Andy had to catch a flight late that afternoon, but he still had the first half of the day. Like me, he really just wanted to get an introduction to Hong Kong. So we took the Star Ferry across the harbor from Kowloon to Hong Kong Island and found a Chinese lunch spot in Lan Kwai Fong, one of Hong Kong's swank night spots. Then we boarded a double-decker tram and both nodded in and out of sleep as we rattled East across the island.
At the terminus, it was time for him to return, but I saw that I had plenty of time to continue on around the island. I found a double-decker bus to Stanley, the little market town both Mom and Catharine had recommended with longing. I passed by the market, more interested in temples and beaches. I sat on St. Stephen's beach as the sun crept toward the hills to the West.
It
was time for a swim. For the first time this trip, I parted with my holster
of passport, tickets, and other stuff I couldn't afford to lose, and dove
in. With one eye on my stuff back on shore, I made it out to a floating platform
and sat for a while looking across the South China Sea.
I was back in Stanley before all the shops closed and found a bus to Aberdeen: further clockwise around the island. In Aberdeen I followed the guide's instructions to Jumbo, the lavish floating restaurant featured in one of the James Bond flicks. Unfortunately they didn't have the crab cooked in a whole coconut as the ferry had promised, but the seafood dish (sort of a risotto) was good.
A bus from Aberdeen completed my circuit of the isle, and I ended up in the Wan Chai district, looking for a massage parlor. The guide steered me to an old club that "looks really seedy, but it's on the up and up" (1998, p.126) where as soon as I walked in I was cheerily steered away from the front desk and into the changing room. Here, for the second time, I left my holster behind (in the locker they gave me) and followed the attendant downstairs to the shower.
The old attendant in the shower saw the number attached to my locker key and winked: "ooh, number seven! She's very cute!" He had a fresh towel and a fresh wink for me when I was done showering. Next they led me into a lounge chair in a waiting room where I was offered a drink (no beer) and some Chinese television.
My masseuse came along and invited me into the massage room. Though there were windows and several other massage tables, the room was all ours. We hadn't discussed price or anything to this point. She began a low-impact massage. After a half-hour or so, she began asking what sort of massage I wanted: did I want the "special massage" for about $100 (US)?
No, I wanted the special I'd seen coming in the front door: one hour for about $30 (US). It didn't compute; something got lost in translation. "Do you want Special Massage?" "No, thank you." Hmm. The thirty-dollar price wasn't going to fly. It'd be about $50, which, she insisted, included her tip. Fine, whatever. She worked on me for another ten minutes or so while I envisioned what the non-"up and up" massage parlors offered their patrons.
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