I just took the ferry back from Lamma Island to Hong Kong Island, and I have a little bit of time to kill before meeting Annie. The boat ride back was spectacular. I sat out on the back deck, with the wind and spray in my face, drinking an organic English beer and watching the orange circle disappear behind the fishing boats and long, wispy clouds. Spectacular: "beautiful in a dramatic and eye-catching way." - OED. QED.
I think from my previous posts it might seem like all I've been doing in Hong Kong is getting caught in annoying hassles. I want to clear that up by making two points. First, in a way, the difference between a hassle and an adventure is just perspective. Second, I think I write more about my difficulties and mistakes because it's fun to write about them.
I did a lot more yesterday than just solve the Hong Kong Transportation Issue. I bought some Hong Kong DVDs (including A Streetcar Named Desire and Wuthering Heights), which the seller assured me were in English. I had a delicious Hong Kong-style vegetarian lunch of fried noodles with mushrooms (you were right, Brian, the mushrooms are good here). I bought some top-grade tea that was really more expensive than I can afford (but I read they have hot water on the trains, so now I can make my own tea). I picked up a copy of the South China Morning Post and got a free packet of tissues. I guess I bought a lot of things. But I also talked to people. And I ran up and down the same street ten times looking for a vegetarian Shanghai-style restaurant that didn't exist anymore. At the east end of the street, everybody was sure it was to the west. On the west end of the street, everybody was sure it was to the east. Finally somebody in the middle actually knew the place I was looking for and told me the sad news. Wait...I guess that was another hassle. I took the Star Ferry back to Kowloon and watched the changing light patterns and designs on the buildings back on the island.
When I got back to Mirador Mansions, the normal elevators were out of service, so I walked to a different elevator a little farther away. A chubby, gaudily dressed woman with dyed blond hair walked in, as did a middle-aged security guard. They seemed to be discussing something quietly. When the elevator door closed, they looked at me. Then they continued their conversation, and I realized what kind of negotiations they were engaged in. On the 6th floor I was surprised to see the security guard walk out alone. The woman pressed another button.
"Where are you from?" she said.
"America. You?"
"Malaysia. Want to come to my room?"
"No thanks."
She smiled and shrugged, and I stepped off the elevator on my floor. For the last two days, most of the rooms in the Cosmic Guest House have been taken up by a hockey team from India. I first saw them walking outside the Mansions with hockey sticks tied to their backs. I walked through the lobby just in time to see the Indian hockey team leaving with their bags and black-and-white jerseys. The Mirador Mansions attract many different kinds of people.
I want to describe one more thing before I go. Yesterday, when I was riding the trolley, I noticed two men dismantling some of the bamboo scaffolding that seems to be everywhere. One of them had climbed to the top, and was untying the bamboo poles and dropping them down to his partner. The entire structure, which was easily 50 feet or more off the ground, was made completely out of bamboo and what looked like thick black twine. Most of the structure had already been taken apart, so the man was at the top of what amounted to an extremely flimsy ladder. He wore no helmet and no other safety precautions were evident. He had both his legs wrapped around one of the poles, and was untying the twine with his hands.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Transport!
Tuesday was taken up with buying tickets. Today is partially devoted to preparing for my train trip. Yesterday, I decided, was my day to explore Hong Kong. Until then I had only been getting around by MTR. The main benefit of the MTR is that it is fast (and cheaper than a taxi). On the other hand, it is crowded, and--unlike in Taiwan--the stations can be truly labyrinthine. Signs appear pointing the way to your destination, and a hundred meters later they disappear without a trace. You think you are coming back the same way as you went, but then a tunnel spits you out somewhere on the other side of town and you have to find your way back via street level. At least, that was my perception on the first day.
On Wednesday/yesterday, after a little bit of much-needed research, I realized that alternate modes of transportation made it possible--in theory--to do away with the MTR completely. Instead of simply walking the half block to the station, I strolled in the opposite direction, toward the waterfront. In about ten minutes, I reached the terminal of the Star Ferry, and the harbor and the incredible skyline of Hong Kong Island suddenly materialized.
The ferry is great. For about 25 cents, you can cross the harbor on a simple but comfortable little boat. The view is amazing and the ride is peaceful. The only downside is that it takes eight minutes to cross on the surface of the water instead of the five it takes to cross below. The little double-decker trolleys and buses on the streets seem to follow the same principle. You can go anywhere for a negligible fee--and comfortably, or at the very least with novelty--as long as you aren't in a hurry. Unless, of course, the trolley happens to be crowded. Yesterday evening I was using the trolley to get to a particular bus stop, but I accidentally overshot it on the first pass. I didn't feel like walking back to the previous stop, so I got on the next trolley going in the reverse direction.
Brian said the trolleys look like tin cans. He's right; extremely narrow and with two floors, they look like sardine tins turned on their sides. Getting on that second trolley, this comparison turned out to be even more apt than I'd thought. To solve the congestion caused by their narrowness, the trolleys have turnstiles that only allow people on through the back. When you want to get off, you have to work your way to the front, pay the driver, and exit through the front doors. When the car is packed with people who have no intention of getting off at your stop, however, this becomes slightly impossible. So, on the second pass, I overshot my stop again.
