On and Off the Train

I wake up, and then put myself back to sleep. I wake up. I put myself back to sleep. I wake up – it's six thirty now, and the Chinese have started to rise from their slumber. Oh the Chinese. Look, I'm not saying all Chinese people are like this because I don't know all Chinese people. All I know are the two dozen or so that happen to be sharing this car with me. But let me tell you about them:

Six thirty, you better believe it's time to get up. And not just time for one or two to get up, but a good half of them. How do I know it's half of them? Well aside from counting them off as they walk by my room, I can hear well over a dozen different voices yelling in the corridor. I can only assume that they're friends with people at the other end of the car, and moving to talk to them is just nonsense – much better to yell.

The longer this goes on, the more people join the party. Some pull out cell phones, which is fun because now the yelling is punctuated by high pitched ringing.

Oh and good, the children are at it now. Normally parents try to silence their children when they shout and scream in the early hours. But not here – no, my friends, here it is encouraged! It is to be thought of as the ultimate. If your child, and I'm only guessing here, can be heard above the ringing voices of the adults – well that is something to be most proud of!

Scream on little Billy, scream on!

The toilet is clogged. This must have happened some time in the night. It's – well it's terrible. it was only ever a squat toilet with a small hole onto the tracks, but now that hole won't open and its... it's just horrible.

That's it. Pillow over head, it's time to sleep some more.

Nine thirty. That's it, there is no more sleep. Not for me. The conversations have lessened, but not gone away completely. Ahh, good, you think. They're being quiet. It must be better now. What type of fool are you? Nothing will get better on this journey, quite so far as silence is concerned. No. They're not talking, because they've all plugged in their computers, and dvd players, and all sorts of other tech toys so they can watch movies.

But shouldn't that be better, you ask?

My friends – only if they used head sets. But earphones clearly would cramp their style, better to just listen through speakers. And if the movie can't be heard over the talking, well that's what the volume control is for.

Guh. Look – for seventy bucks to get from Hong Kong to Beijing, I will put up with nearly anything – and the beds are quite nice, and it's really not so bad as I'm selling it (you get used to it) it's just that we've come to a stop – and it's one of those “you just got your butt delayed” stops, I fear (the announcements are all in Mandarin) so... ohh look! An unused plug down the hall. Time to watch me some Ghostbusters Two!

Well we've been delayed two hours now – apparently Ghostbsters Two really is just Statue of Liberty + Painting, so there you go.

Somehow I don't see us rolling into Beijing West in forty minutes like we were supposed to. Good ol' train delays. On the plus side, no one knows what's going on because even the chinese announcements have stopped. So, even playing field and all.

We've started up again. I guess we get there when we get there? Who can say.

It strikes me that some people would see making it to China as a great and wonderful goat. Me? Thing to do. These same people probably wouldn't view eating Combo C at Yan's Cook as a life altering moment either, though. Just goes to show you – you can't live someone elses dream.

If Yan's Cook closes while I'm away, I expect to be notified. And then I will cry. And cry. Unless it comes back as its original form, Yan's Wok. That would be ok too.

The train finally pulls into the station four and a half hours late. As I disembark I wonder if she who was to be waiting for me will still be there. After walking around in the dark, with not a single person who can speak English, I give up and decide no – four and a half hours is too long to expect someone to wait when your train comes in late.

Now I need to figure out how to call her and ask her what I should do to get from point A to point B. Expecting to meet up, I didn't look into any contingency plans. I had a toll free number, but when I finally came across a bank of phones, the number wouldn't go through.

With twenty kilograms of gear on my back, I made my way back inside the station trying to find someone – anyone – who could help. No one speaks English here. It's not that they don't like to, or they speak little – they don't speak English, at all. From the gift shop a girl heard me talking to the security guard, she said, “hello,” and waved me over. I thought – perhaps – she spoke the language. The security guard seemed to think so as well, that or he was just happy to get me off his back.

I asked the girl how to make a toll free call. She started speaking Chinese (I know, I know – it's not a language. Whatever. You know what I mean. Well it is. You know what, forget all of this. She started to speak Chinese – move on.) Once more, there was no help. Thirty minutes had passed by the time I discovered I'd need to buy a phone card. Toll-free, hah! That's what the guy said, I'm sure. So I needed a phone card. But I had no money. None. Nothing. Luckily there were ATMs and one of them used the Plus system which allowed me to grab some cash. I don't know what I would have done were said ATM to have not existed. With that money I could buy a phone card, and call up the person I'd be crashing with.

She told me to grab a taxi, and have it take me to a Holiday Inn near her area, and she'd meet me there. Fine, great, how much should the taxi cost? 70RMB (12 bucks.) Ugh. I cringed. Outside, forty five minutes after arriving, the rain still coming down, I made my way to a taxi who refused to meter. But he offered me 200RMB as fare. Oh yeah? I walked away. By continuing to walk away the fare was eventually reduced to 130. Whatever, fine, $20.00 what could I do? It was late, I couldn't speak, and I was alone – tired – in a new country. I had no choice, so into the taxi I got.

