It
was one of the shortest flights of this trip, but where I landed bore no
resemblance to the place I'd left. A few steps on the Hong Kong airport's
clean marble floors, following the carefully laid-out signs from escalators
to trains, walking past modern amenities and gift shops: it was a far cry
from the squalor and chaos of India's welcome mat. And yet I'd built up an
affection for India's pungent reality.
It was either my longing for the adventures of India, or the Asian familiarity of Hong Kong, or the dawning realization that my trip suddenly had a schedule to it (I had to be on a plane back to the U.S. in four days to catch my Dad's 60th birthday festivities), or all of these things that made Hong Kong the least sublime of the trip's stops. That's not to say it sucked--it just had some pretty high watermarks to meet. A couple duck dinners and a mild case of the shits set in (after I'd successfully navigated Indian cuisine--go figure) and my pace mellowed toward what it was in Wales.
With the flight delay, my early morning arrival in Hong Kong became a late afternoon arrival. I found a hostel and met my roommates. Andy from Wales was headed to Australia to surf for a couple months. The guy from the Philippines was passing through, returning to Shanghai, where he plays in a band. We all went foraging for dinner together. The menu was all in Chinese, so we took the waiter's eager advice that we'd probably like some duck on rice. And beer.
Our Filipino bass player was ready for bed, but Andy and I weren't. Here's the Lonely Planet guide's description that sold us on our next stop:
If you want to see one of Hong Kong's more humorous local bars, check out Jouster II. . . Made up to look like a medieval castle, down to a knight in armour and miniature drawbridge, it's a pretty amusing place. The crowd is mostly Chinese, and the volume can get deafening when several tables all start drinking games. (Hong Kong. 1998. p.190)
Sold. We bought each other a beer or three and confirmed all the above details of the place. Then we got engrossed in the Ultimate Fighting Championship on TV and some bloodthirsty jocularity. We saw all the fights through and still weren't ready to call it quits. So I recommended we hit the nightclubs. The guide promised "Rick's Bar" to be among the more happenin' joints in the area, and with Bogart and Bergman posters to boot.
It was twenty bucks (US) each to get in, but that included two drinks apiece, which could easily run 10 bucks each in a club like this. I got both our entry fees, since I was clearly the one eager to get in this place.
I burned my drink coupons on a couple drinks for us, then we watched the dance floor ebb and flow for a while. I don't know how I got dancing, but before I knew it I was on the fringe of a big jovial group, and we were trading off getting jiggy in the middle of a ring of grinning drunken revelers. Andy stayed on the outskirts of the dance floor, and told me later the girl he was talking to kept insisting he go out and join his friend on the dance floor. I believe he did a couple times.
I took a sweaty break and sat with a woman who had been working up a sweat of her own on the dance floor. She was a teacher from Hong Kong. We talked a bit about flying around the world and teaching, then found the dance floor once more before closing time (2 AM).
I strolled home alone and tumbled into deep sleep.
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