By climbing up the spiral staircase, forcing my way through the slightly less crowded upper deck, and lowering myself down the staircase in front, I managed to detrain about three stops too late. Needless to say, when I got on the next trolley going the other way, I made sure it wasn't crowded.
Brian, I followed your advice and avoided the Victoria Peak tram. Instead I took a bus, which was cheaper by about half. The bus ride, including waiting, took about an hour. Still, I was not bored. Sitting on the upper deck of a bus as it winds up a narrow road in darkness on the edge of a steep cliff with cars zooming past in the opposite direction does not make you bored. The bus ride had another silver lining, however--I met a nice couple visiting from China, and we stuck together for the rest of the time we were on the Peak. So, yes, I saw the famous view of Hong Kong from the top of Victoria Peak. The sky has the particular reddish glow common to all big cities at night, but this was the brightest nighttime sky I've ever seen. Unfortunately, someone decided to place a huge shopping mall right at the best spot for viewing, and to charge $3 for a ticket to the building's rooftop, which, cleverly, is the only place in the building where you can get a good look. On the way down, I opted for the tram, which cost a little bit more but took about five minutes. And the tram, which at times turns more vertical than horizontal (I was glad to see that the front window looked thick), is thrilling in its own way. But I'm happy I experienced both methods of transportation.
From what I've heard about Hong Kong-style food, I was a little worried. But my fears were misplaced; I have managed to have great food here while eating solely at vegetarian restaurants. After getting back from the Peak, I walked to a restaurant called Life, where I had the first veggie burger I've had since Seattle, and spirulina and carrot juice. Life is located in SoHo, on the "vertical" Shelley Street. The street is actually a steep walkway made up completely of escalators and old stone staircases. Trying to find this area was somewhat difficult, and I had to ask for directions several times. On the way back, after dinner, I took the covered walkway down Shelley Street. I expected it to end at the bottom of the hill, where I would walk in a generally north direction until I got to the water, and hopefully find myself near the Star Ferry pier. But the walkway didn't end. It branched, and kept going, and by following the signs I actually walked all the way from SoHo to the pier without ever going down to street level. I don't know how I didn't realize it before, but apparently there's an entire network of interconnected walkways above the street. Now I see why Hong Kong is known for being friendly to pedestrians.
In Taiwan, most people don't speak English. Naturally, I expected communication to be easier in Hong Kong, where English is widely spoken. But that fact that it is British English--and not always perfect--led to its own interesting problems. On Monday night I went looking for the vegan restaurant that Brian had told me about, called Loving Hut, which is located on Hennessy Street. I took the MTR to the nearest station, but I didn't have a map yet, so when I came out I had a hard time getting my bearings. I went into a 7-11 to ask for directions. The two old ladies were busy counting the money in the cash registers. I waited until one of them looked up.
"Hello, can you help me? I'm looking for Hennessy Street."
The lady on the left frowned, shook her head, and went back to counting the money. Did they not know where it was? It was supposed to be right near the station. I asked again.
"Hennessy Street. Hennessy?"
"No, nothing." She shook her head again. From the way she said it, it was like I was asking for something completely unreasonable. They must be pretty jaded to be so unwilling to offer simple directions to tourists like me, I thought.
The one on the right looked up for the first time. The other lady said something to her in what must have been Cantonese, and the lady on the right started scowling too. That's when it occurred to me that "Hennessy" sounds a lot like a Chinese pronunciation of "anything." They thought I was begging for money. I almost shouted at them "Wo zai zhao Hennessy lu!" Whether it was my pronunciation, or that they didn't speak Mandarin, that just made them perplexed.
"Nevermind," I said, and left.
Anyway, I found Loving Hut without too much trouble after that. Loving Hut is an extraordinary place, for several reasons, but I'll have to write about it another time.
Today I took the ferry ride to Lamma Island. Lamma Island is an idyllic, green island, completely devoid of cars. Near the wharf there is a little street lined with seafood restaurants, a cheese shop, an organic grocery store, a used bookstore with a vegetarian cafe called "Bookworm", and another vegetarian cafe called "Green Cottage", which sits right on the little bay where the ferry pulls in--that's where I'm writing this. For lunch I had spelt rotini with mushrooms, an almond smoothie, and an espresso. This area of the island is a little touristy, but compared to Hong Kong it's absolutely serene. And something about the lack of roads and the relaxed atmosphere remind me of Cortes Island.
There's a lot more I could write about, but it will have to wait, because I have a ferry to catch. Tonight I'm meeting my friend and old DXARTS teacher, Annie. Then I'm packing my stuff and heading to the border. If all goes well, my next communication will be from Chengdu!
On Wednesday/yesterday, after a little bit of much-needed research, I realized that alternate modes of transportation made it possible--in theory--to do away with the MTR completely. Instead of simply walking the half block to the station, I strolled in the opposite direction, toward the waterfront. In about ten minutes, I reached the terminal of the Star Ferry, and the harbor and the incredible skyline of Hong Kong Island suddenly materialized.
The ferry is great. For about 25 cents, you can cross the harbor on a simple but comfortable little boat. The view is amazing and the ride is peaceful. The only downside is that it takes eight minutes to cross on the surface of the water instead of the five it takes to cross below. The little double-decker trolleys and buses on the streets seem to follow the same principle. You can go anywhere for a negligible fee--and comfortably, or at the very least with novelty--as long as you aren't in a hurry. Unless, of course, the trolley happens to be crowded. Yesterday evening I was using the trolley to get to a particular bus stop, but I accidentally overshot it on the first pass. I didn't feel like walking back to the previous stop, so I got on the next trolley going in the reverse direction.
