The Tsim Sha Tsui ferry terminal is also a busy bus terminus, dominated by Kowloon Motor Bus vehicles and hawkers desperate to give me a fantastic deal on a Rolex watch. KMB have a large hoarding here showing their history and reputation; I adopt the Jill Reeves approach to bus travel and dive on the first vehicle I see; the ticket machine deducts credit from my Octopus card and I can travel to the end of the route. In fact, I jump off after around a mile and start walking back through Signal Hill gardens towards the ferry terminal, partly because [View Full Entry]

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Having caught the ferry back to Hong Kong, I jump on a bus to the Peak on spec. This turns out to be rather a mistake, since the Peak is swathed in the fog that was clearly visible from the harbour, such that when I get there the harbour is not visible from the Peak at all. I catch the next bus straight back, and my driver again evidently has a deep-rooted belief that if it’s your day to die, nothing can change that and so be it. I’m concerned that, on the narrow switchback track along the mountain, it might [View Full Entry]

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The excitement and nerves of a long trip are somewhat overshadowed by the pressing need to get where I’m going, despite the best efforts of the UK transport industry. That’s unfair, but it makes good headlines to sell papers. In fact my bus from home left on time, my train was delayed by 20 minutes and the coach connection from Reading to the airport was held until the late-running train came in - a fair result, given that the train wouldn’t start at Weston Super Mare. Once inside the airport, I entered the international facelessness of a major airport, with barking [View Full Entry]

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I’ve got a seat, a television with unintelligible controls and not enough room to open a laptop. Bang goes the ‘working on the plane’ idea. [View Full Entry]

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We’re above the Western Siberian Lowland and it’s utterly, utterly dark on the ground. Neighbour just offered me a Werther’s Original. Now I feel bad for casting him as above. [View Full Entry]

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It’s sunrise, and one of the reddest I’ve ever seen. Despite the tranquil scene outside, we’re being thrown around a little by turbulence and I can feel the gap between my seatback and the fuselage changing by around ¼”, threatening to trap my head as I sleep. Don’t wings bend a lot? With my eyes closed trying to sleep, all I can see is a finite-element computer model of the fuselage with exaggerated-cartoon distortions and rainbow colours spreading throughout the members. I really need sleep now, but I only managed two hours or so. [View Full Entry]

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I’ve just spotted a sticker on the top of the wing saying ‘place ground here’ - I hope not! Meanwhile, the only English tune I can muster from the in-flight music system is Hanson, and we’ve been served something to eat in a tray. It’s not so bad, but I think I’m hungrier than they anticipate. I’ve stockpiled the bread roll and butter for later, and been offered another by my neighbour, who looks like the old man from the Werther’s Original adverts. [View Full Entry]

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Disembarking from the plane the covered tunnelway has windows, showing off the spectacular backdrop to Hong Kong’s new airport. We approach over the sea, which neatly resolves the issue of people living below the flight path and, although the approach to the runway is somewhat less dramatic since the airport ‘moved’ to Chek Lap Kok, the mountain backdrop from the terminal building is surprising and breathtaking. From the airconditioned plane, through tunnels to Norman Foster’s modernist terminal building (which does all it should, I’m pleased to say) and straight [View Full Entry]

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I phoned Barbara, my stand-in hostess, from the airport and she meets me, lends me some coins to buy a railway ticket and we head towards my flat. To preserve some of the mystery surrounding my fortunate discovery of an ensuite flat in central Hong Kong for less than twice the cost of sharing a four-bedroom house in Bath, I’ll only say that Barbara is someone who owes me nothing and has never met me before. Through family contacts she has taken me under her wing and offered to resolve any problem I have during my stay in China, whatever the [View Full Entry]

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We step from the MTR station onto the street and I stop to catch breath, my senses assaulted by the scene. I can see high-rise buildings festooned in a little paint and a lot of clothes hanging from every balcony. From every direction gaily-painted advertisements beg for my attention and I can smell an odd mixture of the fragrant, the exotic, the spicy, and drains. The sound of traffic and shouting is nearly drowned out by raucous birdsong. Meanwhile, I suddenly realise what 25°C and 80% humidity feels like. Its like being hot normally, so you sweat, but since you’re still [View Full Entry]

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