It was one of those moments where i wasn't sure if I was going to end up where I was headed, or if I was going to be mugged, and left in the middle of nowhere. When I had to get out half way through the journey and get into another taxi, I did not end up feeling better. Except for there was a baby in this car as well. Surely a man with his baby along with him wouldn't kill me? But I didn't know. And for the hour into the city, I was not in a good mood. This was transition day at its worst. To be honest, I was ready to leave China – didn't wanna come here anyway – and say screw it. I was not a happy traveller at this point.

Finally I reached the Holiday Inn, un-killed, and paid, and met up with my contact, who then got us a taxi back to her place. Which was lovely, and huge, and wonderful, and we ate delicious sweet and sour pork – almost like Combo C to be truthful – and it was great, and the world started to become a better place. Not completely, because I was still exhausted, and somewhat wound up by the fact that I had to figure out this city without any prior knowledge. It could have gone much much worse.

I just want to throw down right now – if I say I'm going to meet someone, I will meet them. If they missed their flight, or train, or bus, well then they might be on their own – because I'll never know if they're coming in – but if their vehicle is delayed, I will grab a book, find a seat, and wait and wait and wait until it comes in. I will not put anyone through the fun filled adventure of making their way through a slightly terrifying dark city where they don't know a single word. Again, I understand why you would leave after a two hour delay – I think that's the normal thing to do. You tried, and they have your phone number, so they can contact you pretty easy, right? Well, kinda – but I will not leave. So it is written, so shall it be. Now other people with real lives – well, it's not that easy. And say I had a family or something – well, say I did – this would be like a free justifiable break from that, wouldn't it? Like a – what's it called these days? Business trip.

The rest of the night was me crashing, and then making phone calls using a magic free-long-distance line (I've come across a few of these in my travels. It's a good bonus, and worth the extra taxi fare.)

What will tomorrow hold? I hear there's a city around here. And just like the bridge, it's... FORBIDDEN!

Thoughts From the Train

It's weird to feel jealous when I hear other people talking about travel. For eight months it's all I've done. Every few weeks I'm boarding a plane for a new country, or hopping on a train to ride thousands of kilometers into my unknown. And yet when I hear someone saying how they're going to Brazil in a week I can't help but feel a tang of envy. Never mind that in that same amount of time, I'd be on my way over different seas to an equally favoured destination.

To me, travel isn't special. It isn't something remote, or difficult, or one of those things that only a few select people can do. It's just something that is. It's a part of my life.

But when I hear someone else talk about travel, all that disappears. It takes on the quality it once had when viewed from the outside. This person leaving for South America (never mind that I don't ever want to go back there – aside from Easter Island, but – you know – that hardly counts) is going to experience a life of luxury, and excitement on neon streets, topping it off with local culture, and wide spread emotional growth, and tales to last the ages.

In reality they'll go to a hostel, have some alright times, get a good story, and then sell their week as amazing based on the events of a few hours. That's how travel books work, how travel shows work, and how anecdotes work.

Knowing that the ideal is a fantasy doesn't make it any less desirable though. No, I still feel jealous of the glamorous jet setting life they live. They become the blank slates onto which I project everything the fifteen year old version of myself believed this life to be. Once the unobtainable is obtained it ceases to be. Still, this tabula rasa appears the perfect breeding ground for the object petit a.

I know it's ridiculous for me to feel jealous of other peoples travels, when I'm living the same life they are. And yet, there it is.

---

I want to point out that everyone can live this life. The number of people I've heard say, “oh I wish I was doing what you were doing,” or, “there's no way I could do that, but I'd love to.” Well it's just getting silly.

Either they're just saying things to say them – in which case, why bother. Or they really believe it's beyond them. I want to point out that I am not some uber rich person who has b een given everything – still, I acknowledge that I've been lucky along the way, but no more-so than most middle class North Americans.

I worked as a high school teacher for three years. And in those three years I saved enough money to visit every continent in the world. A high school teacher. Three years. I'm not sure if you're aware or not, but we are not amongst the highest paid. Couple that with the fact that had I been really trying to skimp on cash, I could have cut my budget in half. Perhaps more in this day and age where you can get free accommodations nearly anywhere in the world (I acknowledge you exist Couch Surfing, I'm still just a wee bit terrified of you.)

So – here's the thing, you really want to travel? Well then why aren't you – go do it. Stop talking about it and act. Hell, most people assume this was some life long dream of mine. Couldn't be further than the truth. It was the dream of a buddy of mine – for me? It was just something I said – hell, I bet I could do that – while snapping beer bottle caps into a basket nailed above our television set while watching travel TV in downtown Toronto.

Imagine what you could accomplish with motivation?

---

I only have two more books left. I just finished “How to lose friends and alienate people.”

I have a book by the Shopaholic person, and a book about – I don't know – it's called the Chinese Lover. Soon I will have no books left. There are no plugs on this train, and I have only the two books to keep me company. We'll see how long they last.

---

I am both hungry and thirsty, and while I think I have good provisions, they need to last me the full 24 hours. When they're gone, they're gone. It's kinda terrifying.

---

Ohh... look at that, there is a plug on this train. And by getting down on the ground, and reaching under the hall rug, I can thread my power cord from the source all the way to my bed. Hours I have wasted sleeping. Hours from 4:20 to 7:50 where I could have been, I don't know – watching Ghostbusters 2 or listening to podcasts. Still, after that sleep I don't feel as sick as I have lately, and my headache is mostly gone. So I guess it was for the best. I guess.

