The next day, I concluded my three days in Japan. Fourteen more days of foot-loose and fancy-free madness to go. Next stop, Hong Kong by way of Seoul and Taipei.
I didn't tell you about the Emperor's Palace, Tokyo Tower, the trains and buses, the nightclubs, television shows, shopping districts and other such tourist attractions. Maybe they're best left unsaid. You can learn all about these when you get there, or from reading glossy publications. In a way, this series isn't a 'travel log'. What would you call it, earlj's ramblings ?
What interests me is the people's subsistence: their culture, their roles, their food, how they live, what they think, their motivations, and life's adaptations. These are insights that one must see for themselves, and learn to observe. The Japanese are a unique and distinctive people, but their modern society is more closely aligned with ours. Thus, we have a natural backdrop for reference. Where I had no footing is the rest of Asia. Much of what I discovered is too far removed for me to convey with 'vision'. Recklessly, I explored my paradigm of The Twilight Zone.
Realize you're reading this while safely sheltered on American soil. Don't assume our 'world' is also their 'world', it isn't. Acknowledge that there are 'concepts of existence' totally unknowable to us. Where we have education, others may have only tradition and superstition. And know that you would be a different person in such a place. I was.
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[Evening of June 26th, 1989]
The island swallowed me as I flopped off the 747. Finally, this was Hong Kong airport after stops at Seoul and Taipei. With the stagnant air hot and thick with humidity, it felt oppressively alive. As the airport processed me through Immigration, luggage, and Customs, I pictured a stomach churning its victims. Everywhere bustling, it was crowded with chinese and the steady sing-song of Cantonese drummed on like a heartbeat.
Insidiously as if possessed, fragments of random thoughts seeped into my conciousness. Never having used such words or such sounds, how could I understand them ? In a schizophrenic stupor, I fearfully shut off my senses and found my inner peace intact. I was not mad, it was just the ambient conversations in the local tongue. My childhood with Guangzhou (Canton, China) born parents impressed an instinctive ear for Cantonese. But I can't speak Cantonese !!
As I lugged along outside, I found a waiting line for TaxiCabs (alas, my pyloric salvation from churning walls). Handing the driver a bilingual businesscard of my hotel destination, I grunted comprehension of his 'yes-or-no' Cantonese questions and smiled. My 'small-colon' Taxi ride took me through the tight bowels of Kowloon (a mainland district of Hong Kong). When I arrived, the monsoon rain fell in buckets.
Nodding to 'Mr. Appendix', he opened the big hotel door to the front desk lobby. The 'large colon' storage and dessication ended with me signing Traveler's Checks at the Cashier's Counter. I was certainly sucked dry; Hong Kong is quite expensive today. In anxious anticipation of an 'anal escape' from Hong Kong, I glided towards my room in a packed elevator. We all smelled badly (of course). Running for cover, fighting for air, I fumbled with the key.
As I passed through the 'final challenge', I felt the push-and-squeeze of my digestive transition to another tao. Secure and undistracted, I felt the glimmers of belonging and melding in the land of my roots. This alien world has its language and history etched in my heritage. On this continent of my forebears, would I be welcome ? Could I handle what I find ? Would it make me proud ?
I slept that night blissfully innocent of what laid before me.
[ A bit about earlj: I own a wooden sailboat named Eventyr; this boat means everything to me. I have also earned a USCoast Guard Merchant Marine Masters license. Or rather, I'm a professional Captain certified by the USCG to command vessels carrying paying passengers. I consider myself more a Man-of-the-Sea than a world traveler. Unfortunately, I'm employed as a systems programmer. ]
After last night's transforming rebirth, I watched Kowloon from my 16th floor hotel window. It was 5:30am and the sun dimly lit the city's cloudless skyline. The monsoon rains had washed the dreariness of the night and exposed a horrendous jumble of colorful shop signs and ads. Forcing a steady calmness against my fear, I knew I would go that afternoon. But for now, I dressed in running shorts and prepared to descend upon an awakening city... Kowloon (the nine dragons).
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Hong Kong is a major port of trade for the world, but it is the key threshold of exchange for the People's Republic of China (PRC). Hong Kong consists of several islands and some territory on the continental mainland. One of the larger islands is called Hong Kong, this British colony's namesake. Hills and small mountains dominate the landscape; there's little ground for agriculture. And it's very densely populated with almost 6 million people; 98% are cantonese-speaking chinese. The colony's economic subsistence is wholely dependent upon trade for food, labor, durables, etc. The climate is sub-tropical: hot, humid, rainy, clear and cloudy, and then stifling-still during summer. With a greater shortage of land, buildings and people are packed together tighter than in Japan. Hong Kong has a parliament-like government.
The architecture is sophisticated and substantial; the buildings have small footprints but reach for the heavens. I saw mostly concrete, steel, glass, and plaster with an occasional facade of marble or masonry. It's sometimes difficult to distinguish residential apartments from commercial offices because they appear to be combined. Often apartments are retro-constructed atop reinforced office structures. Bamboo is used in lieu of wood for construction scaffolding. It's amazing what can be done using bamboo, (bamboo may be stronger and tougher than most woods).
