Travel

After the jungle of Taman Negara, I jumped on a 12 hour bus ride to Ipoh, the capital of the State of Perak, in the western centre of Peninsular Malaysia. I stayed here for a few days with my godmother, Yoke Mooi Chan (who I hadn‟t seen for more than a decade, since a visit to the UK. She used to live with me and my family when I was a baby before moving back to Malaysia some 25 years ago), and her family (including her sister, Yoke Yin Chan, and their two nieces, Szn Yi Chan and Kit Yi Chan), who all very kindly let me stay in their house and took the time to take me all around Ipoh (a huge thanks to my godmother and her family).

Ipoh is known as the Bougainsvillea town, after its abundance of the flower of the same name. In contrast to Kuala Lumpur, Ipoh was a glimpse into the real Malaysia. It‟s more rural, more agricultural, more sprawling, more low-rise, and more laidback. Ipoh has a large Chinese community, immigrants of varying degrees of generation, primarily from Hong Kong and the Guangdong province in southern China. The Chinese community has retained many of its long held traditions such as the reverence paid towards dead ancestors, with incense being burned and Taoist and Buddhist imagery throughout the house and garden. The culture here is very much family-orientated, with perhaps four generations of a family under the same roof or living very close by.

Ipoh is also rich in that feature so prevalent in this part of the world – huge limestone karsts. These are often massive mountains jutting out of the landscape (not unlike Sugarloaf Mountain in Rio) mostly covered in lush vegetation with some bare limestone showing, like magnificent cliffs. I loved just looking at these out of a car or bus window. Within these limestone karsts are some truly enormous caves – even bigger than the Batu Caves I saw in Kuala Lumpur. The Gua Temperung Caves, just outside of Ipoh are tens of millions of years old. I was lucky enough to be the only person in the cave system when I visited; unfortunately, as the caves are only lit by a few lamps, it was too dark for my photos to come out properly. The height of the largest cavern must have been close to 100m tall over a space big enough for four football pitches; whilst the smallest was a damp, smothering and suffocating 6m by 6m; with the silence and ever-present touch of damp in the air, it was more than eerie, and more than a tad alarming, giving off a persistent low-level fear. It was like walking through the mines of Moria in The Lord of the Rings. At one time, millions of years ago, the entire cave system was filled with water, still present today in the form of a small river at the bottom of the system.

The city is also justifiably famous for its food; fantastic news to me! My godmother and her family ensured that I got to taste as much of it as possible such as classic Ipoh-style chicken ho-fun noodles, braised chicken feet, egg-gravy ho-fun, steamed bean sprout chicken, fat aubergines stuffed with fish and pork, silky congee with the chewy “top-layer‟ of beancurd, crab with “sohoon‟ style vermicelli noodles in a claypot (delicious!), “la-la‟ clams steamed with spring onion, ginger, and red chillies, huge (biggest prawns I’ve ever seen) deep-fried salted egg-yolk prawns, sensational yams stewed with spare-ribs and cuttlefish in a claypot, delicious popiah (like a wrap or uncooked spring roll with chicken, crispy pork and vegetables), more-ish ice kachung (a refreshing dessert of crushed ice with evaporated milk, sweetcorn, kidney beans and jelly), classic satays at a proper satay house, fried oyster cake (deliciously sweet and ozone-y fried oysters fried in a batter omelette), small “mouse‟ noodles and larger egg noodles fried with crispy croutons of finely diced pork-fat (yum!). Also, the selection of fruits available in Ipoh was awesome and eye-opening. In particular, I loved rambutan, a generally red small fruit with very soft spines on its skin; to eat it, you have to break it open by twisting it hard to reveal a white centre, not unlike a lychee; a dozen or so are great for breakfast. Another delicious fruit I‟ve never seen before are mangosteens, a generally purply apple-sized fruit with a white interior segmented like a clementine or a mandarin and has a slightly sharp yet sweet taste. However, my favourite fruit of all time is still my newly discovered and beloved durian. Malaysians are completely obsessed with durian (the King of Fruits) and are fiercely proud of the Malaysian variant as opposed to the Thai type normally found in supermarkets and stalls across Asia. Malaysian durian (and there are several different sorts) are generally smaller than their Thai counterparts and have smaller thorns. However, the Malaysian varieties are known to have a sweeter taste and a firmer texture. The durian I tasted in Ipoh was delicious; I think slightly spicy (though some would disagree), very creamy, sticky and sweet – it’s a messy thing to eat but completely delicious and satisfying. You can even eat it for breakfast on its own just with some rice. Unfortunately, apparently I was about a month too early for the durian season to fully kick in during which time the whole of Malaysia becomes even more durian obsessed, with countless stalls and masses of people lining the streets for their share. Oh well; next time, eh! It was at one of these roadside stalls that I was asked a question in Malay; my failure to respond (I didn‟t even think he was talking to me) led to questions of rudeness on my part. I realised that I definitely looked Malaysian, explained by the fact that my mum is from the Philippines (where the indigenous people are part of the wider Malay peoples). I remembered this perception for the future and planned to use it in the next few countries that I’d be visiting; claiming, for example, that you’re Malaysian when in you’re in Thailand helps to explain to people why you can’t speak their language (when they fully expect you be able to) and the fact that you‟re from the same region(ish) reduces any possibility that you’ll be dismissed as just another tourist.

