As the year inexorably draws towards the close it is time to organise two of the most significant events of the 1st Quarter period.
First of the ranks is RanLAN 2k10 1 - BirthdayLAN.
The biggest of all RanLANs this one is in honour of my continued survival, which seems a better excuse than normal to gather many people in my garage and basement for Computer games, board games, card games, console games and almost any other activity which ends in games.
This is scheduled to take place two weekends after my birthday.
The next event is of course the venerable Nerdfest 2k10, this will mark the 3rd year in a row that NF has taken place in the same location and is scheduled for early February. Nerdfest of course brings us a week chock full of gaming of all kind, and possibly even a trip (maybe even two) to the beach!
I would suggest that you all get your leave and travel plans together for these most significant secular events of the year!
I'm enŧerîng mÿ second ever WH ŧoürnamenŧ ŧhîs weekend, mosŧŀÿ ŧo meeŧ new pŀaÿers raŧher ŧhan ŧo wîn massîve ŧrophîes eŧc. Deŧaîŀs of ŧhe ŧoürnamenŧ are héré.
Nőw thät I häve ä pŗőpeŗ äŗmy bőők I'm hőpiñg tő impŗőve őñ my peŗfőŗmäñce ät Pîŀgrîmage ŀasŧ ÿear (58/96), so I'll aim for a top half finish.
Thankfully thé Evil Triad (ĐE/ĐoC/VC) sééms absént from thé playérs involvéd whiçh is niçé, though two lots of Wood Elvés and a Skavén army with a brand néw army book worry mé a littlé.
I'll bé trying to throw quité a lot of magiç açross thé tablé, holding firm with my big bloçks whilé running thé héavy hittérs (Knights & Øgrés) down thé flanks, that's thé plan anyway!
It's been a long time coming, but it almost perfectly coincided with the awarding of the Trophy to Lunzo, so I'll just take credit for awesome timing.
I tried to make the images as clear as possible, but for some of the labelling people might still have a bit of trouble figuring out what's what, so here are some glorious summaries for you.
On the Tomb Kings Side:
SA = Skeleton Archers
SW = Skeleton Warriors (With a Heirophant!)
On the Dwarven Side:
T = Thunderers
W = Warriors
On the Dark Elves Side:
WE = Witch Elves
CB = Crossbows
C = Corsairs (With Moranoth, the Dreadlord General!)
SE = Spear Elves (With Eriandara, Dark Sorceress!)
Without any further ado, I bring present to you:
The Battle for Gebirggschicksal
Toxic gases drifted lazily over the blasted surface of Gebirggschicksal, its jagged ravines withering ever so slightly under their touch. The cloud strayed to the south over the forces of Moranoth Lanthari, but the Druchii soldiers were careful to keep coughing to a minimum, since none were willing to risk invoking the wrath of the Sister Sorceresses, Eriandara and Illaniel.
The Cold Ones brayed in complaint, but the cloud soon lifted and flowed to the east where a Dwarven patrol hastily fortified their position to stand against the mustering armies. The hardy Dwarves barely noticed the gas, save for the Slayer, Bruni Crotchbiter, who did notice an uncomfortable burning sensation in his loins.
Regardless, the feeling soon passed as the cloud blew northward over the ranks of the proud skeletal soldiers of King Alkehesh, who stood tall even as the gas ate away at their bones.
As though losing interest, the toxic cloud drifted away, just as the first war-horn was blown.
The candle sputtered and died, as though unwilling to contest Moranoth's deepening malefic aura.
"You mean to tell me..." Moranoth began, tightening his grip on the wine goblet, "that we are betrayed?"
Footman Drawaidren stood at attention, carefully avoiding eye contact. He was the bearer of bad news, and bearers of bad news did not live long. Aelion had reported of the delays in finding the Warpstones on Van Dieman's Eiland. He had been fed to the Hydras. Hiryan had reported of the Lizardman resistance. He had been given to the Sorceresses. Now it was Drawaidren's turn to report, and he did not plan to be fed to the Cold Ones. He inwardly cursed Lieutenant Berlanuth for giving him this task. "Our scouts report that the Tomb King armies are marching on Gebirggschicksal, my lord. They assume the Tomb Kings have also realised the significance of the peak, and seek to capture it before -"
The goblet shattered, staining Moranoth's hand a deep crimson. "I did NOT come this far to be denied now!"
Drawaidren flinched, but did his best to hide it. He could still get out of this if he played his cards carefully. All he had to do was get Moranoth in a good mood. Simple, but hardly easy.
"My lord, if we beat them to the peak of the mountain, we will be able to use its power to repay their treachery a thousandfold."
Moranoth was nodding. Good. He was in with a shot. "Currently the Dwarves hold the peak, but it is unlikely that their feeble minds have even noticed the nexus of power there, much less be able to harness it against us. Taking the peak from them should be a pleasure, my lord." Moranoth hated Dwarves. Hopefully the suggestion of slaughtering them would improve his chances.
The general stood in thought for a moment.
"Rouse the camp. We march immediately."
Drawaidren saluted and turned to leave.
"Oh, and Drawaidren," Moranoth called after him.
Shit.
"Congratulations. You will be leading the charge."
Drawaidren saluted, inwardly cursing. He had come so close, only to be fed to the skeletons.
The first war-horn was blown. As one, the Dark Elf army marched forward. The cavalry, horse and cold one alike, surged forward to engage the flanks of the skeletal host. The chariots fired a warning shot at the dwarves to keep them at bay, even as Eriandara conjured forth dark winds which howled over the skeletal archers. Several archers crubled before the savage winds, but most held their ground while keeping a tight grasp on their bows.
A hail of arrowfire preceded the Druchii host, but the skeletons weathered the assault with ease.
War-horns blew from the Tomb King army, and the skeletal soldiers moved to consolidate their position. The giant scorpion let forth a terrifying screech and charged towards the Dark Riders, who knew better than to engage such a beast and retreated to the safety of their lines. However, the safety of those lines was put into question when they were drowned in arrows and fire from the Tomb King archers and Screaming Skull Catapults. Even as the Dark Elves raised their shields to endure the assault, the ground beneath the skeletal archers tore open, releasing a cloud of boiling acidic gas which devoured many of the hapless archers cought within.
Seeing the Druchii forces quickly closing the distance between them, one of the Heirophants took to the skies, soaring over his comrades in bones and landing behind the fearsome Ushabti.
With their foes' flanks exposed, the Dwarf scouts began their drunken carousing that doubled for a marching tune and rushed forth as quickly as their stunty legs would take them. The bolt throwers and thunderers opened fire, and one of the bolts crashed into a Cold One Chariot, destroying the wheel axels. Coming to a sudden halt, the chariot riders were flung forth from their carriage, landing directly before their Cold Ones. Seeing the dazed elves before them, the beasts' bloodlust overtook them. With a blood-curdling roar, the Cold Ones tore their Elven masters limb from limb. Their comrades ignored the bloody display and the harrowing screams.
It was nothing they had not seen before.
Spurred on by the scent of blood, the Cold Ones on the western flank ignored their Knights' commands and lunged forth to attack the nearby Carrion. The Corsairs roared in a frenzy and also charged. The carrion were unable to withstand the assault and were trampled into the dust, although once the Corsairs had regained their senses they found themselves in the middle of a field of craggy rubble.
To the west, the Hydra leapt upon the Tomb Scorpion, pinning it to the ground with its mighty talons as it tore into its carapace with its many mouths. Powerless to resist, the scorpion was left a broken body upon a broken land.
As the Dark Elf army pressed forward, the earth rumbled behind them, releasing noxious fumes. However, the elves had progressed far beyond this point, and they were not fazed. The Tomb Kings were not so fortunate, as the gas cloud on the northern front crept along their lines, destroying archer after archer.
King Alkehesh saw his forces begin to buckle beneath the assault, and set his empty eyes on the Hydra before him. Even if the mountain itself sought to defeat him, he would not give in so easily.
On his command, the skeletal horses charged forth as fire soared overhead from the caapults. The rocky ground made moving at such a speed treacherous, but King Alkehesh was no stranger to the chariot, and kept his footing with ease. As the chariots neared the Hydra, its five heads roared in defiance, only to be cut sort as King Alkehesh's chariot burst into glorious flame, crashing into the beast in an explosion of fire and blood. As the beast reeled, King Alkehesh gave it no respite. Lashing forth with his enchanted blade, he swiftly severed several of its heads as his chariots trampled the Hydra into the dust.
Not wanting to lose his momentum, King Alkehesh turned his chariots toward the Cold One Knights, when he heard a single piercing screech, full of pain and rage. King Alkehesh barely had time to react as the Hydra struck forth with its last head and grabbed him in its vice-like jaws. He tried desperately to escape, but with one sickening crunch, the Hydra broke his spine. It then flung him into his chariot, smashing it to splinters and sending the feebly twitching form of King Alkehesh tumbling across the rugged mountain surface.
When he finally came to rest, King Alkehesh struggled to rise, but all he could manage was to slowly turn is head to face the battle. The Hydra had broken his body, but what he saw now broke his spirit.
The caustic gas was pouring over his Warriors, reducing their ranks before they even met the enemy. The Dark Riders moved to support the crippled Hydra even as the Cold One Knights charged up the side of the hill and began to lay waste to the Screaming Skull Catapults.
The elven spearmen crashed through the remaining archers and Moranoth's Corsairs struggled through the debris field to support them. The chariots tried to hold their ground, but they no longer had the advantage. Beset by foul magics which reduced their training to dust, the chariots were crushed by the Hydra's savage attacks. So confident were the Dark Elves that Illaniel recklessly conjured a powerful spell, but could not keep control of it as the wild energies tore at her very mind.
Finally, the acidic cloud drifted away from the Tomb King host, but the damage was done. The Dark Riders had brazenly followed up their charge into the Ushabti, but the giants were not impressed and tore the riders asunder.
Tomb Swarms crawled forward to engage the spearmen, but the Elves had trained against Lizard swarms for a long time and were easily able to avoid their attacks. What was a bad situation for the Tomb Kings got worse as the Cold One Knights broke through the final catapults and overran directly into the flank of the Skeletal Warriors, who were hard pressed to defend against this many fronts of attack.
The Horsemen at the rear saw that they were the only units in a position to launch a counter-offensive. Their Heirophant thought quickly about what he could do to turn the tide, and his answer came as a Dwarven Bolt to the head, which crashed through the horsemen, claiming half their number including the Heirophant.
The remaining Cold One Chariot finally reached the enemy lines and charged into the Tomb Swarmes, carving a path through the creatures. Outnumbered and overpowered, the Skeletal Warriors did not last much longer.
The Ushabti moved forward to claim vengeance against the Hydra, but the wounded beast limped back behind the coveer of the Witch Elves, who regarded the Ushabti with wild eyes.
Throwing caution to the wind, the remaining two Horsemen charged into the rear of the Cold One Knights, but their valiant charge ended only in their own destruction.
The dwarves, still running forth to try to beat on the Elves, were running somewhat short of breath, but continued their march nevertheless, even if they did grumble slightly about cowardly elves, and how they should stand and fight like real men.
The Witch Elves screeched their shrill battle-cry as they leapt upon the Ushabti, their wicked blades rending bone and leaving only scattered fragments in their wake.
The rest of the Dark Elf army formed to face the Dwarven threat, with the exception of the Cold One Chariot, which moved over to sniff the Knights' mounts.
The flying Heirophant was the only survivor, but he was not ready to flee. He soared over the Witch Elves and Hydra, launching a volley of magical projectiles, all of which dissipated ineffectually on the Hydra's thick hide.
The Druchii forces opened fire on the Dwarven Warriors and Bruni, but they were too sturdy and nimble and laughed off the attempts of the Dark Elves to stop them.
The Dwarves bellowed their mighty cry and charged forth to meet their fates...
After the dust had settled, Moranoth found the broken form of King Alkehesh upon the battlefield, barely clinging to unlife. He looked down at him in disgust.
"Pathetic. You sought to betray us, and yet this is all your mighty army can do? I should have taken my time getting here. Perhaps if you possessed the power of the mountain, defeating you might have been an actual challenge."
"Fool," King Alkehesh's spectral voice rasped. "King Settra will bring the might of his armies upon you and seize this place! Your victory here means nothing!"
Moranoth grinned viciously. "Enjoy your empty threats, Tomb King. This island is ours, and your time on it," Moranoth raised his blade, "is over."
Afŧer an epîc baŧŧŀe on ŧhe sŀopes of Moünŧ Doom (îe Gebîrggschîcksaŀ) ŧhe Dark Eŀves commanded bÿ Lünżo swepŧ awaÿ Ash's Tomb Kîngs ŧhaŧ sŧood agaînsŧ ŧhem as weŀŀ as obŀîŧeraŧîng ŧhe remnanŧs of Eŀo's Dwarves ŧhaŧ sŧübbornŀÿ refüsed ŧo reŧreaŧ from ŧhe moünŧaîn. Wîŧh ŧhîs fînaŀ vîcŧorÿ ŧhe Dark Eŀven conqüesŧ of Meheŧîa was compŀeŧe.
?Insért battlé réport héré?
Ŧő cőmemőŗäte this eveñt Luñző wäs ŗeceñtly pŗeseñted with ä tŗőphy with äñ äwesőme level äppŗőpŗiäte tő the chälleñge őf ä 6 mőñth lőñg mäp bäsed cämpäigñ. Főŗ thőse thät cőuldñ't be ät the pŗeseñtätiőñ, feäst yőuŗ eyes őñ the pictuŗes belőw:
Šee if yőu cäñ pick the five ŗäces defeäted by the Däŗk Elves, ŗepŗeseñted by väŗiőus bits őñ the bäse äñd äll sőuŗced fŗőm my bits bőx.
Let me kñőw if yőu'd like sőme tŗőphies dőñe főŗ äñy leägues/cämpäigñs thät might őccuŗ ñext yeäŗ. I'll őñly chäŗge főŗ the miñi used äs the feätuŗe (the Däŗk Rideŗ iñ this cäse) ät cőst plus mäybe sőme bits tő keep my bőx tőpped up. Plus I've still gőt sőme späŗe tŗőphy tőppeŗs similäŗ tő the őñes fŗőm 2007/8 which äŗe fŗee.
Sorry that this travelogue posting is over a behind when the events described occurred. I've been really busy with normal length work days and the usual social and leisure activities.
My morning began at the ungodly hour of 6:25 AM to the distinctive beep of the alarm clock. The beep quickly ceased and all was peaceful again for the next ten minutes. The snooze button gets pressed at least once on any workday and sometimes up to three times before I get up, depending on how tired and how de-motivated I am at the time.
After getting up and dressed I went to the kitchen to make the coffees for myself and Mrs Lunzo. I was shockingly informed that there was only enough regular bread for one sandwich and would have to fend for myself at lunch time. There was also only just enough milk for the coffees and we'd have to have raisin toast for breakfast instead of cereal. Actually, there's nothing wrong with raisin toast, but it was more the shock of multiple provisions running low that startled me.
Breakfast was accompanied by the sounds of Rainbow Lorikeets in the tree outside our window. This too was unusual, however I put it down some combination of daylight savings, the warm weather returning or the fact that flowers are starting to bud on the Jacaranda tree.
After breakfast we hustled off to the station to catch the 7:33 train to the city. The train trip was passed chatting and staring out the window at the familiar suburban backyards going past. A quick kiss goodbye at townhall station and I changed trains to continue the commute to work.
It was a beautiful morning by this stage so I got off a stop early and walked. I do this occasionally, but usually without a camera and via a more direct route up the hill to the office. I walked past Luna Park and around most of Lavender Bay before climbing the ridiculous number of stairs up the hill to North Sydney. I say ridiculous, because I'd descended to a much lower altitude than the station to get to the waterfront for my walk.
After a brief stop to pick up a coffee so I could keep my caffeine levels up I arrived at work. The first thing was to read emails and get the latest version of the code from Source Safe. Apart from reading emails and drinking coffee, I also have time to read half a dozen news articles in the time it takes Source Safe to download the latest version to my computer. It's a real dog of a version control system, and I can't wait until work finally switches to something better.
The rest of the morning is spent fixing minor bugs and testing the fixes to make sure they work, before sending the issue back to QA. The variety is what helps stop the bug fixes from being tedious. I worked on problems ranging from javascript to .NET server-side code to database queries designed to work-around problems with a particular brand of database we support.
At lunch time I did the usual thing, which was to go for a walk around the streets surrounding the office. After about fifteen to twenty minutes of walk I usually end up in a nearby park and eat my lunch there. Today I shortened the walk slightly because I'd ended up a few minutes late taking the long route to the office. But the long scenic route was taken with good reason - photos for this post you are reading now!
I saw Mrs. Lunzo on the train when I changed trains at Town Hall Station. I somehow managed to claim the seat next to her, which is a minor miracle in peak hour. We chatted for a bit and read our respective books.
Instead of alighting at our usual stop we hopped off a couple of stops early to pick up some spick specks for myself. I am slightly short-sighted, which incidentally provides an advantage when using a computer, but also a disadvantage when looking at things in the distance. These glasses make everything more than a couple of metres away look a whole lot sharper and clearer for me. The improvement is most noticeable when driving at night - instead of having to strain my eyes, everything is lovely and clear all the way to the horizon. For those who are worried about past evening journeys with Lunzo at the wheel, I am still licensed to drive without glasses.
Later that evening I had to do some grocery shopping. We had just about emptied the cupboards and fridge of everything edible over the course of the previous week. The store I went to was amazing! It had food from all over the world. Mexican foods were only an aisle away from Indian. Australian meat was in the fridge next to the European sausages. It's truly staggering what variety can be found under one roof!
I stocked up on fresh and non-perishable produce from this superlative marketplace. The Lunzos would eat for another week. Sydney had not conquered us yet with her fickle ways.
Note to Grubs: the photos are meant to link to larger versions, however I keep finding Konrad's guitar instead of uploading my pictures.
Yarkîn's weddîng îs comîng üp and wîŧh îŧ anoŧher paraboŀîc fŀîghŧ for me back ŧo ŧhe Harboür Cîŧÿ.
Sînce mÿ oŧher ŧwo ŧrîps are for famîŀÿ reasons I'm hopîng ŧo spend as müch ŧîme as I can caŧchîng üp wîŧh ÿoü güÿs and oŧher frîends.