---

it strikes me that all my memories of Ghostbusters 2 actually take place during Ghostbusters 1, which begs the question – just what happened in the second movie? I mean, sure I remember a guy in a painting, and the statue of liberty – but, what really went on? Only one way to find out, I guess. But that will wait until tomorrow.

Toys and Train Food

Last day, and last person to meet up with. Another friend from high school – the brother of he whom I met days ago actually. Off we went for lunch.

And oh the lunch it was. But first we had to meet up. Choosing a station to meet in, but not an exit, it was more work than it needed to be, but not by much. It also allowed me to discover a DIY jewelry shop. While I may not have been able to find earrings here in Asia, they sold clasps and hooks that you could use to make your own. I had little Star Wars figures from capsules that came in sets (Anikan and Vader/Luke and Leia.) Now these pairs would be used to make earrings. While I think they are cute and lovely, I feel sorry for she who will have to wear them and pretend that she too finds them both cute and lovely.

I would also be on the look out for Mario charms to use for making more such earings.

Lunch was a giant bowl full of noodles with – well, with everything in it. Not knowing how to fully read Chinese, he said it's best to just get that one, and then there's no disappointment. And there wasn't. There also wasn't strange inside bits of animals in it either, so ordering everything didn't turn out to be as scary as it might have.

Once more, the food took a long time to eat. I'm noticing that about Asian food. They are no about the quick fix, but rather the slow burn. And this I like, as it grants ample time for socializing.

When at last the noodles were gone, the broth not being drained as I found myself quite full, we headed out to the streets where bubble tea awaited. That it costs only a dollar fifty, and not five dollars here is a wonderful and most delightful thing. I do so love tapioca in my beverage.

With drink in hand we began walking the streets. One lovely area that we discovered was a land of capsules and capsule toys removed from their packs. And outside? The Mario machine. I fed in coin after coin pulling Mario charms – another Lakitu. While I was so excited to get him in Tokyo, as I only got on more, my Tokyo Lakitu would need to go into the pair of earings as well. Also two puffs of cloud from Mario Wii that mean nothing to me, but are somewhat cute, were also grabbed. And one of those gophers. He'd replace my Lakitu in the jangle jar. Ohh – Lakitu? He's the guy who throws those spiky things at you that you can't kill without the Mario 3 power up boot.

Inside the shops I came across the set of Deathnote blind box figured. I picked one up in Hiroshima for just over five dollars. Here was the whole set of twelve for twelve dollars. How they're this cheap here, is beyond me. But I shall not question it – I will just buy. And though it meant more of my money being spent, I had no choice, not really. Same with the Final Fantasy VII wallet I saw. It was only five bucks. And while I knew that I didn't need it really, I would have regretted not having bought it. That's how we live – not to do things we enjoy, but to do things so we won't regret – the regret eating away at joy.

There's more to it, but – you know - black smith/black smith's son, and all that.

For hours we walked the tech and the toys, and the streets I'd somehow not known existed – which was very much for the best, otherwise I'd have had no money by this point at all.

With only a few coins left in my pocket, I put aside for 4.50 I'd need to take the train the next day, and said good-bye to my buddy, then made off for Toys R Us, to buy more Mario capsules.

They had a different kind there, ones that linked together, and little by little I bought enough to make a bracelet. And while I liked the coins from Hong Kong, and wanted to keep some of them, I required one more charm. And I had just five HKD left. I would need to commit. Goodbye coins, and hello functional bracelet. POW block, Yoshi eggs, fire flower, and more. What a charming wee thing.

Now there was just one problem – I still had no food for tomorrow's train. Nor did I have any money. I would need to find a super market. One that took credit cards.

As luck would have it walking back in the Underground from the toy shop, I happened on one. Not being held back by limited money was wonderful. Okinomiyaki chips! All sorts of buns! Donuts! Juices! Ahh, it was like Christmas, and sure I was paying for it, but not much – and I could get as much as I wanted.

And oh how I stocked up. Ready for my next days journey, it was a true delight.

I mean, sure, I'd end up buying some crepes and other treats that I saw in the train station the next day, but still – right now? It was a wonderful delightful feeling. Gorsh, I sure do love food.

Off to Lamma Island

Today, rather than wander through the city once more, I'd be headed to a lesser island to hike through the paved beauty of Lamma island.

In Antarctica I met a guy who I discovered, on the last day in BA, lived in Hong Kong. He said I should give him a shout when I get in. I did. He proposed that I go hike the island with him and his friends. What a jolly good idea, I thought, and so plans were made. Today they'd come to a head.

While the weather had been threatening rain, today was a perfectly perfect day and the sun was high, the sky was blue, and the clouds existed only for artistic reasoning. We boarded a ferry and made our way out from the city centre. I love boats. I do. It's the act of being rocked on the water, and feeling at peace with your surroundings. Mind you, there can be too much rocking – Drake Passage? That's less than fun. But everything up to that?

When we got to the island, our group of a dozen and a half collected ourselves and set out. Making our way through the entrance town to the island, we passed by souvenir shops, and stalls selling food on sticks, and other such treats.