I enjoyed my time in Ipoh immensely; so much fantastic food, some truly spectacular caves and it was great to spend some time with my godmother and her family, getting to know them better. After a few days in Ipoh and about two weeks in Malaysia, it was time to leave for Thailand.

After Kuala Lumpur, we hired a car and went north to the Cameron Highlands, a region in the interior of the Malaysian Peninsular. It was a long, windy road up to the Highlands which are around 2,000m above sea level. The air is much cleaner here and the temperature was a far more refreshing 20 degrees. This whole area was once dense jungle up to just only a few decades ago, but has since been heavily developed, with almost 70% of this huge rainforest cleared for logging and development; a huge concern amongst conservationists.

We stayed in Tanah Rata, a pretty hamlet at the heart of the Highlands, deep into the cloud forests. The influence of the former British colonists is immediately evident in much of the architecture, with terracing, balconies and faux Tudor exteriors on much of the village. Today, the area is most famous for its tea plantations and its strawberry farms. With the atmosphere of tea everywhere, I had the feeling of being in England but also, unmistakably, of still being in Asia. We headed straightaway to one of the most famous plantations, the Boh, and to its tasting room. The tasting room was a modern glass structure of the kind you see at some vineyards; it just jutted out suspended over one of the valleys giving us magnificent views across the plantation. Despite the rain, the plantation is one of the most beautiful landscapes I‟ve yet seen. Everywhere is not just green, but a patchwork of different hues of verdant greens, rich and lush from the soils and the recent rains. We tried several black teas, one spicy, one sharper, one smooth, one full-bodied and rich – all delicious! That afternoon, however, high in the Malaysian Cameron Highlands, I also started to crave a good, strong cup of English builders‟ tea – PG Tips or Tetley‟s! Perhaps a sign of homesickness.

Taman Negara

I said goodbye to the guys in Tanah Rata; they were heading to the island of Langkawi further north for a few days, whilst I was heading east to Taman Negara, a National Park in the middle of Peninsular Malaysia. It was an 8 hour bus ride to Kuala Tahan, a shanty village and the “base camp‟ to the Park. Taman Negara is 130 million years old and is primary rainforest jungle; it may well be the oldest rainforest/jungle in the world. It was my first time in jungle conditions; I’ve seen it on television and I wondered how I’d cope. As expected, the jungle was intense. It was super-hot (in the late 30s), super-humid and, in May, it rains incessantly. You literally sweat all day long. The heat and humidity gets into your brain; it got to the point where I was even thinking more slowly and everything from washing to eating to mentally processing anything became a great effort. I stayed in a shanty hut where I found 8-inch lizards (geckos that were to pop up everywhere in South-East Asia – they’re quick little fuckers! They‟re amazing creatures that can stick to walls and might not move for hours until, suddenly, they zip off!) and tiny frogs in my toilet (a little unnerving when sitting on the gents); there were animals on the roof and mosquitoes everywhere.

On my first evening in the Park, I took a night safari tour around one of the palm plantations that border the jungle. A group of us sat on the back of a pick-up truck and, with powerful flashlights, went looking around for local wildlife. We didn‟t turn up much, except for a few monkeys idling in trees, the odd wildcat cub hiding in bushes and a fairly bewildered wild boar. Despite this lack of visible wildlife, the forest at night is psychologically intense; it‟s incredibly noisy with high-pitched sounds from crickets, lizards and birds; it‟s incredibly claustrophobic and suffocating; and being constantly alert to a hostile, unfamiliar environment is thoroughly exciting but mentally exhausting.

The next morning, I went into the jungle proper. It was wet, muddy, boggy, hot and smothering; in fact, everything I was expecting. I hiked through mud trails, past massive ancient trees and trampled through thick, jungle undergrowth. I walked across the tallest (45m) and longest (510m) canopy walkway in the world; a series of swinging rope bridges suspended by wire from treetop to treetop across the tops of the jungle; 45m is sooo high! It sways and swings when you walk across and you would have no chance if it suddenly snapped! It does give you awesome views both across the jungle and looking downwards. Afterwards, I took a longboat across a quick-flowing, muddy-brown river straight out of any “Vietnam War‟ film; I wouldn’t have liked to have fallen into that.

