It seemed to me that women had very little status on the face of life in Hong Kong. It might have been different behind the closed doors of their home,but on the surface I noticed several things. Each morning when we hit the streets to go to Longreen, if it was early, we found an army of little old ladies with pushcarts, brooms and dust pans patiently sweeping and cleaning the major streets in Kowloon. I have to assume that the same was happening across the bay on Hong Kong Island. I never saw any little old men doing this. An incident had occurred on one of our many subway trips a few days earlier. Lowell considers himself to be a son of the South and a true gentleman, which, him being from Texas, may be true. It was during the afternoon rush hour, that we boarded the subway at the Longreens stop. That stop was the next to last stop at the north end of the line, so we had no problem finding a seat, heading south. As we proceeded south, making a stop every 5 minutes or so, the cars quickly filled up, enough to mean there was standing room only. About half way to our stop , a middle aged Chinese lady with several packages in her arms boarded the train. As it so happened, she stopped right in front of Lowell and was holding on to one of the grab bars overhead. Lowell stood and offered his seat to the lady. She understood no English and didn't understand what he was doing. Chinese men do not do that.As he gestured for her to sit down, she was shaking her head no, and motioning him to resume his seat; the interplay, serious as it was, began to attract the attention of the other passengers in the area, who seemed to be amused at what was taking place. After a minute or two of this pantomime show, a young Chinese gentleman in a nice suit, slid into the seat and began to read a newspaper. The lady was made so uncomfortable by Lowell's actions, she got off at the next stop, which might not have been the one she wanted. Lowell had to stand for the rest of our trip, and was still not sure what had happened until I explained the caste system involving men and women in public places. We had no problems after that staying in our seats on the subway, if we were fortunate enough to get one.
That Friday night we went back to the Temple Street Market. There must have been 20,000 people there that night. It was hot and muggy and strange odors drifted in the air, at times. As we learned later, this market is a major attraction for tourists to visit when in Hong Kong. Bargaining is the name of the game here. The vendors usually have someone available to speak English if you indicate that you might be serious about making a purchase. Amid all of the junk, are some good values worth checking out, like pearls and jade and leather goods from the mainland. Lowell and I were in search of food tonight. We visited several of the food stalls found at each intersection of Temple Street. Seafood is the big draw here. You will see every kind of shrimp, prawn, clam, oyster, crab, lobster, and things that look like large centipedes with their legs waving in the breeze. Each intersection had at least one table specializing in snails, at least 25 varieties on the table. Since we had samples the snails on another occasion, tonight we got a big plate of steamed prawns and found a table.We waved the beer boy over, to bring us two big bottles of San Miguel and we sat back to watch the people parade and eat shrimp. It was an excellent way to go native for a while.
All over this market, in every hotel, and in hundreds of little shops are the famous Hong Kong tailors. They will beg, grovel, threaten and use what ever tactic they think will work in order to get you to let them make you a suit. The prices are very reasonable and the work is seemingly done over night. In fact, as we looked from our room window at the Ritz, across the street was a large building where every night, we could see 40 or 50 men sewing away all night, to make the suits I guess. I'm sure that scene was repeated in a hundred other buildings all over the city. I hated suits and ties, and always had, so the last thing I was going to do was spend money on one.
Saturday, we worked at Longreen until 4 PM, then returned to the hotel to get ready for feast night with Celius. We walked down Nathan Road to the Star Ferry terminal, bought our .10 cent first class tickets and rode across the bay to meet Celius. He informed us when we were picked up, that we would be dining with some of the biggies of Longreen and 2 of his relatives, about 10 people in all. As we drove to Aberdeen harbor, I began to recognize some of the things we were passing. When we went through the tunnel. I was sure I was back at the scene of my 'snipe' hunt for the oscilloscope. When I saw the street sign for Yip Fat Street, I told Celius I was very familiar with this area, and explained how and why I had been here. He thought it was Funny Too.
Shortly, we arrived at the harbor and were amazed to see 5 or 6 huge barges anchored out in the bay, with neon lights announcing that they were floating restaurants. They were at least 3 stories tall, and lit up like Christmas trees, with what seemed to be thousands of lights on each one. We boarded a motor launch and were ferried to the largest one, the famous Jumbo's. When we arrived, it was like stepping into another world. It appeared that we were guests of honor, walking into an emperors palace. We were seated at a large circular table, with a big lazy susan in the middle of it. Since it felt like we were emperors, at the front of the room was a throne, where a guy would put you in to an emperors robe and crown and take your picture. The Chinese at our table thought it would be 'fun' to see me do that, so, not one to let the opportunity to be Emperor of China pass me by, I went up and ruled for a few minutes. The pictures are great. Lowell decided to follow me, since it was rather painless. Ken had his beer, so he declined. I don't think he was Emperor material anyhow.