Brian said the trolleys look like tin cans. He's right; extremely narrow and with two floors, they look like sardine tins turned on their sides. Getting on that second trolley, this comparison turned out to be even more apt than I'd thought. To solve the congestion caused by their narrowness, the trolleys have turnstiles that only allow people on through the back. When you want to get off, you have to work your way to the front, pay the driver, and exit through the front doors. When the car is packed with people who have no intention of getting off at your stop, however, this becomes slightly impossible. So, on the second pass, I overshot my stop again.
By climbing up the spiral staircase, forcing my way through the slightly less crowded upper deck, and lowering myself down the staircase in front, I managed to detrain about three stops too late. Needless to say, when I got on the next trolley going the other way, I made sure it wasn't crowded.
Brian, I followed your advice and avoided the Victoria Peak tram. Instead I took a bus, which was cheaper by about half. The bus ride, including waiting, took about an hour. Still, I was not bored. Sitting on the upper deck of a bus as it winds up a narrow road in darkness on the edge of a steep cliff with cars zooming past in the opposite direction does not make you bored. The bus ride had another silver lining, however--I met a nice couple visiting from China, and we stuck together for the rest of the time we were on the Peak. So, yes, I saw the famous view of Hong Kong from the top of Victoria Peak. The sky has the particular reddish glow common to all big cities at night, but this was the brightest nighttime sky I've ever seen. Unfortunately, someone decided to place a huge shopping mall right at the best spot for viewing, and to charge $3 for a ticket to the building's rooftop, which, cleverly, is the only place in the building where you can get a good look. On the way down, I opted for the tram, which cost a little bit more but took about five minutes. And the tram, which at times turns more vertical than horizontal (I was glad to see that the front window looked thick), is thrilling in its own way. But I'm happy I experienced both methods of transportation.
From what I've heard about Hong Kong-style food, I was a little worried. But my fears were misplaced; I have managed to have great food here while eating solely at vegetarian restaurants. After getting back from the Peak, I walked to a restaurant called Life, where I had the first veggie burger I've had since Seattle, and spirulina and carrot juice. Life is located in SoHo, on the "vertical" Shelley Street. The street is actually a steep walkway made up completely of escalators and old stone staircases. Trying to find this area was somewhat difficult, and I had to ask for directions several times. On the way back, after dinner, I took the covered walkway down Shelley Street. I expected it to end at the bottom of the hill, where I would walk in a generally north direction until I got to the water, and hopefully find myself near the Star Ferry pier. But the walkway didn't end. It branched, and kept going, and by following the signs I actually walked all the way from SoHo to the pier without ever going down to street level. I don't know how I didn't realize it before, but apparently there's an entire network of interconnected walkways above the street. Now I see why Hong Kong is known for being friendly to pedestrians.
In Taiwan, most people don't speak English. Naturally, I expected communication to be easier in Hong Kong, where English is widely spoken. But that fact that it is British English--and not always perfect--led to its own interesting problems. On Monday night I went looking for the vegan restaurant that Brian had told me about, called Loving Hut, which is located on Hennessy Street. I took the MTR to the nearest station, but I didn't have a map yet, so when I came out I had a hard time getting my bearings. I went into a 7-11 to ask for directions. The two old ladies were busy counting the money in the cash registers. I waited until one of them looked up.
"Hello, can you help me? I'm looking for Hennessy Street."
The lady on the left frowned, shook her head, and went back to counting the money. Did they not know where it was? It was supposed to be right near the station. I asked again.
"Hennessy Street. Hennessy?"
"No, nothing." She shook her head again. From the way she said it, it was like I was asking for something completely unreasonable. They must be pretty jaded to be so unwilling to offer simple directions to tourists like me, I thought.
The one on the right looked up for the first time. The other lady said something to her in what must have been Cantonese, and the lady on the right started scowling too. That's when it occurred to me that "Hennessy" sounds a lot like a Chinese pronunciation of "anything." They thought I was begging for money. I almost shouted at them "Wo zai zhao Hennessy lu!" Whether it was my pronunciation, or that they didn't speak Mandarin, that just made them perplexed.
"Nevermind," I said, and left.
Anyway, I found Loving Hut without too much trouble after that. Loving Hut is an extraordinary place, for several reasons, but I'll have to write about it another time.
Today I took the ferry ride to Lamma Island. Lamma Island is an idyllic, green island, completely devoid of cars. Near the wharf there is a little street lined with seafood restaurants, a cheese shop, an organic grocery store, a used bookstore with a vegetarian cafe called "Bookworm", and another vegetarian cafe called "Green Cottage", which sits right on the little bay where the ferry pulls in--that's where I'm writing this. For lunch I had spelt rotini with mushrooms, an almond smoothie, and an espresso. This area of the island is a little touristy, but compared to Hong Kong it's absolutely serene. And something about the lack of roads and the relaxed atmosphere remind me of Cortes Island.
