After the whirlwind excitement of arriving here and rushing about reality is setting in: I am the trailing spouse and it's going to take some getting used to.
We've been here just two weeks, although it feels like a month. Some of my unease comes from a lack of routine. We still don't have a permanent apartment and are reluctant to settle in. More of my discomfort comes from the truly horrible schedule I have, working from midnight until 7 a.m.
This requires me to sleep in shifts, because my body isn't capable anymore of sleeping past noon. So I sleep from 7 a.m. until about 11:30 a.m., then try to sleep again around 5 or 6 p.m. for another two or three hours so that I can stay awake until 7a.m. I start to lose it around 5 a.m.
If I were in Long Beach, the options would be plentiful: Go to the beach, ride my bike, go to the gym, catch up on errands, have dinner with friends. But here I'm at loose ends. I don't quite know what to do with myself, and probably won't until we settle on a place to live.
Paul has the luxury (as I see it) of going to the office, talking to people, meeting new people. I am at "home" stuck in an apartment the size of my living room and surrounded by people who don't speak my language. It's different than when I went to France; I was the one with the job there.
I know this will pass. I will look on expat websites and forums to search out others who are free during the day or evening, and I will try to create some sort of routine. But until then, I'm trying to keep a positive outlook on all of this. It's an adventure! We share a Saturday off! We can take a ferry to an island!
October 16, 2008
October 13, 2008
The Star Ferry
In Hong Kong, you are never far from the water and there are ferries in abundance to take you where you need to go.
We didn't need to go anywhere, but thought it would be amusing to take the Star Ferry to Kowloon side. Although you can cross from the Central district to Tsim Sha Tsui by MTR, the Hong Kong subway system, many commuters (70,000 per day) like the ferry because it is fast and efficient. And it is a bargain: 28 U.S. cents.
As we pulled away from the dock, which was manned by ancient mariners in World War II-style sailor suits, I thought of the last ferry I took -- from Newport Beach to Balboa Island. That one costs $1.
It takes less than 10 minutes to cross the harbor, and it reminded me that it wasn't all that long ago that there wasn't a tunnel or a subway and this was the only way to cross. The harbor has narrowed so much due to land reclamation and construction that it's hard to imagine that it was a major port. The whole reason it existed. England's crown jewel of the east and part of its storied maritime empire. And still, the ferry is the only way to get to the other outlying areas.
It was a charming way to while away a few minutes.
According to Wikipedia, the ferry's four routes carry 70,000 passengers each day
We didn't need to go anywhere, but thought it would be amusing to take the Star Ferry to Kowloon side. Although you can cross from the Central district to Tsim Sha Tsui by MTR, the Hong Kong subway system, many commuters (70,000 per day) like the ferry because it is fast and efficient. And it is a bargain: 28 U.S. cents.
As we pulled away from the dock, which was manned by ancient mariners in World War II-style sailor suits, I thought of the last ferry I took -- from Newport Beach to Balboa Island. That one costs $1.
It takes less than 10 minutes to cross the harbor, and it reminded me that it wasn't all that long ago that there wasn't a tunnel or a subway and this was the only way to cross. The harbor has narrowed so much due to land reclamation and construction that it's hard to imagine that it was a major port. The whole reason it existed. England's crown jewel of the east and part of its storied maritime empire. And still, the ferry is the only way to get to the other outlying areas.
It was a charming way to while away a few minutes.
According to Wikipedia, the ferry's four routes carry 70,000 passengers each day
"Order to Your Heart's Content"
This is how the Chinese word dim sum translates in English. And on Monday at lunch, I did.
Paul and I have been tip-toeing around dim sum, little plates of dumplings and steamed buns, when we were able, but hadn't yet made it to a full-fledged traditional dim sum restaurant. A colleague invited us to join him for lunch at the famous Maxim's in the Hong Kong City Hall. It is described, by colleague Joyce Lau in the Herald Tribune, as "a rough-and-tumble Cantonese experience. ...There are no menus. Instead, Chinese women push around carts with steamed things in bamboo containers, and you order by pointing."
