World Travel Guide Online

One Country, Two Systems
Having spent over two-and-a-half straight years in the Chinese mainland without leave, it was with both anticipation and apprehension that I recently crossed the southern border into Asia’s wealthiest city.

Despite its one-stop-shopping popularity with Mainland expats needing new clothes and a new visa, I truly had no idea what to expect in the former crown colony that supposedly makes even rich men feel poor. Rather terrified of exacting reverse culture shock, I saved English-speaking Hong Kong and its “One Country, Two Systems” self for the tail end of my journey across the 32 Chinese provinces.

And it is here that all my preconceptions and fears about Hong Kong were – true. To quote the under-appreciated American writer, Thomas A. Carter (me!), upon his brief sojourn in the legendary Chinese city, “I’ve never felt more poor than when I was in Hong Kong. I’ve never felt more ugly than when I was in Hong Kong.”

DAY 1 – I feel like a migrant worker back in Beijing
Cross the Shenzhen-Hong Kong border at Louhu and catch the immaculate KCR railway, immediately impressed that nobody is staring, shoving or spitting. Arrive in Kowloon’s southern peninsula and emerge from the underground into the land of lights – Tsim Sha Tsui. Blinded with excitement, I have to ask a resplendent group of Indian women draped in saris where the Mirador Mansion is. They point their gold-ringed fingers straight up – a towering, rust-stained concrete block, one of Hong Kong’s only affordable accommodations. I check in to a claustrophobic dorm room (three times the price of a Mainland dorm and three times smaller), then hit Nathan Road. Peering up into the neon lights, tripping in the crush of the crowds, I feel like a migrant worker back in Beijing.

DAY 2 – So Much for Getting a Date
Awoken at 6:00 a.m. by one of my bunkmates stumbling in after a long night. His name is Pat, a young American backpacker with long red hair, whose introduction is immediately followed by a long-winded narrative about his two-week romps in Hong Kong, including scoring with the mythical “Asian girls who LOOOVE foreign guys". When I counter that I never had any such luck, the fast-talking but likeable Pat proffers some off-the-cuff advice (“Dude, lose the beard”) before launching into more useful information. “It’s Sunday, okay, and there’s gonna be, like, 120,000 Filipino nannies and maids on their only day off, looking for boyfriends!”

I’m a little dubious of Pat’s generalizations, but sure enough, his mobile rings continuously with calls from adoring cleaning ladies he met the Sunday before. An afternoon stroll around Statue Square reveals a literal blanket of thousands of picnicking South Asian women (Hong Kong’s largest migrant communities) whose collective chatter sounds like a large flock of seagulls. When I attempt to candidly photograph one attractive young Filipino, she shouts “Hey! I klick jor ass!” So much for getting a date.

DAY 3 – What Are Weekdays For
Fieldtrip to Shek O Beach on Hong Kong Island’s south side, savoring the soft sand and splashing in the subtropical South China Sea. Supposedly, this place is packed out on the weekend, but that’s what weekdays are for, no? It’s one of those moments when I enjoy being unemployed. Chase my fun in the sun with a tram ride up Victoria Peak for a breathtaking evening vista of skyscrapers, that appear to be constructed entirely out of lights. Dafnit, an Israeli girl, clearly in awe of the Hong Kong skyline, remarks, “We have no tall buildings in Israel. Oh wait – we have one!”

DAY 4 – So Cool and So Young
Spend the day traversing Kowloon, the fashion billboards of TST turning into seedy massage parlor billboards as I descend northwest down the Nathan Road side streets, the sun lost behind precipices of neon signs stretching horizontally over the streets. The markets of Mong Kok are mobbed with uniformed students on lunch break – long-haired boys with untucked white shirts and loosened ties, made-up girls in little outfits out of a Japanese kogal/hentai fantasy: knee-high black stockings, short skirts and a Louis Vuitton bag to carry their pencils and books. They have tattoos, tongue piercings and smoke cigarettes. After commenting that they are the hippest students in China I’ve seen, one 15-year-old boy replies in perfect English, “Yes, so cool, but so young".

DAY 5 – Microcosm of Capitalism
I want to see how the other half lives. I spend the day in Central, Hong Kong Island’s microcosm of capitalism. Cross Victoria Harbor by the centuries-old Star Ferry through a morning miasma of pollution. I follow white-collared crowds of businessmen contending with cell phones, briefcases and lattés into their respective skyscrapers. Later I observe as many women shopping in designer department stores – these must be the wives.

I notice they clutch their purses as I walk by, then realize why, as I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflective facade of the Bank of China tower. My head cast down in self-consciousness, I almost get rolled over by a Rolls (driving on the wrong side of the road, damn Brits!), then almost again by a double-decker cable car. Everyone in Central must be against me.

My insecurities are firmed up that evening in Lan Kwai Fong, a gentrified neighborhood of upscale restaurants and bars on the Island’s northern escarpment. The steep streets are congested with young, well-to-do westpats toasting yet another successful day of money-making. I can’t believe there are so many white people in China who aren’t English teachers! They are smartly dressed and have well-groomed hair; I am wearing cutoff army pants, low-top fake Converse, an eight year old T-shirt that I bought used. I haven't shaved or cut my locks in the eight months I’ve been on the road. I want to belong, but I don’t. It’s one of those moments when I regret being unemployed.

DAY 6 – Seedier Nightspots
I give the Island another chance and take the night ferry across the harbor to the north end’s older and seedier nightspot, the infamous Wan Chai. Recall it is where Richard Mason penned his 1950’s tale of forbidden love, “The World Of Suzie Wong", though a lot has changed since he wrote “take a minute’s stroll from the center and you won’t see a European". The pick-up bars still line the road, yum-yum girls luring passersby into their neon-lit dens, but these are the illegitimate daughters of Suzie Wong, not of Chinese but Thai descent, wearing not elegant silk cheongsams, but cheap miniskirts raised to immodest heights. Unlike the kindly ladies of the Nam Kok Hotel, these modern-day working girls are vicious, mercenary, cold.

When a group of obviously disappointed white boys emerge from one venue exclaiming, “In Thailand they take off ALL their clothes", the brown-skinned door girl in plastic go-go boots is quick to shout back, “Then go to Thailand!”

Further down Lockhart, I follow a couple of older Europeans primed with drink and flirting heavily with a lovely bouquet of girls looking for generous company. After making their arrangements, one of the men leans on me and confides, “Wy mife, I mean my wife, thinks I’m *HICCUP* at a conference.” The remaining girls give this poor writer a cursory glance, then quickly cross the street away from me.

DAY 7 – The Nongmin
I wake up feeling dejected and classless; the expatriates of Central don’t want me, nor do the waterfront girls of Wan Chai. Take a stroll around TST, passing by friendly knots of third-world hustlers hanging out in front of the Chungking Mansions, the immigrant ghetto of Kowloon that serves as temporary living quarters for Hong Kong’s financially insolvent émigrés. A street corner tout from Kashmir says to me “The Mansions is where anyone not wearing pastel shorts or a suit stay.” I realize this mad cauldron of multiculturalism is the only place I truly feel at home in Hong Kong. The Africans on the never-quiet front steps always high-five me, the Pakistanis think I’m Muslim (must be the beard), and the Indians bat their eyelashes at me. The Chungking Mansions are the international haunt for anyone who is no one. I am one of them. It is a peasant’s epiphany – in Hong Kong, I am the "nongmin".

Tom Carter is a freelance writer and photographer in Beijing. This story was originally published in the November 2006 edition of That's PRD Magazine.

Hong Kong

“Bite and suck,” Tami tells me, her umber eyes wide with anticipation.

Using my fingers, I pick up the kiwi sized chicken foot from the hot metal bin on the table. It’s seasoned yellow skin warms the pad of my thumb. The clangs of dishes and nasal sounds of the patron’s nine-toned Cantonese fade in proportion to my growing apprehension.

“It’s okay, really. They’re good,” Tami says while reclining. Her her bony shoulders rest on the fabric covered chair back. Her straight black hair brushes the curved top of its brass edges. “Try it.”

Why not, right? It’s just chicken. Chicken like any other chicken only this time raised in Hong Kong, cooked in the New Territories and served up foot-only style. It’s just chicken at this native-filled, dinner-only restaurant just a few blocks from the Sham Shui Po metro stop.

