I have arrived...in Hong Kong

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The ferry ride from Macau was quite pleasant. Although, felt like I was back in China the way people were staring at me. While still in the Macau terminal, I was quite a hit with my backpack. Apparently, Muslims are quite entertained by my monster-like strength. While I was in Macau I felt like people didn’t stare—if they did it was quite brief.

My ‘game plan’ for arrival in Hong Kong was to get a cab to the Chungking Mansion (don’t let the name fool you) and then get to the visa place right away. Well, it almost happened that way. Although the ‘Mansion’ was nearby, my bag is so heavy I decided I didn’t want to walk for 20 minutes in the heat and humidity carrying my 70 pounds of gear (no, seriously). A cabbie calls out to me and I walk up to his car and tell him where I wanted to go. Instead of a cheery response he says, “No, Hong Kong island.” I, of course exclaim, “Hong Kong island?!” Then let out a string of explicatives, because I think that means I am ON Hong Kong island and not Kowloon like originally thought. This would mean that I don’t know where I’m lodging. I gather my stuff I had already thrown in his backseat and lean up against the building. Rifling through my Lonely Planet book, desperately trying to create a plan b. I walk up to a street map and realize that I AM on Kowloon, but the cab driver only GOES to Hong Kong island…bastard. At that point I realize I must walk to the ‘Mansion.’ So, I take a deep breath, load up, and ship out. It was a sweaty walk. But sure enough 20 minutes later, I was standing before Chungking Mansion, which looks like a real shit hole. Not more than 10 seconds later I was bombarded by hawkers trying to get me to “see their room.” Sounded creepy. But in fact, different hostels own different floors, so inside this building there are 10 different hostels. These guys of course get a commission for every person they bring up. I’m not sure I’ve ever said “NO!” so many times in my life. They were relentless. I finally got to a room, which is about 22 sq feet, but I didn’t care…it meant I could put down my backpack.

I didn’t waste much time, changed out of my sweaty clothes, mapped out the travel service that promises visas, packed up a few things that I could post home and hit the road. The post office is around the corner from my room and was amazingly easy to send a box home. Then walked to the inter-island ferry terminal, struggled with the token machine, but $1.80 later, I was sitting on a ferry…again. The ride across the way to Hong Kong Island is only about 8 minutes and once you step off the ferry, the terminal is connected to an extensive series of walkways, elevated above the mad traffic. Everything is in English—even the writing on the streets, “Look Left” which now solves the mystery of why I’ve almost been run over several times in Macau and Hong Kong—they drive on the opposite side of the road.

I finally found the travel shop and talked to a woman about my visa situation. Basically, I can get a double-entry visa where each entry is good for 30 days. This is my best option, also my ONLY option. Begrudgingly, I took it. I then had to scramble the streets and find a currency exchange office to change my Chinese RMB for Hong Kong dollars. Of course, this was the perfect time of day for a torrential downpour. The heavy foot traffic break out their umbrellas, which is deadly for me. Although there is a much greater variation in height here than in China, many people are still shorter than I am. When they take out their umbrellas, the pointy ends of the metal sticks are poised at my eye level. Matched with people’s oblivious nature and their panic to get out of the rain, my eyes are in serious danger. So I’m bobbing and weaving through the masses of umbrellas coming my direction. And of course, the minute I WANT a currency exchange office…I can’t find one. After 15 minutes of wandering, I find one. After exchanging my bundle of cash, I hit the sidewalk again. I enter the travel agency, dripping wet. I catch a couple chuckles from the dry, tie-wearing bastards, but can’t be bothered. Before handing over my cash I reaffirm that the visa will meet my needs, slightly dubious, I sign the forms, and say goodbye to my passport till Friday. I dig out my raincoat from my daypack, walk outside, prepared to take the punishment once again…only to find, it stopped raining.

I head back to the ferry terminal and stumble upon the Holy Grail of fast food shops. A Subway. I can hardly contain my excitement. I bust through the automatic sliding doors and order up a veggie footlong…it never tasted so good. Satisfied, I hop the ferry back to Kowloon. I walk around for a bit, tried to find a way into Kowloon Park, but couldn’t find a way past the Jurassic Park-like security gates. The bars and warnings of electrocution only fueled my curiosity, but alas, the way in alluded me.

Exhausted, I return to my smaller-than-jail-cell room (I should know, I watched Prison Break season 1 a lot), and fall asleep to the hum and rattle of the air conditioner.

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Photos

departing Macau
just to show that Macau is quite the bustling metropolis.

My arrival
first glimpse at a city made entirely of concrete...

view from my room
smaller than a jail cell...

and the rains fell
those are the clouds that eventually got me...