Zhen(1) Kuai(4) a!

How time flies!

We've had eight visitors from out of town in the last six months. I've decided I'm going to charge for my private tours of Hong Kong starting in 2010. I've also decided to eat at home more often as Shanghai hairy crabs (along with clams in black bean sauce, mantis prawns, abalone, typhoon shelter crabs, razor clams...) are quickly catching up to us in both budget and waistlines.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about eating out here in Hong Kong. The food is too damn good. But after all this decadent eating, I'm starting to feel more like a glutton than a gourmand. So, the tentative plan is to buy more groceries, eat more fruits and vegetables and less meat, and try to order takeaway less than twice a month.

Tonight, Stu decided to make a lamb stew (no pun intended here, folks) with a nice piece of lamb shoulder, freshly flown in from Australia, that he had dressed and frozen the week before. After, cutting off most of the fat, there wasn't too much meat left, but we were okay with that. Less meat is good, right? I guess he was really getting into the whole budgeting thing because he picked up a trio of simple but classic root vegetables for the stew: potatoes, one onion, and some carrots. He threw everything in a pot and let it gently simmer away.

The results were less than inspiring. His stew was a dismal, Dickensian meal fit for an 19th century orphanage or maybe a soup kitchen in a recession. I searched for the lamb meat between the mounds of potatoes and carrots; no sign of an onion which he had sweated and melted into the broth for my benefit (I hate onions, but don't mind the flavor, but it's more complicated than that; I have a whole manifesto on the subject). We didn't buy enough lamb meat to make a good stew and forgot to anticipate how much the meat would shrink when cooked.

After I finished my bowl of root vegetables, water, and one tender, succulent bit of lamb meat, I held out my empty bowl and said in my best Cockney accent, "Please, sir, may I have some more?"

Running Is Good For You

Today I just got told by my cleaning lady.

Amy, our daily housekeeper (everyday except Sundays and public holidays as stipulated in our lease agreement), came in this morning in an especially chatty mood. She speaks Mandarin which is great for me to practice speaking putonghua.

I said brightly, "Ni hao, Amy!"

"Ni hao," she replied. "Good morning. Afternoon."

Then, out nowhere, she started talking about how everyday (I caught that part, mei tian), there were runners in that park (pointing out our bedroom window to the little track down the street from us) very early in the morning. I didn't catch the word for runners, so I said, "Mei tian zhe shi shenme?" (Everyday, there's what?) She said, runners, gesturing outside then making elaborate motions of running like a mime.

"Oh, runners," I said in English. Then she started speaking more agitatedly in putonghua. With some help from Stu, I gathered what she said which was something along the lines of, "There are runners in the park every day early in the morning. You two sit inside in front of your computers all day. The air in here is bad for you! You need to go outside and exercise, run!"

"But, Amy," I replied reasonably, "the air outside is very bad too, even worse! Besides, I do yoga everyday." It was more like me pointing outside and wildly gesticulating while saying, "bu hao, bu hao." (Not good, not good.) "Mei tian, women qu yu jia."

She laughed and shook her head. I'm going to the gym and a yoga class tomorrow. Amy has shamed me.

Why, you little weasel...

This one is for my buddy Alex, so patiently waiting for a blog entry from his lazy friend in Hong Kong. Hope you like it!

Funny, well sort of, thing just happened to me, and I don't know whether to organize it under faux pas, plain old incident, or food for thought. It's probably a little bit of everything. I had recently returned from Vietnam and missed a friend's birthday here in Hong Kong. I brought back with me a 100 gram bag of freshly ground "weasel" coffee as a small birthday gift for said friend.

I had first heard of this type of coffee when I was perusing a gourmet grocery store either in London or New York, and distinctly remember the feeling of my eyes growing very wide when I saw the price tag on those tiny bags. A friend with me at the time said nochalantly, "Oh yeah, in the Philippines, they go around collecting these coffee beans that weasels eat, but can't digest, and poop out. Something about the digestion process makes the coffee beans really tasty. But it's a little labor intensive so they're pretty expensive." I was intrigued, but there was no way I was shelling out something like 30 USD for a 100 gram bag.

