15.9.13 - Moon cake manufacture - vital to tackling financial risk.

Very large picture today - but I couldn't think of any other way to do this justice. Spot the token white girl, anyone? [And spot her new FRINGE too :)]

We're coming up to mid-autumn festival, which is a fairly big deal here. To draw very crude comparisons, if Chinese new year is the Christmas equivalent, mid-autumn festival is like Easter.

And to mix my ham-fisted religious and cultural comparisons still further, there is a ubiquitous seasonal treat that Claire has described as the equivalent of the mince pie. The Moon Cake.

The only reason the comparison does not quite hold is that moon cakes are a huge thing here. The tube, bus stops and TV are all plastered in ads for the delicacy. These mainly consist of people cutting the cakes open or holding a pre-cut one and looking ecstatically delighted at what they find concealed within (as modelled below by me with one of Claire's creations).

And so when Claire got a group email at the lovely corporate-fun-filled HSBC that a free staff engagement event solely for her and her risk buddies workshop to learn to make moon cakes was on offer, she snapped it up.

She learnt to craft the frosted snowflake version.This consists of an astonishingly complex mix of 3 types of flour made into a marzipan like substance that is moulded into shapes, with sticky flavoured centres. The flavours on offer were sesame, green tea and red and green bean.

Claire was instructed in the art of rolling out and colouring the casing, stuffing it and wedging it into moulds. All in Cantonese. So mainly she learnt by mine, mimicking and being clucked at/having her hands slapped in rebuke by the bustling old lady who was overseeing the operation.

The cakes came out very well all told, so well done Claire for improvising...but the main entertainment value came from the concept of the event itself. Engagement in what? Knowledge of how to make a pink sesame flavoured hello kitty cake allows staff to spot risk better in what way
exactly? Is the surrounding literature ironic, or just genuinely relentlessly positive?

PS - this is not linked to the rest of the post, but I wanted to share my favourite ridiculous T-shirt of the week...a loved up looking Mainland Chinese couple, walking hand in hand, had matching pink and black versions of this T-shirt, with white sparkly writing:


F     C  K
All I need is u


Nuff said.

9.9.13 - The [Pink Pool] Party at the End of the World

I imagine those (few) of you who have read all of these posts would think that by now I’d described the most decadent, indulgent, almost insultingly hedonistic elements of expat life in HK. Junks. Jetting away for weekends to paradise-kissed-spots. Gambling £20 a go in Macao. Dancing the night away in the openly red light district-esque Wan Chai.

I thought I’d probably seen it all too. Turned out that wasn’t right.

If I said to you,  “Party at a yacht club”, what would you think? I thought – posh. Sophisticated. Probably some fantastical old-boy-dress code (Boaters mandatory, all women must wear floral print, that sort of thing). Gin and tonics all round. A civilised, white table-clothed meal, with a chap playing the piano for entertainment.

On Saturday I went to party at the yacht club. But crucially, it was a pink-themed pool party at the yachy club. Which apparently makes all the difference.

I turned up in my pink, shiny stade francais top, thinking this would be risqué in a yacht club do. But once inside, I could see how tame it was.

A usually genteel setting, the pool had been filled with pink inflatables, and pink blow up flamingos and squeaking ducks were strewn around. The main drink on offer was pink.

But to begin with, it looked like just any party. Sit with friends, sink some beers, eat some buffet nosh. Standard – aside from having a sedate dip in the pool.

But then, I started to notice. Lots of the outfits were pretty outlandish. Pink full-body morph suits. Pink leopard skin catsuits. Pink bikinis which, when the tiny pink dresses covering them were shed, that were somehow more revealing than if their wearers had had nothing on at all.

No sooner had I noticed this than everyone started breaking all the rules around the pool – a place of many rules usually. Running (in heels. And that was two men). Bombing. Ducking. Jumping into a stack of 6 inflatable rings at once. Diving in the shallow end (5 head stitches for that man). And yes – some heavy petting.

