Hong Kong Holiday

I recently took a weeklong vacation in Hong Kong with the wife and kid, and here's what happened. It's a rather long account, so I have included an executive summary for those who prefer a thumbnail sketch.

Executive summary:
Jumbo seafood, dim sum, Victoria Peak, Repulse Bay, beach fashion, Stanley Market, reflexology, more dim sum, Macau, egg tarts, 10,000 Buddhas, give or take a few thousand, old town in New Territories, dog growls, Cherisse howls, Margarete scowls, still more dim sum, Soho, Kowloon, Temple Street, Goldfish Street, Flower Street, Nathan Road, spaghetti.

We arrived in Hong Kong on a Friday afternoon and took a bus from the airport to our hotel in the western part of the island. Getting around Hong Kong is quite easy. Parts of the city have old double-decker electric trams (like the San Francisco cablecars) running down the middle of the street, and there is an extensive train system. We took many trips on the train at various times of the day, including evening rush hour, and were never once packed in tightly like I am in Singapore. And we were able to board every train that arrived, without having to wait for one that wasn’t already packed to capacity. The bus system is also good, and there are many taxis. However, we were able to get around quite easily without taking a taxi.


We had a small suite, which was more spacious than most accommodations in the city, although the shower was cramped and resembled a glass coffin standing upright. The tram stopped right outside our hotel and took us to the city center. We walked around the city and took a sampan (an old wooden boat) to the floating Jumbo Seafood Restaurant (left). This is an ornate, three-story ship-like structure with a few dining rooms covering several acres. We weren’t in the mood for a jumbo meal, so we sailed back to the city and found a ramen shop for dinner, then returned for a walk around our hotel neighborhood.

Our neighborhood was an older part of the city, which is a nice way of saying it was sort of rundown but not a slum. Most HK buildings are not painted regularly or well-maintained and are eyesores. The streets are largely litter free and bustling, lined with all kinds of small shops, restaurants, 7-Elevens, purveyors of shark fins and other Chinese remedies, and reflexology joints. We stopped in a small supermarket for fruit and yogurt for the next morning, but the pickings were slim. “Supermarket” is quite a stretch given the small selection; “barely passable market” is more like it. Found some pears and yogurt and returned home.

Next morning we had dim sum in the neighborhood. That’s what Hong Kongers do every morning – they have dim sum for breakfast. This became our morning ritual, though it was more of a noontime ritual – bear in mind that I was accompanied by two women, ages six and ?, so a late start was par for the course. At least I had a pear and yogurt for breakfast. Most of the dim sum was pretty good, though I would have preferred to duck into one of the many bread shops to grab a few rolls or pastries and get an earlier start. Cherisse would have too, as she is not a big dim sum fan.

In our family, dim sum works like this. I order a couple of steamed items, knowing Margarete will order a bunch more and I will have to help her eat them. I always end up having to eat more than I really want. So Margarete eats one siew mai (pork dumpling) and I eat three, Margarete eats one char siew pau (barbecued pork bun) and I eat two, and so on until Margarete is full and I am overstuffed. Cherisse will complain that she doesn’t like any of it, and might end up with an egg tart.

We took the faithful tram to town and went to Victoria Peak. This is atop a mountain (though technically it may be just a big hill), and you get to the top by riding in another tram, newer and more spacious than the ones plying the streets. This thing ascends at about a 40 degree angle, which is pretty steep. This gives the illusion that the buildings outside are toppling over. A lot of people live in these buildings, which must be pretty expensive and have fantastic views. At the top of the peak is a shopping mall of about six stories. Nothing interesting there – Burger King, Sunglass Hut, 7-Eleven, some electronics stores, gift shops selling the same touristy junk as Chinatown, and the bane of every shopping mall in the world: a Swarovski crystal store. Who the hell buys all these crystals, anyway?

After ascending the five or six mall escalators we came to the observation platform and enjoyed a spectacular view of skyscrapers below us (left). Had the air been clearer we probably could have seen for miles. Yep, the air in Hong Kong is not that clean, and is hard to breathe after a few days.

After looking at buildings, hills, sea, and air, and taking a few obligatory photos, we took the tram back down and boarded a bus for Repulse Bay, so named for a battle in which the British repulsed the enemy. I will resist the urge to make an anti-British joke here.

Repulse Bay is a beach area with some upscale homes and lots of tourists. The tourists walk onto the beach fully clothed, often carrying umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun, and take photos. It seems that most of them have never seen sun, sand, or sea before. About 5% of the people were in swimming attire and either sunbathing or frolicking in the surf like normal beachgoers. The bay is protected by a net to keep out sharks. If I were a shark in an area where my fellows have their fins cut off and are left to die I would be out for blood, too.

