Pintuang dilaw

One of my favorite restaurants in Hong Kong is this place called Yellow Door. It's in the 6th floor of decrepit building and seats only 40 people. It probably seats only 15, but the owners squeeze in 40 people.

The menu has only two pages and when you order a Coke, they hand you a can and a straw. It's *that* kind of place.

But my goodness, the food. The food just tastes so good. It's Szechuan with a Shanghainese twist and every dish I've tried so far has been superb. It's either technically superior (like their chicken in dried chili) or surprising and innovative (like their eggplant in chili).

If you're ever in Hong Kong, remind me to take you here.

The other CP

I've had enough of Cebu Pacific.

It's not the mishandled luggage that bothers me. It's the 90 minutes of fear that grips my heart when I'm on board one of their flights. The A320's just seem too small for the trip across the South China Sea.

And while I will always be grateful of Lance Gokongwei and the people at Cebu Pacific who have made travel accessible to "Every Juan", my days of traveling on Cebu Pacific are over.

I've booked the next flight home via Cathay. It's more expensive, but the relief is worth every cent.

Five weekends of March

1 -- work. In this market, this is a *very* good thing.

2 -- chill. Watched a Canto play on Saturday and Lisa Ono on Sunday.

3 -- Republic of China. Taiwan is like Hong Kong. Just bigger, cheaper, and less interesting.

4 -- work. See above.

5 -- chill. Badminton, dimsum, flat hunting.

Tai O, Tai O, am off to see Tai O

So over the weekend I schlepped over to Tai O with (the other) C.C.

Tai O is a fishing town in Lantau island. C. wanted to take some pictures and since it has been months since I took my camera out its bag, I decided to tag along.

Tai O has been referred to as "the Venice of Hong Kong" and the HK Tourism Board says "enchanting [Tai O] is an amateur photographer's paradise". So of course we had to go. For HK's Venice we endured a 30 minute train ride and then a 45 minute bus ride.

And it was a dump. Sad, really.

See for yourself.





The good news is I still managed to take a couple of pretty pictures.

4 weekends of February

1 -- work (Who knew the pace of work would pick up again? No complaints from me)

2 -- V-day in Manila with the parentals

3 -- Oscar movie marathon

4 -- the first of many ping pong Sundays. Yipeee!

Stuff

A lot of things happened this weekend. I was in Macau to eat, I watched Wong Kar Wai's Days of Being Wild, I cooked a corned beef omelet, and finished a collection of short stories called 10 Women Who Shook the World by Sylvia Brownrigg.

Now where to start? I guess with Macau.

C and I hopped on a ferry to Macau with the sole intention of eating well. And we succeeded -- lunch was at Litoral, a Portuguese restaurant in Taipa. Dinner was at Aux Beau Arts, the French place at MGM Grand. The pork with shrimp paste in Litoral disintegrated in my mouth. The potatoes gratin at ABA looked and tasted like it was taken out of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. If you're ever in Macau, try at least one of these places.

Back in Hang Kang, I saw WKW's 90's hit about the 60's -- Days of Being Wild. Someone once told me it was shot in the Philippines. It's not. Only about 15 minutes of it is *set* in the Philippines; and that part was all very "fake". It could have been shot anywhere. That said, I thought it was pretty good. Nothing compared to In the Mood For Love, but I like how WKW (like Robert Altman) uses the same "troop" of HK actors -- Maggie Leung, Andy Lau and Tony Leung.

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The corned beef in the omelet was brilliant; the egg not so much. It was over cooked.

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Lately I've been reading compilations of "contemporary" American short stories. These are what people call "modern" stories. No formal plot really, just descriptions of characters. And lots of magic realism peppered all over the place. In one story, the two female characters build the world's greatest monuments (i.e, the Great Wall, the Taj, the Golden Gate Bridge). In another story, the "Bird Chick" the main character puts up a production of Hamlet performed by a flock of swans.

As you might suspect, I don't like modern stories. They're too... well, for lack of a better word, modern. The plot (or what the writer tries to pass off as one) does not develop properly. The tone is at best artificial. The whole point of reading short stories (like smoking a pipe, listening to records, and drinking scotch old enough to order their own scotch) is to hark back to an earlier time. A time where men wore hats and women wore stockings.

Hmmm, well, not exactly.

I just mean anytime before the Internet. When people spelled correctly and followed the fundamental structure of the short story. And so I read these "modern" stories, and instead of being propelled to a familiar place, I am left grappling, figuring which way is up.

If I wanted to feel disoriented, I'd read poetry.

