Pristine in Hong Kong ( Travel Log of The Solitary Arc at www.d332.com )

Travel: Asia : Hong Kong

Hong Kong
(Dec 2001 - Jan 2002)

Dec 23, 2001 12:30pm Frisked at the Airport

I get the full Guiliani frisk at the boarding station at JFK. The guard unzips my carry-on bag for inspection. The first book he pulls out and fans through is The Glenn Gould Reader. I roll my eyes and sigh, "This is going to take forever."

The next book he pulls out is Jorge Luis Borges : Selected Non-Fictions. "Careful or you might get lost in there. I did." He looks at me, unimpressed.

The last book he pulls out and flips through is Conversations with John Cage.

I dismiss: "There's nothing in there."

Dec 24, 2001 4:30pm Goldberg Cycles

Reading Glenn Gould's essay on the Goldbergs reminds me about what Cage said about his own fascination with the nature of evolved time in a piece of composition. It also reminds me of some of the things I have said about frequent displays of angst on livejournals as a necessary step (to some) in the evolution of the self.

While the 32 Variations are self-sufficient, the entire set serves to educate the listener in hearing the possibilities within the chords of the opening aria. When this aria is finally restated at the closing of the piece, on paper, very little has changed between the opening aria and the closing one. However, we have been treated to 32 possibilities within that melody, to the point that we now hear the same piece in a different light. Nothing has changed on paper and yet we hear something entirely different. Why? Because in the course of those thirty two evolutions, we have changed.

Big-J was gracious enough to drop in on me the night before I left for my trip. We opened a 12 year old bottle of cabernet, the last family jewel- not counting the toyota tercel spare tire in the garage. He told me a story about getting to know a good school friend, who was an identical twin to a brother. Big-J said that when he first met these twins, he, nor anyone else could tell them apart. But after a year, he became best beer buds with one of them. From that time onwards, he was astonished at how anyone could not tell the difference between the two twins. He said, "it became clear as day that they were completely different. How could anyone not be able to tell them apart?"

Dec 24, 2001   8:00pm Meeting Napoleon at Incheon Airport, Korea

I am at Incheon Airport, Seoul, and I have made a friend. His name is Napoleon and he hails from the Cognac region of France. Napoleon is appalled that I am immediately holding court in the middle of the boarding lounge, amidst gasps of horror from fellow passengers.

Everytime I drink Courvoisier , it seems akin to a little memorial to my father.

I remember specifically the final day that my mother's relatives visited us on vacation, when they gave my father two bottles of cognac. His lonesome existence out here in the States unfolded on the afternoon my uncle said goodbye at the airport. He had already entered the passengers-only lounge when my father coerced the guards to let him in for a second so he could embrace and say farewell just one more time. I know how this will be read by Freudian subconscious analysts. But the truth was that, my father, having been adopted, never had a real brother. He looked to my uncle as a substitute older brother. Having been the older brother to my mother and 5 other sisters, it was obvious that this fellow was a natural for the big brother role.

Anyhow, after they left, my father proceeded to drink both bottles of cognac in one afternoon. In that one afternoon, I saw a man laugh, yell, ruminate, soliloquize asides, cry, jump on tables, mumble verses of incoherent imaginary poets and dance. People have often asked me why I don't attend any Broadway plays, being so close to New York City. Don't I miss all the drama? My response is this: On that one afternoon of two bottles of cognac, I have seen more real life drama than anything a stage has to offer. For the rest of my life.

The song of loneliness in the States was laid before me. I have touched it. And I have shivered.

Dec 24 2001 10:45pm Reunited with My Sweet Babboo

At the Airport, Dennis and I embrace after some 10 months since his last brief visit to the States. It's wonderful to be together again, my spirits soar!  Just to be able to able to sit side-by-side on the transit subway into Central under the fluorescent lights while the night skyline whizzes by is such a precious gift. Even the attendant smiled at us. The excitement of all we will be seeing together, laughing together, eating together, and being together once again.

Such happiness I must now remember to hold carefully in my heart.
The solitude back home, pending.