As soon as some rules got broken, and the club-loud DJ set kicked off, it was like the sort of party you imagine might be held when an apocalyptic meteor strike was hours away. A few of the more striking sights: A slight girl, dressed as a sailor aside her pink microskirt, picks up one of the 6 foot plus blokes flirting clumsily at her in a fireman’s lift, and dumps him in the pool. A man dressed in 6 inch high hot pink heels, pink wig and tight-fitting pink dress dives flawlessly into the pool before raising his still-heeled foot out of the water like a synchronised swimmer. People you know to be top executives in big-hitting firms start miming things with a blow up flamingo that should never be mimed.

All in a city where a worker on the minimum wage would have had to work 26 hours just to get into the party.

I’m not getting preachy. Did I have a good time? Yes. Would I go again? Absolutely. But should you sometimes have a bit of a reality check on these experiences, and take a minute to acknowledge how extraordinary and – ultimately – unbelievably frivolous they are? Of course.

05.9.13 - Surprises? They're meat and drink to Hong Kong

No posts for a while – I’ve been busy at work (which for everyone’s sakes should probably never be a part of this blog); doing lots of running (150 miles in August…but pretty boring to talk about); and nothing unusual has happened.

So tricky to post. I was getting worried perhaps everything was getting a bit normal, that I’d run out of stuff to say entirely.

If that’s not a cue for slightly odd things to happen, things completely at odds with UK norms, I don’t know what is.

Meat

 

In the UK, if I said, “Things sold en masse in the workplace by outside companies,” what would come to mind?

Books via some work book club? Maybe cake? Or not very much – it’s not a prime place to do your purchasing, work.

This week, in the more local office in Olympic that Claire works in, she saw 10s of staff clustered around some enormous boxes in the tea point haggling loudly. She went over to investigate. On asking what they’re all doing, she was told in the sort of voice that suggests what else would we be doing, you idiot, the reply comes:

“We’re buying froze meat”.

So a chap with big freezer boxes comes into your office and sells off frozen chickens, bits of pig etc. Everyone buys a bit, then wedges it into the freezer box of the communal fridge until home time. Not a common occurrence but not unheard of, and quite the anticipated event. Of course.

Drink

 

In the UK, what charity activities would you think of if I said, “Stuff the whole county does at once for a good cause.” Wear jeans to work? Grow a moustache? Buy clip on noses, bathe in beans/custard/both and watch slightly crap comedy/singing all evening?

In Hong Kong, the big charity event that caused a stir this week to tug on the expat heartstrings was: Drink for Good. That’s right. How to get the wealthy expats to give a toss? Offer them a warm fuzzy feeling with their nightly booze!

60 bars took part, giving 5HKD (a princely 40p) to charity for every drink you bought. As if that wasn’t odd enough, this being the business-oriented HK, companies started to compete at who could be the best. But not who could give the most. Who could get the coolest bar? Who could get their branding most prominently displayed? Who could get the best drink deals? Whose charity sounded nicest?

Hey, I’m sure it raised a ton of money, and I had a nice time. But I’m pretty sure it didn’t raise as much as the bath of beans I mocked earlier. What would Terry Wogan think?

So just when you think life is 100% predictable and you have this HK thing sussed, things still surprise you. Cue some for

26.8.13 - Streets aflame in Hong Kong

We noticed, starting a couple of weeks ago that there's a great deal of stuff being burnt out in the street at the moment.

Often it's one or two people, burning what looks like rubbish in the drain channels by the side of the road, poking the charred paper and toxic smelling packaging with a stick. It can also be a whole bunch of people doing this all at once, with incense sticks arrayed around, wedged in the cracks in the pavement.

The detritus is then simply left lying about, getting soggy and sticky in the fairly constant rain, for days until it finally washes away.

We have asked several local friends and colleagues about it, and they quite vaguely explained that it's a month in the religious calendar for commemorating and honouring dead relatives. Of which, the burning of stuff (in ways that to the untrained eye don't look particularly ritualised) is a big part.

