This all started around 2009. Back then I hosted an internet video broadcast on a now-defunct Web site called BlogTV, which anyone could use to host a show. I averaged thirty or forty viewers at any given time over nightly shows that lasted up to four hours. I’d sit and bullshit about current events and share stories. I also played my favorite music from an iPod. I often just sat there rocking out in alcohol-fueled absurdity as my audience posted on a live chat board while watching me.
Sometimes I shared the screen with a “co-host” joining me via a webcam of their own. People (mostly female, to be honest) appeared from all over the world. Scotland, South Africa, Sweden, Israel. Even New Jersey. Most notable for this story, however, a woman from China named Lily often joined us.
Lily’s charm and personality jumped off the screen, and her unpolished English only made her more adorable. The audience loved her, me included. Soon the two of us began chatting one-on-one, and I considered a trip to China to meet her and see the sights. Perhaps take the world’s highest train ride, to visit Tibet while I was at it. This fledgling relationship lasted until Lily became jealous of live co-hosts, female friends joining me in my room, during shows. She faded away.
Fast forward to 2017, when I sent Lily a what’s up email, not expecting much. To my delight she responded promptly and seemed happy to hear from me. Soon we chatted away, this time on our smartphones via We Chat, a free international communication app.
We became enchanted with each other all over again. I soon considered Lily to be my potential wife and decided to visit her in Hong Kong (HK), a short train ride from her home of Shenzhen. I’d always wanted to visit the dynamic Pacific Rim metropolis, where East meets West. This was the perfect opportunity. The following is a chronicle of my trip.
An insanely long day of transportation began with a Lyft ride — in a late model E-class Mercedes Benz. I took this as a good omen. Following a short flight from Richmond to Newark, NJ, I set up shop in a comfy United Club seat to endure a three-hour layover. (Word to the wise: a one-time pass for this luxury can be had on eBay for roughly $20, which is a $30 discount.) I enjoyed chomping on good, light eats, slurping excellent coffee, and swiped a couple of bananas and muffins for my flight. I enjoyed feeling above the fray, removed from the masses in the commoner’s terminal.
The fifteen-hour flight to HK found me frequently thanking God for spending the extra cash for Premium Coach seating. Legroom was abundant, and snacks and meals more frequent. I landed stress-free in HK on an early Sunday October evening. Customs was a breeze, and I gleefully entered another world.
The HK airport is noted as one of the modern world’s engineering marvels, and chock full of Asians for some reason. The space age, spotless facility occupies a massive man-made island, reclaimed from the South China Sea. It also hosts a sizable luxury shopping mall, boasting the likes of Gucci and Hermes as tenants. This part of the world smells like money.
An efficient and ultra-modern Metro train system serves the airport, but I opted for a twenty minute cab ride instead. Better to see the sights and perhaps gain local commentary from the driver on the trip to the Sheung Wan district, on HK island. I drew luck with my first cabbie, who was a jovial HK native of about forty who spoke perfect English. I would learn this was no given.
Not far along the perfectly-smooth freeway, I saw the largest apartment building in my life. Forty stories tall, covering seemingly five city blocks, this monstrosity proved an apt early sight. Metro HK is nothing if not home to forty-story residential towers. There may be literally thousands of them.
My cabbie found my awe at the size of building amusing, as it had become part of the scenery for him long ago. I insisted I was no country bumpkin, too. I’d lived in Atlanta for twenty-eight years, for god’s sake. He still laughed at me, and I’m pretty sure he’d never heard of Atlanta.
The next sight of note on this awesome drive was the port of HK. Once the world’s busiest, Cabbie noted with chagrin that it now ranks a mere fourth. These docks featured at least two dozen gigantic cranes, and two miles of driving didn’t seem to cover the site from end-to-end. I wouldn’t be surprised if a luxury mall could be found in the middle of it, just like at the airport. That’s just how HK is.
Before descending into the Victoria Harbor tunnel, Cabbie pointed with pride at HK’s tallest building. International Commerce Center tops out at one hundred-eighteen stories, with a Ritz-Carlton and a nightclub on top. I made a note to visit there at some point.
The tunnel led my cab to surface streets of Sheung Wan, where my western-style Holiday Inn Express awaited. (I’m adventurous, but not that adventurous.) As a former courier, driving a car throughout Atlanta for years, I find traffic behavior interesting. Even on this late Sunday evening, plenty of cars served as obstacles to my cab. Notably, however, even when Cabbie got boned by a motorist’s rude maneuver, he never honked his horn.
I asked him about it, and he laughed. “We only use horn to avoid sure collisions,” he explained. I started pointing out instances when most Americans would honk in response to an offensive driver, and Cabbie seemed amazed. The rest of the trip I marveled at the lack of vehicle horns sounding. I rarely heard a toot during my stay, even in Manhattan-level traffic during rush hour.
My hotel occupied relatively flat land, about six blocks from the famous HK harbor. After that, high-rise buildings continued unabated up steep hillsides. Victoria Peak was up there somewhere. The glittering towers provided a stunning nighttime view out the window of my room on the thirty-third* floor.