The jungle isn‟t my ideal environment; (give me mountains and deserts any day of the week) but it was fantastic to see it for the first time and walk through a small part of the oldest rainforest in the world. With more time and money, I would have taken a flight to Sarawak province on Borneo Malaysia, where I would have liked to have met the Iban tribes-people, who reportedly have a headhunting history. Apparently, they have a fascinating culture of body-art and, whilst I don‟t have a burning desire to get another tattoo, it would have great to have one designed and inked by an Iban, using traditional methods. I’d also liked to have attempted Mount Kinabalu but then I suppose, when travelling, there’s always something more you’d like to have done.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

Henry David Thoreau, Walden

FROM HONG KONG, I was meant to head straight into China; I‟d planned a trip to Beijing and further afield, with the possibility of going to Tibet. However, whilst in Hong Kong, I got a Facebook message from two of my oldest friends from university, Craig Harvey and Moe Umer, saying that they would be out in Malaysia for a week or so and, seeing as I was in Hong Kong, would I like to come and meet them? Why not! So in just a few days, I rethought my options. I bought a plane ticket with fresh plans to travel overland back to Hong Kong via Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam and China. This was now the beginning of the South-East Asian leg of my trip. I had visions of Alex Garland‟s The Beach and classic backpacking through one of the great regions of the world. I halved the contents of my backpack intending to as travel light as possible and picked up a new guidebook, the Lonely Planet‟s Guide to South-East Asia. Easy! By now, I was a backpacking veteran! (So what did I take with me? Learning from Grant‟s misfortunes in Buenos Aires, I always separated the most valuable things into my pockets so I was never without them: Passport, wallet, phone. The next most important things then go into a smaller rucksack: alarm clock, glasses, hand gels, books, journals, earplugs, toothbrush, diarrhoea tablets, MP3 player etc.)

Geographically, Malaysia is split by sea into Peninsular Malaysia, between Thailand to the north and Singapore to the south, and Borneo Malaysia next to Brunei to the east. It‟s ethnically diverse with the breakdown of the population being around 54% Malay, 25% Chinese, around 12% other indigenous peoples of the Malay Archipelago around 8% Indian, and around 1% other peoples.

Kuala Lumpur

I flew the three hours from Hong Kong into Malaysia‟s capital city, Kuala Lumpur, in the south of Peninsular Malaysia. Kuala Lumpur International Airport is nowhere near central Kuala Lumpur, so I took a bus to Sentral bus station and then jumped on the monorail to Binit Bintang in the heart of the Golden Triangle. After two weeks in Hong Kong, and being very well looked after, it was weird being back on the road but it felt pleasantly familiar checking into a ropey youth hostel. May in Kuala Lumpur is an uncomfortably hot time of year (a solid 35 degrees) and it‟s incredibly humid and sticky; it‟s a different style of living here, where things are done more slowly so as not to sweat buckets. The humidity saps your energy as soon as you step into it and you‟re always looking for that next dose of air conditioning. I knew straightaway that I‟d need some new clothes to handle the climate; mainly vests and shorts, not the jeans and t-shirts that I‟d brought with me. I took a stroll around Chinatown which is centred on and around Petaling Street and dominated by a huge street market of the usual fake t-shirts and watches. I immediately got down to the important business of eating, tucking into delights such as sweet pork kebabs with spicy dipping sauces washed down with fresh coconut juice straight from the source and with beer in the only places where it‟s freely available in this officially Muslim country, Chinese food stalls.

There‟s plenty to do and see in Kuala Lumpur over a couple of days. After meeting up with the guys, I was kindly treated by them to a great buffet dinner in the revolving restaurant on top of the massive Sky Tower with great views of Kuala Lumpur at sunset. We also went to the iconic and massively impressive Petronas Twin Towers, which at 452m is/are officially the second tallest building(s) in the world, now below Taiwan’s Taipei 101 (not any more!). These buildings are absolutely enormous! We took a tour up to the walkway linking the two buildings and the sheer height we were at and the immense scale of the design was mind-blowing. Kuala Lumpur looks like a tiny model city teeming with construction from here. We also took a bus to the Batu Caves on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur, a system of three huge limestone caves, the most famous of which is the huge, cathedral-like Temple Cave that houses a Hindu shrine. The Temple Cave is reached by climbing 272 steps and its entrance is guarded by the largest Murgya statue in the world, a ridiculously big 43m high golden statue. There are small long-tailed monkeys milling and jumping all around the caves throwing drinks cans all over the temple and I saw a man with a huge bright yellow python offering it to tourists to pose with around their necks. It was about four metres long and about as thick as a human thigh. I hate snakes and there was no way, even in the spirit of trying new things, that I was having that thing around my neck!

As always on my travels, I’m always looking out for the next meal or snack and eating in Kuala Lumpur is a real pleasure; you can have Malay nasi lemak for breakfast (rice cooked in coconut milk, fried peanuts, fried onion, curry paste and a hardboiled egg), ethereally light Indian roti canai (fried wafer-thin chapatis with curry sauce) for a mid-morning snack, Chinese fried ho-fun noodles with chilli and chicken for lunch, fragrant and spicy Thai curry and pad thai for dinner, and some durian for a late night dessert – lip-smackingly great stuff!