The restaurant is on the third floor and looks out at Kowloon side. The dishes are refined, and the tea cups have handles. The table cloths are starched and the decoration is ornate. It was a lovely, if sprawling, space.
All along I had had the feeling that there was a great dim sum secret that would only be revealed on this side of the Pacific. As it turns out, there was a revelation, just not the one I expected.
In fact, all the best dim sum has been successfully transported to California. San Francisco, the sprawling eateries of the San Gabriel Valley, they can do everything The Fabulous Hong Kong Maxim's can do.
Except replicate Maxim's fabulous view of Victoria Harbor.
We ordered from ladies pushing trolleys. Starting with rice-noodle wrapped vegetable dumplings and spring rolls and barbecued pork buns and continuing with lotus leaf-wrapped sticky rice, beef balls, shrimp dumplings and pork dumplings. It was all excellent. But aside from the xiao long bao -- Shanghai-style soup dumplings -- I didn't encounter anything I hadn't already seen and tasted.
In fact, I saw less than usual. Whether this was because we were there toward the end of the lunch service or that this restaurant is popular with Western tourists, I don't know.
My family likes to go to NBC Seafood in Monterey Park, Calif., for dim sum on Sundays. We are often the only "Western" family there, among hundreds (the restaurant seats about 1,000) of Chinese families there after church. The ladies there speak less English than the ones at Maxim's and there is definitely more pointing.
But there are seemingly more options and more exotic things. Running closely behind the barbecued-pork char siu bao as my favorite dim sum is the spicy salted squid. I saw something that looked like pork rinds at Maxim's, and they had spicy cuttlefish -- what looked like squid tentacles. But that was the most exotic thing I saw. Not even any chicken feet.
My meal on Monday was excellent. The atmosphere is lively. But there was just the one thing that came by on the carts that was any different than what I'd had before.
Paul's colleague Mike, who took us, told us that unless we dine with people who speak Cantonese, there will always be things that are off-limits to us. He recounted a time at a well-known Hong Kong restaurant and said his meal was fine, but not exceptional. But when he brought a Cantonese-speaking friend along, the meal was superb.
The Chinese, he said, don't tend to order off the menu; they use it simply as a guide to start a conversation. "What's good tonight?" is usually the first question a Cantonese-speaking diner will ask. We, of course, are at a disadvantage and must rely on the menu, however limited it seems.
The fabulous thing about dim sum, though, is that we can see what's on offer, and come to our own conclusions about "what's good."
And it points out a more global concept: The U.S., with its immigrant populations, has ethnic restaurants on a par with the originals, I have come to believe.
Paul and I have been tip-toeing around dim sum, little plates of dumplings and steamed buns, when we were able, but hadn't yet made it to a full-fledged traditional dim sum restaurant. A colleague invited us to join him for lunch at the famous Maxim's in the Hong Kong City Hall. It is described, by colleague Joyce Lau in the Herald Tribune, as "a rough-and-tumble Cantonese experience. ...There are no menus. Instead, Chinese women push around carts with steamed things in bamboo containers, and you order by pointing."
The restaurant is on the third floor and looks out at Kowloon side. The dishes are refined, and the tea cups have handles. The table cloths are starched and the decoration is ornate. It was a lovely, if sprawling, space.
All along I had had the feeling that there was a great dim sum secret that would only be revealed on this side of the Pacific. As it turns out, there was a revelation, just not the one I expected.
In fact, all the best dim sum has been successfully transported to California. San Francisco, the sprawling eateries of the San Gabriel Valley, they can do everything The Fabulous Hong Kong Maxim's can do.
Except replicate Maxim's fabulous view of Victoria Harbor.
