Hong Kong
Every Chinese city seemed to have a night market. They were setup temporarily in the streets for evening shoppers. There, under bare light bulbs, you will find all manner of consumer and tourist goods. The Temple Street market in Hong Kong was one of the best. In the crowded, noisy streets I found everything from silk shirts to fake Rolex watches; from plastic shoes to porno CD-ROMs; from fresh fruit to kids toys. There was also fried, steamed and grilled food. This last item added a tempting aroma to the night air. The worst things were the little boxes that chirped - they had an electronic cricket inside. I heard this mind-numbing sound in every market I visited.
By far the most interesting thing about the Temple Street market was the little lane where fortunetellers and astrologers set up shop. I found them sitting on the curb in earnest consultation with groups of Chinese. The results were written onto sheets of paper, which were then burned. This last step must have been very important as I saw one well-dressed man on his knees fanning the flames until the paper was consumed.
Sunday, April 5, 1998
I arrived in Hong Kong about 10:30 in the evening. The first flight, from Detroit to Narita, Japan, had been about 13 hours. Then after a 3-hour layover, it was 5 more hours to Hong Kong. I slept most of the way to Japan and on the last leg I had the good fortune of sit next to a young businessman from Hong Kong. I was so interested in our conversation - he was telling me about the hand-over and what it was like to live and work there now - that I was surprised when they announced that we were making our final approach into Hong Kong.
I quickly cleared Immigration and Customs, mere formalities made quicker by the fact that I was carrying all my luggage on my back. Next I went to reconfirm my onward flight. Upstairs in the departure hall I asked one of the guards where the Dragonair desk was. It only took a minute to find it and reconfirm.
I still hadn't decided whether to take a taxi or bus to my hotel but I would have to go back down stairs to do either. As I was heading toward the stairs I looked outside and noticed a lone taxi out there. That decided it. I walked out and showed the driver the photocopy I had made of my hotel name in Chinese. This is essential - very few drivers speak or read English.
The driver nodded that he understood and I jumped in. It was only about a 15 minute ride (48 HK$ - $6.50) from the airport to my hotel, the Salisbury YMCA. The hotel is located at the southern tip of Tsim Shat Sui, a crowded, business district just opposite Hong Kong Island. I checked in, brushed my teeth and jumped in bed - I was dead tired.
Monday, April 6, 1998
In the morning after a delicious buffet breakfast I walked over to the Star Ferry terminal - it's only about a 5-minute from the hotel. From there it's another 10 minutes by ferry to Hong Kong Island. It was a great ride with sampan, barges and pleasure boats sailing past, plus I got a great view of the Hong Kong skyline. When I arrived at Central, as the terminal area is called, I walked west. I wanted to visit an area specializing in traditional Chinese medicine.
The day was hot and humid - like all the days I stayed in Hong Kong. Along the way I found many interesting alleys to explore. Down one I saw a guy painting a large coffin - he was writing something in Chinese on the end. In another a young fellow was repairing his bike. Some alleys even led to little off-the-street parks. One had a sign that said, "Upper Station Street Sitting-Out Area" - it was full of old men playing some kind of board game. Others had playgrounds where excited children were running around. (53k picture)
When I finally reached the street of traditional medicine, I found it full of activities. There were men loading and unloading huge boxes and bales. In the shops were men in white coats measuring out strange looking substances: I saw bark, roots and fungi. Then there were dried seahorses, turtle shells, snakeskin and velvet covered antler which were sold by the slice. But strangest of all was the boxes of little lizards that were dried and stretched on sticks - they look like they were crucified. The place had a strange, strong odor - but what would you expect with all these strange things around?
As I was roaming around I stumbled on the Man Mo Temple. It was a small place typical in many ways of the temples I was to see in China. There were several rooms with statues of the deities along each wall and pillows for the faithful to kneel on. Large bundles of incense, which was sold by street vendors, were burning in each room, filling them with smoke. What was unique about Man Mo was the huge coils of smoking incense hanging from the open rafters.
I spent the rest of the day exploring Hong Kong. Later that evening as I was returning from the Temple Street market I heard music down a little side street. When I went to investigate I found a small ensemble playing and singing traditional Chinese opera. This is a form of music that sounds as alien to my ears as anything I have ever heard - the high, nasally-falsetto of the singer and the odd clicking and banging of the percussion. The night was warm and they had collected quite a crowd. I watched for awhile, gave them a small donation and headed back to the hotel.
