Author: Adrian's Got the Moose

Bordering the old quarter of Hanoi is a lake, containing an island on which a temple, Den Ngoc Son, dedicated to Confucius.

It features some nice gardens, carvings and statues, and interestingly to me, a dedicated place to burn offerings to ancestors, a tradition influenced by Chinese beliefs.

As usual, the tourist hordes detracted from the enjoyment, but it was a place of worship still in use by many, so I tried to stay unobtrusive as possible.

That night I had dinner on Beer Street, with people strolling past my low table as I tucked into my rather tasteless vege noodles and drank my beer.

A short stroll after dinner and I watched some traditional theatre. I lacked the language and the cultural background to fully appreciate it, but I did like the exaggerated style and minimal set design all the same.

This experience was mired by the local pimps, who took the opportunity to try to show me pictures on their phones of the ladies who, for a liberal application of currency, would provide me with a short massage followed by a happy ending. This I found as appealing as a rotting fish to the face, and I returned to my dorm bed, mildly drunk and mildly sexually frustrated.

While Hong Kong is in constant motion, a constant buzz of business and human movement, Hanoi is frantic in a more personal way, which I found to be more pleasant, but not inviting.

I was staying at Hanoi Backpackers and Rooftop Bar, a new, purpose-renovated building. It was large, well-designed and completely impersonal and lacking in character. I was staying in a dorm, Hong Kong having depleted my savings much earlier into my trip than I would have liked.

The first morning some beautiful backpackers and I became refugees from the walking tour. After multiple attempts to phone the guide and to catch up with the group, my suggestion to just find a cafe and try the egg coffee was actioned in the absence of better ideas. After a perilous road crossing, we made our way through a dark corridor, up some rickety stairs and to the cafe, where we sat at a counter on the balcony overlooking the road we just risked our lives crossing. I and the three ladies ordered egg coffees, while the only other male, a Dutchman, ordered a black coffee.

A Hanoi specialty, the egg coffee is a result borne from a need for a dairy option in coffee where getting dairy products transported and kept from spoiling was an extreme difficulty. Egg coffee is made by topping up Robusta coffee with a cream made from egg yolk, sugar and condensed milk. It sounds bizarre to anone who has not tried it, but to me is delicious, and more of an after dinner dessert coffee rather than a morning caffeine hit.

After we finished our coffees and a pat with the cafe cat, we walked around Ho Houn Kien Lake.

Plans were discussed for a swim in one of the hostel pools, but I choose to leave them to enjoy that while I hunted out lunch and some more walking.

I had to get out of Hong Kong. While I have a girlfriend there (and no one was more shocked with that development than I), and a ready-made social scene because of her, and a place to stay more homely than a monk’s cell in Chungking Mansions, Hong Kong was sending me broke.

I either had to leave or get a shitty job waiting tables or running a petrol station. Hong Kong is not a kind city to those on a budget, and having done everything I set out to do, if I stayed longer I felt I would end up resenting Arum as I killed time waiting for her to finish work and her other aspects of her life. This would not be fair for either of us. In addition, Hong Kong seems to induce a constant anxiety that while I could push through in the short term, was not something I was wanting to deal with in the long term, even with my supply of anti-depressants.

So I left Arum’s North Point apartment in the early hours, so early the trains had not started yet, but the bus got me to Terminal 1 just as the train would have started. I can’t say it was a tearful farewell, but it was sad, and tentative promises were made. Next stop; Hanoi.

Hong Kong is justifiably famous for its high class shopping, hotels and dining, all with equally high price tags, none of which is much good to me as a backpacker, and who the hell wants a $30 USD glass of wine in the middle of a shopping mall?

My Hong Kong is different. It’s the Philippine domestic helpers making room for me so I can shelter during a sudden downpour. It’s the smile on the Pakistani shopkeeper when I give him the exact change for my mango lassi. It’s the elderly Chinese lady on the train too proud to accept my seat when I offered it. It’s the local staff member walking out to talk to me when I window shop Rolexes, knowing my broke arse is never going to buy one because she’s bored and wants to know about me. It’s the mutual nod with a cigarette-smoking man waiting outside the B4 exit of TST East, because we are both waiting for someone we love.

Saturday night came around and I was invited over to watch Lord of the Rings with Arum’s friends. Courtney, a beautiful and attentive host, and Adam, a vivacious Englishman with endless enthusasim for football and Tolkien, both worked with Arum at the learning centre that kept them living in Hong Kong, and in my opinion and theirs, exploited. It was a sobering experience hearing from Courtney and Adam about their working experiences. All three love their work, but ultimately the conditions they worked and lived in are not sustainable. All three also have to spend considerable percentages of their income to share flats, and have little chance of improving their situation under conditions that would be llegal under Australian labour laws.