This place was hot, so we ducked into a 7-Eleven. 7-Elevens are very popular in Asia, and in Hong Kong you can stand in any randomly chosen spot at see four or five of them. Most do not have Slurpee machines, but this one had a three-spouted one – how advanced! In addition to the usual cola and green apple flavors, they had banana. I never had that before and had to try it. Poor Cherisse – she likes Slurpees but hates bananas, so she had ice cream.

Having partially beaten the heat, we got on another bus to Stanley Market. This is an area with a few winding paths lined with tourist shops, art galleries, clothing stores, and Western restaurants. There are a lot of tourists here, drinking beer, watching soccer, and eating pizza, sandwiches, and everything except Chinese cuisine.

At this point we were quite tired of walking around, so we went back to the neighborhood for dinner at a local dive. The food was decent and reasonably priced. I should mention that there are few tourists in the area. Then we went for a reflexology session. This involves soaking your feet in a tub of hot water, then getting them kneaded and massaged by a woman with very powerful hands. A relaxing end to a long day of walking.

The next day was Sunday, and we got out early (before nine!) to take a ferry to Macau. Macau, formerly a Portuguese colony, is (like Hong Kong) a special administrative region of China. It looks like any other Chinese area, but with more Catholic churches. We decided to wander about free and easy rather than take a tour, and started in the old town area with the Church of St. Paul (left). This is really just the facade of a church that used to be there, with a lot of steps full of tourists taking photos. We walked around the winding cobblestone streets eating Portuguese egg tarts (small pie shells filled with custard that are famous in the district) before settling on a local dive for lunch. The specialty is fried rice with eel and crab roe, which was decent but not great. Then we found another church that looked like a poor cousin of a European cathedral, but still nicer than most modern churches.

Afterwards we walked to the casino district and ventured into the new wing of the grand old dame, the Casino Lisboa. This place was really opulent, with many spectacular pieces of Chinese art. There were urns, statues, and huge, elaborate carvings of ivory, jade, and wood. Cherisse didn’t have her fake ID, so we couldn’t get onto the gaming floor. I’m sure it was a gambling frenzy in there. We took the ferry back in time for dinner in the neighborhood and another reflexology session.

Monday began with noonish dim sum as usual, followed by a ride on the MTR (train/subway system) to the New Territories. This area is more remote. We visited the Temple of 10,000 Buddhas, which is a series of small sanctuaries going up a mountain. One of them had thousands of small Buddha statues lining the walls in niches, though I don’t think there were ten thousand of them. Then we walked to a mall full of modern furniture stores, with a lot of stuff nicer than we have in Singapore.

We weren’t in the market for furniture, so we took a small bus down a series of one-lane streets to the remains of a 12th century village. Much of the original wall surrounding the village is still standing, along with some old temples and houses under restoration. Within the walls are also some newer homes with actual residents living within. We entered a walkway guarded by a big brown dog. The construction workers outside assured us he was harmless; anyway, he was asleep. Defying the “Do not enter” signs, we walked around the compound. A few more large dogs appeared, and it was too late to ask the workers about their disposition. I am not afraid of dogs, though I noticed one was growling in a menacing fashion. I was mentally evaluating our options, but Cherisse acted first – she screamed. This didn’t help, so I decided to walk slowly and avoid making eye contact with the beast, with Cherisse clinging to the back of my leg. Margarete seemed disappointed that I was not bulky enough to shield her completely as well, and followed nervously at a distance. I guess the dogs were convinced that we were not a threat, and we made it back to the little road and hopped on the next bus.

We got out at the train station. This was very much like in Singapore, where the train station is under a neighborhood mall full of fast food outlets, bubble tea stalls, bread shops, cheap clothing stores, and 7-Elevens. The mall is surrounded by tall blocks of flats and is populated by kids in school uniforms spending their pocket money on snacks. We bought some cherries at a little fruit stall and rode back home.

We had a short rest before taking the tram to the city center and ascending what is billed as the world’s longest covered escalator. It is actually a series of covered outdoor escalators leading up the hill to the nightclub district and Soho, a trendy restaurant district. This area is peopled with local yuppies and expats. We found a nice Italian restaurant that served wonderful bread, and I had a good lasagna with layers of pasta, minced beef in tomato sauce, and cheese – without the peas and carrots found in Singapore lasagna. Cherisse was delighted with her spaghetti and left nary a strand on her plate. Margarete also had a nice linguini with clams and a bowl of lobster bisque, and we were all pleased with our selection. Then we strolled around the city’s alleys, lined with little shops and stalls, before heading home for the night.