Tuesday, April 7, 1998
I was off to Hong Kong Island again today. At the bus station in front of the terminal I looked for the bus to Aw Boon Haw Gardens. It's a small park full of crazy-painted creatures built by a guy who got rich selling Tiger Balm - a pain-killing ointment I remember from my hippie days. I told the driver where I wanted to go and he explained which stop I should get off at. I must have misunderstood because I was surprised when he poked his head up the stairs to the upper deck where I was sitting and said, "You get off here."
Once on the street I consulted my map trying to figure out exactly where the park was. There were street signs in English, so I had good chance of getting my bearing. But I was also looking around and taking picture at the same time. After a few minutes the same bus came down the opposite side of the road on it's return run. The driver saw me still standing where he had dropped me and pulled over again. This time he pointed to the right and yelled, "That way."
The garden wasn't far. It sits in a kind of bowl surrounded on three sides by giant high-rise apartments - while that in itself struck me as kind of weird, I hadn't seen the sculpture yet. There are all kinds of weird and wonderful characters - dragons, warriors, tigers and even a group that looked like the Seven Dwarfs. If you have a taste for the oddball, this is a great place to visit but be prepared to do some climbing as the garden rises sharply from the entrance.
After Aw Boon Haw I wandered around the business area again - nosing in more shops. In one I took a picture of a guy slicing meat. When my flash went off he turned and hissed at me - I guess he didn't want his picture taken. As he had a sharp-looking cleaver in his hand, I took his warning seriously. This was, in fact, a rare reaction. Most Chinese seemed indifferent to my camera and at the worst, just turned away.
Now I headed over to the Peak Tram. The tram is a major tourist destination - you get a dramatic ride to the top and then a great view over Hong Kong harbor. At the top there is also a large two-story shopping mall with lots of restaurants and gift shops - there was even a Baskin-Robbins ice cream shop. After lunch I continued my wandering.
Although crowded, Hong Kong streets are quite pleasant to walk. The people were friendly and would often excuse themselves after bumping me. I received many smiles - whether from friendly intent or because they found me amusing, I never found out. For the most part I was left alone, except by the silk shirt merchants in the Chungking Mansions and the women trying to lure me into the skin bars near my hotel. I also noticed that Hong Kong has a peculiar odor - probably some spice or food - that I couldn't identify. Anyway, I found it everywhere in Hong Kong.
I know Hong Kong is now a part of China. That was made amply clear by many of the Chinese I met - a fact they are quite proud of. That's the political reality but on the ground Hong Kong feels more like San Francisco or New York. Just about everyone seemed to have portable phones and western dress is way more popular then anything even vaguely resembling Chinese.
Wednesday, April 8, 1998
I checked out and left my bag at the hotel. I then headed over to Hong Kong where I got a bus to Aberdeen. It's on the south side of the island. I wanted to get out of the city for the day and figured I would stop there on my way farther south to Stanley.
The road from Hong Kong to Aberdeen was built up with 30 story apartments most of the way. In Aberdeen I walked over to the little harbor. While I was walking along the waterfront, I was approached by 5 young girls - they were maybe 10 or 12 years old and wearing school uniforms. One girl did all the talking while the others shyly giggled whenever I looked at them. The brave one told me that they wanted to interview me for a school project. I said, "OK," and she got out a little tape recorder for us to talk into.
She then read from a script that could have been prepared by the Chamber of Commerce: "Did I like Hong Kong? What did I think of the Hong Kong people? Would I visit there again?" Well, the truth was I did like Hong Kong, the people were quite nice but who knows where I'll go next. These answers seemed to satisfy my interviewer and her pals. They wandered off in one direction and I in the other. A little later I saw them all crowded around the tape recorder, listening to my utterances, no doubt - I'm glad I didn't have to that.
I then caught another bus farther south. Now the buildings thinned out some. Stanley turned out to be mostly hotels, restaurants and an interesting tourist market. I was hoping to be able to sit by the water here and eat lunch. The best I could do was across the street from the harbor with a huge truck blocking my view - you take what you can get. Later I walked the tourist market. (55k picture)
So now it was time to move on. Back at the hotel I picked up my bag and got the bus to the airport (13.10 HK$.) Good bye Hong Kong; China here I come - I was excited.
