Holy Macau!

It was off to Macau yesterday to get a look at the former Portuguese colony that is now Asia's answer to Las Vegas.

Macau, like Hong Kong, is a special administrative region of China with its own currency, postal service and nominally independent government. It is located about an hour south of HK across the water.

Purchasing trip tickets at train stations or ferry terminals in HK is different than it is in the U.S. Dozens of travel agencies have offices set up in these locations and all of them can sell you transportation tickets, and so can the official transportation outlet's agents. Not wanting to worry about which one to use, I headed straight for a ticket machine promising direct purchase. I took out my credit card, punched in the necessary information and found that I had no choice in the matter: I was booked into the select service (1st class) section of the Turbo Jet boat. Oops. Good thing the difference in price wasn't exorbitant.

The trip turned out to be quite pleasant. I love being on the water, even when I'm hemmed indoors, and I was lucky enough to have a window seat. I ended up sitting with a young man from South Africa who is working for Prudential (that Jersey connection again!) in London and was in HK on business. We had a lively chat and the time passed quickly.

At customs, I've discovered a bit of good news: my work visa allows me to stand in the line with Hong Kong nationals, and it's usually a much quicker line. In Macau, I ending up standing with some young medical students who had all lived in Canada at some time in their lives, so another lively chat ensued. They were off to enjoy some gambling, as young men are wont to do, they informed me -- although they had set limits, since it was an outing for fun, not profit.

As for me, I was more interested in the Portuguese architecture and history than the gambling, so I caught a bus to a square downtown and followed a walking tour set out by my trusty Lonely Planet guide (Wow, do these folks know their territory!). The Portuguese buildings are lovely: low-rise stucco with balconies and porticoes, all painted in pastel colours. In many areas, street signs are imbedded into the corner buildings in blue and white tile. The city's downtown layout also reflects its Portuguese past, with circles and squares for stopping and sitting in the shade of large trees and enjoying landscaped flower beds.

My walk led me to one of the old forts overlooking Macau -- what a climb in the heat and humidity -- and at the top, I could see the city spread out in all directions. Dominating the skyline nearby is the huge, floral-shaped Casino Lisboa, all gleaming golden glass.

The fort is home to the Macau Museum, so I learned more about the city's history and culture. Among typical jobs in Macau centuries ago: a pillow seller who hawked cane pillows and a frog catcher who sold his wares to cooks of all kinds. Afterward, it was off to see the ruins of St. Paul's Cathedral, an island icon. Only the facade of the old church still stands after it was ravaged by fire 150 years ago.

Crowds on a summer Saturday -- wow! As I walked away from the church ruins, I looked downhill and saw a huge wave of people walking to and from the site. It reminded me of the mobs of tourists gathered in Venice's Piazza San Marco last summer, and whenever I saw them, I fled in another direction. Unfortunately, dodging this crowd wasn't as easy, but I did manage to find an alternate route.

I finally turned my feet in the direction of Casino Lisboa -- after all, no visit to Vegas East would be complete without a glimpse. OMG. I'd forgotten how ostentatious these places can be, and this one was all gold and light. Crystals dripped from chandeliers and golden walls added richness to the effect. Placed throughout the lobby were large-scale pieces of beautiful Asian art: vases, ivory carving, brush painting ... Wow!

Once I stepped onto the gaming floor, however, I could have been in any casino anywhere. Slot machines blinked and whirred and beeped; bettors surrounded dealers and shouts of joy or mumbles of rose above the click of tokens. I decided that gambling would have to wait for another day and headed towards the ferry terminal.

However, I'm sure it will be worth a look during another visit. Big casinos abound and the names of many are familiar from Vegas: The Sands, Wynn, MGM ... So, penny slots, brace yourselves.

I managed to get a window seat again for the ride home and darkness settled as we travelled toward HK, allowing me a lovely view of Kowloon's lighted skyline as we approached. I whizzed through customs, jumped on the subway and was in my apartment in no time at all, savoring my delightful day.

On Chinese soil

I had to pinch myself this weekend to make sure I wasn’t dreaming: Friday saw me crossing the border from the Hong Kong Special Administrative Republic to the People’s Republic of China. Yes, I was really there in mainland China, Red China, Communist China, whatever you might call it. Who would have thought it at this time last year?

