Rethinking Hong Kong

St Joseph's Cathedral completed in 1886.

A visit to Hanoi, termed the ‘city in the bend of the river’ by Emperor Tu Duc in 1831, has somehow brought Hong Kong, also flanking a neat curve of water in the South China Sea, into perspective.

Hong Kong and Hanoi have been settled since the Neolithic era. But Hong Kong, in a remote part of China and far from the centre of Imperial power has  seen intermittent settlement till the arrival of the small farmers and fishermen that were here before1841 when the British took over the terrain. The makers of the Neolithic rock engravings on large granite boulders that dot the coastline have long since become a mere speculation in the history of Hong Kong.

Today, Hanoi is a large, continuous urban sprawl with most of the architecture still modeled on the French colonial style. The street density is high, but there are few tall buildings. Similar to Macau’s colonial architecture that was a Portuguese translation of European styles tempered by local temperament and skills, the buildings in Hanoi have undergone similar translations to become a local vernacular. They strongly evoke French architecture but have a decorative quirkiness that obviously derives from a local sensibility. Most of the buildings have inviting, deep verandas with ceiling fans to shade from the summer sun and heat.

Hanoi has not adopted modernism or modern lofty architecture in the same way that Hong Kong has. Land is a scarce commodity in Hong Kong, not only because of its limited size, but also as it is the source of its wealth. The low-rise character of Hanoi is not however what was most intriguing, but the organized chaos of the traffic in the city and its street life on pavements.

After-school traffic in the street opposite the cathedral.

Thousands of Honda motorcycles and scooters travel in every direction of the compass. They fill the streets, pavements, markets and alleyways. When there is no oncoming traffic, they swarm across into the free lane, only to contract back into semblances of two-way traffic flow when there is opposite flow. Everyone wears helmets and a family of four on a bike is not an unusual sight. The saving grace though is that they all travel very slowly. By contrast, the flow of traffic in Hong Kong is very ordered, disciplined and law-abiding. But sometimes it gets precarious as taxi drivers neither exceed, nor travel at speeds less than the speed limit around the reinforced concrete faces along the hair-raisingly, narrow roads that curve around the Peak.

The people of Hong Kong regularly take control of the streets for orderly protests and on Sundays house helpers from Indonesia and the Philippines spill into every possible safe public space on walkways, parks and piazzas. Here they sit on cardboard sheets and decamp for the day chattering, eating, playing games, giving one anther pedicures and often using their phones to talk to other friends and family at home. This decampment is tolerated, but every now and then an angry letter to the newspapers makes its voice heard.

Street cafe on the cathedral square.

This is in stark contrast to Hanoi where the streets belong to the people who travel, sit, eat and drink on any sidewalk. The pavements are not well tended and narrow and widen as the old footprint of the city, trees and parked motorcycles allow. Brick pavers are often missing and there is grey dirt across all the road and pavement surfaces. This seems not to be a concern, as many little pop-up restaurants and bars just appear on random-looking places (locals must have a greater sense of place concerning these than we as visitors had). The little stools used in street cafes in Hong Kong are small, but in Hanoi they seem like miniature versions.

Hong Kong has built an amazing skyline and adopted verticality as a massing principle. This has left me curious about the way of building in Hanoi and what it says about the Vietnamese that overcame the military power of both France and America.

Collecting views and memories

Walker Bay photographed from De Kelder where our walk ended.

Walking in the sand. The prospect of walking along an unspoilt stretch of beach along the Overbergstrand that has been quietly inviting me for decades was a little daunting after three weeks of endless eating and drinking, eroding the little fitness I had built up over the last couple of months. But good to be freed from the semi-circular patterns of the wooden end-grain chopping board that I seemed to be perennially chained to during Christmas time.

We walked towards De Kelder, as there was a wind from behind which would have been unpleasant face-on. This meant that the glorious mountain views were behind us. However, the young couple that accompanied us more than compensated for the loss of the views: a darting young vamp that twirled around her boy. The lass must have covered twice the distance than anyone else as she teased the bloke by dancing and turning around him in her tight blue jean shorts and cropped, off-the shoulder, black top. If the walk was mesmerising, so was this display of chemistry that kept a taught, invisible string spun between them. To be young and brimming with life is wonderful to observe and provided a timeless and filmic quality to the outing.