One major joy of living in Asia is the ability to find for dirt cheap what was exotic and too expensive in the States. Dragon fruit, star fruit, precious Indian mangoes, pristinely hand-wrapped, sweet, crisp Asian pears, pounds of fragrant vanilla beans, you name it, they sell it. So you can imagine my excitement when I found weasel coffee for a bargain in the Old Quarter of Hanoi. The very perceptive and capable sales lady even offered us a sample, quickly filtering a fresh cup. The result? Chocolately, velvelty, nutty, simply delicious. And with condensed milk, I was sold. I picked up a bag for myself and a bag for the friend thinking it would be the perfect gift since she enjoyed coffee.

I handed it to her at a casual birthday get-together at a bar. She opened it and said, "Hmm, weasel coffee? That's a strange name." It sparked a brief conversation about where I got it, and I don't remember what I said, but I think I heard Stu mentioning the origin of it. Or maybe I did. Or maybe someone else did. In any case, I thought my friend was clear on how it was produced.

The next day, I saw my friend, and she said brightly, "Oh hey, we tried that coffee, and it was really good. It was really nutty or something!" I replied, jokingly, "Yeah, you know where that taste comes from." I couldn't help it. She looked at me, confused, "What do you mean?" "Well, you know, weasel coffee... How they poop out the coffee beans and all." "What? I didn't know that!" "Oh no," I cried, "I thought you knew!"

She looked a little sick to her stomach. Her friend visiting from the States looked horrified. And her husband's eyebrows were furrowed. "Oh yeah, thanks for the coffee," he said dryly. Hmm, what the hell had I done? I felt awful that I might have caused them distress from a simple cup of coffee. Had I ruined their whole day? Would she throw out the rest of the coffee in a fury? "I'm never accepting any crap from Sandra ever again!" (No pun intended, okay, maybe a little.)

In any case, it got me thinking. I found it interesting that my friend and her companions had reacted badly to the knowledge that their coffee this morning was not their normal cup of joe. What makes people revolted by their food on certain facts rather than others? Certainly, it's a complicated answer - cultural, historical, anthropological, biological - but mainly, this little incident was more proof that we, mostly Americans but increasingly the rest of the world like Europe and China, need to be removed, as far away as possible, from our food. I would venture to say that most people don't know which part of the cow their steak dinner comes from, or how their chicken from KFC was raised. But as movies like Food, Inc. and books like The Omnivore's Dilemma increasingly inform us on these murky practices, we would probably begin to find weasel coffee a very appealing alternative.

This desire for transparency won't happen overnight, it may even take generations as it has taken a couple of generations to gradually remove ourselves from the origins of our meals. Even I, having grown up on offal, dried and raw fish, the heads still attached to whatever cooked carcass on a plate, had a rare moment of sick-to-my-stomach-ness when I was attacking a prawn in Vietnam. We were on Ha Long Bay, and maybe it was the gentle rocking of the boat, maybe it was the echo of the gentle chastising from my doctor about high cholestoral foods in my head, but my stomach flipped when I tore off the little legs and pulled off the crunchy exoskeleton helmet with the long tentacles and beady black eyes that make up its head. Holy crap, I thought, I just pulled the head off this creature and its contents, including the juices that it was cooked in, just spilled all over my plate. I'm a murderer! And it was kind of gross. But once I popped the succulent meat in my mouth, I remembered exactly why I'm an omnivore. And I found no dilemma there.

New Place

We moved this Friday to our newest home, this time in Causeway Bay. I've lost count of how many places I've laid down my head to rest, but every place feels like home now. I don't have a set of dishes to my name, just boxes of clothes that I never wear and books and mementos that I hardly ever revisit. I felt a little embarrassed while I kept the doors open and tried to stay out of the way of the 2 movers we had hired. They moved our 30+ boxes in and out of the van fast, but it was clear that it was a really hot and humid day, and that some of our boxes and suitcases were heavy. How do we manage to accumulate so much crap when there's so little we actually need? I wish I had the guts to detach myself from my things which is just stuff really and be able to hit the road with nothing but a backpack and a notebook. Wouldn't that be something?

