April Fools in Hong Kong

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APRIL FOOLS!
Hong Kong, 1/4/85
Ah! China before Tienammen Square, those were the days! Right? But wait, we’re in HK. It’s seven in the morning and I have to find a hotel. First, I’ll get: 1. an International Hostel Card(Always have one, you never know.) 2. A visa for Red China from the HK consulate.
I leave the beautiful sight of HK Bay and hail a taxi. He drops me in the middle of rush-hour old town. The streets are packed with pedestrians and traffic. I go to the World Youth Hostel Association and get a temp card to have access to the cheapo hostels. Then, I find the Chinese Consulate and buy a visa I shall get in three days.
Next, a long stroll across this splendid town. I quickly retreat from the main avenues by the Bay and climb up the hills, to the smaller alleys of old Hong Kong. It’s a charmer, just like the Bruce Lee movies. Everywhere they have stalls that sell steaming calamari and Octopus. I purchase and munch away. The food is sober but delicious. They don’t have coffee around here. Once in a while I settle at a street restaurant: basic tables and benches set under a large tent, and guzzle jasmin tea. The natives ignore me. I’m glad. I haven’t slept in two days and I’m not up to any more socializing, not after my evening with Mike from Vancouver!
I’ll just wander around those streets all day, and comes dusk, catch a bus to the southern edge of town. There is a hostel there, but up a huge hill. The guide warns me that you have to hike two miles up before you get there, unless you insist on a cab. We’ll see.
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The bus drops me at the last stop, and a small Lonely Planet map guides me to a hill surrounded by a fence. The gate is open and a narrow paved road goes up. I climb, for about an hour. The incline isn’t too steep and I’m in shape. I get to the hilltop and another splendid vista of HK Bay. The hostel is two low buildings, brand new. It’s dark by now. I check in, go down to the cafeteria and get chow. Then I go back to my bunk and collapse. Nighty night.

April.3
Morning. I will go back down to port and get on a shuttle boat. Just before leaving the hill, I see a young lady, western in looks, who walk by and stares at me for a few seconds. I wonder why. I don’t know it yet, but I shall meet her again.
To the port, to the boat, and a pleasant sail to one of the many islands south of the city. I land on the southernmost one just before Macau and open my map again. I see that it’s all very mountainous, and there is a Buddhist monastery up there, next to a minuscule village. I quickly find a bus and go. I visit the monastery. It doubles as a hostel. I’ll spend the night. I spend the rest of the day wandering on the crest of mountains. It’s foggy and warm. Comes evening, I’ve rented a small room for my night at the monastery. I stroll down to the village for dinner and on the way, a dozen chow dogs are blocking the path and waiting for me.
I keep walking. They growl. They bark. They threaten. One of them walks even with me and has the gall to snap at my leg. I keep moving without changing speed, without looking at the mutts. Saved. I’m in the village. I dine at an outdoor resto and chat with the owner, a fellow not too happy about Reunification in twelve years. “That’s it”, he says, “Prince Charles comes over and gives them the keys. I don’t want Beijing making the rules here.”
I have no comments. On my way back, remembering the hooligans that await me on the path, I notice a pile of long bamboo sticks wrapped with plastic strings. I’m not keen on defacing the man’s labour, but I pull a key and slice a couple of strings. I pull out a fifteen feet long bamboo baton and place it on my shoulder. I go up the trail.
In two hours, the chow gang has not budged from its post. This is their trail and they knew I’d be coming back. I approach. They all get to their feet and begin their menacing growls. “You’re not getting thru!” They bark. My baton is pointing in their direction. I shift its position to that the mutts can see the length of what I’m humping on my shoulder. The mutts retreat at once and clear the path. They stand aside and growl as I pass at an even pace. They are really pissed off now. They can’t take a bite without risking a fracture. I get to the monastery. Say a ‘thank you’ to my baton, and go straight to bed. Lesson number One in China, people: Beware of the chows! Don’t be fooled by their cuteness!
April 3. 5:00 AM. The monks are already chanting their first service in the main building. I might as well get up. Breakfast is included. It consists of sugary rice, sugary gruel, and a sugary seafood soup. Ok. I take the whole day to lazily head back towards the port downhill. On a ferry back to HK. Vagabonding the streets and eating lots of squid and octopus, with Prince blasting from my walkman. It’s grand. I visit a small Taoist temple up the hill, and get back to my first hostel rather late. Tomorrow morning, I pick up my Chinese visa and head straight for the border at Wuzhu. The adventure begins in earnest.

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Comments

[Herzog]

1985?
Why do you recount a trip so old? Haven't you been back since? It's changed an awful lot.