While the island's path was a paved one, and less than rough hiking, people had come from all over to experience the route this day. Hiking under tropical trees, we made our way out to a beautiful beach. I don't know what I thought Hong Kong would be – but not this. Surely it was all city, and smog, and shopping. No way could there be an island only twenty minutes away by ferry, perfect for the exploring. And yet there it was.

While most people kept to the path, there was no need for that. No rules disallowed you from going down into the thick, and making your way to the isolated beaches below, where boats docked just outside in safe waters, allowing their passengers easy access to the water's edge.

Rather than going to beaches it seems that people in Hong Kong rent these boats with fifty of their closest friends, and turn them into a floating party. It's easy, inexpensive, and in a city with little accessible land – a brilliant compromise.

The only thing that stands out as odd here is the power plant, resembling the one from Midgar, just off the end of the beach. Built within living memory, the plant is an ugly reminder of the city life, even all the way out here.

Still, it almost seems to be modern art, the way it just sits there, knowing it doesn't belong, and yet challenging everyone who sees it. The juxtaposition is delightful, and even those who hate it still can not help but take image after image of its hideousness.

Near the beach is a woman who sells tofu with syrup. This is a famous Hong Kong dish. Have it. Have it hot. It's much better than you'd ever imagine.

When we reached the end of or trail we found ourselves in other village on the island. What was this place? Mostly a giant restaurant. A giant restaurant where we were to have lunch. And oh the lunch it would be! Fish, and sea food – prawns, clams, and a variety of other foods that absolutely terrified me!

Put down on a giant revolving wheel, the meal was laid out piece by piece. First up? Two types of clams. Normal food to everyone else, but something strange and terrifying to me. For the moment I would just watch a child using a straw to blow bubbles with terribly toxic goo which he would then play with. A normal children's toy here, which would never be allowed in the government-controlled safety of North America.

Alright, alright. I could put off eating for only so long, and with great apprehension I placed a clam into my mouth and... hey – you know what? They're actually pretty good! Alright then, lets have some more, but then came a break – rice and sausage like that which I had, and loved, in Cambodia. Next up though was something far more terrible. Giant prawns. I'm told they're called Pissing Prawns in Chinese? Well after watching people rip into them and tear them to pieces, I figured I needed to at least try them. I was instructed on the best way to rip them apart. I only hurt myself twice on their spikes during this process.

Once their shell had been torn to pieces, their soft flesh beneath was devoured. Watching over a dozen people eat these things this way, it was very animalistic and savage, and... well... fun. It's for that reason that I like ribs. If you could somehow combine these foods with the tastiness of rib sauce, then we'd be in business.

More dishes with seafood I'd never had before were brought out, and little by little I got over my fears. It's just food after all. If whole squids reached the table I don't know how I'd have felt about that, but still – I made peace with what I was eating, and learned that it's not all that bad, anyway.

Some hours later our feast ended. My buddy covered my bill, once more making me realize that I have some terrible karma to pay back. For the rest of ever, I will need to take care of travellers passing by wherever I live. Though I think it would be quite fun to show people around, so I'm good with that.

The boat back was just as delightful as the one across, although this time it was free. If you eat at the restaurant, you get a sticker which allows you free passage back across. It's a good system they have rigged up.

The boat also allowed for views of what can only be describe as a super laser with a giant R2D2 standing in front of it. Seriously – you'll see these office towers and you'll think, yup, that's definitely what's going on. The many buildings that make up the droid are even the right colour.

Once off the island, we wandered the streets, and found some toy shops. No Yuffie action figure for sale, I'm afraid. And then we had some bubble tea before popping into an arcade. I will tell you what, I saw an arcade machine there I'd not seen in all of Japan. It was a black jack arcade box, but it dealt real cards. It was – unique.

For half an hour we watched people play Street Fighter IV and once more I was overcome with the desire to get a fight stick, get the game, and learn to play it. Maybe. We shall see.

Eventually my day's host left to see some other people, and I was ready to go back and crash and sleep. But, as I passed a picture of the Iron Man 2 poster, I knew I could no longer resist ScoJo in her form fitting bodysuit. I made my way to the threatre, bought one of the last remaining tickets (second row neck craned way back) for the show about to start, and set in to watch.

Apparently the movie wouldn't be playing for another week in the rest of the world, but here – May 1st and it was good to go.

And it was worth the neck pain, and the time, and everything. I liked it as much as I did the first. I dug on war machine, and I loved how they worked in the red and silver suit. Everything was just so much fun to watch. And that's what Ironman comes down to.

As the credits rolled, I wondered if they would do something after the text finished is scrolling. I looked behind me, 3/4s of the audience were still in their seats. It was a safe bet the answer was yet.

And oh the teaser they left.

Excited, and charged up, I headed back to my hostel ready to do battle with the forces of evil, or – you know – do something.

But there were no forces, no evil to be seen. Off to bed – ready for what would be my final day in the city.

Shown Around the City

Nothing like some local knowledge to give you the upper hand on city discovery, and all that jazz.

I headed out at 11:30 to meet up with someone at the Houston Centre around noon. Apparently the Houston Centre was only fifteen minutes away. I was significantly early. But, finding a place to sit down, I could read for the next forty five minutes. That wouldn't be a problem. Nothing like killing time, learning about the inner workings of mid-nineties Vanity Fair.