* Actually the 32nd floor. The building lacked an 11th floor, and a 34th floor. A mystery I never solved.
Oversized windows revealed a wall of lights from dozens, and seemingly hundreds, of tall residential buildings. The view was one hundred and eighty degrees, and from bottom to top. I grinned with exhilaration, as was often the case on this trip. Moving lights from cars could be seen traversing roads across the hillside between the buildings, which in the dark looked like some Jetson’s shit.
A clean and modern room pleased me. The bathroom door doubled as the shower door, as in if one was closed, the other was open. A unique and practical space saving design. Most importantly, it meant the shower didn’t flood the bathroom as is often the case in Asia. Standing in a puddle while shaving is not my idea of Zen.
I slept easily that first night, after traveling for twenty-four hours. I even arose in time for a delightful breakfast buffet. The hotel restaurant featured an outdoor patio, staffed by at least ten employees instead of the one beleaguered maid one might find in the states. Soft piano music played on the speakers instead of shitty 80’s music as I made my first voice memo describing my trip. Most of the other diners were stylishly-dressed instead of wearing sweatpants, flip-flops, and ball caps.
The food was a couple notches higher than a typical Holiday Inn Express serves. Ample fresh fruit and sliced melons greeted guests, along with excellent coffee, flaky croissants, and standard Western fare like eggs and sausage. It remained available after ten, too.
I aimed to find a tailor on this first sunny, low-humidity day. I’d learned that HK is famous for reasonably priced bespoke clothing. Jim’s Tailor Workshop came highly recommended, so I set off for the Central location that seemed a reasonable walk away. Soon I learned HK is not the most pedestrian-friendly city, at least to the uninitiated. (I later figured out I could’ve taken a blocks-long underground tunnel to the harbor shore and used the generous sidewalks from there.)
Instead, I walked along thoroughfares as one would in most major cities in the US. Here, however, most streets feature railings as if along a stairwell to prevent jaywalking. Several times I found myself stranded, climbing over railings like some kind of hoodlum as double-decker buses and trolleys blew by mere feet away. Crosswalks were hard to find in the area I was in, too. And speaking of crosswalks, many in HK seem to be hundreds of feet wide. Never seen anything like them.
I found myself on Des Voeux Rd.Central, headed towards Jim’s. Navigation proved challenging, however, as I learned my LG phone could not run an international SIM card for internet. So I stopped often in various areas to score a WiFi connect to figure out where the fuck I was. Soon I found myself on a stretch that included a Patek Phillipe store, along with retail laps of luxury for all the other major timepiece brands.
Soon I landed in Chater Garden, a lush oasis of a park in the middle of the most expensive commercial real estate in the world. It featured the cleanest public toilet I’ve ever seen, where I gladly pissed away my morning coffee. The sumptuous gardens nearly lulled me into relaxation, but I soon forged ahead with my mission.
Next came one of the few dilapidated buildings I saw on HK island: an abandoned shopping center that formerly housed a cell phone joint that would solve my roaming data issue. I assume this property had changed hands for hundreds of millions and would soon become HK’s 239th luxury mall.
Finally, I located the Admiralty Mall, home to Jim’s Tailor Workshop. I planned to score a blazer, and a couple of fitted shirts. First, however, I sought a seat in the mall area to take a break and people watch. Alas, the multi-level mall provided no benches on which to relax. This proved to be a theme in HK, along with the general cleanliness, even in parks. Everyone is in a hurry so there’s no need for benches or seats. I found this odd considering there are practically zero homeless types who might abuse such a luxury. Or maybe it’s the reason they aren’t around. I saw a grand total of two clearly homeless people in nine days, and one of them was reading a newspaper.
Instead of public seating, I enjoyed a chair at the fabric selection table in Jim’s. A friendly Asian man who spoke excellent English, Jim spread out various for my inspection. Before calculating the currency exchange rate I chose a light and supple wool in navy blue. I expected a price tag of perhaps $150, but it turned out be $555.
Jim scrambled for something more affordable, and that came to $505. Abort mission. I decided to not try the less expensive but more risky tailors over on Kowloon Island, either. Returning a faulty item from there could prove dicey for a tourist like me. No great loss, though. More money to gamble with in Macau and more time to wander around Hong Kong before Lily arrived.
I completed an easier shopping task in the same mall, tracking down an AC power adapter at a little phone kiosk. This took me a minute, because I’m not the most experienced international traveler. And I’m a dumb ass. I explained my problem to the irritable chap running the kiosk, and he produced the solution. To me, however, the adapter looked wrong. It’s face was not the American-style three holes. Instead, slots that seemed both too wide and too long for American-style prongs confronted me. They didn’t line up.
When I pointed this out to the busy clerk, he looked at me like I was Donald Trump or something. Like I was an idiot, in other words. “It’s the correct item,” he insisted, and gave the universal “get lost” hand flip. I started walking, feeling uneasy and shafted out of about fifty cents. Turns out a two-prong American plug can take root in the over-sized slots after all. Now I’m an experienced international traveler.