There's a lot more I could write about, but it will have to wait, because I have a ferry to catch. Tonight I'm meeting my friend and old DXARTS teacher, Annie. Then I'm packing my stuff and heading to the border. If all goes well, my next communication will be from Chengdu!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Today I went to Shenzhen
This morning as soon as I got up I set out in search of cheaper accommodations. I was heading to Chungking Mansions, where several guest houses received good reviews in the Lonely Planet guide, and rooms supposedly started at 100 HKD. Both Chungking Mansions and its smaller cousin, Mirador Mansions, are on Nathan Road, a busy arterial in Kowloon. Walking down the road, I passed the Tsim Sha Tsui MTR station, and, noticing that I was right in front of Mirador Mansions, decided that convenience favored looking there first.
Mirador Mansions, with its 15 or so floors, takes up an entire block. The upper floors are mostly apartments and guesthouses, but the ground floor is lined both outside and through a maze of hallways inside with shops selling electronics, cigarettes, perfume, souvenirs, and counterfeits. On the south side of the 12th floor is the Cosmic Guest House. It's considerably more dilapidated than the almost new-looking Lee Garden Guest House, and the long hallways stretching into darkness make it a little spooky. I let it be known at the front desk--a cramped little room with a fish tank, papers all over the walls, and a missing ceiling panel--that I wanted a room. The lady at the desk told me she had one for 160 HKD and another for 180 HKD; I asked to see them. I was led down a crumbling hallway with exposed wires in the corners and walls with a regular, rectangular pattern of holes. Through the holes I could see the thick bamboo scaffolding that currently covers the building outside and in the courtyard (which is huge, but I can't seem to reach it from the ground floor). On the other side of a locked gate, which opens with an RFID tag attached to the key, were the rooms. The only difference between the two rooms was that the more expensive one had enough space to put my backpack on the floor and still stand up. I chose the cheaper one. The room has tile walls, a TV, a phone, internet access, and a bathroom. The bathroom is even smaller than the previous one; somehow a sink, a toilet, and a shower have been packed into less than a square meter. But I prefer to look on the positive side. In how many other bathrooms is it possible to take a shower while you're sitting on the john? Actually, the sink is in the way, so I have to sit on the toilet sideways.
Today I set myself the goal of buying my train ticket to Chengdu. Thinking of the summer before last, when I was traveling in Europe and all the trains were booked weeks ahead, I wanted to find out just how long I would have to wait in Hong Kong. But first I had lunch. The Lonely Planet guide lists quite a few vegetarian restaurants, including one called "Branto Pure Vegetarian Indian Food". Supposedly the place has been around for a long time and offers very cheap South Indian snacks. I was happy to see that it was only a block away from the Mirador. I went to the street where Branto was supposed to be, but I saw no visible signs of an Indian restaurant. I checked the address again. 9 Lock Road. I found the building, but it seemed to be completely taken up by a mediocre-looking Chinese cafe and a few other shops. I looked up: no sign for an Indian restaurant. I figured it must have closed. Then I noticed a door in the middle between two shops, which looked like the entrance to an apartment building. Next to the door was a directory; a little sign on the directory said simply "Branto - 6" I pressed the buzzer, and was let in.
I had to walk up a flight of unmarked stairs before I came to anything stating the nature of the place called Branto. Above a windowless door was the full name: Branto Pure Vegetarian Indian Food. Inside, I found a fairly ordinary-looking diner. A grey-haired Indian man pointed me to a table between two couples. Both of the couples were Indian, and they both had very small children. The couple to my left had a daughter who must have been about two, and she would start to wail at regular intervals. I stayed there for an hour, and in that time, most of the people who came in were Indian. It was wonderful to have good Indian food after two weeks of almost nothing but Chinese (not that I'm complaining).
On the way out, I asked the waiter where I could buy a train ticket. He told me to go to the MTR station Hung Hom, which was also a major train station. I walked to the Tsim Sha Tsui station, and took the MTR to Hung Hom. It was certainly a much bigger station than the others I'd seen. I went up a random escalator and asked the man inside an information kiosk where I might buy a ticket to China. "Exit 4," he told me. After a little bit of searching, I found exit 4, but it wasn't clear where I should go from that point. I went to another information kiosk.
"Hello," I said. "Where can I buy a ticket to mainland China?"
"Where do you want to go?" one of the two men replied.
"Chengdu, Sichuan."
"Chengdu!?" Whenever I have told anyone here the name of my destination, I have gotten this same incredulous response.
"Yes, Chengdu. Do you know if I can buy a ticket here?"
He told me I had to go to Lo Wu station. Following his directions, I found the line that would take me there. The train was waiting when I went down the escalator to the platform, so I ran inside. Then I realized it was almost empty. On the wall there was a map of the stops on the route; Hung Hom was at one end of the route, and Lo Wu was at the opposite end--way north in the New Territories, next to the Chinese border. I guess I could have gotten a second opinion, but I decided to follow the advice I'd been given and head to Lo Wu.
The ride from Hung Hom to Lo Wu takes about 45 minutes. For most of the ride I read or dozed, but occasionally I saw small green mountains or high-rises going by. Lo Wu station was crowded, and everyone seemed to be walking quickly and purposefully. I went to another information kiosk and asked the woman the usual question. She didn't understand, and thought I was talking about an MTR ticket. I asked a policeman standing nearby. He told me to try the travel agency. The travel agency said they didn't sell train tickets for China, and they pointed me to the border. I paid my MTR fare (31.30 HKD) and went into a large room with a line of immigration officers. I asked one who wasn't in a booth for advice; she didn't speak English, but she retrieved one of her colleagues who did.