We ordered from ladies pushing trolleys. Starting with rice-noodle wrapped vegetable dumplings and spring rolls and barbecued pork buns and continuing with lotus leaf-wrapped sticky rice, beef balls, shrimp dumplings and pork dumplings. It was all excellent. But aside from the xiao long bao -- Shanghai-style soup dumplings -- I didn't encounter anything I hadn't already seen and tasted.
In fact, I saw less than usual. Whether this was because we were there toward the end of the lunch service or that this restaurant is popular with Western tourists, I don't know.
My family likes to go to NBC Seafood in Monterey Park, Calif., for dim sum on Sundays. We are often the only "Western" family there, among hundreds (the restaurant seats about 1,000) of Chinese families there after church. The ladies there speak less English than the ones at Maxim's and there is definitely more pointing.
But there are seemingly more options and more exotic things. Running closely behind the barbecued-pork char siu bao as my favorite dim sum is the spicy salted squid. I saw something that looked like pork rinds at Maxim's, and they had spicy cuttlefish -- what looked like squid tentacles. But that was the most exotic thing I saw. Not even any chicken feet.
My meal on Monday was excellent. The atmosphere is lively. But there was just the one thing that came by on the carts that was any different than what I'd had before.
Paul's colleague Mike, who took us, told us that unless we dine with people who speak Cantonese, there will always be things that are off-limits to us. He recounted a time at a well-known Hong Kong restaurant and said his meal was fine, but not exceptional. But when he brought a Cantonese-speaking friend along, the meal was superb.
The Chinese, he said, don't tend to order off the menu; they use it simply as a guide to start a conversation. "What's good tonight?" is usually the first question a Cantonese-speaking diner will ask. We, of course, are at a disadvantage and must rely on the menu, however limited it seems.
The fabulous thing about dim sum, though, is that we can see what's on offer, and come to our own conclusions about "what's good."
And it points out a more global concept: The U.S., with its immigrant populations, has ethnic restaurants on a par with the originals, I have come to believe.
October 9, 2008
New Digs, New Neighborhood
We moved out of the hotel Thursday morning. We're staying temporarily at the home of a colleague who is out of the country and Paul blogs about it here.
While Paul was at work I spent the day sort of sussing out the neighborhood. We are in the district of Wan Chai, which is fairly vast. But I kept close to the apartment. I discovered three whole blocks of market streets selling everything from vegetables to live fish to hair barrettes and jade. I enjoyed it so much, and have a little regret that I won't really be cooking here. At least not in this apartment.
I tried to take photos of the live fish flopping. I know some people have issues with this -- live fish, not photos. I guess I don't put fish into the same basket, so to speak, as animals. I probably wouldn't be happy to watch a chicken get beheaded, but the whole fish episode sort of tickled me. Am I twisted?
After walking around for a while, I came away with an idea of what's available, but not many purchases: bananas and pumpkin seeds. (And have I mentioned just how amazingly good the bananas are here? I think they're from the Philippines, and I have no idea why they're better than the bananas we get at home, but they are.)
I also discovered a dim sum shop, a barber shop for Paul, a dozen different tiny restaurants and the laundry.
We don't have a washing machine in this apartment, so I need to send out the laundry. It is
something I've heard of people in New York doing. It seems like an extravagance. But here, it costs between 26 and 30 Hong Dollars (about $3.50) for up to 6 pounds. That's a deal. I dropped it off at about 4 and it was supposed to be ready at 7 p.m. I actually don't mind doing laundry, but it would be a tempting option if I had it at home in Long Beach.
After that I made my way to the grocery store, Wellcome. I prefer the Park and Shop, but haven't seen one nearby. I think Park and Shop is more for Westerners. They have tons of imported things and more variety. For example, Paul discovered he likes vanilla soy milk, and Wellcome doesn't have it, although it has about 8 other varieties. I think he opted for soy milk in the wake of the whole tainted Chinese milk thing. (He now tells me he chose it because it's sweet).
