The fringe theater where we saw the monologue (生死界).
I ended up spending lots of time going up and down the mid-levels escalators. For some reason, I kept getting lost here. I don't know where they end up because I never followed them past a certain point, but I finally figured out you can take them all the way down to the Star Ferry port. The escalators stop operating after midnight or so. As I found out later, it seems that you're not expected to return home after 1:00p if you live anywhere north of Mong Kok, at least without spending tons of money on transportation.
One of the many stalls in the Soho district. Soho seemed to me to be a place to eat. The stalls in Hong Kong are cleaner and better trimmed than their counterparts in the mainland. Somehow, I was entirely uninterested in whatever wares they offered.
I don't know about a store called "Wanko". I'd just feel funny walking in. Funny thing is, I saw an even funnier store name on the bus from Changsha to Xiangtan yesterday, but I couldn't draw my camera fast enough to capture the object of ridicule: "Whacko". Wha-?
Clean windows, clean conscience. I don't know who does all the washing. Of course, there just isn't the airborne dust and soot in Hong Kong that sullies our floors and lungs alike in Hunan, so perhaps the windows just stay clean. I would hate to wash these windows, although I'm sure somebody makes a pretty good business of it. One thing I like about Hong Kong is the depth of its architecture; buildings alternate unpredictably between tall and short, fat and skinny, avante guarde and understated, and as you move through the streets the foreground and background scroll in parallex, making the world seem hyper-realistically three dimensional.
Hong Kong nights are surprisingly quiet if you aren't in one of the few select districts with ostensible nightlives. Of course, there are people wandering malls and sipping coffee, and engaging in similarly indoor-oriented activities. Surprising for a place that has such great weather, especially during the temperate winters. I imagine it is still very uncomfortable to be outside on summer nights. Despite all this, all you'll see are taxis, the occasional tram, and people unpacking tomorrow's newpapers and magazines. Consumables.
Hofan's kitchen. It feels alive. Green. Not many cups, they are constantly washed, reused. A water filter. Compost pile. Plum and date soup. Hot water heater. No microwave. Yes, seems familiar.
Took the dogs out for a walk along the beach next to Hofan's place. Full of living shells that crack and quiver under soles. When the tide rises, all this is covered with water. When it recedes, all it leaves behind is still living, hiding, waiting. Is this Hong Kong? I thought people were fighting for standing room on each others' backs! Nope, the breeze is clear and oceanic, the clouds crawl over the coffee peaks and bikers don't seem to be in much of a hurry.
The cat. Lazy stinker grew pretty attached to my petting. Sleeps 16 hours a day, at least. What a nice life. It also has the most freedom out of all the animals, and goes where it pleases, even outside onto the roof. Then it squeals and complains unbearably when it wants to be let back in. Oh come on, you can find a hole to squeeze through somewhere.
Biking out across the dam, windy day. Bike painted an ugly peeling non-specular white, apparently so no one wants to steal it. Well, it would work for me; I wouldn't steal it. People were flying kites on the dam. All sorts of signs told us where we shouldn't go, no trespassing, yadda yadda yadda. Boats swimming in the harbor. Biking on the left side of the road. Automatic shutter settings and getting in position before the picture is taken. Does it point the right way? Good thing it's digital.
My new haircut. Well, not from Hong Kong; it was Y13 (including getting my hair washed, which the guy did for about 30 minutes, it seemed). They guys in Changsha who did if for me seemed nice, partly because I was in a pretty jovial mood, and so was Haw-Wen. Maybe some of Bob's willingness to engage in light-hearted playful ribbing rubbed off on me? I'm pretty satisfied with the haircut. At least it's not too "Chinese", hefty part in the middle, shaped like a crashing wave. Thank you, no.
Hong Kong people throw garbage away in garbage cans. Wow, why does this seem like a new concept? The cans in Kowloon park come in sets of four: one for plastics, one for aluminum, one for recyclable paper, and the last for non-renewable refuse. People, spend one second of your time and sort your garbage. The reason we can do a binary search in log time is because the list is sorted. The aviary in the park was refreshing to saunter through. This white dude looked at me in a very paranoid way, though. Maybe I had given him a strange look first, and didn't even realize it. Haha, freak out the "foreigners".
Three kids practicing and taping some kung fu moves. Good for them. Future independent filmmakers. Although Hong Kong filmmakers. Don't know how long the hack and slash fest can last. Don't people get tired of flying fists and flying people, triads, 80's sunglasses, falling from great heights, car chases, motorcycle chases, briefcases full of cash, and the women mixed up in it all? No?