This immigration official told me to go back to Hong Kong. There, he said, I could buy a ticket at a China Travel Agency. Did I want him to write the name down? I told him I would appreciate it. He took out an immigration slip and on the back wrote "China travel agency". My exasperation must have been visible, because then he had another suggestion. Earlier, he had asked to see my visa; when he saw that it was multiple-entry, he had said that going back and forth across the border would be no problem. He told me I could try going across the border today, where I could buy a ticket at the train station in Shenzhen.
I joined the line in front of one of the immigration booths. The man looked at my passport, stamped just yesterday with my arrival in Hong Kong, and after looking multiple times from my passport picture (taken four years ago, when my hair was long and not on my face) to me, and back to my passport picture, he stamped it again. I didn't count of how many times I had to show my passport today, but if I had to guess I would say six or seven. Next, I had to fill out a health declaration form, where I stated that I did not show any symptoms of illness, and give my email and phone number. Passing a checkpoint, I handed it to an agent who added it to a stack without looking at it. A little farther, after I filled out an immigration form, another official pointed a temperature gun at my forehead.
After having yet another official look at my passport, deciding that I was carrying no contraband that needed to be declared, having my bag x-rayed anyway, and using a urinal of indefinite nationality, I arrived in Shenzhen, China. In Shenzhen I talked to about 10 more people--including three or four more incredulous ticket officers--walked across one Chinese street, saw one Chinese skyline, and withdrew 1,000 RMB from one Chinese ATM, before buying two train tickets for Friday. The first ticket cost 409 RMB, and it goes from Guangzhou to Chengdu in a little over 27 hours. My communication with the ticket vendor was somewhat repetitive and sparse, but I gathered that I was buying a ticket for a lower berth. From the price I've inferred that the berth is a hard sleeper, which means that the beds are stacked in threes and are arranged in open-plan carriages, though I'm not sure what that means, exactly. Anyway, this train leaves Friday morning at 9:08. The second ticket cost 75 RMB and it goes from Shenzhen to Guangzhou, leaving at 6:35am and arriving around 8:15, I think (the second vendor knew I have another train to catch).
The timing of these trains leads to an unfortunate logistical problem. I didn't know this then, but the border closes between midnight and 6:30. In other words, if I try to cross on Friday morning, I'll miss my train. The only option is to cross on Thursday night, and wait somewhere in Shenzhen for about six hours. This will probably mean dozing on a bench somewhere in the station, using my backpack for a pillow.
After buying my tickets I turned around and jumped through all the same hoops again. The MTR was a lot more crowded on the way back than it had been on the way there. But the entire trip didn't actually take much more time than I had expected. I had set out from the Indian restaurant at 3pm, and I got back to my room around 7--with two train tickets, four new stamps in my passport, and thirteen pictures of Mao in my pocket.
Mirador Mansions, with its 15 or so floors, takes up an entire block. The upper floors are mostly apartments and guesthouses, but the ground floor is lined both outside and through a maze of hallways inside with shops selling electronics, cigarettes, perfume, souvenirs, and counterfeits. On the south side of the 12th floor is the Cosmic Guest House. It's considerably more dilapidated than the almost new-looking Lee Garden Guest House, and the long hallways stretching into darkness make it a little spooky. I let it be known at the front desk--a cramped little room with a fish tank, papers all over the walls, and a missing ceiling panel--that I wanted a room. The lady at the desk told me she had one for 160 HKD and another for 180 HKD; I asked to see them. I was led down a crumbling hallway with exposed wires in the corners and walls with a regular, rectangular pattern of holes. Through the holes I could see the thick bamboo scaffolding that currently covers the building outside and in the courtyard (which is huge, but I can't seem to reach it from the ground floor). On the other side of a locked gate, which opens with an RFID tag attached to the key, were the rooms. The only difference between the two rooms was that the more expensive one had enough space to put my backpack on the floor and still stand up. I chose the cheaper one. The room has tile walls, a TV, a phone, internet access, and a bathroom. The bathroom is even smaller than the previous one; somehow a sink, a toilet, and a shower have been packed into less than a square meter. But I prefer to look on the positive side. In how many other bathrooms is it possible to take a shower while you're sitting on the john? Actually, the sink is in the way, so I have to sit on the toilet sideways.
Today I set myself the goal of buying my train ticket to Chengdu. Thinking of the summer before last, when I was traveling in Europe and all the trains were booked weeks ahead, I wanted to find out just how long I would have to wait in Hong Kong. But first I had lunch. The Lonely Planet guide lists quite a few vegetarian restaurants, including one called "Branto Pure Vegetarian Indian Food". Supposedly the place has been around for a long time and offers very cheap South Indian snacks. I was happy to see that it was only a block away from the Mirador. I went to the street where Branto was supposed to be, but I saw no visible signs of an Indian restaurant. I checked the address again. 9 Lock Road. I found the building, but it seemed to be completely taken up by a mediocre-looking Chinese cafe and a few other shops. I looked up: no sign for an Indian restaurant. I figured it must have closed. Then I noticed a door in the middle between two shops, which looked like the entrance to an apartment building. Next to the door was a directory; a little sign on the directory said simply "Branto - 6" I pressed the buzzer, and was let in.
