One thing I can safely say about Hong Kong is the living was easy. Once I got the hang of things, which didn't take all that long, I really relished the ease with which I was able to conduct my life.
Part of that, of course, is being somewhere temporarily, and not having to deal with many of the daily intricacies of long-term living. And now that I am home, I am faced with those realities.
After four months of having someone else do my laundry and clean my house and cook my food it's back to the real world. The trade-off for a normal schedule.
Now, I am consumed with the tasks looming in front of me: take the cat to the vet, get the house scrubbed down, sort the mail and the bills, start the newspaper, return the phone calls, make doctor's appointments, get the car fixed, figure out why the TV won't work. Rinse and repeat.
Doing this from the comfort of my own home of course makes it easier. But no more do I have the luxury of a 15-minute run to accomplish all my errands and chores for the day.
A new day, a new adventure.
January 5, 2009
December 30, 2008
December 27, 2008
Floating Things in Steaming Flavored Water
One of the tricky things about eating in a foreign place is the menu translation. You might be perfectly accustomed to a meal described one way in one language, and when it gets translated, it gets a bit garbled.
This was certainly the case for me in Paris, where I was loath to get an English menu instead of a French one -- not because of snobbishness, but for better understanding. With an English menu, it was hard to tell what I was supposed to eat because the translations were often nonsensical.
Saturday night we went for Sichuan hot pot, and it was the same thing. But this time, at the mercy of an English menu, and I suspect that no matter how long I lived in Hong Kong, I always would be. Hot pot is sort of like Chinese fondue. You get a big pot of broth on your table, and as it cooks (usually over a fire or burner) you add stuff. There is a large menu of things you can add.
We'd seen hot pot restaurants around. In fact, there was a very popular one across from our Tin Hau apartment. It was a hole-in-the-wall, with maybe three tables inside and about 20 tables outside -- all of which seated at least four people and more like eight. They encroached so far into the alleyway, that the apartment building put in a row of potted plants to keep them from crowding the front door. It doesn't look like fancy food -- you see bubbling pots of who-knows-what and lots of big beers and people having a good time. It looks like a lot of fun. And, I think if we had a bigger group it would be even better.
But we had just the two of us. We were tempted by some of the exotic-sounding items, but went, instead, with sliced American beef, mushroom dumplings, pork dumplings, baby bok choy and soba noodles. We opted for a fragrant clear mushroom broth (probably chicken-based) instead of some of the spicier choices. You also can choose Yin-Yang, which is half spicy and half not.
Some of the things we passed on, transcribed verbatim:
Dumpling materialed with fish skin
The front portion of plungh
Pork dumpling with stuff
Pilling ink fish
Sliced green carp breast
Flavored meat pill with mushroom
Usually, when you have a funny translation, you can guess. I think with Chinese items (as well as some French -- rognon anyone?) it's kind of brave. What is plungh, do you think? Ink fish may very well be squid or cuttlefish, but then it would be translated as cuttlefish. And who knew carp had breasts? This is rather like the fish lips we keep seeing on the menu (not to mention the pig chin).
That wasn't the only thing we didn't quite grasp. Each of us had a bowl of spices in front of us: coriander, peanuts, chili, chopped garlic. I figured you were supposed to put it into the soup. We had three kinds of mushrooms in ours already but sampling it indicated it was a bit mild.
One of the waiters rushed over when he saw me dump the bowl into the soup. He seemed almost horrified. Clearly I had done something wrong. It turns out you're supposed to spoon the soup into the flavors and not the other way around, which he demonstrated for us. And then you use the flavored soup in front of you for dipping.
We wish he would have offered more advice, in fact. Like, put the bok choy in earlier and order only one portion of dumplings instead of two -- at least for just two people. Portion sizes in Hong Kong are usually very small, so we had no idea how much to order. Four things, or five things including two vegetables, would have been sufficient.
In any case, our meal was delicious and I think we cooked everything long enough to avoid E. coli or salmonella. The one thing that baffled us to the end? When we were seated there were two bowls of snacks. This is not uncommon; often it's boiled peanuts or somesuch thing. These were peanuts sauteed in spices and someting pickled. It had the consistency of chopped, dried apples and was both sweet and savory.