Dec 24, 2001 11:30pm Nathan Road Christmas Eve

They have closed down Nathan Road in Tsim Sha Tsui in Kowloon. We get out and check into my hotel briefly. We go back outside and what a wondrous sight greets us. Hundreds of thousands (meaning two more than a usual day) of people fill the streets in every colour of clothing imaginable. They commando cans of squiggly colour foam and run around nailing each other on the backs of their jacket. If global underground held an outdoor gig, it would look like this.

The kids couldn't be bothered with buying a dead pine tree and decorating it. So they just buy color neon sticks, tie it in a circle and throw it up to onto the nearest living tree. I don't know about you, but it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas to me.

When one is in a country where there is a language barrier, one becomes aware of the problems inherent in translation. I look at the picture below and I think: does it matter if tonight is the eve of the birth of Christ, the promise of an expensive present, or just plain, simple laughter in the streets. Do you think Christ, if he existed, would have cared what the answer would be? No. Because the birth of an idea, the birth of inspiration, or the birth of sudden happiness, is, another birth of Christ.

Dec 25, 2001 1:30am Kowloon StreetWare

Loud, bold, clashing colours fashion on the streets in all possible colour combinations on girls from 5-55 yrs old. Dennis says that the fashion police would have to work overtime in writing out violation tickets if they were on duty tonight. "What's the big deal?" I asked. "Young kids should wear whatever the hell they want, that's what makes them brash outrageously free."

"But to wear all these clashing colour combinations even when they up up to the age of 55?!" some may proclaim.

My answer: "even better."

One of the things that I will address in my recollections about my Xi'an trip is the westernization of the East.  Like me, you may think McDonald's isn't anything to write home about.  But let this be a warning to fellow lj readers: If you want to see China the way it was, do it now. Because a few years from now, it will be the golden arches on every lookout tower of the great wall. Your time is running out.

Now, back to the topic of fashion. My personal attitude is that I don't give a f**k how the kids dress in the city.

When I visited Hong Kong for the first time a dozen years ago, I was so enchanted by the brash attitude of the city folks. Growing up in the New York City area, it is a common site to see Asians walking about with defeated looks of immigrant alienation and resigned stares of hard working foreigners (no wonder the women seek escape in dating cookie-cutter Caucasian boys).    I love watching the street kids in Kowloon - they swagger, they are free, they are natural. Dennis says that often times the street folks just throw anything and everything together, whether they are the haves or the have-nots. To that I say, "rock on!"

I love Hong Kong street fashion and I love Kowloon street fashion. Don't change a thing! Do you want to see people spontaneously creating their own fashion style , completely ignoring whatever Vogue or Bazaar tells them what is currently in and what isn't?  I dread the day when these people will disappear into self-conscious, brand-conscious automatons with an acquired insipid colour coordinations deemed by GAP and J-Crew.

How I was doing all this outrageousness only a year ago! I must rediscover my way out my current labyrinth and return to this sense of freedom.

Dec 25, 2001 12:01pm Po Lin Monastery, Lantau Island:
On ground level at this Buddhist temple ground, women sat on the verandah trimming fragrant flower petals for the temple. "What a cushy job," I remarked to Dennis.

We walked up a long flight of steps to the top of one of the largest Buddha statues in the world. At the base of the Buddha statue, tourists and kids attempted to toss coins into the palms (or objects on the palms- such as lotus blossoms and musical pipes) of various statues. If you got one coin into the palm, it will bring you good luck. Not one to rise above, I joined in and got one in after three tries. I cheated and used Korean coins and u-s coins. I didn't check the currency conversion rate, so if I got good luck coming from Korean coins in Hong Kong, I may accidentally trip on a rock and just poke out only one eye.

Dec 25, 2001 1:30pm Po Lin Buddha Summit
As a child I once asked my aunt, "why are there so many pagodas in the world?" She told me that someone once said, "It's because the Buddhists would rather build the 1001th pagoda before they would start to behave in the followings of Buddha himself."

