Mongkok & Back

Today we decided it was time to visit the mainland proper. No longer for us the safe and sanitised environs of Hong Kong and Disneyland, we were taking the famous Star Ferry across Victoria Harbour to spend the day exploring Kowloon and Mongkok.

Hong Kong as the colony it once was – and now as an SAR (Self Administrative Region) of China – is a small chunk of Southern China and about 100 other islands, the most well-known being Hong Kong Island itself. Kowloon is the mainland ‘bit’ immediately across the harbour from Hong Kong, and it was over this busy stretch of water that we took the Star Ferry – lower deck $1.70, upper deck $2.20 one-way. Since we’re on honeymoon we threw caution to the wind and went for the upper deck – that’s nearly 20 pence each I’ll have you know. Tizer went free, so our economy drive is still firmly on course.

It’s a wonderful experience as the aging ferry plows it’s way over the harbour, and the views are superb. The whole trip was over in less than 10 minutes, and we disembarked in Kowloon. You don’t get very far from the ferry terminal – say, 5 steps or so – before being approached by the first of many gentlemen of Indian extraction who are hell bent on fitting you for a tailor-made suit. And if you don’t fancy a suit, they’re more than happy to sort you out with with a ‘designer’ handbag – “for the lady”.

Declining politely (but getting less polite with each fresh assault on every street corner) we decided to check out the contrasting opulence of the Peninsula Hotel. This is alleged to be the hotel in Hong Kong, with it’s own fleet of Bentleys to transport its well heeled guests to-and-fro, and there's certainly a kind of faded grandeur about the place; it’s lobby is essentially one large tea room with customers being waited on by white-jacketed staff whilst listening to the strains of a string quartet. It’s impressive in it’s own way but all rather dated, and the vast majority of those partaking of the (no doubt very pricey) dainty cakes, sarnies and Earl Grey seemed to be there more to be seen that to be sustained in any significant way.

Still, I got to use the loos, which was a relief, and we continued to dawdle up Nathan Street, the main drag through Kowloon. It’s a wonderfully atmospheric place; jewellery shops, designer clothes shops, hi-fi and TV shops line the street one after the other, all selling the best names in their field, and all of them clearly knock-offs. Rolex watch sir? Only $2000 (about £120) to you sir, and comes complete with certificate of authenticity. Yeah, right…

About halfway along Nathan Street we clambered up the steps to Kowloon Park which is actually sited on top of the shops - says it all really. Such a haven of peace and quiet you will seldom find, especially slap in the middle of the mayhem and noise of downtown Hong Kong. Diligently pruned ornamental trees brimming with fragrant blossom lined the gently winding paths, which lead us past groups of Hong Kong OAPs slowly practicing their Tai Chi. Mini-pagodas sited in the centre of small lilly-ponds provided shade for pairs of quietly bickering old Chinese men and young courting couples, surrounded by dainty trickling streams and a surprisingly wide range of gently chirupping birds, all of them beautiful but pretty much unrecognisable to the average Westerner (Bill Oddie excepted).

Rather like entering an old wood-lined library, this was the kind of place that made you subconsciously quieten your voice to a murmer. I loved it. But then Tizer broke my revery somewhat by chasing and terrorising the resident pigeons which was vaguely amusing until our attention was drawn to a poster clearly forbidding said act under pain of a cash fine, so we decided to move on.

Back on the street we decided we'd had enough of Kowloon for the time being and headed down into the MTR for the two stop journey north to Mongkok, a poor neighbourhood of crumbling apartment blocks and hectic street markets, and home - apparently - to the Triad, which is nice. The MTR was, once again, immaculate, but on climbing the stairs out onto the streets of Mongkok, we were made instantly aware of why this is reputedly one of the most densely populated places on earth. It was like being suddenly and inadvertently plunged into a game of sardines with several thousand Chinese people, all of whom seemed perfectly at home with the idea and all of whom appeared to have heard of a much better hiding place in the exact opposite direction to the one we were trying to head in.

Thankfully (and I mean this without the slightest trace of racial slur) the Hong Kong Chinese are not only terribly polite, they are also - generally speaking - all rather short which, being just a little vertically challenged myself, was a positive boon. It meant that, despite the crowds, we were able to see over their heads (a real novelty for me) and although progress was slow we soon found our bearings. What an astounding place - decrepit tenement blocks with washing festooned from window-to-window, huge neon signs in Cantonese, blaring car horns and thick exhaust fumes, some of the most curious and (on occasion) stomach-churning smells wafting from street corner eateries and all the time the relentless surge of far too many bodies, all stoically enduring the complete absence of personal space.

We found Ladies Market a couple of blocks (and about 20 minutes) from the MTR station. Narrow lanes of stalls selling everything from 'China Town' tat to knock-off designer trainers, Kung Fu DVDs to English Premier League football shirts. We actually spied a pair of Converse pumps for Tizer, but despite the stall holder's attempts to assure us that they were the right size with added claims of, "they fit soon, she grow fast", we decided not to entrust the health of our daughter's feet to the vagueries of cut-price market footwear and ploughed on.

After several blocks of markets and malodorous food stalls, and working our way from the Ladies Market to the Goldfish Market (which, unsurprisingly, sells nought but goldfish, in bags, just like the 'Hook-a-Duck' stall at your local fair), we descended again into the MTR. We took the train as far as Kowloon, then got back onto the Star Ferry - which gave us 10 minutes of stunning night-time views - before setting us back into the relative calm and, on reflection, much more sanitised atmosphere of Hong Kong.

We'd booked ourselves a baby-sitter for the night, and a table at the Four Season's renowned restaurant, Caprice. Those who know me will attest to my abject food snobbery and it is fair to say that I'm pretty hard to impress in the culinary department. But this was good; damn it, this was stunning. The setting (overlooking Victoria Harbour) the service (typically Hong Kong, typically flawless) and - oh my god - the food! This was the real McCoy; I think we ended up going through about five courses, but mentions of merit must go to the langoustine and sweetbread ravioli, the foie gras terrine and the lamb fillet with pears. Wonderful, wonderful grub, the likes of which I can't envisage us being fortunate enough to stumble over for quite some time. Ah well, it is our honeymoon....

Big Buddha tomorrow.