While we watched Fellowship, the Two Towers and a minor league English football game the trains stopped, and started again while Adam gave us a running commentary on characters and events in LOTR lore, as well as football and his underdog team. At some point we made our way to the nearest Seven-Eleven for more drinks, which Adam refused to let me contribute to. There was so much genuine hospitality and friendship I struggled to know how to behave after so much Hong Kong indifference.

After making our way back to Arum’s apartment early Sunday morning, we slept away most of the day before having dinner at the Indian place next to the apartment building, which was a vegeterian set affair, and quite lovely.

The next morning as Arum was getting ready for work I started getting horrible stomach cramps, followed by a complete lack of propriety from both ends of my digestive system. This continued for twenty-four hours, until I was brave enough to almost sprint to the Circle K downstairs and across the road for loperamide and Pocari Sweat. Arum’s married couple flatmates then made the mistake of trying to talk to me while I was trying to act like a person with a minimum of human dignity and failing. Twelve hours later I was feeling mildly human and left the apartment. I changed some money and ate a disappointing fast food meal that nonetheless stayed in my stomach. I bought some more drinks and snacks, and made my way back to the apartment. I checked my email and discovered that my Vietmanese visa had finally aproved, in a very SE Asian interpretation of the three working day time frame.

I slept away most of the morning until a staff member of the hostel knocked on my door to find out if I was going to check out or book another night. After I sorted that out I visited the visa agency and picked up my passport and my partial refund.

Then I found my way to the nearest Starbucks, where I applied for another Vietnamese Visa using their wifi and comparitive calm compared to the streets below. Already losing the light, I went for a methodical walk through the Avenue of Stars, the Chinese answer to the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I spotted martial arts greats such as Jackie Chan and Jet Lee, as well as Michelle Yeoh from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Tomorrow Never Dies.

But the real treat for me was a plaque commemorating Director Wong Kor-Wei, director of Chungking Express.

Later on I met up with Arum again, and found some lovely painted steps leading up to Kowloon City Park.

As well as some excellent statues showcasing cartoon characters that I lacked the cultural background to recognise.

We were also entertained by a mime, who was well worth the few dollars we put in her hat.

We had a very pleasant dinner of stir fried vegetables and noodles, and after picking up the tab I led Arum to a corner behind ISquare Shopping Mall, where I had a debt to pay.

Earlier in the week I had to buy some first aid supplies to cover up a tattoo after the sansiderm peeled straight off in this humidity, and a lovely Laotian lady helped me with the bandage and only after handed me a flyer to the massage place she works for, which makes her a cut above most of the people hawking around Chungking. I found her again and asked to be taken to the massage shop, which ended up being up a few levels overlooking the same street. Arum and I got foot massages, while holding hands under the blankets and watching Jaws on the TV screen, out of a need of our hosts to make us comfortable.

Something not mentioned here yet is that almost as soon as I landed on Hong Kong concrete I matched on a dating app with Arum, a South African lady working in Hong Kong. At some point, I mentioned that I wanted to go see the Big Buddha and invited her to join me. Arum, foolishly, accepted this offer and on Wednesday we met up and travelled together for the day. This involved a ferry across Victoria Harbour and another water body not important enough to be labeled on Google Maps, and then a long hilly bus ride to the base of the monastery grounds.

We had an impromptu morning tea involving sour gummies and Pocari Sweat in a nearby garden currently ignored by the rest of the tourist hordes

The path towards the steps leading to the Big Buddha is guarded by statues of the twelve heavenly generals of East Asian Buddhism, which also align/represent the Chinese zodiac and certain times of day.

Two hundred and sixty steps lead up the hill to the Big Buddha, to serve as time for contemplation. while Arum and I used the landings between the steps as rest breaks, as well as the occasional photo.

The view from the statue itself were fairly epic.

The Big Buddha was surrounded by six smaller statues, “The offerings of the six Divas” each an impressive work themselves. 

The Big Buddha itself is 34 metres tall, weighs in at 250 metric tonnes, and was created from 202 separate pieces of bronze. When casting the largest piece, the face plate, they only had forty seconds from the smelter to pour it into the mould, otherwise they would have to redo the piece. after it was cast they had to wait five days before breaking the mould and finding out if it worked or not. I doubt many of the people involved got any sleep during those five days.

In the opinion of your humble narrator, The Big Buddha is entirely deserving of the awards it has been given and is well worth the time checking out, even for an atheist like me.

However like much of Hong Kong’s sights, its mired by an unhealthy dose of consumerism. While the 711 is always a welcome sight, the addition of the high priced cookie shop and a claw game parlour seemed rather crass to me, like someone building a Maccas in the Louve.

Sadly on the bus ride back to the ferry dock, I got a bad case of motion sickness and had to get off the bus at the Interchange station at Discovery Bay. I sat, sweating and shivering against a wall, while Arum sat with me patiently and worriedly. At least one well-heeled expat asked if we needed anything while I sat, embarrassing myself, like a poorly finished monument to the folly of travelling on anything faster than a donkey.