At the grounds of the Po Lin Monastery at the base of the Buddha statue, Dennis and I had lunch together at a shared table with a 79-yr old lady. She was quiet at first, but once Dennis started speaking Cantonese to her, she poured her life story out to him. She had put eight kids through school on hard manual labour. She comes to the monastery once in a while to give thanks to Buddha for the good luck and support she was able to give to her kids. I doubt if she could have made it up those 268 steps to the big Buddha, since all we saw were youngsters and middle-aged parents (huffing) their way up.

After lunch, Dennis and I walked up the long flight of steps to the top of the mountain where the man-made Buddha statue sat.  At the top, we ascended one flight of steps onto a second landing. I looked down and this was what I saw:

Three Buddhist monks posing for pictures with their expensive modern SLR camera. The one on the left has been vainly adjusting his collar for the past 30 seconds to look as dashing as possible. My parents, who were both devout cynics, have recounted stories of Buddhist monks coming to town in Georgetown Penang sporting Rolexes, eating beef, and seeking the services of prostitutes. This is what I thought when I saw this picture: How many of those fancy cameras do you think it would take to build a little escalator to carry the aged, devout Buddhist followers up those insurmountable stairs to their Buddha?

Let's assume the very best and conclude that the expensive camera was a gift from relatives.

I would still find it difficult, if not altogether impossible, to carry it in good conscience while walking past old devout Buddhists at the bottom of the staircase, unable to mount the climb. I would have to piggyback at least one of them up the stairs before I would even think of adjusting my collar at the top.

On the final top level inside the Buddha statue, after more steps and a ticket price (while Buddhist groundskeepers hauled away big steel donation boxes in carts), people lined up to see the one relic of Buddha's body. My eyes were not that good, therefore, behind protected glass frames and chained posts, on top of a fancy ornate crystal plate, I saw what looked like a 3-AMP 250 volt fuse.

Somebody out there somewhere - maybe just outside- is without a light.

(After a few days of thinking about this incident, I have come upon my own enlightenment: Regarding the old and truly devout followers who were unable to get to the top and see this statue of Buddha, I have but four words: They Don't Need To.)

Dec 25, 2001 8:00pm Temple Street

We walk over to Temple Street to check out the evening market fair. It's always opened, and there are literally an endless array of things being sold. I can't even begin to compile a list. Here are some interesting ones: Smelly Bean Curd. If a durian lover like myself tell you that smelly bean curd is a serious understatement, you better take heed of the warning. That said, if you ever need to find the corner stand where this curious item is being sold, just follow your nose.  You know you are getting warm when the people around you start covering their noses with their jacket collars. I must say that once it is fried, the smell isn't that potent anymore. It's actually quite edible when you get right down to it. If you have been reading my livejournal, you will know that one of the things I harp on is the notion that you shouldn't always go by what your eyes see. So here it follows as well: Don't go by what you nose smells. Give Cantonese soul food a try. There's always ample beer nearby. At a corner soul food shop, one can practice airline eating with rickety folding tables along a wet street pavement, cramped so tight that when someone hiccoughs, someone falls off their chair from the vibration. While you try to eat, the next occupants of your table and seats stand directly behind you waiting and staring.

This is not fast food. This is speed-cuisine.

Undoubtedly you are familiar with the Chinese infatuation with feng-shui, palm reading, face reading, house exorcism, and gambling. In fact I am told- by Dennis- that the recent skyscrapers on Hong Kong island are arranged at an angle to divert the chi of the feng shui coming in from the waterways.

Here, the busiest palm reader - probably one of the best on Temple Street - is informing his client that from the look of his palm, it is obvious that he needs a girlfriend and he needs one soon.

Prostitutes are conveniently located around the corner.

Dec 26, 2001, 12:01am Babboo's Birthday

Dennis is half asleep with his back towards me. I sing Happy Birthday to him and try to stay awake as long as I possibly can. In the middle of many nights during this trip, I have often woke up and watched my loved one sleep. It may be for 10 minutes or up to an hour or more. I try to burn into my retina the image of my sweet babboo comfortably dozing away. It may not be the real image when I am back home in the States, but it is a faint reminiscence I can look at when I am once again alone in bed.

