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When I lived in Japan twenty years ago, the people were hungry for all things western including McDonalds, Michael Jackson, and American-style t-shirts. It didn’t really matter what the shirts said, as long as it had English –or something close to it- printed on it. Many were imports, but some were obviously printed locally. The later were easy to identify because while they had English words on them, they frequently made little sense. Happy Now Meow freind.
With all the cultural sensitivity of Homer Simpson, my fellow expats and I made it a hobby looking for fractured English t-shirts. It was a fun sport because some of the shirts were almost haiku-like in their brevity, beauty, and obscurity. Tomorrow is Peace. Tomorrow is Yesterday.
I was looking forward to engaging in some t-shirt spotting in Hong Kong. Maybe a game of “I Spy the Silly T-shirt” with Annika and Elise would help pass the time on long train rides.At first, things got off to a solid start. We amassed a few for the scrapbook: Charm of Comfortable to Give Excitement in Life. And then there was Standard Together Inspired.
So far so good.
But Hong Kong 2009, is not Japan 1989.
It all started to get a little fuzzy.
That quirky Cheer You Up t-shirt we saw? We started to see more of them. A whole lot more. Maybe it wasn’t so random. Maybe Cheer You Up was some company’s catch phrase. Or a brand name.
And the Delay No More on that girl’s hat that made us giggle? It turns out that comes from a major cell phone service company. So okay, that makes sense. Kind of. I think.I would have to be more discerning.
But then I started getting really confused. I began to second-guess myself when I saw previously familiar phrases. It’s the Real Thing. Oh that’s so funn . . . wait a minute, that’s real English right? Everything became suspect. Just do it. That doesn’t actually mean anything, does it? Every phrase on every object started to look random. I’m loving it!
I could see it now. All those slogans on hats, and t-shirts, and billboards, they’re just arbitrary mash-ups that Madison Avenue was passing off as real English in order to sell stuff. None of it really meant anything. It’s all nonsensical, fractured English. Inspired, Just Do It Standard Together!
No, that can’t be, can it. It has to mean something doesn’t it?
I couldn’t possibly begin to tell any more.
Doh! I need a new hobby. This one is making my head hurt.
-Jack
It turns out negotiating the trains is relatively easy. Inside every train above every door is a color-coded map of the system. Worse case scenario, you get on a train going the wrong way, so you get off at the next stop and reverse directions.
The buses are a different story.
While trains can get you to the general vicinity, buses are nice because if you know what you are doing they can get you right to the door step of where you're going. There are ten train lines in Hong Kong, but there are hundreds of bus routes. But you’re going to have to crack open a very detailed pocket atlas and read some really small print in order to ride the bus.
Julie doesn’t work until noon, so she's been using her mornings to take care of business in and around the New Territories by both train and bus.
Hong Kong’s answer to CraigsList is www.AsiaExpats.com. It's a buy/sell/freecycle website that –by virtue of the fact that it is in English- caters to the relatively transient expat community in Hong Kong.
Julie has been using AsiaExpat.com and her new-found bus riding skills to acquire a few things for our home.
Friday morning before she went to work at noon, she found on AsiaExpat a woman who was leaving Hong Kong, had sold most of her bigger items, and had a bunch of small stuff she was giving away. Stop by and take what you want. It’ll be on the front porch. So first thing that morning, Julie figured out it was the 67a bus she needed and off she went. When she got there, it looked liked the family had already moved out, but sure enough, there on the front porch was a stack of free items.
Julie scored some Tupperware containers, a stack of blank CDs, two bowls, and a muffin tin. She left behind the three bottles of hard liquor -but only because they had been baking in the hot sun for who-knows-how-long.Last week she bought a used space heater and a like-new rice cooker.
Last night we took the train together to purchase a used DVD player. We met the woman at the Ma On Shan train station. We exchanged the money and the DVD player over the turn style so that she didn’t have to pay to enter the station and we didn’t have to pay to exit it. The whole transaction only took sixty seconds and less than a dozen words, but the whole time Julie and the woman were making the exchange, I kept looking around nervously. It felt like we were conducting a shady, underworld deal.
Julie didn’t bat an eyelash. She’s a hardened pro at this.
-Jack
Helpful note: It is not permitted in Hong Kong to bring a bicycle onto a bus or a train. But you are allowed to carry on a unicycle.
After closing up the cabin per Colleen’s instructions (“After closing the toilet lid, be sure not to forget to put this rock on top of it.”), we headed out with our packs considerably lighter than the day before since we had consumed most of the food we’d carried up.
Five minutes after we were back on the trail, I slipped on a wet rock. My fall was cushioned by the tall grass. I wasn’t hurt, but I was lying on my back, my head was pointing down hill, I had a twenty-five pound pack strapped to my back, and my feet were in the air. I looked like an overturned turtle. The girls thought this was pretty funny.
