The quest for Kung Fu

The geography of Hong Kong is amazing. The city has leapt up among tall, steep hills covered in now-regenerating forest. The buildings echo the shape of the hills. Massive concrete high-rises – I estimate forty, fifty stories the norm. The up-side is a compact city - the human and wild seem very close here.

The city of Hong Kong covers a peninsula and a small archipelago. This means the water is a very important route of transport. The thin strait of Victoria harbour, (between Kowloon and Hong Kong Island), is turbulent with activity. Dozens of ferries, tub-like wooden fishing boats and even floating cranes chug through. Despite the human activity, the harbour does not seem devoid of other life. Egrets and birds of prey are common, and one fisherman is pulling up a net by the busiest commercial area. Bags not eating the fish though.

The scale of the port is simply staggering. If you take the bus from the airport you speed past it on the motorway. It still takes about five minutes to pass. Gargantuan cranes, shipping containers packed in lots two wide, four high, five long. I estimate about 50,000 containers on the docks, filled with who knows what – DVD players, shoes, rice, sofas. Still more containers out there on the harbour, sitting on the decks of floating cranes (some as large as small container ships) that lurk silently in the harbour. Sea trade is where it is at.

The smell of Hong-Kong: a delicious mix of Chinese restaurant, tropical jungle, and rubbish dump. The smell will linger on the clothes I have washed at a laundry there.

One of my ‘goals’ in HK is to see some martial arts. Kung fu is hard to find. Banners with Jackie Chan’s face, the statue of Bruce Lee on the tacky ‘avenue of the stars’. In the evening I ask at the ‘cultural centre’ about kung fu movies. ‘Oh, Chinese kung fu? People don’t like anymore.’ I mention the Bruce Lee statue just across the road. She sees my point, but makes it clear that I’m probably not going to walk into a picture theatre somewhere and see some kung fu. I’m puzzled. Come to think of it though, Jackie Chan’s image had been advertising a western style gym.

Tai Chi I do get to see. Hooray! During my brief stay I come across the classic image of a bunch of locals practicing after work in a park in Hong Kong Island. But even more inspiring is the couple practicing ‘push hands’ (a sort of slow motion combat) back in Kowloon in the evening. Powerful grace.

I depart from Hong Kong Airport, with its architecture reminiscent of a hangar and huge windows that look out to the mainland and mountainous Lantau Island. I feel sad leaving this place. The next step will be much further away in space, much closer in culture: Great Britain.

show you have a loving heart...

The double decker bus is nearing my stop on Hong Kong's Nathan Road in the Tsim Tsa Shui district of Mainland Hong Kong. I'm feeling a little trepidation. The last time I visited a city more foreign than Auckland was eleven years ago, and then I was under wings of the parental variety. (one pair of those set of wings managed to get themselves mugged, but that's another story).

The door hisses as it opens and immediately twenty or so faces, Chinese and Indian, are staring at me, they are shouting. My heart skips a beat. What could I have done wrong? I look again. They are holding up business card-sized bits of cardboard. Oh. They are business cards. They are asking me to patronise their guesthouses. Right-ho. Bewildered (the Kiwi version of hard sell is a slight raising of the eyebrows) I pick one (or did it pick me?) and stumble towards the auspiciously named "Fortunate Guesthouse" where Mr Lee and Ms Alice give me a cupboard complete with mildew, double bed and noisy airconditioning. I love it. And I move to the Chunkging Deluxe Hotel -bit cleaner -the next night.

The amusingly ironic part is that I had picked this particular complex of guesthouses because I thought I'd be arriving after midnight and it housed the one place I had found on the web with "24hr reception". I shouldn't have worried. I'm not sure if Tsim Tsa Shui ever sleeps, maybe it has a nap or something between 4:30 am and 5.

"What is Hong Kong like?" You ask someone who has been here almost exactly 24hrs. I want to come back and stay much longer. It is fascinating and it is pleasant. People are very polite and generous - offering me tailored suits and "copy watches" in the day time and hashish and "massages" in the night time. The hashish story is quite interesting. Permit me, gentle reader, to relate.

Jet-lagged and just plain tired, I can't help just popping out for a quick stroll and a midnight snack before bed. I haven't walked twenty paces before a scrawny guy dressed in black and a gangly guy with jeans and t-shirt are in my face, offering me drugs. I freak out a bit, and, despite what the internet says, quickly decide it's a bad idea to be out here this time of night. I spin on my heel and walk back into Chunking Mansions. (the aforementioned guesthouse complex - see the centre building in the picture) The gangly guy follows, which makes me more nervous. I shake him off and then the scrawny guy is back, this time actually showing me the dark-coloured pellet and something else in a bag. I tell ya, it's worse than Cuba St. He finally gets the message, and I try walking Nathan Rd again, the other direction. Gangly guy comes back and seems a little distressed. He keeps saying "Don't worry about that other guy" As soon as I mention him that I'm not going to tell anyone what happened his face relaxes and he moves off.
I eat some greasy noodles and egg and go to sleep.

But I wasn't joking about the politeness. Hawkers are hard-core on Nathan Rd because they are banned from most other tourist areas and possibly because begging is non-existent. People who serve you are helpful and warm, strangers strike up conversations on the train (he didn't invite me to the private club he bartends at though, dammit. Even the signs (so many signs) are polite.
"Climbing sculpture can be dangerous"

or even downright cutesy

"Show you have a loving heart: offer your seat to those in need" - seen on the train.

The signs are in English, as well as Chinese script; probably one of the most obvious signs of the country's history is the ubiquity of English, spoken and written. Only one or two people I have met can't understand any. Other than that, it feels like I imagine Asia should feel. Signs of the old Colonial history (Hong Kong technically left Britain merged with China in 1997) are sparse. In my experience they have been limited to: Lizzie's face on a few old coins; the British style cenotaph "to the glorious dead" in Hong Kong central; and, most hearteningly, a passion among some for cricket (but of course!). The train guy who talked to me played cricket and we had time to share an appreciation of Shane Warne's skills. Cricket. At least they didn''t throw out that baby with the bathwater.

More on (or even from) the delightful Hong Kong later.

Blessings on ya!