An outstanding feature is Hong Kong's harbor. Only vessels of trade and commerce ply these waters. I saw nothing military and nothing recreational save a few harbor touring boats for sight-seers. Steel hulled cargo ships move tons of raw materials from the Pearl River of China. Junks lumber along while Sampans scurry in-and-out of everywhere. Fishing boats dock to unload their fresh catches. And the mainland-to-Hong Kong island ferries transport thousands to and from their jobs and home. Someday, Eventyr will be an out-of-character Norwegian double-ended cutter exploring this harbor with a chinese-american skipper.
The level of affluence is quite high. There is alot of money in Hong Kong, and the capitalistic way of life can be felt in every breathing soul. This is not inconsistent with the independent, work-and-prosper mentality of the Cantonese chinese. The root of this culture is just up the Pearl River within a hundred miles; this is the city of Guangzhou, PRC (or formerly Canton). Guangzhou is the center hub of my father and mother's lineage. And being the first American-born child of either side, the old ways are still tangible, but vanishing fast.
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When I returned from that morning's trek through Kowloon, I stowed half of my luggage preparing for a two day sortie. The time was not right, but 'the Sleeping Giant' was too near to be ignored. I had to rally my wits, ingenuity, and lust for life against caution and fear.
Within two hours, I found myself on a 'luxury class' train bound for the border of the PRC with my stop at Guangzhou's train station. June 27th, just 23 days after the Tian-An-Men Square massacre, I entered the massive nation of the People's Republic of China.
The train from Kowloon to Guangzhou was a quick leap backwards through two generations. Safely nestled in a vintage 1940s passenger car, I sensed a time warp through stars and aeons nearby. When the crowded busy streets between the towering concrete apartments of Hong Kong's freedom suddenly vanished at the People's Republic of China's (PRC) border, I knew I fell through into the space-time of my grandfather.
From this frontier border to Guangdong province's capital city of Guangzhou, I glimpsed the rural life of China. Miles of fertile collective and family farms filled my view to the horizon. Nothing was wasted; everything was utilized, particularly the land. They labored to feed themselves in many clever ways. Only centuries of toil could have evolved such ingenuity. Literally every square foot served to feed, to shelter, or to provide passage.
Caught in wonder, my mind registered random impressions like a slide show: a ragged populace gazing as we speed by, their life's will sapped by the heat and humidity... thunderheads threatening an already flooded terrain... rich red alluvial soil supporting well-attended vegetables as nearby ponds raised ducks, turtles, catfish, and snails... emaciated chickens dashing amuck as a funky chinese built tractor crept along a muddy road... concrete poles jutting from verdant rice paddies holding up power and telephone lines... hovels of block and plaster, aged and crumbling, housing hoards of sweating peasants... wild birds, stray dogs, and herds of domestic animals being totally non-existent... muddy irrigation water slowly sluicing along earth-bound troughs with siphon hoses feeding groves or filling paddies... retaining walls of quarried sandstone and a railway system both engineered by foreigners before World War II... glancing into village homes and rarely finding children... a huge black water buffalo lurking half submerged in an empty paddy... creeping squash vines sporting large results on bare hillocks beside the tracks... raindrops sending concentric ripples across a placid green pond...
These visions will always be with me; they are the passive pleasant memories (yin). In the city of Guangzhou though, my memories are considerably different. I struggle to keep images of what happened from being erased, and try to understand myself in another time and place.
[while on-board a train enroute to Guangzhou, China (PRC) from Hong Kong.] My eyes lost its color vision surveying rural China from the train. It was like watching a black&white movie. So I escaped reality by reading Taipan. As I read, a tall figure sauntered by and quipped 'that's a good book, just finished mine in Hong Kong !' I met John Bronman, a 26 year old Canadian on a solo tramp round half the globe. At 6'1', he was an imposing 'bok-gwai' (cantonese words for 'white devil'). But otherwise, we shared a common plight: fear and uncertainty.
As we approached Guangzhou station, we viewed the city outskirts and then downtown itself. I had been astounded by very dense populations (ie. Toyko), but this time there were many more crammed together over much more land. My Western conditioning saw poverty unlike any US urban ghetto -- it was worse and more pervasive. The living conditions were primitive. The buildings were poorly kept, dingy, crowded, and mostly of pre-1940s multi-story construction. The color of the city was a lifeless drab-gray.
At Guangzhou station, we unloaded and gasped at the heat and humidity. It was a typical monsoon afternoon. Immigration and Customs was so confusing, I lost John in the crowd. What am I doing here so helpless and scared ? What do I do next ? With dread, I walked to the train station exit. The on-slaught awaiting me was so powerful, I retreated to the station. The people wanted local money, money I hadn't exchanged yet. Soon, I found John and two others at the currency exchange counter.
Two youngish asian women, wearing US-made backpacks, were traveling together. One was conversing in perfect cantonese and perfect english during her transaction. While nudging John, I continued the dropping of -eaves and learned that she also knew Guangzhou well from a previous 2 month visit. |
