hong kong: more than beer and tv
I was sitting alone at the bar of an Irish pub in Hong Kong sipping a pint of Tetley’s Bitter. I borrowed a pen and starting scribbling on the back of my bar tab: “taller, tighter, more tits, less bikes.” Those were the words I started with. Profound, I know. But I also know that I’m not the first person to write such slop after a few pints of bitter. (Enter Ethan Hawke joke here.)
I hate when people visit a new city and immediately try to define it, but after my fourth pint that’s exactly what I did. Hong Kong is like New York City, I wrote, only with more hills … and more Asians. Brilliant.
Before I continue, let me explain those first words that appeared on my receipt.
Taller: Hong Kong skyscrapers seemed more sky-high than Shanghai’s. They likely aren’t. And, if they are, they likely won’t be for long. I read somewhere that Shanghai is home to more construction cranes than any other city in the world. But if it were up to my eyes, Hong Kong would take the size prize for now, largely because it’s …
Tighter: Like any island city, Hong Kong is forced to grow up, not out — otherwise, lots of people would drown. Streets are narrower. Buildings hover over you like the front line of the Chinese national basketball team. It’s easy to feel a bit claustrophobic. In the more spread-out Shanghai, on the other hand, you can look up and see some sky with your skyscrapers. Well, maybe not so much sky as smog … covered by a thick layer of haze. But still, there’s room to breathe — just make sure you bring something to cover your mouth. My brother recently told me that Shanghai is the only city for which he has seen the one-word weather forecast of “dust.”
(I must add here that I did find in Hong Kong the closest thing to outdoor activity that China has offered me in the past six weeks. The city is surrounded by hills, some might even call them mountains, and many of them are actually rather green. I hiked to the top of one, albeit on a wide path of blacktop and concrete, and it was a nice escape, in an urban-jungle sort of way. But you never lose sight of the skyline. You can do that in Shanghai … even without the help of the haze.)
More tits: This, obviously, is not true. Shanghai, I would imagine, has more tits than most cities in the world. There is a one-child rule, not a one-tit rule. But still, Hong Kong seemed more open about its sexuality. This could have something to do with the fact that the Irish pub that I chose for my drunken ramblings was in the heart of what used to be Hong Kong’s red-light district. As far as I could tell, the light still seems to be flickering. Women standing in front of several establishments I passed on the way to my barstool invited me inside, not with “hello” or “welcome,” but with one word, repeated again and again: “Teets! Teets! Teets!” I opted for the Tetley’s. Shanghai has its share of prostitutes, but no strip clubs. In fact, many of my students did not know that such places even existed. But, good teacher that I am, I taught them.
Less bikes: I don’t remember seeing one bicyclist in Hong Kong. Now, that doesn’t mean I didn’t actually see any bikes. It’s just that any number less than 10,000 would have seemed like zero after living in Shanghai. Another difference on the streets of Hong Kong: Not one taxi was made by Volkswagen, the manufacturer that owns the entire cab market of Shanghai. Ever hear of a Volkswagen Santana? No? That’s because all of them are in Shanghai. Hong Kong cabbies, meanwhile, have red Toyotas. They drive them on the wrong side of the road — the bad thing about 99 years of British rule — but, unlike their Shanghai counterparts, they usually speak a little English — the good thing about 99 years of British rule — and they don’t honk their horns just for the hell of it. Interestingly, many Hong Kong cab drivers will not push the gas pedal until you buckle your seat belt. I can’t even find seatbelts in most Santanas … and in Shanghai, not having a seatbelt is a scary thing.
I suppose I should explain what I was doing sitting alone at a bar in Hong Kong scribbling on a bar tab. I was on vacation — we get a week off for National Day, Oct. 1, the day that Mao Zedong proclaimed the birth of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, the day communism “liberated” the Chinese people from, well, er, something — and I was awaiting the arrival of my friend Veronica (introduced in an earlier Shanghai Diaries entry) and several members of her family, who were spending four days in Hong Kong after attending a wedding in the Philippines.