We asked one woman what it was. She said something to us in Chinese, we nodded politely, and she brought back a take-away container! We asked another woman what it was, she circled it on the bill -- (you get charged for everything here, even if you didn't order it -- sort of like the bread and tablecloth charges in Italy) -- went to ask someone, presumably, and then passed it off to someone else. When the man came back with the bill, we asked him again what it was, and he just repeated whatever was printed -- in Chinese -- on the bill.
We left satisfied with the meal, but none the wiser.
This was certainly the case for me in Paris, where I was loath to get an English menu instead of a French one -- not because of snobbishness, but for better understanding. With an English menu, it was hard to tell what I was supposed to eat because the translations were often nonsensical.
Saturday night we went for Sichuan hot pot, and it was the same thing. But this time, at the mercy of an English menu, and I suspect that no matter how long I lived in Hong Kong, I always would be. Hot pot is sort of like Chinese fondue. You get a big pot of broth on your table, and as it cooks (usually over a fire or burner) you add stuff. There is a large menu of things you can add.
We'd seen hot pot restaurants around. In fact, there was a very popular one across from our Tin Hau apartment. It was a hole-in-the-wall, with maybe three tables inside and about 20 tables outside -- all of which seated at least four people and more like eight. They encroached so far into the alleyway, that the apartment building put in a row of potted plants to keep them from crowding the front door. It doesn't look like fancy food -- you see bubbling pots of who-knows-what and lots of big beers and people having a good time. It looks like a lot of fun. And, I think if we had a bigger group it would be even better.
But we had just the two of us. We were tempted by some of the exotic-sounding items, but went, instead, with sliced American beef, mushroom dumplings, pork dumplings, baby bok choy and soba noodles. We opted for a fragrant clear mushroom broth (probably chicken-based) instead of some of the spicier choices. You also can choose Yin-Yang, which is half spicy and half not.
Some of the things we passed on, transcribed verbatim:
Dumpling materialed with fish skin
The front portion of plungh
Pork dumpling with stuff
Pilling ink fish
Sliced green carp breast
Flavored meat pill with mushroom
Usually, when you have a funny translation, you can guess. I think with Chinese items (as well as some French -- rognon anyone?) it's kind of brave. What is plungh, do you think? Ink fish may very well be squid or cuttlefish, but then it would be translated as cuttlefish. And who knew carp had breasts? This is rather like the fish lips we keep seeing on the menu (not to mention the pig chin).
That wasn't the only thing we didn't quite grasp. Each of us had a bowl of spices in front of us: coriander, peanuts, chili, chopped garlic. I figured you were supposed to put it into the soup. We had three kinds of mushrooms in ours already but sampling it indicated it was a bit mild.
One of the waiters rushed over when he saw me dump the bowl into the soup. He seemed almost horrified. Clearly I had done something wrong. It turns out you're supposed to spoon the soup into the flavors and not the other way around, which he demonstrated for us. And then you use the flavored soup in front of you for dipping.
We wish he would have offered more advice, in fact. Like, put the bok choy in earlier and order only one portion of dumplings instead of two -- at least for just two people. Portion sizes in Hong Kong are usually very small, so we had no idea how much to order. Four things, or five things including two vegetables, would have been sufficient.
In any case, our meal was delicious and I think we cooked everything long enough to avoid E. coli or salmonella. The one thing that baffled us to the end? When we were seated there were two bowls of snacks. This is not uncommon; often it's boiled peanuts or somesuch thing. These were peanuts sauteed in spices and someting pickled. It had the consistency of chopped, dried apples and was both sweet and savory.
We asked one woman what it was. She said something to us in Chinese, we nodded politely, and she brought back a take-away container! We asked another woman what it was, she circled it on the bill -- (you get charged for everything here, even if you didn't order it -- sort of like the bread and tablecloth charges in Italy) -- went to ask someone, presumably, and then passed it off to someone else. When the man came back with the bill, we asked him again what it was, and he just repeated whatever was printed -- in Chinese -- on the bill.
We left satisfied with the meal, but none the wiser.