Dec 26, 2001, 3:01pm Happy Valley

We take a ride on the public bus up Happy Valley where ridiculously expensive houses and condos are built on the hillside. The residents have so much money to blow, the zig-zagging uphill/downhill single lane roads are packed with Ferrari Testarossas, Mercedes whatever, and Diablos (who comes up with these names anyway?). The irony, as Dennis calls it, is that while most of these cars can easily exceed 140mph, they are stuck at a constant 25 mph stream of backed up expensive cars due the numerous speed-limited public transportation buses all the way up the hill and down as well.   I look in front of our bus and I see a Ferrari, I look behind, a Porsche convertible. All going 25 mph.

Now That's! Entertainment.

Dec 31, 2001 Back In Hong Kong.

A thousand cars and tram trolleys, people, bicycles coming at me from every possible direction as we make our way from central to North Point across Hong Kong. Dennis's sore legs, fresh from the Huashan mini climbing adventure is acting up. We visit neighbourhood haunts and look at current DVD's at $4.00 USD, and little electronic kiosks selling the latest laptops and what not. We take a bus over to North Point, past Dennis's childhood home, the residential tower Continental Mansion, and into his childhood neighborhood. We eat at a congee (porridge) joint. It is delicious. I am very excited to get to know all the places my beloved goes to in his time alone in HK. I am trying to take it all in, enjoying the moment together and eating slowly when Dennis tells me to whip it up.  How am I to know he wants to show me a hundred things? I become flustered and silent even while I take in as much as humanly possible. You see, living apart for long periods of time requires you to function differently. Like messages in bottles, one needs to bottle all the senses and emotions into a container, bring it back to one's place of exile, and unpack sense by sense over a period of months: Standing at the pier, the smell of the sea, the shrimp fishing, the homeless sleeping at the docks, and most of all, my kid, handling me with kid gloves, gently narrating the scenery for my emotional recorder because I am momentarily too speechless, joyous, angered, sadden, and silent to perform the task. I tell myself that these are all the things my babboo have always wanted to show and share with me then at once, I am no longer flustered. Looking back, the mood swing is the result of desperately trying to hang on to everything, trying to taste all that life has to offer, when departure day is just around the corner.

Dec 31, 2001 Four Photographers In Search of A Cable Release

We went to visit Dennis's commercial photographer-best friend 67 and his studio partner, Landry in their studio in the Wan Chai area. One camera after another was pulled out, and one exotic lens followed the next. I must admit I was more interested in the pictures, and I did get to see those as well. At one point I proposed a New Year Eve toast, but I think the translation may have gotten lost somewhere along the way.

One of the world's oldest language was immediately recognized when I pulled the Courvoisier out from my bag. Cheap drinking glasses were rounded up by Dennis. 67 put a cd on the stereo while Landry cleared the table. I uncorked and poured.

For a moment, the camaraderie among the financially-challenged artisans of my youth was revived. The moment sweeter than the drink itself.

Dec 31, 2001 New Year's Eve

We decide to stay in our little hotel room for our New Year's Eve celebration.   Sure the whole world may be exploding with the biggest party in town just outside, but being together, especially on my last night is more important than being out getting lit.

Jan 01, 2001 2:30am New Year's Morning"

   In the middle of the night, I wake up in the extra narrow twin bed and find that I am managing to stay on the bed with my kneecaps as the only part of my body on the mattress.   The rest of my body is hanging over the side of the bed.   I get my last look at my sweetheart dozing away.   He has to wake up at 5 the next morning to rush off to an opening ceremony luncheon on the border of the new territories and mainland China.   Again, he's been having problems falling asleep.   So I stay put and get lots of air time.

