You've heard it all before. You've heard me rant about how horrid I find Hong Kong and how I can't wait to come home. You've heard about how much I feel this place is killing me.
You haven't heard some of these anecdotes, though.
For your reading pleasure, I've compiled a list of three stories that sum up some of our recent experiences in Hong Kong. I think you'll find them to be sufficiently stomach-churning to the point that you won't want to come here...ever. That's probably for the best, since the only language Hong Kong seems to understand is the all mighty dollar and, if we ever want them to change, we'll have to get them to acknowledge how disgusting they are (kinda' like rubbing a dog's nose in it's own $#!*). So, without further ado, let's begin...
1) What a Pisser!
It had been a surprisingly enjoyable (re: expensive) evening, as Carina and I were on our way home from a great dinner at Habibi, an Egyptian restaurant specializing in Middle-Eastern fare and some of the best cocktails I've had since arriving in Hong Kong (probably because it was not prepared by native Hong Kongers). Good food, good company, good conversation, and a good walk back were making the evening unusually delightful.
This is Hong Kong, though, so no story is complete without some disgusting event involving poor hygiene and mass apathy.
As Carina and I were passing a set of stairs, we noticed a token drunk attempting the ascent and getting nowhere fast. He stumbled, righted himself, and then, as if the most natural thing in the world, undid his fly and let loose a...well, maybe not "let loose" as it was a very weak stream (more of a trickle, really), but he began to empty his bladder nonetheless.
Now, neither of us is exactly unaccustomed to such displays of public intoxication; we went to college. It was still disgusting, of course, and it irked me that someone would have so little regard for the public welfare. That wasn't what really put me over the top, though. What really put me over the top was the fact that two cops on the other side of the street actually watched this guy urinate in public and did nothing! Not a damn thing! Yeah, Hong Kong's finest hard at work, right?
You know why the crime rate in this city is so low? It's because the cops do the best they can to keep infractions like that off the record. They'd rather just ignore this crap than do their damn jobs or, when pressed to act, put the fear of...well, not God since this place is godless...but the next closest thing (money?) into people instead of actually doing up a report! That and the fact that all the real crime is at the white collar level and no one seems to understand the concept of charging people for crimes against humanity and the environment. Okay, yeah, I'm on my moral high horse here, but if you lived where I've been living for two years you'd feel the same way. I challenge any libertarian to come to Hong Kong and live on the same means I've been living on for six months. I guarantee you'll come back with a more socially-oriented political philosophy...
2) The Creeping Death
We've discussed our flat's mold problem before: it grows on the wall, we clean it, it grows back, we clean it again. What we haven't discussed is that Hong Kong seems to breed some kind of super mold that is totally resistant to any kind of anti-microbial solution.
So far we've attempted the following: diluted bleach, straight bleach (ouch), borax (cough), vinegar (mmm, vinegar), dish soap.
I wanted to use hydrochloric acid, but Carina rejected this idea after the near fiasco with the bleach. I told her I was willing to suffer the burns but she remained unconvinced. I think it also had something to do with "not destroying the landlord's property," but I stop listening whenever someone mentions that kind of thing. This entire flat could use an overhaul and it's been a while since I've been allowed to use a sledgehammer. That and I could really use the cathartic experience.
Anyway, yeah, we've been dealing with this bizarre and unearthly mold for weeks now and we can't seem to kill it (I mean, it doesn't bleed. Can we kill it if it doesn't bleed?). In all honesty, the mold has probably embedded itself so deeply in the wall that we'd need to tear a lot of it out to ensure that it stops growing back so rapidly. Personally, I wouldn't mind chiseling it away or taking a flamethrower to it, but I've been told that kind of "do-it-yourself" behavior isn't well tolerated in the homes of others. Bummer, because I'm really good with a chisel.
One option we did briefly consider was a kind of "anti-fungal paint" that some places in Hong Kong allegedly sell. As with all such miracle cures, though, we're skeptical. In fact, you should be skeptical of anything you buy in Hong Kong. That watch? Fake. Those shoes? Knock-offs that'll fall apart in two weeks. That broom? Yeah, it's flammable, so flammable it'll burst into flames when submerged underwater. That's just the way this place is, though, it's fake.
Except for the mold. The mold is very real, much like the health problems it causes. If in any of my photos I look like I have some kind of rash around my eyes, you'll know why.
3) In Cantonese, "Pesto" means "Mayo"
Now, after all of these other stories this one is probably the tamest, but it's also the one that pisses me off the most. Maybe that's because I'd been suffering through everything prior to this for so long that this was just the straw that broke the camel's back, but here it goes.
Last evening Carina and I were coming back from a spur of the moment trip to one of Hong Kong's many tourist traps, The Peak. In all honesty it probably would have been better if we'd gone earlier and completed one of the alleged scenic hiking trails but, as it was, we didn't get up there until around 3:30 PM and only stayed for an hour. Oh well, no big deal.
On our way home we passed through the infamous Shun Tak Centre, a building that is the bane of my existence and beloved by many Hong Kongers. We were hungry, so we stopped at an Oliver's Super Sandwiches for a bite to eat. Not unsurprisingly, their menu was rubbish. I ordered what I hoped would be an at least acceptable panini: grilled chicken, "mixed" mushrooms (whatever that means), and pesto. That actually sounds pretty good. Of course, anything that sounds good is likely to be screwed up by Hong Kong people, who don't seem to know or care about how to prepare food.
During my tedious wait for food I was treated to the lovely Hong Kong chorus of disgusting belching and the cacophonous slurping of soup. I had heard much about such gross behaviors but, until then, I had never experienced them personally. I thought it would be tolerable. I was wrong.
These burps are not like normal burps. These burps put the most inebriated and classless frat boy to shame. These are burps that sound inhuman. A frog could burp and sound (and smell) better than that to which I was sitting next. The slurping? The slurping wasn't even warranted! People slurp food supposedly because it is hot and it's a way of cooling it. First of all, blowing on your bloody spoon is a far more efficient and less obnoxious way of doing that. Second, most of the garbage Oliver's sells and claims to be "food" is served lukewarm at best; you don't need to freaking blow on it!
It's a good thing I was so hungry from all of the walking I'd been doing, otherwise I would have lost my appetite. On second thought, I rather wish I had.
When my sandwich finally arrived it was nothing like what I'd ordered: it was bacon with two shriveled up pieces of chicken and, to top it all off, no pesto. Instead, they'd slathered mayonnaise on the sandwich. <sarcasm> Great, I just love mayonnaise </sarcasm>. I wiped as much of the gunk off of the "sandwich" as I could and then ate swiftly so I could get the Hell out of there. I wanted to wash it down with my "lemon tea" but, of course, they'd served "tea" without lemon, tea that tasted more or less like burnt water. How do you burn water!? It took all of my self-restraint not to go postal on that kitchen. I didn't dare complain about the food because I knew I'd just lose it with them.
The recurring theme in all of these stories is apathy. The grand majority of Hong Kong people have absolutely no sense of pride, passion, or pathos. It is little more than a garbage heap, a zit upon a blue world, but a zit that threatens to pop and spill over, leaking its disgusting pus all over our planet's face. I refer both to the level of pollution and the way people tend to live here. Let Hong Kong be a wake-up call to the world:
START CARING!
This PSA brought to you by Colin
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