The lagoon mouth was shallow and we waded across…or those of us who were barefoot or wearing open sandals. Some ladies, who did not want their walking shoes wet, had to be lifted across the water. Luckily the channel connecting the lagoon and sea was a mere trickle during low tide and slightly undermined the men’s gallantry.

The sandy stretch between Grotto Beach and De Kelder curves for more than 17km along the coast. The sun was out and a little westerly wind whipped us along. The strip of beach narrows and widens in places, alternating hard surfaces that are easy to walk on and soft, deep sand that bites in the calves. WG Siebald’s question came to mind: ‘Where did these [young] people actually learn to walk?’ (2004) as I observed the walking pace of the group, all kitted out in their state-of-the-art sports shoes. We made two pit stops to refuel, and these were leisurely and sociable, like baboon troops that have found a safe feeding spot. However, we never interrupted our walk once to look at the views or the grassland fynbos along the way, so one of the enduring memories of this walk are of Nike-shod feet and a debate about what shoes are best for a walk along the beach.

Street stalls and a typical Hong Kong delivery van in Soho.

Walking on ground level in central Hong Kong, one is devoid of a sense of horizontal space and only a narrow strip of sky is overhead. In places the deep urban canyons never allow direct sunlight. The surfaces underfoot change from asphalt to stone curbs and an assortment of tiles. A friend commented recently that you can distinguish between visitors and home-grown users of the Mid-level escalator in Central: visitors loiter around and locals use it in an efficient manner to get to their destination as quickly as possible. Most visitors use the walk up the escalator for taking pictures of the daily life of Hong Kongers, and there are certain scenic spots that appeal to most people. The oldest wet market in Hong Kong around Gage and Graham Street, the overhead advertisements down Wellington Street… 

Vagrant's trolley used for scavenging.

During lunchtime, office workers pour out of buildings and make a dash to their chosen eatery or take-away restaurant. It is congested at this time of day and long queues form in front of favoured places. A regular sight every day is of people walking back to offices with small polystyrene containers in white plastic bags swinging carefully as not to spill. By two in the afternoon, the city becomes once again a more restful place and you only have to dodge the endless deliveries from trucks that are wheeled on flat, four-wheeled trolleys that are niftily stacked with surprisingly large loads. A timely tip of the toe edges the trolleys up or down street curbs. And again Siebold’s question comes to mind as I observe too the short range of the city dweller’s walking gaze. It seems as if the distant view is captured only by the camera lens.

Telling directions in the city

It is some time since I read Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities, but another author citing the description of ‘Zaira, city of high bastions’, resonated with my recent experiences in Hong Kong. 

I could tell you how many steps make up the streets rising like stairways, and the degree of the arcades’ curves, and what kind of zinc scales cover the roofs; but I already know this would be the same as telling you nothing.

  

In the time it took to travel in a red Hong Kong cab, recently described by a young visitor as cooler than New York cabs, from our apartment block to the Prince’s Building in Central, Calvino’s description of Zaira, unfolded in real time.

Taxis in front of the old Central Police Station in Central.

An unknown neighbour approached me jovially. When I looked perplexed, this larger than life lady told me she had been in Canada to escape the Hong Kong heat. She flapped a handkerchief and crossly explained that her son misled her that winter had already arrived in Hong Kong and here she was, dripping with perspiration. The lady in black – frilly organza blouse over snappy black trousers, patent leather pumps, Jackie O sunglasses, swirly diamond earrings and helper in tow – upon hearing that I was learning Mandarin, told me, in a rather off-hand manner, that she knew all the Chinese languages. These languages were acquired during the ‘terrible times’ when Japan invaded Hong Kong and they had to flee from place to place in mainland China. She inquired equally casually on what floor I lived. The 8 floors difference immediately established a pecking order between us.

Streets usually serve as tracks for long-distance runners. Architects often aspire to bring the street into the mall. Something of a cross-over occurred when the Citibank Tower’s fire escape served as the track for a charity fitness challenge….vertical running 55 floors above ground? Super-fit contestants looked deathly pale when they completed the run.

