Thursday 9 December 2010

On smells

Hong Kong is funnily familiar. Of course buildings are unimaginably tall, people are ever so small and the weather is wonderfully warmer than any climate I've lived in before but generally things feel fine and as I walk around every other person seems to be chatting in English and chomping on sandwiches. At least things seem familiar, until I breathe in. It smells really different over here, and I suppose it should: Hong Kong is the 'Fragrant Harbour' after all.

It doesn't really smell dirty because everything is immaculately well kept: household and commercial rubbish and recycling are collected routinely; litter isn't an issue and it's even illegal to eat or drink on public transport. But having lived in Switzerland and Denmark (I'll leave France out of that list for obvious reasons), I must say there is something comparatively unfresh about the HK air - and it looks pretty hazy too. But perhaps hazy air is unavoidable in one of the most densely populated places in the world - and in fact the haze isn't overly noticeable on a daily basis because the sky only peaks through the gaps between the high rises and sky scrappers very occasionally. What is noticeable are certain smells...

The smell of soup evaporates into the streets and lingers steamy and salty like a big thick vat of stock is constantly bubbling away on a hill above us. Whenever I leave our apartment, the little man who 'looks after' our building (we're not really sure what he does apart from wearing blue overalls and occasionally pressing the button to call the lift when we arrive) is always slurping away at a bowl of soup. When I walk out onto the street the soup smell gets stronger and stronger as the aromas from all the kitchens and chinese restaurants and cafes along the way come together to create a cacophony of congee fumes (a popular cantonese dish which is basically porridge made from rice cooked in a lot of water).
Another distinct smell is moth balls- or at least some of the pungent chemicals used to produce moth balls. It hit me when I entered the lift in our apartment building for the first time and I was immediately taken back to a memory of me at about eight years old at my Grandmas then new house, helping her to unpack boxes of excessively moth balled clothes. In Hong Kong the smell lingers around the main entrances and lifts to most buildings, as well as in the markets and local clothes shops in the city. The Moth ball pong was particularly present last weekend as we trailed from market stall to clothes store searching for cheap items to create the perfect Bollywood costume for Martin's Christmas party. We put a pretty decent outfit together in the end but not without exposing ourselves to some highly -stinky not to mention toxic - smells.
Star Anise is another key player on the Hong Kong aroma front. A rather dominant member of the spice family, it appears to be an essential ingredient in chinese medicine and in most chinese cooking, especially where meat is concerned. Whole (and partial) grilled/ steamed chickens and ducks hang for sale in windows almost everywhere and while the smell of cooking meat can be overpowering, it tends to be sweetened by the star-anise marinade shining and crisping around it as it cooks. Star anise for medicinal purposes is sold in small stores of which there are literally thousands, all seemingly selling exactly the same produce stocked in huge jars or barrels and can only be compared to Olde Worlde Chinese versions of Holland and Barrett. They have nuts and dried fruit, dried mushrooms, endless spices and most surprisingly (and smelly) dried seafood bits. I could often smell fish as I walked past these shops but it took me a few days to realise that some of the barrels and bags at the shop fronts were actually filled with shriveled up dried prawns, dried sardines and packs of what I now recognise as freeze dried shredded cuttle fish. The range- and stench- is endless.
Incense is another very popular - much more pleasant- HK scent. It burns almost constantly in Buddhist temples- two of which are located on our street: one is quite big and bling with statues and altars and offerings while the other is much more subtle and it took me over a week to realise it was a temple, not a scruffy little cafe. What both temples have in common is that their ceilings are covered with huge incense spirals which hang down, burning for days on end and perfuming the streets below. You can also find many small scale hand made Buddhist shines which people put outside their shops and apartments on street level. Every evening as night sets in, the locals light the little red lamps inside the shrines and set alight to incense sticks which they tuck inside them. For me, this gentle evening waft of incense is perfect because it helps disguise some of the more disagreeable notes which also intensify at this peak time when the shop keepers push around the buckets and bags of dried fish stock and move them inside for the night and fill up the meat racks with peking duck to sizzle and attract the punters on their way home.


Smelly sticky chicky 

Dried fish bits

Drying fish bits

Sweet smelling incense shrines

Tuesday 30 November 2010

On getting lost

People often say that the best way to explore and discover somewhere new is to go off and get yourself lost. I'd say that those people probably haven't tried getting lost in Hong Kong: it's literally impossible. There are directions everywhere, written in (almost) perfect English; there are signposts to stop you getting lost between the directions; the city is held together by an incredibly efficient transportation system, not to mention an abundance of the cheapest, safest taxis I have experienced in any capital city. All this is very well but means that the somewhat attractive problem of getting lost in Hong Kong has already been solved so it never takes very long to work out where you are, where you've come from and where you should be going.

My first attempt at getting lost was on my second day here. I got out of Sheung Wan MTR station and decided, quite delibertely, not to take my well- memorised -4- minute- route home, instead swinging a right and another right and a couple of lefts. I deliberated with the idea of buying some hot street food which looked a lot like tofu bits - but chickened out, deciding it was probably chicken anyway, and wandered on. I crossed a couple more roads until I saw the big green sign I didn't know I'd been waiting for: Vegetarian Food. In I walked, ordered myself a take away 'Budda's delight' box and accepted the little lady's offer of soya milk to- go. I helped myself to chopsticks as instructed and left, efficiently soon after entering, with my polystyrene box and polystyrene container, both wrapped in a tightly knotted warm plastic bag. Once outside, I chose a route that I thought would lead me homewards, but after about five minutes I came across a little square outside a big chunky building labelled Sheung Wan market. It didn't look like a bad option so I perched myself on a wall where other people were starting to gather and open similarly packed plastic polystyrene packages and pick away at the contents. An older gentlemen budged down a bit to give me more space, his face wrinkled as he observed my difficulty transporting slippery, mishapen bits of cabbage and mushroom from box to mouth. Personally, I think I did alright for my first PDCU (Public Display of Chopstick Usage).

When I got up to leave, I wasn't sure which way would take me home so I entertained that thought a little longer and climbed the steps towards the market, a three storey building in the centre of the square boasting meat and fish on Level 1, Vegetables and Fruits on Level 2 and Clothes on Level 3. Surely the perfect opportunity to get lost a little more? I took the escalator to the second floor where men and women sat behind displays of beautifully pruned bean sprouts in all shapes and sizes and bags and barrels of dried fish bits, which I have since decided must be used for stock and soups. I didn't intend to buy anything, I just wanted to get tangled up in the noodles and shrooms for a while. But, as happens in HK, even the market was tidily arranged- and after a well directed circuit of the stalls, I ended up back where I had started, sooner than i'd hoped. I decided it was time to brave the crowded streets again and attempt to get home. As I descended the stairs I noticed an already familiar MTR station sign facing me from across the road and I realised I must have wandered down to the next MTR station. But any hope of an adventurous trail home, up steps and back down steep paths, was soon dashed by a sign post pointing to our street "Hollywood Road". The MTR station sign was simply indicating an alternative entrance to the very same station I had walked out of 2 hours earlier. The city planning in Hong Kong is so spot on that almost everywhere is reachable from underground as well as overground. Most train stations have at least 6 different exits which are connected by miles of safe, well lit subways with toilets and shops and constant signs and signposts leading pedestrians to the nearest exit/ main street/ tourist attraction above ground. Needless the say, I wasn't lost, not even nearly: I was exactly where I should have been and from there it took me exactly 4 minutes to walk the already well memorised route home, checking the signs all the way.



Just follow the signs...

MTR signs: they're everwhere

A fine sign