That first night, I was tempted to stay in our room at the Grand Hyatt Hotel, pretty swanky digs for someone making US$500 a month. In addition to a mini bar and two soft terrycloth robes, our room had a nice, big TV set … and the people inside the TV set spoke English! I had ESPN, HBO, MTV, CNN, BBC — all the acronyms that matter — and I was in heaven. You see, in Shanghai, my best viewing option is often ping-pong. Seriously. So I got my fill. I saw Letterman and a billboard ad for “Six Feet Under” on the side of a bus. I actually got to watch Monday Night Football — live — on Tuesday morning, and Major League Baseball divisional series games — live — nearly every other morning. (After the Yankees lost, I was happy to be back in mainland China, where I knew I wouldn’t be forced into viewing the awkward celebrations of overjoyed Angels fans.)
But no, I didn’t stay in and watch television that initial night in Hong Kong. If there’s one thing I’ve learned while in China, it’s that there’s more to life than watching TV — there are also DVDs. So I did what you’re supposed to do in Hong Kong when you are alone on a Monday night … head over to an Irish pub. (By the way, here’s something that struck me as a bit odd. The receipt on which I was writing had typed at the bottom in big, bold red letters, “KEEP IT IRISH.” Below that, it read: “Try our Thai Restaurant PAD THAI on the 2nd floor.”)
My first few Tetley’s were a bit pricey (HK$39, or a little more than US$5), but on par with the cost of foreign beers at bars in major American cities. It was a pleasant break from the Budweiser clones I get at my local grocery story in Shanghai. But enough about beer. I did more than drink and watch TV in Hong Kong.
On National Day night, we watched a huge fireworks display — properly described as “25 minutes of dynamite” by our concierge — over Victoria Harbour. Hmmmm. What else? Well, I shopped, climbed Victoria Peak, shopped, played with Veronica’s super-cute nieces Maddie and Alexa (who have the enviable ability to fall asleep in any place or position), shopped and shopped. Oh, I did some shopping, too. (Veronica set the itinerary for this trip, by the way.)
From playing with Maddie and Alexa, ages 4 and 2, I learned that I I wasn’t ready to have children — I was ready for my friends to have children. From shopping with Veronica, I learned that, if she ever stopped shopping for handbags long enough to actually get married and have children, she would likely name her first two kids Prada and Hermes.
“You need more paper?” the barkeep at the Irish pub asked me after I filled up both sides of the bar tab with ink. “Looks like that’s not going to be enough.”
“That’d be nice,” I replied. “I’ll have another Tetley’s, too, while you’re at it.”
Soon, I had a fresh sheet of paper and another cascading pint of beer. Life was good.
“That’ll be 56 dollars,” he said.
“How much?”
“Fifty-six,” he repeated. “Happy hour is finished.”
After that US$8 beer, I was finished, too. I wrote one final word down on my new receipt: “Expensive!”
I’ll close with an inexpensive anecdote. I had traveled to Hong Kong through Shenzhen, a nearby city of several million that was nothing but farmland until it was designated a Special Economic Zone in the late 1970s. I had several hours to kill before my return flight to Shanghai, so I went — you guessed it — shopping. Shenzhen is known for “name-brand” merchandise of ambiguous origins. Haggling is expected. Probing questions are not.
I bought a pair of “Prada” shoes. Veronica would have been proud. They cost HK$180 … which will get you a blank piece of paper and three pints of Tetley’s Bitter in Hong Kong.
Click here for photos from my Hong Kong trip.
10.18.2002, 7:26 AM · Hong Kong
1 Comments
I’m interested in how ‘China hands’ react to HK’s difference to everywhere else in China. I spent a year in Bj, and have now been in HK for 4 years. HK= 1st world. Everything (apart from the work culture) is better here. Give the british some credit I say.