One Hundred Names for Humidity

I should probably begin by explaining what’s going on here. Paul’s company, OpenEye Scientific, gives its employees a three-month paid sabbatical every five years. I know, right? Some take the time to go do science elsewhere—pharma companies, universities, etc. But others use the time to travel and/or experience something new. Happily for me, my sweetie is in the second category. As some may remember, we took our first sabbatical six years ago (Paul has been taking his time every six years thus far) as our honeymoon! This time, we’re taking six weeks instead of three months, and touring Southeast Asia. Paul travels all over the place for work, but never in this area, so it’s all new for both of us. So here we are, in Southeast Asia, at the beginning of the rainy season! As I write (at the beginning of Week 3, in Chiang Mai, Thailand), it’s been POURING all day (raining cats, dogs, chickens, frogs, barnyard animals, pick your favorite animal!). But this has been the only day that this has happened. Until now, the weather reports of thunderstorms every day have so far been exaggerated. But oh, it’s been humid. Moist. Damp. Muggy. Clammy. Sticky. Sultry.

We got round-trip tickets through Hong Kong a few months back (Paul has high status on American Airlines due to all that work travel) but we’ve otherwise left the rest of the trip open—with thoughts, of course, for places to go. Anyone who knows Paul knows that this is completely out of character for him. Usually, he’d prefer everything nailed down, flights, hotels, etc. But due to a confluence of circumstances—both of us very busy with work and travel and other things, plus everyone we’ve spoken with and all we’ve read recommends being flexible with travel within the area. So all we’d planned in advance was three days in Hong Kong to adjust to everything.

I’d glad we went to Hong Kong since I’d never been before, but overall, it didn’t enchant me. I kept thinking about what my friend Becca, when we first met back in the ‘90s, used to think NYC was like: concrete jungle, no trees, grungy, and impersonal. I personally think that the book/movie titled A Tree Grows in Brooklyn has given countless people the impression that that was the only one in all of New York City! Of course, many of the streets are tree-lined. Trees everywhere. And of course there are trees in Hong Kong too. In fact, rumor has it that 70% of Hong Kong Island is covered with trees. The problem is, they’re all in the mountains or grouped in parks. Not a single tree lines any street that I could see. And unlike New York, the architecture is not terribly attractive. In the Wan Chai neighborhood where we stayed, ugly old buildings compete with not very interesting newer buildings for space. Neither wins. The day we left, I put my finger on what’s really missing: the beat. The hum. The energy. There’s none of that buzz that you feel underfoot in most big cities. So what’s up with that? Is it because it’s overall a poor city that nonetheless houses some of the richest people in the world? Most Hong Kong residents (Hong Kong-ites? Hong Kongers?) work long hours for little pay. Rents are high and apartments are tiny. Most have tiny kitchens and some don’t have kitchens at all. Probably that’s the reason the hum, the buzz, the beat is missing. Everyone is just too tired. Not to mention, in early May the city is hot and really, really humid.

A few things I learned:

7Eleven has taken over the world. There are at least two on every corner in the Wan Chai neighborhood, competing with countless Circle Ks and the occasional Watson’s (an English version of same) for convenience customers.

You can eat dim sum all day every day. I know, I know, I should have known that. Dim sum is a style of eating; it does not mean “brunch” in Cantonese. Still, in New York City, the time to eat dim sum is on a Sunday noon/early afternoon, so perhaps I’ll get a pass on knowing that. Hong Kong is the dim sum capital of the known universe, so there are dim sum places everywhere. Food is good, fast, and cheap. Because most people don’t have kitchens or, for that matter, time to cook, dim sum and other restaurants are jammed at mealtimes. You are expected to know what you want, order it, eat it, and get the hell out of there so the next party can have your table.

Shrimp dumplings

Our first night in Hong Kong, we tried to go to a place called Kam’s Roast Goose down the street from our hotel. Despite the late hour on a Monday night, there was quite the crowd waiting to get in. There was a dim sum place across the street, not empty but not terribly busy, so we went there instead. First thing, a bowl of very hot water put on the table. The waitress mostly gestures that this is to wash our utensils. We’re thinking it’s for between courses, but before the first dish comes, the bowl is taken away. This is what happens when you don’t have time to read up on local customs before you get to a place! It turns out that you’re supposed to dip your chopsticks into the hot water to clean them—most ceremoniously these days, but a leftover from a time when utensils and such were not necessarily cleaned between customers. On our third excursion into dim sum, on a food tour we did on our last day, we finally learned from our adorable Aussie guide, Nicole, the purpose and ceremony of the hot water. And frankly, at this particular place, though the dishes and chopsticks were no doubt run through a dishwasher, the table itself was so much less than clean at 10 am that I’m pretty sure it hadn’t been wiped down since the place opened that morning.

But enough about that. What did we eat? Dumplings of all sort, shrimp and pork and vegetable, some steamed, some fried. At the first place, the winner was a barbecue spicy pork dish—the waitress’s favorite, she said.

On the second day, Paul wanted to go to the place billed as the only dim sum restaurant in the world with a Michelin star (or maybe just in Hong Kong). So we had breakfast at the hotel then walked along the harbor toward the Central area of the city. Well, we tried to walk along the harbor. There’s so much construction going on that it’s difficult to get near anywhere that’s pleasant to walk but eventually we did! And we eventually found the restaurant, Tim Ho Wan, located on a lower floor of the central train station. Even in mid-afternoon there was a long queue to get in. It moved pretty quickly though (see “get in, get out” above) and it wasn’t long before we were seated. No bowl of hot water here and no need for it. It’s not at all fancy, Michelin star or no, but very clean, like the cleanest fast food place you’ve ever been. Food comes quickly too, with little ceremony, just plopped right in front of you. These places are well-oiled machines, the kitchen and wait staff all moving in a dance of incredible efficiency. The food was good! The pork buns a bit different than other places, where they are steamed bread wrapped around the sweet pork filling. Here they were “proper” buns, dusted with sugar (really) and you needed to bite into it to see the filling. And dumplings, of course. Lots and lots of dumplings! Mmmmm. Michelin-star quality? What do I know, I’ve only been to a few starred restaurants. Still, for us, it was very good but not fabulously wonderfully special.

More about food later. What did we see? It was too foggy to go up to Victoria Peak, the highest point in the city and one of its main attractions. We walked through the open-air market, through all the fresh fish stalls, overwhelmingly fragrant in the humidity, to the main market, selling pretty much everything you can imagine, including some pretty hilarious knock-offs. We bought some souvenirs and gifts, of course—my favorite a ceramic chile ristra very similar to the ones you can buy everywhere in New Mexico except that it’s crowned with bok choy. 

 We did a food tour on our last day, more on that in another post. The last night we went big and had dinner in a lovely restaurant (no rushing here) with some of the best service I’ve ever seen and a gorgeous view of the harbor. At last! a beautiful Hong Kong. We’d gone to a popular rooftop bar in Wan Chai the night before, with the funny (Aussie) name Mooloowooloo. On the floor below, it’s an Australian steakhouse; upstairs it’s a popular bar with a great view of the city and the mountain. But the view of this last place (rather unimaginatively called Seafood Room) beat it by miles. Food and drinks very expensive and delicious. We weren’t that hungry thanks to the food tour (especially Paul, who’d eaten ALL THE FOOD at every stop), so we shared one of the seafood platters that is Paul’s favorite thing and had wonderful seafood soups. And wine. Of course there was wine and it was lovely.

I’m sure Hong Kong has its charms—many people love it. I’m thinking you’d have to know it a lot better than we were able to in a few short days before that happens. Still, it was a great place to start.

Next stop, Hanoi!