Hong Kong in October, 10

Swordplay and Drumbeats

October 25

We saw more people with swords in the park this morning, and Joanna asked a man about them. He gave her tips on buying one, and she got to hold one lady’s sword.

Then the man made a call on his cell phone. His master had arrived at Kung Fu Corner, and we went to meet him.

The master has been practicing tai-chi since he was eight years old, the student told us, and is now about 36. He was instructing a group of people in a move that involved a couple of rapid steps and a high kick so that the hand slaps the ankle. It looks easy enough, which means I’d probably break my ass if I tried it. Maybe sometime when I’m alone.

The master and disciple gave us a sales pitch for tai-chi swords. They told us to buy a good sword, because a cheap one will give you oscillations. Actually, I wanted to buy one for Joanna just so she could take it to the tai-chi class at her brother’s gym. I told her, too, that it’s like the tomahawk I wanted to get for her at Hudson’s Bay: You take that with you and nobody will give you a hard time.

Most of the buildings are new because there has been constant development of Hong Kong and Kowloon for the past 50 years or more. Joanna’s old neighborhood was so much changed by high-rises, apartment construction, and enlarged roads that she had to ask directions to find her old school.

Some of the buildings take unusual shapes. We were standing in a hedge maze in Kowloon Park and part of the skyline consisted of curved buildings that looked like they had been broken.

Nathan Road and the side streets in our hotel neighborhood are colorful and active, but it’s like an Asian Fifth Avenue. There’s a Coach store on the corner of Kimberley Road and Nathan, for instance. So we went back to the area around Temple Street this morning.

It’s still loud and busy, but has a little more down-home Asian flavor that I learned in Chiang Mai. You may be able to see what I mean from today’s photo, Welcome to Kowloon.

We stopped at a little place for lunch, where I had something familiar, sliced beef in black bean sauce over fried egg noodles. The noodles are like a crisp bird’s nest that softens as it absorbs the sauce. It doesn’t matter what’s in the sauce, beef, chicken, mushrooms, whatever. It’s damned good.

Here’s a funny thing about lunch. All the tables were set with spoons and forks. We asked for chopsticks and got only one pair. I offered them to Joanna, but she left them to me. I was halfway through lunch when it hit me that I was the only round-eye in the place, and also the only person using chopsticks. I don’t know what that means. Maybe it’s not good, so I’m not going to analyze it.

I had only one Tsingtao, because they served me a 600 milliliter bottle—about 20 American ounces.

As usual, after the equivalent of two beers, I was ready to go to church. Temple Street may be named for the one near the end of the street dedicated to Tin Hau, the goddess of seafarers. This holy site is more than a hundred years old, not as old as the temple in Macau dedicated to the protector god, but ancient by Hong Kong standards. It is by far the smokiest temple I’ve visited. Joanna, too, maybe, but she didn’t say.

The incense coils were hung over sections of the temple that were marked off so you wouldn’t stray under them unawares. Signs in English said to beware of falling ash.

The temples here are filled with dozens, perhaps hundreds of figures representing various gods, saints, buddhas, and mythical figures. Some are small, some life size.

Joanna had a conversation with one of the ladies who work in the temple about the monkey and the pig. They accompanied the man (Joanna knows his name, but I have forgotten it.) who went to India to receive the teachings of the Buddha. They also represent the follies of life.

The monkey is full of himself and thinks he is very fast and clever, but finds that his freedom is an illusion and that he has always been held in the Buddha’s palm. The pig had seven vices, including a few, like drinking, that seem virtuous enough to me, but he too learns the pointlessness of his ways.

I may be a natural Buddhist, because I am aware of pointlessness, illusion, and vice, but have learned to accept and embrace them. I believe in moderation of all things, including moderation.

When we were placing sticks of incense, I put some of mine in the wrong vessels, which were reserved for candles. It’s a new piece of information for me. I’ll have to remember that.

I made a donation and got to ring the bell and the gong. The temple ladies told me I was being timid and that I should strike again, but louder. So I did.

You remember the huge guys in diapers drumming out that feral rhythm in the Asahi commercial? Maybe you saw it. It was all over the Internet. Well, that wasn’t me.

I think Joanna took photos of me doing the timid strikes.

I stopped in the men’s room in the park by the temple and found another legacy of SARS. It was poster in which the wise Lo Fu Ji (who has an honored place in the Avenue of Comic Heroes, not far away) teaches proper cough manners.

Dinner tonight was back at the goose restaurant, Yung Kee, in Lan Kwai Fong. We had more goose leg, which was good, but as with all Chinese meats, you have to watch out for the bits of bone. We also had a combination plate that came warm, neither hot nor cold, of pig stomach, pig tongue, and octopus.

The tongue was all right, but I may have put myself off that by thinking while I was eating it: Is this what the pig tastes in his mouth? Stupid, I know, but it’s amazing what your brain can come up with after an indeterminate number of days drinking beer in tropical Asia.

The pig stomach and the octopus were terrific.

We stopped at the Hong Kong Brew House on D’Aguilar road, just outside the actual street called Lan Kwai Fong. They had Fuller’s London Pride, so I took some of that.

We met a guy at the bar named Matthieu, who just like the Coneheads, was from France. He writes software for airlines and was in town to support a new customer.

His wife is about to start an internship with the U.N. in New York. I have almost been to France on a few occasions. So we had a lot in common.

He asked what brought us to Hong Kong, and I tried to explain in the shorthand version. Joanna grew up there, and this was my first trip. We had already told him that we lived in New Jersey, not far from New York. His command of English is excellent, but I think he needed a second or two to catch up, which he did fast.

We went over it again, filling in the details. Joanna grew up in Hong Kong and lives in the States now. She has been back to Hong Kong a few times before, but this is my first time here.

He left me his e-mail address so that, if I ever actually get to France some day and have any questions, I can get in touch with him.

He has my business card so I can buy him a beer if we’re ever in New York at the same time.

The metro is quicker but the ferry is far more scenic. We took the ferry to Hong Kong and back to Kowloon. It’s a very short but amazing ride. The harbor is squeezed between two jam-packed cities.

Some of it’s a pain in the ass, but I think I really like Hong Kong.

Running out of steam at 11:30, gang. Good night. Will send when I can.

Harry