GETTING AROUND: Hong Kong was amazingly safe and easy to get around. The bus system was well marked with route signs in both Chinese and English, as was the Hong Kong tram. Both require exact change.
There was also a clean subway. The easiest way to get a ticket is from one of the many machines. You simply push the button corresponding to your destination and it tells you your fare. The machines accept both coins and small bills. You then get a plastic ticket that you must insert at both ends of your journey. It was a very fast way to get around.
Guilin
Guilin was full of touts who introduce themselves as students. They always claim they just want to practice their English - but I met one guy who had already mastered the subtleties of the language.
I quickly learned that I had to ignore some of their attempts at conversation - you will never get anywhere if you talk to them all. When this guy approached me with, "Hello, what's your country," I just kept walking. This must have deeply offended him because, much to my surprise, he spouted a stream of English vernacular fit for a sailor not a scholar. I was shocked but also somewhat amused. He's choice of cures and their pronunciation made me think that his English studies were coming along quite nicely.
Wednesday, April 8, 1998
I arrived in Guilin well after dark. Immigration and customs were again quick. I don't know what I was expecting but entering China was just like entering any other country - stand in a couple of lines and get a stamp in your passport. With my pack on my back, I walked out into the cavernous and dimly lit arrival hall - "Hey," I thought, "I'm in China."
I wanted to reconfirm my onward flight, as I had in Hong Kong, but I found everything was closed - we must have been the last flight. I walked around a bit, probably to delay dealing with the taxi drivers. I had been warned that I would have trouble with them. I found an information desk and asked how to get into town. The girl offered me two options: I could take an airport bus (20 yuan) to Guilin and then get a taxi (10 yuan) to my hotel or I could simply take a taxi direct (100 yuan.)
Well, it was late and I was tired - I didn't feel like waiting for a bus. So I walked out to the taxi stand to see what I could learn there. I showed some guy, who looked like he was in charge, my hotel name written in Chinese. I was offered the same deal, 100 yuan, so I agreed and he pointed me to a waiting taxi. As this was a different guy, I started again: first I showed him the hotel name and then had him write the price down - I had been warned to be cautious.
It was about a 30-minute drive down a wide, empty expressway to Guilin. When we arrived I was taken to a huge modern hotel but something didn't look right - the name was written only in Chinese. I showed the driver the name of my hotel again. His eyes got large and he quickly backed out without saying anything. Another 5 minutes down the road we pulled into another hotel. This time I could see the name in English so I knew it was the right palace: the Lijiang. I got out, paid the driver and quickly checked in. In this and all my arrivals, I was delighted that no matter how late I got in, a room was waiting for me. As soon as I dropped my bag in my room I headed to the bar for a beer and to bring my journal up to date.
Thursday, April 9, 1998
When I awoke I could hear dance music. I went to the window, where I saw for the first time that I had a wide panorama of the Li river and the surrounding limestone hills. "Wow, this is great," I thought. I opened the window and looked out. Below me there were some ambitious Chinese practicing Tai Chi and others doing ballroom dancing. That's where the music was coming from. They were there every morning and I saw similar scenes in most cities: morning athletics are very popular.
After a quick breakfast, I headed downstairs for a look around. On the way I dropped off my air ticket at the travel desk - every hotel seems to have one - where for 10 yuan they offered to reconfirm my onward flight. It was my experience that it was simply not possible to reconfirm at the airport. There didn't seem to be any permanent desk for individual airlines, only windows where you could check in. On the other hand, I found that the hotel travel desk could usually help - often for free.
I didn't really have much of a plan for the day. Oh, I had an idea of a few things I wanted to see but I really just wanted to wander around. When I reach the street in front of the hotel, I asked myself, "Right or left?" I choose right, a walk away from the river and toward the old city wall. I wasn't five minutes into my stroll when I met my first student. I had read this could be a problem so I was a prepared for the worst. Actually this guy was quite pleasant and interesting to talk to.
We were walking along a narrow lake that defined where the old defensive moat had been. From my reading I knew that there was an old city gate down this way. Vaguely, I was thinking that was where I would go. The street was full of bicycles and the tinkling of their bells - a sound that will always remind me of China. Guilin was a great place to enter China - the traffic was gentle and the city was easy to walk around.