Tuesday we loaded our bags onto the train and moved across the water (under the water, actually) to a boutique hotel on the Kowloon side, just north of Hong Kong island. This was not as roomy, but was nice and had a normal sized shower. It was in a bustling neighborhood filled with neon signs and tourists. However, our daily program of dim sum and exploring was the same.

There are several streets with different themes. Temple Street is much like Chinatown in Singapore or anywhere else, with streets lined with stalls selling souvenirs, clothing, belts, handbag copies, watch copies, fruit, snacks, etc. Over the next two days we also meandered down similar streets.

Goldfish Street was lined with shops selling all kinds of freshwater and saltwater tropical fish. Many of them, including relatively expensive specimens, were sealed in small plastic bags hanging from racks outside the shops. Cherisse and I decided we are definitely going to get an aquarium soon. We also took a quick walk down the flower market street, but skipped the bird market street due to time constraints.

The main street in our Kowloon neighborhood is Nathan Road. This is very touristy, and you cannot walk down this street without being overwhelmed by touts imploring you to visit their tailor shop to be fitted for a shirt or suit, or to check out their handbag copies and watch copies (“counterfeit” and “fake” are bad words here). I actually did consider getting a shirt made, but I didn’t think they could make a T-shirt that said “No, I don’t want a shirt, suit, handbag copy or watch copy.” I don’t think it would have made a difference anyway.

One night we took a bus to Sai Kung, a fishing village known for its strip of seafood restaurants. These places all look the same, with indoor and outdoor eating areas and large banks of aquariums containing live seafood of all kinds to be cooked and consumed on the premises (left). We had a good meal featuring a whole steamed fish, large steamed shrimp, crabs, some small abalone, some kind of crayfish-like crustacean, and a green vegetable. Cherisse would have none of this, so she had a plate of fried rice. She pretty much had her fill before the seafood arrived, but she patiently waited for us to finish a rather lengthy meal. We decided to reward her good behavior by letting her choose the next night’s meal, which would be our last in Hong Kong.

On our final night the American 1½ of our family was rebelling against the Chinese 1½, and Cherisse chose a local chain serving Italian food. It wasn’t as good as the place in Soho, but Cherisse thoroughly enjoyed her spaghetti, and my spaghetti in squid ink with scallops and fish roe was not bad. Margarete had cannelloni stuffed with spinach and crab meat in cream sauce and a mediocre lobster bisque, and at least two of us were happy with the meal.

Arising early the next morning, we took a bus to the airport and headed home. It feels good to breathe again.

Red Shirts Invade Singapore!

An army of red shirts have occupied the MRT stations. They don’t appear to be from Thailand, they seem very local. I noticed them when I rode the MRT the other day. Their job is to herd people into the trains, admonishing them to squeeze in. I’ve heard that they have such people herders in Japan, and they forcibly shove people into the trains, though I can’t say for sure. But it hasn’t come to that in Singapore – yet.

In the last year or so, as the country has been gearing up for the opening of the two casinos, I mean, integrated resorts, it seems every Chinese soap opera has had a story line about the evils of gambling. The family of the gambling addict ends up as wiped out as if a nuclear bomb had been dropped on their formerly happy home, only the message on these shows is not quite as subtle as an actual nuclear explosion.

How to connect the preceding two paragraphs? You may think that when you tap your fare card on the turnstile you are buying a ride on the train, but in fact you are merely gambling on the chance of getting on the next train. At certain times you may watch two trains go by without any hope of getting on. Once you do get on, your chances of getting a seat are pretty slim.

I’d love to be able to get rid of my car, which is nothing more than a huge tax bill on four wheels. But every time I get on the train I long to be back in the thick of Singapore traffic. And you know how I hate Singapore traffic.

It’s easy to complain. I’d rather propose a solution. My last proposal for the MRT – playing musical chairs at every station so everyone has a fair chance of getting a seat – was not well received. In any case, it hasn’t been implemented. So I don’t expect much with this proposal either: Fire the red shirts, get some dogs to herd the people into the trains, and use the money saved to run more trains.

Doing Business Slowly

As we were twenty minutes early for Cherisse’s violin lesson this morning we decided to stop at the bank and make a small deposit. Cherisse makes her big annual deposit right after Chinese New Year, when she collects more money than I ever saw until I was in my early twenties. But the tooth fairy has been making a few visits lately, so I figured a trip to the bank might be a good experience for her.