Tami was a high school exchange student in my small mid-western hometown. Her only complaint was our lack of authentic Chinese food. Fifteen years later, here I am, on her turf debating whether to suck the meat off this Chinese chicken foot. It’s the polite thing to do. Eat her food, that is. After all, she ate mine. And after hiking to the Peak Tower, exploring the Stanley Main Street Market on the other side of the island, and navigating the rush hour metro, I am famished.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it. I’m just getting prepared,” I say inspecting the bumped flimsy skin. Each drip of grease begins to decorate my white porcelain plate in the shape of a smile. “How do I do it?”

“Stick the entire foot into your mouth up to this joint,” she pointed to the knobby piece of cartilage displaying a white hue underneath the thin layer of meat. “Once you’ve bitten, then suck hard. All the good meat will slide right off into your mouth, juicy and rich. You can tell if it’s been prepared well if the meat slides easily, not too raw and not too cooked.”

I take a breath and exhale slowly, puffing out my cheeks like Miles Davis on the trumpet. A large laughter explodes from the family of seven seated behind us, breaking my concentration. At first look, the low-ceilinged ballroom-style restaurant is dotted by circular tables strewn about in no particular order. Upon further analysis, I see the two-hundred patrons, evenly spaced. Thin walkways fill with wandering waiters. Stares gleam in my direction from a few of the smiling faces in this popular eatery. One male with gelled spiky hair nods, the bobbling head type of nod, silently encouraging me.

“Here it goes,” I say, crossing my eyes over the bridge of my nose. The noises fade again. I watch my hand lift the now lukewarm clump of bone, flesh, cartilage and muscle to my mouth. As instructed, I open my mouth wide enough to insert the entire foot, still securing the end with my hand. With lips spread apart, massive pink gums flash my audience. I search with my top two and bottom four teeth for the notch of the joint.

A deep groan sounds from my throat as I prepare to suck. My eyes dart to Tami, a typical petite Chinese woman, as she laughs at the site of this big American traveler tasting her first chicken foot. Now, like the boy on the Cheerio commercials, I form an “O” with my mouth and clamp down. The slimy skin tingles my lips. I blow out from my nose so as not to smell. Inside my tongue works furiously around the bone, loosening the skin, in preparation for the suck.

I stretch my eyes and pinch all my cheek muscles inward like a bad face lift. With rookie precision I pull my hand away from my face and simultaneously suck the entire contents from the bone. My mouth churns its contents towards the back of my teeth and up again, chewing the tender meat. I drop the foot carcass on the metal plate along side it’s matching bin as I savor the spicy grease inside my mouth.

“Well,” says Tami with a smirk, “What do you think?”

I force a swallow. Wait. Swallow again. Then turn and say, “Tastes like chicken.”

Tami stands with bent knees and reaches her pale lanky arms over the table. The sizzles and commotion of the restaurant ricochet off my ear drums once again. I glance towards the previous stare and catch a thumbs up from Spiky Haired Man. I have passed the first gastronomy test and have yet to crack.

“Next, I have a salad for you to try,” Tami says, placing a cereal bowl-sized container in front of me. “You need to use your chop sticks for this one. I’m going to eat some too.”

As I reach for the two plastic black sticks, a classy place, no wood, I examine my next challenge. The bowl overflows with a mound of curly pink things, the color of silly putty. They’re not alive. The smooth tubular items glisten with a juicy sauce. The overpowering scent of lime blocks any other defining smells.

I rest one heavy chop stick on the top knuckle of my right hand middle finger while the expert Tami, quickly snatches up a salmon-colored squiggle. I then clasp the other stick in between my pointer finger and thumb, brass wrapped end towards my forearm, rounded tip up. Tami continues to shovel the salad into her mouth without a drop of dressing spotting the maroon polyester/linen table cloth. With tools finally in balance, I begin to prod the now flattened pile.

“What is it?” I ask as I begin my investigation, pinchers bouncing off the silly putty. Some mysterious greens speckle the bite-sized morsels.

She eyes my face then the bowl, back to my face, and says, “Don’t worry about it. Just eat it. It’s good.”

I stop asking. Better not to know. I’m fortunate to have no food allergies so I tell myself to remain flexible, to adapt. With my free hand, I clench the cloth napkin lying next to the bowl and move it to my lap. Worst case scenario, I’ll spit it out.

Using my stick tips I poke what I now rationalize as dense lime-flavored, wet bubble gum curly fries. After four unsuccessful attempts at securing a curl with my chops, I finally succeed. The rubber band bounces around in my mouth while I slurp the sour sauce off my lips. I bite. The soft crunch resonates up through my jaws and into my ears. Jagged edged strands of meat stick in the crevasses of my teeth, not the least bit succulent. I crunch again.

My eyelashes flutter. Eyes begin to water. I imagine the whites growing red. “I think I got a pepper,” I mumble through my full mouth. Releasing the crinkled napkin, I grab my glass of water.

Tami, both elbows propped on the table, watches my reaction. “Yeah, I should have told you, there are chili peppers added to the lime juice and vegetables shavings. They add flavor. How do you like it so far?” she asks.

Am I supposed to say to my gracious hostess, that its awful, that I’ll never try it again? Burning tongue quenched I say, “Not bad, there’s not too much taste from the meat of the fish part or whatever it is. But I like the sauce.” I felt the first bite hit my stomach and imagined it squirming about, revived from its dormant phase and rejuvenated by human stomach juices.

“I’m glad you like the pig’s ear salad,” she says, like I’ve heard it a million times before.

With left hand back in my lap around the napkin, my right slowly sets down my chop sticks on the quarter sized, white porcelain holder to the right of my plate. I look again at the bowl, then back at Tami. She laughs and calls the waiter over with a flick of her raised hand. “This next one we order fresh. It’s not so good room temperature so he’ll bring it out hot in a minute.”

I raise my eyebrows “Do I ask about this one?” I say.

“I wouldn’t.”

While we wait, Tami pulls out a long thin notepad from the plastic office holder in the center of the table. The movement disrupts the handful of small eraserless pencils behind it.

“This is how most of the sit-down restaurants work in Hong Kong. It’s better to eat with a larger crowd, your family,” she says studying the slashes, dots, and crosses that formulate the Chinese characters printed on the pad. “We usually come here together, my grandma, parents, and my brother and sister.” Tami and her siblings, all over twenty-five, still live at home together. “With six people we fill up a table and then mark on the notepad the dishes that we want to share. My dad gives the paper to the waiter and the food comes. Sometimes we order fifteen or twenty plates of food.”

I scan the crowd guessing who is the grandma or the wife. Which child belongs to which couple. Each table a different personality: the strong silent types, the gregarious jokesters, intimate confidants. As the only American here, I feel honored to participate in this cultural experience, a Tuesday evening dinner. Already strange by the way I look, I choose not to be strange by the way I eat.

The waiter returns holding another white porcelain plate with his silver potholder. I sit up, arch my back, and lift my chin to peer over the top. As the plate descends in front of my face I see three cream colored disks, the size of hockey pucks, but only half the thickness. They swim in a thick light brown broth.

“Is it sweet?” I ask, leaning over to catch a smell, if any.

“No, but you have to eat it warm. In the olden days this was served to royalty. People don’t eat it much any more. They’re reserved for special occasions.” Tami takes a knife. Securing the slippery puck with her chop stick, she begins to saw one disk into a bite-sized piece for me.

I imagine myself in purple silk gown, decorated with scarlet and golden embroidery. All the people of the restaurant are my courtesans. Our sole purpose, to protect and promote peace throughout the land.

The smell of left-over, cold chicken feet bursts my fantasy. Wafts of sour lime mixed with the sweet sizzling beef and basil from the table to my right, seeps under my nose.

“It’s easier to eat this way,” Tami says as she pushes the morsel towards my edge of the plate. “Here you go.”

Instead of pinching, I spear the puck with one chop stick and raise it to my nose. A mixture of dirt and sugar smell lingers near each nostril. I place the warm, heavy piece into my mouth and begin to chew. It’s tough and hard to penetrate. Not crunchy like a potato chip, but hard to chew like cold caramel. A little airy. My tongue licks and sucks the juices off the now white disk, almost like a water chestnut, but much sturdier.

