June 4 vigil
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Lisa Onland is doing a degree in journalism at Hong Kong University with the support of our media programme. She is blogging for Asia:NZ Online during her three-year programme. Her latest entry is below.
Scroll down or click on the months listed to read her previous entries:
September, October, November, December 2009.
January, February, March, April, May, June 2010.
Latest: July 2010
Good to be back
As the plane begins its descent over Auckland airport my stomach does a few nosedives of its own as I attempt to prepare myself for the big homecoming. It’s been almost a year since I left New Zealand and the thought of being back home, even for just two months of summer vacation (well probably more of a winter vacation considering the change in hemispheres), is both an exciting and nerve-wracking prospect. As we taxi towards the terminal I catch a glimpse of the cloudless blue sky and can’t help but grin. Fred Dagg sure was right – we don’t know how lucky we are.
After months of sweltering away in Hong Kong heat, the gust of fresh air that greets me as I step out of the plane is a welcome relief. Unfortunately, as I’m still in my summer gear, the walk to the arrival gate becomes more of a quick scramble as I begin to long for the thick winter jacket tucked away in my suitcase. Looks like the summer-winter transition will take a few weeks to get used to. Thermals, skivvies and track pants will be replacing shorts and singlets as my new best friends these next few months.
Having successfully made it through New Zealand customs, which is still as painstakingly meticulous as ever, I’m greeted by a jubilant family. Despite many a Skype call over the past year, seeing one’s near and dear in the flesh is another experience entirely. Suddenly there’s so much to catch up on, so much to relay about my rather exotic double life back in Asia. Lucky for us we’ve got a good solid seven hours to do so. That’s right, after 11 hours of flying I’m in for a real treat: a chauffeured drive from Auckland down to Palmy.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan of the good old New Zealand road trip. And after being cooped up in Hong Kong’s concrete jungle for so long, the idea of driving through some stunning North Island scenery was more than a little appealing.
Leaving Auckland in our wake, it’s not long before we’re past Hamilton and on to Te Kuiti. Of course no road trip is complete without a stop for L&P and Tip Top, local goodies I’ve missed while away. We continue on to Taumarunui my eyes never leaving the passing countryside. Forest turns to hills then to paddocks. Sheep and cattle mull about the roadside behind tiny wire fences. At some point I even ask to stop for a picture, now a tourist in my own country. Well, I did make a promise to several friends in Hong Kong to bring back evidence of New Zealand’s infamous sheep population.
Next is Ohakune and then Waiouru. By the time we reach Taihape for dinner, I suddenly realise home is little over an hour away. Now the car can’t go fast enough. We zip through Marton, Bulls and are soon making our way into Palmerston North. I’m literally sitting on the edge of my seat as we cruise past familiar streets and buildings until, all of a sudden, our neighbourhood appears.
We pull up to the house and it’s exactly as I remember it. I can’t help but fight off a surreal shiver. Has it really been almost a year? It feels as if I’ve just left. Inside the cosy warmth of the heater seems to kick start my jetlag and, while trying to keep my eyelids open, I take a moment to enjoy being back in the old house.
What can I say, there’s no place like home.
June 2010
June 4th vigil
The start of June is always a touchy time for Hong Kong. As the only Chinese city to commemorate the events of the 1989 Tiananmen Square crackdown, it seems to take on a significant amount of responsibility for voicing its stance on democracy and freedom of speech during this period. Hong Kong has had a long and colourful history of June 4 demonstrations since the incident 21 years ago, and even staged a march on the day of the crackdown in protest of the events unfolding across the border.
Right up until the evening of June 4 I had remained resolute in my decision not to take part in any of the commemorative activities scheduled in the city. Not through insensitivity, mind you. I had always felt a certain connection to the students of Tiananmen Square and their fight for political reform. What I was more worried about was the way many local groups might use the day as an excuse to promote anti-Beijing sentiment. While I had nothing but admiration for the average Hong Konger’s political conscience, I felt the day should be more about remembrance and less about provocation.
In the end, a mixture of both reverence and curiosity won out and I headed over to Victoria Park to attend the candlelight vigil as a mark of respect. Initially I was taken aback at the sight confronting attendees coming in through the front gates. In what appeared to be some kind of political circus, men with t-shirts and placards for various municipal players hung off the sides of flimsy booths yelling into bullhorns at passersby. While not able to understand what was being said, I had no doubt it was something to do with liberal democrats, voters and the like. Pieces of paper with angry exclamation marks were pushed into my hands as I attempted to make my way through the melee. Having expected to find a sort of reflective serenity, the chaos at the entranceway was more than a little disconcerting.
Luckily by the time I reached the sports ground where the vigil was to take place, I was relieved to find a far more subdued atmosphere. Crowds of people seated with candles chatted quietly, while organisers in black shirts ushered us towards available spaces with a series of low whispers.