This bank had three separate queues: one for their priority customers, one for corporate accounts, and one for us regular slobs. There are ropes for crowd control, and the posts from which these ropes are suspended have small signs advising us to be patient, and the first one predicts we will be served in 15 minutes, while the next one estimates 10 minutes. There is no sign before the 15 minutes marker, meaning you could spend a few hours there. There are no clocks visible to remind you of how your life is passing you by as you wait for slow customers to be served by slow tellers.

We got into the queue just after the 10 minute mark. Several other non-priority and non-corporate customers arrived afterwards, extending the queue to what would have been the 25-30 minute mark. There was one lone teller assigned to serve us all, except for the two special lanes. In the priority lane was an Indian woman who remained there the entire time we were in the bank. Judging from the complexity of her transaction, I believe she was a member of the Mittal family and was financing the purchase of a new steel mill.

In fact, I get the impression that Singapore is a nation of billionaires, because nearly everyone took a long time to do their business. It seems this is always my experience whenever I go to the bank. I’m the only one who can get my business done in under three minutes. Maybe I need to increase my fees.

Periodically an employee from the back room would come out to one of the three tellers and do something before returning to the back room. She would walk with military precision, with her head straight, straining to avoid all eye contact with customers. Were she to meet a customer’s glare there might be some tacit recognition of the need to sit herself down at one of the several empty stations and start serving customers. I wonder what goes on in that back room? I imagine a bunch of employees are watching us customers on closed circuit TV, laughing at our pained expressions.

Our estimated 10-15 minute wait approached 20 minutes before we were served. Cherisse asked me what the bank’s initials stood for. I replied: Doing Business Slowly. (I have a policy of never identifying businesses I write about if the experience is less than flattering!)

Why not move our business to another bank? Like the People-Only-Standing-By-while-the-queue-stretches-out-the-door-and-down-the-street bank? I’ve thought about it, but they all seem pretty much the same. Singaporeans are used to waiting in queues, so why should any business waste money to serve their customers faster?

So our little adventure was instructive after all. Cherisse learned that banks only care about money, not people. And I learned that taking her to the bank once a year is maddening enough, but any more than that is insane. We’ll just hold on to all future gifts from the tooth fairy until after Chinese New Year 2011.

Going Green

You may be wondering what Singaporeans are doing to save planet earth. I’m happy to report there is quite a bit of recycling going on. Unfortunately, it’s happening in the wrong places.

Most of the recycling is happening on TV. For several months you could watch snippets of “popular” commercials in between TV shows and even during regular commercial breaks. Yes, commercials of commercials. You were invited to text in your vote for the best commercial. The voting period lasted almost forever. If there’s anything worse than an annoying jingle running through your head, it’s five annoying jingles in a certain sequence, so you can anticipate the other four as soon as you hear the first one! I came very close to hurling my TV out the window, killer litter police be damned. After the balloting was completed, the results were announced in another torrent of commercials lasting several weeks more. Either they’re running out of programming, or they want to reward their advertisers, or they want to pat themselves on the back, or they want to make money from phone charges. Or they want to recycle!

With that nightmare finally out of the way, what can they show now? There was one recent show comparing expensive and cheap versions of certain items, like mattresses. I think they made four episodes. As soon as the last one ran, they began running the entire series again! I don’t think they took even one week off. Recycling!

Not long ago there was an international theatrical production about fat thighs, hot flashes, and other women’s problems. It was supposed to be funny, but the commercials for it were so unfunny and boring it made me drowsy. I’m glad I know where to get a cheap mattress. A few months later it was back for another run! Recycling!

A local theatrical production with a hallowed past is also back for yet another encore run!

And the Chinese TV star award show was just on, using the same annoying theme music it always uses! A fanfare of fifteen notes, repeated endlessly. Recycling! Can’t they get the national tunesmith (the guy who writes almost all of the annual National Day songs) to come up with something new?

But what about real efforts to go green? Well, there has been a movement to eat local. By this they mean eat locally produced eggs, chicken, pork, etc. Or at least food trucked in from Malaysia, as opposed to flown in from Australia. [Note: They advertise air flown pork – how else would it fly, through the water?!]

This is all wrong! If you want to save the planet, eat local – as in, near your house. Every Singaporean has a food court or coffee shop within fifty paces of their home. And they all have the same food – rice and noodles with assorted toppings and gravies, curry, seafood, and Muslim and Indian food. But people won’t go downstairs to eat. They will get in their car and drive halfway across the country to buy a three dollar packet of rice or noodles from some other food stall that’s supposedly better! That explains why traffic is worse on Saturday afternoon than during rush hour on a weekday morning. Countless tons of carbon emissions are shot into the air every day by people driving around for food they can get just outside their door! If you’re serious about going green, support your nearest hawker!