The taste?

Tami must notice the crinkle of my forehead and squint in my eyes. She doesn’t wait for the large bulge of my throat to rise up and fall. She hands me a cool milky, kool-aid concoction and says with a smile, “Chicken feet, pigs ears and camel hooves. Welcome to Hong Kong.”

View looking up as you ascend to Big Buddha

The guidebook was right, telling me to be sure to get a window seat on the right side of the bus. For that, I was rewarded for the last ten minutes of the ride with a sight of “Tian Tan,” as the Big Buddha is called, from underneath looking up, enabling me to appreciate all of its splendor from bottom to top, front to back.

It’s Friday morning and I start out at Pier 6 in Hong Kong’s Central District, paying $21HK for the ferry boat ride to Lantau. Just before boarding, I buy some snacks and drinks from the pier vendors. The boat is less than one-half full, and most of the riders appear to be locals. I munch on the snacks, quite delicious by the way, during the fifty-minute boat ride.

I follow the crowd after alighting the boat at Mui Wo Pier (Silvermine Bay). A walk of about 100 yards takes me to the bus stop where I get into a line of waiting passengers. No more than five minutes later, the bus comes, the #2 Po Lin Monastery. The group of four ahead of me quickly learns from the bus driver that they need to have the exact fare and since they don’t have that they are denied entry onto the bus. Luckily, I have an Octopus card, good for bus, subway and ferry transportation in Hong Kong, Kowloon, and surrounding areas. The fare? $16HK today but it is $25HK on Sundays and holidays.

Soon the bus slowly climbs a small hill, and within minutes it goes downhill, and around, and then up another hill, and still another, repeating the process not unlike that of a merry-go-around ride. Although the speed is not fast by any means, only about 20 miles per hour, the narrow two-way lane makes me imagine the ride Cary Grant and Grace Kelly took in the south of France in the movie It Takes A Thief. Actually, there are stops along the way as the road gets so narrow that either the bus I am riding in or the one coming in the opposite way has to pull over the side to allow the other to pass. Surely the next guidebook to be published on Hong Kong should include this bus ride, lasting forty minutes of fun and anticipation, as one not to be missed.

Surrounding area as you descend from Big Buddha

At the ticket purchase office for Buddha, I opt for the admission fee with meal, $23HK and am given two tickets, one for admission and one for the meal. Ah, Big Buddha! Never mind the exact measurements of its height or weight. It is huge, billed as “the biggest outdoor and seated Buddha in the world.” A sight to behold. There are about 300 steps to walk up to get nearer to Buddha but don’t bother to count. Just make the trip up at your own pace, stop when you feel a need to catch your breath, and turn around to take in the panoramic view of the surrounding forested areas interpersed with the monastery and other structures, and then continue up. Young kids and elderly folks alike make the trip up. Some of the elderly even have to use walking canes. Nothing, not even 300 uphill steps, is going to stop them from getting closer to Big Buddha. Babies, some seated comfortably in strollers, are carried by their parents.

Standing next to Buddha, I get a very solemn feeling. I reflect on what I know about Buddhism. Even if you are not a Buddhist, as long as you have respect for religion and traditional philosophy, you will get that same feeling. Others near me marvel at the structure, it with its right hand raised up from the elbow, palm fanning outward and its left hand with its opened palm facing up. Its facial gesture seems to convey the message to all who will pay heed, “Do not worry. Everything will be all right.”

The walk down is much easier and quicker. Po Lin Monastery (“Precious Lotus”) is directly opposite a group of gold, green and red structures. I go into the courtyard and give the meal ticket to one of the many women servers behind the counter. She quickly fills a plate with generous portions of a variety of vegetarian food (“jai”) and cakes. My plate contains both bland and sweet varieties and there is more than enough to eat that I can forgo dinner tonight.

On the return trip, I take the #23 bus (fare $16HK) to the Tung Chung MTR Station, from which subway connections can be made to points in Hong Kong or Kowloon.

Big Buddha towering over 300 steps

If You Go
The consensus on the best time to visit Hong Kong seems to be late September through the end of December, with the exception of certain dates in February, when you can partake in very traditional and elaborate Chinese New Year celebrations throughout the city and surrounding areas that run for a full ten days. If you go at any other times, expect to be ready for rainy and very discomforting hot and humid weather that inevitably occurs the rest of the year.

Getting There
There are so many ways. The first time traveler to Hong Kong might consider buying a tour package, inclusive of airfare, hotel room, some meals with a couple of popular local tours thrown in.

Where To Stay
The range of available accommodations is endless. You will expect to pay the most if you stay in “Central” on the Kong Kong side or “Tsim Sha Tsui” on the Kowloon side but both locations are ideal as a base to do your shopping, sightseeing and dining. As for the Royal Pacific Hotel and Towers in Tsim Sha Tsui mentioned earlier, I would certainly stay there again.

What To Do
Guidebooks and the local tourism office will give you more things to do and places to go than you will have time for. However, if you happen to be in Hong Kong in February during the time of the annual Hong Kong Salsa Festival, try to make at least one or two events. This is an extravaganza not to be missed, even for the non-dance enthusiast. The promoters put on a 6-day and night affair that is replete with over thirty teams of international performers in salsa and other Latin dances, high level competitions among the best dancers in the world. Guests are treated to the exotic and rhythmic sounds of the Latin beat put out by disc jockeys and bands who are locally famous in Asia, Europe, and North America.For the tourist, the festival’s Duk Ling Ride on a junk gives a panoramic view of Victoria Harbor and Hong Kong’s skyline.

View looking up as you ascend to Big Buddha

The guidebook was right, telling me to be sure to get a window seat on the right side of the bus. For that, I was rewarded for the last ten minutes of the ride with a sight of “Tian Tan,” as the Big Buddha is called, from underneath looking up, enabling me to appreciate all of its splendor from bottom to top, front to back.

It’s Friday morning and I start out at Pier 6 in Hong Kong’s Central District, paying $21HK for the ferry boat ride to Lantau. Just before boarding, I buy some snacks and drinks from the pier vendors. The boat is less than one-half full, and most of the riders appear to be locals. I munch on the snacks, quite delicious by the way, during the fifty-minute boat ride.

I follow the crowd after alighting the boat at Mui Wo Pier (Silvermine Bay). A walk of about 100 yards takes me to the bus stop where I get into a line of waiting passengers. No more than five minutes later, the bus comes, the #2 Po Lin Monastery. The group of four ahead of me quickly learns from the bus driver that they need to have the exact fare and since they don’t have that they are denied entry onto the bus. Luckily, I have an Octopus card, good for bus, subway and ferry transportation in Hong Kong, Kowloon, and surrounding areas. The fare? $16HK today but it is $25HK on Sundays and holidays.

Soon the bus slowly climbs a small hill, and within minutes it goes downhill, and around, and then up another hill, and still another, repeating the process not unlike that of a merry-go-around ride. Although the speed is not fast by any means, only about 20 miles per hour, the narrow two-way lane makes me imagine the ride Cary Grant and Grace Kelly took in the south of France in the movie It Takes A Thief. Actually, there are stops along the way as the road gets so narrow that either the bus I am riding in or the one coming in the opposite way has to pull over the side to allow the other to pass. Surely the next guidebook to be published on Hong Kong should include this bus ride, lasting forty minutes of fun and anticipation, as one not to be missed.

Surrounding area as you descend from Big Buddha

At the ticket purchase office for Buddha, I opt for the admission fee with meal, $23HK and am given two tickets, one for admission and one for the meal. Ah, Big Buddha! Never mind the exact measurements of its height or weight. It is huge, billed as “the biggest outdoor and seated Buddha in the world.” A sight to behold. There are about 300 steps to walk up to get nearer to Buddha but don’t bother to count. Just make the trip up at your own pace, stop when you feel a need to catch your breath, and turn around to take in the panoramic view of the surrounding forested areas interpersed with the monastery and other structures, and then continue up. Young kids and elderly folks alike make the trip up. Some of the elderly even have to use walking canes. Nothing, not even 300 uphill steps, is going to stop them from getting closer to Big Buddha. Babies, some seated comfortably in strollers, are carried by their parents.