I had to walk up a flight of unmarked stairs before I came to anything stating the nature of the place called Branto. Above a windowless door was the full name: Branto Pure Vegetarian Indian Food. Inside, I found a fairly ordinary-looking diner. A grey-haired Indian man pointed me to a table between two couples. Both of the couples were Indian, and they both had very small children. The couple to my left had a daughter who must have been about two, and she would start to wail at regular intervals. I stayed there for an hour, and in that time, most of the people who came in were Indian. It was wonderful to have good Indian food after two weeks of almost nothing but Chinese (not that I'm complaining).
On the way out, I asked the waiter where I could buy a train ticket. He told me to go to the MTR station Hung Hom, which was also a major train station. I walked to the Tsim Sha Tsui station, and took the MTR to Hung Hom. It was certainly a much bigger station than the others I'd seen. I went up a random escalator and asked the man inside an information kiosk where I might buy a ticket to China. "Exit 4," he told me. After a little bit of searching, I found exit 4, but it wasn't clear where I should go from that point. I went to another information kiosk.
"Hello," I said. "Where can I buy a ticket to mainland China?"
"Where do you want to go?" one of the two men replied.
"Chengdu, Sichuan."
"Chengdu!?" Whenever I have told anyone here the name of my destination, I have gotten this same incredulous response.
"Yes, Chengdu. Do you know if I can buy a ticket here?"
He told me I had to go to Lo Wu station. Following his directions, I found the line that would take me there. The train was waiting when I went down the escalator to the platform, so I ran inside. Then I realized it was almost empty. On the wall there was a map of the stops on the route; Hung Hom was at one end of the route, and Lo Wu was at the opposite end--way north in the New Territories, next to the Chinese border. I guess I could have gotten a second opinion, but I decided to follow the advice I'd been given and head to Lo Wu.
The ride from Hung Hom to Lo Wu takes about 45 minutes. For most of the ride I read or dozed, but occasionally I saw small green mountains or high-rises going by. Lo Wu station was crowded, and everyone seemed to be walking quickly and purposefully. I went to another information kiosk and asked the woman the usual question. She didn't understand, and thought I was talking about an MTR ticket. I asked a policeman standing nearby. He told me to try the travel agency. The travel agency said they didn't sell train tickets for China, and they pointed me to the border. I paid my MTR fare (31.30 HKD) and went into a large room with a line of immigration officers. I asked one who wasn't in a booth for advice; she didn't speak English, but she retrieved one of her colleagues who did.
This immigration official told me to go back to Hong Kong. There, he said, I could buy a ticket at a China Travel Agency. Did I want him to write the name down? I told him I would appreciate it. He took out an immigration slip and on the back wrote "China travel agency". My exasperation must have been visible, because then he had another suggestion. Earlier, he had asked to see my visa; when he saw that it was multiple-entry, he had said that going back and forth across the border would be no problem. He told me I could try going across the border today, where I could buy a ticket at the train station in Shenzhen.
I joined the line in front of one of the immigration booths. The man looked at my passport, stamped just yesterday with my arrival in Hong Kong, and after looking multiple times from my passport picture (taken four years ago, when my hair was long and not on my face) to me, and back to my passport picture, he stamped it again. I didn't count of how many times I had to show my passport today, but if I had to guess I would say six or seven. Next, I had to fill out a health declaration form, where I stated that I did not show any symptoms of illness, and give my email and phone number. Passing a checkpoint, I handed it to an agent who added it to a stack without looking at it. A little farther, after I filled out an immigration form, another official pointed a temperature gun at my forehead.
After having yet another official look at my passport, deciding that I was carrying no contraband that needed to be declared, having my bag x-rayed anyway, and using a urinal of indefinite nationality, I arrived in Shenzhen, China. In Shenzhen I talked to about 10 more people--including three or four more incredulous ticket officers--walked across one Chinese street, saw one Chinese skyline, and withdrew 1,000 RMB from one Chinese ATM, before buying two train tickets for Friday. The first ticket cost 409 RMB, and it goes from Guangzhou to Chengdu in a little over 27 hours. My communication with the ticket vendor was somewhat repetitive and sparse, but I gathered that I was buying a ticket for a lower berth. From the price I've inferred that the berth is a hard sleeper, which means that the beds are stacked in threes and are arranged in open-plan carriages, though I'm not sure what that means, exactly. Anyway, this train leaves Friday morning at 9:08. The second ticket cost 75 RMB and it goes from Shenzhen to Guangzhou, leaving at 6:35am and arriving around 8:15, I think (the second vendor knew I have another train to catch).
The timing of these trains leads to an unfortunate logistical problem. I didn't know this then, but the border closes between midnight and 6:30. In other words, if I try to cross on Friday morning, I'll miss my train. The only option is to cross on Thursday night, and wait somewhere in Shenzhen for about six hours. This will probably mean dozing on a bench somewhere in the station, using my backpack for a pillow.
After buying my tickets I turned around and jumped through all the same hoops again. The MTR was a lot more crowded on the way back than it had been on the way there. But the entire trip didn't actually take much more time than I had expected. I had set out from the Indian restaurant at 3pm, and I got back to my room around 7--with two train tickets, four new stamps in my passport, and thirteen pictures of Mao in my pocket.