I'ŀŀ be arrîvîng on Frîdaÿ aŧ ŀünch ŧîme and ŀeavîng on Mondaÿ aŧ aroünd ŧhe same ŧîme. Poŧenŧîaŀ meeŧüp ŧîmes are ŧherefore Frîdaÿ nîghŧ and Sündaÿ mornîng/afŧernoon (preŧŧÿ müch anÿŧîme). I'ŀŀ be sŧaÿîng aŧ mÿ parenŧ's pŀace and maÿ have access ŧo a car.
Aŀso I've fînîshed off ŧhe Meheŧîa ŧrophÿ and I'd ŀîke ŧo presenŧ îŧ ŧo ŧhe wînner (hopefüŀŀÿ wîŧh some of ŧhe oŧher parŧîcîpanŧs în aŧŧendance) raŧher ŧhan carŧîng îŧ roünd în mÿ süîŧ on ŧhe BIG ĐAY.
I'll be tŗävelliñg älőñe this time äñd I'd like tő mäke the mőst őf my time cätchiñg up with äs mäñy fŗieñds äs pőssible, hőpe tő see yőu sőőñ!
Greetings dudes, dudettes, parents and elderly relatives!
Welcome to your scheduled heapin' helpin' of Hong Kong goodness. I am your tour guide, Liviu, and if you'll keep your hands and legs inside the car, you will get to enjoy yet another few days of fabulous foreign adventure.
Without further ado, here's the latest from the Red North.
So, I purchased a blessing today. Found a fine Chinese temple with incense
and the works not a block from my crappy apartment. I was anointed with
the sacred oils, handed a blessing card with golden lettering, and the
priest invoked the scriptures to empower my Earthly form. Cost me a dollar.
To be more precise, it cost me a Hong Kong dollar. The Aussie dollar
would stretch to seven blessings at least. But then, who really needs
to be that blessed? I didn't want to go overboard, but I figured one
would be a good investment, just in case some Innsmouth shit goes down.
Besides, I just love the fact that you actually get handed a card to
signify that you are blessed. It appeals to the gamer in me.
Admittedly, the chance of paranormal attack was pretty low today (it's
on the news, right after fire danger), but at 14 cents per blessing,
can you really afford not to be covered?
As the above example illustrates, you can buy just about anything in
Hong Kong. Typically, you don't even have to walk very far to do it.
Moreover, since the average store is the size of a thimble, you can usually
find everything you need clustered within a small area. Add to that the
Seven-Elevens on every street corner (often two to a corner), and that's
a lot of convenience.
I had considered Japan to be densely packed with goodies, but it's got
nothing on Hong Kong. Indeed, next to the stores you get over here ("space
is at a premium", a local told me), Japan's narrow tunnels of wall-to-wall
products are downright spacious.
One thing I miss about Japan, however, is that cute, useless crap
was sold just about everywhere there. That and comics. You couldn't walk
ten paces without seeing a giant plushie, a transforming robot or a girl
with big, watery eyes.
It represented a priority for frivolity that I was totally down with.
The rest of the store might sell leeks and suppositories, but - see?
- they know how to have fun as well. To me, all the anime bullshit
sorta represents
that.
In Hong Kong, you can don't have to go far to get an outboard motor
or some bootleg CDs, but I still hadn't seen hide nor hair of any girls
with cat-ears or french-maids (though there were plenty of such outfits
on sale, mind), and given how very familiar everything else felt minus
that exception, it was leading to some serious withdrawal.
As such, I
decided that today, I would find the Hong Kong Japanimation scene. And
so I did!
Ashnil, of course, was dead-set against leaving work before 10 pm to
go off on one of my loosely-planned adventures. Indeed, he seems to be
dead-set against anything I suggest by default. As expected, however,
his unyielding resolve lasted about as long as it took me to tell him
what I planned to do. Japanimation is an incredibly wide genre, and we
all get different things out of it... but Ashnil, well, he knows what
he likes. We all know what he likes. And there is plenty of merchandise.
At this point, therefore, his baser nature took over, and he immediately
dropped everything he was working on. We left then and there (knocking
off a whole three hours early, at 7 pm)!
As it turned out, Hong Kong's love of Japan is actually quite pronounced.
Unlike many mainland Chinese, the people here have nothing much against
their
weird eastern cousins, and eagerly lap up the Japanese goods, resulting
in a thriving scene for manga and anime related products which may well
be the second-largest in the world, behind Japan itself. Once we knew
where to look, we were able to find racks upon racks of artbooks, DVDs,
magazines, figurines and bizarre random paraphenalia without a great
deal of effort.
Oddly enough, though, the whole 'scene' was somewhat unsatisfying. Despite
the fact that you could get your hands on just about anything out here,
and some of it was even in English (what with Hong Kong ostensibly speaking
English and all), it wasn't really quite as much fun to go through as I
had expected.
In Japan, the hobby is mainstream to an incalculable extent. People
love this crazy crap, and it shows. Figurine stores are almost museums,
carefully lit cases displaying the storekeepers' favourites, as well
as new releases, in an artful way. In the case of some figurines, this
kind of arrangement actually appears bafflingly high-class, given that
some of the most popular figurines are far from tasteful themselves.
Stuff was categorised, too, and sorted carefully into categories by people
who had made this hobby their life.
By contrast, Hong Kong's anime stores are (like a lot of their stores)
a winding catacomb of ugly cramped spaces. Here, carelessly mashed-together
cartoon goods are doled out piecemeal (since only two people fit in the
store at a time) by grim shopkeepers who look like Triad thugs. This
wasn't quite the vibrant community I remembered. If these people felt
any particular excitement about the latest Voltage Fighter Gowcaizer
figurine or whatever, they hid it well.
I don't know how anyone's meant to find anything here that they're interested
in, save by serendipity. If by some miracle you were to come across something
you wanted in the two-to-five minutes before the crowd-peristalsis pushes
you out of the store, though, it almost feels like a waste to buy it
here. The atmosphere is murder for the passions that inspire you to buy
this stuff in the first place (unless the passion of your choice is lust
for plastic tits, which are abundant). If I were to purchase anything
here, it would only be because it's markedly cheaper... and actually,
most things weren't.
I usually buy and/or watch anime stuff to motivate and inspire myself. Whatever
else it may be (and 'stupid' often tops the list), this stuff is always fresh
and unexpected. More importantly, there is genuine passion involved in its
creation, and it filters through to every part of the hobby. Be it an animated
epic about becoming the greatest baker or bartender in the world, or just a
filthy ream of horse-porn, making an animated series isn't easy. To produce
something people will enjoy, you have to be passionate about it, and - perhaps
because those big watery eyes encourage empathy - that passion tends to rub
off on the viewers.
To me, the best shows will showcase some situation, profession or facet of
life you might never have thought about or considered interesting before, and
do their utmost to ignite your passion and interest, and teach you a thing
or two along the way. Even if you're already passionate about something, it's
a great way to recapture your enthusiasm or explore new perspectives. The show
can make you think, or just inflame your own ardor. If you're a classical
pianist who doesn't really know how to appreciate classical pieces, you could
do worse than to watch Nodame
Cantabile, and I've never seen anything resonate so strongly with someone
as Battle
Programmer Shirase did with Ash.
From my perspective, it is these feelings that imbue the merchandising with
any value at all. After all, without the associations as a part of the show,
what good is something like a plastic figure? Our English teachers in high-school
weren't kidding when they said that characters in fiction represent parts of
ourselves. If I buy a character's merchandise, it is because the feelings,
virtues or strengths I associate with that character are something I want to
encourage in myself, and be reminded of daily by possession of this item.
This may explain why, despite the fact that Hong Kong's market for this stuff
is at least as big as Japan's, I didn't really feel like buying anything.
I know it's a stupid attitude to have, considering, but I felt somewhat offended
by the whole toy-store mentality. In Liviu's ideal world, you don't just cram
the shelves with all the colorful crap you can import and expect people to
cheerfully buy it while they're crammed against 5 other people and barely able
to figure out what they're looking at. I'm not saying that the literary and
artistic qualities of a work should determine where and how you shop for its
merchandise, but surely if you expect people to attach sufficient semantic
meaning to these bits and pieces to actually feel good about buying them, you
should at least treat your own wares with a bit of respect?
If Japan's world of anime is truly the mecca of cheerful weirdness you might
expect from immersing yourself in the culture, then Hong Kong's is the one
that your parents imagine, where every element exists solely to waste your
time and destroy your good Christian values. I tend to play up the twisted
angle of it all, sometimes (and who wouldn't?), but I'll be damned if that's
not exactly how it is out here. Even so, despite my disillusionment, there
were a couple of things I would certainly have liked to buy: things I saw back
in Japan, but which weren't available back then (this,
for instance).
However many stores I walked into, however, I couldn't for the life of me
find any of the things I was after. Presumably, the figure above was wearing
altogether too much clothing, since the only versions of that character I saw
had next to nothing on, and didn't look happy about it. Other girls looked
markedly more cheerful, and wore even less. Some of the stuff I saw on offer
would've triggered police-raids back in Australia. It was like I'd been searching
online for a copy of Fantasia, only to get rickrolled onto Mickey Mouse porn.
Except worse, since continuing to search online would eventually get you what
you wanted, and all I found here was more crap.
Since the stuff I enjoy most, and actually want merchandise of, often
tends to be non-mainstream and non-pornographic, I seemed to be bang
outta luck as regards actually finding anything I want. This is difficult
for me to understand, since obviously the world revolves around me, and
any right-thinking person who actually took the time to read/play through Narcissu would
either want to own a piece of merchandise
or HAVE NO HEART AT ALL... but that kind of shopping was clearly better
left to a better-organised place, and there was certainly plenty of stuff
to enjoy even here.
For one thing, they don't just sell anime stuff here. It gets lumped
in with just about every genre of random comic stuff you can think of,
and while this makes anything you might be interested in even harder
to find, it also means they have a lot of great stuff in here to look
at,
such as larger-than-life-size replicas of R2D2 and C3PO. If you're some
kind of a maniac, and can figure out a way to get it out of the sub-basement
or down from the 13th floor (there are no elevators), you can even purchase
one, for about the price of a year's groceries!
Further, the mixing pot that is the Hong Kong shopping scene gives the
whole crowd a bit of a more integrated feel. That is, in Japan most people
of all ages seem to love their local exports, so it's hardly an issue,
but in Australia you could be forgiven for the impression that anime
stuff only appeals to sweaty male nerds with social disorders. Despite
the often-quite-specifically-targeted nature of the merch down here in
Hong Kong, there is so much cross-pollination between stores that they
are turned from a dreary suburban porn-ring into a viable place to socialise.
The baffling choice of combining nerdy fetish material, ladies' fashion,
cute bullshit to put in your hair, huge-ass models of the Starship Enterprise,
cosmetics, life-size R2D2's and floral arrangements in the one
cramped
multilevel mall ensure that Chinese nerds and attractive young ladies
are regularly thrust together. Given the numerous cafés just outside,
and the fact that the girls are hence developing an interest in nerdy
pastimes whereas the nerds have been learning about skincare products
and deodorant, this combination just makes sense.
Believe it or not, the people I saw browsing the aisles (some of them
prominently featuring disturbing figurines of naked little girls) were
some of the most attractive, well-dressed nerds (and young ladies!) I've
ever seen in a place like this. Whatever crazy Marxist came up with this
ploy for
social integration deserves all kinds of praise, because this baffling
idea is solid gold.
To round off my report of this day, and display that the breadth of
Japanese otaku culture is definitely all scattered throughout Hong Kong
somewhere, even if it is the Chinese interpretation, Ash and I decided
to end our day with a trip to "Maid Date", Hong Kong's first maid café.
Aimed at the many unfortunate fellows who work 12-hour days and would
appreciate a bit of pampering from a pretty young French-maid at the
end of the day, Maid Date was a replica of the many such establishments
in Japan, and seemed a perfect place to relax and eat an overpriced slice
of pie
after work.
Maid Date, however, proved hard to get to. That is, it wasn't hard to
find. Not at all: it took barely a few minutes to hop on a train, get
out at the right station, and spot the wiking store-sign saying "Open".
What was difficult was the actual 'getting inside' part. See, aside from
the obvious storefront, there was no actual indication of where the place
was. Beneath, a hundred little stores plied their business, but there
were no stairs or entrances to be found on any side of the building.
Indeed, with the exception of some horrible little alleys leading to
locked and barred doors that looked unpleasant, there really was no clear
way to get into the building at all. You could walk through some of the
stores, but they had no upper level. Enjoying a "Maid Date" would seemto've
required you to fly.
I considered asking a local, but no-one around here seemed to speak
English at all, and the one local I did consider trying to ask anyways
turned out to be standing under another of those red-light-district lights
I always mistake for traditional lanterns. As Ash tried to usher me away,
I briefly considered trying out my limited skills at Chinese after all,
to say something like jei guo, ka-shi hei-ryn hen yao yi ge bou
gui nu-hai-zi
qing ni. This is probably the most complicated sentence I can string
together with the words I know (and I can't quite work out how to write
the sounds in English, since I only know them phonetically), so I kinda
wanted to try it out, particularly since Ash would think I'm asking how
to get upstairs.
However, since it translates
to something like "Excuse me, but the black man would very much like
a cheap young boy, please.", and the dude I was asking didn't seem
like he would have much of a sense of humour about his profession, I
decided to just wander off into the only stairwell I had seen, instead.
Now, this looked like a private apartment sort of stairwell, but sure
enough there appeared to be a resident-button labelled "Maid Date". Unfortunately,
pressing this had no effect, and there was a heavy metal grate separating
us from our evening of maidly delights. Not to be deterred, I tailgated
a family, snuck inside, and prepared to go to work on exploring this
dingy little apartment complex.
Unfortunately, I had failed to follow proper ninja procedure in checking
all the dark corners (with throwing knives), and as such missed the furious
old Chinese man who was apparently watching the bottom-floor stairwells
intently from his alcove, despite not appearing to work here. He began
a torrent of incomprehensible Cantonese gibbering, waving his arms and
shouting loudly, chasing me outside, much to Ashnil's amusement. I think
Ashnil would prefer it if this happened every time I entered a building,
the bastard, and admittedly it often does when I'm exploring places with
him; but then, it's their own fault for always labelling picturesque
parts of their temples and such with signs that say 'no admittance'.
Anyway, I decided I would wait the old guy out, and hung around outside
pressing the "Maid Date" button. Nobody answered. The old guy
sat there like a gargoyle, his beady eyes visible in the darkness. Watching
me closely.
A few more circles walked around the building later, I decided that
this was probably just God telling me that my Maid Dates aren't likely
to go any better than my regular dates. After one last check, revealing
that the beady-eyed old guy was still there and no less furious-looking,
we gave up on that part of the entertainment, and headed on home.
Hong-Kong-ites have a curious relationship with the sea. On the one
hand, they will cook and eat just about anything that moves down there,
however disgusting or endangered. On the other hand, they're perfectly
happy to turn sea creatures into big fluffy mascots or star performers
and make giant piles of glinting money from charging us tourists to see
them.
I've always found it a bit weird how the dual-nature of Hong Kong's
money works.
Back in the slums where we live, and even at the uni, one
would be outraged to spend more than seven Aussie dollars on a full meal.
Indeed, one can comfortably eat multiple courses for five bucks. I once
got three courses for $3.50. Certainly, you wouldn't spend more than
five to ten Australian on a pair of pants or a shirt. If you were desperate,
you might go as high as fifteen.
In the center of Hong Kong, though, you can forget about that kind of
pricing. It's like a whole new currency has taken over. The currency
of brand-names! I had never considered that there might be such a thing
as brand-name food, and was startled to find that a crappy muffin with
a chic French bakery brand-name on the wrapping set me back more than
the price of a restaurant meal. It didn't much bother me at the time,
since it was still half the price I might've paid for a stale bread roll
supposedly subsidised by our University Union back in Sydney, but I would've
imagined a true Hong Kong resident would be more outraged than slightly
bemused.
Not so! In Hong Kong, brand names are a source of social status, resulting
in the strange effect of the rich and poor living pretty much the same
way, save that the rich spend far more money on exactly the same things.
Fashion, in this case, is the great equaliser.
Seeing as how no-one thinks to question the status quo, I feel a sort
of moral obligation to get worked up about it all on their behalf...
even if it's probably hypocritical of me to do that, since I've been
buying brand-name camera equipment just about exclusively ("you paying
more for the NAAAME", shrieked the storekeep, waving about a Fisher
Price looking Chinese replica he assured me would do the job at half
the price). Besides, in a place where anything you want is easily and
cheaply at your fingertips,
what else are you supposed to spend your money on? Getting slightly nicer
stuff is as good an idea as
any. However rich
you are, I don't think you can afford a larger apartment.
.
So, where I'm going with this rant is that the entry fee for Ocean Park (and
for Disneyland, though we haven't been there yet) is - in terms of what else
that money would buy you - downright unbelievable. For the same price I could
probably pay for food and transport for a week, buy two suits of clothes, a
chicken, a two-hour massage session and a colour TV, and still have the change
to get some Pocky and/or drinkable water.
Upon seeing the entry fee, therefore, I was seized by a sudden impulse to
throw up my hands in disgust and leave - except that I then realised this was
still pretty cheap for a theme park, by the reckoning of Australian Liviu anyway.
Nevertheless, I can see why the Chinese might pick up a reputation for being
cheap if they had to contend with this kind of currency double-standard every
day. It's enough to drive a man squinty!
After contending with the gigantic queue (or 'scrum', rather) and the
admission price, I amazed Ash with my miracle of turning bottled water
into wine (well, Berocca), and we set off to explore the fun-park for
ourselves. The first ride we tried was some kind of subaquatic 'multisensory
experience' which was basically a dimly lit tram car that shakes around
a bit when the lights flash. This was pretty disappointing until we realised
that it doubled as an actual tram, and had delivered us all of the way
up a mountain.
At the top of the mountain, we got to explore the real business of Ocean
Park: carnival games, rollercoasters, animal shows and exhibits. Within
a short walk of each other, a variety of attractions allowed you the
opportunity to meet your undersea friends as cheerful mascots, learn
all about them
from educational museum rooms, ride their corresponding roller-coasters,
see them do a show, watch them in their natural habitat, and then get
them served up on a bed of rice with a slice of lemon.