Standing next to Buddha, I get a very solemn feeling. I reflect on what I know about Buddhism. Even if you are not a Buddhist, as long as you have respect for religion and traditional philosophy, you will get that same feeling. Others near me marvel at the structure, it with its right hand raised up from the elbow, palm fanning outward and its left hand with its opened palm facing up. Its facial gesture seems to convey the message to all who will pay heed, “Do not worry. Everything will be all right.”

The walk down is much easier and quicker. Po Lin Monastery (“Precious Lotus”) is directly opposite a group of gold, green and red structures. I go into the courtyard and give the meal ticket to one of the many women servers behind the counter. She quickly fills a plate with generous portions of a variety of vegetarian food (“jai”) and cakes. My plate contains both bland and sweet varieties and there is more than enough to eat that I can forgo dinner tonight.

On the return trip, I take the #23 bus (fare $16HK) to the Tung Chung MTR Station, from which subway connections can be made to points in Hong Kong or Kowloon.

Big Buddha towering over 300 steps

If You Go
The consensus on the best time to visit Hong Kong seems to be late September through the end of December, with the exception of certain dates in February, when you can partake in very traditional and elaborate Chinese New Year celebrations throughout the city and surrounding areas that run for a full ten days. If you go at any other times, expect to be ready for rainy and very discomforting hot and humid weather that inevitably occurs the rest of the year.

Getting There
There are so many ways. The first time traveler to Hong Kong might consider buying a tour package, inclusive of airfare, hotel room, some meals with a couple of popular local tours thrown in.

Where To Stay
The range of available accommodations is endless. You will expect to pay the most if you stay in “Central” on the Kong Kong side or “Tsim Sha Tsui” on the Kowloon side but both locations are ideal as a base to do your shopping, sightseeing and dining. As for the Royal Pacific Hotel and Towers in Tsim Sha Tsui mentioned earlier, I would certainly stay there again.

What To Do
Guidebooks and the local tourism office will give you more things to do and places to go than you will have time for. However, if you happen to be in Hong Kong in February during the time of the annual Hong Kong Salsa Festival, try to make at least one or two events. This is an extravaganza not to be missed, even for the non-dance enthusiast. The promoters put on a 6-day and night affair that is replete with over thirty teams of international performers in salsa and other Latin dances, high level competitions among the best dancers in the world. Guests are treated to the exotic and rhythmic sounds of the Latin beat put out by disc jockeys and bands who are locally famous in Asia, Europe, and North America.For the tourist, the festival’s Duk Ling Ride on a junk gives a panoramic view of Victoria Harbor and Hong Kong’s skyline.

Until recently a British colony, and indeed many reminders of these previous days remain (including a number of excellent British style pubs), Hong Kong is definitely proud of its Chinese character. You do not have to scratch the surface deeply to see that the culture beneath the glitz is pure Chinese.

Amongst the ‘must sees’ of Hong Kong is the view from Victoria Peak. The classical picture postcard view which more than anything typifies the exuberance and ambition of the island. The general feeling amongst tourists and locals alike is that if you haven’t been to the peak – then you haven’t been to Hong Kong.

Riding the tram up to the peak certainly has to rank amongst one of the most exhilarating, or scary rides, anywhere in the world. Thankfully, helpful staff are on hand to assure you that since it began service about a century ago, there has never been an accident. Climbing over the massed cameras and tripods of what seems like half the population of Asia to watch the sun set tantalisingly over the bay of glittering glass-clad skyscrapers reveals a Hong Kong which very few people could forget.

If this wasn’t romantic enough to melt even the coldest heart, head off towards Aberdeen Harbour, famous for being home to some 6000 people who live and work on the junks which are moored in the harbour. Recently the number of junks has decreased as people gravitate towards the city centre and abandon the traditional way of life but the harbour is still a hive of activity. Aberdeen harbour is still breathtakingly pretty, especially in the late afternoon sun. For a few dollars you can hire a sampan to tour the harbour and end up at one of the three palace-like floating restaurants which are moored in the harbour to dine on exquisitely prepared seafood and Chinese delights, such as marinated duck tongue.

An escape from the frantic pace of Hong Kong Island can be found on one of the 234 outlying islands, many of which are infrequently visited by tourists and therefore offer a glimpse of a more traditional and less hectic way of life. Lantau, which means broken head in Cantonese, is the largest of the islands (142 sq km), has a population of 30,000, a 933m peak, and a 70km walking trail, but has avoided many of the development excesses of other islands. It is home to several important monasteries, including Po Lin Monastery with its enormous bronze Buddha, the largest in Asia. All of these islands are easily reached by either ferry or high speed catamaran. To really escape the crowds you can even stay on the island’s Trappist monastery.

However, most people are attracted to Hong Kong, for shopping. And in Hong Kong you can certainly shop to excess. Hong Kong is a duty free port and “shop till you drop” is the motto of many visitors to the island. The variety of goods is colossal and if you can’t find it in Hong Kong, then it probably doesn’t exist. There are many bargains to be had on locally manufactured products including clothing, footwear and luggage. Don’t forget to check out the many street markets which are dotted about the island. The prices there are typically about a half of what you would pay in the boutiques, and from the throngs of locals which seem to crowd every stall, it seems that the variety is just as good, if not better.

Although Hong Kong is small and crowded the transport system is comprehensive and widely used. The extensive bus system alone offers a bewildering number of routes around the islands, which cover the main tourist routes as well as some of the less visited attractions. Trams are another option for getting around, and the narrow double decker trams which criss-cross the island represent one of the world’s greatest travel bargains. For a flat fare of HK$1.20 you can travel as far as you want, whether it’s one block or the end of the line. Not only is it a great way of seeing the island, travelling during rush hour (which seems to last from 9am till 5pm) is a great way of meeting local people.

Although it will be interesting to watch the changes now that Hong Kong has been returned to China, it is sure that Hong Kong will continue to attract millions of tourists each year who are drawn to the island’s heady mixture of neon lights, duty free shopping and almost intact Chinese tradition and culture.

Food in Hong Kong
Hong Kong

Food is such a central part of Chinese culture that it merits a whole book on the subject, certainly more than I can cover briefly here. Hong Kong is definitely a place where people live to eat (there were over 10,400 restaurants counted a few years ago), and the enjoyment taken in food and a widespread sophisticated and discriminating appreciation for it is palpable. The attention paid to the presentation of food, however, can sometimes be quite cursory, so don’t be put off by appearances.

Food is what brings people together – family, colleagues, friends – and for most people who live in small apartments in the city, a restaurant is the preferred place for meeting socially. It’s less common than in the West for friends and colleagues to invite you over to their place to eat.

There isn’t really much etiquette involved with eating Chinese food, but there is a lot of symbolism. Chopsticks stuck vertically into rice should be avoided as it reminds people of incense sticks and death; chopsticks held very high up are thought to signify travelling far from home (again, not good).

Food is often eaten because it sounds good. Pig’s tongue (lei) sounds like a word meaning ‘profit’, so it’s supposed to be lucky for those starting up a business; fat choi, a black stringy moss (now endangered) which often serves as a garnish to green vegetables or is cooked in soup, sounds the same as a word meaning ‘make wealth’, so is gobbled up by everyone during the Lunar New Year, when eating auspicious-sounding food starts the year off on a positive note. There used to be a tradition practised by bosses who had to lay off staff at this time of the year (considered very unfortunate, when everyone else is celebrating) which involved a cooked chicken. At the office dinner, the boss would point the head of the bird towards the employee who was going to lose his job. It delicately dispensed with the need for words.

At times, English translations of food names on menus can be maddeningly unspecific. ‘Dumpling’ seems to cover over a hundred varieties of food, all having very different flavours, textures and appearances. A certain amount of experimentation will be necessary. ‘Rice cake fried with pork and cabbage’ is altogether savoury; ‘barbecue pork bun’ will appear on the table as a white, sweetened pork donut, steamed.

Dishes are often christened with fabulous or preposterous names, impossible to decipher. ‘Dragon, Tiger, Phoenix’, available just over the border in Shenzhen, is one such example. This is dressed up snake, cat and chicken.

