2008 Hong Kong, Macau, Bali

2008 Hong Kong, Macau, Bali

Global gallivanting is our therapy for the season-of-soak stepping all over our Zen, and in an attempt to mitigate the chills of February this year we’re back in South East Asia. However, our arrival in Hong Kong turns out to be an example of reality clashing with expectations as it’s the city’s coldest winter in 23 years; and for us, about as appealing as a big bag of toenails!

As the city snores Christine and I travel to the New Territories to visit one of the most sacred sites in all of Hong Kong; the Monastery of Ten Thousand Buddha’s. The entire pathway leading to the monastery is a lesson in Buddha diversity, lined with a diverse assemblage of life-sized golden statues in poses ranging from the serene to the outrageous.

Silently observed by a traffic jam of shoeless Buddhas we ascend the stairs until reaching an iron entry gate sealing off the monastery tighter than a crab’s buttocks. And sitting on the stairs waiting for it to open, we’re trembling as if in an advance stage Parkinson’s.

As one of the workers finally arrives we point nd through the gate gesturing we would like to enter, and with a nod of his head the old fellow opens the gate and kindly beckons us inside. We have the monastery all to ourselves as dawn’s blushing light breaks over the central courtyard and itsa nine story red pagoda. Nearby, a second Buddha-full temple has the interior walls barnacled with 12,800 Buddha statues!

With our Buddha quota now filled for the year, we head for Sha Tin Park on the Shing Mun River. The peace and quiet of the green space is a delightful contrast to Kowloon, where streets awash in a sea of glaring neon signs are about as subtle as a bagpiper at a yoga retreat!

Today, numbed by a frigid face-flinching wind, we ferry to Macau and search out the island’s famous landmark of St. Paul’s Church, or at least what’s left of it. The once magnificent church burned to the ground during a typhoon in 1835 leaving behind only the towering façade and grand stone staircase.

Not wanting to dawdle in weather colder than a brass toilet seat on the shady side of an iceberg, we bus to the 16th century A-Ma Temple built to honour a sacred sea goddess meant to protect fishermen on their journeys. A haze of smoke wafts out from countless coils of smoldering incense hanging in every nook and cranny, and after a quick poke about we zealously move on to keep our blood from solidifying. Huddled together with our teeth ferociously jackhammering in the polar conditions we ferry back to Kowloon.

Today while waiting for a bus in the bullying cold, I scoot off to order a hot bowl of soup that comes in a container accompanied by chopsticks! Pondering the ‘nincomsoup’ who combined soup and sticks, we’re not exactly ingratiating ourselves to locals standing in line with us. They look aghast as my numb-fingered fumbling of the skinny wooden utensils accidentally splashes soup on them, and leaves a goatee of noodles stuck to my chin!

As the entrance to The Big Buddha statue on Lantau Island opens we charge up 268 steps to an impressive 112’ high Buddha calmly seated in the cross-legged lotus position amidst a ghostly swirl of fog. Nearby is a Wisdom Path, meant to be slowly strolled while pondering the wise words and prayers carved into tall perpendicular wood slabs. However, with fierce winds and weather cold enough to have Shackleton shivering, we dash down the path with the speed of a plummeting peregrine falcon!

Bone-chilled and a shiver away from hypothermic hallucinations while waiting for a bus back, the almost always unflappable Christine is near tears, telling me this is the coldest she has ever been in her life. Quite the declaration coming from a lady growing up in Labrador!

We take a brief sail aboard the iconic ‘Duk Ling’; the only original Chinese junk remaining in Hong Kong. Its billowing red sails dust off memories of the intrigue associated with early taipans, but unfortunately it’s far too cold to fully appreciate our sailing. Capping off the day we wander along a waterfront promenade with the ‘Symphony of Lights’ splashing laser beams synchronized to music across towering skyscrapers jostling for space along the harbor.

According to the Chinese calendar, 2008 is the Year of the Rat, and the city seems plagued with an infestation of rat sculptures posed in every imaginable position. Likely ratified by some irrational bureaucrat, the rodent impostors look rather cheesy, but a decade after our first visit we find Hong Kong now has a slightly more sophisticated feel; in fact, kind of like a rat with a gold tooth!

Mongkok translates to ‘flourishing corner’, a major understatement given the madness of its hubbubish streets. According to Guinness World Records it has the highest population density in the world, with 130,000 peeps per sq km. This, we soon find out, translates to 260,000 elbows, many of which introduce themselves to us! So if you’re on the prowl for quietude, the hum of humans and claustrophobic state of squeeze in Mongkok is clearly not your best bet!