It's almost 6 am.   I walk Dennis to the nearest subway stop and practice saying goodbye, eighteen hours ahead of the real thing.   After I get back to the hotel, I start drinking.   Conveniently, the 7-11 is across the street.   I buy quarts of Guinness and Carlsberg and bring it back to the hotel room to sip and read the newspaper.   There's an article on mainland China's trend for health hazards, in the form of gambei, the tradition of toasting, slamming drinks down, and showing the emptied glass to your colleagues before moving on to the next drink.   Participants are rarely allowed to leave the table until they are drunk.   I read this sort of ridiculous machismo and worry about Dennis's luncheon.   I try to call him on his cell but cannot get through.   I get restless and I go out for a walk along Nathan Road up to Jordan Road.   I see girls decked out in club gear just coming out of all night dance parties and raves.   Drunken boyfriends being kept from running into oncoming traffic by half-nelsons applied from the arms of their girlfriends.   I watch the street transform slowly from being packed with night creatures into morning workers going off to their daily dredge.   Crates and crates of empty Heineken bottles outside of clubs catering to white male European tourists in town for a suck.

I buy more San Miguel, Carlsberg and return to the hotel room to pack, slowly numbing myself for what's ahead.

In the afternoon, I buy some books on Master Poets of the Tang Period and take the Star Ferry over to Dennis's storage space in Sheung Wan.   Dennis is scheduled to get home at around 6.   I go for a walk and see Filipino maids scattered all over the streetside of high-brow boutiques.   It is technically a holiday, so they are out in droves, picnicking in the middle of blocked-off streets , e eating sandwiches in front of Armani and Chanel boutiques, which, in itself, is a strange sort of justice for the brand name snobs in town who employ them.

I just hope their picnic baskets are diverting the feng shui away from Gucci and into Chanel.   The latter could use a good wind or two after the years of havoc Alexander McQueen has wreaked onto Coco's house.

I walk into Hong Kong park and climb the observatory tower.   I wear a white shirt and black suit, looking like the odd man out from a New Year's Eve party spillover because I am preparing for the possibility of meeting Dennis's parents.

Jan 1, 2002 6:00pm Dinner with TD and Jim

At the store-room, Dennis and I meet, pack my luggage, hug and kiss goodbye privately in the apartment-turned-storage room.   There is no electricity so we go by the window lights.   How am I to know this will be our last private moment together?

We meet downstairs with TD and head up to his apartment to meet up with Jim.   They are all very kind and warm.   Jim feeds me single malt scotch to tie my beer stupor over.   TD is a good-natured Hannibal Lecter, providing a thousand page oral history (on the spot) on any fine things you care to mention. We go to a clubhouse restaurant along the bay area and have a low-keyed meal.   While Dennis goes to the bathroom, I confide in both TD and Jim that parting with Dennis is the hardest emotional thing for me to handle.   I explain that I need to numb myself with a little help from alcohol.   They listen sympathetically and graciously decide to take us to the airport to provide some additional support.   I hold Babboo's hand in the backseat while he dozes off, having waken up so early this morning to travel.

This is a dream winding down.

Jan 01, 2002 11:45pm departure

We are at the entry point of Korean Air Lines. TD lightens the atmosphere by sneaking a peak around, flipping his coat over his head, and offering: "a last goodbye kiss anyone?" Extremely grateful for their company, but saddened at the lack of private time I have with Dennis, I hug everyone and suggest it's time to go, not wanting to hold anyone up for their workday ahead - especially since I found out Jim is an early sleeper.

I embrace Dennis longer. Then I walk quickly into the entry point, then the customs gate, not allowing myself to look back.

Jan 02, 2002 12:15 am Gate 17

I drink as much water as I can to keep from getting sick and/or crying. There's no two cognacs, no one last embrace. Seeking some courage, I open the book of 25 T'ang Poets to a random page and I read this opening line from Li Po's Ni Ku :

No long rope can tie the running sun

Jan 02, 2001 9:30am "When Will I See You Again?"

At Incheon Airport, Seoul, I wait five hours for the international transfer. An hour before I board, I go to a cafe to drink black coffee and watch the stewards going off to work. At one moment, an Asian man walks by and I see Dennis. I almost call out his name. And then I realise it is just my imagination.

I board my flight home. I take sleeping pills and plug my ears. At one point I half-wake up, and in my daze, look to my side and think my sweet babboo is sitting next to me. I open my lips to speak - then I pause, stop myself.

It is someone else.

I close my lips.

unspoken words.

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