After recovering some colour, we discovered there was a train that took us right back to Hong Kong Island, which we took, but not before watching a group of children playing in one of those water fountains, a good time being had by all.

On the train I received my one and only call on my HK Sim, from the agent I was using to get a Chinese Visa. My application had been denied, no reason given but the agent suspected it was because of my sparkly new passport being considered suspicous by the Chinese government . This flew the rest of my plans out the window, my plans were to travel overland from China, and then the train to Hanoi, and my Vietnamese visa was not valid for weeks yet, and was only good at one particular land border.

Tuesday out of a very male desire to be on top of things, I made my way to the lower Terminus of the Victoria Peak Tram, something that is always on those web articles about ten things to do in Hong Kong in a day. I should have known better. After shelling out a full stomach of dumpings worth of dollars I queued with the tourist horde and was injected into the tram. The ride was a little disconcerting due to the steep angle-I was glad I didn’t have to try to walk- the view was amazing if rather spoiled by the design of the train

I didn’t get a photo of the apartment window decorated with three brightly coloured teddy bears, which I’m sure has brightened the day of many a small child, in addition to at least one jaded backpacker.

Once at the top I had to pass through Hong Kongs’ biggest and trashiest souvenir shop, and past a selfie studio, muliple high priced cookie shops, jewellry shops (In case you are in sudden need of buying a string of pearls while suffering from altitude sickness) and one racially insensitive resturant, before finally reaching the top.

Which was honestly quite spectacular, mildly spoiled by the fact that wherever I stood was the exact place a dozen other people wanted to be standing and taking photos from.

Of course the need to take selfies is also on me, but I still claim as a lone traveller I was doing it before there was a word for it.

After being unceremoniously shoved into the tram to get back down, I made my way to Art Lane, where I enjoyed an iced mocha at a pet-friendly cafe (and patted a cute Scottish Terrier) and saw some lovely if politically neutral street art.

on my way back to Chungking Mansions, I took another walk through Kowloon City Park, where I saw some wonderful trees, and some wedding photography.

    unshaven and unrepentant, I passed through Immigration and Customs, pausing just long enough to change some currency and grab a Sim card before hurtling my way to Chungking Mansions, and force my way to my hostel.

I laid down with the plan to snooze for a few minutes, then promptly slept the rest of the afternoon. I walked around TST, savoring t

he hustle and bustle , the sights and the smells, both good and bad, all comforting after my COVID hiatus.

I engaged in some people watching on some steps overlooking the MOA and the Hong Kong Space Museum.

Then, mildly unimpressed with myself, I spent an hour in a complex dedicated to conspicious consumption.

Where I barely managed to depart from no more broke than I was before.

I slept away most of the next morning, then wen’t across the road to a travel agency where i paid a significant sum to arrange my Chinese Visa, the next planned part of my trip. On my way through Central I discovered there was an Anime conventon about to start, walkways filled with cosplayers, most depicting characters I lacked the apppropriate nerdiness to understand.

It was an incredible sight to behold but didn’t help me get anywhere.

Eventually I made my way to Tim Ho Wans, which while having all the ambiance of a Mcdonalds, has food simply to die for.

Also, while moving through the streets with all the grace of a kangaroo with two broken legs I saw large groups of South East Asians having picnics under walkways, staircases, anywhere in the shade.

Much of the immigrant labor only have Sundays off and can not afford to eat out, but make do by sharing home cooked meals with family and friends. I wish I had something to contribute, but alas, i could only wish them a happy meal. It was a comforting sight after so much of Central being so generic it could be anywhere in the world.

In the afternoon, I walked through parts of Kowloon City Park, complete with ancient trees, sculptures, birds and a cat.

I noticed that trees that have been documented for attention have been given an “Old and Valuable Tree Number,” the conservationalist in me approves.

One of the less pleasant duties of my job is picking up the dumped refuse people are too lazy or cheap to dispose of correctly. Usually we are too tired or jaded to feel much about it except for annoyance before we finish up and move on to the next job. This week was different.

The pile of mattresses and couches were loaded onto our truck using a mini-digger, but the rest had to be thrown on by hand, leading to an awareness of what lead up to this dumping.

There is a SPO2 Monitor, property of Perth Children’s Hospital. Next is a clear plastic envelop, marked with a caption indicating the contents being a prisoners property. Scattered around are photos of kids, happy, clean and well-fed. Under a pile of clothes is a folder from a law firm. Yonder is a school certificate, rewarded for good behavior, then documents from a court house. An application for public housing smothers makeup kits. No drug paraphernalia, which is unusual for us, and comforting.

Assumptions: The mother was jailed, and the children placed into foster care, and then evicted from their rental accommodation, and as is typical, the landlord or their contractor simply threw their entire possessions they couldn’t take with them into a truck to be dumped into the nearest forgotten and accessible corner.

Ill probably never get closure, I hope the kids are safe and are some point reunited with their mother, who gets the help she needs so this doesn’t happen again.