Sunday, 9 December 2018

Dumplings and Ding-ding

Not quite so motivated to ping as jet lag finally kicked in on my second night in Hongkong. A lot has been said about it and there is nothing new to report on that peculiar kind of misery. I was a bit quick to rejoice yesterday after a good eight hours of sleep, hoping, against all previous experience, that I had nailed it. Still, the foggy feeling that I was a bit removed from reality should have warned me that the European part of me was not running fast enough to catch up with the rest in Asia. Nothing to do, of course, with the strangeness of landing in a city of 7 million souls, of being neighbours to a Taoist temple whose gong can be heard in the morning, of being perched on the 20th floor and still get a crick in the neck looking up at surrounding skyscrapers, of trees with a forest of apparent roots and of markets with unidentifiable goods labelled in unidentifiable writing.

Stewardesses have a thankless task. Those on my British Airways flight were absolute darlings. I was ill, had cold sweats, fainted, was a bit sick, nothing too messy, thank goodness for that. Being English, Kay and Clarissa offered me a cup of tea, which made me smile. Then, they brought oxygen, which was just the thing. Then, the plane being full to the brim, they asked a lady to move from business class to 1st class and offered me her bed. What a way to get an upgrade… I wallowed in luxury for  the rest of the journey. Air-sickness, they told me. They see it all the time. A first for me. I was close to tears to see my big girl at the airport, with a smile that lit all her face. 



She recently moved with her partner, Jason, to a more roomy flat. Under Hongkong standards, it means it is only marginally bigger than the boat. Haha… Seriously, it is very light and there are seats on the window ledges with a plummeting view… They have a large bedroom (not the usual Hongkong cupboard-size) with a walking wardrobe, Gwendoline’s pride and joy. The  kitchen boasts a cooker with an oven, the latter being an exception, it appears. They purchased for their guests, a stool that can be unfolded into a comfortable single bed and stored back out of the way. I was fed a Vietnamese take-away that tasted fantastic and was poured a glass of single malt whisky, which dispelled any lingering air-sickness fumes. Bless them…


The welcome didn’t stop there. Gwendoline, being Gwendoline, had planned a full day for us, after a quiet morning with fresh croissants and a big coffee. First stop, Man Mo temple, built at the end of the 19th century for the worship of the God of Literature and the God of martial Arts. Red and gold shine behind the smoke of incense stick and the Sunday crowd. Deities line up against the wall. I promise myself to come back later, when it is empty. 
It is then only a short stroll to the former Police Married Quarters (PMQ). They have been transformed into a beehive of upmarket shops and exhibition spaces. Clothes designers, Japanese ceramic artists, bamboo bikes, alternatives to plastic (a very welcome but minute drop in that ocean), delicious coffees… 


We meet Heather, a friend of theirs, to eat a Bao (a sort of bun) and share a cab to the east of the island where we join Julia, and Felicity. Felicity is from Hongkong and is one of Gwendoline’s Christmas presents to me. All 5 of us are going to learn to make dumplings. We buy food in the market and I ply her with questions, hence solving some food mysteries. We go to her sister’s flat, big enough to accommodate us and meet her family. Wai Wai, her one-year-old nephew smiles a toothless grin at us from his play-pen. His name means that he is very clever though at the moment all he says is ba ba da ba… We prepare fish, pork and vegetable filling for the dumplings and learn the art of folding the little parcels in fish shape, Japanese style smily face shape, and another nifty one. Felicity watches us indulgently then steams the lot, which we savour with soy sauce. Foodie day, indeed. 




From the east to the west of the island, ding-dings offer a cheap and slow alternative to the very efficient public underground system. They are double decker trams who chime their way through the traffic. I see large groups of people sat on the pavement, chatting, preparing food, keeping warm with cardboard boxes and each other’s company. Sunday is family day, heather explains, and the Filipino and Indonesian help who take care of children and home are thrown out of the house for the day…. The contrast with the bling and the swanky buildings is painful. 



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