Noon. Still no show. I'd been hanging around the Satay restaurant for some time now, and I was beginning to wonder – would my guide ever show?

So who was this guide? Who was it that was to show me the workings of this city-island? An old student of mine. Now in University, through the magic of the internet, she discovered that I was in Hong Kong at the same time she would be there visiting her father. She said that she could play tour guide, and who was I to refuse? But at twelve twenty, and then twelve thirty, I started to wonder.

Perhaps we had agreed to meet at half past? But no. Still, I waited. At twelve forty I was ready to leave. In fact, I had decided that she was not to arrive, and as such I left the building and began to make my own way through the city. But no – no – clearly there must have been some hold up. I headed back. But then at ten to I thought, alrighty – clearly there has to be some point when I leave, otherwise I'll be here all day. So with that I headed down the escalator ready – in theory – to call it quits for this meeting.

Just as I reached the bottom of the mobile stairs, before heading out into the bright sunny world beyond, there she was – with her father – coming up to meet me. Apparently traffic had been terrible. Traffic – all I know is about those crazy mobile tube things that run underground.

Her dad was a Hong Kong local, and knew the city very well. Over the course of the next few hours the two of them would show me around the city and take me to a number of places that I would have overlooked were I to have gone at it on my own. But the great importance of this day was not so much the sights, as it was the food. Yes, the food.

It started with them taking me for a slightly-delayed lunch. Singapore food, I have decided, is delicious. Though not as spicy as I had it sold to me as. I wonder, do they think – huh, white people, and thus not make it hot... or does your average Chinese person not like hot food? Or were these restaurateurs pretending that Singapore food was spicier than it every really was?

Still – delicious.

From there we headed back down to the bay to check out the walk of stars. I had each name pointed out to me and explained. Those names that meant so very little to me before were now fleshed out. It was also at this point (I don't know if I claimed this happened the first time I was there – if so that was a lie) that I discovered why Bruce Lee was called the Little Dragon. Looking at the Chinese spelling of his name, I could recognize that that was how the characters read.

We also walked through the many market streets, where it became apparent once more that Asia would not be a place in which I could pick up tacky touristy earrings. There was a temple, and there were residential districts. There were many things worth seeing that were seen on this day – but once more, it wasn't about that. It was about the food.

I had heard of Chinese street food, but could not find any. This was a most upsetting thing for me. But this girl, and her father, knew the tricks. They knew were to find it. And in no time flat I had myself a giant bowl full of chopped up pigs skin, cow stomach, and fish balls.

Me and cow stomach – we've been at odds ever since my first experience. This time it looked different than it had before. But who was I to turn down such a potential treat? Plus there was a tasty sauce poured on top.

So bite after bite I ate the stomach, and I tell you what – it's not that it's bad, it's just that there are so many other treats that taste better, so why would you ever force yourself to eat this? But never mind that. Next was the pig skin . I've eaten pig skin before. In many forms. In fact I would bet most people have had pig skin.

Pork rinds? Pig skin. Delicious crackle? Pig skin. But sliced and momentarily boiled? This was a new gooey-chewy way to devour it for me. It was actually pretty good. I would have it again. The fish balls were just that – fried balls of clumpy fish. Had em before, they're always a good treat. But the skin – that was what surprised me. At the end, I had to toss some of it away, not because I didn't like it, but because I was too full. I had just had a huge Singapore feast, you know.

While I was eating, a box of iced tea was produced and handed my way. I had avoided this since I saw it, expecting it to be bitter and terrible. But, unable to refuse a gift, I tried it and it was – marvelous. Yellow juice boxes of iced tea? The perfect – strange, yet familiar – combination of flavours. Many more would need to be consumed before I left this SAR.

It was a good day, and interesting to hang out with a past student of mine. I didn't really know how to act, so I wasn't myself, but I certainly wasn't in teacher mode. Forget that. It was about thirty/seventy split. Probably for the best, any more than seventy percent me is difficult for even hardened veterans of my antics to take.

Eventually leaving, with many thanks exchanged, I was left to my own devices. I had just been given one piece of advice: Don't hike up to The Peak. Take the cable car.

Solid tip, but unnecessary, as I was not one to ever want to hike again – remember, no more hiking this trip! But what would be good was a ride up the worlds longest outdoors escalator.

I was a little disappointed by this escalator. Rather than one giant twenty minute escalator to nowhere, it was actually a series of escalators that kept going up, but then you'd need to break away and walk for a bit, and then head back up the next one. Hardly an epic sight worth being in the Guinness book of world records.

It didn't even take twenty minutes. 17:17:99.

Once at the top though, I found myself in the mid-levels (the name for a place that would be right at home in a Bethesda RPG) and there there was also a sign pointing out some walking journeys through the city. One pointed to The Peak, Lower Tram – thirty minutes away. Sounded like as good a destination as any. And, after all, it was a beautifully clear day – you could hardly ask for better lookout weather.