No longer willing to weather the weather and in need of a mental massage, we put some separation between ourselves and planet chopstick. A short flight catapults us out of the ice age and back to Bali, where we’re as pleased as pigs in a pumpkin patch to be hugged by the island’s tropical heat.

Cycling from Ubud to the village of Tegalallang in Santa Claus mode, we dole out a bag of toys brought from home to little tykes along the way. On the ride back we pause at Spa Hati and rejuvenate ourselves with a blissful hour of palm-pummeled delight at an outdoor massage. Serenaded by little frogs making big noises in the rice paddies next door, our souls are soothed; and with ‘the hour of happy’ almost upon us, pedal back to the bungalow to engage in a little poetry of the elbow.

Last night’s slumber was disrupted by an over enthusiastic rooster cock-a-goddamn-doodle-dooing it’s lungs out in the middle of the night. Perhaps in my younger days I may have had more appreciation for a cock that stays up all night, but for right now I just want to turn cock-a-doodle-do into cock-a-doodle-don’t, and am only contemplating this feathered fool as plucked, fried, and accessorized in BBQ sauce!

With thirsty mosquitoes lurking we smear on repellant to try and prevent becoming involuntary blood donners. Bed-ridden in Martinique during a Caribbean rugby tour many years ago with a crippling bout of Dengue Fever, I need to stay alert as a second bout can be much more severe than the first.

Running through the scenic countryside we pass sinewy bent-backed farmers with shirtless shoulders busy pulling a living from soil devoted to their life-giving rice. We share pleasant and reciprocal morning greetings of ‘Selemat Pagi’ that are usually acknowledged with a friendly wave or lift of the chin.

On Valentine’s Day in Sanur we head tide side for a sail in a traditional Balinese jukong; a boat carved out of a monstrous mango tree and stabilized by large bamboo pontoons. Being fanned by a caressing breeze makes for a splendid sail along the coral reef, and the ‘day of love’ is perfect; with Christine and me, on a romantic spree, sailing free, in a mango tree, on the Bali Sea!

Later, after getting all spiffed up in my best set of jeans, we fold ourselves into a bemo; a scuffed transport akin to a creaky three-wheeled travelling tent. At least it keeps us semi-dry in the drenching rain until making our jalopy jailbreak at Village Restaurant. It may be a devil of a night outside, but inside the restaurant’s spectacular food tastes like angels copulating on our tongues.

Accompanied by detonating thunder, a frightening lightning flaunts its fury by cracking through the sky; and with dispiriting rain falling in biblical proportions we wonder if we may have to return by canoe! After our meal the jovial Italian chef doesn’t want us to leave due to the angry winds severing tree branches and hurling about anything not bolted down. Eventually however we must be on our way, and our newfound friend hails us a taxi and presents Christine with a lovely red rose.

Arriving back at our hotel we find the last 100 meters of driveway completely underwater, and as we huddle together under an umbrella dithering over our dilemma, a resourceful shopkeeper offers up a solution. Christine removes her newly purchased high heels and the fellow quickly fashions a pair of booties from plastic bags.

What a sight; the elegant Christine all dolled up with a rose and heels in one hand, umbrella in the other, and the flimsy footwear taped over her bare feet. As she fords the driveway as daintily as a butterfly with sore feet, fat splats of kamikaze rain mercilessly slap the water around her like a Gatling gun. No doubt about it, a Valentine’s Day to be remembered with a smile!

On our last night in Sanur the usual air of tranquility is unexpectedly broken as we walk arm-in-arm back to our bungalow. Christine abruptly breaks free with a little extra hop in her step, and is squawking out noises at the top of her lungs that sound like a parrot going under the wheels of a truck. Gyrating about with her hands in the air she appears to be either acting out some weird Newfie jig or be in a demonic possession! The wild woman has me wondering if I should be calling an exorcist!

My eyes find her feet, and peeping out from the inside of her shoe are the bulgy eyeballs of a petite green frog that’s somehow hopped right inside it! With the freckled little croaker ribbiting for forgiveness over his amphibious assault, I’m laughing so hard I’m afraid of suffering serious internal damage!

With exaggerated care I release young Kermit back into the billowing greenery, while the ‘Queen of my Existence’ performs a forensic examination of her shoe before cautiously easing her foot back into her now frog-free footwear. The amusing incident is yet another little treasure to be added to a growing mosaic of treasured memories from a country that truly speaks to our souls!

And so, like the ice in our drinks, our travel days have melted away, and regrettably it’s time to once again bid a fond farewell to this very special place known as The Island of The Gods.

Mark Colegrave    February 2008