However, despite all this great food and interesting sights to visit, something about Kuala Lumpur left feeling me slightly cold. It seemed to me like my mental image of Dubai: full of futurist steel and glass edifices, and luxury boutiques, all with a strong sense of orderliness. I didn‟t feel that for its much vaunted multiculturalism that it really was an exciting melting pot of disparate influences. Instead, I had the feeling that it was another typical city of just another South-East Asian tiger economy. With three other South-East Asian countries still to travel through next, I hoped that that wouldn‟t be the case. Kuala Lumpur is advertised as a „vibrant‟ and „typically Asian‟ city; however, I must say that, having come from Hong Kong and Melbourne, Kuala Lumpur is in the slower lane of world cities. It has the obligatory skyscrapers and plethora of high-end hotels of tiger-ish Asian cities, but somehow without the dynamic atmosphere of Hong Kong. The city is multicultural but in a different way to any other form of multiculturalism I‟ve seen before. Instead of one clear host culture and many other smaller represented cultures (such as in European countries for example), Malaysia has three distinct races and cultures, more or less equally represented; Malay, Chinese and Indian; who all seem to get along well under the official state religion of Islam. Despite this clear sense of cohesion and clear „melting pot‟ of cultures, the host culture (the Malays) holds the reins of power, and does so in a way that is incompatible with this projected perception of multiculturalism. The Malays enjoy all the benefits of diversity but actually entrench discriminatory practices that go against the very idea of multiculturalism.

The major benefits to Malaysia are twofold: firstly, so as to entice tourism, Malaysia undoubtedly uses this diversity and multiculturalism as a marketing tool: Come to Malaysia, we‟re such a melting pot of influences and so developed and progressive. You‟ll love it! claims the tourism literature; and it surely works.

Secondly, as a result of this diversity, Malaysia reaps very real economic benefits, such as from the wealth creation that flows from the Chinese community, many of whom have been in Malaysia for generations, yet another example of the Chinese Diaspora in the region, which extends to Indonesia, Australia, America, and Canada. Like the Jews and their Diaspora, the Chinese have faced hostility in bad times and are often a convenient scapegoat and target for nationalist feeling. Yet through it all, almost without exception, the new immigrants have made significant cultural and economic contributions to their adopted country. Malaysia is no different. Here, the Chinese are leaders in business, enterprise, and education. There is little doubt that the Chinese are major contributors to Malaysia‟s total wealth and have played a strong role in transforming Malaysia into a leading developed nation.

As we‟ve seen, Malaysia enjoys the benefits received from diversity and it‟s an image that‟s projected to the world. Given then that Malaysia paints itself as a multiethnic and multicultural nation, I was surprised and disappointed to discover that Malaysia has written into its Constitution that the Bumiputera (Malays and certain indigenous groups) people have certain rights over and above all non-Bumiputera peoples. Articles 153 and 160 of the Federal Constitution of Malaysia provide that the Bumiputera have a “special‟ place in society. These laws are the basis for an extensive programme of affirmative action or positive discrimination that borders on racism; meaning, amongst other things, that certain administrative positions are only open to Bumiputera; that a certain percentage of higher education places must be held for Bumiputera only, with lower qualifying grades necessary; that certain large companies must have a certain minimum percentage of Bumiputera on the controlling board to be able to be listed on the Kuala Lumpur Stock Exchange; a certain percentage of new housing must be sold to Bumiputera and a discount must be offered and so on.

For a country to use “cultural cohesion‟ as a marketing tool and to simultaneously enjoy the wealth creation of one of its largest ethnic groups but yet actively and deliberately make discrimination such an iron-clad, entrenched feature of its constitution and its society, with all the consequences that entails, is completely wrong.

Before I left Hong Kong, I took a day trip over to Macau, the gambling centre of South-East Asia, with Deborah, Jerry, Eleanor and Joseph, Macau is a short hour-long ferry ride from Hong Kong‟s Tsim Sha Tsui terminal and borders Guangdong province. Macau was colonised by the Portuguese back in the day when Portugal was a world power in the 16th Century. Macau was handed back to China just two years after Hong Kong‟s sovereignty was transferred and on similar terms. Macau has a similar political structure to Hong Kong in that it‟s largely autonomous but ultimately part of the wider China. Macau and Hong Kong, are the two Special Administrative Regions of China, operating under the same “One Country; Two Systems” principle.

Macau is one of the richest cities in the world due in large part to its massive gambling industry (reputedly bigger than Las Vegas) and its manufacturing interests. I‟m not really a gambling man (if I do gamble, it‟s only really on myself in games), so I didn’t play in the casinos but I did visit the newest on the island, the Venetian (reportedly the largest casino in the world – for now at least): an enormous hotel/casino complex with malls and indoor reconstructions of Venice (seriously…!); so you can see a fairly faithful reconstruction of the Piazza San Marco and the odd canal with obligatory gondolas and singing gondoliers.