Watching the seals and the dolphins was good fun, and they had an enjoyable
little side-show wherein you got to see dolphins save a drowning guy
and a seal give him mouth-to-mouth. There was much jumping and splashing
and asian dudes wearing skin-tight suits. Overall, there was plenty for
everyone to enjoy, and I can only recommend it.
I even learned a thing or two from this business, such as the fact that
seals apparently enjoy swimming upside-down and frustrating attempts
at photography. Also, it would seem that certain jellyfish just don't
show up on film at all, like vampires.
Speaking of ghastly pale bloodsuckers, Ashnil lost a few degrees of
coloration today - and for good reason. Afflicted with some reasonably
nasty vertigo (as you may know), Ashnil was downright thrilled to find
out that the most exciting parts of the park were its surprisingly large
number of really tall tower-rides (some of which sent you plummeting
back to earth), a roller-coaster overlooking a sheer drop down the side
of a cliff, a cable-car that sways dangerously as it shows off the local
scenery from dizzyingly high up, a simulated hot-air-balloon ride and
a series of other fine ways to fall to your grisly death on the stones
below.
This made Ashnil very edgy for a lot of the duration of our stay at
the top of the mountain, and practically the whole cable-car ride back
down. It also didn't help that,
thanks to the locals' love of Halloween,
some kind soul had thoughtfully peppered the area underneath the various
high-up attractions with partially decayed remains and shattered skeletons.
Unsurprisingly, Ash was pretty keen to check out some of the more indoors-oriented
activities, and there were also a good set of those to choose from. Now,
there were certainly some highlights here and there that rate a mention,
such as the "Sea Jelly Spectacular!" and a fine little terrarium where
you could watch real Pandas eat real bamboo real slowly... but these
were not really as exciting as advertised.
The "Spectacular", in particular,
may well have been a mistranslation (and, admittedly, I too struggle
to think of a word which means "slimy-ass jellyfish bobbing in
glass jars set to trance music"). The Panda exhibit was as large
as advertised, but there was only one panda in there, and he was studiously
ignoring his audience to attend to the Bear Necessities, which for him
(if I recall correctly) means eating bamboo pretty much continuously
from dawn 'til dusk.
Like every attraction in the park, these funneled
the viewer into a corresponding gift shop, where we could stand around
and wonder why anyone would buy a big ol' plastic Sea Jelly...
The real attraction here, however, was one particular building, which
went down several levels, and featured the biggest darn indoor fish-viewing
pool I have ever seen. This simulated coral-reef basically drills down
in a spiral-shape, providing visitors the ability to view the busy undersea
scene within from a variety of viewpoints both above and below the water.
As you got lower, new layers of the ecosystem were uncovered, with different
fish making their homes in different parts of the pool while the larger
fish and manta rays and things zipped about all above them.
I don't know how they introduced such a vast amount of fish into the
one massive tank without resulting in a feeding frenzy. Indeed, a number
of very large sharks were swimming about all over the place, not to mention
enough stingrays to take down a platoon of Australians. Although we wisely
kept our distance, I never saw any fish make a hostile action towards
another fish. They all just lived down there together, ignoring their
usual antagonism in the wild, floating in their
own cramped-yet-comfortable
Fish Hong Kong.
Watching these fish do their thing was quite fascinating, and probably
the most interesting part of Ocean Park. Besides the giant tank, there
were also numerous smaller tanks featuring other species such as seahorses
and clownfish, and all in all there was a great deal to see in this building.
Even here there was queuing out the wazoo, however. One expects to queue
up for things at theme parks, but here in Ocean Park (perhaps surprisingly,
given the price-tag) there is such a profusion of attendees that even though
they manage the crowds with an amazing level of effectiveness, and roller
coasters and the like run two at a time (!), they still can't get through
all the people very quickly at all. Everything had wait-times associated,
from the cablecar to the least popular ride, even down to peering into
a small fishtank on the wall, getting a bite to eat or looking
at the Panda you've already queued up to see.
It was fortunate, therefore, that Ash and I are reasonably patient folks
(with iPods), because just about everything required at least a quarter-hour
of wait time, often going up to 30 or 40 minutes. Overall, given the
amount of standing around we had to do, they couldn't have released the
iPhone version of Team17's Worms at a better time.
Beyond
the fishy attractions, Ashnil and I basically spent our time queuing
up to try every roller-coaster at least once, since apparently Ash's
vertigo doesn't stretch to being turned upside-down over a cliffside
or dumped down a waterfall riding a log boat (oddly enough). These were
the perfect way to round out the Ocean Park experience, because we got
to tuck a few more death-defying 'coaster-rides under our belt (for our
international collection), and get good and wet (which, at Ocean Park,
seems like a must, really).
Moreover, the Raging Rapids ride was not so much notable for drenching
us all over with water, but for also doing the same to every
single young lady who rode it. Since light-coloured T-Shirts are popular
in the Hong Kong heat, and not everyone chooses to wear a bra underneath,
this added all kinds of extra appeal to the ride.
Given my powerful zoom
lens, I was tempted to share this part of the experience on NWTJ also,
but this is just the kind of thing Ashnil needs to finally get me thrown
into a Chinese prison, so I decided that your numerous Internet-high-fives
would have to take second seat to self-preservation.
Once we had sampled every rollercoaster, hung around the Raging Rapids exit
for a while, eaten some more overpriced carnival food, and discovered an oddly
out-of-place garden of flamingoes, Ash and I decided we were done with Ocean
Park, and went on our merry way back home, enjoying another fine non-over-priced
meal as we returned to Hung Hom (and appreciating it even more than usual).
We may return another day for the Ocean Park 'halloween content' which happens
at night - but I don't really expect to, so
don't count on it.
Day 17 - The Second Biggest Buddha Head I've Ever Seen
So, today I accidentally swallowed a mouthful of the local water. In
horror, I tried to make myself cough it back up, but it was too late.
As such, I decided that it was time to go purify my soul, just in case.
Now, although most of the actual people I have met here are actually
Christians, I figured that the appropriate local religion was Buddhism.
My choice was aided in no small part by the fact that the prime purification
locations of each faith were either
the small, not-as-impressive-as-the-guides-make-it-sound Christian chapel
in the city center, or an honest-to-goodness Buddhist temple
complex right beside the second-biggest Buddha statue in the world.
Obviously,
Buddha
won
by default.
As such, Ashnil and I spent today trekking high up into the mountains in
search of bigass statues, vegetarian food and spiritual enlightenment.
As
has become pretty much standard practice, we started our journey by standing
in an incredibly long queue. Enlightening as this attraction is, it obviously
attracts a vast number of visitors from both here and abroad, to the
extent that they have had to build an extremely large and complicated
cable-car station at the bottom capable of handling over an hour's worth
of enlightenment seekers standing in a long, winding line and slowly
shuffling forward.
Everything here in Hong Kong is full of people, and difficult to visit
without exhibiting some serious patience, but in this case it seemed
to make sense. After all, no one comes unto the Buddha but by letting
go of Earthly impatience, right? To truly experience the Buddha, one
should no longer desire to see it.
This wasn't a problem, since the "45 minutes from here" sign which we
got to after some 30 minutes of waiting certainly discouraged any and
all desire to see the Buddha to slowly disappear, and when that didn't
make me turn back the fact that there was a second queue to actually
go up once you'd gotten your tickets from the first queue almost did.
It's fair to say that I had worked up an almost Buddha-like indifference
to the Buddha by the time I got onto the cable-car. This saved me some
money, because when they offered me a trade-up to a ticket which would
also include some animated 'monkey theatre' and a short cartoon about
Buddha's life,
I told them where to stick it.
What we did decide to spring for, however, was the "Crystal Cabin":
a cable-car system that was so amazing, so wildly innovative, that you
could actually see through the floor which was TRANSPARENT. Whoa.
As it turned out this was incredibly pointless, since all that passed
directly underneath you was water and treetops (and the glass was tinted blue
for some reason), but it did set us in good stead as regards standing
in line, because those foolish enough to pay extra for a crappy glass
floor (and I just about had to, since it is my solemn mission to jostle
the cabin and make Ashnil wet himself) didn't have to stand in the queue
for quite as long.
After
a lengthy and picturesque cable-car trip (which passed over a fascinating
group of chinese fishermen, among other things, whom we were
able to watch as they caught fish by the traditional method), we made
our way to the top, from where the Big Buddha could be seen. The cable-car
dropped us off in what was essentially the Buddha Gift Shoppe, leaving
a large variety of restaurants and tourist stores between ourselves and
the Buddha, so as to properly attract our tourist dollar.
As has become the traditional thing for us to do when starting anew
in a brand new locale full of stuff to see, Ashnil and I immediately
went in to one of the local restaurants and proceeded to stuff our faces.
Enlightenment (and vegetarianism) forgotten, we picked out a downright
unholy amount of meat (every major animal-group was represented!) and
settled down to devour the lot.
I can't say that this was terribly pious of us, but the best part about
Buddhists is that they're not terribly judgemental about this sort of
thing. In fact, they're not even terribly sure whether they're allowed
to eat meat themselves. The Buddha wasn't all that clear about it all,
so most Buddhists just end up eating anything that's sufficiently delicious,
tending to prefer vegetarian food when possible. That is, they're basically
on the Ethistan diet.
Luckily, I myself was not, and I gotta tell you: it may very well be
possible to overdose on meat, even for me. Particularly since Ashnil
has a stomach the size of a dime, I ended up feasting so richly on pork,
beef and duck that for a while I considered just curling up under a Bo
tree in perfect contentment myself, and waiting to attain the Buddha
state.
Eventually, though, I decided that - having come all this way - I should
at least go see the giant Buddha.
Sporting some wicked cornrows and ears the size of a man, the mighty
Buddha overlooked a valley full of natural beauty, his serenity marred
only by a profusion of Indian tourists who insisted on shouting at each
other at the top of their lungs from every direction (perhaps because
they, alone out of everybody, couldn't read the "keep silent" signs).
Surrounded by statues of lesser exemplars of perfection (bodhisattvas,
folks who remained mortal despite qualifying for Nirvana), the Buddha
sat atop a massive monument, crowning one of the highest
hills in the region. The view from up there was an
amazing one, including all manner of other statues, inscribed gates,
plazas, temples and wide open areas for prayer, as well as a wealth of
natural beauty in the form of forests, mountains, crumbling weathered
stones, meadows and waterfalls. Save for the cable-car linking the area
to Hong Kong proper, this place existed outside of the influence of modern
life, set apart as a spiritual (and touristic) haven for the appreciation
of the richness of Buddhist life.
In actual fact, this may not even be the second-largest Buddha
in the world, since apparently Ashnil
was wrong about that part (or perhaps trying to throw me off the
scent of his
countrymen), but I really couldn't see the point of building a Buddha
bigger than this one, and was suitably inspired by having seen this one,
to the point where I probably wouldn't be that impressed by one
that's slightly bigger. The important part, after all, was the temple complex
surrounding it, and the isolation and natural beauty of this area coupled
with the carvings, iconography and agressive untethered livestock
essentially
equalled a rich, concentrated experience of monastic and cultural interest
that I can't see another
temple easily replicating - however large their Buddha.
At first, I must admit that I found the whole thing a little samey.
After the giant Buddha, the actual temple complex and such was pretty
much exactly the same as every one of the many such temples we had seen
back in Japan (well, I say 'we', but after we got separated at the Buddha,
Ashnil apparently couldn't find his way through the trees to the temple
proper, and thus missed out on that part of the experience).
As my parents
can attest, I need a fair bit of variety for any kind of sightseeing
to hold my interest, and the fact that this complex looked to me exactly
like the one in the center of Tokyo (Meiji Shrine, to be precise) made
me yawn and roll my eyes. Where were the unique Chinese touches? One
might point to the Chinese characters everywhere in place of the Japanese
- but actually, the Buddhist language is not really Chinese nor Japanese,
and neither languege is lettered within. What *is* written there is much
the same in both countries:
in each case, comprehensible only to the monks themselves, and all somewhat
obtuse to the lay people. So, yes, with only slight variations, the architecture
and decor of temples here and in Japan seemed much the same.
Having expected that all Chinese monks would be ass-kicking Kung Fu
types who force every tourist that passes to kick them repeatedly in
the balls, and laugh at their puny efforts, I was somewhat disappointed.
The butt-kicking here was limited to the ceremonial, and there was not
much to be seen on a regular weekend. Sure, I suppose Chinese Buddhists
couldn't all be quite as awesome as the Shaolin (nor
even the Jews, whose mysterious martial skills are
well known), but they could at least have let me boot them in the nuts
a few times just to keep up appearances. No fair.
According to the various helpful English plaques, however, this similarity
amongst Buddhists is actually one of the most positive traits of their
faith. Unlike a lot of the 38,000 or so sects of Christianity,
Buddhist denominations (of which there are up to about a thousand, but
only really 8 or so main ones) pretty
much all get along well and labour to a common purpose, treating all
other Buddhists with a deep respect and never once coming to blows over
doctrine. Much as I might've enjoyed a bit more variety in their temple's
offerings, or
maybe just a few roundhouse kicks, I couldn't argue with those statistics.
Besides, all religions being equal, when he faces the afterlife the
average Buddhist would seem
to have at least a 38-times
higher chance of being right about everything, provided his overall faith
turns out to be the correct one.
If they've never had to fight one another, though, why are these monks
so very
good at kicking ass?
It
only took a bit of careful exploring and the ignoring of a few "no admittance"
signs to get a bit deeper into the unique aspects of this particular
complex, however.
In particular, this place was big. Very big. Big enough to despair at
Ashnil's eyesight if he didn't notice it. Whereas I have seen monasteries
that claimed to be self-sustaining before, this is the only place I really
would've believed it. The monks tended a vast stretch of grounds consisting
of temples, statuary, conference centers, mess halls, accomodation, craftshops,
greenhouses
and gardens as far
as the eye could see. Behind various conveniently unlocked gates, I found
rows
upon rows of beautiful bonsai trees, huge stretches of potted
fruit trees, unfinished carvings, noticeboards bearing newspaper clippings
in Chinese and English about various issues of import to the physical
and spiritual wellbeing of people in and around China and Hong Kong,
and a great deal more.
All about, the temples and bells and gardens and things were a great
deal more colourful than I remembered from Japan: not on the outside,
but most definitely on the inside. Whereas the exteriors were frightfully
generic (though, of course, still very dignified and finely crafted), the
interiors were always painted in strong colours, and decorated with a
patchwork of symbols, images and emblems so dense they would've made
Robert Langdon lay down and weep for joy.
It
was this side of the temples I was interested in, and I skulked about
for a long time, in both private and public areas, inwardly pretending
that I had arrived at this temple as an acolyte, for my induction in
the Sutras and the Way of the Open Palm. It was good fun trying to figure
out the purpose of the various halls, items, bells, plants, tools and
other paraphenalia, and by the time I squeezed down a passage between
two buildings to avoid a wayward monk and found myself back at the exit,
I had invented quite a rich personal history for the place, almost all
of which was undoubtedly bullshit.
The shops and tours and whatnot in the adjoining tourist section around
the cable-car stop were also most intriguing, particularly the more expensive
stores which showcased the monks' most beautiful and expensive creations.
My favourite stores amongst these sold exquisitely
carved statuary made of various semiprecious materials such as marble
and Jade and so forth, and it was amazing the way the creators had worked
the natural shape, texture and coloration-changes of their materials
into harmonious scenes from the Buddhist scriptures which used these
traits to excellent effect. There were also shops displaying other intriguing
curios such as a downright unnecessarily varied and vivid collection
of designer chopsticks, amongst other little finds such as little scrolls
bearing calligraphied sutra.
In fact, there was so much to see, and so little time in which to see
it (since the queue for the cable-car back was also at least an hour
long, and the last car went out at 6 pm), that the least interesting
thing to do in the area was to enter the Tourist Trap Theatre and enjoy
a pointless animated film about monkeys. By the time I lined up for
the return trip in the cable-car, I was quite footsore, and very glad
I hadn't opted for the 'trade-up' which meant also getting the movie
tickets.
The cable-car trip back was just as picturesque as the arrival-trip,
save that this time the encroaching sunset painted the area in vivid
colours, temporarily making the outside of the temples, and the surrounding
countryside, match the rich colouration of the temple interiors. Although
the cable-car windows were annoyingly reflective, and actively fought
my attempts to take good pictures (oh, for a polarising filter!), the
above may give you some idea of how the sunset lighting set off the most
attractive shapes and colours of the natural environment.
We had gotten used to the hustle and bustle of downtown Hong Kong,
and
had few chances to get any real distance away from the skyscrapers
that dominate the skyline. As such, it was a fabulous experience to also
see the
other side of this region: the natural and spiritual side; and to have
the tallest building around as far as the eye could see be a gigantic,
finely crafted Buddha, his serene countenance a warm, radiant bronze
against the rich greens and browns of the forest and the ethereal blue,
pink and gold of the sky.
With our good RJorb rapidly getting into the big-boy-pants (read: his birthday is coming up) I figured that in addition to the regular present, it was time for our prodigal prosecutor to join the ranks of the doomed and the forsaken. So without any further ado, I present to you:
You can find an original character here for comparison. With the advent of the Innsmouth Horror expansion, each investigator gained a personal quest to undertake throughout the course of the game, and of course our aspiring attorney could not be left wanting! [Read right to left]
We had the opportunity last Friday to take Ryan Thomas for a spin (with the Innsmouth expansion, no less) and he proved to be a fairly interesting and balanced character; far more so on both counts than some I could name...
Back in my series on Japan, I talked about the uncanny assemblages
of breakdancing youths that one finds in most of Japan's hipper destinations
- and, apparently, just wherever flat spaces are to be found. These gyrating
lads and ladies really brought a nighttime stroll to life, and I was
pleasantly surprised today to find Hong Kong is not without them. True,
Hong Kong's version may be the downmarket alternative, but that only
makes it all more accessible to a funky, yet rhythmically challenged
dude like myself.
