REDISCOVERING HONG KONG Thassos Vogtli Switzerland Winter 2005-06
Discovery Bay Stepping off the ferry in Discovery Bay is like stepping into a child’s dream. The plaza holds all the answers to one’s worldly needs in one development. Right around the corner are tennis courts and swimming pools in the residents club. All along the private beach, rows of little European-style houses with quaint little gardens squat lazily in the morning sunlight, interrupted only at intervals by colourful playgrounds – a stark contrast to the shabby and uninviting highrises that define the majority of Hong Kong. The streets carry electrically powered golf carts with the odd bus rumbling along. All in all, an idyllic place for children to grow up in, which is why one sees and hears them all around, accompanied by Filipina maids or occasionally their young mothers. I have enjoyed the pleasure of living here during the first seven years of my life, and coming back here after twelve years in Switzerland brings back astoundingly vivid flashbacks: the plaza, where I played with my friends on Saturday afternoons, the video surveillance cameras I dodged on roller skates, the rock wall on Seabee Lane that now seems much smaller and less impressive than in the days when I scrambled up it under the anxious eyes of my mother and the encouraging calls of my father, and even the smell of the trees that form the border between the beach and Seahorse Lane. It brings back memories of my first and only pet, a lizard I dubbed Flash after my personal cartoon hero from whom he seemed to have inherited his impressive speed and agility. Long forgotten friends like Puru, a Swedish boy who lived a few houses from mine in Seahorse Land, or his next-door neighbour Craig, a boy of African origin whose left ear was crumpled since birth, suddenly appear vividly before my mind’s eye. I feel catapulted back into the unreal realms of childhood, where everything seems right as long as there’s a house to live in, playgrounds to play in and friends to have fun with. Is that not what we all secretly seek, albeit in slightly different forms? Are we not all essentially yearning for people who care about us, for a home we love, where we feel secure, and a way to distract us from our troubles, to let forget our stress and our worries? Discovery Bay tries to fulfill these needs. By providing a more open feeling and by leaving the natural flora of the surrounding hills, Discovery Bay is a welcome change to the grey, neon flashing streets of Central or Kowloon. Tennis, golf or swimming let the residents of Discovery Bay enjoy themselves through exercising their body and relieving their souls. The houses in Discovery Bay are not characterless highrises, but homely living places which allow the residents to actually enjoy living there. How has such a place come to exist in a city like Hong Kong, where things like open space, natural greens and low houses are an extreme rarity? The remarkable abundance of Caucasians and conspicuous lack of Chinese people offers an explanation. Originally planned as a holiday resort, Discovery Bay turned rapidly into a community of colonial expatriates and is symbolic of the urge to go abroad, earn money while retaining the ability to leave the world of business to return to a place away from the stress of Hong Kong’s crowded streets, to a peaceful and safe home away from home.
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But should only the rich be able to enjoy such a place? That is what happened when the plan changed from building a holiday resort to building a luxurious residential area with high rental prices. As Discovery Bay is privately owned and flourishing, one cannot realistically believe that the future will bring a dramatic drop in real estate prices, so it would seem that the luxuries to be enjoyed in Discovery Bay are reserved for the relatively wealthy. But is that really the case? If we cannot live in Discovery Bay, why not bring Discovery Bay – or at least a bit of it – to the city? Let us give the rest of Hong Kong something of the Discovery Bay Dream, let us give it some open space, let there be light, let there be plants, let there be air. It is, after all, your home, so you should take care of it, nourish it and make it a better place to live in.
Lamma Island After five weeks in the crowded and dusty streets of Kowloon, Swiss hearts, minds and lungs long for fresh air, luscious green and more than ten percent of the sky. At first glance it would appear that such needs would prove difficult to satisfy in Hong Kong, but as a matter of fact it is really quite simple: Go to the Central Ferry Pier and hop on a boat to Lamma, an island whose beauty, tranquillity and nature cannot be rivalled even by the magnificent view from the Peak. Lamma Island has two hearts: One is the harbour village in Yung Shue Wan, the other is the more remote bay of Sok Kwu Wan, consisting of not much more than the Tin Hau Temple and a string of seafood restaurants. Yung Shue Wan is a small place, yet its narrow lanes between small houses are teeming with activity as souvenir shops, VCD-temples, cafes and restaurants vie for the attention of passers-by. The air is full of the mixed smells of salt, fish waiting to be sold and the various odours emitted by the kitchens filled with busy cooks and hot stoves. Other than enjoying the little restaurants, buying souvenirs or visiting the local beaches, there is not much to do or enjoy, so the time I spent there consisted of a
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little walking and an interesting talk with an impressively bearded Australian book-salesman who does his business sitting on the side of the road with a little rack of English classics of the more alternative genre such as William Sutcliffe’s “Are You Experienced?” or “Man and Boy” by Tony Parsons.