Storm!

No. 8 Storm Signal is in force right now! It's not so much the rain which looks more or less like regular rain. It's the crazy wind that slams around objects left outside. It's the rainwater on the road sliding across the pavement like an invisible fire hose washing down the road with blasts of water. It's the strange, displaced thumps in the night that you can't attribute to anything because it's too dark to see. Mostly, it's a bad storm in a foreign place with a storm signal system that makes it sound a helluva lot more exciting than it really is. Still, it's my first tropical storm in Hong Kong!

Weather report from the Hong Kong Observatory.

Tropical Cyclone Bulletin

Here is the latest Tropical Cyclone Bulletin issued by the Hong Kong Observatory.

The No. 8 Northwest Gale or Storm Signal is in force.

This means that winds with mean speeds of 63 kilometres per hour or more are expected from the northwest quarter.

At 1 a.m., Typhoon Molave was centred about 70 kilometres east-northeast of Hong Kong Observatory (near 22.5 degrees north 114.8 degrees east) and is forecast to move west-northwest at about 25 kilometres per hour across Dapeng Peninsula.

Molave is expected to enter Mirs Bay, and will be very close to Hong Kong in the next few hours. Gale force winds will generally affect Hong Kong and there will be heavy rain with squalls. According to the present track, local winds will turn southwesterly before daybreak. Places previously sheltered from the winds will become exposed. Members of the public should take precautions as soon as possible. In the past hour, the maximum sustained winds recorded at Tap Mun and Cheung Chau were 80 and 63 kilometres per hour with maximum gusts 115 and 99 kilometres per hour respectively.

(Precautionary Announcements with No. 8 Signal)

1. Complete all precautions in your home. Lock all windows and doors, fit bars into position and insert reinforced shutters and gates if they are available. Adhesive tape fixed to large window-panes in exposed positions will reduce damage by broken glass. Storm water drains should be cleared of leaves and rubbish.

2. Do not stand near windows on the exposed side of your home. Move all furniture and valuables away from these areas. Make sure you have a safe place to shelter, should windows be broken.

3. Since seas are very rough and the current is strong with changing direction, you are advised to stay away from the shoreline and not to engage in water sports.

4. Flights at Hong Kong International Airport may be affected by the weather. Please contact your airline for the latest flight information before departing for the airport.

5. Please listen to radio or watch TV for the latest weather information broadcast at the 15th, 30th, 45th and 58th minute of each hour. You can also browse the Hong Kong Observatory's web site for the information.

MORE Crazy Names!

King Kong. I kid you not.

Blackie Hui. Hmm, I don't know how well that name would fly in the States.

The Gross Side of Hong Kong

I finally joined a yoga studio here and am happily finding my way back to a regular yoga practice. In class, I usually try to focus on my postures and look at my inner eye and all that crap, but it's a bit difficult in Hong Kong. It's hard to feel a sense of solitude in the city in general, but in yoga, it's especially difficult when people seem to have trouble refraining from passing gas. Loudly. In the last few days, I've been to four classes in a row in which someone has loudly interrupted my yogic peace with ripping horn-like sound. In one case, a guy declared "excuse me" in a commanding voice after his contribution to HK's toxic air.

In other things I find disgusting, nose pickers. It might be a cultural thing, but it seems that people have no qualms about absently sticking a finger and digging around for a booger nugget in public. On the subway. At the tram station. On street corners. Everywhere. At least I didn't catch anybody rubbing their genitals on subway car rails.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrCs53AJVss

Really, dude?

Fire!

I'm standing outside in a gray, drizzly rain. It's 5:40 AM on Friday morning, and I just ran down 20 flights of stairs after grabbing a cardigan (I don't like being cold) and my phone (I have to call the building's 24 hour number). It's not even close to the time I have to be up, and I just went to bed 3 hours ago.