I made this discovery this evening around nightfall, that being when Ashnil
and I get off work. I had just demonstrated my lack of physical co-ordination
by walking into a door (bathroom and exit doors which would just push open
in Australia here have doorknobs you must turn, as I have been painfully
reminded numerous times), and we were about to head down to get a bite
of dinner (so cheap!) when we heard some particularly loud music and/or
shouting from a little down-campus. Eager to see who could get away with
causing such a disturbance in the centre of our peaceful university, we
wandered over to take a look - and, lo and behold, here was a motley crew
of Cantonese dancer types. They were pretty excited, but not quite Japan-style
breakdance material as you can see below. That said, it did look like something
even I could do, and they did seem to be enjoying themselves...
After each bit of dancing, an excitable dude with a microphone would
shout something in Greek (at least, it was all Greek to me), and then
everyone would cheer, and more dancing would happen. Noticing me standing
there wondering what he might be on about, a few of their number took
it upon themselves to educate me in the ways of Cantonese dance. Now,
they did tell me their names, but unfortunately this rarely does me much
good in this country. Sure, some dude might earnestly tell you his name
is Fhggfwy, but is that going to help you pronounce it? No, it’s not.
As such, in order to remain an equal-opportunity offender, I typically
just give everyone a weird nickname (even the ones with ‘English names’),
and leave it at that. As such, let’s just say that it was Cute Glasses
Girl who approached me first, and offered to translate what was going
on, closely followed by Nurse Guy, a cheerful chubby sort who immediately
insisted that I join their group and try to learn the dance.
What the hey, why not? I thought. It was that or head back to my closet
and power down for the night. Ash seemed to be getting a little eager
to leave what with people LOOKING at him with their EYES (those terrible
squinty EYES), but I nevertheless accepted their challenge, and joined
them in learning to dance some Asian Disco. Cheers went up as I stepped
into the group (the kind of reception some of you folks in Australia
could stand to replicate from time to time), and immediately some of
the dancers from before began to teach us the moves.
The dance itself was essentially a cross between the Haruhi dance and
the Macarena, with a little bit of World of Warcraft thrown in. Tooth
Fairy and Whiskers tried to explain to me the meaning behind the song
we were dancing to. Despite their efforts, however, about all that came
across was "so there’s a big hero, right, he saves this area... and then,
well, *waggle eyebrows suggestively*, a girl, right, there’s a girl...
um, so, yeah... "). Presumably he and the girl did many sweet things
with one another, and hence I was expected to make a lot of heart-shapes
with my hands, in-between overly-fast goose-stepping and amateur contortionism.
I was sorta getting the hang of things by the end of it, but there was
a lot to remember, and it didn’t help that only a few of the ‘instructors’
actually knew how to do it properly, with others - such as Whiskers -
trying their level best to ape along, much as I did.
If any of you would like to learn the Asian Macarena for yourselves,
then you can totally pick it up from me with I get back, because as you
can see in the following montage, I am totally rad. Unfortunately, Ashnil
got sick of standing around on the sidelines holding up my camera long
before I got any better at this dance, so you’ll just have to imagine
how much awesomer I got at doing this by the end (hint: not much). Anyway,
rather than finally join in once he no longer had the "I’m filming" excuse,
Ash went off home to his own closet. This was just as well, of course:
without Ash’s massive sex appeal to confuse and bewilder them (I wonder
if he’s collected his harem of cohabitants yet, as anime tradition demands?),
the girls all immediately turned to me like iron filings to a magnet.
It was Liviu’s time to shine!
The dancing went on for some time, and ended in a big ol’ dance-off,
where groups were shunted into the centre one by one, and forced to recall
the whole darn sequence of dance-moves all at once, very quickly, for
the audience’s amusement.
After the dance-off had officially concluded, Cute Glasses Girl, Hanger-On,
Fingers and Nurse Guy invited me to join them for dinner. Now, of course,
I had already had dinner that night, but as always, this only served
to put me more in the mood for dinner #2, so off we went. As it happened,
the entire group regularly ate together in one big block, so this equated
to joining the whole lot of ‘em for dinner, since everybody was pretty
much heading to the same place.
In so doing, a strange ritual eventuated, whereby just about everyone
(or representatives from each group, at least) would come to speak to
me in turn. Not, that is, walking in a group and chatting with me, but
rather forming a sort of queue, with one or two people chatting with
me at a time before moving on, at which point another one or two would
detach from the main group and come chat. In this way, I was quickly
introduced to way more people than I could conveniently come up with
awful nicknames for, and began to feel quite the socialite. Not everyone
in Hong Kong speaks English - a fact they conveniently omit from all
the ‘English is our second language!’ brochures - but most of ‘em gave
it a damn good try, and I was flattered to be subject of so many painstakingly-formed
well-wishes. Who knew a bit of extremely sloppy Macarena work could make
you so many friends so fast? I’m going to have to do this more often.
They took me to a food court very near the university, which was apparently
a hip student hangout. Ashnil and I had skirted it previously, but been
redirected elsewhere by a large number of delicious and incredibly cheap
dumplings, which we had then spent the rest of the evening shovelling
into our mouths. Now, though, I finally went up that one last staircase,
and found a world of cunningly-labelled Chinese cuisine at my beck and
call (cunning, that is, because I still couldn’t read it). With the exception
of a Japanese store, just about every store on this level sold food from
one or other part of China - and you don’t truly realise how big a place
that is until you see it all lined up for you in a culinary masterpiece
of food sorting, serving and displaying. I could essentially travel the
country and eat of their greatest hits (so long as, admittedly, I didn’t
mind the cheap and greasy version thereof), thus deepening my spiritual
kinship with this vast eastern land, as well as saving money with my
new Uni Staff card. Truly, it was the perfect unity of the secular and
the divine, in my mouth.
As soon as I had ordered my delectable melt-in-the-mouth Shanghai pork,
however, the difficulty presented itself of where to eat it. See, I had
been getting to know people in rapid-fire mode since leaving the uni,
and I felt like a speed-dater trying to choose the girl he liked best.
This was an even more apt comparison in my mind, since in the only speed-dating
event I have ever attended, gross mismanagement on the part of the organisers
resulted in my ‘dating’ a whole lot of greasy Asian guys as well as the
girls. In a further (although not technically ironic) coincidence, tonight
ended exactly the same way: with me suddenly having a lot more guy friends,
and only getting two phone numbers, neither of them from girls I’m likely
to call.
As I was saying, I had to decide where to eat it, because several groups
of folks by now had staked their claim on me, and were calling for me
to join them. In the end, although Whiskers batted her eyelashes most
fetchingly, I decided to join Cute Glasses Girl and Nurse Guy’s group,
since they had been the ones to invite me. I needn’t have worried about
alienating my new friends, however, as I was about to get significantly
more popular. My first jump in popularity came when I displayed some
of my incredibly poor knowledge of Mandarin, and everyone around me immediately
resolved to teach me some Cantonese. Eventually, after a great many shouted
instructions, I was able to form a sentence asking the waitress for a
drink. Buoyed up by the crowd’s support, I proceeded to get up with a
flourish, clear my throat, walk over to the counter, and begin to speak
the first syllable, at which point the waitress gave me a flat look and
immediately handed me the drink I was about to ask for.
Sheepishly I sat down, and ended up talking to Fingers for a while before
the subject of my camera was broached. Needless to say, since I had been
carrying a camera the size of my head for some time, people were eager
to see some of my photographs. There were some oohs and aahs as I described
where I had been in the last few days, and showed them some of the nicer
pictures I had taken. By this stage, a bit of a was starting to gather
(some perhaps wondering how they might best pilfer some of the millions
of Hong Kong dollars of equipment I had just pulled casually out of my
backpack...), and it wasn’t long before Tooth Fairy showed up to say hi,
and to ask if I had any photos of Australia to show them.
Put on the spot, I replied that I might have some of Sydney and surrounds,
but wasn’t really in the habit of taking a lot of photos of places I
went all the time. Gamely, I searched through my iPhoto library, and
finally realised that I actually DID have a great many photographs of
the inner city, rather good ones too, which we had taken back when my
grandmother had come to visit Australia a couple of years ago. This lead
to a rather unique bit of showmanship, with me surrounded by a growing
number of Asian university students, and pointing out the choice bits
of Australian geography and geology in increasingly laboured terms: "this
is Grandma standing in front of the Sydney Opera House", "and here, you
can see Grandma is lying in the grass of the Royal Botanical Gardens...",
"my university is just about a kilometer from where my grandmother is
standing now", "as you can see here behind my Grandma, the Australian
coastline is made of dramatic structures of weathered sandstone...", "if
you look just at the edge of the image, there’s a reflection of Grandma
in what is actually the window of the Queen Victoria Building, a landmark
which you can almost see here on Grandma’s left in the picture where
she...".
Against the odds, people kept piling in, eventually resulting in my hearing some
broken English a ways behind me to the effect of "What happening?", a
few quick exchanges in Cantonese, "Guy is showing pictures of his Grandmother...
I think."
"... what?"
Needless to say, it was at this point that I realised how unusual a
scene this had become, and decided that it was time to stop with the
show and tell, and maybe capitalise on my popularity by getting to know
a few more of the young ladies in the room. Unfortunately, as soon as
my grandmother was out of the picture, a lot of the interest ran out.
Apparently, when it came to holding the interest of a crowd, I had a
lot left to learn from my dear ol’ Gran, so there was little for it but
to start once again from scratch. Unfortunately, I never much got that
chance, as it was just then that the lights dimmed, the shops shut their
doors, and we were all ushered out into the hallways. Here, since they
were mostly heading back to "The Hall" (a different accommodation to
mine), there was a hurried conversation regarding whether I could find
my way back. I assured these caring souls that there was no way a great
Australian explorer like myself could ever get lost on the way back home,
and took my leave of them, orienting myself at the exit door and dramatically
walking face-first into it.
Feeling slightly sheepish, I fumbled for the doorknob, opened it up as
they looked on bemusedly, and strode confidently out into the gloom,
and then around the corner.
For a little while, I just stood there, looking at the lights of the
city, the cars going by, the many layers of upper-and-lower roads and
crossings that made up this multi-layered city, wondering where on God’s
green Earth I was. I then tried to work out how this door - which should
have brought me homeward - had suddenly taken me here. Eventually, I
realised that all of the exits at the bottom of the last staircase I
had passed had been identical, and I’d simply walked in the wrong direction.
Further, I realised that the correct way to walk had in fact been the
same way all the others had gone, and that there was no other way. As
such, of course, roughly two to three minutes after my dramatic exit,
I shuffled downstairs and hurried past a group of chatting students.
With the same bemused expression, a few of them noticed me, and watched
me go... but no-one said a word.
I got home a little after 1 am, and promptly collapsed into bed as I
am known to do at home, before remembering that my bed here is an unyielding
block of wood and quickly resolving never, ever to do that again. As
it turned out, ironically since I was the one who had gone out with a
large number of girls whereas he had headed home, Ashnil had had a little
adventure of his own that night, and it had involved a good deal more
sauciness and a whole lot less elderly relatives than had mine.
But that, of course, is a story for him to tell. So maybe, if you’re
good, he’ll do a guest post!
Today, as attested by my dwindling bank balance, was the first
exposure I had to the shopping scene of Hong Kong.
I don't mean the 'retail' shopping scene, having already encountered every
variety of overpriced fashion. I mean the *real* reason you go shopping
in Hong Kong: computer parts and bootleg software!
This morning, we jumped in a taxi to the Golden Cyber City, a massive underground
complex dealing in every form of electronic mayhem imaginable. Here, in
the artificial chill lay technological chaos, a universe of tiny, gadget-studded
stores hawking everything from the cheapest computer crap imaginable to
some amazing (and unfortunately rather expensive) top-of-the-line gear.
Newly released computer games could be had at $5 a pop (with labels and
DVDs printed to almost a professional standard…), and everything was negotiable!
It quickly became clear that a lot of very good equipment could be bought
here very cheaply, and would even be assembled, etc., on the spot by the
helpful service folk (who even go pick up the necessary parts from the
surrounding stores for you, if you ask them to). What was also clear was
that the better quality a product was, the less the price-difference would
be between the Hong Kong price and what you would get in Australia (not
counting negotiation, of course). As such, the kinds of things I would
normally buy weren't really all that discounted - with the notable exception
of a few things, such as graphics cards. There was, however, a much wider
spectrum of dodginess than you would ever otherwise see: every brand-name
product had a cheap Chinese knock-off, and every cheap Chinese knock-off
had a few of its own carbon-copy clones. If I had wanted to stray from
my usual policy of buying top-quality gear, and been willing to puzzle
my way through a couple of shifty driver installs ("Windows cannot verify
the authenticity of driver '?????????gs550?? ?? ????'. Installation is
not recommended. Would you like to install anyway?"), I could've probably
kitted out a fine new machine… but that wasn't really what I was interested
in.
What interested me was the vast, neatly sorted collection of awesome optical
equipment, particularly the high-end Nikkor lenses. As a result of this
dizzying level of choice, I have expanded my lens collection significantly,
which is allowing me to take some much more interesting shots (such as
the 'Happy Ash' you saw in yesterday's post). In so doing, even considering
discounts, I have spent at least sixteen thousand dollars… which may be
the most I've ever spent on any kind of trip, albeit in the much less weighty
Hong Kong dollars.
After splurging rather an extreme amount of cash on lenses, I had to distract
myself to keep from ordering more. Luckily, for me, this may very well
be the best place to lose track of reality for a while, ever imagined.
Practically every surface is covered with one kind or another of TV, and
I have always been partial to the way they put together bands in Asian
countries. Whereas MTV and other such purveyors of depravity have somehow
garnered the impression that what the public wants to see in music videos
is gang warfare, abstract pattern bullshit and chicks with nose-rings breaking
shit, the Chinese and other Asian countries still remember that all that
is truly necessary for a great music clip is that it include hot girls
in nice outfits. Rather than freaky it up with the fashionable bullshit
of the week, they take the altogether sensible step of taking what works,
and multiplying it. As such, there's nary a music clip in sight here that
doesn't feature at least twenty girls, all of them hot, wearing all kinds
of nice colour co-ordinated outfits that maintain a comfortable ratio on
the skimpiness-to-frills spectrum. The sight of that many hot girls shakin'
their bon-bons in unison, coupled with the fact that every surface is beaming
out a different such clip, and the TVs are arrayed at odd angles and in
all shapes and sizes, up and down the interior walls makes for an effect
that is downright hypnotic.
I'm not sure quite how long I stood there watching, but I was pretty hungry
by the end of it, so I shrugged out of my daze and wandered off to get
some food. Well, actually, I wandered right into a section that looked
like the exit I had come from, but which turned out to be a clandestine
pornography store (I guess they know their audience). As it happens, the
bright lights and shifting landmarks of the underground cyber city made
it quite a pain to navigate. Eventually, though, I managed to find my way
back to the exit I had come from, to go check out the food stores of the
regular-type city above.
It was then that I saw my first truly Chinese restaurant: heralded only
by a massive snakeskin bandolier, this small, dingy little shop-front reminiscent
of a fish-and-chip store departed slightly from this image by the fact
that its walls were lined with the pickled carcasses of reptiles of all
shapes and sizes. Each of these displayed prominently what it would cost
you to get the jar unsealed, and the hapless creature within turned into
fritters.
Adamant as I have been throughout that I simply have to try some dog over
here, my list of culinary desires didn't stretch quite as far as the mashed-up
shells of baby tortoises, nor even the abjectly horrifying bloated eyes
of some kind of shrivelled wormy alligator thing. I'd like to try something
exciting over here, but there is certainly a limit even to my adventurous
impulses, and it was staring eerily back at me from inside a hundred tiny
jars.
I did, however, fully appreciate the smooth business model of attracting
people to look inside with live snakes on display, cooking those snakes
to serve to your guests once they're in there, and then finally trying
to sell them accessories such as belts and purses made from their dinner's
untreated hide. (Man, those belts looked ratty!)
I wasn't quite impressed enough with the store to want to hang around
much longer, though, since the flayed white bodies of googly-eyed snakes
are kinda creepy. As such, I decided to get out while the getting was good.
It wasn't much longer until we got the call from the worker drones we had
enlisted to do the real work of purchasing computer parts and building
the machines for us (I love this country's convenience!), and suddenly
we had fully set-up, specced-out computers all ready to go. That meant
it was time to head back to the uni and get to setting up our fantastic
multimedia lab!
We dumped the computers in the lab in the early afternoon, and realised
right off that we would need a few more components in order to be using
these computers as much more than ashtrays. After a brief inquiry, we were
told that there was a network administrator called Ryan whom we would have
to contact if we wanted certain cables and network hardware. His name was
Ryan, and he would become the cause of a great deal of friction between
Ashnil and myself.
When initially we were instructed to call Ryan, I asked Ashnil to do it,
only to be steadfastly resisted, and told to damn well call the guy myself.
Fair enough, I went and called Ryan, but he wasn't at his desk. As such,
I headed back to my desk and asked Ash to call again in a few minutes.
Here's where the trouble started. Ash said no, and this time I decided
that it would be shameful for the guy who was supposed to be in charge
of this debacle to once again back down and go call Ryan personally. I
mean, how am I supposed to manage an employee when I can't even get him
to call some asshole down in tech support, a task which would take maybe
a minute?
I told him to get his ass over to the phone. Ashnil refused. It was clear
that this was no mere phone-call to him, no small one-minute task. This
was tantamount to speaking with a waitress. It just wasn't DONE.
And so, the game was afoot. Ashnil delay-tacticed. I pulled rank. Ashnil
tried flattery. I tried threats. We alternated cajoling, arguing, blustering,
handwaving, all punctuated by a common thread of "Call Ryan; CALL RYAN;
YOU FUCKING CALL RYAN!"
Needless to say, we were deadlocked. Even though it was a trivial task,
neither of us even considered calling Ryan. We each set to other tasks
and rushed around between rooms, each occasionally shouting at the other
to CALL RYAN. Both frustrated with the other's stubborn refusal to even
entertain the idea, we ended up locked in this stalemate for hours, thousands
of dollars of computer equipment lying forgotten and unopened on the laboratory
floor.
That night, the Professor showed up from out of nowhere, expecting the
lab to be finished, the equipment all set up. Grinning, he asked me to
take him on 'the tour'. I paled considerably. "Uh, you see… mumble mumble…
technical support… mumble… Ryan…"
"You say, Ryan not supporting our students? I make a phone call, hold on,"
he said, reaching for his magic phone of problem-solving.