Walking, walking, walking – and somehow I lost the path. I was keeping pace with this older guy in front of me. I wasn't really following but he was going the same way as I was. Eventually I think we went up when we should have gone down, and no longer were signs pointing towards the tram station. The road became lines with trees – a beautiful jungle amidst a city, not unlike one Max might have created in his very own room (not some place down the street where he ran to, but his own room – where the phases of the moon still change indicating something more than it was just one night, Spike! Anyway.)

While the signs to the peak may have ceased, I did come across a sign leading to the peak itself. Huh. Well, sure why not? Up I started to walk. And up. And up. Everywhere I looked Filipinos were walking dogs, or small children, which pretty much amounted to the same thing. Here the class divide, and a wee bit of insight into who the working class are, was made obvious.

I continued to climb.

Wandering along paved switchbacks I eventually started to curse myself for starting this task. Why could I not have just taken the lift? It got to the point that I thought I'd be cursing myself forever, but then a new sign – The Peak, 30min. Well that's nice that it knows the speed that I'm walking, and that all people of all age go at the same pace. Apparently there'd be an end to my climb, in just half an hour.

The half an hour was less than fun. When I heard voices coming from above I thought it would be over. It was just a work house. It was not. One more section to go and then I was at: The Peak.

Let me tell you, The Peak? It's just a complex of shops, and fast food, and a wax museum. I thought, is this all? And the look out pavilion, you had to pay more than it would have been worth. That was it, I give up. But no – there was a lion's look out where you could go for free, and while the top level was full of people with no hope of getting to the ledge to set up my mini-tripod, there was a secondary level below it. Which most people tend to neglect, thus giving me a straight shot to the edge, and allowing me to take images of the city below, over which the fog and smog had started to roll. Of course it had. Beautiful when I was down there, but by the time I'm up – and tired...

For the next hour and a bit I camped out, securing my spot on the edge reading, waiting for the sun to go down. As darkness fell, and the city lights came to life, I had to admit that it had all been worth it.

At eight the light show started, but without the view from the Avenue of Stars it was less than spectacular. You missed out on the music and the lasers, and the spots (which I now saw didn't come from the buildings, but across the bay). Still – Hong Kong at night? It is as spectacular as I was told it would be. And the fog only added to the appearance of layers and depth in the night.

When the lights had ended it was time to go back down. I was going to take the cable car, pay the extra money, and just be done with it. When I got to the car, no line only twenty minutes earlier, there were now over one hundred people waiting. This was less than good.

I reckoned it would be quicker to walk. But it was dark and spooky. And no one else was walking – maybe they knew someth... oh, a couple started walking down the hill. Excellent. This is my chance. Like a thief in the night I started to follow them. Not creepy at all, being followed down a big spooky hill in a strange city at night by someone who looks like me.

After three or four minutes they stopped, let me catch up, and asked where I was from. We started chatting, and I was no longer quite as frightening. They were from Australia, the man from Vancouver forty years ago, but now living way aways over seas.

Down the hill, talking about how we'd still be waiting at the top, and how they bought tickets to take the cable car up, but after thirty minutes waiting in line they bailed and just hiked up. Clearly it was for the best that I missed the lower peak station then.

As we wandered we took in the silence of the city, and the abandonment of the nocturnal hours until like a flash in the night there was a great flash in the night. Cameras started going off, loud pumping music filled the streets, and neon signs reflected off of the pale, pasty white skin of Americans, and Australians all clamoring to throw back one more pint. From the quiet and secluded world we ended up in the part town.

Glowing devil horns, and party favours were sold to anyone drunk or high enough to think they were a good idea. Most likely they would be lost before the purchaser could question why they had them the next morning.

The night was alive. But we? We were just pushing through it, down to the water. To get there we needed to push a taxi out of the street – it had stalled – but once done, we continued to the water, and made our way to the ferry. The couple insisted on getting my ticket (all of 2.5HKD) and then found me a seat by the window to look out and take pictures. There are few better ways to see the Hong Kong harbour. And for what amounts to thirty cents? Highly advisable.

Once across, we made our separate ways, and I went out to the water, looking across, and photographing, for a while longer. Unable to take my eyes off of the city lights, I would have gladly stayed there all night. But the observation deck was closes at eleven.

Umbrella Weather

The rain pours down, making brick lined streets slick; neon lights reflect from above – a hazy blurred symmetry takes form, obscured by every boot causing echoes of concussion through the tableau of that which is overhead.

From every angle I am assaulted by small metallic pins, stretching cheap fabric, taking shape – a personal barrier from the elements. I find my respite in an underground tunnel allowing safe passage beneath the heavily traffic street. Moments later I'm in the metro's underground, and then scuttling along to what has become home for the time being.

As I walk from the dry escape to the saturated world above the attack begins anew, some weapons being placed within long plastic bags provided at every MTR entrance, while others stay drawn too long, threatening partial blindness and the dashing of any hope that three dimensional technology will ever take hold of my life.

It would be almost painfully depressing if not for the mechanized female voice playing over the loud speaker, looking out for me – worried about my safety – and begging me to take caution. “The heavy rain has caused the floors to become wet. Please take caution; hold the handrail.”

Her words are taken to heart, and I am not afraid to touch the reflective cylindrical surface. The, 'the rail is disinfected every four hours' sticker proudly instills the same confidence that the shrink wrapped elevator buttons, and sanitized foot mats do.

I am entering the rain washed streets, but I am doing it clean.