The fire alarm went off wildly at 5:3-something this morning and forced me and Stu out of bed to look around and wonder what the hell was going on. I grabbed my phone, a sweater, ran around searching for my flip flops which are supposed to be my most accessible pair of footwear, and Stu and I started making our way down the short flights - 20 of them. Stu was super calm as usual, like the time we were bobbing in fjord water thousands of feet deep after being rudely ejected upside down out of a kayak {entry in my other blog!}. He said, "it's okay" in an even tone several times, making me wonder if it was more for himself than for me.

One Chinese guy was wildly running back and forth from the lobby to a storage space outside where the controls for the alarm was located. Another Filipino guy was bringing out one umbrella. We were the only guests of our serviced apartment building standing outside. I swore to Stu that I had seen other tenants the other day. Hmm, maybe they were just visiting the apartments. Fifteen minutes passed, and still no sign of a fire truck. Not good.

The Chinese guy said it was a false alarm (something about the rain triggering the alarm somehow), but the alarm was still ringing insistently. There was no sign of fire or smoke so Stu and I went back up.

So sleepy. Too much excitement for one day. Must give more thought to building's safety codes later when I'm more awake...

Long (And I Do Mean LONG) Weekend in Beijing - Part I

Aside from our very pleasant and fun travel companions, Sofia and Cenk all the way from Londontown, Beijing was not quite the exciting getaway I had in mind. In a nutshell, it was exhausting. It drained the life and fun out of me.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little dramatic. It wasn't all horrible. For instance, the entirety of Saturday was spent away from Beijing and at the Great Wall. That was a good day. And I liked the brand spankin' new architecture which was definitely impressive. I'm sure there were charismatic neighborhoods and splendid sights I didn't get a chance to explore. I'm willing to give Beijing another shot.
Our trip to Beijing in some photos and commentary.
The first highlight of leaving Hong Kong for the weekend was discovering Popeye's at the airport. I have been disappointed to find a plethora of KFC all over the world, in every country and city I've visited in the last several months. But no sign of fast food for the gourmand like an Arby's or Popeye's where the fried chicken is undeniably superior (it's the batter). But at last, mecca:


Not sure of what to expect on a semi-domestic 3-hour flight to Beijing, I made sure I was well-fed and full before boarding the plane. Turned out to be a mistake. I should have known that I'd be taken care of on an Asian airline. Asian airlines deserve every bit of their current reputation - fantastic and friendly service, very decent food, and general cleanliness. We flew Dragonair, and with the exception of a worn and a mildly unpleasant-smelling interior, our flight was very nice which is more than I can say for any airline in the States.

My surprisingly nice sole fillet with tomato sauce and vegetables.

Stu got dim sum!

We had perfect weather in Beijing that weekend, albeit dampened by the dirty haze hanging over the city like a sour expression on an otherwise decent face. Some aerial shots just before landing in Beijing:


More from Beijing to come...

Cooking My First Meal in Hong Kong

It had to be simple. There's no way you can go gourmet (not that I can cook gourmet) in a kitchen with one burner, especially an electric burner with which you have absolutely no control of the heat. Plus there is no counter space. It feels crowded when I'm the only one there. Nevertheless, I managed to whip up a few Chinese dishes. When in Rome...

Remember Fish?

From the The Chinese and Their Names post? Well, here's the entire story behind that name.

Because of unforeseen circumstances, we were forced to ship one of our bags separately from Heathrow as we were checking into our flight to HK. We were told by the shipping company that our bag would arrive in a week for pick up at Hong Kong International Airport, subject to taxes and fees on HK's end. A woman from the receiving company called to inform us of the bag's arrival and that an email would be sent with pickup details. A few hours later, I received an email from a Fish Wu. In an attached invoice, I found charges for a bridge toll and directions to an office in Kowloon.

