Hello from Hong Kong

After a looong day of flying  across the world from Panama to Hong Kong, the city I heard so much about, I was tired but happy. The flights, associated airport wait times and local transportation totaled 35 hours, and it was relatively pleasant and painless despite the typical glitches. I arrived in Boston a few hours before midnight and my next flight departed at 1:30 am. This necessitated retrieving and rechecking my luggage and going through all the security checks again. Fortunately, Logan’s airport assistance personnel were Moroccan, spoke Arabic and took care of every detail. I even had a fabulous terriyaky chicken meal at the Delta lounge. which helped me sleep through the long 20 hour flight in Cathay Pacific’s a 380 lay-flat seats.

Surprisingly, Hong Kong is aging, cramped for space, crowded and choked with traffic. Anywhere you look you see tall buildings with small alleys and stairs everywhere. 

For instance, my boutique hotel is 27 stories with only two rooms per floor. The restaurant is in the sub basement and reachable by a flight of stairs on the outside of the building.

Many residents seem conservative, almost afraid to think on their own. As an example, I tried to hire a cab driver to act as a local guide as I had in many other countries. I was told the price is determined by the meter and there’s no way for him to accept a bulk sum for the day even though I suggested a payment in access of what he could make a typical day. 

The day happened to be cloudy and rainy, and we were scheduled to view the city and Harbour from the top of the mountain overlooking Victoria Bay. Halfway up, the visibility dropped significantly, and I suggested we skip that portion of the tour. He didn’t like to change, but hesitantly agreed. I then requested lunch in a typical local restaurant and invited him to join me. He could not because there was no place to park. I entered the second floor of a dim sum restaurant which was packed and dirty. The proprietor seated four of us on a dirty table and proceeded to clean it. I asked if they had the menu and the proprietor said just wait so I waited. The others proceeded to another cafeteria like line and ordered their food. I picked what I thought was safe fried shrimp but it wasn’t. It was fried chicken feet, literally and half cooked baby squid. It looked and tasted disgusting.

Very few residents speak English, and as I mentioned earlier, they appear to be wary of thinking outside of narrow box. Unlike progressive, Tokyo or Singapore residents, many suffer from the prepared food “American spread”