The Bamboo Gate

      My hand hung languidly from a limp wrist out the back window of the taxicab, the hairs on my forearm flittered in the passing wind.  Beijing at this time of year is cold in the morning and at night, but warm during the day. And on such a clear day, were it not for the breeze let in by the open cab windows, I would have roasted like Peking duck.

      As the cab continued along the 4^th ring road, I was anxious and excited.  I imagined that it must be the feeling of a bird that has just learned to fly.  Scared, perhaps, but eager to see a new world, to finally leap free from the nest.

      My bird’s nest was Beijing.  Up until then, it had been all that I’d ever known of the vastness that is China.  This little city.  As the cab neared the airport, and the prospect of seeing a new world grew near, my wrist began to stiffen, my hand to convulse like the wings of a baby bird, the hairs to dance like down in the wind.

 

     The plane took off on schedule.  Wheels up, figurative now literal.  Flight.  I was calm.  The drone of the turbines lulled me to sleep…

      I had to show my passport to the immigration officer in Hong Kong.  This should have been my first clue that, indeed, I was not in Kansas anymore.  His badge had both Chinese and English (or more precisely, Latin) characters.  The character read: 黄, meaning “yellow,” in Mandarin pronounced “huang.”  However, the English transliteration of the Cantonese read, “Wong,” the version Westerners are actually more accustomed to seeing (hopefully for obvious reasons).  It was unclear how I should address the man.  Huang Xiansheng? Wong Sinsang? Mister Yellow?!  I defaulted to Mandarin:  “Xiexie Huang Xiansheng!”  He smiled, and I moved along.

      The train was at the end of the terminal.  I bought a one-way ticket to the end of the line, Hong Kong Station, for HK$100 (about $15).  The system was infinitely more convenient and civilized than any I’d seen; it made New York’s JFK and LaGuardia look like rat mazes in comparison.  On the train, I spoke to the woman sitting next to me.  We spoke strictly standard Putonghua (or Mandarin). She told me that she was from Guangdong (Canton), and so natively she spoke Cantonese.  Now, though, almost everyone in Guangdong also speaks Putonghua, so we had no trouble conversing.  We talked about Hong Kong, and I asked how she thought it had changed since the 1997 “Return” (or “Handover,” depending on who you’re talking to).  It was good for Hong Kong, she thought, since the island itself has so few resources but so many people, and depends on it’s relationship with the Mainland.  The Hong Kong Chinese, however, she admits, did not like it, as it does not reflect their historical and cultural independence from the rest of China.

      She got off the train at Kowloon, in traditional Chinese characters 九龍, meaning “Nine Dragons,”  a district of Hong Kong which actually sits just across the water from the island proper and was ceded by the Qing Emperor to the British under the Convention of Peking in 1860.  The nine dragons are the eight peaks in this region, and the emperor, for a total of nine.  As the train pulled out of Kowloon station and back out above ground, I actually looked out onto the city for the first time.  My mouth dropped open at the sight.

      It is well known that Hong Kong is the world’s most vertical city.  Beijing, on the other hand, is one of the world’s iconic “horizontal” cities.  In Hong Kong, with so little space and a high demand for square footage, buildings have nowhere to go but up.  Beijing, on the other hand, has so much space, and was for so long at the mercy of urban planners with a predilection for Communist architecture, that buildings (as well as public squares, à la Tiananmen, and 10-lane wide boulevards) occupy vast tracts of real estate, taking up space seemingly for it’s own sake.  The Hong Kong Chinese, however, ruthlessly economize every square inch, resulting in bamboo stalk buildings shooting up from the silk string alleyways that wind between them.

      Of course, Hong Kong has not always been so tall.  From the rooftop terrace at restaurant and bar Sevva (pronounced like British “savour”), I got a crash course in Hong Kong architectural history from my gracious host, M., who has now lived and worked in Hong Kong for several years.  Most interesting was the (Old) Bank of China building, built to house the bank’s headquarters in 1952.  The building was designed in contemporary style by architectural firm Palmer and Turner, who helped to realize the developers’ goal of surpassing the neighboring Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation building as the city’s tallest building, a title it held for decades.  Ironically, it is now one of Central’s shortest buildings, dwarfed by I.M. Pei’s magnificent (New) Bank of China Tower as well and Norman Foster’s lego-like glass and steel HSBC Main Building, which required the demolition of the original, the very building that the (Old) Bank of China building was built to surpass.

     Not only the architecture, but also the food and drink were a big part of the experience.  Let's be honest, I mostly mean the drink: coffee, wine, and, of course, anything clear – three things which are relatively hard to come by in Beijing.  Even when you do find them, unless you pop into a Starbucks for coffee, you mostly can’t trust the quality anyway.  To say the least, in Hong Kong I indulged.  And if you’ve read my most recent post, you already know of the subsequent life adjustments I’ve made since back in Beijing (see “Not For All the Tea in China”).  I was also recommended an “Imported Wine Wholesaler” in Wudaokou.  I checked it out, but I’m still skeptical…

      In any event, the experience left a lasting impression.  I can’t go as far as to say that Hong Kong is not China.  We commonly use “China” to refer to the People’s Republic of China, but any student of Chinese would know that this 说法 neglects the vast historical, physical, and cultural scope of that word. One thing is for sure, Hong Kong is entirely distinct from the Mainland, a fact of which both Mainlanders and Hong Kong Chinese are acutely aware.  In fact, between the two, it is said, there stands a “bamboo gate,” or 籬笆, although Beijingers often refer to it as 栅栏, since there is no bamboo here.  It’s hard to tell what people really feel about it.  To some degree, it appears that many people think that it is, at least for the time being, better that way. Only time will tell, I suppose…

From the nest...

To see the world I flew

Across the bamboo gate

And back anew,

Along the way

A stint upon the lintel sat,

Head turned this way

Then that,

Confused now

More ever than before

Which way to go –

Which way to go.