Half way down the mountain, Colleen’s promise came to fruition: we were overcome not by one but three old Chinese guys –shirts off, backpacks on- jogging down the mountain. I suddenly felt very out of shape. A few minutes later when we finally arrived at the head of the trail, there sitting at the picnic pavilion were our three hardcore old-timers eating the sandwiches from their backpacks.
With the exception of my giggle-inducing slip, we’d made it up and down the mountain without incident. As we were taking the last few steps of our 10,000-step journey, Elise twisted her ankle -slightly. Fighting back the tears, she managed to hobble across the street to the bus stop.
No sooner had we set down our packs to wait in the shade of the bus stop, than our three Chinese speed hikers –with shirts on- approached us having obviously witnessed the mini-drama of the barely-twisted ankle. As the oldest of the three men dug around in his backpack, he asked if he could apply some ointment. Sure. So Elise peeled off her sock and shoe, and sat down right there on the sidewalk so this stranger could apply red flower oil (at first we thought he said rat flower oil!). After he rubbed the ointment in, he firmly held Elise’s ankle in his hands for several minutes to create warmth. As I watched Elise sit there, her foot being cradled by this sixty-plus year old Chinese hiker/healer, I almost wished that I had twisted my ankle. I felt like saying, hey, I’ve got this kink in my left shoulder, have you got anything in that bag for me, medicine man? But our bus arrived and it was time to part ways.
In the back of my mind, I was hoping that we would bump into all-night party dude, so we could tell him all about our exploits up and down the mountain. But in a city of seven million, that was too much to ask.While the guide books are filled with some great suggestions (Hong Kong Disney, here we come), I am thankful for a memorable experience that was a little more serendipitous. It came about because we befriended a colleague, were willing to commit ourselves to the unknown, and because of my bad habit of saying “How about next weekend?” whenever someone tosses a token invitation our way.
After ascending 1,500 vertical feet and spending the night on a wind-swept mountain top, I fear that the rest of our time in Hong Kong will be all down hill. But I’m guessing Hong Kong’s got a few more pleasant surprises awaiting us.
I can only hope so.
-JackConsidering that less than six weeks ago I could barely negotiate a single flight of stairs, I am very thankful for the recovery my body has made.
After almost two hours of some pretty serious hiking, we came upon the first of the cottages. When Colleen said the cottages were on top of a mountain, she wasn’t kidding. With about 100 feet between them, the cabins form a meandering line along the ridge of the mountain. Each cabin is small –about 250 square feet- and made out of squared-off field stone. Each cabin has a flat roof with a slight pitch so that it collects the rainwater and stores it in a cistern for later use. We left the main trail and walked a narrow foot path where we had to push our way through some thigh-high grass to get to Colleen’s cabin. Her cottage has an amazing view: in three directions, the mountain dropped away from us affording us spectacular views; in the fourth, the ground gently rose another fifty feet to the actual peak 800 feet from her cabin. An almost-constant wind was blowing in from the ocean.
After Colleen unlocked the front door, we all helped open the windows and unlock the storm shutters that protected against the occasional typhoon. The cabin is rustic: it has running water, but no electricity. Since the water comes from an outdoor cistern, we had to boil it, let it cool, then run it through a filter before we could drink or cook with it. Colleen’s cabin not only has running water, but it is one of the few that has a flush toilet.
Looking at this cabin with its poured cement roof, cast iron sink, and large metal bedsprings, I couldn’t image how the builders ever hauled the necessary materials all the way up here. It must have been p.o.w. slave labor, because I can’t imagine anyone undertaking this endeavor willingly.
With no lake, no bikes, no t.v. and no internet, we thought the girls might be bored. But they and their new friend Ethan got busy exploring and playing. The cabin was built into the side of the mountain, so that the kids could walk up and around the back of the cabin and basically walk onto the roof. Even I made a couple of trips up there. It did make an already-spectacular view even better.
We arrived at noon and by mid-afternoon, Colleen and her nephew had to head back. The four of us ate an early dinner because we knew that it would be getting dark by 7:00 p.m. We made preparations for bed by rolling out the sleeping bags onto the queen-sized bunk bed: Mom and Dad on the bottom; girls on top.
But before we turned in for the night, we pulled the plastic kitchen chairs outside and alternated watching the sun set in the West, looking at the city lights in the East, and watching the clouds roll over us obscuring our view of both.
Why is it that a tomato you’ve grown yourself tastes better than all other tomatoes? It must have something to do with the fact that you worked for it. I’ve enjoyed several mountain views, but they have usually been courtesy of a cable car or a tour bus. There was something pretty unique about enjoying the view from the top of a mountain that we’d just hiked up ourselves.
Looking up the ridge at the string of flat-roofed, stone cottages with a steady wind sweeping across the mountain ridge, it brought to mind pictures I’ve seen of Nepal and Tibet. I suddenly had an urge to string a long line of multi-colored Tibetan prayer flags all the way to the peak.
We found an old kerosene lantern and managed to get it lit. The four of us played cards until it was time for bed.
Now the only question was, would we be able to get ourselves back down the mountain in the morning without our host and guide?