Precious little goes to waste in Chinese restaurants. The extremities, innards, tendons and gelatinous parts of fish, fowl or beast are often prized because of their texture and their ability to soak up piquant sauces. Fish eyes, pig’s ears, nose and tail, goose web and head, chicken’s heart and feet are all dished up. Many foods are believed to be good for the health, such as snake bile and ox blood (served in chunks and cooked in a hotpot).

Local Hong Kong Delicacies

Below is a sampler of some common Hong Kong delicacies.

Dim sum
Dim sum (or ‘little bits of heart’) are a cherished feature of Hong Kong cuisine and rightly so. Siu mai (steamed mince and prawn dumplings decorated with bright orange crab eggs), har gau (steamed prawn dumplings), cheung fen (soft white rice flour rolls sloshed with soy), luo buo gau (fried squares of turnip, pork and mushroom mash), char siu bao (sweet pork stuffed in the center of a white steamed bun) are standards of the lunch-time institution of yum cha (‘drink tea’) and are served at Cantonese restaurants all over Hong Kong. Eaten briskly with colleagues on weekday lunch-times or lingered over with family at the weekend, several hundred types of dim sum fry and steam their way onto tables from eleven o’clock in the morning till past three in the afternoon. The noise generated by customers in a big restaurant can be deafening.

Sauces and dips served with dim sum include soy sauce, vinegar (garnished with thin strips of ginger), chilli oil, XO sauce (oil flavoured with chilli and seafood), chilli sauce, sweet sauce and mustard sauce (especially good with roast pork). Tea is usually drunk as an accompaniment – sao mei, bo lei and tik guan yum being among the most popular with local Hong Kongers. Lift the tea-pot lid to the side when you want a hot water refill.

Beside the dim sum (which usually come in 3 or 4 strips or items per helping), it’s common to order other side dishes such as a roast meat plate (pork, goose, duck and eel are common) and one of the many fried rice, congee, or fried noodle dishes (fried rice with dried scallop and egg white is tasty). Chinese also commonly order a plate of blanched choi sum green stalky vegetables, served with oyster sauce.

There is usually a small selection of desserts served after dim sum. Mango pudding in a lagoon of evaporated milk, sweet red bean soup flavoured with sun-dried tangerine peel, mini-egg tarts with the centers almost-runny and sesame or peanut balls in sweet soup (tong yun) are amongst the most popular.

Party 151
Hong Kong

“Please step forward and accept this probe into your ear.”

Ahhh when dreams become reality… but no it wasn’t a little grey man with big black eyes saying this to me telepathically; but instead a very prim and tidy Chep Lap Kok airport official, sternly looking at the faint smile that had crept to my lips at the thought.

I had heard that if they suspected you had SARS, you could be detained for 10 days, no arguments. I was on my way to China via Hong Kong, and I’d imagine that upon arriving ten days late in Shanghai I would be marched off to the local capitalist interrogation unit to ‘compose my apology’ to my new Chinese boss. And likely a fair amount of bollocking to go with it. “You capitalist fool, you are late! Nobody in the whole of China has been late since 1950! How did this happen? Western debauchery will not infect our socialist paradise. We will teach you the error of your ways…”

As interesting as that experience would doubtless be, I wasn’t in the mood due to feeling very queasy, tired and increasingly sweaty after a heavy night on the Arak and Bintang in Bali the previous night. Damn you layabout surfers and your lifestyle you are an evil temptress, you shall not turn me into a lotos eater and I will go to China and live without your beer, sun, women and ocean and ‘fun’. And like it.

My ear behaved itself and didn’t betray me to the authorities so I had twelve hours to kill in Hong Kong before my plane left for Shanghai and a likely interrogation/ear bashing for being too tired. Too short a time for a hotel, too long for hanging about the airport. What to do at nine in the evening in a new city? Go for a meal? Take a famous Hong Kong tram? Go up the hill for a view of the most beautiful harbour in the world? Meditate and ‘purge my body and soul’ of the last weeks toxins and carcinogens…no, go find a bar and see what happens. Genius.

The ultra-efficient tourist people assured me I would be able to get back to the airport any godforsaken hour of the morning I chose – “Hong Kong never sleep!”, although I caught a couple of arched eyebrows from them as I walked off, admittedly in the wrong direction. After negotiating the light rail to town, banging humidity and a network of raised walkways I finally set foot on Hong Kong Island proper. Heading away from the harbour I soon found a neon draped entertainment strip with a choice of bars containing fat drunken expats and good looking Asians.

People seemed to be oddly giddy, poking each other in the ribs and so on. But I guess that since SARS is practically gone they are allowed a little ‘mischief’ on their minds instead of worrying about masks for their ballet-dancing children. A smile from a young man talking on his mobile on the pavement outside a swanky looking bar called Stormy Weather induced me to go in. Smiles from young men don’t normally produce any reaction in me other than averted eyes and rising nervousness, but there was something heady in that air and so in I went.

Within ten seconds a twenty-something western man came up and offered to buy me a drink. Did I actually come all the way from Bali and walk straight into a gay bar? Well this could be interesting, but one hour into a new country, my defences were up.

All I could come out with on the spur of the moment was “Emm, what is this place?” He happily ignored the obvious stupidity of my question and said “Oh been running about two years, restaurant upstairs”, and he handed me his card; Shannon Bridgeford – Bar Manager. This had the desired calming effect, and I sat at the bar, ordered a pint and watched the golf. It played on my mind though as these things do when you walk into a bar for the first time on your own. This is great; the manager of the bar has just bought me a drink…but Shannon? What kind of a name is that? His name is probably Shane Brown, and calls himself Shannon Bridgeford on the Hong Kong drag circuit and is going whip out his wig and ‘rouge himself up’ at any minute. Stormy Weather? If only I could understand gay code…

After counting heads to get a rough male:female ratio and observing that most men were trying to pick up Asian girls I told myself to shut up and watch the golf. On closer inspection, there was chalked on a mirror “Send the wife and kids out of town, singles night Thursday, ladies drink for free!”, which settled it. This being Hong Kong rather than Thailand, ladies generally were ladies here.

Pretty friendly guy, this Shannon, gave me a shot of kamikaze before I was a third of the way through the beer. Turned out he was South African, which explains the girly name. South Africa is a country that has never been averse to doing things differently; why not name your sons with girl’s names? Alice Mandela.

After two more free beers and two free sambucas my stomach was happy again and my disloyal brain was rapidly pushing out the Balinese surfing community in favour of new horizons. Yes, the possibilities are endless; Asia is my oyster and I will…

“You ever try party 151, Brian?”

Gay code again. My guard was not completely down yet…

“Emm, no, never heard of it!”

“Here, try some” said Shannon/Shane, proudly showing me the warning label on the back of the bottle advising of its extreme flammability. He cracked the seal and poured me a healthy measure of Cuba’s finest 151% proof rum. Is this the ‘price I had to pay’ for a free night on the piss courtesy of Shannon, Bar Manager? Well, I’m never one to let the side down in the drinking stakes, and so down it went, my gut thankfully long since paralysed and sporting a fresh coat of sambuca to insulate against this new elevation of evil liquid.

A few patrons who were discreetly watching the 151 party discreetly enquired about my health to which I replied with a deadpan ‘Grand’ as my stomach did a back-flip and triggered sneaky chemicals to punish my disloyal brain. After the saliva glands under my tongue had stopped flooding my mouth and I had licked the surplus off my lower lip, I was accepted (just for the night, mind you) by this cliquey group of six-figure fat barfly expats and was liberally plied with drink.

It’s not the first time I’ve felt like a pub laboratory experiment, the objective being to test the fabled Irish drinking capacity. The other memorable time was with a six-figure not fat Wall Street dealer who was going out with my cousin at the time in New York. Ah well if they want to waste their money, fine, I’ll take my fill and leave before I start to party like its nineteen ninety-nine; and they shall not have their tale of the drunken Irishman at their Monday morning cocaine meeting in the trading floor jacks.