In the middle of the first intersection there was a young woman in uniform, directing traffic in a stiff, military manner. She was standing on a raised platform shielded from the sun by a huge umbrella. I stood watching as she stopped one lane and started another with the precise sweep of her hand. Her motions were so professional, so deliberate - I was enthralled.
There was a little "station" on the sidewalk nearby where other traffic officers were waiting to relieve her. There I saw a different side. In contrast to the stiff, military manner of the woman in the street, I saw another woman who had slipped into a nearby shop and was adjusting her uniform in front of a mirror. She was pulling the wrinkles out of the front and straightening her military hat - primping before her performance.
My student was now growing restless and wanted to get to the point. He was studying calligraphy, he told me - would I like to see an exhibit of his work? Well the short and quick answer was no, but I didn't want to be too rude. I made an excuse about needing to get back to the hotel. He understood and headed off in one direction and I in the other. As the day wore on, and I met more students, I became stronger in my response.
Next, I headed north along the Li river. Guilin is famous for it's limestone karst. They rise abruptly from the flat land into the hazy sky. There is usually some kind of temple at the summit - it takes strong legs to battle the crowds to the top. They are also often surrounded by gardens where you can sit and watch the tourists after your climb.
The first one I visited was Fubo Shan (10 yuan.) The view from the top and the people I met along the way made the climb worth while. I sat at the top for a while and thought about China. I had been led to believe it would be hard traveling here but so far it was easy and pleasant. I kept thinking, "When will China get mean?" It never did. (43k picture)
It was now near lunch and I decided to head back to the hotel to eat. After I exited Fubo Shan, I walked a few blocks before I hailing a taxi. I showed him the card from the hotel, which had the name written in Chinese. He nodded and I got it. Before I could say anything he had the flag on the meter down. Then a complete surprise: when the meter started there was a message, something like this. "Welcome to Guilin. We hope you visit is pleasant. The taxi meter has now started." This was in English, no less. I was starting to think it was going to be easy to get around here. The trip back to the hotel cost 9 yuan.
After lunch I headed out again on foot. Just outside the hotel a guy approached me and said something in Chinese. I figured he was yet another student so I said, "No thanks," and just kept walking. He hurried and got in front of me so that I had to stop. He then made a crude gesture with hands indicating sexual intercourse. I was shocked and looked up at him for the first time. He was leering at me with a gap-tooth grin. He looked so ridiculous I just laughed out loud - so did he. "No thanks," I said again and continued on my way. After that I saw that darn guy outside the hotel almost every day - it must have been his regular beat - and he always smiled that gap-tooth grin at me. Gees, what a way to make a living.
Later I took a taxi over to the Seven Star Park. It is a huge area given over to amusement rides, formal gardens and a mighty collection of limestone hills - enough climbing to keep you busy for days. But better than the climbing was the people watching. Groups of tourists were posing for pictures everywhere. In order to get a good shot one guy stepped off the path onto the grass. A lady with a bullhorn, on guard for just such a transgression, started shouting at him in Chinese. When he didn't immediately comply, she switched to shriek mode. Now he got the message but the woman wasn't satisfied and kept bitching at him over the bullhorn. I'm sure everyone in the whole park could hear her. She convinced me to stay off the lawn. Maybe he was a slow learner. (40k picture)
I decided to walk back to the hotel: it wasn't that far and the day was nice. The street was full of bikes and a few cars, buses and trucks. Everybody seemed amused to see me. Where ever I looked someone was looking at me. Some would then look away, others smiled and some just kept staring. I learned that if I nodded at someone I could almost always get them to smile. I found the Chinese to be very curious and friendly.
That evening I walked back to the riverfront to check out the night market that sets up there about 7:00 PM. I walked along looking at the goods - mostly tourist items. There were teapots, Chairman Mao pins, silk scarves and carved chopsticks. If you have ever been to a Chinatown in any big city you have probably seen the majority of the stuff that's sold there. The vendors were quite anxious to make a sale but I had just arrived and wasn't looking to fill my bag up quite yet. After an hour or so I headed back to the hotel bar - beer time.
Friday, April 10, 1998
I was planning to go to Yangshuo today. It's a nearby town reputed to be very laid back and the trip would give me a chance to see the countryside. Instead of taking right off I wandered over to the riverfront and spent an hour or so taking pictures of people practicing Tai Chi. No one seemed to mind me and my camera.