Postcard from HK

I think one of the best things about Hong Kong is that it's a city that knows its place in the world. Unlike New York or Manila, it's not populated by deluded people who think they live in the center of the universe. Hong Kong knows it's just one small island in a dynamic world. There's much to see once you leave it.

Hong Kong is also somewhere you stay for only a portion of your life. Somewhere you stop on your way to somewhere else. You're not born here, you're not from here. No one retires here.

Painting no. 4

Flag down is up again

I jump in and out of HK cabs with such frequency, you'd think I was actually going somewhere important. Most times I'm on my way to someplace I can walk to in 20 minutes. But I'm lazy so I take a cab and pay the minimum "flag down" rate.

When I moved here that rate was HK$15. At just slightly more than US$2 (the price of a bus ride in Manhattan), I can get driven around in a cab. A few months ago, when the price of oil was more than US$150 a barrel, they raised the base rate to HK$16. I thought nothing of it except for the hassle of extra coins I needed to accept as change.

Now it's HK$18, a 20% increase in 2 years. It's still cheap compared to Singapore, but not cheap enough so that I can hail a cab mindlessly anytime I please.

A very Hong Kong weekend

Over the weekend I did two "very Hong Kong" things: I went to the Wan Chai computer center for the first time and I got my first foot massage (ever) from an old Chinese lady.

Wan Chai Surprise

I've been hearing about the Wan Chai computer center since I moved here a couple of years ago. I shied away since I thought the place would be well, to put it frankly, a bit dodgy. I had a mental picture of small cramped shops in a dilapidated building, with pushy salespeople practically intimidating you to buy the most expensive laptop in their shop. I also thought it would be a "locals only, please" kind of place. Where people didn't speak English just to exclude you.

So with this terrifying mental picture I dragged C. to Wan Chai. I figured I could use both the moral support and the Cantonese speaker.

It's funny now, but I can't even remember where I got the idea that the Wan Chai computer center was dodgy. The building is by no means dilapidated; and while the shops are side by side, it is not anymore crowded than say the old Vira Mall (but with better shops). The salespersons are friendly but not pushy. Everyone speaks (or attempts to speak) English. And when you tell them you're just browsing and just want to have a look around, they smile and do a "Price is Right" model gesture, showing off their wares.


Big Bucket Foot Massage

Saturday morning I got a call from J., one of my FFF (favorite Firm friends), who I thought was still on holiday somewhere in South East Asia (Laos, Cambodia, who knows?).

Out of breath, J. tells me he needs a hug (and a foot massage). He just spent a nightmarish 16 hours in the Bangkok airport. Thank goodness his dad sent over a plane to pick him up from a private airstrip outside Kanchanaburi.

"Yes, of course. Thank goodness", I say.

The way he said his "dad sent over a plane" to pick him up from state-of-emergency Bangkok was the same way I'd say my dad picked me up from swimming lessons. I'm sure some people after hearing such news would "play it cool" and not ask how one's father can arrange for a plane to whisk his son out of a private airstrip in rural Thailand.

I am not one of those people.

So later that day over tea and finger sandwiches, J., gives me a blow by blow narration of his holiday from hell. (This post is about the foot massage and I am getting there.) We capped off the lovely afternoon (fantastic weather in HK now) with a foot massage in Causeway Bay.

The foot massage was as expected, painful. Painful but in a good, stress relieving way. To start things off, you're made to soak your feet in this large wooden bucket filled with peppermint leaves (ooh, relaxing) and scalding water (ooh, second degree burns).

With the smallest and nimblest of hands your masseuse, will then methodically beat your feet to numbness and smile sweetly as you mouth the words, "Please God, make it stop".

Exactly sixty-five minutes later we step out into the chilly street and I feel great; my step lighter than before (probably because of the damaged nerve endings, but what the hey).

I swear this isn't a guy in a panda suit

For more adorable panda photos, click on "gallery" on the upper right corner.

Repulse Bay 2008

T8

Typhoon signal number 8 is the highest possible typhoon warning that can be hoisted in Hong Kong. T8 typhoons carry winds that travel 63 kilometers an hour or more.

Yawn.

Yawn, this time with arms extending over my head.

Yawn, this time with me looking really bored.

63km/hour?

Are they kidding? I run faster than that.

(Insert bored look here)

In the Philippines, where we have "proper" typhoons, the highest storm warning is 3 (no need to reach such high numbers) and to get that honor, you need winds upwards of 100km/hour.

100km/hour.

Now that's a typhoon.

To move or not to move

That is the question.

My lease is up and my landlord is raising my rent. Not by much percentage wise, but by fair amount HK$-wise.