Seated amongst a couple and two youngish looking students, I held my unlit candle and surveyed the crowd growing around me. Mournful patriotic songs hummed through the speakers nearby while a big screen overhead showed various assistants setting up a stage up front. I had no idea how many people had turned up, it was difficult to estimate from my spot on the ground. There were hundreds, probably thousands, all of them clutching song sheets and candles ready for the vigil to begin.
I realised suddenly that I didn’t have a lighter on me and began to wonder how all these candles would ultimately be lit. It didn’t take long to find out. A flame soon appeared towards the front of the crowd and slowly it began to make its way through the throng as people touched their candles together to pass along the spark. There’s always something a little magical about candlelight and as the floodlights flicked off and the park plunged into darkness, each flame glimmered eerily amongst the sea of darkened figures.
The vigil itself was fittingly sombre. Songs were sung, a mock-up of the Goddess of Democracy statue was passed down to the stage and we raised our candles symbolically as they burned down to tiny wax-coated stubs. Several prominent organisers spoke throughout the two hour affair while moving personal accounts of the crackdown from what I gathered to be present-day survivors were screened at several points during the vigil. My understanding of the speakers was limited due to language barriers and yet the communal feeling of reverence present among the crowd needed no translation.
Admittedly, I was glad I decided to come along in the end. While there still remains a degree of controversy surrounding Hong Kong’s annual June 4th demonstration, for me the vigil didn’t represent antigovernment sentiment or a larger political agenda but instead simply an acknowledgement of the past and the sacrifices that came with it.
May 2010
The one year landmark
My first blog entry started with an account of my early induction into life amongst the residents of Swire Hall, a student housing complex with a rich yet slightly unorthodox community culture. I guess now with my freshman year tucked away safely behind me, it’s only fair to begin this little reflection back again with my fellow hall mates.
I’m standing in a restaurant that looks like it came right out of a Jackie Chan movie. Gorgeous round tables spread with Chinese tea cups and chopsticks, thick golden curtains and large ceramic vases stacked next to sets of delicate wooden screens. Around me sit groups of chatting Swirians, all dressed to the nines in suits and cocktail dresses. It’s the Swire Hall farewell dinner, a long-standing hall tradition that goes about recognising the efforts and contributions of those who won’t be returning the following year. As with most farewell dinners, the general atmosphere is a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and pent-up excitement as graduates prepare for that ever elusive next step.
In my case, I have decided to come back for another round of crazy communal living next semester, so it wasn’t an overly significant event for me. It was more the premise of the evening that really got me thinking. 
After handing in my final exam paper with a beam two weeks ago, I have found myself confronted by a sudden need to reflect on the year that’s been. It’s amazing how quickly the accomplishment felt after completing one’s first year of uni merges into anticipation for the summer vacation ahead and relief at the prospect of no longer spending weekends writing essays until three in the morning. But even now, exactly ten months after arriving at Hong Kong International Airport wide-eyed and scared witless, I still have trouble coming to grips with just how much has happened in such a short time.
Alright, so perhaps I am romanticising the whole situation a wee bit. I mean, strictly speaking, one year is pittance in the greater scheme of things. I guess because the process of adjusting to an entirely new environment, culture and vocation requires a considerable amount of personal investment and effort, it’s only natural that the year would end up feeling rather dense. And yet with one year gone, suddenly the thought of having just two more years to go until I graduate is certainly a bit of a scary scenario.
I think on the back of reflection always comes resolution. After an analysis of all that I’ve accomplished in the space of my first year, there suddenly appears a new list of things to go for in 2010-2011. One of which involves taking on a few of the school’s notorious cultural teams; I’ve decided debating, fencing and drama might be worth a serious perusal. Then comes a resolution to go to as many visiting lecturers’ seminars as I can possibly fit into my schedule - that and reading more books. Of course (as with the vast majority of shotgun resolutions) it all sounds great in theory, but just wait until the textbooks are piling up and you’ve got four professors banging on the door with new assignments.
Nevertheless, watching some of the graduating students stand up and say a few words about their three years at the hall, I couldn’t help but consider my own little farewell speech. What were my most memorable Swire highlights? What are my big graduating plans? Where will I be off to? Considering how much my original plans have progressed since their humble beginnings back in August, I don’t know how fruitful it would be to go predicting that far ahead.
What I can do, however, is enjoy this little slice of reflection. Enjoy the shared nostalgia circulating about the room as friends say goodbye and roommates pose for photos and then look back on my time, not only at Swire but at the university, as a source of motivation. After all, I’ve made it this far haven’t I? Let’s just see how much further I can go.
April 2010
Learning from the best
Somehow between the demands of studying for final exams and meeting end-of-semester deadlines, I managed to squeeze, not one, but two international media conferences into my April schedule. As an aspiring journalist, any opportunity to rub shoulders with fellow journos and learn from those in the growing Asian media industry is always gratefully received. I was lucky enough to get more than my share of inspiration this month.