 

Citibank Plaza was designed by Leo A Daly

Marco Polo’s acknowledgement to Kublai Kahn that the description of heights, angles and materials of Zaira amounted to telling you nothing. So what then to make of a Hong Kong taxi driver that drew an air pistol on another cabbie that pushed in front of his car, or why the lovely lady in black uses the height of an apartment to establish social order, or a staircase used as a running track? These spatial configurations, do they not tell you something about place and space in the city? Below, behind, in front, above...to the left or right, all determine value. But they also tell you nothing till you know the social and material relations that govern Hong Kong: that the income generated by land sales is government’s most important source of income; that it is a divided place where rich and poor are far removed; where memories of the past determine the present and future, and every step, arcade curve and pink tile or stone are measured and recalculated for profit, practicality and efficiency. After seven months in the city, I know a lot more about Hong Kong, but at the same time, I often feel that I can tell you nothing…. 

African Bizarre: up close and intimate in Soho

A new friend's 40th saw us at the Makumba Lounge and Bar for an Africa Bizarre celebration. A very chic, but sour, lead singer sat in the corner when we arrived and the mood never lifted throughout the entire evening. She was, thankfully, in good voice and sang Happy Birthday without smiling once. Quite an achievement.

Hong Kong must have been stripped bare of every fake zebra and tiger skin outfit this weekend, and there were some extraordinary suits, dresses with daring cut outs, stockings and peacock feathers. Also a banana on tiger print legs. But first prize went to two guys in full print suits - the one in zebra and the other in tiger wearing trendy dark, squared-framed Jay Jopling-type glasses. The tasty African tapas, a hybrid misnomer if ever there was one, included mince balls, chicken wings, African spring rolls (what's that?), deep fried sweet potatoes and plantains.

When we started reflecting upon celebrating with the 40 year old young things, we thought it time to move on from Peel Street and walk around Soho. In Hong Kong, Soho stands for South of Hollywood Road, and usually means either Staunton and Elgin Road. As it turned out, we didn't get much further than the Feather Boa in Staunton Road, an unmarked, so-called private club. A chippy young lass from England remarked that she was not sure how private a club is that is listed in The Lonely Planet.....still, the first time I had to show my ID to order a drink in a long time. Same chirpy lass produced a friend's local ID card to get her drinks and no one noticed the difference. The lady mixologists were very professional, and churned out chocolate martinis with floating Maltesers and strawberry daiquiris served in glasses with frosted chocolate rims with relentless energy. They went through three containers of chocolate powder for the frosting in the time I drank one cocktail. The space, a former antique shop, was heaving with people and you literally felt the bones of bodies pressing against your back. We had a conversation with a happy Swedish visitor who kept on handing out red roses from the vase on the counter to his blonde compatriots. When asked if he liked visiting Hong Kong, he took a deep breath and said that during an earlier massage session, the masseuse kept on trying for what is termed 'a happy ending'...so I wondered what's the case with the roses then?

The morning after? A little dim and dry around the head...and a wistful thought upon my co-drinker's comment that perhaps the years between 40 and 50 are the best...so party girl, the best is yet to come! 

In search of happy gods in Repulse Bay

I was feeling disgruntled with my new life in Hong Kong and blaming it on the lack of open skies and feeling closed in by the spectacular view across Victoria Harbour through some gaps between 'big things', also called skyscrapers, that dwarf one's every step, being and breath. The special thing about this city is the continually changing perspectives as you walk the streets of buildings, vistas and slopes, a moving diorama. However, despite this visual pleasure and the welcome relief of shadows cast by tall buildings in the heat, it is as if they 'hang in space' and have a presence of just 'being there', displacing space.

The southern part of Hong Kong Island, facing the south china seas, has a different sensibility. It is more relaxed, a shangri-la or permanently happy land isolated from the outside world as James Hilton wrote of in The lost horizon (1933). At the end of the Repulse Bay seaside walkway, I found a happy god on whose plinth is written in gilded letters, the following inscription:

The old man from the moon is
a happy god in charge of
love and matrimony.
He ties the couple's legs with red
string, and their hearts with a crimson belt, and puts their names in the celestial register so that they will live happily ever after after.

