"What Doesn't He Eat?"

I have learned I need to be concerned when people start asking "what doesn't he eat?" My wife's uncle turned 54ish this Saturday, so the family trekked out to Lau Fau Shan, a fishing village on the edge of Hong Kong. The restaurant is owned by a grade school chum of my uncle's who hooked us up with a private room.

Before the food arrived, we took a tour of the village fish market. There we saw the typical five semi-stray dogs, one of which is pregnant, living in surprising harmony with a fleet of cats who are convinced they're in heaven. The part that surprised me was the freshness of the fish for sale. I'm used to fresh seafood, but an aunt tells me all of the local restaurants will let you pick your prey, buy it, bring it to them and pay a nominal fee for them to cook and plate it. Apparently you can also pick which cut of the fish you want, judging from the half of a fish I saw lying on a chopping block, its now exposed heart still beating.

Back inside the restaurant, I was treated to steamed crabs, razor clams, scallops, abalone, breaded shrimp, a whole steamed fish, and a very large shrimp whose name literally translates to "pees its pants shrimp." While I loaded up on the vegetable dish when it came around, my generous relations made sure I had at least two servings from each of the other dishes.

In the end, I caught the bus home nursing a bit of indigestion, but none the worse for wear. The person suffering is likely my uncle. In Asian generosity, its his birthday, his party, his bill. Unfortunately for him, school chums don't cut deals; I think he shelled out around 3500 HKD for the meal. Ouch.

On the Waterfront

I once joked to a friend that I didn’t think I could live I a place that didn’t have access to some sort of major waterway. In the years since that seemingly offhand comment was made, I have yet to stray from it, with exception of two summer stints. Hong Kong has made it reputation as one of the great ports of the world, linking China with the rest of the world.

I live along a little section of waterfront in Tsuen Wan, which neighbors the main shipping terminals, but thankfully, local leaders saw fit to finish off the area surrounding the city’s lone ferry pier with a park. In a fit of developing largesse, the main section of the park was completed concurrent with the city’s tallest building, yet it stretches along the waterfront for a good two or three miles via a jogging/bike path and isolated stretches of grass.

Tsuen Wan's waterfront shares a certain ubiquity with most modern harbors: a jogging path, outsized granite boulders used as a seawall, plaques honoring former city councils, etc. As I walked along the path, a few bourgeois types jogged past in running kit, interspersed with dogs on walks and elderly people engaged in the slow methodical walk, hands clasped behind their hips, one sees frequently here. Along the pier and at another deep part of the waterfront, fishing is the activity of choice, reel or not. It came as a surprise to see four people plying the waters with only fishing line anchored to a bucket or the railing. The more endowed and industrious fishermen stuck plural poles in the granite crevasses and reclined nearby.

The harbor itself is merely an elbow of channel between the main peninsula and Tsing Yi, one of the most developed of Hong Kong’s islands, housing a portion of the container terminals and new residential developments. Not surprisingly, the harbor is a parking lot for tugboats of various sizes and superfluous ferries.

In the background is the famous Tsing Ma Bridge, notable as the longest bridge to carry road and rail traffic. The bridge’s main span is 1,377m (4,518ft) long and exceeds all but six in the world, including the Golden Gate Bridge.

The last place I lived had a waterfront with multiple historic markers, commemorating the settling of the region via the coast’s natural harbors. The Tsuen Wan waterfront was little more than swampland a generation ago, but for the moment it possesses all the requisite pleasantries for this water-bound dweller.