However, my new companions were merrily steaming, and I was well on my way to joining their airy level of altered consciousness. One English thirty-something currency dealer begged Shannon to put on ‘We are the Champions’ by Queen to get a rise out of the Aussies at the back of the bar. The Australian national rugby team apparently had been beaten in their own backyard by the ‘mother country’. His motive seemed to be more pointed than your average ‘baiting the Aussies over a sporting loss’. It was more like a mean father who teaches his son a lesson by eating an ice-cream in front of him after the child has dropped his own one, while pointing and heartily laughing at the unfortunate tot. I didn’t know that these imperialist fools still existed outside Buckingham Palace, but they do in Hong Kong.

At one point he actually said in a serious manner “Britannia still rules the waves, you know old chap”, the rugby victory obviously providing the justification for this madness. “The Australians know it. Although there are nationalist elements present there, they are mostly the foreign immigrants, dammit. Ma’am is still at the head of it all and rightly so. They did get a bit uppity when she dissolved their government in the 70s, though they re-elected our man the following year.” ‘So they gave you the rugby victory to say ta ta for their head of state?’ I didn’t say. “Yes, we are the same, you and I. British. Ah I know you are a ‘republic’ over there, haw haw, but you are still British. British Isles. We undoubtedly reside in the civilised part of the world (empire he didn’t say), unlike these Australian creatures living on a piece of driftwood that Cook picked up in the South Seas”.

Normally, I would be contemplating violence in the face of this insolence: but it truly was hilarious, especially with his loquacious American mate cursing him to hell; being from an ex-colony himself he was firmly on my side. I actually felt honoured to meet this gobshite, it was like meeting Scooby Doo, Donald Duck, Mr. Magoo or any other cartoon character/caricature you may have knocking around in your head. My dream/reality focus was getting blurred again, partly due to the surreal scene unfolding in front of me and partly due to the weakened state of my body and mind but I wasn’t at the ‘talking pig drinking a Manhattan’ stage yet, which I was thankful for.

As Imperial-Buffoon was very drunk, it was quite easy to ‘wind him up’, and within ten minutes I had him behind the bar serving me drinks, happily staggering about with napkin on arm, the irony of the situation being totally lost on him. I flipped him a couple of pence for good service which he caught in his mouth, and let out a demented roar/belch; a perfect stereotype of Western/Asian expat culture. I got a waft of a post imperial hangover, but maybe he just liked the Simpsons.

“So were you here when Hong Kong was still British, Imperial-Buffoon?” I said to keep him happy, as you would scratch a dog behind the ear to distract him from licking his balls. With a look of distant sadness, he put down the fishing rod with which he was currently trying to injure the Aussies (“Will that fat fackin Pom ever fack off??”) and said “No, just missed the handover, dammit. And now they’re sending me to Tokyo”. He left shortly afterwards, a little dejected, presumably to have a quick fumble with his Filipino housemaid before falling asleep, only to get up in three hours time and further erode the values of our pensions and investments. I wonder what the Japanese will make of him. For the sake of his concept of reality, I hope they put him on a big log with those kamikaze monks and send him rolling down a hill, thus restoring his senses instantly.

I got back to Cheep Lap Kop after somehow falling asleep on the right bus. However, the enigmas of the English continued to trouble me as I staggered foolishly around looking for the left luggage depot, totally lost in Norman Foster’s giant airport at about 4.00am. Why are you doing this to me Norman? My legs are tired and probably riddled with deep vein thrombosis. If building giant airports in old colonial outposts is your ‘thing’, well more power to you – maybe the empire is not lost after all. But don’t forget to put the signs up for the rest of us will you?

New Year

January 1 is a national holiday. The whole nation will be celebrating the coming of the New Year; typically, what happens is that every city will have its own countdown party at certain location. If you wish to participate, ask around!

Taiwanese people still use the lunar calendar in their daily lives. The following three major family holidays are celebrated in Taiwan. Usually people will have days off from work or school to be with their families.

Spring Festival

Taiwanese people still celebrate Lunar New Year. The Spring Festival is from New Year’s Eve and the two weeks after that. It is usually the end of the January or early February. During the Spring Festival, many businesses will be closed, but there will be a lot of activities arranged by the government and private organizations. Usually the New Year’s Eve, people spend time with their families so there won’t be too many things happening on the streets, but many restaurants will have special dishes for the day to celebrate the coming of New Year.

Before the New Year’s Eve, people also go to Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall to get red banners (Chunglien) written by contemporary well-known calligraphers so they can post for the Lunar New Year. During the Spring Festival, many events are planned by various organizations to celebrate Lunar New Year. When I used to go to those activities, I often felt that everyone who lived in Taiwan came to Taipei. There was one time I was so pissed by the traffic and I walked two hours home from the City Hall. One highlight during the Spring Festival is that people can get Hongbao (red envelope with money in it) from elders, and sometimes you can get a Hongbao from businesses that are open during the Spring Festival. They symbolize the luck, wealth and happiness!

Lantern Festival

The last day of the Spring Festival, January 15 on the lunar calendar, is the Lantern Festival. Each year, the Mayor of Taipei City hosts a big party with numerous lanterns at the Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall. Some are old-fashioned, some are new designed. The main lantern is a joint image made by the Chinese astrology sign of the year and other motifs for the excellence. City Hall distributes free lanterns to people who come to celebrate the Festival. The amount is limited so if you wish to get one, you need to arrive early!

Dragon Boat Festival

Dragon Boat Racing is the biggest event on this day. The Festival is May 5 on the lunar calendar. Taipei hosts one of the International Dragon Boat Racings at the Danshui River. (Same competitions are ongoing on the same day in many other cities, but if you choose to hang out in Taipei, this is where you will be going to take part in this event.) Ride the Metro Danshui Line to Danshui station and follow the crowd and noise. There are also many traditional customs that need to be done on this day, and they usually happen in the temples. Sometimes walking down the streets, you can smell Zhongzi (rice cake wrapped in bamboo leaves) – the traditional food for the Festival.

Moon Festival

Moon Festival is another important family holiday in Taiwan. It is August 15 on the lunar calendar. Moon cake is an important food for the day, as well as shaddocks. Barbeque has become another major activity for Taiwanese people on this day. Believe it or not, the tradition began with a TV commercial for Barbeque source. Basically, the idea for Moon Festival is getting together with family members and hanging out all day and then watch the moon at night. The moon should be the roundest and brightest of the year on this day and symbolize the wholeness. There are many legends about the moon in Taiwan. I remember when I was little, my grandparents usually tell the moon stories on this day and we will camp on our front yard where usually used for drying the grains.

In Taipei, there are many places are prominent for diverse reasons. People who traveled to Taiwan said they are must-sees. Visitors can use the public transportation system to get to all the following locations. The three must-see spots in Taiwan are Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall, The National Palace Museum and Longshan Temple.

Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Hall

Chiang Kai Shek is the first President of Taiwan. This monument is to display the honor and affection for him. The building is Chinese style with the white walls and blue roofs. There are exhibition rooms underneath the building where visitors can learn about his rich life. Soldiers on guard at the Memorial will change shifts every hour. The procedure also attracts tourists for photo shoot. Except from the main building, the whole area will function as a park for people who live in the neighborhood on a daily basis. In the morning, there will be people doing Tai Chi, learning folkdance and jogging. There are also beautiful gardens in the Memorial. In the afternoon, some families will come for a walk after a day at work, and some teenagers will come to skateboard or roller blades. Sometimes, there will be people in their wedding gowns taking picture at the Memorial.

Longshan Temple

In 1985, the Taiwanese government listed Longshan Temple as a national historical site. The Longshan Temple was finished in 1738 during the Ching dynasty. The Temple was built with three different halls. Currently, 24 different gods live in Longshan Temple to guard the nation. To serve the visitors better, except from the old temple, the new additions include the library, exhibition room, gardens and lighting system. Social service is available at the Longshan Temple; there are various programs to help the public because it receives a lot of donations each year. National Palace Museum.