I finally had two consecutive days off – a rarity here – and decided to take advantage of them by making my first foray into terra incognita. I was excited and nervous at the same time, since it was my first real venture into the unknown alone. But, I had my trusty Lonely Planet Guide, bless those folks, and I had my passport with valid visa, so what the heck?

A trip, like the course of true love, never runs smoothly, and it’s best to remember that in advance. I arrived in Guangzhou (Canton) after a two-hour train ride and had no problems getting through customs. Getting to where I wanted to be was another story altogether in this massive city of 12 million.

My plan was to find a hotel along the Pearl River for the night, because a view of the water is always a treat. I got aboard a subway train – thank heavens for directions in both Chinese and English – and started towards my destination. Little did I realize that the train trip terminated one station before the one I wanted. When I found myself back where I started, I had a blinding flash of insight.

I eventually made it to a station that I thought was within shouting distance of the river, only to emerge from the underworld to see nothing but land. Cars, busy streets, shops, pedestrians, but no signs of water, not even from an overpass above the street. I tried to ask two policemen which way to go, but they spoke no English and didn’t seem to understand, even when I mimed swimming for them. I finally found two teens who spoke some English and they told me that it was waaaay too far to walk to the river. I ended up back at the subway station where I’d exited, bound for a spot that was definitely near the water. An hour later, after two line changes, I emerged victorious. (Is that a hint to take a taxi next time?)

The riverside has both walkway and bicycle path, and many people still use bicycles to get around, despite all the car traffic. I saw all kinds of goods being transported on the backs of bikes, and people of all ages were pedalling away, some with friends clinging to their waists from behind.

The path along the water is also a hub of activity after dark, perhaps because of the hotels, perhaps because it’s a pleasant place to walk. Wandering from my hotel towards the pier for an evening river cruise, I encountered vendors hawking ripe red cherries, tempting chunks of pink watermelon, ripe bananas and coconut water sipped from the whole coconut. Many offered their produce from baskets tied to bamboo poles and slung across their shoulders like the scales of justice – a reminder that China is an interesting mix of old and new.

Tourism Guangzho – if there is such an institution – has created a wonderful enhancement for evening river cruises. Buildings along the water are colourfully lit, some with lights, others with neon. The warm breeze makes it pleasant to sit atop the deck and watch the play of reflections on the water and the interesting architecture lining the banks. There’s even a light show: columns of tiny LEDs creating pictures that change from minute to minute.

Serendipitously, I encountered a university student from Nanjing who was delighted at the opportunity to practice English. We chatted during the cruise, and she used her smartphone app to look up words she can’t remember. (Technology is amazing!) Afterwards, she invited me to join her for breakfast at a renowned dim sum eatery. Even though she wanted to set off at 7:30 a.m. – ugh! – I agreed.

We met again the next morning at the appointed spot, and we hailed a cab to take us to Tao Tao Ju, the restaurant. In a city where few people speak English, I was lucky to have a tour guide who is fluent in Mandarin.

We arrived at the restaurant by 8 and the place was jam-packed. Xinran, my new friend, informed me that older Chinese often arrive at these places at 6:30 or 7 a.m. and spend the morning sipping tea, eating slowly and chatting with friends.

I looked around, and it was not only the elderly, but entire families who were out for Saturday breakfast. Although I always think of dim sum as more of a brunch item, it’s clear that I was in the minority here.

We were escorted to a table and wander down to the food counters. There was a table with hot and cold dishes displayed. I passed up the chicken feat in sauce and the cubes of congealed blood, but the spring rolls and sesame taro balls were tempting.

Moving on to a grill, we ordered some noodles. It was evident the cooks take great pride in their work, stir-frying each portion separately with care and focus. Nearby, cooks did the same with kettles of steaming soup, placing a bundle of homemade noodles in a bowl before ladling out the aromatic creation. A waitress armed with scissors snipped the noodles into smaller sections and the dish was ready.

Finally, we headed to the table displaying the types of dim sum I recognized as traditional, contained in bamboo steamers. There were more than a half-dozen varieties, but Xinran settled on the hargow (shrimp) and we were done. We returned to our table to mimic the elderly patrons: we talked, ate and drank cups and cups of jasmine tea.