-Jack
I had to run back up to the apartment because we’d all forgotten our umbrellas which we needed because the second we stepped out of the parking garage, it started to rain. Also, we would need them later in the day, but for a different reason.While waiting for the E-42 bus, Julie and I chatted with a young Hong Konger who was British by birth but had been living in Hong Kong since his middle school days. It was 8:30 on Saturday morning and he was just coming home from last night’s revelry. When we explained to him that we were meeting a friend to climb a peak on Lantau, he had trouble processing that information. (I’m sure his morning-after headache wasn’t helping any.) He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that we greenhorns –in Hong Kong for barely a month- were going to hike up a peak on Lantau. “I’ve lived her for fifteen years, and I have never climbed any of the peaks on Lantau. They’re steep.” I’m sure he was thinking “They have no idea what they’re getting themselves into.”
Which was pretty close the truth.
As planned, Colleen -who had brought along her nine year-old nephew, Ethan- was waiting for us at the bus depot. I knew it was supposed to be an arduous climb, but I figured if this kid could make it up, so could I.
Maybe.
Twenty minutes later, the six of us got off of our second bus of the morning in the middle of nowhere –or at least it seemed like it. But sure enough, there on the side of the road was the head of the trail. As we started our hike, Colleen told us that we would probably encounter some old Chinese guy running the trail.I’ll believe it when we see it.For the first half-hour, we hiked in the shade of trees. But as we got higher, the trees stopped and instead we were surrounded by tall mountain grass. Believe it or not, almost the entire path was made of large fieldstone steps placed there years ago by someone (more Japanese p.o.w.s?). While the steps were helpful, they certainly didn’t make the climb easy. We had to stop often to rest and drink water. At least I was keeping pace with the nine-year-old.As we climbed, we were at times actually hiking among the clouds. But when the hot sun broke through we were thankful we had our umbrellas to create our own portable shade. I see what party-dude guy from the bus was talking about. If we had any idea what we were getting ourselves into, we probably would have taken a pass. But ignorance is bliss. Sometimes it’s better to just say yes and figure out later on what it is you’ve committed yourself to.-Jack
We're fine. It's 2:00 a.m., the wind is blowing something fierce and the windows are rattling, but we are fine. The girls are fast asleep.
-Jack
It's 4:30 on Monday afternoon. Our principal just came over the intercom to say that the windy, rainy weather we've been having was just declared a level-8 typhoon. Everyone was to pack up immediately and go home. We of course, are already home.We are far enough inland and surrounded by enough mountains that the New Territories is usually not affected. During a T-8 warning, everyone is to be indoors at home. My understanding is that is if you are out and about during a typhoon and you get hurt, your insurance will not cover your medical bills. So if personal safety isn't enough of a motivator, hopefully money is.Last year, Hong Kong had five typhoon warnings, all of which amounted to very little here in the New Territories.Interestingly, the levels for typhoons go as follows: T-3, T-8, T-9, T-10. No twos, fours, fives, sixes, or sevens. Nobody can tell me why. Fact: There is no difference between a typhoon and a hurricane. Just different nomenclature.While I am sure this will all blow over in a few hours, it has put a bit of excitement in the air. Its kind of like the anticipation before a promised blizzard -only with a lot more humidity.-Jack
I know that we're going to have plenty of scripted experiences here in China: Ride this bus, climb that Wall, look over there, take a picture. Experience awe. Repeat. Return on said bus.
And that’s all okay. Any trip to China would be incomplete without riding a bus full of camera-wielding tourists to see the Great Wall. But I also hope that our time in China is more than one tourist experience after another. I hope that our time here offers us a few experiences that are personal, local, and spontaneous.
Lantau is a large island just west of Hong Kong Island. With the exception of the new airport that opened a few years ago, Lantau is largely undeveloped. It is peppered with numerous fishing villages that look much the way they did 200 years ago.
As the school nurse, Julie has worked closely with a young woman from the front office named Colleen who grew up in Hong Kong as a missionary kid from the States. Years ago her family purchased one of fifteen cabins on the second-highest peak on Lantau Island. Because they had limited funds to do summer excursions, this relatively inexpensive cottage was an affordable way for their family to spend their summer vacations.
Colleen was a little sketchy on the details, but it is believed that each of these cabins was built sometime in the forties by Japanese prisoners of war. She told us that the only way to get to the cabins is on foot. A bus gets you about one third of the way up, but then it’s about a two-hour hike, she explained.
Although her cabin sleeps six, Colleen had other commitments that prevented her from staying overnight with us, but she volunteered to take us up Saturday morning.
When I lived in Japan twenty years ago, the people were hungry for all things western including McDonalds, Michael Jackson, and American-style t-shirts. It didn’t really matter what the shirts said, as long as it had English –or something close to it- printed on it. Many were imports, but some were obviously printed locally. The later were easy to identify because while they had English words on them, they frequently made little sense. Happy Now Meow freind.