The little plastic horses line up, and the players have some time to pore over the records and place their bets. Then the gates open, and they're off! As they race around the first stretch, you begin to see who the leader might be. But the situation can change at any time - finalize those bets! Suddenly, the underdog caught a whiff of victory and sprinted ahead, twice as fast as the other steeds. I imagine there are magnets under the field dragging the horses and their jockeys to their respective destinies. I was surprised at how many people were in the arcade, pleased that people still gathered to enjoy this form of entertainment, rather than at internet cafes. The track fans didn't look like they were going anywhere soon, surrounded as they were by drinks and candy wrappers.
Even business people seem to partake. They were pretty into this soccer game. Opposite them, people were competing head to head in an update of the classic "Outrun" game, which seemed really slick. Power slides, fantastic crashes, speeding through commuter traffic. I really liked how the leader of each stretch of the race got to choose which section of the branching map to head to. Lots to explore, I like that. Boys playing, girls watching. What more could a guy ask for than for his girlfriend to look on with interest and encouragement at he takes on the baddest baddies of the universe, or at least pile drives the other guy? Aren't there always scantily dressed chicks cheering the heros on in the games anyway? Reflects our fantasy. I finished my "Mr. Brown's Coffee" and left.
Misty city morning. Though it may lack cultural spirit, Hong Kong definitely has got the looks. It is truly a city, and seems to expand and stretch in all directions as you peer closer. Cold and inhuman, the buildings still inspire awe. That's the Star Ferry pier, Kowloon side of course. I'm getting ready to make the passage. $2.2HK each time.
But first, I'll stop by the bookstore. What a view. Unfortunately, as I sort of forgot while in Hunan, English books are expensive, and even more so in Hong Kong, since I imagine many are imported (Hong Kong certainly must have many of its own publishing centers too). I bought two phrasebooks, Japanese and Lao. I'm being over-ambitious again, but I think these are languages worth knowing something about, for perhaps reasons which are not entirely obvious to others. I will have a hard time learning in China, and I really should just continue working on Mandarin, but you can't stop the surge of interest that rises in me whenever I am piqued by something I see or think of. Or imagine. But back to the expensive part. It doesn't feel good to return to feeling poor, like in the States. Feeling well off like I do in Hunan and like I did in Beijing is certainly a privilege that many people don't have, never mind those who don't realize how lucky they are. They are still a relatively small percentage of the total population in China, and I imagine in all developing countries.
Hofan's mom. Petite and with excellent English. She's the only one who actually put a good effort into trying to speak Mandarin to me. She's great with plants, and is always busy, taking care of the dogs, washing, cooking and making lunchboxes for Hofan and Simon, watering, heading to the market, speaking with friends on the phone. But has maintained a very tranquil existence, I think. Perhaps more solitary than she would like; it must be a quiet home when Hofan, Homei, and Simon are all gone. She is a friend and mother at the same time, allowing the children more freedom and choice than I imagined possible for Chinese parents. She always lets them decide what is best, and trusts that things will work out in the end. This is a philsophy, yes, but usually not one that parents manage to convince themselves of. Where did this attitude come from? Will it be passed on through Hofan and her brother? I didn't get a picture of Simon, Hofan's dad. He looks incredibly young - I couldn't believe it when I saw him the first time, and was almost inclined, as Hofan has told me others have done, to think he was her older brother. But she doesn't have an older brother. Well, maybe that's not true either. They treat each other more like equals, less like respected elder, subservient daughter. Maybe more later.
She took me to the Tai Po (大埔) train station, market, and temple (文武庙). Of course I had to have a picture taken; those characters form the most important part of my name! There seem to be a lot of temples around with the same name. They are named after the legendary emperors who ruled before Confucious' time, if I understand correctly. They were great, benevolent men, promulgating the advancement of civilization and establishing a golden age of creation. Of course, the details are sketchy in the few history books that had been passed down from that time. Mostly hearsay, but the hearsay all seems to concur that an enlightened period had preceded the ruinous times that heralded Confucious' bid for posterity. Hope I'm not wrong about all of this. It's what I remember vaguely from Swat.
