Live Journal - The Wander Years

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December 6th, 2005 > not really Europe

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show me the map!

Badly dressed people, drains to make your eyes water and eighty per cent of the world’s neon supplies. I can only be in one place; China, or to be more precise, Hong Kong. I hear you ask, how did I get there from Berlin so quickly?

Well, the truth is, I didn't go anywhere near Berlin or anywhere else in Spain. It was all part of a miss-information campaign so that I could surprise my family and turn up in New Zealand early for Christmas. It has taken several false emails, including pictures of famous landmarks borrowed from the net to convince them I was indeed on the road in Europe. But of course, I couldn't allow myself to pass through Honkers without calling in for a while. So I did just that.

But first things first. Last time you heard from me, I imagine I was banging on about leaving Herm. After a week in Guernsey I managed to organise another workaway trip, again on MV Isis. This time, I'd be spending much more time aboard for the longer journey that took us to the Island of Jersey first to unload containers and take on more. To my surprise, as we approached the island a boat pulled alongside, from which a large and threatening man emerged, then proceeded to climb aboard Isis. But this was no pirate attack - it was the harbour pilot and he was here to take control of our ship into port. Better still, turns out we are related and haven't seen each other in years (understandable, when I don't live in Jersey or make a habit of riding on cargo ships).

Fully loaded we passed through the islands bound for Portland, UK. I had my final view of Herm at sunset as we steamed into the night. Quite a surreal moment, after seven months or so, I am finally moving on.

Soon after, a man over board situation was announced on the VHF. French coastguard had been chasing suspected drug runners, one of whom had gone over the side. We made a note in the log, posted a watch, and sailed on. Before long life boats, coastguard, helicopters and Royal Navy were in on the action. Much later in the night when we were well out into the English Channel we listened in on the search. It was quite sobering to think that person would have lost his life. In these conditions, our Captain reckons they'd last no more than four hours; it's already been nearly eight since first report, and still no sighting.

Though the crew were mostly the same as last time, one notable difference was the loss of Captain Eddie. Not overboard of course; on leave in Australia. In his place, command fell to Capt. Colin. As with Eddie, he has a lifetime of experience at sea and was very happy to share his stories with me. I spent most of the night on the bridge with him, where he taught me to navigate using Admiralty maps and how to operate the radar. We crossed two of the busiest shipping lanes in the world, where the reality of his responsibilities becomes quite clear. Even in the dead of night, the bridge is a busy place. Instruments need constant adjustment and observation. Every registered ship worldwide has a whole array of radio equipment installed, one of which interested me greatly. It’s a VHF with a panic button. When all is lost, you break the cover and hit that button. It sends out a distress call far and wide, and will be received by all other shipping. It gives details of the vessel and position. If there is time, you can add a code that describes your predicament. Engine or steering failure, for example. Now for me, the interesting thing was the fact that on this relatively calm night, through the hours we recorded over a dozen such distress calls. They were over a large area so did not concern us; some to the south in the Bay of Biscay, a few in the North Sea and most up in the Baltic. We recorded them in the log and steamed on. It makes you think though; most of us sleep happily at night and never give a thought to the thousands of ships and crew across the world, bringing goods to our shops and homes. Theirs still is a dangerous job.

And so it was that I had a few weeks to kill back in the United Kingdom. This was mostly spent on another round of goodbyes (I’m getting fed up of saying bye to people now, and they are beginning to think I’ll never actually go). Rosie and I spent some time together, exploring mid-Wales. A difficult time saying goodbye, after becoming such good mates. It’s all been a bit of an emotional roller coaster, and more than once I have wondered why at my age I still insist on moving around so much.

I had a pleasant time rooting around in London for a couple of days, exploring the Imperial War Museum and sitting in on a House of Commons debate, the very heart of our parliamentary system. Due to board the big iron bird quite early next day, I chose to rough it at Heathrow airport the night before, thus saving a nights accommodation and avoiding rush hour travel.

My habit of fiddling with travel passes and tickets once again caused me problems. First yesterday on the tube out of the city, the machine would not accept my tattered card and thus refused my exit. Second, at the boarding gate for my flight, my crumpled pass scrunched up in their machine, bringing proceedings to an abrupt halt. I did my best to look thoroughly innocent. I must learn to put these tickets somewhere safe and stop playing with them.

Our flight took an unusual route, compared to previous trips. But I wasn’t complaining, we followed almost perfectly (uncanny, really) the route I plan on doing after Christmas. Across Siberia then south over Mongolia and China.

Aboard MV Isis with Pilot Rob

A fantastic weekend in outback Wales - check out those legs! Rosie's are pretty good too eh?