"No! Nonono, I'm sure… I'm sure he was just really busy…" I lied, sweating.
"We've, um, been calling him all da-"
Waving me off, the Professor held the phone to his frowning face. "I call
him now, just wait."
"I, no, Sir, I - we, um, we've had a lot to do anyway, and there's not
much time left in the day. Why don't we, um, wait until tomorrow? We'll,
uh, call him again, ourselves."
I was rather tempted at that point to roll over on Ash and point out my
lengthy chat logs of "CALL RYAN, YOU BASTARD", but I figured that isn't
what friends do (even if they are ostensibly in charge ). Luckily,
the Professor dropped the matter at this point. Not that that was the end
of it: I went over to scowl at Ash a whole lot and tell him what a mess
we were in because he hadn't frikkin' CALLED RYAN. Blandly, he looked up
from his work and suggested that in that case, I better go do it myself.
Ungrateful bastard!
Needless to say, this started the back-and-forth all over again, flooding
the airwaves with CALL RYAN until well into the night, at which point both
of us went home, plugged into the internet there, and proceeded to spam
each other about bloody well calling Ryan yet again. This was followed
by another phase of scheming how we might avoid calling Ryan for long enough
that the other one would be forced to do so first. Our last messages to
one another were, of course, CALL RYAN.
The next day, we found out Ryan had gone on long-service leave a month
ago.
Today started the way a lot of my days here in China have started:
poisoned by the local foodstuffs. Don't get me wrong, the food is marvellous
(and did I mention cheap?!), but it certainly is a heavy-hitter when
it comes to the ol' immune system. Some people's bodies just aren't optimised
to filter microscopic fungus out of rancid dog meat passed off as Moo
Shoo pork, and I guess mine is of that number. As such, I wandered in
a little pale in the face today, and certainly later than usual.
Given my desire to avoid inflaming my body's humors further, I decided
to steer well clear of the usual greasy fare in favour of a healthy alternative.
This is surprisingly difficult to do in this country: presumably, if it
hasn't been run through a few deep friers, food isn't fit to eat. Luckily
for me, the eating at this university is a great deal more varied than
at Sydney - and as a staff member I have access to the exclusive Staff
Canteen, which is essentially a restaurant whose menu changes regularly
based on the time of day. At breakfast today, therefore, I did happen to
spot something on the menu that looked reasonably healthy: namely soup.
Ahh, excellent. What could be better than a nice hot soup to soothe away
my ills? I ordered that.
"Will that be Western or Chinese soup?" the serving lady asked, in significantly
worse English than that.
"Well, we're in China after all. Let's make it a Chinese soup, thank you."
Meal tickets were scribbled, a harsh shriek of syllables was directed at
the kitchen, and I was shortly sitting down next to Ash. He tucked into
a hearty breakfast, as I lifted the ceramic lid on my small pot of Chinese
soup to reveal a featureless brown muck. Looking over with interest, sniffing
slightly, and then wrinkling his nose, Ashnil went back to chowing down
eagerly as I experimentally tested the waters with my spoon. The lukewarm
brown paste bubbled up some soft gray lumps of something hairy. It reminded
me of the eyeball soup from Indiana Jones.
Cringing slightly, I scooped one slowly out and took a bite. The texture
was that of old newspaper, the flavour was what I imagine Mr. Miyagi's
beard might've tasted like if you shaved it off, boiled it, and rolled
it in oatmeal. The soggy, hairy mess, once swallowed, did not rest easily
in my already-queasy stomach, and the wash of tepid brown sludge that followed
did little to keep it down. For one of the few times in my life, I pushed
away my meal almost untouched, got up, and went back to order another.
Russian-style beef in onion sauce might've been a bit rich for my condition,
but I'd be damned if that meant I was going to eat watered-down, mashed-up
cigarette-butts instead.
As it turned out, I felt better almost immediately after wolfing down
that fine, beefy breakfast. Perhaps, as with liquor, it is the hair of
the dog that bit you which sorts you out in the end. So long as it's not
in your soup, at least. To-date, my plan of solving stomach upsets with
more eating is working out fabulously well, with the only caveat being
that it probably only serves to perpetuate the cycle. I suppose I could
starve myself for a bit, just to let it all out of my system, but with
the general air quality around here I have my doubts as to whether I will
be able to get Hong Kong completely out of my system until at least a few
months after I leave.
With regard to starving, however, I was surprised to find that it is a
popular hobby among the female half of society, here. To someone like me,
who eats two dinners and usually two lunches, this is pretty shocking -
although, admittedly, it should come as no particular surprise. It just
seemed to me, I suppose, that the girls here were somehow more sensible
- or at least so serious about their work that they had no time for such
frivolities as anorexia. I had noticed that a lot of them are exceedingly
small and thin, of course, but then I'm generally told God makes 'em small
in this part of the world, and it has nothing much to do with shoddy eating
habits.
In actual fact, however, that is not the whole story. I know this because
every time I offer a young lady one of my snacks (everything is individually
wrapped around here, so it seems tailor-made for sharing), she will typically
demur by saying that she's keeping fit. Usually I would take this to mean
she probably just doesn't want any Lindt (so cheap here!), but it's a fact
that no-one in their right mind refuses Lindt, and it struck me as odd
that they all tend to answer in about the same words. In the Hong Kong
English parlance, 'fit' appears to be the opposite of 'fat', and since
there aren't really many gyms about (that I could see), this is achieved
by refusing to eat anything at all between certain scientifically-determined
hours.
This, of course, leaves a great many very cheap sweets for the rest of
us. The store pictured above actually sells all of its sweets by weight:
it's all quality stuff, and (if I remember correctly) you can ladle as
much of it out as you want, from almost anywhere in the store, and pay
only $88 Hong Kong Dollars per pound. That's a lotta chocolates!
At any rate, today was a day spent largely on our work, so I won't bore
you with the details. Rather, I would like to mention the remarkable transformation
in our research group's illustrious leader. See, within the scope of our
duties here in Hong Kong, we are actually able to quite regularly engage
in a bit of téte-a-téte with the bigwigs. Moreover, these get-togethers
are no longer dreaded grillings in their office, scheduled late at night,
occurring once every few months. Rather, we are invited into pleasant little
antechambers with sofas and cups and Oolong tea, and a friendly atmosphere
of camaraderie and shared experiences ensues. On the other hand, this is
also the first time our Professor has talked to us in his full capacity
as a paragon of learning, rather than as a kooky old guy who loves talking
about China and throws pizza parties. Finding out at this late stage how
frightfully competent he really is - even if we have known it all along,
at least on a theoretical level - is quite a thing.
See, when I was first imagining what doing a PhD would be like, I imagined
getting up early, wandering down to the library, sitting down in an old
british-style sofa with a stack of books and making a whole lot of notes,
while maybe discussing Socrates or Artificial Intelligence with my fellow
boffins, perhaps smoking the odd pipe of tobacco-free, imitation pipe-weed
in-between cups of tea. I imagined research trips to far-flung locations,
and days spent powering on for some worthwhile purpose, not even noticing
when the sun has gone down because you're too busy unravelling the mysteries
of life. Then, of course, I experienced the reality of PhD candidacy, which
essentially revolved around the same day of boring office-work repeated
ad nauseum, downloading boring-ass math papers and coding 'til your eyes
fall out, if you even have the time in-between the constant report-writing,
presentations and working on the higher-ups' projects.
Now, long after I had given up on my imagined scenario, I have suddenly
been thrust into the middle of almost exactly that environment. Everyone
here is incredibly passionate about their work, the supervisor-student
relationship is a close, nurturing one, people share their knowledge in
comfortable studies over cups of tea, and I am treated like a valuable,
free-thinking agent. I suddenly have my own responsibilities and the ability
to manage my own time and activities. Further, I get to actually be social
with the person who's been in charge of my studies from far, far away all
this time.
The Professor is rather pleasant to spend time with, in this context, even
if he does tend to make me feel rather ignorant. He even took the time
to give us a tour of the place, and has often stopped for long chats throughout
the day. Accustomed to maybe getting a few minutes of his super-valuable
time, late at night, if we're lucky, we felt at first a little like we
were sitting in a cab with the meter running. It wasn't until he began
to tell us about rooftop gardening, and give us the theory of window-allocation
in the building that we realised that he really, truly was just being social.
At least until we learned his true agenda, for everything he says has a
purpose, and the shocking truth about the windows was about to be revealed...
If you read a lot of Dan Brown, you know that many of the buildings whose
shapes we take for granted were actually laid out very precisely along
numerological lines. Hidden meanings in the number and shape of various
accoutrements can lead to all kinds of realisations in these stories. Typically,
these will send Robert Langdon on some intercontinental wild-goose chase.
In our case, they allowed our Professor to communicate a powerful message.
Just by being here, by being included in the close counsels of the people
we'd just met, we had risen steeply in the academic hierarchy. Become the
doers of great things. The hands and feet of the great and powerful.
Some time ago, when the University was first laid out, he told us, special
care had been taken to ensure that in this building, every postdoctoral
fellow (the dudes with the fancy doctor-hats, the people who have been
our bosses for our entire academic career) would receive his own window.
The window was a status symbol, carefully measured and withheld from all
but the worthy. As such, of course, it was a rare and special individual
for whom the building architects had made the special allocation of a double-window.
Two windows. These people were the movers and shakers, directing the movements
of their lower cohorts, the sort of people with which lowly students like
ourselves should count ourselves lucky to be associated. To have two windows
was to move in the circles of power.
With a more reverent tone, he went on to mention that some few offices,
those specially placed at junctions, on the lines of power, might have
three windows. Three windows. If your title didn't say "Professor" somewhere
in it, you could just forget about three windows. It was the elite who
had three windows. The Rainmakers. The leaders of men. We might speak to
them, and they to us, but they operated on another level. The blessing
of their time was as a gift, not lightly given. He mentioned how we had
already spoken closely, on a personal level, with the kind of men who could
control the very apex of our future. Build us up or snuff us out, with
but a wave of their Godly hand. It was our peril, and our opportunity.
We were on a level, now, with greatness.
Here, he stopped, moving seamlessly from this building's architecture into
a discussion of Hong Kong's fantastic skyline, rooftop gardens, and the
beauteous man-made surrounds. There was some chatter, friendly banter,
the opening up and bonding we had never really done before. We smiled,
we chatted, and at a well-timed portion of the speech, he mentioned the
excellent view of rooftop gardens and the like outside his office. With
one hand, he slowly levered up the venetians, stilling our chatter. He
remarked only on the fabulous view, but then he didn't have to say out
loud what all of us could plainly see.
Ash and I looked at each other apprehensively. The Professor cut a dramatic
figure in the rosy light. Behind him, silhouetted against the sunset over
Hong Kong's rooftop gardens, a dark outline stood out plainly, no longer
hidden by the blinds.
It occurs to me that I haven't really showed you guys where I live yet,
except through the occasional anecdote. It's about time I remedied that,
so here's a bit of a look at my apartment.
What you are looking at here is the common area of the apartment. This
is shared space, which may at any point be populated with random people
you don't know, who have been given keys to the apartment by he Powers
That Be at the University. The uni owns this entire apartment building,
and provides us with a wireless router (nobody knows the password to
this, so I'm just glad I brought a really long Ethernet cable from home),
some ancient cookware, and a colour TV that nobody ever uses. Scattered
about the common area are a variety of bags, documents and expired foodstuffs.
These, after some discussion with my roommate, I discovered didn't actually
belong to anyone who hadn't left long ago, which allowed me the distinct
pleasure of cleaning out the last of the junk (shown above), as well
as an obscured and horrible can of 'iced tea' which had grown something
entirely non-tea-like in the bottom.
Let's take a look at the part of this apartment that is actually mine: Room
1.
My
room is, as you know, incredibly tiny. It consists of roughly six square
feet of space, wherein I have an old swivel chair, an unstable little
desk, a cramped wardrobe with no coathangers and a rock-hard plank to
sleep on, covered over with a mysteriously stained ugly bedspread and
an even more stained bedsheet with a green-and-brown design depicting
what can only be described as 'soiled leaves'.
Despite the air-conditioner, and partly because of it, this room is
never quite pleasant to live in. See, it's either incredibly stuffy and
hot from the lack of airflow and intolerable Hong Kong heat, or it is
unpleasantly cold (there's no actual temperature setting for the air-con),
and incredibly noisy (since silent air-conditioning would, of course,
be un-heard-of in a bedroom).
The bathroom is also an adventure, with space just as cramped as my
bedroom ensuring that there's no way to shower without getting the entire
room wet. Add to that the fact that the fan doesn't really work, the
'instant water heater' has two settings: 'off' or 'shoot incredibly hot
boiling
water at Liv's crotch'. As advertised, it switches between these settings
instantly.
Next to the water heater is a small fan which doesn't appear to improve
ventilation even a little, generally serving only to make the window-panes
rattle and look like they're going to fall off. The mirror in the bathroom
appears to have largely rusted away (do mirrors rust? is it only Hong
Kong mirrors?), requiring you to duck and lean sideways in order to see
yourself in it - making otherwise routine bathroom operations just that
much more fun. Finally, there is the toilet, which - as you know by now
- has a roughly one-in-three chance per flush of overflowing, spraying
water in every direction, and then emptying
its cistern all over the bathroom floor.
After
getting more of a chance to talk to my roommate, I found out a great
deal more about this apartment than just which of the garbage in here
is owned by somebody, and which powerpoints were safe to use: I also
found out why accomodation here was so cheap.
See, I had spoken with some Hong Kong natives about my accomodation,
occasionally mentioning the general level of squalor and suggesting that
this might've been why I got the room cheap. Every time I had done that,
the natives had refused to be convinced. Hung Hom, they said, was an
upmarket district (or, at least, well positioned relative to Hong Kong's
center and the university). Even after I mentioned the fun-park toilet
and the odd mildewy smell, they seemed surprised I'd gotten it so cheap.
And, well, now I know why:
I had been quite enchanted with the whole scene outside my home for
a while. Beautiful floral arrangements were being made daily on just
about every street corner (God knows where they keep getting the fresh
flowers for it all), stonemasons and artisans were carving lovely plaques
with gold-leafed Chinese characters. All around it was a hustle and bustle
of handicrafts and activity. As an information worker, a class of person
utterly useless to any society below a certain point of development,
I very respect the skills of anyone who can create something worthwhile
with their hands.
But I never thought to question what it was all for.
Turns out, these big ol' attractive floral arrangements - far from being
lovely things to give on Valentine's Day - actually exist entirely for the
purpose
of being incinerated in a massive bonfire in a funeral ceremony.
The final send-off of the rich and famous would involve a great many
of these giant floral arrangements, as well as the artistic displays
of Hell money, and other various weirdness. The beautiful chinese pottery
they sell around here is in fact a selection of funeral urns to hold
the ashes after the whole mess is set alight. The candles and cushions
and lovely silk hangings, likewise created to go up in smoke. The lovely
plaques with gold-leafed Buddhas on them and whatnot were the grave-markers
to install atop the urn.
The Chinese are a superstitious people, and if you are too then the
odds just went up in the office-pool. As it turns out, I live in what
is essentially Death Alley: a part of town most right-thinking Chinese
people avoid out of hand, because living here is the worst of bad juju.
Surrounded by the artifice of death, I - who have been cheerfully wandering
around taking pictures of it all, and wondering why people occasionally
made strange hand gestures or refused to let me photograph them - only
paid so little for my squalid apartment not because it is a shithole,
but because it is the Hong Kong equivalent of a haunted house full of
bloodstains.
And, well, come to think of it there was that strange brown stain on
my pillow.
That said, let it not be inferred that Bad Juju will keep any Chinese
man or woman from laying out a sumptious meal of fish and crabs. Which
is just as well. I'm not
so much against living in an accursed district of scary-death-stuff if
it also contains a relatively cheap lobster dinner.
And they do serve a damn fine lobster dinner.
Besides, the Bad Juju clearly doesn't work on skinny foreign assholes.
Not only have I been receiving an unusual number of compliments lately
- from girls, mostly, some of whom think my hair looks 'wonderful', and
also (incredibly) from Ash - but just as I was about to head to sleep for
the night,
a one of the girls I had made friends with recently
invited me out on a date!
That's right, campers: this was the day I went for my big trip to the
Hong Kong markets, to get my hands on all of the quality Chinese merchandise
that makes Hong Kong the world leader in fine touristy bullshit.
The day actually started, however, with something doubly out of character:
I went on a date with a friendly Chinese lass, and I did this without
carrying along my usual tens of thousands of HK dollars in camera equipment.
I felt almost naked without it, a plethora of weird stuff going by unphotographed,
but overall I think it was the right idea, even if it does mean no sugar
for you guys.
With this occasion, I got to try out yet another new flavour: Guangdong
food. The Guangdong province may be (from what I managed to put together)
the place responsible for all of those superdelicious Chinese dumplings.
As such, their food is a fine mix of yummies sharing some of the characteristics
of dumplings. Basically a variety of stuff steamed in a soft, doughy
outer shell. All of which, incidentally, will remain VERY HOT on the
inside, even when the exterior has cooled... not that I burned my tongue
finding this out or nothin'.
The most exotic of these fine Guangdong dishes (which were served
in small portions, yum cha style) was something my date could not pronounce
the name of to my satisfaction. The harder she tried to render the
name in English, the more it sounded like "Rice Dick". It
could well be that this was exactly what she meant, since the dish
consisted of a plateful of pale white shlongs. These were basically
weird, veiny white sausages, bulging at the ends. Sticking these in
the dipping sauce (aside from being vaguely sensual) was a tricky experience,
since they were extremely slippery and prone to falling apart. They
were, however, delicious.
After eating out with my lady friend, I had some time to kill before
my planned excursion to the markets, having been offered a bit of a
tour thereof by my roommate, who - after witnessing my rapid-fire lifestyle
- had wished to prove to me that her own life was not 'dull' (not that
I'd said any such thing, of course... although I may have been thinking
it).
In the interim, I wanted to go see something for myself. See, we'd
been told earlier in the week that one reason we were working such
obscenely long hours was because Saturday was no longer considered
a work-day, those extra hours having been appended to the regular working
days within the week. Ashnil, however, with his insatiable need to
kiss just a little more ass than the next guy, had told the Professor
that he, for one, would be putting in the hours on Saturday anyway.