December 26, 2008
The Hannukah Massage
I enjoyed a lovely massage today; it was my Hannukah gift from Paul. It was relaxing and effective, as all good massages should be. And it made me think of all the massages and styles I've enjoyed in different countries.I wouldn't necessarily say that I'm a connoisseur of massages, but I have had a fair number of them. And it's a bit fascinating to go over in my mind the different social mores involved.
Here in Hong Kong, there are massages offered everywhere. I don't know if they differ in quality or style or only price. There are Thai massages and therapeutic massages and reflexology (foot) massages. So much choice! I had a body massage, and it involved my back and neck and shoulders. Heaven!
The office looked more like a therapeutic health office than a boutique spa. And the little massage room was wall-papered in fur. No kidding. It was bizarre (see photo, above). But the atmosphere was calm, with pop music -- love ballads, mostly -- on the stereo. I was the only person in the shop.
The young woman left me alone to change, and there was a Velcro-close bath towel for me to put on. This was kind of silly, though, because with the towel fastened that way, she couldn't really get to my back. Ultimately, it was just moved down and she covered the rest of me with a series of towels.
The gold standard for massages, as anyone who has had one in Paris knows, is Craig Dennis. His massages are beyond amazing -- therapeutic and relaxing -- and well-priced for a metropolitan market. He also does an American-style massage, with the attendant modesty issues taken care of. One is always covered by a sheet, which is nice.
My first French massage involved a bit of a stand-off between me and the massage therapist. She wanted me to undress and I wanted her to leave the room while I did so. I caved first. The room was well-heated, and there wasn't much covering involved. Maybe I'm a prude, but I found it hard to relax that way.
When I was in my 20s, I had a massage in a hotel room in Palm Springs by a big Russian woman. She wasn't clear on the modesty concept, either, as she remarked on the size of my breasts. ("How tiny!" she said.) She started to massage them, and I was horrified. Since then, my whole front torso has been a no-go zone. I always say I'm ticklish so it doesn't become an issue.
In Morocco, I went to a hammam (Arab sauna) frequented by locals. It's a woman-only spa, and any hopes one has of modesty goes right out the door because everyone is pretty much naked. I had my underwear on for my massage, which made the large Moroccan woman laugh. Then she pulled it right up my butt. Problem solved, for her. It's an interesting concept, to see a bunch of women in all their shapes and sizes and in all their glory, and then to watch them in the dressing room as they cover up and put on their veils and head scarves.
In Tunisia I passed on massage, even though I was in a fancy hotel. There wasn't much privacy -- just one big room with several tables.
Egypt was probably the weirdest -- and bear in mind that I mention it because it stands out, not because it was typical. I would say most of the massages I've had in my life are fine and enjoyable. And the Craig massages -- well, outstanding. But in Egypt it was a little weird.
I was on a Nile cruise and the women I was hanging out with all wanted massages. Suffice it to say the massage therapist was inappropriate with several of us and was kicked off the boat. That was weird.
Ultimately, though, I think it's rare to have a bad massage. Even a boyfriend massage (when the woman rubbing you uses such a light touch you might as well have your boyfriend do it for free) is better than no massage.
And a good one is definitely a treat.
December 25, 2008
Christmas in Hong Kong
I was worried today about running a few errands. I shouldn't have been. As far as I can tell, it's business as usual, unless you're trying to get something at one of the family-owned non-food specialty shops.
Everything is open.
But outside the MTR, there was this scene:
Everything is open.
But outside the MTR, there was this scene:
December 19, 2008
Not so Shiny-Happy
Well, the bloom is starting to come off the Hong Kong rose. Its charm is fading a bit.
Perhaps it is because I see the end or that I've been here just long enough to grow tired of the newness, but either way I'm looking forward to going home.
There are many really cool things about Hong Kong. It is vibrant and lively and visually amazing. The food is great, the people are cordial, the views are spectacular. But it lacks a few things, too (like all places, I imagine).
Tiny apartments and crowded streets and too-tall buildings are wearing on me. I really want to be able to cook something. To ride my bike along the beach. To sit outside without coming home with a dozen mosquito bites. To go out with friends. (To have friends).
