One night and two very full days in Hong Kong, spent. Hong Kong is a city built on a city, built on a city. To move through it is like being dropped into an M.C. Escher print, constant movement in all directions, originations and departures illogically mixed. The trompe l’oeil works, though. Like Alice through the looking glass, impossible things happen all the time. The landscape is a collage of densely layered crumbling concrete buildings in the foreground of 70s looking tenement buildings in the foreground of impossibly high modern sky-rises set against the mountainous background of the island.  At eye level is every plausible kind of commerce, and then some.

Another testament to the impossible made possible was our bus ride to the other side of HK island on day one. These buses are standard size, as in not small. Perched at the top of a double decker bus we had a clear view of the road ahead, at least until the next hairpin turn. These buses maneuver the roads and every kind of traffic that share them, be it pedestrian, truck, car or taxi, by some miraculous design. They also double as a pruning service for the lush limbs of foliage that line the roadway as you crest the peak and snake down the other side of HK island.  Descending towards the less populated seaside village feel of Stanley, it was a wonder why a Disneyland in HK is necessary when you can have this experience for pennies. 

Seriously, the remarkably efficient electronic system swiped the equivalent of about a dollar from our Octopus card for the ride each way. The Octopus card was a tip from Brian, our seat mate en route to HK who lives in Sebastopol and travels regularly to HK for business. The card functions like a MUNI pass, or a metro card, or a monthly subway pass. Its a ‘smart’ card offered by Mass Transit Railway (MTR). Fares are 5 to 10% cheaper than if you were to pay the exact fare with cash which is a nuisance in any city.

The bus ride and beach side vibe of the Village of Stanley were a perfect soft entrance after a 15 hour flight. Thank you, Andy, for that recommendation. We paused for a fruit smoothie under umbrellas sporting beer names such as Stella Artois before heading to the Tin Hau Temple, and the Quan Yin Temple perched a slight distance further on, both overseeing the port and what used to be a thriving fishing village. Tin Hau is the patroness to seafarers which makes a lot of sense on an island. The Temple in Stanley is still seaside, unlike the Tin Hau Temple in downtown HK which is now 2 miles inland due to the reclamation that has permitted development over and into the harbor in the name of progress. I couldn’t help but wonder what a major quake would do to that collage of layered facades and the steady, constant movement of humanity. 

We saw a sign with MTR’s slogan today, which is ‘caring for life’s journeys’, as we finally found our way out from the Harbor View complex of dwellings. This mega high-rise residential community must house a million people. We unintentionally ascended to the center of this designer micro-metropolis and were surrounded by towering dwellings that rise in some sort of futuristic dream-like way above the ground level, Kowloon MTR station and the Elements mall layers far below. 

It was straight out of a Terry Gilliam film. The whole city is except I don’t think there was any present danger of being lobotomized. Though finding our way out of the complex and the mall (which had sections named for the Chinese elements that govern their medicine – wood, air, water, and fire) felt a little like Hotel California, as in you can check in anytime you like, but you can never leave. The mall, grounds and complex were well lit and airy. Gorgeous modern-looking fountains to gaze upon and chunky wood carved and smoothed places to sit in between spending your money, but once you entered the bowels of the micro-metropolis the temperature steadily increased and the lighting grew dim, like we were almost at the boiler room.

Once we got out of Harbor View/Hotel California we were on Jordan Street. As we’d done several times in the approximately 33 hours we were in HK, we went the wrong way. And, as we’d done most of those times, we relied on the fleet of taxis that course the city constantly to save us. Just as the gentle guiding hands of a parent overseeing a game of pin the tail on the donkey help the disoriented child when they have been spun around one too many times, our taxi driver guided us to our desired location. Our destination this time was the jade market at Canton and Kansu in the neighborhood of Yau Ma Tei.

The booths at the jade market are laid out in two buildings separated by a street with corrugated steel roofs. The vendors display their wares in rows, largely relying on calculators to communicate with the foreign hawkers that pour over the old jade, new jade, raw pieces, pendants, objects, snuff bottles, chess sets and standard issue jewelry.  My new yellow jade necklace is lovely, and standard issue. Dawn, who wasn’t looking for anything, hawked quite some finds. Old jade and bone objects, a ring, a Buddha, a snuff bottle with delicate and shy-looking women, probably from a time when that would have been deemed quite naughty.

There was a gorgeous little rendering of Quan Yin in one of the more ramshackle booths, and every piece that vendor had looked old and riddled with stories and previous lives. He and his treasures could easily find a home in a fantasy novel.  Perhaps if I had bought and brought that handheld goddess home, some magical realism might have transported me to destinations unknown. Or, maybe once she had a place on my altar sharing prominence with a reclining Quan Yin, a photo of redwoods, and the framed postcard of Mary from the cathedral dedicated to the Madonna on the island of Murano, perhaps then she would be the elixir that unleashed the vapors of these other symbols of strength and compassion to guide me resolutely. 

Getting back to the taxis, as we did on a regular basis, the taxis rule the city. They move like jockeys edging out the horse ahead, coming right up to, but never touching everything in their path. Like animate objects with sensors, somehow they miraculously steer clear of contact. Accidents must happen. I know this because when another taxi had saved our dizzy with exhaustion lives the previous night from a more pedestrian route back to the hotel after a seafood dinner on Knutsford Terrace (an alley above the main street lined with restaurants), there was a sign above the entrance to the tunnel that connects HK and Kowloon under Victoria Harbor reporting that there were approximately 4,000 less accidents this year compared to this time last year. We remarked however that we’d hardly heard a siren.

There are seemingly few disruptions to impede the flow of traffic and commerce. Everything moves at a polite and ginger pace. The taxi drivers don’t flinch at traffic, and the thought of a certain finger gesticulating unkind sentiments is unthinkable. This no nose out of joint experience also manifested as hardly hearing a horn. The only time we heard drivers laying on horns was when a taxi lingered too long to allow passengers to unload on busy, narrow side-streets, such as the one where our hotel was situated. 

Battery life is getting low, flight time is dwindling, and your attention may also be on the brink of shut down, so I will close with a cappuccino at Life. An organic restaurant and bar on Shelley Street in SoHo (south of Hollywood) where the tip jar reads, if you are afraid of change, leave it here. 

We had stopped for ‘panty hose milk tea’ from a restaurant called Lan Fong Tuen said to have originated this strong , silky beverage further down the people movers termed the mid level escalators. The escalators climb up from the Central MTR station into residential areas and were put in, again, to contribute to the system that maintains an efficient flow of commuters and commerce. We got some baked buns (ham’n cheese, and red bean) from a bakery to accompany our tea and people watched while a little, disheveled rat watched us.

The rain was picking up its pace and Life looked charming.  Wood surfaces, low light, yummy looking food, a fantastic tasting cappuccino and a treasured friend at the beginning of a month long journey. Pure magic.  When we paid our bill and Dawn complimented the man at the register on our beverage, he responded, everything here has life.