Shihlin Night Market

One of the trademarks of Taiwan is the vendor food on the street. Many also said that Taiwan is a sleepless country. The development of the night market is the product causing by the factors. Usually it gets busy after 9 p.m. and lasts until 5 a.m. Night market is not only for eating but also shopping. I couldn’t think of any must-buy merchandise at the Shihlin Night Market because it has so many stores with all kinds of products. The center of the Night Market is the Yangming Cinema. The area includes Wenlin Road, Jeeho Road, Datong Road and Danan Road. I spent a lot of time, energy and money at Shihlin Night Market while I was in high school. My high school is only about 20 minutes away from the Night Market so my friends and I often hung out there after school. Another reason that I like about Shihlin Night Market better than other Night Markets in Taipei is because of its authenticity. Many other markets are restructured by the government to give them more organized looks, but I prefer the generic style. Many places here only accept cash so one time I spent all my money and had to walk to where my mom worked at and asked for a ride home!

Presidential Office

Presidential Office is an important symbol for the people in Taiwan. It is a five-story structure built in European Renaissance style with a double court-yard plan. Important ceremonies are held in front of the building on the New Year’s Day and National Day. On non-holidays, the Office is open to the public from 9 a.m. to 12 p.m. On certain opening days, the Office is open from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. They are first Sunday of February, April, June, August and December. The opening day in October is usually the third Sunday because of the National Day. If you decide to come in on a regular day, taking photos is prohibited.

Yangmingshan National Park

Yangmingshan National Park, founded in 1962, is a popular place all year. There is flower season in the spring, hiking season in the summer, maple season in the fall and hot spring season in the winter. On casual days, people will come for sunset and night view. Yanmingshan has extraordinary volcano landscapes. Together they bring about two million people to Yangmingshan each year.

Shing Tien Gong

The temple is located at the intersection of Mingchuan East Road and Sungjiang Road. The area is about 7,000 square meters. It is dedicated to the Kuan Yu, the God of War and the patron god of merchant. The temple signifies the harmonies in society and promotes Confucian and Buddhist beliefs. Many business people worship here as well as people in the entertainment business. When foreign celebrities come to Taiwan, they usually come to Shing Tien Gong too. Shing Tien Gong is also famous for not burning paper money because it causes air pollution so people use sweet rice cake to substitute this ritual. The rice cake tastes pretty good too!

KTV

Holiday KTV
Tel: 23819208
Add: Taipei, No. 34, Guan Cheng Road

In Taiwan, singing is a pastime for all generations. KTV is a transformation of Karaoke; instead of singing on a stage in front of friends and some random people. KTV is done in the customers own rooms so there is more privacy if they feel a little uncomfortable to sing in public. Going to KTV is Taiwanese style of partying! The most famous KTV companies in Taiwan now are Cashbox KTV and Holiday KTV. While staying in your own room, you can order food and beverages or bring your own food to have a party here. They usually have tasty food with reasonable prices. My family sometimes goes together because we all love singing and being together. Now my uncle has his own Karaoke system at home so we don’t go as often, but with friends, we pay it a visit now and then. The Cashbox KTV and Holiday KTV Web sites do not provide information in other languages than Chinese, but many English and Japanese songs are available too. So if you are in Taiwan, try KTV and experience the Taiwanese lifestyle.

Peitou Hot Spring Museum

Taipei, No. 2, Zhong Shan North Road, Peitou District
Hell Valley
Taipei, Chung San Road, Peitou District, next to Hisn Peitou Park

Peitou District has many hot spring restaurants. Usually, if you order food, using the hot spring is free. If you just want to use the utility, the cover charge is from NT$50 to NT$150 per person. Just to give visitors a rough idea about the prices, a dinner for four will cost about NT$800. Because the locations are in the mountains, the restaurants in the area offer special dishes. Hell Valley is famous for its sulfur scent. There are natural hot springs, but the temperature is over 100 degrees Celsius so my family used to go and boil eggs. For a hot spring bath, we often drive around the area and choose the one that looked good to us. Then, have a great dinner and take a relaxing hot spring bath!

Mao Kon Tea Houses

Tea is the most popular drink in Taiwan, and Mao Kon is a great place for tea and relaxation. It is not far away from the city, only about 30 minutes to an hour by bus from Taipei Railroad Station. I prefer to go at night with friends, make tea and hang out after a long day after work.

Qingxin Tea Garden

Qingxin Tea Garden is in the mountain of Muzha District. Visitors can ride the bus to the National Chengchi University and walk to Qingxin. Please follow the street signs, and find the Alley 38 and Alley 40. The garden is between the two alleys. Qingxin has a history of 14 years. Among all the places in Mao Kon, Qingxin is my favorite tea garden. Qingxin means a place to clear the heart. Located in the mountain, Qingxin gives the visitors an illusion like they have entered another world. My favorite tea is high mountain oolong. The first sip and the second sip taste so different and refreshing! My favorite dishes are lemon chicken soup and bamboo shoots and chrysanthemums soup with herbs. During the Spring Festival, people frequently emerge to Qingxin for the cherry blossom season. Tel: 29394050

I rolled out my black foam mat that I kept with me. I parked it at the side of the huge airport lobby in full view of everyone, but not worried as other folks had started to find ways to get horizontal.

I didn’t really sleep, as much as I toyed with the idea of having a dream. The fluorescent lights gave no clue to the angle of the moon, so I could only guess at how many hours were left before I had to be up for the challenge of getting my ass on that plane.

Waking with a déjà vu-like view of NAIA’s ceiling, I noticed a cleaner who was polishing the already spotless floor and was amazed that I had fallen asleep. This was a surreal environment, an empty airport in an Asian city. I wondered about the lives of the people who came here in the middle of the night to clean it, to polish every inch of it with motorized mops, and then disappear for another 24 hours into the depths of Manila .

Over the next couple of hours activity slowly increased. I knew the flight was around 7.30am, but that was still a couple of hours away.

Finally I could sense some activity near the Gulf Air counter. It hadn’t opened yet but was sure to soon. Nobody was lining up, so I casually strolled to the bathroom to relieve myself and brush my teeth. Upon my return 3 minutes laterÂ… HORROR!!! There were about 100 people lined up in front of counter. Since my departure for the bathroom, the counter had opened and the whole world had descended. I was so mad at myself: wait for 17 hours, only to get jumped at the last 5 minutes, “Oh Nick, you are an idiot!” I thought.

Talk about pressure now! If I don’t get on this plane, it’s 4 days till the next one – and I’ve got all a whole dollar in my pocket. I didn’t even want to think what was considered “collateral” on the mean streets of Manila!

As I neared the counter I was sure the attendant would quickly inform me the flight was fully booked and that I was too late to be on the stand-by list. To my surprise she checked my ticket and kindly invited me to proceed to the waiting area. “Oh boy! Was it really this easy?” I asked myself, thinking I had just gotten away with something. This was living on the edge, where minute-to-minute actions made crucial differences. What a buzz!

I sat in the departure lounge, nervously grinning to myself and trying to act like I belonged there. Of course I didn’t, as I wasn’t booked on the flight; I just hoped to hell the wretched thing took off before anyone realised. Finally the signal was given for us to stand and board the plane. I felt like a jackpot winner about to take the stage and collect his prize, my grin impossible to hide.

As the Gulf Air DC 10 sped down the runway and gently lifted off, my worries evaporated into the pressurized cabin air. I had made it from Mindoro and onto this plane with a gnat’s wing to spare.

Ninety minutes later I touched down at Kai Tak International in Hong Kong. A remarkable and beautiful feeling came over me, one of the greatest feelings I’ve ever had as a traveller. Even though I had just $1 in my pocket, I knew this place like the back of my hand. I had a bank account with cash in it, I had a job to go to, a friend’s apartment to crash in and many friends: I was safe. I was home, from home.

Hong KongÂ… The place I had landed in a year ago as a stranger was now home turf. Strapping on my backpack I made my way from the airport to Nathan Road, 15 minutes away. From there I strolled down to the harbor, checking out the morning rush hour people on their way to work. They were going about their daily routine, but I had already had my adventure for the day. The sun was shining and I had a supreme feeling of confidence about me; everything was going like clockwork.

Once I reached the Star Ferry terminal in Kowloon I remembered to go to the lower deck (75 cents rather than a buck). The 10-minute ride to Hong Kong island became just a mere part of the commuter miracle.