Because he's just such an incredibly efficient guy.
Leaving aside the fact that incredible efficiency would've meant finishing
his work during the week, I simply had to see for myself whether he'd
actually do it. The uni being a short walk from where I'd be meeting
my roommate, I popped on up to check on Ashnil, and say hi to all the
girls (who had a paper deadline, and hence an actual reason to be there).
Incredibly, he really was there. After we'd both put in in a full
week's work-hours, plus the extra hours to make up for Saturday,
plus about an hour or so extra per day, here he was doing the same
thing again. I sorta felt bad for ol' Ashnil when I saw this, remembering
a time when I had been like that. After all, when work is the only
thing you're good at, and social events are typically awkward or
embarassing, it's tempting to get really, really good at work and
pretend nothing else exists. Unable to coax him away, I went and
got a few tourism tips off the ladies, then left Ash to his devices.
When I met up with my roommate shortly thereafter, I showed her my plans
for the day. We're not talking Ash-style manila folder, here, it was
simply a short list of interesting places.
Taking one look at my list, she started to laugh. As it happened, I
had apparently plotted out quite a common tour path... through the ladies'
markets. Bewildered, I told her that it was the markets I was looking
to see. Patiently, she explained: there were two main market paths in
Hong Kong, and I was not welcome on this one. There were the Men's markets
(which, incidentally, also welcome the ladies wholeheartedly), and then
there were the Ladies' markets (which no self-respecting straight dude
ought to be caught dead in).
I'm quite glad that she explained this, since I really wouldn't want
to end up in the female shopping districts of this city. As, she told
me, was common with Southern Chinese ladies, women go to market primarily
to buy weird, disgusting shit to eat and/or rub on their face, so as
to remain ageless and unmarked by time.
Here, seafood does double-duty as medicine / beauty product, and
ladies will eat and drink the most unusual of ingredients (birds' nests,
for instance), so long as they contain the necessary proteins to help
them remain beautiful forever. Having already purchased a 'dessert' aimed
at the ladies (containing aloe and other herbal remedies) myself, a concoction
which my roommate
explained was not meant to taste good, I was just as happy to
skip the ladies' market altogether. My roommate assured me that there
wasn't some super-secret saucy lingerie section at the heart of it, so
whatever madness they were cooking up in there, they were
welcome to it.
As it turned out, the sexy lingerie was actually in the Mens' market,
anyway.
The day was quite an adventure of city-wandering, and I took full advantage
of having someone along who knew the city to give full reign to my explorer's
spirit. Whenever I would wander off toward an alley of some sort, she
would either compliment my good eye for bargains, and tell me that some
new wonder awaited beyond, or she would stop me and point out in hushed
tones that I should turn around and avoid looking directly at anyone.
With this kind of excellent advice, the day became an even greater success:
I was able to get the full breadth of the market experience, and come
out with both of my kidneys intact. Moreover, she even knew where the
safe places to eat were, resulting in a day that was as delicious as
it was educational.
Just about anything you can think of is on offer at these fine Hong
Kongian markets. They innovate, however, not merely in variety but in
price. Variety, after all, isn't terribly new here in this city. I don't
think there is a desire my brain is capable of framing which I won't
find sold conveniently somewhere within a 30 minute walk of my apartment.
In the markets, however, I can have it even cheaper - or purchase a
reasonable facsimile at a bare fraction of the price. Whether it's a
dinner, a lens, a live frog, a swiss watch or a backrub, you can't go
far wrong with the
deals you'll find down here.
One thing I noticed, however, is that while you're welcome to negotiate
loudly all you like, merchants will get very offended if you ask them
for prices on things. On the assumption that you will use these so-called
'official prices' to comparison-shop with other vendors, they refuse
to put price-labels on most things, and require you to signal an intent
to buy before they'll tell you.
Once you signal said intent, of course, they start on the hard sell,
and they won't be satisfied until you pay them and then walk away with
the item you want. One of them helpfully suggested that they were simply
cutting out the middleman, for your convenience: "You get one price
here, then maybe get another price over the street, you compare, you
walk around - so much of hassle. Is why, here, we are not display all
the prices. You want buy, we give you BEST price. Save the trouble. Simple
as that, understand?"
While it's hard to argue with the BEST price, there's always a better
price, and a couple little tidbits I learned today might help you out
if ever you need to pick up a choice item in a street market.
Firstly, these merchants are allergic to letting a customer walk away
- particuarly a foolish westerner who doesn't know the value of his moneys.
Once you've watched them work a couple of times, it's easy enough to
see what these merchants are doing. Initially, they are suggesting items
largely to discover the price-bracket in which you are interested in
buying. Once they're reasonably sure of this, they'll offer you a product
in that bracket, all the while trying to inflate the ballpark figure
through the careful administration of helpful, but ever more expensive
product-suggestions and trade-ups in line with your apparent desire.
The catch is this: if you allow them to drag you toward a higher purchase,
then question the competitiveness of their prices, start to walk away
(to go compare prices), and then ask them again for a lower-priced item
(seemingly as an afterthought), they will typically drop the value on
that item significantly (as a loss-leader, though I doubt they make an
actual loss), so as to attract you towards buying the more expensive
item (unless of course it's a trade-up). If you play your cards right,
working out the merchant's "script" can allow you to short-circuit
the process by playing it out to where it's most beneficial for you,
and then mercilessly cutting it off as the advantage goes back to them.
Secondly, merchants have developed their script from long experience,
and are resistant to change in the process. If you manage to rattle them,
however, they won't know how to react, and you can pick up a great bargain
if you're lucky.
The best way I have found of doing this, I discovered inadvertently. See,
most merchants here speak a little English and a lot of Mandarin, but their
main language is Cantonese, and this is how they're used to doing most of their
negotiating. If you happen to have a handy roommate along who speaks Mandarin,
and present yourself (the ignorant English-speaking foreigner) as the buyer,
it's possible to give even the most canny of merchants a run for their money.
As an unreasonable, irritating foreigner type with altogether too many banknotes
in his wallet, it will be easy for you to frustrate the merchant, as they attempt
to bargain with you and you understand next to nothing of what they say, and/or
deliberately misinterpret things when they happen to suit you. If, at this
point, you begin to use your Mandarin-speaking friend as an interpreter, turning
every bargaining exchange into an endless game of (quite literally)
Chinese whispers, you can sometimes put the merchant off their game sufficiently
to have them give up on getting a bit more cash out of you, and agree to some
pretty ridiculous prices.
Be well warned, however. Trying to replicate these tricks (or develop them
over the course of a day) may very well leave a few moths and a ball of lint
in your wallet, where about a thousand bucks were sitting earlier that morning.
To round out this fine day of marketeering, I took my roommate's advice
on a part of the market-visiting experience that could not be missed
at any cost. That, she said, was to eat in a food-market.
Now, the term 'food-market' conjures up images of some kind of vast
open space teeming with fresh produce. Far from it, however, an actual
food-market in Hong Kong is much like any of the other markets: an unlicensed
expanse of squatters with stalls, peddling whatever they like in the
middle of the street.
Turns out, therefore, that what she really meant was that you haven't
really had the full market experience until you've had to shuffle your
table out of the way a few times to allow a large truck to drive directly
through your restaurant. Luckily for me, it is an experience that's rather
hard to avoid. See, the other advantage of such restaurants
(for the operators) is that walking along the street is tantamount to
stepping into
their eating establishment. As such, you might be wandering around a
corner in a dingy alley, only to be blinded by a glowing neon crab and
- in your daze - accosted by a scruffy-looking dude in an apron who says
"table for two?" while hustling you toward
one,
wiping it down with the other hand, then doling out the menus and
overriding your objections by asking what you would like to drink.
At this point, you have the option of trying to explain that you were
just walking along the street looking for an outboard
motor (yes, they have them!), or just going along with this charade and
saying "Coke".
Well,
I mean, you
can say whatever drink you want, but they don't speak a lot of English,
so... chances
are they're bringing you a Coke.
Remarkably, however, the food in these markets is actually quite delicious.
I had yet another strange new taste that night in the form of seafood
with a side of what I believe were super-spicy barnacles (perhaps scraped
off the very hull of whatever ship caught the fish we had with them).
None of the food was exactly the kind of thing I might consider eating
if left to myself, but I couldn't deny that they fried up a pretty darn
juicy little barnacle.
Overall, it was a fitting way to spend my last few Hong Kong dollars
before staggering home with an entirely new suit of clothes, a lens
cleaning kit, some weird Chinese trinkets, a big red silk wall-scroll,
a stamp with my Chinese name (Li-Bu?), a fake Swiss Navy watch, some
batteries and duct tape, a new iPod Touch (for my research...),
and nothing
but air in my wallet.
The
next day, Ashnil decided that he had spent enough time at uni for the
week (by his weird reckoning), so the two of us headed out together to
see the sights.
Foremost on our list for today was Lamma island. Famous for beautiful
views of Hong Kong's natural environment, a wide variety of wondrous
sea creatures to marvel at (and then eat), and some of the more... 'uninhibited'
beaches in the general area, Lamma island promised to be a rewarding
sort of place to go and take some photoes. (I made sure to pack my zoom
lens, just in case the beaches part was true.)
This trip started with a shorter trip, to the Central docks of Hong Kong,
where we would embark upon our island journey. Here, just outside Central
station, I cheerfully took some pictures of the colourful impromptu markets
(to the locals' apparent disdain), before realising that this wasn't
some kind of street market, but a large gathering of refugees. People
weren't buying or selling, they were donating their old things... Tucking
my camera aside, I quickly scurried away.
Hong Kong's ferries are highly convenient and, like everything else,
can be paid for just by swiping your fancy-pants wireless Octopus Card
(a sneaky incitement to lose track of spending if ever I saw one). With
next to no wait times (in part because of Ash's anal need to plan everything
down to the minute), we were quickly on our way.
The uniformly filthy windows of the ferry made it difficult to get a
good photographic record of our journey, but I assure you that the sight
of Hong Kong by sea, and the opportunity to pass through part of it's
shipping fleet was rather enjoyable. I got a lot of pics of some fancy
Chinese-type ships, but not a lot of them came out all that well, since
my fastidious nightly ritual of cleaning my lenses does very little for
the final grimy-ferry-porthole lens I was shooting through.
Arrival on Lamma island was a remarkably cheerful affair. In anticipation
of our arrival, someone had had the foresight to put up some lovely coloured
flags, and scrawl happy things like "Welcome to Lamma" and "All
you need is love" on various surfaces in all the colours of the rainbow. The
views as we arrived were quite spectacular: typical tropical island sorta
stuff, with a strong cultural influence: net-casting fishermen in small,
shallow boats and more adventurous types in dangerously swaying
barges all scattered every which way, while tenements not unlike those
in our Home Sweet Slum dotted the hillside.
It's quite odd, really, to see run-down apartment blocks with their
washing hung out to dry in the kinds of beautiful locations one might
otherwise expect to find a millionnaire's opulent mansion, hidden bat
cave or yacht. People here lived a simple sort of lifestyle, and although
my grandpa has already complained of my video-game references, I should
nevertheless add that the bustling back-and-forth of townspeople in the
village we entered reminded me quite a great deal of the single-minded
peasants in an RTS. It was easy, here, to see the progression of resources:
farmer produces rice, fisherman produces fish, foodstuffs are delivered
to restaurant, chef turns foodstuffs into spicy dishes, spicy dishes
are sold at a premium to stupid tourists, stupid tourists inject money
into economy, mayor can build a new waterwheel.
Overall, it was a lovely and understandable lifecycle that I was happy
to support with my own stupid tourist dollars.
As such, of course, Ash and I began our day of touring by sitting down
in one of the many local restaurants and beginning the worthwhile process
of marveling at, photographing and eating the local marine life. Despite
the price-tag (which would've let the mayor build a few birdbaths or
a statue at least) I heartily tucked into a heaping helping of fresh
curried crab (amusingly, the waiter who delivered it,
despite not speaking English
per se, expressed his approval of my choice through a cartoonish "YUMMY
YUMMY" gesture).
As we ate, however, the Sea God expressed his anger at our devouring
his delicious creations. Rain began to patter down - at first gently,
and then more insistently. By the time I was done crunching the bones
of my crustacean prey, it was well and truly raining on Lamma island.
Concerned for my lovely, lovely camera (I doubted me getting rained
on personally would be much of a problem in this heat), I purchased a
big ol' umbrella before starting my tour of the rest of the island.
At first I was hesitant to take any pictures, and Ashnil and I passed
through a lot of interesting housing and irrigation before I worked up
the courage to pull out my photography equipment in the wet. Eventually,
though, I took
on a bit of a strange hunch-backed gait with my umbrella up, trying to
get a good field of view for my camera while keeping it safe from the
rain and making sure no droplets get on my lens.
With the unfortunate lighting conditions, just getting good photographs
became a bit of a problem for me, and I was forced to start shooting
in HDR. This, however, had the fine side effect of forcing me to develop
my photography technique a bit further. I do love these difficult conditions!
Nothing like it for helping you learn. Despite the foul weather, I think
I got a few
pretty good shots.
As the rain began to intensify, we considered turning back. Since it
was to be our last day for some time that wouldn't be spent working almost
24/7, though, it'd take a lot more than bad lighting and a bit of rain to
discourage me. After briefly getting lost and ending up on top of a water
reservoir, Ash and I pretty much walked the length of the island, taking
in the sights.
Overall, I've got to say that Lamma island seems a fine, simple place
to live. It's rolling, hilly country, and most of the people seem to
get around by bicycle in the narrow, awkwardly placed streets. Stores
and houses and farmland and so forth
are stepped randomly
all up the hillside. When I first read that this island would have two
large villages on it, I expected the modern equivalent: ie., basically
a tiny city. Not so, however. I was pleasantly surprised that this place
definitely maintained the character of a truly rural environment, complete
with a council of elders, people's houses all jammed together in a messy
jumble, farm equipment (and people's shoes) scattered all over the place
carelessly, wild cats, nasty dogs and other animals roaming about, forest
paths and rice paddocks, terrace homes and squatters' shanty towns on
crumbling hillsides.
Like an idealised view into the country's past, this place put me in
mind of something of an ideal old-timey Hong Kong. Cultures blended easily
here, and everyone had plenty of fish to eat. Chinese curios and Western
niceties mixed together in the stores scattered about, everyone spoke
just enough English to communicate, but still spoke it badly enough to
give you that authentic "This is weird! I'm in China!" feel.
The place was cheerfully festooned all over, people left their doors
wide-open, children played in the streets, it basically felt safe and
friendly, even in the weird back-alleys (yeah, I know, I promised not
to go into them...).
Unlike on any other such island I've been to, the human element of Lamma
made no particular effort to blend into the natural environment, or even
to be particularly presentable. It was all a bit like a shanty town,
and people wandered to and fro on their own business, ignoring us touristy-types.
Most people and places seemed to be saying: "Yeah, enjoy the natural
beauty or whatever, just don't get underfoot." Most indicative of this
whole attitude was the fact that many
of the nicest, most majestic
views on the island tended to feature a huge and unsightly power plant,
factory or reservoir of some sort... to the extent that one of the nicer
beaches we saw was pretty much a pleasant, well-tended stretch of sand
placed right at the foot of the biggest darn smokestack I'd ever seen.
Standing on the beach, your field of view was half idyllic seaside resort,
half massive industrial complex. What, no-one thought that that might
be a bad place to put it?
I mean... It's a giant power plant for Christ's sake. A coal power plant.
Position doesn't much matter... in fact, that was probably a terrible
position, from the point of view of shipping in coal. Couldn't they have,
like, stuck it out of sight somewhere, instead
of building it to loom darkly over one of their few pristine beaches?
Baffling. But certainly not the only instance.
The big ol' walking track across Lamma island turned out to be a whole
lot longer than expected, perhaps because of the raining part... or the
treacherous-cobbled-path part. Anyway, it took us a fair while to get
across the island, and by then we weren't too eager to go on the second,
twice as long, leg of the journey (in a circle around the island center).
We wandered the village at the other end for a while, peering at fish
and watching the fishermen. We then started a little ways down the path,
stopped, started again, slowed down, stopped, went back, started again,
got growled
at big
a big ol' dog, turned around, and decided to just head back to Hong Kong.
Disappointing, I know, but it was raining too hard to get good pictures,
the views all seemed to be oddly industrial, and this old guy was trying
to sell us some kind of disgusting oyster-cupcakes every darn time we
went past.
Whenever
we returned in his direction, he was sure we had come back to try an
oyster cupcake (YUMMY YUMMY!), and I wasn't sure I had the heart to go
by one more time without actually eating one (which would probably kill
me).
As such, we never did see the remainder of the island, although we may
very well return when it's more sunny. As it turns out, there's a ferry
straight to the halfway-point where we stopped our walk, so there would
be no problem picking up right where we left off, in better weather.
Maybe the big dog will be gone too... and the man with oyster cupcakes.
Overall, that seemed a much better idea for the time being. Besides,
loathe as I was to actually DO it, I actually had a great deal of work
to get on with, and despite not actually eating the oyster cupcakes I
was feeling a lot less chipper after the day's walking than I had in
my walk all over Hong Kong's markets the day before.
Besides, despite having been fooled before in Washington (where the
"Japanese Pagoda" I was going to see turned out to be a tiny-ass shinto
carving, also apparently known as a pagoda), I had been tricked yet again
on this island as the 'pagoda' advertised in the Lonely Planet guide
turned out to be an old and rather shitty Chinese-style gazebo overlooking
another
fine industrial complex by the sea. Certainly the licentious beaches
weren't likely to be the source of much fun in this kind of weather,
and who knew what the other Lonely Planet 'sights' would turn out to
be?
As such, both tired, footsore, and a little queasy, we hopped on the
ferry back to Hong Kong to get a bit of much-needed sleep.
I know it was the right decision, because I was immediately rewarded by
the Gods. When we touched down back in Hong Kong, the rain let up for
a while, it was pleasantly warm, and I discovered that the Octopus Card
also works on ice-cream trucks!
Best of all, flush with soft-serve, snoozy from walking, and having discovered
how much softer the sofa is than my bed, I rounded off the day by watching
cartoons and forgetting entirely to do any work, or write this travelogue.
