up some bargains, but neither Margaret nor I spoke the local dialect.
We chose the upper deck of the ferry on the way back and found the voyage a great deal more comfortable. At 7 o'clock we met the now-recovered Maryann and her faithful consort and walked down the road to Johnson's Mess for another Indian dinner. Jonothan embarrassed us all by hinting unashamedly that the waiter should give him one of the Indian beer glasses. Such was his charm that the dusky dervish returned with two glasses. I gave him a very generous tip, and Jono gave him something also.
DAY 7 SUN Our last day in Hong Kong. As it was Sunday we decided to go to Mass at St Anthony's in the Central District. We took the unprecedented step of calling a taxi as the church was a long way from a station and rather hard to locate.
Imagine our surprise when we found long queues outside the four entrances. Most of the churchgoers were Asian females, with only a sprinkling of Europeans towering above the black-haired locals. We were fortunate in being shown to a special tourist section at the side of the altar where we could be stared at by the enormous congregation relegated to the bleachers. The couple next to us had two small children who played noisily, as small children tend to do, and caused the old priest to pause in his sermon and give them the evil eye.
After Mass we walked through the nearby Anglican church and down a narrow street containing scores of lady barbers and their customers. Not far away we found Hollywood Road, famous for its antique shops, most of which we visited in search of beautiful bargains. We waited a long time for a tram which never arrived before taking the MTR back to the hotel.
Back in our room at the Wesley I fell into a deep sleep, exhausted by our busy morning and a sumptuous feast at the Cosmic Noodle Bar. Margaret left me supine across the bed and went for a long walk around the block in search of who knows what.
We left for the airport at 4.30pm and were pleasantly surprised to find that our flight to Bangkok would only take two and a half hours rather than the four hours we had expected. Our pleasure was reduced somewhat when we were forced to wait for ages for our baggage to be processed due to a breakdown in the X-ray machine. To add insult to injury, I had to open one of our bags and remove the battery from a toy which had apparently registered on the screen as a bomb.
The taxi ride from Bangkok airport to the Baiyoke Hotel was fast but felt reasonably safe and we soon found ourselves ensconced in Suite 354 on the thirty fifth floor.