Afterwards, we headed to the old quarter where vestiges of Macau‟s past as a colony of Portugal can be seen. Here, we enjoyed the delicious Portuguese-style egg custard tarts with a caramelised top; it‟s easy to guzzle half a dozen in one go. There‟s a winding, cobbled street full of bakeries and dried meats vendors where people vie to give you a taste of their wares. The Old Quarter of Macau is a world away from Hong Kong with ancient colonial buildings and squares with unmistakeable European architecture, and bendy streets crowned with the incredible Ruins of St Paul‟s, the remains of the old Cathedral of St Paul; only the four storey front façade remains and is completely free-standing. It’s more mindboggling than the Tower of Pisa; you just can‟t work out how the thing doesn’t topple over!

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep Moans round with many voices. “Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho‟ much is taken, much abides; and tho‟
We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Tennyson, Ulysses

FROM MELBOURNE, I flew the nine hours northwards to Hong Kong, the first stop on the Asian leg of my travels. Hong Kong is a true metropolis, and it‟s the leading South-East Asian tiger city. Since 1997, Hong Kong has been a “Special Administrative Region‟ (HKSAR); officially part of the People’s Republic of China but in most matters (bar defence) self-governing. Hong Kong is comprised of three main areas: Hong Kong Island, Kowloon and the New Territories; the latter two are part of the Kowloon Peninsula attached to mainland China, with the New Territories being the closer to mainland China. Hong Kong Island, as its name suggests, is separated from the Peninsula by water. Hong Kong has around 7 million people packed into just over a tiny 1,000 km2 making it one of the most densely populated places in the world, explaining the relentlessly high-rise nature of the skyline. Despite Hong Kong‟s position as a global city, it‟s remarkably un-multicultural with 95% of the population being Han Chinese.

To understand Hong Kong, you need to know a bit about its history. Hong Kong was a sleepy, undeveloped Chinese territory until the 1840s. In a dispute over the opium trade (i.e. Britain wanted to force China to continue importing its opium, generally on the black market), China became embroiled in the First Opium War with Britain. As a result of losing this war, Hong Kong Island was ceded to Britain in 1842 in the Treaty of Nanking. That wasn‟t the end of it, and, after losing the Second Opium War, the colony was enlarged to include much of the Kowloon Peninsula in 1860. Then, in 1898, a 99 year lease was granted to the British for the New Territories. Hong Kong was finally transferred back to China in 1997 on the basis that its autonomy would be largely protected for at least 50 years (were it not for the 99 year lease, Hong Kong might still be under British governance today). Whilst under British control, Hong Kong became one of the most developed places on the planet. Its freedom and strategic importance helped make Hong Kong an economic powerhouse and one of the world‟s foremost financial centres. Its history gives Hong Kong an almost unrivalled duality; a true nexus of both Eastern and Western cultures; a cliché that‟s thrown around a bit loosely when describing Hong Kong. However, there‟s definitely more than a grain of truth to this: as opposed to cities such as Beijing or Bangkok, an English-speaking visitor to Hong Kong can orient herself easily; you can be an expat in Hong Kong and never have to learn Cantonese. Then again, however, the cliché isn‟t always as true as you might think because despite the visible Western influences, as we shall see, Hong Kong‟s psyche, culture and traditions remain firmly Chinese.

My cousin, Jerry Kwan, kindly picked me up from the airport at 5am and, for the duration of my stay in Hong Kong, I stayed with him and my aunt, Deborah Chan, in Kwai Chung in the New Territories (they were fantastic hosts and a huge thanks to them for making my stay so enjoyable). Arriving that morning, I was too excited to sleep, so I persuaded him to join me for a walk around Kowloon for some food and some exploration. That morning, we walked through Mongkok, Jordan, Prince Edward, and Yau Ma Tei and turned around at Tsim Sha Tsui at the Harbour. Surprisingly, nothing is open at 10am in Hong Kong. Jerry explained that the shop owners don‟t close until late at night and were probably still asleep. The next day, we went to the Hong Kong Island side for a long walk from Tai Koo Shing to the Peak, a thin stretch of land between the harbour and the mountainous terrain of central Hong Kong Island, an overall journey of around five hours. Tai Koo Shing is a middle class area in the heart of old-school Hong Kong in the east of Hong Kong Island, with impressive views of the harbour, achingly modern high-rise buildings and enormous commercial malls. It‟s the Hong Kong that I fondly remember from childhood holidays. From here, we walked westwards through Quarry Bay where it’s more traditional with makeshift food stalls lining the streets and a more sedate pace of life. It wasn‟t long until we reached Fortress Hill and North Point, two districts which are classically Hong Kong, with tall buildings from the 1960s with iconic neon signs hanging off the sides of the buildings and over the roads. The shops sell everything from dried mushrooms to dried fish to cosmetics to Chinese cakes to traditional soups brewed with fearsome-looking fungi and primeval roots. We followed the tram tracks to Tin Hau and Wan Chai and turned southwards towards the Peak. Normally, you access the Peak by the world-famous Peak Tram; instead we walked it and it took us more than an hour to reach the top. At 552m, Victoria Peak is the highest mountain on Hong Kong Island and the views are truly stupendous! You can see central Hong Kong with its massive skyscrapers sprawled out beneath you with Victoria Harbour beyond that and Kowloon in the distance. You can appreciate exactly how pushed for space Hong Kong is, and, with hardly any room to build new property, the only way forward was upwards. The Peak is one of the most visited attractions in Hong Kong; it‟s not hard to see why. It‟s easy to spend hours up here until dusk when the lights start to appear below on one of the most instantly recognisable skylines in the world.