So, it has become quite clear that if I don't get the info out to you guys
quickly about my trip, I start to write a lot too much, and everyone loses
interest. What with the sheer adventure involved in this Hong Kong trip, I'd
hardly want to deny us the joys of a travel-diary, so I'm going to do this
the way I did in Japan, and actually fill you folks in every day, in however
much detail I can.
Day 1 - Welcome to Hong Kong
Be it positive or otherwise, I have the singular fortune of travelling
to excitingly new locales every time I go anywhere. That’s probably a great
thing, really, since I’ve already proven to be hard to please when it comes
to repetitive rocky terrain and the like. I crave a bit of variety from
my holidays, and as such - on a purely theoretical level - Hong Kong would
seem to be a pretty darn good holiday destination for me, albeit not technically
a ‘holiday’ at the moment, and certainly not in any objective way ‘good’.
Let me hit you with some first impressions.
Despite what Ash says, the touchdown and airport experience were rather
reminiscent of Narita airport - that is, of Japan. The differences were
slight, really: the city-lights were patchier, airport staff didn’t have
that weird cheerful look, and there were no cartoon mascots telling you
what to do. In that sense, it basically seemed like Japan for boring people
- until we got to see a bit more of it and I was able to make a more apt
comparison, namely that it’s very much like a tightly-packed version of
Romania, for those who don’t rate ‘breathing’ very highly.
Although I had been prepared for it, insofar as possible, there is nothing
quite like your first experience of the Hong Kong atmosphere. It’s hard
to describe the feeling exactly, but it feels something like a sauna operator
trying to kill you. While everyone in the sauna is smoking. And your towel
is made of garbage.
As
luck would have it, however, I didn’t much get time to dwell on the matter
of what this air would do to my lifespan, since I was busy chatting with
a con-man who was trying to get Ashnil and me in his car. This guy was
so transparently not a member of the staff, that he sorta looped around
back to the positive end of the trustworthiness scale. Surely, went my
train of thought, no-one this suspicious could actually be successfully
operating a bootleg taxi operation? Probably he was just a nice guy who
would fetch us a cab, or an actual cabbie who had been on break. Ash and
I stood around for a while waiting for him to come back with a taxi for
us, before finding out that he had in fact returned some time ago, but
saw the airport security guys behind us, floored it and hooned away. Eventually,
a pockmarked security man in a Red Army looking uniform came over to pass
on some pearls of Confucian wisdom (“dey are BAD guys!”, “dey overcharge,
always!”), and lead us to the other end of the airport, where the actual
taxi-cabs were.
As it happened, the bootleggers’ operation was actually the better-maintained
of the two: whereas the private vehicles and black vans with tinted windows
which had dominated the previous section had, of course, been a touch ominous,
at least they were all looking up to code. Brand new, even. By contrast,
the actual cabs were something else entirely. After a very short wait in
line, Ashnil and I were ushered into a decrepit old red Nissan which made
the abandoned rustbucket outside my grandfather’s house in Romania (whose
wheels had long-since sunk into the tarmac, as though it had been there
so long that the concrete had FLOWED AWAY beneath it) look positively roadworthy.
Our bags were stuffed into a tiny boot crammed with offal, the lid of which
was left hanging open off its hinges, lashed down with a frayed elastic
cable. Ash and I were similarly stuffed into a seemingly Bollywood-themed
interior, and although I fully expected to sit down on wooden beads or
a small animal, the only thing on my seat was a slightly wet tissue, and
a price-list suggesting they charged extra for small animals.
And so, we set out on our journey in the sweltering heat, discovering mere
moments later that the driver had no idea where our destination was. This
started us passing around of scraps of maps and attempting to communicate
in a language he barely half-understood, whereas the driver, for his part,
began flipping through his own maps, talking, gesticulating, and leaning
back to point things out to us on the map, all the while weaving in and
out of highway traffic. This, incidentally, taught us a further truth about
this place: however much English there was on the signs and such around
here, the locals haven’t all picked up a great deal of it, to the point
where our earlier intent of simply bumbling our way through here speaking
English seems quite laughable indeed, since everyone we’ve talked to so
far has responded much more positively to mime. It also taught us not to
speak to cab drivers, particularly when their view of the road behind them
is obscured by a carving of Ganesh, a huge antenna, and the boot of their
own car.
In due course, thanks largely to Ashnil’s magic manila folder which contained
printouts of maps, addresses in both English and Chinese, and a ream of
background information besides, the cab driver stopped in a street which
might have been recently created by swinging a giant weight at some buildings
from a crane. Choked as it was with plaster, debris, and the whitewashed
interior-but-on-the-outside walls of semi-abandoned hovels, it seemed like
maybe he’d had engine trouble, since we certainly saw little around us
but the seedy, chained-shut shopfronts of dilapidated restaurants, the
pictures of their main-courses looking much like someone had brushed grease
onto a live chicken and just boiled the whole damn thing. We soon saw our
error when we spotted the words “Grand Blossom House” emblazoned proudly
on an unlit sign in an alley. That was the name of our hotel. No engine
trouble, alas: this was home.
Reluctantly, we climbed out of the taxi and deposited our (miraculously
still intact) baggage on the side of the rubble-strewn street. Thanking
the driver (and God) for our survival, we dug out a few hundred dollars
between us to pay for our fare. He took the money and drove away. No mention
was made of change.
We stood there blinking for a little in the green glare of a 7-Eleven.
Stocked and operated just like in Japan, it was the single comfortingly
familiar thing on the street. We were hungry, but despite Hong Kong’s apparently
famous nightlife and excellent restaurants, all we saw were closed storefronts
(with more hideously deformed menu items) and occasional random walkers
who avoided our eyes on the street. Pretty much on reflex, Ash and I both
ducked into the 7-Eleven and stocked up on Pocky. The walls of nearby buildings
occasionally seemed to weep stagnant water (and garbage). This reminded
us of some other advice we had gotten, and we bought a large amount of
bottled water then and there.
One thing that is true about Hong Kong, at least, is that it’s very cheap
to live in. A dollar goes a long, long way ‘round here: the prices are
just about the same as in Australia, save that here a dollar’s worth one
sixth of what it is back home. As such, just about everything is effectively
six times cheaper. As we staggered around looking for a way to enter “Grand
Blossom House” (apparently a bridal store), it heartened me to see that
whatever the surrounds I’d have to live in, at least I could pick up the
entire frozen, plucked carcass of an oily-looking duck for less than the
price of a beer back in Sydney.
Further forays into the darkness reminded me that I could also get all
kinds of injections for free, so Ash and I wisely rolled our bags into
another “Grand Blossom House” entrance, this one bathed in strong red light
and offering the “best Geriatric products”. Here, a side-entrance led into
a tiny foyer where an upset-looking guard tried to explain in Chinese that
we couldn’t stay there, and I ignored his obvious hand-gestures and increasing
frustration because there was no way in hell I was leaving his air conditioned
foyer to go back out in the furnace-like night-time streets. That, and
I was pretty sure this was the right place.
As it happened, this was so, and Ashnil managed to call down a sweet young
lady named Sunny, who immediately swept us up in a tour of the place, told
us which tiles were safe to step on, and generally outlined how we’d be
living for the month. In true Anime style, this was followed up with an
announcement that she and Ashnil would be living together, followed by
some grinning and bowing and clapping of hands. Armed with his Pocky and
thrown into the very unreal cartoon situation for which he’d studied all
these years, I figured Ashnil would be right at home, so I decided to check
out my rooms and leave him to go walk in on her in the shower, nosebleed,
get hit with a hammer, and then make her jealous by ogling his other roommate
or something, before the plot gets all surreal and adds robots.
My apartment was not much different from Ash’s, just a little bit smaller.
As such, it can be described the way most of the facilities out here could
be summed up. It was, in short, amusingly shithouse.
I won’t go into detail about the various preconceptions I had about, say,
toilet paper, mirrors you can see yourself in, personal space, etc., and
how this place went out of its way to shatter them. Rather, let it suffice
to say this was the sort of place whose appearance you would laugh at in
a comedy routine, because you don’t expect it could be real. Just imagine
looking at any standard item in your living space, and having your brain
automatically volunteer the phrase “Is this a joke?”
That’s where I live.
Needless to say, this necessitated a hasty retreat, particularly since
I was still extremely hungry. As such, I dragged Ashnil out of his apartment
and we went back out to find us a place to eat. Sticky and hot as the apartments
were, I had forgotten that the actual outdoors was worse, and as we discovered
more and more disturbingly inedible-looking food amongst the dirty alleyways,
I began to seriously consider just living off of Pocky for a while. Without
a fridge this could be complicated, but certainly manageable. Eventually,
though, we found one place that seemed to serve reasonably edible food,
and still be open. Coincidentally, it was a Japanese restaurant, and -
particularly given how everything here put us in mind of some sort of Evil
version of Japan - it was nice to step for a moment out of the heat into
a familiar location and pretend we hadn’t taken leave of our senses and
flown here instead.
As with any place where social interaction or eating might happen, it appeared
to be the polite thing to do in this restaurant to offer a visitor free
Chinese Tea. Unfortunately, politeness apparently didn’t dictate that the
tea be heated up. Having foolishly accepted it, I sipped at it occasionally,
and hoped I wouldn’t get tuberculosis. Looking around at the incomprehensible
menu items all over the walls, I retreated to the seemingly much smaller
“English menu”, and decided to just get a “multi-course dinner for one”.
Thus far, the country wasn’t thrilling me.
That said, the way to a GrubLord’s heart is through his stomach, and Hong
Kong redeemed itself mightily that night. For the price of a burger in
Newtown, I had the waitress coming back to me every few minutes, serving
up one steaming dish after another, each dish more exotic and flavourful
than the last. Eating like a king, at least, would seem to be the norm
in Hong Kong, and I can overlook any number of flaws for this amount of
chow. Ash only had one dish, and only finished half, probably unable to
eat as he distractedly traced the threads of his and Sunny’s destiny into
the third Act where she will do just about anything to be with him. As
for me, however, I had at least seven dishes and would’ve ordered more,
but the place was going to close at 1 AM so I figured we should get our
butts to bed at any rate.
This was a mistake. Although it appeared like a bed, my mattress was in
fact a concrete slab. Further, the blankets seemed pointless in the stifling
heat, and the blinds that would keep the sun from waking me seemed to have
been sticky-taped back together after a man had been hurled from the window,
their uneven slats doing nothing to stop what would be direct sun on my
face in the morning. After briefly considering the floor UNDER the bed
as a potential improvement (since at least it’d cut the light), I eventually
decided on the bed itself.
Under the rumbling death-metal bass of an ineffectual air-conditioner which
looked like it might fall on my head any minute, I closed my eyes and tried
to fool my body into thinking I was asleep, all the while making a lengthy
list in my head of items I would purchase on the morrow. Chief amongst
these were a fan for my room, one of those hats with a fan on it, more
bottled water, a few more fans for good measure, more pocky, a handheld
vacuum, a food sanitiser and of course…
Some. Goddamn. Toilet. Paper.
Day 2 - One Big Seven Eleven
No-one is likely to believe this, least of all my mother, but it just
so happens I have learned a thing or two from my mum about cleanliness.
More specifically, I cannot abide a disgusting house, and will even go
so far as to clean it. My first morning in Hong Kong, therefore, rather
than being spent out-of-doors, was surprisingly enough a frenzy of indignant
spring-cleaning. I went on to stock up on cleaning products via a lengthy
grocery trip with Ashnil, then everything that could be sponged got sponged,
most surfaces twice or more, and a great deal of crap was put into piles
and tucked well away. By the end of this transformative process, alas,
the place was still a shithole - but at least it was a relatively clean
one. Well and truly in touch with my feminine side by this point, I then
went one step further and arranged my belongings into categorical groupings
that made optimal use of space, before settling down to the burning question
of what to wear when I go out.
After slipping on a tight little number in black (read: regular jeans),
I buzzed the ol’ Ashmeister, and we set out on today’s adventure. I put
on my walkin’ boots, since today would be my favourite kind of day: an
exploration day!
There’s nothing quite so fine as wandering randomly in the streets of a
completely unfamiliar place. Sweltering hot though it was (and, as Ash
couldn’t stop pointing out, super-smoggy), Hong Kong was transformed during
the day. Where the night was all metal shutters, scattered debris, mutated
chicken carcasses, the scent of garbage and the occasional mangy cat, the
“Hung Hom” district (where we live) during the day was quite another matter.
Shutters opened to reveal a vast assortment of increasingly useless variety
stores, selling everything from sacks of nuts to massive, overelaborate
floral wreaths. Nothing says “sorry for screwing your best friend” quite
like an artistic arrangement of flowers the size of a car. We walked and
we walked and we didn’t stop, however: there were only two days to get
explorin’ before we had to start work, and we were set on making the best
use of them. After the sheer amount of practice we’ve had lately in covering
whole cities on foot, walking a whole day without rest was well within
our capabilities. By the end of the day, however, I literally had to scrape
my feet with a pumice stone to get the pieces of my socks out of my skin.
Incidentally, damn but the Chinese love their 7-Eleven! I cannot tell you
how many 7-Eleven stores we passed today. The further we got out of the
slums in which we lived, the nicer Hong Kong city started to look - but
there was one universal constant, and that was the omnipresent 7-Eleven.
Some marketing survey must’ve indicated that most people would only take
up to 15 steps to go find a 7-Eleven, or else give up, since that’s literally
how far apart a goodly number of them were. Why you would ever put a 7-Eleven
within eyeshot of another one? Who knows, but the fact remains: if you
want a stale, shrink-wrapped sandwich, some crackers or instant noodles
at any time of day, chances are great that just 15 footsteps will get you
to a 7-Eleven.
Hallelujah!
Without recourse to such convenience stores, I nevertheless managed to
spend no more than five dollars on lunch today, and receive a two-course
meal and a drink. How, you ask? I tried a new restaurant, of course! For
the first time, I tried the “Sichuan” flavour of Chinese cuisine, and I
found it very much to my liking. As the only English-speaker in the restaurant
informed me when he saw me trying to guess at menu items, Sichuan cuisine
is incredibly hot. Not only that, the powerful blend of flavours is anything
but subtle, incorporating a whole lot of chillies, garlic, ginger, nuts,
other herbs, soy and some kind of sour stuff. This results in a party in
my mouth to which all kinds of chicken, pork and noodles are invited. It
came with the establishment’s signature lemon tea, which was likewise delicious,
if a little … black. The ever-present Chinese tea, incidentally, was once
again lukewarm-to-cold. Does no-one heat this stuff up? The Sichuan food,
however, absolutely gets my thumbs up - particularly at these prices!
After lunch, Ash and I tried out the railways of Hong Kong. Fortunately,
Hong Kong’s rail system is far less backwards than Australia’s, and incorporates
the same rechargeable radio-tagged fare-card system that’s used in Japan.
In place of the Suica card, they have the Octopus. As we rapidly discovered,
however, having charged our cards the way we did back in Japan (where every
swipe of the card made me cringe for my precious bank balance), we seemed
to have greatly overestimated how much the actual transit would cost. See,
as luck would have it, Hong Kong’s rail system costs many times less than
ours in Australia (even though it’s so much nicer), meaning that after
we’d charged our train-cards with a few hundred bucks, the couple of trips
we made today cost us just about fifty cents each. Luckily, you can also
buy drinks with these train cards. See, otherwise I would feel like a fool.
Our day of exploring led us to our ultimate destination: the Hong Kong
Lantern Carnival, held in celebration of the 60-year anniversary of the
People’s Republic of China. This was quite an event, featuring a great
many traditional handmade lanterns in fanciful shapes, including dragons
and peacocks and lightning and clouds and so on. There were big lamps,
small lamps, red lamps, gold lamps. The place was thick with people, all
watching the various bits of fabulous entertainment. There were stages
and traditional theatrical performances (ie. wailing women with painted
faces), puppet theatres, food stands, etc., and a huge area for people
to set up camp in, where hundreds of families were picnicking beneath the
stars. A lot of people wore glowsticks and such, whereas others carried
lanterns and food and camera equipment.
Ash and I were distinctly in the camera equipment group, and for the better
part of the day we had been discussing photographic techniques. This came
to a head here in the festival crowd, as Ash indulged in some of his patented
‘shooting from the hip’ (read: stalking), and I tried to improve my photography
skills for real, shooting almost exclusively in manual mode, and setting
up my shutter speed, aperture, zoom, ISO, etc. To try to get the effects
I was after with each individual shot. Both Ash and I managed to get some
rather good shots, and I think I learned more about photography tonight
than I picked up in several weeks of classes.
We actually tried to get some shots of ourselves in this environment, too, for once - not something we're typically all that into doing, but one thing about taking photoes involving lanterns at night is that the lanterns pretty much take up the whole shot, leaving the person as a shadowy outline. This doesn't impact Ashnil's looks terribly much, but most people wouldn't recognise me, and using a flash in the darkness just ruins the image. This, alas, was the one photography challenge we never did manage to solve - since HDR only really works with non-moving subjects (or at least a tripod), I have no idea what to do in that situation. Perhaps an NWTJ-ite with more of the skillz could help me out?
Once we were done with the festival, and had wandered the picnic grounds,
etc., Ash and I put on some speed and jumped on a train to the next part
of the festival. This took us about twenty minutes of jostling our way
through crowds, and had the humorous result of delivering us a few hundred
meters away from where we’d started (oops!) - at which point we had to
walk back the way we came, to go see Puff the Magic Dragon.
Puff (although this wasn’t the name THEY gave him) was quite a fine sort
of dragon: essentially a full-length Chinese Festival Dragon of the sort
that danced to drumbeats, etc., except that it was made 100%, top-to-toe,
of big fat sticks of burning incense. A fiery, glowing red, breathing a
great deal of smoke, and making the whole damn district smell authentically
Buddhist, Puff was quite the attraction, drawing people from far and wide,
and making the dragon himself just about unapproachable, even though the
performance actually went for about three hours.
For tonight only, Puff
was as popular as 7-Eleven.
Ash and I rounded out our day of adventuring by stopping for some chow
on our way back, this time in an upscale café with lovely leather seats.
They sold a hearty sort of Japanese-Chinese fusion cuisine, but the deal-maker
here was a cocktail of sorts: what appears to be a gradient fruit-juice,
green-to-yellow, with a green apple flavour. Rather than using a complicated
mix of ingredients and skill, this was achieved with small yellow stars
made of jelly, which settle to the bottom, providing the illusion of a
gradient. Of course, there’s also the fact that Green Apple is delicious,
which should not be overlooked.