Arriving at Sok Kwu Wan, the ferry passes a few fish farms in the secluded bay before halting at a pier which accommodates a few restaurants selling the freshest imaginable seafood. There are two choices: Either go directly towards the restaurants or take the opposite path, which eventually also reaches the restaurant, but not after a long, refreshing and very scenic walk around the south-eastern part of the island. Walking along that path one becomes suddenly aware of the constant downpour of noise in Hong Kong. The silence, broken only by the odd bird, insect or wind rustling the branches of some bush or tree, comes almost as a shock, taking away any urge to speak, leaving only a blissful silence. Equally enjoyable is the vitalizing fresh air, rich of oxygen from the opulent vegetation surrounding the path. It leads you to picturesque bays, long beaches and occasional highlights of views from the tops of various hillocks. In the end you descend to Tin Hau Temple, a little temple at the seaside devoted to Tin Hau, the goddess of the sea and of fishermen who protects the latter, ensuring them fine weather and full nets. The temple also holds a long glass tank, in which lies the preserved body of a gigantic, eel-like fish, an apparently very rare and sacred fish, being one of five species in Asia. After the long and wonderfully pacifying walk there is nothing better to satisfy the built up appetite than the exquisitely cooked fresher-than-fresh seafood in one of the neighbouring restaurants, bringing the trip to Sok Kwu Wan to a very satisfying end, leaving you with the drowsy perspective of a comfortable ferry ride and an inviting bed after a fulfilling and relaxing day.
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Tian Tan, Lantau Island I caught my first sight of the Big Buddha on Lantau Island from out of the window of the bus that was going to bring me right to the base of this majestic structure. It suddenly appeared, a solemn silhouette framed by the blue sky and flanked by two peaks and was equally quickly jolted out of sight as the bus bumped its way around another bend. Still, that small jolt of excitement lasted all the remaining way up the hills, so that I didn’t even feel my dizzy head and aching back as I climbed off the bus at the base of the stairway that leads up to the actual statue. The first sight was quickly outdone by the one that now revealed itself to me: there, upon the summit of a hill, it sat, tall but not towering, impressive but not intimidating, balanced and calm, the huge bronze statue of one of the oldest and most praised human beings ever to have walked this earth. Leading up to it are sixteen flights of stairs with sixteen steps each, reaching the foot of the hill directly in front of a raised circle with four stairs facing east, west, north and south and single round stone right in the middle. Standing on that central stone and facing the Buddha, one feels the essence of Buddhism all around, in the vastness of the stairway, the grandness of the statue, the smoke coming from the incense burners in front of the monastery at your back and the green hills surrounding this little haven of symmetry. If I were to grade first impressions on a scale of ten, this would definitely be an eleven.
Not wishing to go right to the best part by running straight up the stairs, I turned around and went to look at the Po Lin monastery first. Directly n front of the first temple stand rows and rows of incense sticks and two massive iron pots, black from years of smoke, all issuing cloud upon cloud of fragrant smoke as a sign of devotion. The temples themselves are tall halls with ornate and painted roofs, walls and pillars and impressive golden centre-pieces picturing Buddha or Quan Yin. The general spirit is somewhat diffused by the masses of tourists, the souvenir shops and noisy restaurant, but still the
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monastery is an interesting place to visit. After that, nothing can stop me from beginning the ascent towards this colossus of Lantau. The monotone rhythms of the stairs and of my breathing have synchronized perfectly right before reaching the top. Looking up, I find myself staring into the smiling face of a man who lived two and a half thousand years ago and is now revered by millions as much more than just a smiling man. His teachings have endured time and still hold so much truth for so many people. This statue shows how much Buddha’s teachings have inspired, guided and saved uncountable people in this world, how much he accomplished, how great he has become. How does that feel, I wonder? To have led such a life that two and a half millennia later, people visit your statue and write about their experience of it, how does that make you feel? As I ask myself that very question, I immediately saw the answer in that calm, peaceful face: he doesn’t even care. That’s the point of enlightenment, isn’t it? That no matter what happens to you, no matter what other people think of you, you’ll still be in that perfect, eternal state of equilibrium, smiling at all the fools who are wondering what exactly it is that keeps that face so calm, so full of bliss. The thought made me smile. There I stood, the tiny figure of flesh and bone in front of this gigantic structure of bronze surrounded by eight worshiping statues of Immortals, and all I saw was two smiling men.
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