I‟ve been to Hong Kong six times before; five as a child and once as an adult. I‟ve seen all the touristy stuff before such as the Victoria Peak, the Star Ferry, the futuristic Central, the boozy district of Lan Kwai Fong, Wan Chai, the theme park Ocean Park (although I did go again this time – they‟ve got red pandas now!) etc. on previous visits; this time, I definitely wanted to see a bit more of how the locals lived and absorb as much as possible of the “real” Hong Kong. I also wanted to catch up with my many relatives who live here. My dad‟s from Hong Kong; he‟s one of seven siblings so I‟ve a large extended family of aunts, uncles and cousins including Eleanor and Joe, Perry and May, Diana and Frankie, Bill and Lorry, Deborah, Jerry, Stephen and Mendy, Andy and Jenny, Eric, Davy, and uncles and aunts from my dad‟s mother‟s side. I caught up with all them over several teas, outings and delicious meals. It was great to see how they were all doing. It was also really good to catch up with an old friend from law school, Yu-Wing Man, who took me to off-the-beaten-track foodie haunts in Central and Soho on Hong Kong Island.

For me, seeing how locals live always starts with food, particularly seeing how and where the locals eat: I wanted to try everything. Chinese food is made up of various influences, both from within the wider China and from abroad. Within China, there are 22 provinces, the most notable, food-wise, being Guangdong (particularly famous for dim sum); Sichuan (famous for super-hot hot-pots of chilli infused stock in which various meats, vegetables and noodles are cooked); Chiu-Chow in the East of China (particularly famous for soy and vinegar marinades); Shaanxi (noodles); Shanghai and Beijing (famous for dumplings).

Almost every day, I ate at least one meal in a Cha-Chaan-Teng, which are simple tea houses of the sort where the vast majority of Hong Kong people go to eat a breakfast of congee (a delicious rice based soup or porridge eaten topped with fried fish skins and crispy deep fried bread), noodles, or cheung fun (a rice based thin dough often steamed or sometimes fried (filled with pork, prawns or beef) and eaten with soy sauce and chilli oil), and Hong Kong-style coffee (with condensed milk) or yuen-yeung (half coffee and half tea with condensed milk).

You also can‟t miss the countless hole-in-the-wall (mostly Chiu-Chow) operations where you simply walk down the street and there‟ll literally be a hole in the wall where you can see the kitchen and big pots of sauce (soy-based) and stock for cooking various meats such as geese intestines (they‟re thin, tubular, incredibly soft, remarkably delicate and eaten with a sauce of finely crushed ginger, garlic and oil).

However, for the quintessential Hong Kong eating experience, head straight for a Dai Pai Dong. The Dai Pai Dong originated around the turn of the 20th Century when impromptu stalls were set up by enterprising cooks to feed the vast numbers of industrial workers busily building Hong Kong. The government of the day actually encouraged these establishments and gave out special licences for them, which happened to be physically bigger than the previous licences, giving them their name, literally “big licences”, Dai Pai Dongs. These are really old-school places of the sort where you sit on reclaimed beer crates or tiny, plastic stools; they‟re communal, people often share tables, and they‟re pretty untidy. This may be why the Government is now trying to slowly phase them out. However, in recent years, many locals have realised the importance of these restaurants and a grass-roots campaign to preserve the Dai Pai Dong is beginning to gain momentum. The food at Dai Pai Dongs tends to be incredibly cheap and it‟s also characterised by its use of the mythical wok hei (lively wok), or the flavour that can only be imparted by the wok being heated to an insanely high temperature prior to cooking. Classic Dai Pai Dong dishes include chilli-fried aubergines and fu yu chow tung choi, a spinach-type vegetable, cooked in a fermented beancurd sauce – delicious! The experience is rough and ready; just how I like to eat. There‟s friendly bustle and a liberating absence of niceties; in many places you can just spit bones out onto the table or into a bucket on the floor. One thing I noticed, particularly in the Dai Pai Dong, is the emphasis paid on hygiene. You get a jug full of hot tea (the first brew) with which to wash your chopsticks, spoon and bowl. Post SARS, and the ensuing explosion of interest in ultra-hygiene, this practice is almost ubiquitous.