Indian men offer to drag me to warmth, light, and comfort – a tailor sir, a tailor for you? - but I decline. I have no need of clothing. Five shirts, and a yellow Canada t-shirt, that's all I need to travel in. Anything else would be superfluous, extravagant.

More men shout as me, as I stride past the main entrance to the Chung King Mansion. Syllables repeated, meaning to them, completely lost to my ears – not trained for the reception of walk-by advertisements. The main doors fade, while I opt for the alley underneath a purple canopy. The aisle is lined with pornography. Magazines, old, new, and somewhat used. Women of all types, both real and imaginary. Some are drawn to life, some are modeled through computer technology, while others are simply photographed.

DVD and VCD sales are near the end, only 15USD each. I can not imagine who is buying them, and as I've only ever seen people use the alley for the quick access to the block D elevators, I can't imagine there are any customers.

Perhaps it's simply people together with their collections, spending a day surrounded by what they love, looking to make a profit if one happens to present itself.

As I board the elevator to the eighth floor, and walk down to the seventh – elevators stopping only at every other floor – I am drenched. My quick dry shirt, is once more being put to the test. My pack is dripping, though mostly dry inside, and my hat – well it has served its purpose well. Removed, my hair is still dry.

Dark circles hang beneath my eyes, and as I step through the threshold of 7D – Paris Hostel, haggard though I may be I feel honestly, and truly, alive.

For a day that started out pretty routine, it ended up being – well something worth experiencing. And that's the thing – it's hard for anything to really be routine around these parts. I'm hardly in one place long enough for me to fall into a routine. I have. I know I have. Bangkok – that was a place where each day became the same as the one before, the one after. And the thing is, I didn't even realize it. At the time I thought I liked it. Not until I was forced away, could I look back and realize that as the down point of my trip.

I don't know if it was that I was there too long, or just stopped putting in the effort. And it's so easy to stop putting in the effort. But – I'd rather not think about that just yet. I'll save that for when I'm closer to coming back home, or until I've played over the thoughts a bit more.

I woke up, I showered, and I headed out to meet up with a buddy of mine from High School.

God – that was a long time ago. For years he has been living over here, school and now work. And for years, I'd been doing what? Living in Toronto – working. Is it that much different? No. And does the fact that one person lives “over seas” make it any different? Again no. So what am I thinking about? To be honest, I'm not really sure. So let us keep pressing forward, shall we?

Nearly on a decade since that school ended, yet here I am, headed up to the twenty fifth floor of a building down near Fortress Hill station.

Their lunch time set offers, for 68HDK, fish – soup – coffee. And water. Warm water. This is the first time I've been poured glasses of warm water. And we're not talking room temperature here, we're talking – warm. Heated to be warmer than the world around you. This is a.) because this restaurant is strange, or b.) because it's so hot in Hong Kong that drinking warm water is easier on your body than cold. For the same reason people drink hot drinks in India.

Views of the clouded city scape were presented to me while conversation turned to – not what once was, but what is and what will be. The jobs to come, and things of interest now. There was no old gossip and little looking back. Even referencing our old home town felt strange to me. I feel that Toronto is my home now, though I've only spent a year of my life living there. And though I fear it may be some time from my return to Canada before I can get back out there.

Still – as he talked about his job (think real life Sim City) I was thinking of how I was looking forward to working again too – but I want to do it on my terms. Fun fact: I have no idea what those terms would be. I'll figure it out, I'm sure.

I was told about some places to hike, and areas to check out. Although as it was raining – drizzling – signs of things to come, it was suggested that I go and check out the mall over in Mong Kok. Langham Place.

Shopping is an important aspect of Hong Kong travel, and who was I to deny myself the experience.

I forgot that while shopping was a delight in Akiba, it was different in the real world. Clothes and Kicks. So many kicks. I'm sorry – shoes. I'll try to never use that world again – it just doesn't feel right anyway.

The closest to Akiba here is the 6F cafe, one street over, Dre@min' @kiba. I think it's best for all if everyone avoids that place. Yes, best for all.

I did come across a movie theatre though, and playing was Kick-Ass. When I saw that it had a level III rating (rated R) I thought that it might live up to what I thought it should. Sweet god, I was not prepared for it. A wee bit distressing, but mostly pretty fantastic. And the Hit Girl action scene at the end? That is was messed up little girl. Fantastic. Nominate her academy. 12 years old with that kind of talent? Never mind the subject matter.

After that, I saw the rain outside, and felt that I should head back on the subway. But in my mind was echoing a comment about what it meant to be a person who is 'alive.' After some contemplation, another Big Mac set (what do you want? It's cheaper than a soda at the theatre) I stepped out into the rain. And then my day took shape, long after the sun set and darkness fell.

Wandering the Centre

The day started with me taking care of the only thing I needed to actually get done – buying a train ticket to Beijing. This took me down to the east station, where I took a fifty cent ride to the main train station. While there I noticed yet another McDonald's. Another Big Mac? Well, at these prices... But there, in the value menu, a double pork burger. The Chinese were not going to let the Japanese get away with being awesome – no, they doubled it up. But they forgot to add sauce of any sort, so the win still goes to Japan.

Once that had been solved, I bought my ticket, and then headed out to the city centre to start exploring.

