How to Reserve a Bed in Hong Kong
Did I fail to mention, faithful reader, that arriving in Hong Kong, D and I failed to reserve a room for all six nights of our stay, opting instead to pay for two nights in order to allow freedom to choose later on? This choice was based largely on reviews we had read on the internet of shady hostels, but proved to be foolish when we learned that everything was pretty much booked for the Lunar New Year holiday. So as we walked around the city, the thought that we may have to spend a night or two in a 24 hr McDonald’s or worse the Chunking Mansions, a rat hotel not fit for the Pakistani druglords and prostitutes that inhabit it, haunted my every step. And each sight we stumbled upon, the Orchestra of Lights, the Temple St. Night Market, the Bank of China Tower, Man Mo Temple were foggy like beneath wax paper upon which was scrawled in Crayon too close for my eyes to focus, ‘Stupid Fool’. I did not wish to worry you my reader, with thoughts of my secret desperation. A burden I did not even recognize myself until D tapped my shoulder while I was scouring the web for an alternate bed and said “we’re good, you can stop searching. We’re good.” A place just up the stairs with a couple empty beds and a decent price tag would accomodate. Relieved I couldn’t help but smile in disbelief. At last now I feel I have arrived in Hong Kong.
But what about Hong Kong? The million faces, decrepit peeling walls of green and red and teal and yellow, the pipes like vines twisting and hugging the towering apartment complexes climbing up and up, clawing over each other to the gray-pink sky above. The dance of lights of the skyscape across the harbor at eight o’clock on that island of transplanted America clean and crisp. A quiet yuppie utopia on the day before New Years. Shops selling living room art, beautiful and sweet without questions or challenge. Hip enough to make your friends smile still unaware at your cocktail party. You’ll surely get that promotion this year. The unfathomable mansions atop Victoria’s peak, as we walked the trail down in the cool drizzly night, unwilling to wait in the line to be crammed back into the “must-see” tram car. The views spectacular through the tropical foliage, we stopped and took photos, I doing guesswork with my Pentax, operable, but blind. 15 seconds, 30 seconds a piece. We peak through The giant latticework of the towering gates of fathomless wealth, and ponder the life within. Would I recognize the man who built this? Would I feel any brotherhood with him?
Today the city is barren. All at home with family on this holiday. The store fronts closed, walled off with garage door gates. We still inside the hostel, back in a two bed windowless box breathing stale air. Shuffling from room to room to keep a roof over our heads. Soon to head out wander around for a bit and find the famous night parade at the star ferry pier, sure to be a suffocatingly popular affair.