Arriving in Central I had a simple plan, one that came to mind in the Manila airport during that long wait. I would go to McDonald’s on D’Aguilar Street and order a coffee. I would wait until 10am, when the chefs from Beirut (a Lebanese restaurant where I used to work) opened. As I sat there drinking my coffee I couldn’t believe that I was actually part of a plan that was actually happening. Right on time Najib and Salim opened the restaurant, and I went over. After sharing a coffee and some conversation with them, they lent me a couple of dollars to get back to Discovery Bay, where my friend Steve had an apartment.

Riding the ferry to Discovery Bay I felt the world had smiled on me. I had enjoyed a great adventure, had been fortunate and had learned a lesson about cutting it close. And now I even had more than a dollar in my pocket.

Hong Kong is an amazing place. I was given warning prior to my arrival that the pace of life, not to mention the hoards of people, would be quite a shock to a small town Brisbane girl like myself. All prior warnings were a gross understatement and so my first few months in Hong Kong were ones of awe. I remember stumbling down the dirty crowded streets, overwhelmed by the three dimensional action around me.

Venture down any Hong Kong road and you’ll be bombarded with Indian tailors trying to convince you to buy a suit, hawkers flogging off fake Rolex’s and pirated DVD’s. At the same time dodging reckless taxi drivers and a never ending hoard of busy people. While all this is happening, it’s more than likely you’ll be being dripped on by what you hope is an air conditioner or realize the food in your hand is actually cow stomach (the lesser of many culinary evils available in Hong Kong).

The boisterous nightlife in Hong Kong has just as much action and excitement as the streets during the day. Confined within a few hilly streets that are lined with bars, Lan Kwai Fong is one of the best places in Hong Kong to head for late night action. As the night gets wilder, party revelers spill from their bars, into the streets, dancing and chatting with other beer-holding groovers.

Another highlight of the Hong Kong nightlife (especially for struggling travelers) is the amount of free drinks on offer. Bars all over the city and especially in the Wanchai area feature free drink promotions. One of my favorite Hong Kong bars, Carnegie’s (famous for allowing sloshed party revelers to dance on the bar), features free vodka drinks on Tuesday nights. Every week without fail, my friends and I would join other struggling students and travelers and party the night away for free!

Most of the bars in Hong Kong also host ‘Ladies Nights’, where women are rewarded for having a skirt and bra by being given food, drinks and entry all on the house! My friends and I soon memorized the bar specials and had a day to day plan of where we’d be sure to get the best free drinks on offer.

With drinks taken cared for, it was only free food that my friends and I needed to track down. Hong Kong cuisine is adventurous to say the least, as it features all kinds of offal, entrails and innards imaginable. We would wander the streets of Mong Kok and Central devouring ‘hoof on a stick’ or ‘pig liver kebabs’. A friend of mine randomly picked a dish on a Cantonese menu, only to be faced with floating fish eye soup.

In search of free feeds, we’d scan newspapers for seminars, lectures and reunions, most of which would be followed by complimentary lunch or dinner. Other confident (or perhaps just hungrier) friends of mine would pose as members of various societies and turn up at their monthly dinners and parties, clutching a free drink and mingling among crowds of owl conservationists and wine connoisseurs.

Although the rich Hong Kong cuisine was initially a novelty, my friends and I soon found ourselves craving Western food. We devised a plan that, although admittedly immoral, assured our Western cravings were met on demand and for the same price as a free lunch. We wrote fake letters to various pizza companies, complaining of poor service and dining experiences. Sure enough, the following week, we received numerous vouchers entitling us to free apology meals, as well as the pinnacle of freebies – a VIP credit card that gave us free pizza and coke on demand.

With its boisterous nightlife, adventurous cuisine and gorgeous scenery, Hong Kong is not only a unique and amazing place to visit, but also somewhere that poor travelers can make the most of their trip, despite dwindling accounts. I loved the place so much that, after finished my degree, I decided to stay and work alongside the other Westerners who couldn’t bring to return home and my job as a food critic in a magazine is the pinnacle of my past free food and drink scams. Even out of work hours, I remain on the ‘free food and drink’ scent. With my student days behind me, I’m proud to admit that I’ll always be a poor, struggling traveler at heart – I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Here I was again, out there having an adventure in a far-off land and not paying attention to my cashflow. I had worked for a year in Hong Kong, and after several weeks of scuba diving and relaxing in the Philippines, I was heading back to return to work.

I caught the early morning banco (small boat) from Puerto Galera on the island of Mindoro (named by the Spanish “Mina de Oro” – mine of gold, even though there is no gold on Mindoro) back to Batangas. The boat left at 6am as the sun was rising over a placid sea; cost for me, 100 pesos ($2). Fishermen untied their boats and readied for work; their hustle bustle on the beach was a sight I wasn’t used to, our schedules opposites.

The ride took an hour, and I felt an upsurge of excitement in my chest as the small motor boat sped across the strait to the island of Luzon. I once again felt I was having an adventure, I was a traveller. I knew my money was going to be tight, for I had paid my full rent the day before. I had my plane ticket back to Hong Kong, but had to get to Manila airport first. To make the whole experience a little more exciting, I wasn’t booked on the Gulf Air flight, which was full. Schedule wasn’t really a worry at all, as the flight left Manila at 7am, meaning for me to catch the flight I had to leave Mindoro the day before. I’d have a long wait at the airport, but that’s all part of travelling, isn’t it?

Arriving in Batangas I wasted no time in finding a bus heading for downtown Manila. This part of the journey would probably take about 3 hours, traffic and other unexpected events notwithstanding.

After an uneventful ride the bus finally rolled into the BNTB bus station on Taft Avenue in downtown Manila. I remember this bus station as having one of the nastiest toilets – funny what sticks in your mind!

Taft Avenue is a bustling thoroughfare complete with food vendors, heavy traffic and an elevated light railway, something I found to be totally out of place here in one of the most disorganised cities.

I called a cab and sped off towards NAIA (Ninoy Aquino International Airport).

Arriving 20 minutes later I paid the driver, acutely aware that my Filipino money was down to $1. Without a credit card or any other kind of currency, I was down to a single dollar!

“Never mind,” I remember thinking to myself. “It doesn’t matter. I made it; all I have to do is get on this plane and I’m out of here.” Entering the busy airport a sense of finality hit me: after 2 months and many good times, I was leaving the Philippines. The air-conditioned coolness was a refreshing change to the muggy atmosphere to which I had become accustomed. The airport’s marble floor was cleaner than any hotel I’d stayed in during my trip.

Realising I had what amounted to a 17-hour wait, I decided to dump my backpack in the airline check-in and get comfortable. I strolled confidently up to the counter, presented my ticket and hauled my pack onto the conveyer. “Okay Mr O’Neill, that’s $20 please,” said the lady.

“What?” I said.

“You have to pay $20 airport tax,” said the lady.

“I don’t have it, sorry,” I replied.

“You can’t get on the plane without paying the airport tax.,” said the lady.

“Oh my God,” I thought, “What the heck am I going to do? How am I going to get $20?” I found a row of seats and sat down to contemplate my situation. At least I had plenty of time.

I thought I might do a “yard sale” right there in the terminal. You know, lay out all my gear and give the highest bidder the sale of the century. After watching groups of steely-eyed Korean businessmen board planes and leave in robotic fashion, I began to wonder if this was the right environment for a yard sale. But as if drawn together by magnetism, a Dutch traveller and myself wound up sitting next to each other and started talking. I really hadn’t planned on trying the yard sale on him yet, I just wanted some counsel to advise me on strategy.

Anyway, after a while I figured this was my best option, so I started pitching my stuff to him. Turns out he was a university lecturer from Amsterdam. I offered a couple of new t-shirts plus other stuff I had. He wasn’t buying. But I had a pair of yellow fins, and after trying those on he took them – for $20! Hooray for the good guys!

With my new $20 bill I took my pack to the counter, confident in the knowledge there was only one more hurdle to meet: getting on the plane. I wasn’t booked on the flight, which was totally full, but the next flight wasn’t for 4 days, a fact that I was trying not to focus on too much .

I had brought with me some Filipino toffee nut candy, I mean I had about 2lbs of this stuff. It was real cheap in Mindoro and for some reason I got a bag of it. As the hours rolled on I picked at it and wished I had a couple of bucks to venture upstairs and sample the second-rate food they were serving.