Simply put, I've had enough. I came, I saw, I enjoyed. It's time to get back to my life in California.
The question becomes: Do I want to go home because I know I can (and will)? Would I be more interested in staying if I knew I were? I say the point is moot, because in a few weeks, we're both out of here.
What happens next? Nobody knows.
Perhaps it is because I see the end or that I've been here just long enough to grow tired of the newness, but either way I'm looking forward to going home.
There are many really cool things about Hong Kong. It is vibrant and lively and visually amazing. The food is great, the people are cordial, the views are spectacular. But it lacks a few things, too (like all places, I imagine).
Tiny apartments and crowded streets and too-tall buildings are wearing on me. I really want to be able to cook something. To ride my bike along the beach. To sit outside without coming home with a dozen mosquito bites. To go out with friends. (To have friends).
Simply put, I've had enough. I came, I saw, I enjoyed. It's time to get back to my life in California.
The question becomes: Do I want to go home because I know I can (and will)? Would I be more interested in staying if I knew I were? I say the point is moot, because in a few weeks, we're both out of here.
What happens next? Nobody knows.
December 13, 2008
Randomness
I'm reluctant to post anything, because I really want to keep the elf video at the top of the page, but here goes. (And I have a sneaking suspicion none of you enjoyed it as much as I did.)***
Everybody knows chickens don't have lips, and I saw the proof up close and personal tonight. We ordered crispy chicken (a half) and there it was on the plate, the chicken's head. Or, to be more precise, half the chicken's head. I think you're supposed to suck out the brains. But, um, no. Which is weird, because when I found the liver/gizzards, I went right after them. Same with the tail.
I have to admit, there is no rhyme or reason as to what I'll eat or why (not). Duck tongue, pig knuckle, chicken feet, eel, jelly fish ... no, thank you. Fried fish heads, kidneys, chicken feet, tripe ... no, thank you. I am embarrassed to say the list is longer that I'd like and it seems to be getting longer. How is that possible? And I have a sneaking suspicion that if things were presented to me, without explanation, I'd probably be okay. But until then, I'm gonna peruse the menu a little more closely.
* * *
Speaking of food (isn't that the purpose of this blog?) I have finally found my perfect fruit. I've been waiting for tangerine season seemingly forever. Clementines, tangerines, mandarins -- whatever they are called in whatever country -- I adore them. And here, they are amazingly good. At the grocery store they come individually wrapped in little cellophane baggies. They are cheap -- about 13 cents apiece -- and juicy and sweet. They haven't been available long -- perhaps two or three weeks -- but I haven't had a bad one yet. They also sell them in the street markets, sans cellophane and with leaves attached, but I've had such good luck with the ones at the grocery store I'm reluctant to try any others.
You all know how much I like risk and change.
You all know how much I like risk and change.
***
Have I mentioned we're back in the tiny apartment? The one the size of my living room in Long Beach (which is hardly a ginormous space)? Yeah, sad but true. I never realized how much different an extra room would make. But it does. Fortunately, the couch is big enough to a. sleep on and b. for both of us to sit on, barely.
Who would have thought I'd be yearning for 500 square feet?
But the two things I miss most are the view and the air. Being on the 23rd floor instead of the 2nd floor makes a huge difference in terms of air flow. And I was able to look out on the harbor all day long -- made the place feel really spacious. Here, well, I can see the fence on the patio and enjoy the aromas wafting up from the street.
Remember how I was lamenting the location of the last place? Well, I got used to it, and now that is our favorite neighborhood. That's the upside of moving around. If we stay, I now think we're likely to be in Mid-Levels. We managed to figure out most of the bus and minibus routes, thus minimizing a lot of the inconvenience. It's still no Tin Hau, in terms of shopping ease, but it more than makes up for it in terms of space and altitude.
Have I mentioned we're back in the tiny apartment? The one the size of my living room in Long Beach (which is hardly a ginormous space)? Yeah, sad but true. I never realized how much different an extra room would make. But it does. Fortunately, the couch is big enough to a. sleep on and b. for both of us to sit on, barely.
Who would have thought I'd be yearning for 500 square feet?
