Odd Man Out

Okay so I really suck at keeping the blog up-to-date, it’s not my fault though, I’m writing in other places now, so it’s been difficult to keep up with the blog here. That being said, this place is my baby, so I will definitely try to do better in the future.

November 21, 2006

It’s my first day in Hong Kong. The jewel of the old British Empire in the East, Hong Kong evokes romantic imagery of adventure, opium dens, Kung Fu, and exotic Asian goddesses dressed in silk and jade.

I wake up around two in the afternoon after having passed out from exhaustion the night before. I walk to my window and draw the curtains to reveal a grey sky composed of fog and pollution—it’s the new Hong Kong’s version of LA smog, only it’s deadlier.

I’m excited about what the day ahead will hold and I rush to get dressed, not wanting to miss a second of the lively city I only glimpsed the night before. I charge out of my door bursting with anticipation. “God I hope I meet some ancient Kung Fu master that will take me under his wing and teach me the lost martial arts,” I think to myself.

Downstairs in the hotel lobby I find the concierge (yes my hotel had a concierge, all my hotels had concierges, no one said you have to rough it to have adventure) and get a map of the city. Immediately I’m concerned. The map is more reminiscent of a map of Disneyland than it is of this once mystical city on the far edge of the Orient. “Really,” I think as I look at the map, “there is a huge statue of the Buddha next to Hong Kong Disneyland?” I suppress my desire to trash my fantasies and I press on.

As I walk towards the exit from my hotel I ponder the previous night’s adventures with the “Taxi driver” and decide that I will resort to the more difficult, yet honest, Hong Kong metro.

“Which way is the Metro?” I ask my doorman. (Yes the bloody hotel had doormen, all my hotels did… like I said, you don’t have to stay at a 1 star hotel to have a 5 star adventure). He stares at me for a second and bows—his way of telling me to keep walking. “Thank you,” I say, “but which way is the Metro?” I again repeat my question.

“Oh… Metro?!?” he says, having a breakthrough only cross-cultural exchanges of this kind can lead to. He then points across the street at the entrance to an underground that, in almost every major city in the world will lead to an underground city where trains move next to sewers.

“Thank you,” I say politely as I bow back, and quickly run down the stairs to cross the street. Immediately I am struck in the face by something warm and wet. Being in a foreign country, I’m concerned at the various possibilities of what this “thing” could be. I wipe my forehead and am immediately relieved to see that it is clear. “Good,” I mumble, “at least I’ve ruled out most of the most offensive body fluids.” (Yeah that’s pretty much how my mind works).

Another liquid bullet hits me on the head, and then another. Only, after the fourth one do I realize that the clouds above hold not only pollution, but also, apparently, moisture, which is now condensing and falling towards the Earth… it’s raining, and I did not pack any umbrellas. “Shit!” I think, as I begin to charge across the street daring the bus driver that is hurtling towards me from the left to hit me (yes in Hong Kong they drive on the same side of the roads as those limey bastards in England—what’s up with that, just be normal and do what the rest of the world does [how these people conquered 2/3 of the world, I’ll never know]). Then I realize that he’s Asian, and I remember that there is a (possibly accurate) stereotype that Asians cannot drive well. I am afraid, and as such my fight or flight instinct kicks in and I immediately determine that it is better to flee the 10 ton behemoth rather than try to kill it. I dive out of its way and roll onto the sidewalk. My dreams of finding the Kung Fu master are fading now as I realize I have all the grace of a freshly caught fish on hot concrete.

I stand up and brush the street off my jeans and realize that I’ve torn my jeans. Not in the knees though, apparently, somehow, I tore the ass off my jeans. “This is almost too exquisite,” I think as I try to estimate through touch just how visible the “bomb-bay” and the “treasury” are (think about it, they both make sense).

Like Helen Keller on the first day of puberty I fondle myself, exploring nooks and crannies that are often reserved for showers and kinky east-Indian sex rituals. “Okay, it doesn’t appear to be too visible,” I breathe a coy sigh of relief. “New mission,” I think, “I have to buy new jeans.” But laziness and excitement conspire to compel me towards my original mission—exploring Hong Kong.

