I f***ing love this city - I think to myself as I'm walking
back to my high rise apartment from the city center. It's wildly hot and
I'm drenched in a mixture of humidity, perspiration and rain, but it doesn't
dampen my admiration for the jungle that is Hong Kong.
If you thought NYC was the king of concrete, think again. Hong Kong is a dirty, gritty, raw concrete jungle with a condensed skyline of over 1,250 skyscrapers - almost three times that of New York City. Even the smallest buildings here are no less than twenty stories high. Some are shiny and new, but most stand with an ancient layer of peeling paint and sport a thick coat of black pollution. Sunny days are a rarity, but a welcome occasion, nonetheless, in the months of August through November- thanks to a combination of rain clouds and built up vehicle fumes. When it does happen that the sun burns through the fog, there immediately emerges an army of freshly laundered t-shirts from every window of every housing unit in effort to have a crisp, natural dry before the next rains hit. Laundry flag flyings are few and far between in this monsoon friendly city.
My walk home continues along Queen's Road, which stretches from one end of Victoria Harbor, to the next. A breeze blows through the dried fish market and I’m assaulted with the stench of dead, dehydrated creatures from sea being sold by the bucket load across Sheung Wan. Sea cucumbers, squid, shrimps, fish, and other discernible are flattened, colorless and salted, waiting to be taken home to a soup or a medicine. Weaving in and out of lazy sidewalk traffic, I dodge shirtless, sweaty, hunchbacks pushing rusted green carts packed with flattened cardboard. Shop owners sit on stools with their shirts up to their chins, revealing a proud belly as they smoke and watch the world unfurl. White girls in yoga pants hurry off to the next ashtanga class at PURE and heads subtly swivel.
If you thought NYC was the king of concrete, think again. Hong Kong is a dirty, gritty, raw concrete jungle with a condensed skyline of over 1,250 skyscrapers - almost three times that of New York City. Even the smallest buildings here are no less than twenty stories high. Some are shiny and new, but most stand with an ancient layer of peeling paint and sport a thick coat of black pollution. Sunny days are a rarity, but a welcome occasion, nonetheless, in the months of August through November- thanks to a combination of rain clouds and built up vehicle fumes. When it does happen that the sun burns through the fog, there immediately emerges an army of freshly laundered t-shirts from every window of every housing unit in effort to have a crisp, natural dry before the next rains hit. Laundry flag flyings are few and far between in this monsoon friendly city.
My walk home continues along Queen's Road, which stretches from one end of Victoria Harbor, to the next. A breeze blows through the dried fish market and I’m assaulted with the stench of dead, dehydrated creatures from sea being sold by the bucket load across Sheung Wan. Sea cucumbers, squid, shrimps, fish, and other discernible are flattened, colorless and salted, waiting to be taken home to a soup or a medicine. Weaving in and out of lazy sidewalk traffic, I dodge shirtless, sweaty, hunchbacks pushing rusted green carts packed with flattened cardboard. Shop owners sit on stools with their shirts up to their chins, revealing a proud belly as they smoke and watch the world unfurl. White girls in yoga pants hurry off to the next ashtanga class at PURE and heads subtly swivel.
Although people from all walks and corners of life seem to
converge in Hong Kong, they also tend to have one thing in common: they are all
actively scratching, clawing and purring their way to the top. There are little rules to the game of
capitalism in HK, an aspect of life in this city that attracts the most millionaires
per capita in the world to reside in its quarters. From Aston Martens, to live in helpers, to
designer booty, Hong Kong is a gold digger’s paradise. Men, if you want to play, trust me, you
better be able to pay.
Unfortunately, not everyone gets the pleasure of living in
the lap of luxury with personal stylists and home visiting manicurists. Hong Kong is also home to the highest
economic disparities in the world. It
has been recorded that some pay $167 to live in a 16 square foot metal cage in the
slums. Other options cram up to three people into a 50 square foot room.
(That's smaller than my college dorm room.) Regardless of the
salary, everyone works their fingers to the bone here. Whether it's for
appearances or not, office hours are from sun up to sun down.
The final stretch up to my apartment along Eastern street is scattered with century old trees that always send chills up my spine. Their roots are like snakes seeping onto the road, spewing over the concrete barriers that are trying to hold them back. The wildlife here is just waiting for its moment to take back the city that once belonged to it. The literal jungle aspect of Hong Kong is something I highly admire and try to take advantage of as much as possible. One minute I can be standing in Central, the heart of the city that pulses out life packed with neon sky scrapers and hustlers in suits. The next, I can find myself on a two dollar ferry and end up on Llama Island, straining to hear anything other than the caw of a wild bird, the croak of a frog or the rush of a nearby stream. It's all unbridled terrain crawling with wild life.
The final stretch up to my apartment along Eastern street is scattered with century old trees that always send chills up my spine. Their roots are like snakes seeping onto the road, spewing over the concrete barriers that are trying to hold them back. The wildlife here is just waiting for its moment to take back the city that once belonged to it. The literal jungle aspect of Hong Kong is something I highly admire and try to take advantage of as much as possible. One minute I can be standing in Central, the heart of the city that pulses out life packed with neon sky scrapers and hustlers in suits. The next, I can find myself on a two dollar ferry and end up on Llama Island, straining to hear anything other than the caw of a wild bird, the croak of a frog or the rush of a nearby stream. It's all unbridled terrain crawling with wild life.