The first conference, Hong Kong to The World, was organised in collaboration with the National Geographic Channel and local broadcasting company RTHK (Radio Television Hong Kong). The seminar was essentially a workshop instructing potential entrants to the National Geographic Channel’s documentary film competition on how to present their filmmaking ideas professionally. However, the event had also allocated a few seats for student observers and, keen to learn from the masters, my fellow documentary-mad classmate and I decided to sign up. We were not disappointed.
Treated to an opening address by Phil Kitcher, Vice President of National Geographic Programming for the Asian region and Franklin Wong, Director of Broadcasting for RTHK, the seminar certainly got off to a promising start. Even simply being in a room full of established and up-and-coming documentary filmmakers was worth the 40minute trip out to RTHK’s Broadcast Drive headquarters.
Choylin Mok, Supervising Producer of National Geographic, ran a fascinating segment on how to write the most effective documentary film proposal. She stressed several simple yet useful points about subject choice, emphasising the importance of finding compelling stories with strong characters and going beyond familiar topics.
Throughout the seminar we were given short teasers of sponsored documentaries that had made it past National Geographic’s selection panel and were now in the process of final production. Each had its own unique slant, all stories shedding light on varying facets of life within a distinctly Asian context. Brat Camp China was a documentary depicting the lengths parents would go in China to discipline their unruly children – including signing them up for a camp that marched the kids halfway across the country and back again. Boxing Behind Bars took a look into the lives of female Thai prisoners jailed for drug related offenses. The film followed the story of one inmate who was given the chance to win her freedom by making it to the pro World Boxing finals.
Guest speaker and Singaporean producer Han Kwang Wei who worked on both documentaries, admitted to taking Ms Mok’s tips to heart. After running through some of the pitfalls and highlights of his work as a producer, he reiterated that simply choosing the right story was half the work of making a successful documentary.
While not quite established enough to take a shot at the channel’s documentary competition this year, the workshop inspired me and my friend to pledge to get our own production team together by the time we graduate.
I quite literally stumbled into the second conference later that month thanks in part to the role The University of Hong Kong played in jointly hosting the four-day seminar on Reporting New Realities in Asia and the Pacific. Again, as luck would have it, places had opened up for students like me who wanted to get in on the action of the conference which featured guest speakers from all over the world.
The seminar focussed on addressing some of the issues facing modern-day journalists in a new age where social media, the emergence of China onto the world stage and the various advances in communication technology have all contributed to a shift in the traditional function of journalism. As well as running larger panel discussion sessions, participants were also able to join small group workshops covering topics ranging from Conflict Reporting to Internet Freedom.
I was particularly interested in the workshops on reporting in China. Sitting in on a session run by Jocelyn Ford, an established freelance journalist in the country, I was given a handful of tips on how to get around restrictive censorship regulations and protecting sources from political repercussions.
Together both conferences really served as an eye-opener to just how many possibilities exist within the sphere of professional journalism. However, with so many choices, decision-making becomes even more difficult. Should I specialise in investigative reporting? What about ethnic community coverage? Online media? Documentary filmmaking? How will I ever choose?
March 2010: Macau
Peering out through the ferry’s sea-swept window panes, I tried to catch a glimpse of the fabled casino-dotted skyline as we pulled into Macau. However, through the fog and drizzle all I could see was the rickety terminal of Taipa Pier.
Today marked my first official trip to the territory famed for its gambling prowess and celebrity shopping sprees. Granted, I had made a short stop to Macau earlier this year but the visit lasted little more than half an hour and consisted of me seeing nothing but the inside of a shuttle bus as I was hauled from the airport to the ferry pier.
Now, through the sheer generosity of the university’s Student Ambassador Program, I had been given the chance to return for a decent two-day sojourn to finally get a taste of Macau’s famous 5-Star hotels and luxury casinos. Not that there isn’t more to see on the quaint little territory just south of the Chinese mainland. Thanks to its former Portuguese owners, cultural landmarks such as the ruins of St Paul’s cathedral have become popular tourist destinations of their own.
That being said, most people would be lying if they said that a stroll through Macau’s fluorescent gambling hub didn’t feature prominently on their travel itinerary. Even the territory’s delicious Portuguese egg tarts couldn’t attract as many people as its biggest casino, The Venetian.
And that was exactly where we were headed first. Our hotel, The Grand Waldo, was located just down the street from the enormous Italian-styled casino dominating the Macau skyline. But at just 11am in the morning, gambling was off the menu, at least for the meantime.
Instead we started off with a trip to the University of Macau for a friendly neighbourhood visit. It was surprising how similar the university was to our own campus back in Hong Kong. The only thing missing were the escalators. After glancing around bewildered, our group soon realised we had to make the majority of the climb up to the hillside complex on foot. Huffing and puffing we quickly caught the attention of local students who smirked as they watched us pampered Hong Kong University kids scale the maze of stairs and ramps to the lecture room.
