Journals of a globe trotter

Journals of a globe trotter archive.
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The following diary extract is based on one I wrote back in 1984 to my best friend back in England. I have since re-written my eight year old ramblings in order to invoke a better picture of events and the place itself.
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“Dear Charlotte,
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At last we have arrived. I can’t believe how different this place is. When we finally made it through customs at the airport I walked towards the automatic doors leading out to this strange new world and was immediately felled by the hot humid air which hit my lungs, as if my chest had been slapped by a heavy wet towel. After gasping for breath I retreated as quickly as my winded lungs would allow back to the welcoming cool of the air conditioned lounge. Air-conditioning, what a wonderful thing it is that they have here, in every shop and restaurant it provides welcome relief from the interminable heat and humidity. Most of the shops have open fronts so the cool air spills out into the street providing a breath of respite as you walk past. How very different from England where we would be darting from shop to shop for warmth!

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We are staying in a hotel for the time being, until we find a suitable apartment to make home. It’s mainly apartments here, no one seems to live in houses, and the apartments come stacked one on top of another in the tallest buildings I have ever seen, skyscrapers they are called, towering hundreds of floors up into the sky. I have never seen buildings as tall. Imagine the spire of Salisbury Cathedral back home in England and multiply the height by fifty! The hotel itself is a far cry from the old rustic school house we lived in back in Netherhapton. Incredibly modern, tv’s in every room and the restaurant downstairs is indescribably ornate – great big plush banqueting tables and gilding everywhere you look. Somewhat garish actually, I don’t think I have ever seen anything quite like it but apparently a common decor theme for the Chinese, partial to showing their wealth wherever and whenever possible.
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Outside the hotel is a different picture altogether. In fact to be truthful it frightens me immensely. I can’t set foot outside without my hand firmly ensconced in a parental grip. Every morning it seems, over breakfast down in the garish restaurant we read yet another story of some poor child scolded nearly to death by hot oil from one of the many street hawkers, usually as they are wheeling their illegal street carts, complete with gas burner and a gigantic wok full of hot oil, as fast as they can down the busy main streets in order to escape from the local police.
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It is quite frankly terrifying even just stepping outside the hotel for a minute. After the green and tranquil village of Netherhampton which we called home for the last five years this is going to take some adjusting to. The streets are teeming with millions of people; each hurrying about their business like the world is going to end in the next five minutes. My brother has boldly developed a system of walking everywhere with his hands stuck firmly to his hips so that he barges through the crowd making everyone else move out of the way for him, clever really and probably the only way to deal with the crowded streets here. And it’s not just the people and pavements that are difficult to navigate. The roads too are an entity unto themselves, if it’s not hundreds of the local red taxis trying to run you down left right and centre then the trams will do a good job of trying. Yes that’s right, trams! Somewhat old fashioned methods of transport which run the entire length and breadth of central and downtown HK and actually serve a great purpose here in this tiresome heat as you can jump on and off them at almost two minute intervals down the middle of every road. At 20 cents a ride they are extremely cheap too, no air conditioning unfortunately but it saves a sweaty walk and if you manage to squash yourself into a window seat (yes there are usually three times as many people as ought to be riding each tram at any one time!) then you at least catch a cool waft of a breeze as the tram trundles down the road.
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At night here, sun sets at around 6 or 6:30pm, the city comes alive in a very different way. We usually go out for dinner, a local typical Cantonese place, usually within walking distance of the hotel so that we can sample the HK nightlife. Colorful doesn’t even come close to describing the array of lights and neon flashing signs that suddenly appear after dark. You can walk down the same route during daylight hours and never know you were on the same street. It totally transforms into a Mecca of glaring advertisements in every conceivable colour and size, like everything else in this mad city, there won’t be an inch of free space without some sort of light or advert glaring out at you. Outside most of the restaurants they have huge glass tanks full of varieties of fish – none of which are familiar to me – you choose the fish that you would like to eat and off they go and cook it for you,10 mins later and it’s on a plate in front of you giving new meaning to the word “fresh”. Great, as long as you don’t mind being “eye ball to eye ball” with your next meal!
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Talking of which, the food here is something else. They eat everything, not one part of an animal here goes to waste and the variety of wildlife that they eat, well, to say it’s diverse would be an understatement. You have to try everything once though right! So far the most daring has been the consumption of fish eyeballs (my brother of course!) but down in the markets you can buy all sorts of oddities: snakes (drinking the gall bladder whilst still warm is a particular delicacy, something to do with prosperity I believe) live frogs, chickens feet, fried crickets and thousand year old eggs, to name but a few. But the worst of all has to be the durian fruit. A smell unlike anything you have ever had the misfortune to encounter, and its everywhere you go. Imagine piles and piles of rotting food waste and you’ll be somewhat close. Plenty of rubbish littering the streets here too, adding its powerful stench to the polluted air as it sits fermenting in the 35 degrees Celsius that is every day temperature here.
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You do get the welcome waft of incense now and again though, drifting up from one of the many offerings the spiritual Cantonese make daily to their gods. You simply will not find a single restaurant or shop complete without a miniature temple offering Buddah a selection of fruit, flowers and burning incense”.