Travelling alone. Didn't know where exactly to get off. I was headed to Lantau (南岛), to check out the hiking trails and the big statue of Buddha on the mountain (大屿山). Ended up getting off at the right place, so Hofan's mom told me afterward. But I bumbled around for at least half an hour in the midday heat, getting sweaty and itchy, bumps rising in my skin and all that, trying to decipher the only map I had brought. Not very instructive. Map not drawn to scale. Oh great. I was thirsty, but I stumbled on, waiting for the right moment to buy a drink. Finally, I found the fort. Protected by those antiquated cannons: a schoolhouse. Amazing they thought they could defend a strait with just those hunks of metal. Huge metal balls shooting through the air, diving into the water, or grinding through imaginary hulls of invading vessels. Exchanging rounds. Globes passing each other, barely calculated trajectories. And now, on its last legs, defending schoolchildren who no longer notice, absorbed as they are with their cell phone games.
Drank down that mega can of guava juice, puree trickling down pursed throat. Reminded me of Taiwan. Climbing. Mops used to put out fires. That's funny.
And passed the only single storey building I saw in my time at Hong Kong. I wonder how long it will be before they tear it down and build a shining, towering morgue in its place. A place for people to wait and waste away. Life is not in the home, it is in the work, in Hong Kong. But I don't live to work.
Looking up on the trail. Winding up, legs a little slow, but still breathing hard through the nostrils. I've missed blue skies. Buses, taxis, other exempt vehicles zipping by on the side, as I try to find the sidewalk. It switches sides without warning. Crossing back and forth across the road, I manage to stay somewhat safe ninety percent of the time. This steep road is a work in progress, cement trucks dragging their heavy cargo up, spilling as bumps are hit and corners are rounded, perhaps intentionally to relieve the diesel flavored burden.
Up up up, on tired legs and in the midst of a setting sun. I found a trail, but it's far from where I thought I'd end up. Cut across a trail alone. Peed in the woods. But very glad I had that drink before heading up; there was absolutely nothing to drink around, save spring water trickling down some rock beds I crossed. Mostly alone, in the great outdoors. Took deep breaths and expanded my vision, tried to feel the depth and extremity of my existence, influenced as I was to be mindful by the bit of Thich Nhat Hanh's little book that I read. Started becoming concerned about the setting darkness, worried a bit that I might be lost in the dark, or become injured, alone. In the end, there was nothing to fear. I passed a temple retreat, along one of the paths. Not hidden from sight, but certainly hidden from the bustle of society. Nuns and monks tended the beautiful little gardens and passed me at intervals, carrying things up and down the mountain.
Couldn't go up to see the big guy, because the gate is locked at 5:30p. I arrived just after 6:00p. But at that point, I was just glad that it was over. I enjoyed it all, but I just wanted to sit down. This feeling would definitely have been tempered by the presence of a hiking buddy. Hiking alone is liberating, but can be terribly lonely. Why would you make such a big Buddha, on top of a mountain? You know it's just going to become a tourist site. Why is the image of Buddha so important? From what I understand, there are and have been many Buddhas. Buddha-ship, or however one might say it, is a state of life which one may both come into and come out of. What is the importance of showing the world a giant symbol of an abstraction that does not even exist permanently in one man or woman?
Took the bus down the mountain, man it's expensive: $16HK. Then took the ferry, which was even more expensive: $21HK. Geez, my mainland money doesn't go very far. I liked the drink machine though. It accepted the Octopus Card (八达通)! It seems very futuristic, although I imagine the technology is mature, and only public acceptance and infrastructure lacking. You swipe the card instead of paying, select the drink you want, and it comes barrelling down the inner chambers and arrives ice cold! Of course, the machine beeps to let you know it has subtracted money from your account. Convenient. To spend money too. Cashless, credit cardless purchasing. I wonder how far the Octupus Card will stretch its tentacles in the future.
To gain a competitive edge, the most progressive companies are poised to crush their competition, leveraging the high intensity lasers built into their corporate offices to wage a "decapitation" campaign against any and all insurgents. Or maybe it's just a light show for the uninitiated. Or maybe it is a weapons demonstration masquerading as a light show for the masses. The green line rends the murky blue skyline half, then into triangles. Three edges hosted by the three tallest buildings converge, and then disappear.
My return to the Khyber Pass restaurant on the 7th floor of the Chungking Mansions was not accompanied by much fanfare. This beloved place has expanded into the neighboring room. It was packed. Tons of people, Indian and Chinese. My mind was swimming in incoherency, I was tired and hungry, but I was ready to savor my last Indian meal for the coming months. Mango milkshake. Garlic naan. Navratan korma. Papadam. I relished every bite. Wrote a bit in my little red book. And felt very alone, which actually managed to detract a little from the otherwise celestial meal.
