Dearest Rachel -
For all that I may have written so long ago about being here, I would remember none of it had I not done so. I have certain impressions based on a re-reading of those entries, but given that it was thirty-five years (and a whole new national character, thanks to being Chinese and no longer British) ago, the place may very well be completely different. If nothing else, I'm coming at it from a very different direction, both in terms of physical location and my own character and experience. Essentially, I'm going to have to, as the old Corn Flakes slogan once put it, experience it again for the first time.
You'd think I'd be used to coach tours by now, but some of these buses just get my attention. Maybe it's the series of Chinese characters on the side, reminding me that, despite a certain amount of British heritage imbued into it, we are in a land that certain Old Testament prophets would refer to as being "deep of lip." Maybe it's just the relief of actually finding the coach after a very long walk through an enormous terminal (which stands to reason, I suppose, given that the last terminal with a long walk was the last turnaround port, Brisbane). From the theatre to the bus, my health app claimed that I'd put on about a thousand steps).
Our guide, "Patrick" (not his real name; it was given to him by his English teacher, because he was the 16th person in his class, and they were given names in alphabetical order. He jokes about how other classes in his school did the same thing, so the names Peter and Paul were already taken, "and I can't sing like Mary.") teaches us a few words in Cantonese; "jo son" meaning "good morning," "ho" meaning "good," in terms of how one feels (with repeated utterances of the syllable emphasizing it, so you can imagine what Saint Nick implies with every laugh), "do chah" meaning "thank you." For that last one, he offers the mnemonic "door-chair," with "door-chair-cabana" as a way to remember "thank you very much." Well, that last addendum wasn't his, but that's what it sounded like when he said it; I'd wager he'd have seized on it in a heartbeat if I'd told him.
He fancies himself a bit of a comedian, and, to be honest, he's reasonably good at it; if nothing else, he's able to laugh at himself and his homeland. Of particular mention, he pokes fun at the Cantonese obsession with money; when learning English, it is the word they learn for the letter, M, as opposed to monkey or whatever. He talks about the low tax rates here in Hong Kong, and the few things upon which luxury taxes are applied, particularly automobiles. "Who needs a Ferrari in Hong Kong" he asks, "in traffic like this? You'll never get out of first gear." And indeed, despite the fact that only one family in five owns a car in Hong Kong (not individuals, mind you – families), the highways are crowded with cars, none of which are moving very fast, because they can't, really. But one doesn't buy a fancy car (and pay the 120% tax on such luxuries) to drive it around at full speed; one buys it to show off how wealthy they are.
We take the funicular up to the top of Victoria Peak, but to very little avail, as the fog is so thick here that you really can't see much. Patrick jokingly welcomes us to 'London,' and on the day like today, you can certainly understand what the British saw in this place.
He does show a photo of what Hong Kong should look like on a clear day, as well as a comparison of what it looked like seventy years previous; it may not be as dramatic a change as Shenzen or Guangxiao, but the development has been impressive. I do wonder how much of it has happened since the last time I was here; certainly this funicular is something I never had a chance to ride, as it was placed in service barely a year ago.
Victoria Peak is where the filthy rich live, and as such, it's kept up well, in particular to stave off mudslides. Despite being along the Pacific 'Ring of Fire' that really, all of our destinations thus far have been to one extent or another, Hong Kong isn't susceptible to earthquakes or volcanoes, but it has its own set of natural issues to deal with, including typhoons and heavy rains at certain times of the year. Not now, thankfully (despite the still-thick cloud cover preventing us from seeing much), but between May and November, things can get pretty dicey. But you can bet that the rich folks are willing to pay to make sure that their part of the infrastructure is as sound as the Hong Kong dollar.
Patrick is telling us this as we ride down the winding roads surrounding Victoria Peak – there's no point in taking the funicular down, since we've already been there. Besides, the road offers a fairly good view of this portion or that of the city as we descend through the cloud cover.
Meanwhile, Aberdeen fishing village isn't what it used to be – or maybe it doesn't resemble the place I described, once upon a time – especially with the closure of the Jumbo floating restaurant. Evidently, it was sold to a Cambodian consortium, but was capsized en route.
Our final stop is in Stanley Market; Hong Kong's answer to Chinatown. As Patrick puts it, since everywhere in a Chinese city is Chinatown, it's essentially considered the opposite: a sort of "Caucasian Town," instead, if you will. And, to a certain extent, Stanley Plaza does have a reasonably Western feel to it, with the familiar labels and brands we would know back home. Stanley Market, not so much. The proprietors seem to be much like the typical Hong Konger, which is to say, Asian. That's fine, of course, and really, has no bearing on how colorful one finds the marketplace to be or not be, but the analogy is stretching the truth for the sake of a joke.
Anyway, that was my morning yesterday, honey. How are things by you?
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