(no subject)
I loved Hong Kong. I could have spent a week or more just exploring within a ten block radius of my hotel.
Also, the Cosmopolitan Hotel was great (except for the rock-hard bed, which was still hard even after they helpfully added a mattress pad and then I added a quilt.) It had some of the best service ever, exemplified when we asked for an umbrella and the guy who gave it to us made sure it opened before he handed it over.
When I think of some other hotels I've stayed at, like the one in India which began renovating the room next door with jack-hammers at 3:00 AM, or the YMCA in New York which had a tilted bed frame, so when you lay down you slowly slid sideways until you fell off, it looks even better. (When I complained about the former, the manager stopped work, then resumed it an hour later (apparently hoping we wouldn't notice), and when I complained about the latter, the desk clerk retorted, "It's a YMCA! What do you expect?!")
Near the hotel was a maze of small shops, including a street devoted solely, on both sides of the road, to lamps and other lighting equipment, including a bubbling pillar of lit water with circulating plastic fish, several chandelier stores, and a store with giant sperm-shaped frosted glass lamps, one of which was wrapped around an egg. Other shops sold cheap and delectable Cantonese pastries and sweets, which I love: dan tat (bright yellow custard tarts), sweet-sour triangles of spongy white rice cake, flaky pastries encasing barbecued pork or sweet bean paste, and coconut-coated mochi balls with various fillings.
I ordered one of the latter, and the woman at the shop said doubtfully, "That has bean in it."
"Yes, I know. One, please." Then, realizing that she spoke English, I added, "What's in that one?"
"It's a sweet custard of eggs and milk... cooked slowly... very smooth... very rich."
"Okay, one of those too."
She pointed out the third. "This one has peanuts inside."
"I've got enough, thanks." I'd already bought and devoured a dan tat at a different store, where the proprietor had removed it from its metal dish by turning it upside-down on to a slice of bread.
She looked at me mournfully. "You don't like peanuts?"
I gave the peanut-filled one to Oyce. The custard was just as delicious as it sounded.
As I mentioned earlier, I went berserk in a VCD store and bought eight VCDs, mostly starring Andy Lau. But a test of one revealed that it didn't play on my laptop, so I decided to try to return the rest, as the others were still sealed in plastic. The hotel desk clerk helpfully wrote out an explanation in Cantonese, which I took with me to the store (buying a can of hot coffee and a dan tat on the way.)
I brought them to the owners, a man and woman, and handed over my explanation. They read it. The woman shook her head vigorously, glared at me, and said something in Cantonese, which I am almost certain was "They're cheap VCDs! What do you expect?"
Me (in English, but mostly via the international language of gestures and intonation): "Look, I certainly bought them here! Here is the bag! Here are the same bags hanging on your wall! And see, they are still sealed and labeled! You can easily return them to the shelves!"
VCD Lady (in Cantonese, but mostly via the international language of gestures and intonation): "No way! No how! Not a chance! Are you nuts? No takebacks!"
Me (in English, but mostly via the international language of gestures and intonation): "Look, I certainly bought them here! Here is the bag! Here are the same bags hanging on your wall! And see, they are still sealed and labeled! You can easily return them to the shelves!"
I hoped that if I stood there and was sufficiently annoying, they might return my money just to get rid of me.
VCD Man (in Cantonese, but etc): "Bring on the kid!" (beckoning to young man) "What do you think?"
Young Man (in Cantonese, but etc): "Hmm. Well, they're still sealed and labeled. I could pop them right back on the shelf. I vote yes."
VCD Lady (in Cantonese, but etc): "What?! No way! You're all crazy! Not on my watch! I obje-"
VCD Man snatches up the wrapped VCDs, thrusts them at the young man to reshelve, and crams cash into my hand.
Me (in English, carefully articulated): "Thank you very much!"
VCD Lady (in the international language of wordless noises, to my face and also making a face, in tones reminiscent of the Booing Woman in The Princess Bride): "BLAAAAAAARGH!"
I took my cash and fled. If anyone here wants an unwrapped VCD of a movie called The Adventurers, which I mostly got because I wanted to see Andy Lau in a military uniform, it's all yours. Maybe it will play for you.
If you see enough cities and you're me, you're always thinking of how some aspects of cities remind you of other cities, and how other aspects seem completely unique. Hong Kong is unique in my experience in its fusion of city with jungle: I saw a little of that in Taipei, but Hong Kong is ten times more so, with nearly vertical slopes in unbroken lushness of ferns and banyans and vines right next to glittering hundred-story skyscrapers. But my visit to the VCD shop struck me as very New York City.