Monday, November 16, 2009
HK
I made it to Hong Kong! The airport is a little far away from the city center (it's connected to Lantau Island), so then I had to take a very fast train to the Kowloon station. At the station there was a bus that took me near the Lee Garden Guest House. I walked about 8 blocks to get there, and luckily there was a sign because the building is less than a fathom from one wall to the other and I might not have noticed it. At the end of the long hallway lobby, there's an elevator that looks about as old as Victoria Peak. Lee Garden Guest House is on the 8th floor. I watched the little light flickering behind the column of numbers as it slowly descended, and then finally stopped at the first floor. For a little while nothing happened; the elevator door has a handle but it was locked. Then through the translucent glass I saw the inner door start to open. When it was two thirds of the way open, the door swung out and I was almost squashed against the wall as two South Asian men left the elevator.
After some to-do with the lady behind the desk about a confirmation number, having correct change, and a few other things, she showed me the room. The room is actually a bed with four walls around it, but it's private and I have my own bathroom! She said the room doesn't normally come with a bathroom, and since I only booked one night I'll have to change rooms if I want to stay for the same price. For $30-$50 these rooms are still pretty reasonable, but I think I'm going to walk over to Chungking Mansions (nearby) and see what they have to offer. But first, I'm going to try to take the MTR (they switched the last two letters just to throw off people from Taiwan) to Hong Kong Island and have dinner at a vegan restaurant Brian told me about called the Loving Hut.
After some to-do with the lady behind the desk about a confirmation number, having correct change, and a few other things, she showed me the room. The room is actually a bed with four walls around it, but it's private and I have my own bathroom! She said the room doesn't normally come with a bathroom, and since I only booked one night I'll have to change rooms if I want to stay for the same price. For $30-$50 these rooms are still pretty reasonable, but I think I'm going to walk over to Chungking Mansions (nearby) and see what they have to offer. But first, I'm going to try to take the MTR (they switched the last two letters just to throw off people from Taiwan) to Hong Kong Island and have dinner at a vegan restaurant Brian told me about called the Loving Hut.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Last Days (in Taiwan)
First of all, I want everybody to see this incredible advertisement banner I found on the street:
Yes, there are two of him!
Here are some pictures from the trip to Gaoxiong yesterday:
Today I walked up the little mountain near the apartment. From the apartment window I can see a large part of the lush green mountain, and near the top a red-pillared temple is visible. Climbing up the steep stairs at the base of the trail, I thought I would set the temple as my goal. Probably in part because it's Sunday, there were a lot of other hikers on the trail, including many families. The steep stairs continued up for several minutes, and then the path forked. A sign indicated four possible trails, and I chose the "scenic route".
There were some plastic bathtubs lining the uphill side of the trail, helping to contain the erosion. Not much farther up, I started to hear something that sounded a lot like pop music. I wondered if there was a concert going on until I came to a covered platform where an elderly trio stood in front of an old TV, singing karaoke. Behind the karaoke shelter, on a bigger platform of concrete, there was a pretty large temple. No one was inside the main room, but I could see a few people through a window in the side room, and there was incense burning.
I kept walking, and before long the trail passed a fenced court with two guys playing badminton. We were pretty high above street level at this point, and seeing a badminton court in the middle of what otherwise could be described as a mountain jungle was even stranger than the karaoke and the temple.
After walking a little farther, I started to hear the familiar sound of reverb-y singing. Sure enough, thirty seconds later I came to another temple with some old people clustered around a TV in front. This temple was actually more of a complex of separate shrines than a single temple, and I walked past several of them across a wooden porch and looked over the railing to see how high I had come. Ten feet below me there was another badminton court, with a game in full swing.
I think I passed at least 20 temples and 10 badminton courts on my walk to the top of the mountain. There were very few sections of the trail from which you couldn't see a structure of some kind, whether it was a court, a temple, a fenced garden, a swing set, or a sheltered platform--often with a sink and a card table, and sometimes someone cooking at a stove. About half of them were occupied, but many of the unoccupied ones had the look of ruins. I came to one open area with a concrete table and stools covered with little tiles, but a big section of the table was missing, and tiles were scattered everywhere; a similarly tiled concrete bench sat next to it, but the end of the bench was also broken off. It seemed like the place hadn't seen another person for decades. On the way back down the mountain, I passed through the same area again. This time, there were three old men sitting at the table; another one sat on the bench; a final two were practicing calisthenics in the middle.
In some of these spaces, there didn't seem to be much separation between man-made and natural objects. The path to a garden was covered with a moldering red carpet. Another section of the trail was embedded with Astro Turf. At the first shelter I had come to with karaoke singers, the railing was lined with plastic bottles, each one with a bamboo shoot growing out of it. A statue of Sun Yat-Sen had cracked down the right side and part of the face had fallen off. Sandbags that had been used to support a platform were turning into soil and now ferns were growing out of them. Land was developed, structures were built, and immediately the forest started to reclaim them.