I ate so much in Hong Kong; I really wanted to eat everything that a local might enjoy and that I may have missed before. I ate small frogs (there‟s very little meat on them and, I know it‟s a cliché, but they really do taste a bit like chicken!) in rice claypots (glorious, sticky rice) on Temple Street. I salivated over deep-fried rotten beancurds on a stick in MongKok (they really are rotten; they wait until a thin layer of rot forms on the outside; they then deep-fry it to kill the bacteria and mould; they smell really funky and you can sniff them a mile away! Whilst not for everyone, they taste salty and crispy and best eaten with chilli sauce.). I wolfed down soy-marinated geese intestines in Yau Ma Tei, where you sit outside on tiny stools on the pavement and they give you a plateful of tiny chopped up intestines that look like tubers and should by all accounts be a bit rubbery, but they‟re soft and slightly salty and with a hint of sweetness – delicious. I ate turtle shell soup in Causeway Bay; literally a jelly made from turtle shells which is solid black. It tastes bitter like black tea and is best eaten with lashings of honey to take the lip-pursing edge off. It‟s supposed to have a „cooling‟ effect on the body (about which more later). I ate pigs‟ ovaries in Tin Hau which are surprisingly large, pinky-white organs (similar in shape to an ear!); they‟re chewy and tasty. I tried pigs‟ blood jelly for the first time (gelatinous, supernaturally and disconcertingly smooth) in Tsuen Wan in the New Territories, where I also had the best wor tip dumplings I have ever eaten. I was walking down the street with my cousin when I suddenly caught wind of something delicious. It came from a small alleyway where someone had set up a tiny stall with wor tip; dumplings filled with pork and vegetables encased with a crispy, thick pastry and usually fried; they‟re also called „pot-stickers‟. These were hot, sticky and filled with the most delicious broth and pork. I would find their equal in the Shanghai variant later in my trip. I also loved my new favourite fruit, durian (known as the King of Fruits in South-East Asia due to its large size, its heavily spiked exterior and its pungent odour which honestly smells a bit like shit, going some way to explaining why it‟s not allowed on planes!); it‟s rich, custardy, sweet, spicy and utterly delicious! I also ate in one of the oldest dim sum houses in Hong Kong, the Lin Heung Tea House on Wellington Street (with my Aunt Diana and Uncle Frankie) where there are no reservations and everyone shares huge tables regardless of whether anybody actually knows anyone else; people wait behind you waiting to grab your spot the second that you‟ve finished. This is a slice of old Hong Kong; one where they still serve tea in pots with no spout (just a dish on top) which makes pouring a cupful for yourself and your guests a very messy experience! Here, I enjoyed steamed buns, plump and juicy king prawn dumplings and steamed chicken feet in black beans.

What else is part of Hong Kong culture? Gambling is hugely popular, even though by law, there are only three places where you can legally gamble: at the racetrack (there are two in Hong Kong: Happy Valley and Sha Tin, where I saw the last meet of the season and watched HK Cantopop legend, George Lam, perform), on the Mark Six Lottery and on football. However, such is the appetite for gambling, that it often spills into other games, one of which is mah-jong: a wildly popular and addictive ancient Chinese gambling game involving different sets of tiles; the object of which is to be the first to arrange your tiles into an acceptable winning format, and, following this, into a winning format that attracts the most points possible (generally the more difficult a format is to achieve, the more points you win). There are four players, one player acts as the „dealer‟, a designation that moves around the table. One revolution constitutes a round and a session might last six to eight rounds and, in total, takes about six hours. I played quite a bit of mahjong with relatives and family friends; I‟m not very good at mahjong; good enough not to get knocked out early but not so good so as to win overall. At my level, mahjong is a war of attrition, not blitzkrieg, and, at the moment, I generally bleed slowly to death!

I also tried another popular Hong Kong pastime: foot massages. These parlours are everywhere! I went to one with Deborah and Jerry in Yau Ma Tei. You sit next to each other chatting over a cup of tea, watching TV, which is all very convivial but then the heady mix of pleasure and serious pain begins. The masseurs start gently but then begin to apply some serious pressure to all points in your feet, ankles and calves. There‟s a tendon linking the heel to the toes that, when pressure is applied to it, just killed me! I was told that the pain was caused by an imbalance in some cartilage in my feet; whatever it was, it really hurt. I‟m not sure if my health was improved as a result of the massage but I‟d recommend trying the experience.