Well, as you can imagine, we were indignant. On top of handling and unloading fees (fine), we were being charged for an unauthorized move from the airport to a random office . These fees added a whopping 25% to our already steep shipping charge.

I wrote back to Fish's email with questions on the invoice, addressing it to a "Dear Mr. Wu". I was later informed that Mr. Wu was actually a Ms. Fish Wu. I don't know, Fish sounded too informal, especially after I was addressed as Ms. Sandra Hong, and shoot, "Fish" sounds masculine to me!

Stu and I discussed the charges, deciding to schlep over (it's about 15 minutes away by taxi, but it looks far on the map) to this random office and pick up our bag. We also decided to bring up the matter of the aforementioned charges with Fish, or as Stu declared without a hint of jest, "I will tackle Fish while you run off with the bag!"

Be careful what you name your child. It's a great responsibility.

My New Abode

Now, I know that many of you are dying to see my new pad and have been hounding me for photos. Okay, okay, only one of my friends asked, and she only sent me one email, and fine, it was just a postscript. BUT for all of you losing sleep from the torturous curiosity and have been keeping secret the saga of your emotional rollercoaster ride, here they are:

Our elevators. Why did I include a picture of our elevators?

Because it is the door to our apartment. Which leads into our kitchen. Under the pile of dishes there is a stove with one burner. ONE burner. How am I supposed to cook in this toy kitchen?! (You will find out in a later entry.)

Our kitchen/foyer. Please take off your shoes.

A door separates the main part of our apartment from the kitchen. By the way, I can get used to daily maid service. It is a beautiful thing, I ain't gonna lie.

When you open the door, you enter the living room space. And you can see our little balcony with fantastic views of Kowloon. Below are a couple more views of the main space.

That's me in the mirror.

Our boudoir. The bed looks soft and fluffy, but it's really just a nice comforter on top of a wooden box. The mattress, if there is one, is rock hard.

Our little breakfast nook. I bought mint and basil plants recently, and I'm very excited about cooking with them! No more wasting fresh herbs, hurray!

Views of Victoria Harbour from our breakfast nook and balcony.

The W.C.

And last and probably most important in Sheung Wan, an air purifier.

We're only going to be here until July 31. We're hoping to find a more permanent home. If you know of a good real estate broker or agent in Hong Kong, please let me know!

The Chinese and Their Names

I don't think it's news that the Chinese and Asians in general can be very creative in crafting Western personas. Nonetheless, Hong Kongers are surprising me in their above and beyond attitude by thinking outside the box, WAY outside the box, for their Western names.

To give you real life examples [please note that surnames have been changed to protect the identities of the sources], I received an email just today (which prompted this entry) from a "Fish Yeung". Fish. Somehow at some point in his life, he received the name Fish, like some folksy character in a John Irving novel. Forget baby name books! Conventions be damned! I'm going with "Fish"!

A couple of hours before the Fish email, I was reading an article from a real estate magazine called Squarefoot when I came across this quote: "'You can't really find any official data to show how many mainlanders are buying property in Hong Kong,' says Buggle Lau..." Buggle. Now, that's both endearing and creative!

No Scallions!

How do you say "no scallions" in Cantonese?

Itchy

Today is the first day of physical discomfort of any kind since I arrived. Last night, I visited Lamma Island, one of Hong Kong's many surrounding islands. Hong Kong can falsely give one the impression that the region is super developed and urban. In fact, less than 25% of Hong Kong is developed, and the wild, untamed nature I observed a few days ago is more accurate of the square footage.

I found this out first-hand when I went to Lamma Island for a nice seafood dinner. The main drag is dotted with Carribbean-themed bars and seafood restaurants. You peer into the large tanks of live groupers, sea snails, razor and bamboo clams, Australian lobsters, crabs, and you choose your own adventure. The servers will take your picks to the back where chefs will cook it up for you on the spot. The rest of the island is dotted with homes and apartment buildings of locals or 3-storied hotels in various states. Some structures look like they're about to crumble, others look like new developments, and some look like concrete huts with recently added plumbing evidenced by shiny white pipes against old gray walls. The island is navigable by well-marked concrete paths where tourists or locals on bicycles whiz or wheeze by you on the hilly terrain.