Growing Old in Singapore

There’s talk of turning Pulau Ubin into a retirement village. Located a few minutes by bumboat from Singapore proper, this island is known for its kampung flavour. In other words, these folks could spend their final years in much the same environment as their childhood years.

In the US when people move to a retirement community the men usually get a white belt and white shoes. I have no idea why, but almost all of them do. I wonder if Pulau Ubin newcomers will don sarongs?

Overall, I like the concept. I just hope they have a Shop ‘N’ Save there. Many elderly Singaporeans would be lost without this supermarket. It gives out a sticker for every $15 dollars spent. When you fill a card with 12 stickers ($180 worth) in one month you get a 5% rebate ($9). I never spend enough at this place to fill a card so I give my stickers to the auntie at the door. Yes, there is an auntie who stands just outside the store asking people for these stickers. As she is always there when I go there, she must spend hours a day every day pursuing this hobby. I’m not sure how long it takes for her to fill a card, or how much groceries she buys every month, but it seems like a hard way to stretch her food budget.

A few meters away is another auntie doing the same thing. If they get too close they hiss at one another. Gotta protect your turf! Though SORRI has not conducted a comprehensive survey, I have noticed this occurring at more than one outlet. What an undignified way to spend your Golden Years. And in a country that supposedly reveres the elderly.

Of course, retiring to Pulau Ubin is not for everyone, only those who can afford to actually retire.
Taxi fares in Singapore are low compared to most developed countries. You could say that cab drivers are subsidizing the nation’s growth. And what does the nation do for them when they’re old? Why, it allows them to keep on driving their cabs into their seventies!

And we’ve all seen elderly folks cleaning tables at hawker centers and sweeping up litter. No rest for these weary, until they find it in the grave. But maybe they prefer to live a life of purpose rather than loafing around the mahjong table.

There seems to be an abhorrence of the very idea of a welfare state, which is understandable. I don’t understand how this justifies taking the opposite extreme, and making old people toil every day of their lives.

On the plus side, there might be a need for taxi drivers and table cleaners in the retirement village.

Gong xi fa cai, pardner

Who says the Chinese New Year routine has to be the same every year?

This year we went to one of our favorite Chinese seafood restaurants for the reunion dinner. Normally, this place is better than most, and there are few people dining there. The manager runs around an extra mile or two until his white dress shirt is plastered to his body with sweat, and we return now and then.

But on the eve of CNY the place was packed. I'll bet they had way more bodies in there than the fire code permits as they tried to make a killing on their big night. As a result, the food was slow in coming out, and the portions seemed smaller. While the health conscious few recommend eating until you are only 80% full, that won't fly with our party. Most of our group like to eat until they are 180% full. So we left with room to spare.

We took a walk outside to a replica of a Mississippi riverboat, complete with big red paddle wheel astern, which is permanently moored to the dock. In the past we had assumed it was a floating restaurant with karaoke rooms. Turns out it is a Tex-Mex restaurant, serving baby-back ribs, quesadillas, and fajitas (kind of like a Mexican popiah). On weekends a woman sings lounge music accompanied by a pianist. We just ordered ice cream - a lot of ice cream.

And then there came the big break with tradition. My brother-in-law, Ah Tong, ordered a chicken chop "fried like Kentucky." This was the first time in twelve years that I ever saw him eat Western food. In fact, I have seen him walk out of Chinese restaurants without eating because the food wasn't Chinese enough for his taste! And he liked it! There is a glimmer of hope that we might actually go back there sometime for a family meal.

The next day as we assembled for the annual round of family visits Tong was wearing a pair of jeans. I haven't seen him wear long pants since his wedding. And Ah Ma was also wearing a pair of jeans - another first!

I always thought that CNY was the same old same old every year. At least I had that impression after eleven go rounds. But even a very traditional family on a very traditional occasion can surprise you. I can't wait to see what happens next year!

Or maybe I wasn't wrong about SingPost

SingPost has announced that it will stop collecting and delivering mail on Saturdays, beginning in May. While the move is not terribly disruptive, it could be a sign of things to come. Will they soon cut back to a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule?

It would also help if their boxes were more accessible. I stumbled on this one in the Kaki Bukit area, largely hidden in the shrubbery. A team of commandos would have trouble posting a letter here!