Before even reaching Hong Kong, I already knew where I was going to stay. It's a place called Chungking Mansions on Kowloon. At the start of my first backpacking adventure, when I was as green as can be, I'd been dragged off the street here. Before I knew it I was ten floors up and had paid over the odds for a shocking room. I spent my first night holed up in that grimy place with the bed against the door, wondering what the hell I'd got myself into. The building was full of a perplexing commotion of dubious looking characters, trying to sell you anything from a meal to a suit to a Rolex watch. The lift I later read described in a guidebook as “a coffin on a rope”, and the stairs were full of the detritus of Asian city life. All in all, it was an interesting first night on the road. The next day I had looked up Chungking in the Lonely Planet guide in a bookshop - and discovered they dedicated an entire page to reasons why you don’t want to stay there.

Central to all my travels is food. I'm not necessarily a big eater at all, but I do appreciate a good feed. More to the point, the local nosh can describe a country and it's people. It will often provide a focus for social interaction with the locals, and certainly in my case has led to quite a few adventures.

But you have to be prepared to take a few risks. It's too easy to eat in a hotel restaurant or in an international chain. In those, you'll get a tamed down version of the local stuff, and it will cost you a fortune. There are a lot of these places in Hong Kong, so I spent quite some time lately avoiding those and hunting out the small locals. Thankfully, it's easily done, by leaving the main shopping areas and poking around the backstreets in the residential areas. Judging from the sheer amount of these places, I can only assume that nobody cooks at home. They have food on the go all day long and always have customers. Sometimes, when closer to the touristy areas, the owner will excitedly scurry off behind the counter and return with a small, badly written but nonetheless helpful menu with some English. When most walls are covered in Cantonese choices - you can't help but wonder why the menu you are handed has only around a dozen options all following a predictable routine; noodle with meat, noodle with fish, noodle with noodle. So this is where the fine art of pointing comes into play. Go into the kitchen, and pick out the most edible looking stuff, create your very own dish. Results will vary, but you'll always get an interesting meal.

Chungking Mansions - these are the penthouse rooms, they have a view!

So this time around, grown up, experienced, worldly wise; I had a date with this place. I was coming back to stay here for “old time’s sake”. During subsequent travels through Asia after that fateful night, I had developed a strange liking for these sort of places. Or perhaps just a liking for their prices - it is still the cheapest place in town.

When asking for directions, having alighted my bus a little too early, several locals expressed horror that I should want to stay there. They went out of their way to show me to alternative accommodations, but I was having none of it. I finally found the familiar Nathan Road and proceeded to flirtatiously walk past the entrance with pack on my back. I was such an obvious target, ripe for ripping off. I reached the other side of the entrance. Nothing. I turned, I walked back. Nothing. Repeating this several times, I looked up at the fume blackened building to confirm I had the right place. Chungking is not a single guesthouse, nor a single market. It is a sixteen floor decrepit building with tens of each within a maze on every level. Hoards of men should have been, by now, pestering me with amateurish pictures of their respective rooms, showing pleasant roomy places with large beds and ensuite facilities; nothing like the real thing of course, but potentially enough to temp you further. They have obviously changed their tactics, so I ventured inside. Now this would normally be the backpacker’s final mistake (walking past the building itself with pack on is the first) - it’s as good as acceptance to the touts and you are not going to leave again without parting with some dollar.

I was pleased to see the usual throng of people inside, mostly Indians and Africans from all reaches of that continent. Pushing my way through the people, past the infamous lift, I wondered around desperate for some attention. Had I become invisible? Getting bored, I approached a security guard, a new novelty for this building, and asked him what was happening. “You must go on lif, fine room for you seff”. So I did just that. I chose floor eight, far enough above the market madness but close enough to the ground to escape the inferno that will surely happen here one day. I picked the All China Resort because it was the first I came too. Little point in comparing rooms here, they’re all pretty much the same. And clearly, little point in bartering either; my man was having none of it - HK$100, take it or leave it.

The rooms have barely changed. Just large enough to manoeuvre yourself inside and turn around with your pack on. Tiled floor, walls, and ceiling. Electric wiring that makes you wish you had a pair of rubber boots and gloves handy. A boarded up window that, when you dare to look behind, looks straight across a ventilation shaft into the room opposite. And a toilet/shower combo that is just that - a combination. The toilet sits directly below the shower, thus one can truly do two things at once in there. But it’s all good, and on the upside I have only seen one single cockroach in five days.