I head down the escalator into the underground and am immediately struck by just how clean it is. And also by how there are no trains or other people. “Maybe it’s not rush hour,” I muse, but who am I kidding, in a city of millions it’s always “rush hour.” I’m concerned that maybe my doorman and I didn’t have the meeting of minds I’d hoped for.

I spend the next 20 minutes exploring an underground cavern, periodically meeting equally confounded tourists to whom I pretend that I know exactly where I am and what I’m doing (never show fear). I’m lost, completely lost, just a few minutes from my hotel, and I’m bloody lost. I briefly consider what would happen if I died of starvation here in this underground hell, and then I realize that I’m in passages that lead to a mall.

I enter the mall (the first of many many malls that literally define 21st century Hong Kong), and I am struck by its size and second by the apparent lack of any signs leading to a subway. I find the information booth and ask for the metro. The girl stares at me and then sends her “English speaking” colleague over to answer my question (really metro is not international?). “This way,” she points back to where I came from.

Not wanting to kill her I politely bow and nod appreciation as I return to the hell from which I was just delivered. “Okay,” I think, “maybe I missed a turn off in the solid concrete tunnel I just walked through.” I walk back through the “Twilight Zone” and find myself back at the stairs that got me here in the first place.

I briefly flirt with the idea of hailing a cab, and then my stubborn nature kicks me in the back of the head, compelling me to explore. Here’s what we know kids: 1) Hong Kong is a big city, 2) Hong Kong has a metro (allegedly), 3) People use the metro everyday (presumably), 4) Therefore I must be able to find and use this sucker.

I walk down the street and am rewarded by a sign that has the name of the metro station I was looking for. I charge down the escalator and immediately smell the smells and hear the sounds that signal the presence of those beautiful underground engines of progress.

Okay, now it’s time to buy a ticket to ride on this train. Okay, before that I have to figure out which machines sell individual tickets, and which are to recharge those frequent-rider cards most major metros offer now. I casually walk by the machines one at a time and pretend like I know exactly what I’m doing as I try to lean forward periodically to read the pictographs on the machines. I finally find a group of people buying tickets to go to the “giant Buddha,” and they are, of all things, Iranian—I have found the junior men’s hockey team (yes ice hockey) from Iran.

I cannot help but laugh at the poetry of the situation. I am known for meeting Iranians everywhere I go, but in the freakin’ Hong Kong Metro. Immediately I say hello, and am rewarded with a group introduction to children and adults from my homeland. One at a time they ask me what I’m doing in Hong Kong and if I’ve been to Disneyland yet—the irony is not lost on me.

After exchanging information, we part and I head towards the first train on my trip towards my first destination, an ancient Taoist temple. I’m excited.

I board the train and casually stand for the next six stops (thirty minutes) until I arrive at my destination. I disembark the train and head up the stairs to… a mall. “What the f***?” I think. “I just left a God-damned mall, how many of these damn things…” I stop my thought in mid-stride. I glimpse the red tiles and banisters unique to classical Chinese architecture. Land is expensive in Hong Kong and they try to use it all. As such, they will build a mall next to a holy site, even if that holy site is the holiest in the city. I’m not judging, I’m just sayin’.

I walk up the path to the temple and am immediately pleased by what I find. The place is filled with pilgrims and worshipers here to pray to the god’s. Incense sticks that resemble nightsticks are being sold by the dozens, and I do as others do, I buy some.

I walk up the path past Chinese men that literally look like the Kung Fu master in my dreams—long beards and eyebrows painted frost white. They smile as I walk by; probably amused by the big ass package of incense I’m carrying. I light my incense and plant it in sandboxes before the temple, and promptly burn myself as I try to position my sticks next to the hundreds of others that line the sandbox.

I step back, say a prayer, and turn on the crowd with my camera flashing (bloody crass tourist). I capture some National Geographic’ish shots, and pleased with my mastery of this art, I move to explore the temple.

I find what look like paper mache statues of the gods. They are sitting on clouds in various beatific poses. I pause to try and conjure up the story behind each god. I come up with some good godly stuff, but I move on.

I leave the temple and move back towards the train. I easily find my way back to the stop which includes my hotel. I disembark and proceed to find sustenance. I don’t remember what I ate this first day, but I remember it was good. It was a dumpling with chicken I think.

I returned to my room, exhausted and nap in preparation for a night on the town. The details… not everything will be televised—sorry.

posted by RezB @ 7:22 PM