I remember last year, checking out the view from Kowloon at night with Katie. Without a friend nearby, this place becomes incredibly nostalgia-inducing. Yes, the couples cuddling under the romantic lights, all sounds muffled. The distant city - somehow, the breadth between gives it a certain mystical quality. It seems like someplace you would want to go, with your love, to explore and dance in the streets, listen to jazz, maybe, enjoy late night coffee and chat in the studio until dawn, in the studio, in each other's arms. The lights are flighty, though. I finally bought a mini tripod which doesn't really satisfy me, but is good enough for taking some simple night snots. This is me, hidden away, unimportant.
Shimmer.
Oh, as long as you prosecute my vehicle and not me, well then, that's okay I guess.
The Hong Kong Philharmonic. Not a bad group, with an excellent performance of Faure's Pavane and Ravel's Bolero. The flautist was running out of steam and rhythm in the latter, though, for which I can't blame her. And the organ pieces were really quite something, reminding me of the Howard Hanson organ piece. The Poulenc organ concerto was a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect anything melodic out of him, but I suppose I was just being unfairly prejudiced, in ignorance. It ended up being a very cool piece, and I hope I can find a copy of it somewhere. It was so nice being in this environment again. Just writing this makes me want to grab my violin, right now.
Mexican fish taco salad, served up Nepalese style(?). Heap on the sour cream, lime salsa, and black beans! Yummy stuff, which I ate at Soho, back on Hong Kong island at 11:30p after the Cultural Center concert. Honestly, my mind was so hacked at this point, I had to ask for a couple extra cups of water to try to clear it. Just exhaustion, there's nothing you can do except rest. Well, you can turn all the variable factors in your favor. Breathe deeply, stay hydrated, tell yourself to perk up. I had already convinced myself to go dancing, but at this point I was having second thoughts. Nothing wrong with heading back home after a nice late night meal, right? Well, nothing wrong, except I'd be abandoning my plans, and that would make me feel spineless, lacking of resolve. In the eyes of who? In the eyes of who ...
The closest thing to an orgy without people taking their clothes off. Or at least the gathering ground of people who like to gather but can't dance. So they cower behind their fake smiles and petty conversation pieces and expensive drinks. Lan Kwai Fong. Many restaurants all the way through Soho turn into nightspots after hours, and other more specialized locations opened up. But I was surprised at how tame everything seemed to be, especially for a Friday night. I found out later on that it is largely because Hong Kongers work way too hard - six days a week - so their "Friday night" is really shifted to Saturday night, in which case they have only one day to recover and rest before demon Monday arrives once again to levy his toll.
Smashed without a drink. But I danced, first at Bombay Dream which had awesome Hiphop, then later at Home Base, which had no dance floor to speak of, but where the beats were absolutely tops. Let's not talk about how I was unable to get back home. Everyone knows this. But shout out to Guivindra (I hope that's how his name is spelled) for helping me and overall being really cool. "Nice guy!"
Then there was light.
Life of dogs who want to be inside. Joseph behaves and is such a good dog, but seems either attention starved or attention demanding. Comes up with his nose in your crotch when he wants to express his affection for you. When you start petting him, he crumbles onto the floor into a mass of contentment, but when you show the first sign of leaving, he rises quickly, worried, and chases you down again. Too bad he must wear a muzzle outside, indeed it is unfair. Laplap needs the muzzle, the little whelper. Woke me up in the morning many times with his knavish barking, and thinks my hands are for chewing practice. He is the youngest, most spirited, and least trained, and pooped in front of me without batting an eye. Nopnop is better but generally just seems sad most of the time. The burden of raising pets. I feel it is perhaps too hard for me, to try to return on that well of affection and loyalty they offer to their sometimes negligent masters. These three dogs are well taken care of, but I can't help feeling that domesticated animals are still missing something vital. We are using them to feel good. For our own happiness. For the king's pleasure.
Do the border checkers have a higher probability of getting SARS than your average person? Perhaps. But I think they're a little paranoid too. Or maybe it's just one more step in becoming mechanized. Hiding your mouth and nose. Though not as singly important as the eyes, these facial features are nevertheless key in expressing our emotions and reactions. By hiding them we hold back more of ourselves. When will they put on masks, police helms, reflective and entirely opaque? What you can't see has power over you. Press a finger into their exposed foreheads. Deathly afraid of being coughed at, in the face.
Packed train from Shenzhen back to Changsha. They played cards. I don't know what I did. Read. Wrote. Smiled. Dozed off, head bobbing, nothing good to lean on. Thought of home.