So we have got quite used to seeing it now, crossing the road to stay out the way, stepping over soggy ash lumps and zoning out the pungent smoke.

But, just as we got quite nonchalant about it, Hong Kong as always has the ability to surprise. This picture shows the kind of scale this ritual can apparently reach... and perhaps get commercial.

The man pictured seems to have erected a veritable bonfire, hemmed in by (surely flammable?!) big sheets of MDF. O the road. Worryingly close to a sharp blind bend. In about an hour flat. On whose authority we have no idea.

The baskets are full of 'hell money' - fake paper money Hong Kongers burn to send to their dead to help them in the afterlife. It seems this chap keeps the really stinky fire going, and the occasional passerby buys wedges of hell money to cast into the flames and thereby wire it to a dead uncle or similar.

Just when everything can feel so familiar and normal, stuff like this crops up to remind you that Lincolnshire, Bedfordshire and London are all quite far away...

25.8.13 - Nothing really matters to meeeeee...*ding ding*!

I've been a very lucky birthday boy this week. Some cracking presents, and a French-themed birthday evening with wine, cheese, onion soup and with Claire. A junk with most of our new friends that coincided with this weekend was the icing on the cake.

That alone would have been belting.

But it wasn't the end of the [tram] line for birthday fun.

As I am certain I have mentioned lots of times, I'm very fond of trams. And the tall and thin, clanking, squealing, trundling, bell-ringing ones in Hong Kong are among the very best. And somewhat brilliantly, you can hire special ones for parties. I discovered this a week or so before I
moved out to HK, and have been pining to go on one since.

Claire played a blinder. She had been telling me for weeks that the junk had trumped a tram party, besides which it was all booked up.

Crestfallen in a childish way, I fell for this without query.

And so, my best present on Thursday - as seen in my FB picture where I am clutching a toy tram - was the revelation that a party had been booked as a follow up from the junk.

Couldn't hope for a more expatesque, frivolously party day - junk with a great bunch of people 10 till 530, a gathering on our terrace from 6-9, and party on a tram 930-1130.

The tram looked great, and had plenty of space for us to spread out our BYO booze and pizza. Upstairs had an aircon cabin - a big lack for the real trams which have one - and an open top section. I think it's as close to having a personal victory parade as you can get, lit up, music blasting, waving to the crowds as you process through town.

Particular highlights included: Getting to pretend to drive the tram...an unnamed member of our party jumping off the top deck, along a tram stop roof and shaking hands with people in the public tram in front of us...and our whole group singing the Wayne's-world-singalong-bit of Bohemian Rhapsody at hundreds of shoppers when we stopped at traffic lights. Tens stopped to take pictures, and the tram had to merrily ding its bell as the lights changed to move them out of the way.

Thanks to everyone who came along ad made it such a blast.

What a great present. What a lovely wife I have.

18.8.13 - GIMME YOUR MONEEEY!

Claire and I went to Cheung Chau this weekend – the HK version of a ‘staycation’, as it’s one of the outlying islands. I was going to write about the island…but the hotel stole the show.

For Cheung Chau, suffice to say it’s famous in HK for being crammed full of fish restos, what with still being heavily local and having its own fishing fleet. Hence this fairly disturbing bit of urban art painted on a children’s playground.

Look closely. It’s not just the slogan, but the bloody flying knives that got us.

We stayed in the Warwick Hotel. On the web, it dresses itself as the height of pomp, swank, posh. Banquets. Unsurpassed views. Romantic balconies. Stylish rooms. Suites available. Luxurious pool. Spa. For the discerning, it has the “SUMMER FUNFUN PACKAGE”. It even features on the official tourism board’s mandarin advert for Cheung Chau – I seriously suggest you watch it if you’re in need of cheering up (top link): http://www.warwickhotel.com.hk/en_guide.htm

These clues should have triggered warning bells. We had a lovely time, and I wouldn’t take it back…but really, this was aimed at Mainland Chinese and the odd Hong Konger…

Odd customer care: the guy on reception had American-accented, gangster-filmish English and was obsessed with my paying more than anything else.