There we were greeted by two teachers who proceeded to inform us about gaming management and the recent development of the casino industry (a rather appropriate topic considering the location). Then came the ice-breaking games, standard fanfare for any school-organised student excursion, until we were finally released from our ambassadorial duties and unleashed onto the streets of Macau’s historic centre – much to the delight of the scores of traditional sweet stalls lined up along the cobble-stoned footpath.
Macau is renowned for its souvenir sweet selection. Luckily for many of us first-timers, the quaint little shops amicably hand out free samples to try. I munched on slivers of ginger candy, almond cake and peanut candy as I strolled about the charming side streets connecting egg tart vendors with alluringly local dessert shops. Macau is a gastronomist’s playground. After gambling, the region’s next draw card is undoubtedly its delicious culinary delights.
That evening after dinner we all made a trip back out to the Venetian, this time dolled up and ready for some real Casino Royale action. Unfortunately, while the venue boasts a stunningly elaborate interior, the dress code is rather lax and it was easy to feel slightly out of place amongst the casino’s more casually-dressed regulars. Nevertheless, we proceeded to saunter about the craps tables and lean knowingly over the Black Jack booths like we owned the place.
Truth be told, I was a little out of my depth. Even the simplest games seemed to confound me and I didn’t trust myself to join the big boys throwing money around like it was going out of fashion. So instead we gravitated more towards the slot machines: simple, easy and above all user-friendly.
I can’t say the casino benefitted much from our short visit. As a bunch of poor university students, even parting with a $20 was big news. Proving far too mature for our years, at 12:30 we decided to call it a night and returned to the hotel, the majority of our well-earned cash tucked safely away in thrifty pockets.
I guess Macau is one of those places that everyone deserves to visit at least once. And given the territory’s close vicinity to Hong Kong, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of opportunities to reprise my trip to the tiny peninsula. Although hopefully by the time of my next visit, I’ll have a lot more money to burn!
February 2010: Che Kung Temple and Chinese New Year
It was the tinkle of bells and the rhythmic banging of drums that drew me to the gates of Che Kung Temple on the chilly third day of the Lunar New Year. After getting over just how many people were packed into the little courtyard, I attempted to peer through the thick blanket of incense settling over the complex to get a better view of the festivities. Everyone had their hands full with sticks of all sizes, jostling each other for a position in the line leading up to the temple. They’ve come here to pray for fortune in the New Year while paying tribute to ancestors and loved ones of the past. An important Chinese New Year tradition to be performed in the first few days of the holiday period.
Among the melee stand uniformed officers directing worshippers with loudspeakers, their voices intermingling with the sound of piercing feedback, prayers, gongs and the nearby traffic. The din is certainly an assault on the ears. Expecting a peaceful and serene religious ceremony, I was instead confronted by a cacophony of noise and commotion. In fact, even the need for uniformed enforcers seemed to detract slightly from the spiritual premise of the event. It wasn’t long before I came to appreciate their presence, however, as I tentatively watched them hold back the teaming crowds of families desperate to gain access to the temple.
Deciding to sneak a peek at the giant statues housed in the gorgeous wooden building, I slipped quietly into the mass of people lined up outside. While attempting to be inconspicuous, I drew a few strange looks from the crowd. Glancing around I realised I was the only Guilo (the local Cantonese term for foreigner) milling about the compound. Not wanting to look like a tourist, I quickly buried my camera away in my bag and adopted my most serious of expressions.
Okay, so my intentions may have been a little touristy. A friend had recommended the temple to me after having heard from various sources that it served as somewhat of a religious hot spot during the New Year period. I’d already managed to tick off the parade, fireworks and a visit to the flower market, so my first Lunar New Year celebration in Hong Kong would not be complete without a trip to a local temple.
My route through the temple was brief but beautiful. It was difficult not to be enchanted by the quaint little compound. I would even consider making the trip out to Che Kung again just to see what it’s like when not caught up in the throes of the region’s biggest national holiday.
It wasn’t long before I found myself back outside under the steely gaze of the loudspeakered officials, some of them wearing alien-like goggles to keep the smoky incense out of their eyes. After taking a few parting snaps of the bustling scene, I decided it was time to retreat to the more serene Che Kung Festival Fair just outside the main complex.
Here I was greeted by the sight of dozens of attractively decorated booths selling every form of lucky trinket you could imagine. There were dragons, lions, zodiac animals and a host of gorgeously carved figurines that were sure to keep the bad qi out of anyone’s home this year. Of course the star of the show was the tiger. Tiger key rings, soft toys and masks adorned the simple booths and the symbolic animal dominated the pretty red decorations hanging from every available surface.
Meandering down the rows of colourful vendors, I came across what seemed to be the fortune-telling section and stood about curiously while couples examined their palms and faces in order to ensure partner compatibility and the prospect of a good marriage match. The seriousness at which they undertook the task was endearing and I could imagine many a wedding plan depending on the favourable outcome of such a consultation.