All of the other Chinese meals had been mere rehearsals for this one. We were fed many dishes that were placed on the lazy susan, with our hosts telling us what each one was. Each place setting had many little bowls and dishes holding sauces and appetizers. As the susan spun and the dishes passed by, we were slowly beginning to fill up. But then Celius announced that the highlight of the dinner, a Peking Duck, was on it's way from the kitchen. A Peking Duck is ordered several days in advance of the meal. The duck has been force fed for a few weeks to prepare it for preparation. Two days before the meal, it is killed, and hung so that all body fat drains away. The fat is collected and made into a special sauce. As the duck is slow roasted, it is basted in this special sauce. It is a great honor to be served a Peking Duck by your hosts. We were honored, At least Lowell and I were.The wait staff made a big production of this duck.The head chef comes to the table and spends about 15 minutes, very carefully carving the duck. On one platter, he carefully sliced off the skin and arranged it on the dish. On another platter, he placed the duck pieces he had carved. Each person was given a small dish with some little pancakes and sliced up scallion on it. With a flourish, the head chef placed the platter with the duck skin in the middle of the lazy susan, and departed with the platter of duck parts for the kitchen. The purpose of the duck is to give up it's skin. The rest of it goes into the stock pot in the kitchen. This was not what we had expected, so we watched our Chinese friends to see how this part was to be handled. They would take a piece of skin, place it on the little pancake with some scallion, roll it up then dip it in the special sauce provided. So that is what we did, and it was delicious. But it sure seemed to be a lot of time and trouble for a piece of duck skin. Maybe we missed something.
As Celius dropped us back at our hotel, he said he would meet us in the morning for breakfast at the New World Center. Personally, I was hoping to see the Seven Dragons march right thru the hotel on their way to the bay. ( See Part 2.0) Since our time to depart Hong Kong was drawing near, he drove us through the tunnel for a Celius tour of Hong Kong Island. We visited the top of Victoria Peak, where the view covered the entire bay and way back up in to the New Territories. The port of Hong Kong is one of the busiest in the world, so the ship traffic on the bay approached the rush hour traffic on the roads. ( Little Known Fact- There are more Rolls-Royce's, per capita, in Hong Kong than any other city on Earth). He dropped us off at one of the fanciest malls in Hong Kong. We found a place in the food court that had beer and sat down for lunch. On an earlier outing, Tobias had asked if there was anything special in Hong Kong that I would like to see. I jokingly replied, How about a Chinese fire drill? It went over his head, so nothing more was said. If I'm Lying, I'm Dying, as we sat in this mall having a beer and a sandwich, before our eyes, the fire department rushed in for a fire drill! About 15 firemen in bright yellow fire gear were running everywhere. The escalator wasn't working and this did not fit into their plans to get to the next floor. It couldn't have been anymore like what I had expected than if I had wrote them a script. Confusion reigned supreme! It was wonderful. I could leave with a happy heart. I had seen it all.
Monday morning, I feel like I'm coming down with something, so I stay at the hotel and rest all of Monday. Tuesday I feel really awful. Must be the Hong Kong flu, so when Ken and Lowell go back to the Oxygen plant, I stay at the hotel. I think about going back to the China Resources Store for some snake bile wine, or something else that might help me recover. But I find a drug store that sells Contact. I'm not sure that Contact is any better than ground up monkey paws, but I'm more familiar with it.
That evening, Lowell and Ken return from the Oxygen plant with good news. They had tuned up the 75 HP unit and it was performing to every ones satisfaction. Derek Mo had accompanied them back to the city, and a big dinner celebration , paid for by Mr Mo, was in order. My medicine had kicked in enough for me to go with them. Mr Mo knows a place in the 'hood that he wants to take us. so away we go. The restaurant is on the second floor as usual. We are seated at a table with a big hole in the middle of it. They light a burner in the hole and bring a big pot of some kind of liquid in it, and place it over the fire in the hole. So now, we have a big gurgling cauldron of something, bubbling away in front of us. How Cool, I thought. We are brought plates, bowls, chop sticks, and we each get a little wire basket on the end of a stick. It seems that we will be placing our food in the wire basket and cooking it in the bubbling broth, which turns out to be chicken broth. How much better for a guy with a cold can it get? Ken asks about beer, and it seems that it is not served, but we can bring our own. Mr Mo volunteers to go get some beer, since he is familiar with the area. Mr Mo is not a beer drinker so he does not know that beer is best served cold. So when he brings Ken back a six pack of warm beer, Ken does not complain too much. Lowell and I are happy with the tea. When the pot begins to come to a rolling boil, the waiter brings the starters. Eventually we indulge in shrimp, lobster, clams, fish, Kobe beef, scallops, and a large platter of veggies' to dunk into the broth. You took whatever combination sounded right, put it into your basket and put it in to the broth until it was cooked to your
liking. Eventually this chicken broth assumed the taste of all of the things you had cooked in it, and became quite tasty in it's own right. Mr Mo went out for some more warm beer, which we all consumed. along with the broth. It was one of those night that just seems to fall together in all of the right places with all of the right people. Even Ken fit in that night.
When Mr Mo left to go back home near Junk Bay, Ken took Lowell and I to a new place he had found. I was coasting, still under the influence of warm beer and massive amounts of chicken broth. This place had good cold beer, and a dart board over in the corner. Now it was Lowell's turn to be an expert. A little Chinese girl was tossing darts and seemingly not doing so well. Lowell , being the dart expert. went over to show her the finer points of dart playing. One thing led to another, and before you know it, she had convinced him to bet a little moolah on the game. In his warm beer fog, and her being so helpless, he agreed. The Texas gentleman was losing his Texas ass to that little girl, when I decided to go back to the hotel, leaving him and Ken on their own. I don't think I ever heard the true results of that night.
The next day, I was no better, and no worse. Ken and Lowell were going to Longreens to wrap things up. I was truly not needed for this process. I had made the Chinese laugh enough. I called United and found space on the afternoon flight, all the way back to Miami. I packed up and was at the airport for the 1 PM flight with time to spare. Twenty-six hours later, I was back in Miami, recovering in my own bed. It was a very good trip and the Chinese are a very interesting people. I'm sure they found me just as interesting.
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