ME: Hi, we have a booking?

Him: Yes. You pay?

Me: Er…no, not yet.

Him: You pay now.

Me: Right. Rrrright. Do you have my booking?

Him: [sigh] Name!

Me: Turner

Him: [taps computer irritatedly] Yes we have. You pay.

Me: OK, er…my key first?

Him: [exasperated, rummages and hands me a key] Yes, so you pay.

Me: OK! Can I just order breakfast?!

Him: [mimes drawing a brace of pistols from his belt and mowing us down in a hail of bullets] GIMME YOUR MONEEEEY!

Odd services: The pool was located at the end of a very dingy, sticky-carpeted corridor, behind a battered door propped open with a mop. About 7 metres long. And every square inch filled with inflatable animals. The spa was a very unprepossessing room, and the lady on the poster had her face squashed at an odd angle and a creased brow. She looked like she’d been shot.

The Room: The clincher. We walk in to a large space, very open and breezy. Seaside-y. How could they enhance this further via décor? I know!

Of course! It’s not a proper seaside break unless you are watched over by frolicking, massive DOLPHINS! Hooray!

And the coup de grace. The view really was wonderful. Sweep of the beach and the bustling islands to your left, pretty hills and the bay centre, and right the whole of HK laid out. Beautiful. How could one make such a scene even better for the holidaymaker? Mood lighting? Candles? Nuh-uh.  

WHIRLY MULTICOLOURED DISCO LIGHTS IT IS.

15.8.13 - Feel the wrath of typhoon Utor...?

The reports on TV every hour from the Hong Kong Observatory were clear. This was it. There could be no doubt.

A tropical typhoon – a real one, with a name and everything – was heading our way. UTOR! THE MIGHTY UTOR APPROACHETH, COWER IN TERROR.

We were to experience, within the next 24 hours, our first “T8”. For those who read my post about going through a T3 the other week, the upgrade was coming.

The atmosphere in the office was one of febrile excitement. To imagine quite how giddy everyone was, especially the local staff minutely dissecting the news, think what it would be like if Wimbledon and Christmas came it once.

Swept up in it, I watched the addictive Observatory website where it locates the storm and its projected direction. The nail biting bit is that the projection is no exact science – it can be wrong by hundreds of kilometres. So everyone was squinting at whether it was getting closer to HK, and willing the answer to be ‘yes’.

And somehow, it’s more than just the fact that HK shuts down and everyone gets a day off. The chat is almost salacious in the anticipation of disaster, damage, danger. The war stories came out:

Wah, you remember that year, la, when all Residence garden furniture blow off balconies, smash many cars, ah? Waaah, so much cost, la, Consulate have to pay for all cars!

And so, I scuttled home and fretted about our tens of bits of furniture on the terrace. The picture above shows me finishing off on Weds morning, when the T8 was in force and the storm looming.

Plant pots huddled near the fence. Canopy reeled in. Tables turned upside down and weighted. Umbrella tied up and secured to the wall.

The anticipation built. Don’t go to work, stay at home. Stay away from windows, ensure you have a safe refuge to hide in. Don’t go near the sea front. Don’t go outside. Beware flying debris. It’s like TWISTER…!

Except. When it blew over Weds afternoon, it appeared the T8 was the mildest in living memory. The storm didn’t come closer than 220km. Some satellite dishes and trees had gone down. But that was it. The predicted havoc on our balcony is below – 2 skewiff plant pots.

And this morning, back at work, everyone was disappointed. The worst T8 ever!

Which now I think about it is actually quite disagreeable. In the Philippines, tens died and thousands of lives were destroyed by Utor. The same will be true in China. And we are disappointed that we have only got a few fallen trees. What did we want? Cars flipped, windows smashed, possessions swept out the hole and away? The poorer Hong Konger dwellings flattened?

So in fact, this was the best T8 ever. Day off. Little damage. No death. We should count our blessings. Because storm season isn’t over yet.