Doubling-back through the temple on my way out, I was struck by the sheer sense of community present at the scene. Families standing together doling out incense, old grandmothers leaning on the arms of their children as they shuffled forward to pay tribute to revered ancestors. Even young couples hand-in-hand with a bundle of sticks between them, waiting for their chance to pray for good fortune in the upcoming New Year.
Despite the presence of booming loudspeakers and official fluorescent jackets, the activity of gathering en masse to wish for health and happiness lost none of its significance to the many visiting Che Kung Temple that day. As for me, with pockets now full of trinkets ensuring my impending luck in the year ahead, I took my leave from the lovely wee compound, exiting humbly with a jingle in my step.
January 2010: Countdown in Kuala Lumpur
As the clock at the top of the Petronas Twin Towers winked 11:59, the crowd around me sucked in a collective breath of excitement. One more minute to go and I would be welcoming in the New Year to the sound of fireworks beneath Kuala Lumpur’s famous glittering landmark. Gazing up at the digits as the seconds clicked away, I spared a moment to reflect on how I had managed to find myself here beneath the twinkling lights of Malaysia’s capital.
Having spent Christmas in Vietnam, it was only fair that I used New Years as an excuse to visit my friend Temily and her family over in Kuala Lumpur. So after saying goodbye to Saigon on the 28th of December, I jetted off to Malaysia for a week and a half of much-needed R&R.
What I found was a country that was, in many ways, not too dissimilar from New Zealand and yet at the same time remarkably different. I was greeted by the comfortingly familiar sight of stores such as Harvey Norman and Cash Converters while also being given the opportunity to rediscover my addiction to Milo – something that is consumed in great quantities by the general Malaysian population. However, not so familiar where the beautiful onion-shaped domes of the many mosques dotting the city and the haunting call to prayer that echoed from loud-speakers at different points throughout the day. I was instantly fascinated by the ethnic diversity of the country and how this influenced, not only the variety of its various cultures and religions, but its culinary assortment as well. I can’t remember a country in which I have been treated to such a selection of food from so many different cuisines! Malaysian gastronomy aside, let us now return to 31 December and the theme of this little discourse.
Our plan for New Years Eve started out with a late-morning visit to the famed Batu Caves, a site comprised of several caverns set into a limestone hill face just north of Kuala Lumpur city. Famous for being one of the biggest Hindu shrines outside of India, the caves are also well-known for accommodating the host of Hindu pilgrims that amass on the site during the Thaipusam festival in Malaysia. After climbing the 270 odd steps up to the inner temple, we strolled about the inside of the larger cave opening, watching beaming couples emerge from the various altars with marriage blessings and bewildered young babies howl as they came face-to-face with the chanting Hindu priests. Milling about amongst the many photo-snapping tourists in the area, were also several cheeky little monkeys, well-trained in the art of camera-snatching and snack-grabbing. Fortunately, we did not fall victim to either of these crimes during our short visit and I actually found myself beginning to enjoy watching the crafty wee creatures – purely for the fact that it was my first time seeing them outside the safe confines of Wellington Zoo.
As the day progressed we revised our plans to include a visit to one of Temily’s annual extended family gatherings. Thrilled to spend part of the special evening with a bunch of warm inviting relatives, we decide to brave the New Years Eve traffic in order to get to the other side of the bustling city. Our first stop was at the house of Temily’s grandmother (or Paatti as she was so lovingly called) and it was here that we learnt to make authentic Kesari - a sweet Indian dessert peppered with raisins and cashews. After receiving this one-on-one tutorial by a woman who had single-handedly raised ten children was so clearly the Kesari master, we had the honour of meeting her large brood as we proceeded on to the main event down the street.
Despite turning up to the party as Temily’s odd foreign Uni mates, we were immediately welcomed and treated just like family. I got chatting with one of her uncles over a plate of delicious rice curry and, as it turned out, he had actually spent several years living in my hometown back in New Zealand. After recovering from the shock of this strange twist of fate, we began calling out the names of places and streets in Palmerston North, unable to get over the novelty of such an extraordinary coincidence. However, as with every New Years Eve, time caught up with us and we quickly took our leave in order to make it to the city centre before the final countdown.
This was how I found myself standing underneath the sparkling Petronas towers as the clock clicked from 11:59 to 12:00, ears ringing from the noise of the fireworks above and the exalted cheers of the crowd below. Not a bad way to kick-off 2010, if I may say so myself.
Happy New Year!
December 2009: Trekking Through the Rice Paddies in Vietnam
At the top of the itinerary for my first visit to Vietnam this winter break was a trip up to the northern mountain village of Sapa. After hearing about the wonders of hiking through remote rice fields cut into the hillside and exploring the villages of the various ethnic tribes in the region, me and my travel buddy Aiden decided to sign ourselves up for a two day trekking adventure. Of course this was booked from the safety of our cozy hotel in Hanoi where we sat oblivious to the blistering cold that had now settled into the north of the country.