I also made a stop at the phone monopoly PCCW, like AT&T I think. They handle phones and internet and television. I was concerned about getting an internet hookup in time to work, and had borrowed a start-up CD from someone at the IHT so I could use the existing broadband hookup in the apartment. Turns out I didn't need it.
By the end of the day I'd accomplished a ton, but was seriously overstimulated. I capped off the night late -- at 11 when Paul got in -- by going downstairs and next door to a hole-in-the wall restaurant for some dinner. I asked the woman for an English menu. No go. She offered me a variety of noodles. I stopped her at won ton noodles and ended up with a take-out bowl of soup.
Ahhhhh.
While Paul was at work I spent the day sort of sussing out the neighborhood. We are in the district of Wan Chai, which is fairly vast. But I kept close to the apartment. I discovered three whole blocks of market streets selling everything from vegetables to live fish to hair barrettes and jade. I enjoyed it so much, and have a little regret that I won't really be cooking here. At least not in this apartment.
I tried to take photos of the live fish flopping. I know some people have issues with this -- live fish, not photos. I guess I don't put fish into the same basket, so to speak, as animals. I probably wouldn't be happy to watch a chicken get beheaded, but the whole fish episode sort of tickled me. Am I twisted?
After walking around for a while, I came away with an idea of what's available, but not many purchases: bananas and pumpkin seeds. (And have I mentioned just how amazingly good the bananas are here? I think they're from the Philippines, and I have no idea why they're better than the bananas we get at home, but they are.)
I also discovered a dim sum shop, a barber shop for Paul, a dozen different tiny restaurants and the laundry.
We don't have a washing machine in this apartment, so I need to send out the laundry. It is
something I've heard of people in New York doing. It seems like an extravagance. But here, it costs between 26 and 30 Hong Dollars (about $3.50) for up to 6 pounds. That's a deal. I dropped it off at about 4 and it was supposed to be ready at 7 p.m. I actually don't mind doing laundry, but it would be a tempting option if I had it at home in Long Beach.
After that I made my way to the grocery store, Wellcome. I prefer the Park and Shop, but haven't seen one nearby. I think Park and Shop is more for Westerners. They have tons of imported things and more variety. For example, Paul discovered he likes vanilla soy milk, and Wellcome doesn't have it, although it has about 8 other varieties. I think he opted for soy milk in the wake of the whole tainted Chinese milk thing. (He now tells me he chose it because it's sweet).
I also made a stop at the phone monopoly PCCW, like AT&T I think. They handle phones and internet and television. I was concerned about getting an internet hookup in time to work, and had borrowed a start-up CD from someone at the IHT so I could use the existing broadband hookup in the apartment. Turns out I didn't need it.
By the end of the day I'd accomplished a ton, but was seriously overstimulated. I capped off the night late -- at 11 when Paul got in -- by going downstairs and next door to a hole-in-the wall restaurant for some dinner. I asked the woman for an English menu. No go. She offered me a variety of noodles. I stopped her at won ton noodles and ended up with a take-out bowl of soup.
Ahhhhh.
October 7, 2008
Random Observations
Things I've noticed this week but probably can't write a whole lot about:
- The elevators here seem incredibly slow. Soul-suckingly slow. And the buildings are tall. It takes forever to get to the 27th floor. This seems slightly less true in the newest buildings.
- Chinese are, apparently, lactose intolerant. This means there's not a lot of cheese in the grocery stores, which is bad for me. There is milk, but more soy milk. There is yogurt, thankfully. But this is the really interesting thing: other products, like crackers, have extra calcium added, and advertised on the label. At first, I was thinking "Who wants to buy high-cal(orie) crackers?" My yogurt has "50% more calcium than ordinary yogurt." I guess to make up for the lack of dairy in the diet.
- There are plenty of hairdressers here, but a surprising number of people have bad hair. Women and men alike have bad dye jobs with skunk stripes of gray on lots of people's heads. It's incredible. At first I thought perhaps since I'm in a non-Western neighborhood, that it's only my sense of vanity. Then I realized for the gray to show, someone had to dye the rest of it first ...