Eats

Wherever I end up on my next journey, it will never be my intention to paint a place in a perfect light routinely. I’m going to offend someone sooner or later. The places I describe are through my eyes on the day I am there, told the way I see it. Everyone views a place differently, and my opinions are not meant to act as a guide. From my point of view any location is interesting to some degree or another, there is rarely such a thing as a bad travel experience. I stay a day or a few weeks, either way I never regret going there. Lamma Island is a classic example. I always wanted to see past the bright lights of Hong Kong, which I have now done. It was a pleasant day out, but I have no great desire to return. Perhaps next time, I’ll give one of the other islands a shot.

The final few days were spent mainly poking around the outer reaches of Kowloon. I immersed myself in several atmospheric markets, vending the usual wide range of produce. With fruit, vegetables, fish and meat in various stages of death all in close proximity, I often wonder what the health authorities at home are going on about. Everyone here looks as healthy as a spring lamb. Want my opinion? It’s a question of balance and immunity. I also finally managed to catch up with my very out-of-date written personal journal, over many cups of green tea. Oh, and I bought a laptop computer; the temptation was too much in the end. I have yet to decide whether I will actually travel with the thing, but the advantages for this website are obvious. Plenty of time to make that decision.

I could hardly contain myself as I hopped onto the plane for Auckland - the family ain’t gonna know what hit em!

Soon on The Wander Years - Aotearoa, the land of the long white cloud. Or as the Maori like to call it “the land of the wrong white crowd”!

Now don't let the chef put you off. Is that blood on his apron?

Always included free of charge, as soon as you sit down, an endless supply of green tea. It may seem a bit bland at first but I've developed a taste for it now. It is actually incredibly refreshing and is the best thing to drink in hot and humid weather. I usually end up ordering a bottle of local beer, guaranteed to impress the locals as I work my way through a standard 750ml that they would normally share between a crowd. A miniscule western brand in one of the hip bars will set you back HK$400; a huge bottle of local Harbin in a cafe more like HK$12. You choose!

Break out!

Hong Kong

With such an stimulating fusion of east and west, it can be hard to get away from Hong Kong and Kowloon. On previous trips I have become entrapped in those places, addicted to the frantic pace, the sights, sounds and smells. I suspect this is the case for many visitors to the city, and a trip to one of the outlying islands confirmed this. For there is a lot more to Honkers than the vibrant metropolis. The island itself mostly consists of forested hills, and there are many relatively undeveloped islands nearby.

The forty-five minute boat ride to Lamma Island cost me HK$11 (around 80p) and offered some spectacular views as we passed between Hong Kong and Kowloon. Victoria harbour is alive with all kinds of vessels from small sampans, traditional junks and ferries up to huge ocean going freighters. They seem to follow no particular route and the old rule of small gives way to large appears to be in force.

There are hundreds of these river barges plying Victoria harbour, most equiped with an old fashioned hoist crane (you see the top of two in background). They unload containers from large ships and deliver them to places only they can readch.

Lamma Island lies directly behind HK itself, to the south at a guess. It is mainly inhabited by fishermen, people wanting to escape the city and workers of the monstrous power station. There are no proper roads and no cars, and as something of a specialist on islands these days, I was keen to have a poke around. I arrived at Yung Shue Wan, the main settlement. It is a world away from the city so near. The pier is lined either side by hundreds of bicycles, no doubt belonging to commuters at work for the day. The single path winds past several shops and a couple of restaurants. Seafood is popular here, and one can choose dinner from any number of live tanks on the street. Venturing further into the village, all the usual amenities you’d expect to find in any small community are there; post office, police, school, fresh food market. I had a route in mind that would take me right across the hilly top of the island, about two hours in all, and deliver me to the other side where I could catch a ferry back to the madness.

Yung Shue Wan

But first I would follow some random paths out of the village, through lush vegetation and into the areas where the locals live. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was actually travelling again, walking into the unknown and relying on my inquisitiveness. I was suddenly in Asia again; houses on stilts or terraced into the hillside. Animals tethered and carefully tended vegetable gardens. Locals who look at you as if to say “you left the main route?”. I spent a good hour wondering around this green valley with a wide, flat and wet floor.

Freshly provisioned with fruit and water, I set off on the arduous hike over the island. There are two beaches along the route, and I was keen to dip my toes in the South China Sea. Disappointingly, the route rarely leaves behind any sign of human activity. The path is concreted all the way, and lined with old fencing, cables and pipes. Worse still, the monumentally large power station is seldom absent from the panorama. At both beaches, my enthusiasm waned dramatically. The litter strewn shoreline was deserted and the water decidedly murky. With some relief I completed the walk, finishing at Sok Kwu Wan, where I enjoyed an overpriced seafood lunch before catching a boat back to HK.