In the mad rush that always comes with packing for a last-minute trip, the last thing on my mind when thinking about Vietnam had been woolly jerseys and socks. So in went the singlets, shorts and jandals that had become somewhat of my unofficial uniform since arriving in sticky Hong Kong. Needless to say, when we bundled out of our northbound night train at 5am the following morning, we found ourselves in a Vietnam totally different from that depicted on the glossy sun-soaked postcards. It was freezing! Without hesitation, both of us dropped our bags to the platform and proceeded to throw on all the layers our small packs would provide.
From the train station Lao Cai, the Sapa township was at least another hour away by minibus. Even now I feel blessed to have made it through that hair-raising ride in one piece. Try to picture a winding mountain path in pitch-black darkness, no barriers, no visibility and with trucks appearing sporadically out of the fog into oncoming traffic. I must have shaved at least ten years off my life during those sixty nerve-wracking minutes.
By the time we reached Sapa though, the sun was just coming up and after getting our little trekking group together; we set off for the first ethnic village of Lao Chai with our enigmatic guide CC and a cluster of local H’mong women in tow. I quickly befriended Mee, a fifteen year old village girl who held my hand as I slipped down the muddy track and shot me shy glances from beneath her bright-yellow headscarf. The villagers all asked questions along the way, practicing their English as we walked. “How old are you?” and “Where is your husband?” seemed to be the favourites for this particular journey.
We arrived at the first village after a good three hours of trekking. Before descending down into the valley where we were to eat lunch, our group sat and took in the breathtaking sight of the fog lifting over the rice paddy fields.
Not wanting to stray from the intrepid intentions of the trip, Aiden and I had chosen to take part in an overnight homestay experience with one of the local families in another village not far from Lao Chai. So after our meal we said goodbye to our lovely H’mong guides and set off towards the village of Ta Van where we would be hosted for the night by the Day people.
Our group was lucky enough to be put up in a beautiful wooden homestay house overlooking the misty fields of Ta Van. The people of the mountain tribes generally make a habit of going to bed by nightfall and waking up before sunrise, so it was not a surprise when after dinner and hot tea, we were ushered off to sleep in one of the makeshift mattresses lining the roof of the little hut.
Waking to the sound of a rooster crowing and what seemed to be buffalo in distress, we mowed through a batch of banana pancakes made over an open stove before embarking on the second phase of our trek.
Unbeknownst to us, it had rained overnight and the winding path we were to take up through the Bamboo Forest was now slippery with mud. Progress was slow, each of us sporting our very own mud-soaked badges from the various slips and falls suffered along the way. At one point I remember climbing almost vertically; bushes to one side, a 100 metre drop to the other, two village guides propping me up as my feet slid comically out of every foothold. It was during these moments that I was thankful for the recent decision to extend my pricey yet reassuringly comprehensive travel insurance plan. Aside from the little gash on my ankle that came about through the efforts of an over-zealous leech, we managed to reach our designated pick-up point unscathed.
While an amazing experience, I think we were all happy to be back in that little minibus, heater on and toes toasty, on our way to a hot shower. In our case, this would be the last bit of cold we were to see for some time as Aiden and I were now southbound, ready to seek out the sunshine and get a taste of the more tropical side of Vietnam.
November 2009: Doing Hong Kong Proud
‘We Are Family’ appeared to be the soundtrack to this year’s annual Hong Kong Gay Pride Parade, and with bright banners and smiles to match, it was impossible not to get swept up in the colourful procession organised by the city’s growing gay community as it made its way from Wanchai’s Southourn Playground to Charter Garden in Central. I had heard about the parade through a friend and, thinking it a perfect opportunity to try my hand at some real street photojournalism, decided to turn up and join the festivities as they marched along Hennessy Road on the sweltering Sunday afternoon earlier this month. Convincing a friend of a friend to let me borrow his Sanyo DSLR was the easy part, manoeuvring amongst the tightly-packed crowd with camera and rainbow flag in hand, proved a little more difficult.
The parade officially kicked off at 15:15, a little while after the initial 14:30 meeting time. Luckily this gave all us budding photographers on the scene a chance to circulate amongst many of the outlandishly-dressed participants for some great photo opportunities. Highlights included a shaggy-haired man with a large cardboard crucifix strapped to his back and a set of two pink-wigged transvestites whose interestingly-proportioned outfits had everyone chuckling.
As with all well-organised parades, the police were on the scene to help regulate the event. In our case, it seemed every street corner revealed yet another batch of uniformed officers muttering incoherently into over-sized radio transmitters. Surprisingly, the organisers had actually managed to get permission to close down a portion of the street for the march, so it wasn’t long before we were meandering along beside taxis, trams and buses as they whizzed past.
The 1,000 or so strong parade consisted of various LGBTG (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender) groups both from within Hong Kong and the larger international community. Of course there was also the general spattering of individuals, such as myself, who had decided to come along for the ride.
