I like place names in Hongkong. Island Line towards Kennedy town, Sheung Wan ("wan" means bay, loads of "wans" around here), Ladder street, as steep as its name evokes...

In Macau, place names are both in Portuguese and Cantonese. The city has been given back to China only 20 years ago. The old town is now a world heritage site and beautiful buildings in pastel colours make me think of elaborately iced cakes. I walk along its European-looking alleys, baffled by pervasive smells of Peking duck and soy sauce. In a vegetarian restaurant recommended by a young lady, I meet Wai Chong, who speaks perfect English. She is surprised to see me there. No tourists ever eat in that tiny place at the end of a back street. She orders for me, will insist to pay for my meal. Welcome in Macau! Most vegetarian restaurants in China, she explains, have a religious background. This one is Buddhist. This is why no onion or garlic is used in the dishes as they disturb mindfulness.
I take the bus to the island of Taipa, where tall buildings and crazy grand hotels dwell.

With Gwendoline, we sail on the Hongkong straight in a classic junk. We are offered drinks, see the full moon over the water, the reflection of the city lights. Sails are lit red. It could be artificial but it is magical, like being on a film set of "Pirates of the China Sea" with Jackie Chan as its maverick captain.
It is the first time I celebrate Xmas at my daughter's, with her partner. We get up early, open a few pressies. Friends arrive at 9am, with bottles of beer. Start as you mean to go on. Up, up more flights of steps, later, to other friends with food and bottles adding to the magnificent buffet awaiting us. We play non-politically correct games. Roaring laughters. I get back early, down, down to the flat to phone Europe and snuggle up on the sofa. A perfect day.


One evening, I go to Ben's art class, down and along Queen's road. He teaches me how to hold my brush, how to give the ink different values, shows me the work of modern Chinese artist, emphasises the importance of the empty space, the white in the page, of trying the essential stroke.
Following his advice, I take many trains to go almost all the way to the border with China to the Art museum of the China university of Hongkong. I walk up, up into the forest surrounding the campus, perched on the mountainside. The permanent collection is not available but I marvel at the display of jewels from Tibet, Nepal and Mongolia. On the way down, I eat Dim Sum in a restaurant that seems to be a club for the university staff. Never mind. They welcome me, give me a menu, lead me to a table covered with a pristine white cloth, offer me a choice of teas, bring steaming dishes. I eat a sweet soup for dessert.

On the way back to Hongkong island, there is time to visit the monastery of the 10 000 Buddhas. Golden statues line the path up the slope. A lot of steps for a lot of Buddhas. Buddhettes adorn the top shrine, some holding a baby, not unlike statues in most catholic churches. I walk down a secluded path, where no tourists stray, where families of monkeys scamper away as I approach and spot signs for a bees farm, delighted to be away from buildings, busy-ness and traffic.
Gwendoline, who knows my longing for wide natural spaces, takes me to the island of Lan Tau. We walk along market gardens and up, up, up. It is only 24° but so humid that it feels much hotter. We walk down the path, more flights of steps to another harbour, a restaurant, the ferry to Hongkong island. Beaches ares still being cleared of the destruction wreaked by the October typhoon, the most severe on record, tangles of trees and branches, concrete blocks torn away from the promenade... I was recently asked whether I "believed" in global warming. It is a strange turn of phrase. Believing is not seeing and the effects of global warming are in front of our very eyes.
After 3 weeks spent here in the Far East, I can't help reflecting on how wholeheartedly consumerism is embraced. I met Isabelle, a French lady who taught French in Yunnan, China, for the last 15 years. People are happy there, she said, rejoicing in being able to purchase goods. For how long will they rejoice until, like some of us (not enough of us) in the west, they realise it is a downward spiral for our world? In 100 years, will there even be insects left?
This evening, we will celebrate New Year and I hug and embrace all my loved ones, those are that present and those that are not, all y friends far and wide. I wish them to live in peace and happiness.