- The yogurt comes with tiny fold-up spoons in the lid. This is very cool.
- The MTR system is awesome. The trains are frequent and wide and air conditioned. So are the stations. So far, it takes me where I want to go; I don't know if this is true for most residents.
- People in the neighborhood where I'm staying are in no hurry, no hurry at all. They mosey. Again, perhaps this is different in, say, Central, which is the hopping bank district. But boy, you walk down the street and not only are the people in front of you moseying, they're meandering. You can't pass them. An expat Brit we talked to the first night had a bizarre theory for this, suggesting people look down when they walk so they don't have to greet people they might know. Um, yeah.
- There is no shortage of places to eat. This is a very good thing. Groceries seem quite expensive here, and eating out much less so.
Eating Out
I've discovered a slight flaw in my plan to eat my way through Hong Kong.
It's rather insidious, actually. Or maybe that's not the word I want. How about naive? I didn't really think this through. I went from point A. Mmmmm, Chinese food!! Dumplings!! Street food!!! to point B. What else is there to eat?
The thing is, I'm discovering that I'm only familiar with a tiny bit of Cantonese cuisine, and precious little other Chinese cuisine. So when we go out, I order things that look familiar. We've gone out enough times that while I haven't ordered everything I know about, I've come close.
And the menus we see are vast ... So part of the problem, I think, is the language -- in two ways. First, the menus available in English are only a small part of what is really available. I know a lot of things fall under the "Not for you, Western eater" category. But it's more than that.
At the Nice Garden restaurant, where Paul and I have eaten twice, we have seen billboard-like advertisements on the wall, offering specials and dinners and all sorts of deals, it looks like. But when we get the menu, it's pretty small and straightforward. No specials. No deals. There are tanks full of fresh fish, but no seafood on our menu.
The second problem is my apparent lack of adventurousness. Do I really want to try pig knuckle and beef tendon? I've already made up my mind about chicken feet. And I'm not a big fan of tripe. And these are the things that are on the Western menu.
So I'm not sure how to proceed. Do I go to the little restaurants, ask for something generic (soup, please) and see what I get? In the little places, there are signs on all the windows but they are all in Chinese. There are dozens and dozens of dishes. I don't know what any of them are. I could point, blindly, and see what comes out. I'd like to go in and have someone just bring me food, knowing I'm a Westerner and taking that into account.
I wonder how that works.
It's rather insidious, actually. Or maybe that's not the word I want. How about naive? I didn't really think this through. I went from point A. Mmmmm, Chinese food!! Dumplings!! Street food!!! to point B. What else is there to eat?
The thing is, I'm discovering that I'm only familiar with a tiny bit of Cantonese cuisine, and precious little other Chinese cuisine. So when we go out, I order things that look familiar. We've gone out enough times that while I haven't ordered everything I know about, I've come close.
And the menus we see are vast ... So part of the problem, I think, is the language -- in two ways. First, the menus available in English are only a small part of what is really available. I know a lot of things fall under the "Not for you, Western eater" category. But it's more than that.
At the Nice Garden restaurant, where Paul and I have eaten twice, we have seen billboard-like advertisements on the wall, offering specials and dinners and all sorts of deals, it looks like. But when we get the menu, it's pretty small and straightforward. No specials. No deals. There are tanks full of fresh fish, but no seafood on our menu.
The second problem is my apparent lack of adventurousness. Do I really want to try pig knuckle and beef tendon? I've already made up my mind about chicken feet. And I'm not a big fan of tripe. And these are the things that are on the Western menu.
So I'm not sure how to proceed. Do I go to the little restaurants, ask for something generic (soup, please) and see what I get? In the little places, there are signs on all the windows but they are all in Chinese. There are dozens and dozens of dishes. I don't know what any of them are. I could point, blindly, and see what comes out. I'd like to go in and have someone just bring me food, knowing I'm a Westerner and taking that into account.
I wonder how that works.
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