Amnesty International was one of the larger groups on the scene and had with them somewhat of a makeshift Boom-Box on Wheels, which was pushed alongside their sizable crew of supporters and pumped out anything from Madonna to Gloria Gaynor in an attempt to get the crowd moving. They didn’t need much encouragement and it wasn’t long before we were bopping away down the street to ‘I Will Survive’ - much to the amusement of casual onlookers.
In fact, the crowd drew a range of different reactions from local passersby. There were giggles, incredulous looks, frowns and of course, many curious stares. We had crowds packed along pedestrian flyovers and people craning over the police barriers placed to get a better look. The best reaction by far was that of an old man positioned on the second-storey of one of Hong Kong’s infamous city trams. As the parade passed, he quickly succumbed to our incessant cheering and was soon hanging out the window grinning and flapping his handkerchief in our wake.
All in all, it was interesting to note that the reactions were generally positive in nature – though it would have been pretty hard to remain stoic after seeing a bunch of crazily-clad people march down the middle of one of city’s busiest main streets. Just over an hour after it had begun, the big event cumulated with a chorus of cheers and whistles at Charter Garden, where a concert was planned for later that evening.
The parade was only the second of its kind here in Hong Kong, quite a surprising statistic when considering how common such events are in the West, and the fact that even Taiwan has had an annual Gay Pride parade for the past six years now. This is most likely due to the resilience of traditional attitudes in Hong Kong towards the local homosexual community. I discovered later that the parade’s organising committee had initially wanted to rent a double-decker bus for the occasion, but were declined by the local company Citybus due to concerns over the connection between the nature of the parade and its commercial image. However, this year’s event was aimed more at being a festive occasion, rather than a protest, and this attitude was duly reflected by the participants involved.
Needless to say, I didn’t just come away from the experience with a set of brilliant photos. I also left with a heightened respect for both the organisers who had managed to pull off such a fantastic feat, and the individuals brave enough to have proudly put themselves on display in a community where homosexuality and sexual diversity are perhaps not as easily accepted as in the West.
October 2009: Mao and Then
While the idea of celebrating 60 years of communism may not have gone down so well amongst its democratic neighbours, the first of October saw Hong Kong ingenuously behind China’s wave of patriotic sentiment. Of course, being Hong Kong, the city did away with the flashy military parade and instead settled on a commemorative morning flag ceremony in Golden Bauhinia Square, followed up by an impressive fireworks display over Victoria Harbour.
It was certainly exciting to be a part, if only statically, of the big anniversary day. I made sure to catch the live-broadcast of the Tiananmen Square procession from the safety of my dorm’s modest TV set; relying on my Mandarin-speaking saviour Moe to translate the specs of the long-range missiles as they rolled by on all five channels. Both of us held back a few chuckles though, as we watched Hu Jintao zip by in the sunroof of a shiny black car, comically emulating Mao Zedong’s famous 1949 troop inspection.
October also brought with it the popular Mid-Autumn Festival. This harvest festival, known as Zhongqiujie in Mandarin, is typically celebrated by gathering one’s family together and consuming sweet Chinese mooncakes. Mooncakes are traditionally thick, rich pastries filled with lotus seed paste and the yolk of a salted duck egg. Considered a delicacy, they are somewhat of an acquired taste – unfortunately one I found difficult, despite all efforts, to fully appreciate.
As legend has it, Ming revolutionaries managed to overthrow the Mongolian rulers of China in the Yuan Dynasty by sending each other secret messages hidden in these sweet treats. I got the impression, however, that the festival is more about lunar worship and good old fashioned family togetherness than celebrating pastry-assisted espionage.
Aside from the array of national holidays, this month has proven to be just as hectic on the school front. Having made it through the final interview stage, I was inducted into The University of Hong Kong’s Student Ambassador Program – an association of student representatives that assist at promoting the university at various public and international events. The program divides ambassadors into Local, Mainland Chinese and International student groups and provides us each with a specific role to perform during the year. I was lucky enough to be allocated the position of social envoy; my debut being at next week’s Open Day where I get to facilitate a student panel session with visiting university councillors from eight different countries.
Then throw in some over-zealous lecturers armed with an arsenal of mid-term assignments and you’ve got a recipe for the late-night, coffee-fuelled study sessions that have dominated my life for the past few days. Granted, this week we have been given a class-free hiatus (more commonly referred to as Reading Week) in which to tie-up loose ends and catch up on sleep – neither of which I seem to be any closer to achieving.
I did manage to extract myself from the library on Wednesday however, and with the help of a few persistent chums, ferried out to the gorgeous island of Cheung Chau. Embarrassingly enough, I’ve done little in the way of tourist activities since I’ve got here. I guess after establishing that I’ll be in Hong Kong for the next three years, it’s been quite easy to take on a sort of local indifference. Needless to say, this little island adventure of mine certainly broke the monotony of what would have otherwise been a week spent with my head in one book or another.