I've found a sexy studio with a deck two blocks away, but it's not cheap either, and while I will be saving some money if I move, I will also be giving up my Grade A building, closet space, free coffee and croissants, and English speaking doorman who I can bully to open my front door when I lock myself out of my flat (this happens more often than you think).

In short, I'll be giving up some things in exchange for the savings. The question is then, am I willing to give up these little caprichos.

After living in HK for a year and half...

1. I still don't speak a word of Cantonese.

(Well, actually, that's not true. I know 5 words -- "thank you", "please", "stop here", "what's up?" and "idiot". I think it is a very full vocabulary.)

2. I am no longer annoyed at the sound of Cantonese.

(Well, actually, that's not true either. Now and then I still get bothered by the high-pitched squawking, but much less than when I first moved here.)

3. I still love the skyline, the bay, the lights. (True)

4. I still haven't been to China. (Unfortunately, true.)

5. I think it is an incredible city. It is both 90 minutes and a world away from home. (Irrefutably true).

The good news and the bad news

Bad news first.

Bad news: I'm overweight.

Good news: I have unbelievable amounts of self discipline.

Bad news: My unbelievable amounts of self discipline have remained untapped.

Good news: I summoned the self discipline and started going to the gym like a maniac.

Bad news: I injured my knee.

Good news: I saw a doctor.

Bad news: Doctor's in HK cost a fortune.

Good news: I get paid a fortune.

Even better news: I have insurance.

Bad news: Doctor is believer in holistic approach to medicine and sent me to a therapist. (I want drugs, damnit!)

Good news: The words "deep tissue massage" were used.

Bad news: Therapist turns out to be sketchy looking Indian guy.

Unbelievably fantastic news: My knee is better.

The other white meat

A couple of weekends ago I schlepped to my favorite Vietnamese restaurant for some pho. It was 11:58 a.m.

The doors were shut, the lights closed, but you could see the waiters standing at attention inside.

The sign at the door said they open at noon.

It is now 11:59. And the small "crowd" in front of the restaurant consists of me, a white man carrying a plump baby (with the cutest, fatest feet) and an Asian woman fawning at the child as if it were hers. It was hers.

My frustration over the one minute wait must have been visible because the man with a baby said, "Forgive them, they are very professional."

I responded truthfully, but without thinking, "I am so hungry I could eat your baby."

"Oh my God, I can't believe I said that out loud."

Instead of exhibiting shock, the couple beamed at me. The mother responds, "I know what you mean. I want to eat her up too." And she grabs those useless, but so edible feet.

Apparently, admitting to wanting to consume someone's else's baby is a great ice breaker.

Walang pasok (aka Birthday ni Buddha)

There are 16 public holidays in Hong Kong. There are so many because Christian (Good Friday, Christmas), Buddhist (Ching Ming Festival) and Communist (National Day of the People's Republic of China) holidays are observed.

Now I love holidays (who doesn't?). But I don't care to know why there's no work. Basta walang pasok. Isn't that what really matters? Besides, most of the Buddhist/Chinese festivals are linked to the lunar calendar, so the dates swing wildly.

Sometime ago, I had dinner with a friend's houseguest, right before a Buddhist holiday. We got to talk about the upcoming event and she pressed me to explain the reason for the day off.

"Who the F cares?", I wanted to say.

Instead I said it was Buddha's birthday. I mean, with all the re-birth going on (not reincarnation dummy, I know my World Religions) in Buddhism, the Big Guy must have at least 16 birthdays.

x x x

But if you must know, because you have nothing better to do on a holiday than to think about why it is holiday, today people celebrate the Mid-Autum Festival. No work in Hong Kong. It's supposed to be some harvest festival. People light lanters, look at the moon while eating -- you guessed it -- mooncake.

Happy now?

Major Harm, No Fowl

The news wires aren't carrying the story, but there is no duck or goose for sale in Hong Kong.

Home early

The last time I was told to go home because of a storm, I was in law school. It might have happened when I was in the Perm, but that would have been a one off. There are no uniformly applied regulations in the Philippines covering typhoons and when they are considered so strong people at work need to go home.

Come to think of it, there are no uniformly applied regulations in the Philippines at all. (But that's for another post).

So anyway, I'm home early today. Which is great and no one is complaining, but to be honest I thought the People's Republic of China had a better system for letting people go home early from an average work day. Actually I thought there was a system. There isn't any.

What happened was we got this e-mail that said, go home, it's typhoon signal no. 8. And I guess the entire working population of Hong Kong got that same e-mail at the same time, because all at once, people crammed elevators, buses, trains, trams (there was not an available taxi in sight).

Good thing it wasn't raining when this happened. Could you imagine the chaos if it was?