I then walked around the business area near my hotel. There were lots of little shops selling everything from flowers to fabric, from ball bearings to wedding dresses. I just wandered around, taking it all in. This is my favorite travel activity - I guess I'm just nosey. I want to see how people dress, what they buy and how they treat each other. Mostly my wandering just drew a few stares: I was seldom bothered by touts or hustlers. I was beginning to really like China.
Around 11:00 I finally got going: I checked out of the hotel and flagged down a taxi. I showed him a place on the map I had circled - the train station. He nodded, I got in and off we went. He immediately headed in the wrong way. "Hey," I shouted, "where are you going?" and pointed in the other direction. He understood my concern and made a "U" in the air with his finger, indicating he was going to turn up ahead. He turned all right but we were still heading the wrong way - "So this is the scenic route I have heard so much about," I thought. I had been warned that it's a standard scam to drive around running the meter up.
After a few minutes he pulled into a hotel. A hotel? I wanted to go to the train station. I showed him the map again and he got out and consulted with two women standing in front of the hotel. Then he go back in, hurriedly backed up and took off again. I was following our progress on the map, so I knew more or less where we were. I figured I would wait and see what happened next - I was getting interested.
After another five minutes or so he pulled into another hotel. I knew we were now close to the train station, so I decided to get out - why press my luck? The meter read 22.5 yuan. I got my money out and first gave him two 10 yuan bills. As I was fishing for the smaller bills he held up his hand to tell me that was enough. I guess he felt guilty about going to the wrong hotel - the scenic route was on him.
I consulted my map again and saw my mistake. There was a hotel near the train station (above it on the map) and I had circled it by mistake. I was actually directly behind the train station, in a grubby area of small metal fabrication businesses. So I crossed the street and walked to the train station - it was about five-minutes away.
The station was a huge building with a large open square in front that was full of people. I walked around for a few minutes. I was approached by several people asking, "Yangshuo?" But by then I had lost my interest in going. This is the reason I love to travel alone. I simply decided to do something different. Instead, I walked around the area for a few hours, taking pictures - it was grubby but interesting - and then walked back toward the hotel. It was an afternoon well spent. (56k picture)
I now had some time to kill before my flight to Shanghai so I stopped at a little café on a island in front of my hotel. When I walked over the bridge, I immediately became the object of great interest.
There were five or six teenagers working there - three or four boys and two girls. As I walked to the counter to see what they had to drink, they all crowded around, smiling and giggling. With this small audience in attendance I pointed to the cans of pop lined up behind the counter and ask for a Sprite. This caused some confusion and much discussion. I kept pointing and saying, "Sprite," but that didn't seem to register with anyone. Then one of the boys started pointing to each can in turn. When he finally got to the green Sprite can and I nodded yes.
Now there was more discussion - it seemed to be about whether they should give me that can or, as I hoped, a cold one. As I was trying to remember the word for cold - was it ping or bing? - one of the boys dashed off and came back with a cold can. Now the discussion turned, I suspect, to whether to open it or not. I intervened and made it clear I didn't want it opened. I was then given the can and a straw.
I took my pop and sat at a table next to the water. I fished out my journal and started writing. Then I heard some familiar music, the Platter's Great Pretender from the 1950's - a favorite of mine. I turned to see where the music was coming from and found everyone was watching me again. Apparently they had put on their "American" tape and were waiting for my reaction. I nodded my approval - they all smiled in return - and I went back to my journal.
Later I retrieved my bag and got a taxi to the airport. The ride out was lovely: we passed through rice patties where men and water buffalo were at work. Behind them limestone hills rose abruptly - this was the kind of scene that if often pictured in Chines paintings.
NUMBERS: There are three different sets of numbers in used in China: First I found most prices written in the same numbers that we use in the west - 1,2,3. Then there are two different sets of Chinese numbers: one set is used for counting while the other, more complicated set, is used for prices. You can see examples of the latter on the 1, 2, 5 and 10 yuan notes. I often saw these numbers on entrance tickets as well as those for buses and trains. The other I rarely saw - a rickshaw driver once wrote his price in them. You can find them in any good guidebook. One last complication: when the Chinese count on their fingers, the signs they make for numbers above 5 are different than the ones I was accustomed to. Again, refer to your trusty guidebook for details.
Ann Arbor, Michigan
June 1998
Part Two: Shanghai & Suzhou
Part Three: Xian & Beijing
Hotel reviews
Making reservations
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