Before dinner, we decided to take a walk to a beach on the other side of the tiny island, about 20-25 minutes from the pier where the ferry dropped us off. The slightly humid air and the lush green really hit me: I was definitely in the sub-tropics. I was enjoying the fragrant air and the 'lovely' view of the power plant when I felt something nip my shoulder. Then another and another. By the time we got to the beach, I was being eaten alive by swarms of invisible insects.

The itching was gradual with the first few bites, but as soon as I sat down to have a refreshing peach and aloe soda drink at a beachside bar, the itchiness took a dramatic turn and began to burn insistently.

I have dealt with some horrid bugbites in Peru and New Zealand, but this was a new level of itch. We decided to skip drinks and go straight to dinner, but I was in no mood so we caught the next ferry back to civilization. As soon as we boarded the ferry, the itching disappeared as suddenly as it had started. It was like a Michael Crichton novel.

On a related note, I saw a native cockroach on the street for the first time yesterday as well. They're pretty big, about an inch and change. And they are not afraid to crawl out into the street in the middle of the day. Ugh.

I hate bugs. I really do.

Materialism

Gucci. Louis Vuitton. Prada. Escada. Giorgio Armani. Valentino. Chanel. Christian Dior. Oscar de la Renta. Celine. Chloe. Vivienne Westwood. Giorgio Armani. Giorgio Armani. Giorgio Armani.

Even if I knew nothing about fashion, I would quickly learn in Hong Kong. My God. The stores. There isn't just one gigantuous Louis Vuitton flagship store, there are two, never mind the countless number of smaller branches in Hong Kong's labyrinth of malls. Giorgio Armani has an entire floor of a building (Chater House) with separate stores for all of his labels - Giorgio Armani, Armani Collezioni, Emporio Armani, Armani Cosmetics and get this, a flower shop, Armani Fiori. Don't forget to stop by his eponymous restuarant or bar for a refreshment after your exhausting shopping spree.

I don't know much about Hong Kong's history, but I'd be interested to find out how this thriving culture of materialism evolved. If I were to run a search in my head about Chinese culture or even East Asian culture in general, keywords like "Confucius, Taoism, Tai Chi, meditation, Buddhism, tea, abundant food, zen" would pop up. All of which I can see and find in Hong Kong, but in a rather Disneyfied form. Can all of this simply be credited to Western influence and inheritance?

Bag lady in front of HSBC

It seems to me as though Hong Kong took Western consumerism and materialism and reduced them right down to their essence. This is consumerism at its most garish and yet, unadultered and without makeup.* Hong Kong gives you what you want: better, faster, and cheaper.

As for me, I will just have to march past these stores and fight the temptations.

* This subject brings up thoughts about Communism and mainland China, but I'll have to put them on the backburner until I've traveled around and observed China a bit more.

Hong Kong whaaat??

The first view of Hong Kong is what you imagine explorers of the 16th or 17th century had seen when they first spotted land. A black smudge in the hazy horizon. Before you can see the iconic superbuildings of Hong Kong, you see somewhat wild-looking mountains with sharp peaks and jagged sides. The island, from a few thousand feet in the sky, looks rather untamed.

My immediate impressions of Hong Kong were not quite so dramatic. After having traveled a bit, one city seemed to blend into another. First impressions were typically of similarities to other places I had been. Now, a few days in, Hong Kong is revealing the unfamiliar, the foreign, the exotic. More than a massive Chinatown, Hong Kong is a city of complicated tunnels, pedestrian bridges, and walkways. During the day, every part of Hong Kong feels like Times Square in New York. It is useless to get upset about getting your shoulder bumped here. How the island hasn't just sunk into the sea from the crushing weight of people and buildings, I have no idea.

First shot of Hong Kong (on Lantau Island)

More observations from the first week to come...