We left Tao Tao Ju and make our way to the Museum of Folk Art. There on the grounds of an old Chen clan ancestral hall, we visited exhibits showing life and craft in ancient china. The buildings and grounds themselves were a living example. The tile roof was adorned with hundreds of creatures, including dragons and other beasts, all painted in bright colours. The heavy wooden doors were festooned with paintings of fierce gods designed to keep evil spirits and intruders away. Many of the rooms and much of the furniture was wood, lovingly carved with intricate designs. Light filtered through stained glass crafted with care and lanterns of painted glass colour the space above our heads.

It was a treat to have a “guide” steeped in the culture; I learned so much more than I would have on my own.

Afterwards, alas, it was time to go our separate ways. Xinran was off to Chengdu for a few days, while I planned to visit one of the other city museums before catching a train home. I bade her a fond farewell; she made me feel very welcome in China.

Since I was now a pro at using the Guangzhou subway system, I hopped aboard to head to the Mausoleum of the Nanyue King, a museum that Lonely Planet calls one of the best in China. When I arrived, I was floored by the stunning building that confronted me: red sandstone walls stood only a few stories high, decorated with a seal featuring a dragon and a phoenix. I ascended the stairs to the entry and found that once inside, I must climb higher to a square courtyard ringed with benches, grass and trees. In the center was the entrance to the tomb of a king who reigned in about 111 BC; it was discovered accidentally in the 1980s in the midst of the hillside where it is on display. The contents were all in place, giving historians, archaeologists and us a window into life in Canton 2,000 years ago.

It was almost like a page lifted out of the story of an Egyptian pharaoh, sans pyramid. A tomb, its entrance hidden to foil raiders, holds a king, his riches and goods that he’ll need for the afterlife, and the bodies of those who were sacrificed to join him: four concubines, his secretary, his guards and other soldiers. Even pets met their fate.

The display cases held treasures that bore witness to the advanced civilization of the time: trade with other countries, a system of waterways, glass making, woodworking tools and fishing lures. The king himself was buried in a shroud made of jade pieces sewn together with silk thread. Objects were wrapped in silk before burial, and twenty-odd types of silk were unearthed. Not bad for ancient times, eh?

After wandering the tomb exhibition, I enjoyed the somewhat whimsical contrast of the building’s other large collection: ceramic bed pillows through the ages! I was more grateful than ever for down.

Time marched on, so I marched along, too, and head for the train station and my home-away-from-home, but not before China had cast a spell on me. I’ll be back.

The sounds and sights of daily life

Did I say that my Hong Kong neighborhood was relatively quiet? What was I thinking? Quiet, relative to the hordes of people chattering in the street outside the nearby Times Square Mall, yes. But quiet, relative to absolute silence? No way!

At night, there are the gleeful shouts of party people as the bars downstairs reach last call, or the occasional dust-up in the street. A while later, there's the metallic death rattle of the steel garage doors that shelter shops at night. Much too soon after that, it's the noise of morning delivery trucks and the construction workers across the street beginning their day before it gets too hot to bear. (Bare-chested construction workers, ladies, I might add!) But I must be tired, because I no longer let it prevent me from getting to sleep!

Life in Hong Kong moves smoothly and it's easy to be lulled, for a moment into forgetting that I am in a country outside North America. But then, I'll look around and realize that there are differences. There are men and women with hand trucks carting huge bags of rice and boxes of vegetables along the sidewalk. Workers are putting up a scaffolding by lashing bamboo poles together. People are standing on the street corners all day holding signs advertising their restaurants. Schools are all at least four floors high -- in a city of skyscrapers where land is at a premium, what else would I expect?

And of course, there's the language barrier. Smiles go a long way, but sometimes, knowing Cantonese would be helpful. Luckily,  people speak enough English to assist me. When I ask the mini-bus driver to stop, using a few words of Cantonese that a colleague taught me, and he then asks me for further direction, I have absolutely no idea how to respond. Thank heavens, there's generally someone else on the bus who can translate for me. It will be interesting to see what happens when I visit mainland China and try to get around!

Then there are the Olympics. I am on the Olympics editing team at work, so I eat, breathe and sleep the Games. When I come home from work, I turn on the TV and watch the local broadcast. I have the option of listening either in Cantonese or English -- not French or English! -- and when I opt for the latter, I get a commentator with an Australian or South African accent. Now, I am certain that I am no longer in North America. This is further confirmed by the mix of sports I watch. Would the CBC cut away from the men's gymnastics all-around final to show a gold-medal table tennis match? I doubt it!

Don't take this as complaint -- it's simply different, which is what makes this adventure interesting. Vive la difference!