Coming above ground on Hong Kong island I started to wander the streets, and find whatever small shops were available to me there. Rows and streets full of small stalls, and organic goods were open to the throngs of people who knew just what to buy and just what to use it for.

Medicine here is still quite holistic, and plants and dried – other things – are used to make the sick well. To them, they were much needed items. To me? Mysteries in burlap sacks that would have seemed more at home in a medieval video game than in a real modern city.

This was not what I expected Hong Kong to be like – China, yes, but not Hong Kong.

When the allure of shops which were both strange and confusing to me wore off I headed into the business district, to walk around the buildings I had seen from afar just the night before.

In my back pocket, replacing my Tokyo guide, was a guide of Hong Kong walks which I picked up from the airport. Once more with something acting as travel security blanket I could wander where I would, with the presence of a welcomed guide should one ever be required.

The buildings here are beautiful, and unique as they are, I'm told they also represent a long of what makes this city this city. Each building is designed by a foreigner, and each building is a near copy of others elsewhere in the world.

It is this beauty, yet failure to innovate that makes Hong Kong what it has become today. A power to be sure, but one which I'm told is on the decline, with little hope of it lasting through the next three decades.

With the city wandered, and myself still not fully recovered from the exhaustion I had faced only a day before, I headed back for an early night. Podcasts may have been listened to – y first thought was “it's beginning,” but then I realized I was listening to them during the time I'd just have been chatting with people before. And here, in this room where four people nearly touch each night as they sleep, we each have our own computers – and thus there is no conversation.

I recognize I'm part of the problem, but that doesn't make it any most upsetting. I wonder if Europe is still a bumping place to meet fellow backpackers or if the past months have been cruel to it as well? Cure you iPhone and net books! Curse you!

It's cold in PEK

It's cold in Beijing airport. So cold. So very – very – cold.

So cold that me, ME, I... could barely stand it. Oh sure it was fine while I sat on the ground watching Venture Brothers. But when you're trying to sleep? Laying out on three chairs closed together? It's cold. Other people had blankets. They thought ahead. Who knew they wouldn't heat an airport? Who knew that an airport would be all glass walled, thus ensuring that there was no way any warmth would ever stick around? I mean who are these cruel people?! You'd almost think they were Japanese. But nope, Chinese. I'm on to you!

But enough of that. Eventually I slept – for two hours – and then boarded a plane. Well I must have, because I was in the air at some point. I remember that, because there was food. But then nothing. And I know I must have been in Hong Kong airport, because I was on a bus with my luggage headed towards the Chung King Mansion (read: ghetto place with lots of hostels – and I do not use the term loosely, or incorrectly.)

And then I know I must have somehow navigated my way to the hostel, because I was on the bed, four in a room with no standing space, with my gear beside me.

I know these things must have happened. I just don't have memory of them. Exhaustion – it can play funny tricks with your mind.

The only upsetting thing? I'm told Hong Kong airport is a fantastic place of wonders and magic – and I have zero memory of it. Zero. I try to think back, and I catch glimpses of buying a bus ticket, but they're fleeting and unconnected – perhaps complete forgeries manufactured for simplicity and peace of mind.

There was also an important bridge the bus passed but I know nothing of that. Only that it claimed we were at a station we were not at, and getting off I had to navigate my way to the hostel. Welcome to Hong Kong!

I wasn't prepared to let this day pass me by, either. I wasn't willing to simply sleep it off and be better for the morning. No, there was time left and I was going to explore. Sure, maybe I'd stick close to home – but the reason these terrible hostels are so sought after is because of their location (and their quickly-fading legacy as a backpackers haven.) I walked down to the bay and picked my way along the Walk of Fame, checking out stars that belongs to people I'd never heard of, and looking at reminders of films and songs that meant nothing to me.

The statue of Bruce Lee? That was pretty peachy though. Hard to believe that in this day and age there would be anyone who doesn't know who he is – still, one wonders if the youth culture of North America is being properly educated.

When I start teaching again? Pop quiz on pop culture.

The skyline was beautiful across the water, and I vowed to come back to see it at night. But first? To the mall. Look, it's Hong Kong. You come here to shop. Leave me alo... OH MY GAWD! Big Mac combo 20HKD? That's like 2.50 in real money! Om nom nom nom.

Alright, Toys R Us. I may have played through some FFXIII on the demo machine – oh look at the time, it's getting late. Sun must be setting, back to the walk of fame, looking for a place to set my mini-tripod so as I could take proper pictures.

I watched, slightly in pain, as people took snaps with their flash on wondering why the images just weren't turning out. Mini-tripod. Two or three bucks. Please, just go buy one. It doesn't matter if you ever shoot photos, think of it like a lighter – have it on hand to lend to people in need. Maybe I should do that, actually. Huh. Thoughts.

Eight o'clock and the light show started. Every night at eight some music plays, and things look just a bit more pretty. The fact that it was a fairly clear night? Not to shabby. Spotlights searched, and lasers fired with green intensity. All in all, I give it a six. That's a solid score a six.

And then – only then – after I'd seen some of what this city had to offer me, I headed back, found my bed, and crashed out. It was a well deserved sleep, I'm sure. If only I could remember it.