After walking back down, I met Ivy at the Yong He Dou Jiang place for lunch and to say goodbye. This time she ordered, and we had dam bing, shao bing (eggs in a kind of crispy pancake, as opposed to the dam bing's soft pancake), tofu pudding, parsnip cake, and a bowl of hot soymilk. Drinking spoonfuls of soymilk, I asked Ivy if Taiwanese people had ever thought about adding cereal. I could see from her expression that I had just blasphemed. Before we parted, Ivy also took me to Longshan temple, a huge one in a crowded part of town. The temple was filled with people praying to the many gods who had shrines there. Then, for something completely different (but no less crowded), we went to Ximen, and I got another couple t-shirts. One of them has a picture of a roadrunner (the actual bird, not the Looney Tunes character) and a boom box and says "The Roadrunner With The Thunder Baetbox." The other, which Ivy bought me as a souvenir, has the Chinese characters lang zi ("long ts'h"). I think lang literally means "wave", but Ivy said the phrase also has the meaning of a person who wanders away from home. Edit: I just looked up lang zi, and apparently it means "loafer; wastrel; prodigal son". Great!
Tomorrow my flight leaves around two, and should arrive in Hong Kong around four. Between now and then I'm just trying to straighten up the apartment a little bit. I don't know how long it'll be before I have internet access again, but maybe the guesthouse will have it. If I can find the guesthouse, that is...wish me luck!
Yes, there are two of him!
Here are some pictures from the trip to Gaoxiong yesterday:
Today I walked up the little mountain near the apartment. From the apartment window I can see a large part of the lush green mountain, and near the top a red-pillared temple is visible. Climbing up the steep stairs at the base of the trail, I thought I would set the temple as my goal. Probably in part because it's Sunday, there were a lot of other hikers on the trail, including many families. The steep stairs continued up for several minutes, and then the path forked. A sign indicated four possible trails, and I chose the "scenic route".
There were some plastic bathtubs lining the uphill side of the trail, helping to contain the erosion. Not much farther up, I started to hear something that sounded a lot like pop music. I wondered if there was a concert going on until I came to a covered platform where an elderly trio stood in front of an old TV, singing karaoke. Behind the karaoke shelter, on a bigger platform of concrete, there was a pretty large temple. No one was inside the main room, but I could see a few people through a window in the side room, and there was incense burning.
I kept walking, and before long the trail passed a fenced court with two guys playing badminton. We were pretty high above street level at this point, and seeing a badminton court in the middle of what otherwise could be described as a mountain jungle was even stranger than the karaoke and the temple.
After walking a little farther, I started to hear the familiar sound of reverb-y singing. Sure enough, thirty seconds later I came to another temple with some old people clustered around a TV in front. This temple was actually more of a complex of separate shrines than a single temple, and I walked past several of them across a wooden porch and looked over the railing to see how high I had come. Ten feet below me there was another badminton court, with a game in full swing.
I think I passed at least 20 temples and 10 badminton courts on my walk to the top of the mountain. There were very few sections of the trail from which you couldn't see a structure of some kind, whether it was a court, a temple, a fenced garden, a swing set, or a sheltered platform--often with a sink and a card table, and sometimes someone cooking at a stove. About half of them were occupied, but many of the unoccupied ones had the look of ruins. I came to one open area with a concrete table and stools covered with little tiles, but a big section of the table was missing, and tiles were scattered everywhere; a similarly tiled concrete bench sat next to it, but the end of the bench was also broken off. It seemed like the place hadn't seen another person for decades. On the way back down the mountain, I passed through the same area again. This time, there were three old men sitting at the table; another one sat on the bench; a final two were practicing calisthenics in the middle.
In some of these spaces, there didn't seem to be much separation between man-made and natural objects. The path to a garden was covered with a moldering red carpet. Another section of the trail was embedded with Astro Turf. At the first shelter I had come to with karaoke singers, the railing was lined with plastic bottles, each one with a bamboo shoot growing out of it. A statue of Sun Yat-Sen had cracked down the right side and part of the face had fallen off. Sandbags that had been used to support a platform were turning into soil and now ferns were growing out of them. Land was developed, structures were built, and immediately the forest started to reclaim them.
After walking back down, I met Ivy at the Yong He Dou Jiang place for lunch and to say goodbye. This time she ordered, and we had dam bing, shao bing (eggs in a kind of crispy pancake, as opposed to the dam bing's soft pancake), tofu pudding, parsnip cake, and a bowl of hot soymilk. Drinking spoonfuls of soymilk, I asked Ivy if Taiwanese people had ever thought about adding cereal. I could see from her expression that I had just blasphemed. Before we parted, Ivy also took me to Longshan temple, a huge one in a crowded part of town. The temple was filled with people praying to the many gods who had shrines there. Then, for something completely different (but no less crowded), we went to Ximen, and I got another couple t-shirts. One of them has a picture of a roadrunner (the actual bird, not the Looney Tunes character) and a boom box and says "The Roadrunner With The Thunder Baetbox." The other, which Ivy bought me as a souvenir, has the Chinese characters lang zi ("long ts'h"). I think lang literally means "wave", but Ivy said the phrase also has the meaning of a person who wanders away from home. Edit: I just looked up lang zi, and apparently it means "loafer; wastrel; prodigal son". Great!
Tomorrow my flight leaves around two, and should arrive in Hong Kong around four. Between now and then I'm just trying to straighten up the apartment a little bit. I don't know how long it'll be before I have internet access again, but maybe the guesthouse will have it. If I can find the guesthouse, that is...wish me luck!
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