But the two things I miss most are the view and the air. Being on the 23rd floor instead of the 2nd floor makes a huge difference in terms of air flow. And I was able to look out on the harbor all day long -- made the place feel really spacious. Here, well, I can see the fence on the patio and enjoy the aromas wafting up from the street.
Remember how I was lamenting the location of the last place? Well, I got used to it, and now that is our favorite neighborhood. That's the upside of moving around. If we stay, I now think we're likely to be in Mid-Levels. We managed to figure out most of the bus and minibus routes, thus minimizing a lot of the inconvenience. It's still no Tin Hau, in terms of shopping ease, but it more than makes up for it in terms of space and altitude.
***
The holidays are here and it's evident, even though the weather isn't really cooperating. But then, we're used to that in SoCal. Still, it feels weirder here than at home, so it probably isn't just the temperature. But I can't really explain why. We have a small poinsettia on the stove (no kitchen table) so it's festive. And a string of lights. Next up -- I find a menorah. They say you can find anything in Hong Kong, so I'll put that to the test.
All the malls have Christmas carols on in the background (and we heard them in the MTR, too). They bear some resemblance to American carols, but are slightly different. Same tune, different words. I like it; never knew how many different versions of Jingle Bells there were. Still, it feels holiday-like without the repetition.
There are lots of Christmas trees up everywhere, too. And fake snow. And lights on the sides of the building. And Santas and reindeer. The people here seem fascinated by it, taking pictures in front of everything like it's new. We haven't been able to see into any apartments to see if anyone is decorating, but the stores seem to be making some effort.
The holidays are here and it's evident, even though the weather isn't really cooperating. But then, we're used to that in SoCal. Still, it feels weirder here than at home, so it probably isn't just the temperature. But I can't really explain why. We have a small poinsettia on the stove (no kitchen table) so it's festive. And a string of lights. Next up -- I find a menorah. They say you can find anything in Hong Kong, so I'll put that to the test.
All the malls have Christmas carols on in the background (and we heard them in the MTR, too). They bear some resemblance to American carols, but are slightly different. Same tune, different words. I like it; never knew how many different versions of Jingle Bells there were. Still, it feels holiday-like without the repetition.
There are lots of Christmas trees up everywhere, too. And fake snow. And lights on the sides of the building. And Santas and reindeer. The people here seem fascinated by it, taking pictures in front of everything like it's new. We haven't been able to see into any apartments to see if anyone is decorating, but the stores seem to be making some effort.
***
And can I just mention that getting around town above-ground is like being on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride? Every taxi driver (and some bus drivers) seems to have a serious case of flutter-foot. Good gracious. Some speculate it's because they spend most of their time in traffic and aren't used to going far. Maybe. But all that stopping and starting is seriously queasy-making. And on a double-decker bus, it's particularly bad.
On the minibus back from Stanley on Friday my driver behaved like he was in the Macau Grand Prix. I've never seen a minibus reach speeds of 71 -- especially on a windy mountain road. I don't expect my commutes to be thrill rides. Thank goodness for ginger chews, eh?
The highlight of that ride, of course, was when we hit the roundabout and he slammed on the brakes -- yes, the bus slammed on the brakes, explaining why there are seat belts on each seat -- and came within inches of the taxi who was trying to pass. I guess the biggest mystery is why there aren't more accidents. I've been in half a dozen near misses and I'm rarely on the road.
OK. Rants over.
It's like when I was a kid, driving with my Grandpa Aaron. Ugh.
On the minibus back from Stanley on Friday my driver behaved like he was in the Macau Grand Prix. I've never seen a minibus reach speeds of 71 -- especially on a windy mountain road. I don't expect my commutes to be thrill rides. Thank goodness for ginger chews, eh?
The highlight of that ride, of course, was when we hit the roundabout and he slammed on the brakes -- yes, the bus slammed on the brakes, explaining why there are seat belts on each seat -- and came within inches of the taxi who was trying to pass. I guess the biggest mystery is why there aren't more accidents. I've been in half a dozen near misses and I'm rarely on the road.
OK. Rants over.
It's like when I was a kid, driving with my Grandpa Aaron. Ugh.
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