Cheung Chau is situated on the South-Western side of Hong Kong Island, about an hour’s ferry ride from Central. One of the best things about the island is that the main roads are so narrow, normal traffic is virtually impossible so residents have to either walk or cycle to get anywhere. A stark contrast from Hong Kong Island where, as of yet, the only bicycle I’ve seen featured in a Pepsi poster on the back of a bus. Although Cheung Chau can be a bit of a tourist trap at times; after manoeuvring away from the bustle of the pier to the more remote walking trails overlooking the ocean, it’s easy to forget that you’re in a region boasting a population of over 7 million.
As an avid list fan, I think it’s about time I made one entitled: 10 Hong Kong Adventures to Have Before the End of 2009. Hopefully that will reawaken the inner-tourist in me or at least serve as some kind of atonement for my late start. Like it or not, Hong Kong is a city that’s constantly moving - making it even more important for me to keep up!
September 2009: Both feet in
Orientation, rushing, pledging - call it what you will, but this infamous process of combining team-building exercises with self-deprecating pranks serves as most freshmen’s rite of passage into the greater university community. And 9,335 kilometers across the Pacific Ocean - it’s no different.
Collecting my thoughts in a rare moment of peace amidst eight days of frenzied hall functions, it’s easy to forget that I’m only three weeks into my new life here in Hong Kong.
On the 23 August I touched down in the city that is to be my home for the next three years while I undertake a Bachelor of Journalism degree at the prestigious University of Hong Kong. As a Kiwi girl from the Manawatu; it has been somewhat bizarre trading in cow paddocks for skyscrapers, frosty mornings for 33 degree heat and Vegemite toast for deep-fried tofu. However, thanks to Hong Kong’s cosmopolitan charm, I’ve found it difficult not to love every moment of this exotic sensory overload. And it’s not just sensory, I might add. Cultural perplexity has been very much a part of my early acclimatisation. Even with prior knowledge regarding the depths of Chinese customs, I am constantly entranced by the new levels I encounter on a daily basis.
This brings me back to my very own orientation experience here amongst the floors of Swire Hall – my place of residence for the current academic year. Typically, the residential halls at The University of Hong Kong run initial orientation activities for local Hong Kong students during the first weeks of August. After room allocation and the commencement of classes on September 1st; each individual floor hosts a separate orientation program aimed at establishing inter-hall values, fostering floor spirit and unifying the new freshmen community. A little different from the booze-soaked gags usually associated with university orientation back in New Zealand.
Having arrived too late to join the early-August festivities, I jumped at the chance to participate in my floor’s O-Week itinerary. For me this seemed a perfect opportunity to get to know my fellow floormates, explore the floor’s hierarchical structure and gain insight into one of HKU’s unmissable university experiences.
Floor orientation, as it turns out, is a very serious affair and one that involves late-night cheer practice, standing lectures about hall etiquette and yes, even punishment. At one point I found myself running through the city at 12:30 in the morning, twenty-five other puffing girls beside me; wondering about the adverse effects so much humidity would have on my weak New Zealand constitution.
However, as the activities progressed, the severity let up enough to allow for some rip-roarious events. Just the other night, for instance, my fellow freshmen and I organized an inter-floor games evening with the boys upstairs. Wanting to give our cocky neighbours at least some sort of a challenge, we constructed an obstacle course for them to maneuver through while precariously balancing plates of flour in their mouths. Later the stakes were raised and our now slightly subdued male counterparts took to the task of using only their bodies to roll an egg from one side of the dorm to the other. The slapstick routine sent us all into hysterics and it was encouraging to see even some of the more timid girls really let their hair down in the process.
Then there was the night our floor decided to trek through Kennedy Town in search of a traditional Hong Kong restaurant for dinner. Easily finding one that could accommodate us all, we settled into flimsy plastic chairs behind two enormous round tables. Within seconds we had the elderly waiter running back and forth with bowls of rice and warm oolong tea. Then came the dishes; at least half a dozen in variety, spread out haphazardly across the girth of the heaving table. After a short floor cheer, 33 pairs of chopsticks descended upon the spread - picking, pulling and dividing the food into bite-sized portions before returning these to saucer-like plates. Between mouthfuls we managed to chat candidly to each other; trading vital stats, stories and plans for the future. It was the perfect epitome of Hong Kong living: plenty of food and great company!
It didn’t take long for me to realise that at the core of the program lay an admirable focus on respect, tolerance and friendship. Our floor captains even designed small booklets in which we could collect our newfound buddies’ comments and personal details.
And although at times these exercises can resemble awkward high school exchanges, the disarming sincerity behind their intent truly is a refreshing change.
While busy; this past week has been a fascinating introduction not only to HKU’s proud hall culture, but the strong emphasis put on fellowship and cooperation by the general university community. A philosophy I’m sure to encounter in even greater dimensions as my time here continues…