Also, the Cosmopolitan Hotel was great (except for the rock-hard bed, which was still hard even after they helpfully added a mattress pad and then I added a quilt.) It had some of the best service ever, exemplified when we asked for an umbrella and the guy who gave it to us made sure it opened before he handed it over.
When I think of some other hotels I've stayed at, like the one in India which began renovating the room next door with jack-hammers at 3:00 AM, or the YMCA in New York which had a tilted bed frame, so when you lay down you slowly slid sideways until you fell off, it looks even better. (When I complained about the former, the manager stopped work, then resumed it an hour later (apparently hoping we wouldn't notice), and when I complained about the latter, the desk clerk retorted, "It's a YMCA! What do you expect?!")
Near the hotel was a maze of small shops, including a street devoted solely, on both sides of the road, to lamps and other lighting equipment, including a bubbling pillar of lit water with circulating plastic fish, several chandelier stores, and a store with giant sperm-shaped frosted glass lamps, one of which was wrapped around an egg. Other shops sold cheap and delectable Cantonese pastries and sweets, which I love: dan tat (bright yellow custard tarts), sweet-sour triangles of spongy white rice cake, flaky pastries encasing barbecued pork or sweet bean paste, and coconut-coated mochi balls with various fillings.
I ordered one of the latter, and the woman at the shop said doubtfully, "That has bean in it."
"Yes, I know. One, please." Then, realizing that she spoke English, I added, "What's in that one?"
"It's a sweet custard of eggs and milk... cooked slowly... very smooth... very rich."
"Okay, one of those too."
She pointed out the third. "This one has peanuts inside."
"I've got enough, thanks." I'd already bought and devoured a dan tat at a different store, where the proprietor had removed it from its metal dish by turning it upside-down on to a slice of bread.
She looked at me mournfully. "You don't like peanuts?"
I gave the peanut-filled one to Oyce. The custard was just as delicious as it sounded.
As I mentioned earlier, I went berserk in a VCD store and bought eight VCDs, mostly starring Andy Lau. But a test of one revealed that it didn't play on my laptop, so I decided to try to return the rest, as the others were still sealed in plastic. The hotel desk clerk helpfully wrote out an explanation in Cantonese, which I took with me to the store (buying a can of hot coffee and a dan tat on the way.)
I brought them to the owners, a man and woman, and handed over my explanation. They read it. The woman shook her head vigorously, glared at me, and said something in Cantonese, which I am almost certain was "They're cheap VCDs! What do you expect?"
Me (in English, but mostly via the international language of gestures and intonation): "Look, I certainly bought them here! Here is the bag! Here are the same bags hanging on your wall! And see, they are still sealed and labeled! You can easily return them to the shelves!"
VCD Lady (in Cantonese, but mostly via the international language of gestures and intonation): "No way! No how! Not a chance! Are you nuts? No takebacks!"
Me (in English, but mostly via the international language of gestures and intonation): "Look, I certainly bought them here! Here is the bag! Here are the same bags hanging on your wall! And see, they are still sealed and labeled! You can easily return them to the shelves!"
I hoped that if I stood there and was sufficiently annoying, they might return my money just to get rid of me.
VCD Man (in Cantonese, but etc): "Bring on the kid!" (beckoning to young man) "What do you think?"
Young Man (in Cantonese, but etc): "Hmm. Well, they're still sealed and labeled. I could pop them right back on the shelf. I vote yes."
VCD Lady (in Cantonese, but etc): "What?! No way! You're all crazy! Not on my watch! I obje-"
VCD Man snatches up the wrapped VCDs, thrusts them at the young man to reshelve, and crams cash into my hand.
Me (in English, carefully articulated): "Thank you very much!"
VCD Lady (in the international language of wordless noises, to my face and also making a face, in tones reminiscent of the Booing Woman in The Princess Bride): "BLAAAAAAARGH!"
I took my cash and fled. If anyone here wants an unwrapped VCD of a movie called The Adventurers, which I mostly got because I wanted to see Andy Lau in a military uniform, it's all yours. Maybe it will play for you.
If you see enough cities and you're me, you're always thinking of how some aspects of cities remind you of other cities, and how other aspects seem completely unique. Hong Kong is unique in my experience in its fusion of city with jungle: I saw a little of that in Taipei, but Hong Kong is ten times more so, with nearly vertical slopes in unbroken lushness of ferns and banyans and vines right next to glittering hundred-story skyscrapers. But my visit to the VCD shop struck me as very New York City.