I actually had another Green Apple flavoured drink on the way back (they're addictive!), which led me to discover yet another fine chinese idea that someone should definitely move over to our country: the super drink-sealer! Instead of giving you some crappy polarcup dome thingamy to clip to your drink, which will just leak out the top or fall off or get shit all over you at the earliest opportunity, the Chinese version of ensuring your drink doesn't spill is an awesome plastic vacuum-seal thingamy that just gets insta-welded to your cup, and results in a drink that literally cannot spill. This plastic membrane is easily punctured with the sharp end of a straw, and thus does not impede your drinking. Genius! If that Green Apple drink hadn't comparatively tasted like crap compared to the café's one, I would give these guys a medal. As it happens, though, street vendors aren't quite at the same level - alas. There wasn't even jelly!
Finally, after a good deal more walking, we made it back to the slums where we lived.
For the first time, we entered the area without the scent of garbage assaulting
our nostrils. I took this for a good sign.
When I got home, however, I found out that I was no longer alone in my
apartment. It started with an eery feeling when I entered, about having
not flipped one of the switches myself (some times I am observant!), and
ended with an awkward encounter regarding first introductions, what I was
doing there, and why I’d used her body-sponge to clean the toilet.
Those pleasantries aside, with my feet exfoliated down to well-worn nubs,
I headed to bed… choosing precisely the moment of lying down, prompted
by the usual discomforts, to pick up my pillow and turn it over for the
first time to try the other side.
On the back of the pillow, ineffectually scrubbed at, was a clearly visible
red stain. It had gone dark, like a horrible bloodstain left to clot. My
eyes flicked back to my blinds, with their impression of a human body crashing
against the window.
I’m still alive and unsyringed, but for how long?
2 days and counting.
Day 3 - City With Two Faces
It’s hard to say what I like most about Hong Kong, because it’s hard to
say what I like about Hong Kong. In truth, I wouldn’t want to live here
- but precisely because my stay is so temporary, I can enjoy it in ways
that would hardly even occur to me if this were a more permanent arrangement.
See, my parents have been somewhat aghast at the state of the place, as
described in my missives (and actually, it’s worse!), but that’s just it:
as someone who enjoys new experiences most of all, and who will only be
here for a month, I am in fact very much enjoying all of this.
Allow me to furnish an example. This morning when I flushed my toilet,
it made a strange gurgling, slurping noise, and proceeded to slosh the
contents of its cistern all over the bathroom floor. Now, typically, this
kind of behaviour from a toilet would offend me. Here, however, it is a
part of the local colour. Perhaps that’s just how toilets are in Hong Kong?
Who knows, right? The point is it’s all temporary, and given the rate at
which water dries up in the obscene heat, this episode did little more
than yield a bemused expression from me, and fuel a paragraph of my travelogue.
As such, perhaps you can appreciate why slumming it like this doesn’t much
worry me.
I suppose what I'm saying is, you don't go ice-skating to complain about
the cold. Further, if you go on an adventure holiday and contract ebola
from hippies, well, it's your own damn fault innit? No-one needs to hear
you whine about it later. Besides, what’s a bit of comical discomfort
against the joys of an alien culture?
Particularly when I
get to write about it!
With reference to said alien culture, I should note that gigantic flower
wreaths (apparently big business here in bum town) are not the only kind
of incredibly large decorations favoured here. In particular, the following
heart-shaped arrangement of chocolates (or just silver-wrapped balls of
some sort?) and Hell money really stood out in my mind. Particularly since
the purpose of Hell money is being burnt, it seems a waste to fashion a
big ol’ stupid love-heart out of it, but what gets me is the fact that
said love-heart seems a bit inconsistent in sentiment with its component
parts. See, I’ve never much understood the Chinese concept of Hell Money.
I mean, it’s simple enough in theory: burn these crazy-ass Hell-issue banknotes,
and you’ll have ‘em to spend when you get down there. Presumably, as money
is the root of all evil, it’d be strange to give out Heaven money… but
isn’t it a bit fatalistic to stock up on petty cash for your trip to Hell?
What with inflation and all, it’s hardly going to be worth much when you
get there, and more importantly it seems to make a pretty big assumption
about the state of your soul. In a country where it’s incredibly rude just
to refuse a cup of god-awful lukewarm Chinese Tea, it seems a bit incongruous
for people to so readily be gifting one another banknotes that communicate
one’s belief that the recipient is due for a lengthy stay in Purgatory,
and might need a few bucks for Sichuan Chicken.
But, hey, it’s the slums. Maybe that’s the best afterlife one can hope
for in this district. Buy enough giant Hell money love-hearts before the
syringe-stabbings claim you, and you’ll be living it up on Beazelbub Avenue,
whispering to the other damned souls that the ‘infernal heat’ isn’t such
a big deal, really, and the toilets actually work better than back home.
Be that as it may, though, Ash and I didn’t wait to find out. We had lookouts
to visit, and although we correctly presumed that even a lookout wouldn’t
help us to peer through the ever-present smog, nevertheless it was worth
going to see ‘em.
Today was our last day free of the 10-hour Chinese workathon, and we decided
to head deep into the city’s heart, to see the truly touristy sections
of Hong Kong, and spend a lot of money. As it happens, the entirety of
the Hong Kong apparatus is geared towards just that: funnelling you through
an incessant array of exotic market areas and shopping centres even as
you believe you are traversing areas representative of life in and the
history of this bustling cross-cultural metropolis.
Given where we lived and all, it was pretty obvious to Ash and I that this
incredibly prosperous inner-city section was transparently not the ‘real’
Hong Kong, but I can see how a tourist in a tour group might get the impression
that Hong Kong was all beautiful gardens, breathtaking architecture, decadent
luxury and high technology. In short, the entirety of the city’s centre,
home to the rich and the famous, and all of the regions tourists would
gather in between there and the airport, are incredibly nice. I mean it,
it’s just beautiful. Palm trees, markets, colours, vibrance, people, trams,
fountains, 3rd-largest-tower-in-the-world, wax replicas of Jackie Chan,
the works really. Having only passed through this area underground, previously,
on our way to the festival, we got to see some very awesome stuff at this
point.
Some of the side-streets here in the centre are beautiful, but one place
I should make a special mention of is Hong Kong park: a fantastic garden
area in the middle of the city with its own giant birdwatching aviary,
a big ol’ lookout tower, Chinese lanterns, an artificial waterfall, all
sorts of cultural touches, a museum, a tribute to the China olympics, and
an art centre. It was a fantastic spot, and we’ll probably be heading back
some time later to check it out in full.
Today, though, we were on the clock, and Ash had an important master-plan
for our sightseeing which did not brook delays! Awash in the city we never
truly knew, Ashnil and I eagerly rushed to the famous “45-degree tram”
for the full Hong Kong experience, and then… well, stood in line under
the harsh tropical sun for over an hour. The tram we were waiting for is
basically a touristic main attraction, incredibly popular largely because
it appears first on the list of ‘things to see in Hong Kong’ that they
give you at the airport. The tram starts in the center of the city, and
lurches steeply upward just about as soon as it exits the station, giving
you - quite literally - a whole new angle on the landmarks of the city,
as you are dragged all the way up the tallest hill in the region, skyscrapers
and greenery going by on all sides. Not a lengthy trip, but a fun one,
the 45-degree tram (as it’s known) deposits you in a shopping mecca for
foreigners, featuring just about every tacky Chinariffic item you can think
of, and a fair few more that you probably can’t. Beyond that, choked with
further tourist shops and advertisements for other attractions, lies a
scenic lookout which will cost you a couple of days’ lunch and dinner costs
in our area to go up and see. Knowing that, if I played my cards right,
I could get fifty platters of delicious local yummies for the price of
admission made me rather more reluctant to go up there, but really this
whole area had a whole ‘nother conception of the value of the Hong Kong
dollar. Speaking of which, the area just beyond said lookout was basically
a gigantic indoor shopping town, selling extremely pricey trinkets to the
foolish tourist masses. There was really nothing much else up there but
shops. Why mess with what works, right?
The lookout was nice, and we got some great pictures. I especially enjoyed
my lovely new telephoto lens at the top there, since it pretty much doubled
as a telescope. The view didn’t last us all that long, however, and beyond
that there was little else to do but shop. And shop we did! I think I can
safely say that the amount we spent today will never be repeated on this
trip. It was, simply put, quite excessive. We stocked up, first and foremost,
on the essentials: tacky tourist goods to use as props when we tell the
rest of our travel stories to friends and family back in Australia. I don’t
know what I’m going to do with an authentic silk scroll depicting Chinese
bamboo, but would I really want to let a bargain like that pass me by just
‘cause it’s utterly useless? Well of course not!
The situation was exacerbated, however, when the shops started to get more
expensive and brand-name. Why, having already purchased a collection of
fine clothing items in Canada from the locally super-popular fashion labels
“Roots” and “Dickies”, how could I pass up the chance to add to my designer
collection with such classy Hong Kong approved labels as “Wankos” and “Le
Coq Sportif”? It’s a miracle I didn’t blow my whole budget right there,
but despite the temptation I didn’t want to get shafted by the tourist
pricing, so I decided to take advantage of the stiffer competition in other
districts (such as Mong Kok).
… PENIS! …
Oh, sorry, that just slipped out.
Anyways, this was just about the end of today’s little adventure, however.
With the horror of a typical Chinese workday fast approaching, Ash and
I decided to fortify ourselves with extra sleep, and as such had to curtail
our shopping pleasures. Not that we would’ve stuck around anyway: oddly
enough, the deeper you got into the ol’ shopping in Hong Kong, the more
it started to feel like Japan or the US, anyways - not merely in the shopping
culture and all that, but in the pricing! There’s little point trying to
bargain-shop in an area where being fleeced is the norm, and nothing much
even feels like the place you’re ostensibly getting a souvenir for. Surrounded
by European, US and Japanese stores, only the occasional Hong Kong or China
flag reminded us of where we actually were. That said, the Japanese influence
did cap off an excellent day’s exploring, when Ash - having only recently
mentioned that ‘if English weren’t the official second language, Japanese
would be’ - convinced me of his argument by pointing out something I had
never expected to see here in Hong Kong.
There, on the highest hill in Hong Kong, in the big ol’ souvenir shopping
centre, was an instance of Harajuku’s finest dessert store, the source
of my delectations as far back as Tokyo Tower, and my favourite of Japanese
delights: Marion’s Crepes!
Never mind the price, for which I could probably have eaten a whole dog
back in our district, I immediately rushed over and devoured the biggest
darn Crepe I could find. Strawberries, vanilla ice cream, whipped cream,
cheesecake, pancake and jam created a fusion of deliciousness that perfectly
capped off the day. Why, so delicious was this crepe, that it made me skip
the whole part of today’s travelogue about standing in line to get back
down the hill, eating a yum-cha-style dinner and getting poisoned by the
local cuisine. Lost in the warm afterglow of all of those strawberries,
these memories were rendered entirely inconsequential, and rather than
write the corresponding paragraphs, Liviu went straight to sleep.
Good night.
Day 4 - Turning Chi-a-nese-a
Woke up early this morning, to another vaguely humorous nightmare. I’m
not sure what it is about Hong Kong, but whereas I typically don’t much
dream at all, in this country I have been having bizarre dreams every night,
each time involving one of my friends in a weird way. Last night, Elo was
trying to bludgeon me to death with a cudgel. Tonight, Ethistan and I created
a theme-park with a Pacman theme, where Muslim women played the parts of
ghosts. I’m pretty sure Pacman was played by an Indy-Jones-style rolling
boulder.
I can’t wait to see what my other friends will be up to in my dreams. Unless,
of course, these dreams are a symptom of the smog damaging my brain. But
hey, whatever the case, I’m not dead yet - meaning I’ve lasted at least
3 days. Eat your heart out, smog and syringes!
Bouyed up as I was with my apparent invincibility, I decided to really
challenge myself today, and pursue the reputedly soul-crushing labour that
is: a typical Chinese Workday! (Dun dun dun!) And, not satisfied with what
would already be a shock to my lazy-ass system, I would be doing it at
Hong Kong Polytechnic University. Uniquely
positioned between the
Gun Club Barracks and the Perpetual Funeral Parlor, this seemed like a
heck of a place to up the ante. After all, I gotta get good odds for all
those office tipsters betting on the day of my demise.
Hong Kong Polytechnic straddles the thin red line between Hong Kong’s
arsehole (where the regular folk live), and the land of milk and honey
(where they shop). Here, mere blocks away from an object lesson in garbage
disposal, quite suddenly everything turns sexy and modern, everyone speaks
English, and there isn’t a speck of dust anywhere in sight.
It is, quite simply, unbelievable. Beyond the mystic boundary that separates
the Hallowed Ground of the university from everything else, unpleasantness
just doesn’t exist. A legion of green-clad worker-bees stalk the premises,
picking up garbage, trimming the lawns, straightening the signs, polishing
the banisters, disinfecting the buttons on the lifts once an hour, fixing
breakages, brewing coffee and tea, even following behind people with mops
to ensure nothing gets footprints on it. The result, of course, could well
be the most orderly, cleanly, well-organised place I’ve ever seen.
However,
despite this eccentricity, certainly the most shocking thing since Soylent
Green is something I learned today. Namely: the Chinese are People!
Given what one hears about Chinese folks, particularly when one is a PhD
student who constantly gets compared to the biggest nerds amongst them,
it’s quite a heartening thing to find out that the real people behind the
looming spectre of your inadequacy are not quite so one-dimensional (or
socially awkward) as they are represented. While it is true that they work
extremely long hours, seem to have very few hobbies, and just generally
have pretty whacked-out priorities in their life from where I’m standing,
the Chinese overachievers I was introduced to today were all (perhaps unexpectedly)
very friendly, awesome people, and people I wouldn’t be that much averse
to swapping places with for a while.
To give just one example, I must return briefly to the topic of Ash’s roommate,
the inimitable Sunny. Given that she was still at work at 10 pm on a Sunday,
just yesterday, I think we can agree that she fits the stereotype of a
Chinese overachiever rather handily; but you would be far off if you were
to think that this describes her. A prime example of breaking the stereotype,
this girl is far from an overworked, stressed-out mess. In fact, Sunny
may aptly be the sunniest person I have ever met. I can’t fathom where
she gets so much good cheer, but frankly it makes me a little jealous.
I don’t think I’ve ever met someone before who is just so happy all the
time that she makes everyone around her happier as a result. Accustomed
as I am to the company of cynics and jerks, her infectious good cheer is
an unfamiliar stimulus that makes me crazy and suspicious.
Earlier today, a small group of us were standing around having an incredibly
boring conversation, and I was startled to find I was enjoying myself.
Grinning like a fool as I discussed filling out administrative forms and
submitting them, I had some part of my brain suddenly ‘click’ on and start
to analyse the situation. Why would I enjoy pointless office-work? I despise
pointless office-work! My eyes flicked to Sunny. "It’s YOU," came a voice
in my head. "YOU’RE doing this…" Innocently, she smiled at me, and we laughed
together at some inane comment. I signed a form with a flourish, quite
cheerfully. "HOW are you doing this?!"
I couldn’t work out why, but for a little while longer, just doing paperwork
made me happy. It wigged me out. The next time Sunny handed me a document,
I reached out to take it, and a voice in my head went "No, don’t take it!"
I took it anyway. But I watched her carefully for any sudden moves. "I’m
on to you, witch…"
However, it really wasn’t just her. Sure, the culture around here encourages
a lot of self-sacrifice and incredibly long work-hours… but it would seem
that somewhere along the way, people decided that if work was going to
be such a major part of your life, you might as well enjoy it. People here
have nice, ergonomic chairs, and the workspaces are amazingly quiet and
pleasant. The temperature is just right, the rooms are colour co-ordinated,
people clean up after you, the coffee machine is super-fancy and always
well-stocked, you can get very high-quality tea just by putting a little
capsule into a machine (ooh!), people can customise their workspace as
much as they like, and have sofas and TVs to relax with if they want to…
I’ve seen folks playing World of Warcraft, watching movies, reading magazines,
etc. The grounds are beautiful, and people go for a stroll or go have cheap
delicious meals whenever they want.
What’s anyone going to say, after all? They’re here constantly, working
day and night, so what right does anyone have to object to them doing a
spot of World of Warcraft or reading when the mood strikes them?
I hate to say it, since my bosses may eventually read this, but I’m actually
quite taken with the whole idea. Unlike in Australia, where you feel like
a criminal just for answering a personal mail on ‘company time’, and you
have to minimize MSN Messenger every time a co-worker walks by (even if
you’re talking to your supervisor overseas!), here in Hong Kong people
take it a little easier in the minute-by-minute, even if (perhaps because)
they work a few more hours in the day.
Ash and I both found ourselves working from about 8:30 am to 9 pm at night
without even really noticing or worrying about it. In fact, today may have
been one of the most focused, productive periods of work that I’ve had
this entire year… and it is only the first of many! Perhaps the enjoyment
won’t last, and the tedium will return, but for now at least, I find myself
able to focus on my work here at uni just as well as (if not better than)
I do when working from home, which isn’t something I have ever been able
to do back in Australia, where a day spent at uni is typically a day mostly
written off from actual effective work.
It is a little weird to get up to go home at 9:15 pm and realise that you
have grown the beginnings of a beard in just the time you’ve been at uni…
but overall, this could be just the boost my research needs to get some
big tasks finished. And if the feeling doesn’t last, I could always get
Ash to hunt for Sunny’s stash of happy pills.
Copyright
Notice: NWTJ is copyright, as when you write copy you have the right
to copyright the copy you write, if the copy is right. If however, your copy
falls over, you must right your copy. If you write religious services you
write rite, and have the right to copyright the rite you write. Very conservative
people write right copy, and have the right to copyright the right copy they
write. A right wing cleric would write right rite, and has the right to copyright
the right rite he has the right to write. His editor has the job of making
the right rite copy right before the copyright can be right. Should Jim Wright
decide to write right rite, then Wright would write right rite, which Wright
has the right to copyright. Duplicating that rite would mean you copy Wright\'s
right rite, and violate copyright, which Wright would have the right to right.
Right? Right.