This god is surrounded by many other mosaic gods and deities at the Tin Hau temple. Gaun Yin, the goddess of sympathy, compassion and mercy and Tin Hau, the goddess of the sea, or literally the queen of heaven, tower over the temple precinct. The story of Tin Hau goes that as a 13-year old, she met a Toaist priest who taught her how to predict the future, and help the sick and the weak. She supposedly traveled the seas on a reed mattress and saved people from drowning and thereby gathered the attribute as the goddess for safety on the seas. And it is here that I found peace and reason to be in Hong Kong - to collect stories from old men, happy gods, red strings and crimson belts.

The TIn Hau temple is also, appropriately, home to the Hong Kong Life Guard Club Training Headquarters. Behind Guan Yin and the temple, oddly filled with cold drink fridges, stands The Lily, the residential development designed by Norman Forster and Partners where a 3-bedroomed apartment costs HK$165,000 per month to rent. One is never far away from the West/East dichotomy in Hong Kong.

Why do we want things?

I have been on a mission to track down tempered steel picture nails in Wanchai, the area that has many little hardware stores, framers, stationers and art supplies stores. Up and down Queens Road East, Johnston Road and all the streets that link them....nowhere to be found. They all just shrug and offer masonry screws and plugs or picture hooks with multiple small pins that you hit into the wall. I need steel picture nails because I do not have another thing, an electrical drill, to fix the masonry screws into the wall. This means I have to either contact Amanwithadrill.com or buy this thing. The bare walls have become intolerable, as without things on them, it just does not feel like home. And that big thing, that throbbing picture of the city outside, the tall, gigantic buildings in Central, needs to be tempered by some other things.

Thinking about things and why things are important (anthropologists have filled libraries on this topic) made me think about what a girl during the recent riots in London said: 'we have showed the rich people that we can take their things and they can do nothing about it'. Gavin Esler, the anchor on BBC's Dateline in a recent TV debate, summarized a panel discussion on the rioting as 'the looters wanting things that they see the rich have'. These are perhaps banal statements about what the rioting was all about, but the fact of the matter is that the looters gave expression to their resentment, disenfranchisement and frustrations by damaging and looting things, thereby upsetting the status quo.

The Hong Kong Museum of History is on the left.

Delivery man from the stationary shop.

I will be relieving my frustration with and fear of the white wall spaces by putting up things like maps, new and antiquarian images of Hong Kong - all showing various things - using screws and wall plugs, and hopefully not be damaging the landlord's property, whilst I ponder the serious topic of the relationships between violence and things.

The photographs include a picture of the Hong Kong Museum precinct that houses a collection of things that explain the peopling of and various customs practiced in Hong Kong, and the shop to the right sells various paper ware, including envelopes for money gifts, and a variety of ritual joss papers and paper objects that are burned during ancestral worship. Incidentally, there was an outcry last week in the papers because the Palace Museum curators in Beijing were neglectful with the peoples' things and broke some ceramic plates in their care.

Little things that make the world go round

A sunny, early evening in London after the first day of the Courtauld's Intersections: Architecture and Poetry conference brought welcome, fresh air after stuffy lecture theatre sessions. They operate the air conditioning till the speakers start and then have to put it off as it is too noisy! Can some philanthropist help this worthy institution out of their misery? We were all wilting from a lack of fresh air and the heat. However, there was an interesting talk by Mike Tonkin and Anna Liu who explained their design solutions drawing from natural geometries that kept some of us awake.

Outside, it was a glorious summer's day and people were running and splashing in the courtyard fountains surrounded by bronze Chinese zodiac animals. Liquids of another kind were flowing on the terrace overlooking the Thames. There was a very noisy tent from where drinks were served, but sensibly, the eastern side of the terrace was left open. A young Chinese girl sat at a table with four chairs - it was very busy and full - and I asked if we could share the table. She was very emphatic about not sharing, as she was waiting for her date! Amused, we managed to scrounge chairs from elsewhere. Nothing like sharing a drink in good company in beautiful surroundings. This little urban encounter made for a pleasant day.


Other little things that I picked up in London that give pleasure in China are blonde hair elastics that cannot be bought there for love or money and a naff-looking, curious silk powder foot spray that eliminates the need for those dreadful, nude, creeping liners in summer shoes. And another thing, back in Hong Kong, I am so grateful to block out the never-ending, reflecting, flashing lights of IM Pei's Bank of China Tower at night, not with an eye guard, but by drawing curtains.