I enjoyed Hong Kong-style drinking which generally involves drinking games and getting hammered as fast as possible! One game is called Liar and involves dice and some cups. Each player must shake their own five dice onto a table and not reveal their outcome. Instead, you merely state how many of a particular face you think exists in total between the players. For example, with two players and five dice each, I could declare that there are five “fours” between us i.e. if both of us revealed our dice immediately, there would be five or more “fours” between us (minimum possible = no “fours” between us, maximum possible number of fours that there could be between us = ten “fours”). My opponent must either call my bluff (she might have no fours herself giving rise to the relatively improbable scenario that I have five “fours” to make the stated belief that “there are five „fours‟ between us” true) or she must raise the bet by stating that there are six or seven or eight or nine or ten instances (i.e. must call an occurrence greater than the original five “fours”) of the same face “four” or of another face such as a “two” between us. I can then call her bluff or continue escalating the bluffing. Once a bluff has been called, the „truth‟ is revealed and someone has either been exposed as a „liar‟ or has called the „wrong‟ bluff. Whoever this is must drink. It‟s a fast game and gets you roundly battered very quickly and is just one of a whole raft of immensely popular drinking games amongst young people in Hong Kong.

Traditions and deference to ancestors are particularly important to Hong Kong people. Religion doesn‟t play a huge part in people‟s lives but Taoist, Buddhist and Confucian thought provides the framework for the maintenance of centuries-old customs, such as when incense and paper money are burned in ancestors‟ honour. I took part in this tradition when paying respects to my grandparents whose bones reside in a huge Taoist-style cemetery in Sha-Tin in the New Territories on a side of a forested hill so big that you need an escalator to get around it. We went to a shop that specifically sells incense for burning to your ancestors. The offerings have become ever more elaborate over the years; you can buy paper mobile phones for example, or suits and paper whisky bottles; anything that you think your ancestors might need or want in the afterlife and might have run out of since your last offering. Symbolic paper money is always a good bet and we bought a sackful (literally!) of paper offerings to burn at the cemetery. The burning takes place in a cast kiln that reaches fearsomely high temperatures and, once burned, you go off to find your ancestors‟ remains. You light some incense sticks and bow your head several times and place them in ash to slowly burn and smoke away. This is a ritual that takes place all over Hong Kong and beyond, whether at cemeteries like this once or twice a year perhaps, or daily in peoples‟ homes. It‟s a part of life here and wouldn‟t even be considered to be particularly spiritual or religious; it‟s more like a tradition and an essential strand of the culture.

I saw a lot of this aspect of Hong Kong culture and, after I visited the massively impressive Buddhist-style Chin Lin nunnery in Diamond Hill in Kowloon and the huge Buddha statue on Lantau Island (on a hill overlooking the nearby airport), I had my fortune told in a Taoist monastery in Wong Tai Sin. You‟re given a cup of sticks numbered from 1 to 100. You kneel down in front of the altar and, holding the cup in both hands, gently and repeatedly bow, which shakes the cup. Eventually, one stick will slowly emerge and fall out (I‟m not sure about the physics as to why only one comes out!). You need to look up that number (I think mine was number 67 or something like that) in a fortune book. Apparently, the possible fortunes really are all different and, whilst there are some fantastically good ones, there are also some truly terrible outcomes possible in that cup! Mine was apparently pretty good, not supremely amazing, but pretty good.

Hong Kong people are huge fans and believers in Feng Shui, an ancient belief system that that can perhaps best be described as the search for balance and harmony. Feng Shui beliefs influence anything from how and where buildings are built to what to call your child. One of my cousins, Stephen Chan, even named both his daughters after consultation with Feng Shui masters. Apparently, one of them needed a „cooling‟ name to temper a possibly tempestuous nature. During my visit, I became a huge convert to Chinese fortune-telling having had my palms and face read. This is based on Feng Shui principles and well-trained masters can determine facts about your life just from your palm and your face, both past and, hopefully, of the future. Mimi Chan, my aunt‟s friend, read my face and my palm (left hand for people under 30) and her ability to identify many of my personality traits (which I‟m not going to divulge here!) was spookily accurate.

Hong Kong people are firm believers in the principles of Chinese medicine which, I think, can be summed up as not too much yin and not too much yang, or, in Hong Kong parlance, not too much “hot‟ and not too much “cold‟. In the body, too much “cold‟ will cause a weakened immune system leading to illness, and too much “hot‟ can, amongst other things, lead to nose bleeds, indigestion and spots! “Cold‟ foods range from dairy products such as yoghurt to turtle shell soups. “Hot‟ foods are generally fried and spicy (obviously!) foods, but also, strangely enough, durian. It‟s well known that if you eat too much in the way of “hot‟, you‟d better take on some “cooling‟ food, or accept the consequences.

Another aspect of the Hong Kong psyche is the insatiable appetite for consumption. Hong Kong is highly consumerist and shopping is a major pastime. There‟s at least one major mall in every town filled with mad-keen shoppers. The malls are amongst the most modern and expansive I‟ve ever seen, filled with every shop you can think of, cinemas, ice-rinks and huge food courts. Even on Friday nights, people spend their time in the markets and in the malls. There‟s everything from the most exclusive of luxury brands to the most enterprising of street markets. You can get almost anything you want here at highly competitive prices, primarily because retailers can import almost anything and only certain imported products such as alcohol, cars, tobacco and petrol attract tax.