No, I’m not back in Hong Kong…not yet. But an article I wrote and my photographs were recently published on Smithsonian Online. Check it out, and don’t forget to click on the photo gallery to see my pics with captions!

Snapshot: HongKong

A forward-thinking city with ancient traditions
By Lisa Lubin

In a place where Cantonese and English are the official languages, Hong Kong’s seven million inhabitants thrive in this center for international finance and trade. Hong Kong is a vibrant city with an infectious rhythm. On the surface it’s a huge metropolis like any other, with mobile phone-carrying workers hurrying to meetings in a forest of steely skyscrapers, but look a little bit closer and you find an ancient land full of traditions and culture. Here East truly meets West.

Origins: The area now known as Hong Kong has been inhabited since the Paleolithic Era. The region officially became part of Imperial China during the Qin Dynasty (221-206 B.C.) and later served as a trading post and naval base during the Tang (A.D. 618-907) and Song Dynasties (A.D. 960–1279). The first Europeans arrived in the 1500s when a Portuguese seaman claimed Hong Kong for Portugal.

Then and Now: This very animated city was just a collection of small fishing villages when the British claimed it in 1842 after the First Opium War. Hong Kong was returned to the Chinese in 1997 and is now known as a “Special Administrative Region,” along with nearby Macau, of the People’s Republic of China. Today, this former fishing colony is a huge international metropolis boasting one of the world’s most open and dynamic economies.

Appeal: Hong Kong is a bustling coastal city that offers a full-on assault of sounds, sights and smells. A simple stroll down Nathan Road in Tsim Sha Tsui is invigorating. You hear constant calls from street corner vendors (‘handbag?’ ‘need a tailor?’), see stores jam-packed with shoppers, and breathe in the enticing smells of steamy noodle shops that remain open late every night. Standing on the tip of Kowloon Peninsula, visitors can gaze across Victoria Harbor to the full expanse of the Hong Kong Island skyline, with a total of 7,681 skyscrapers. And while other great cities like Paris, London and New York took several centuries to build, Hong Kong built almost everything here in the time since today’s young investment bankers were born. A seven minute ferry ride costing only about 30 cents brings travelers across the harbor to Hong Kong Island. This 30-square-mile financial center is the heart of Hong Kong. Here visitors experience the fusion of past and present by walking around a mix of modern skyscrapers and centuries-old markets.

Who goes here: Hong Kong is a forward-thinking city with ancient traditions. It welcomes visitors from all over the world, and since the handover of Hong Kong back to China, increasing numbers of migrants from mainland China have been coming to the city. The Hong Kong Tourism Board estimates the number of visitors in 2006 was 25.25 million. Ninety-five percent of the residents of Hong Kong are ethnic Chinese. But there is also a large community of foreigners with Filipinos, Indonesians and Americans being the largest immigrant groups. Expatriates from Europe and America have flocked here, working on the “Wall Street of Asia,” where steely skyscrapers hover over ancient temples and a few remaining rickshaws.

Famous sons and daughters:

Bruce Lee (November 27, 1940 – July 20, 1973) was an American-born, Hong Kong-raised martial arts actor and is widely regarded as the most influential martial artist of the 20th century.

Jackie Chan (born April 7, 1954) is a Chinese stuntman/actor/producer/director. He is one of the best-known names in kung fu and action films.

Maggie Cheung (born September 20, 1964) was born in Hong Kong and raised in England. She is an award-winning film star who’s appeared in more than 80 films. She is best known in the West for her roles in the movies In the Mood for Love, Hero and Clean.

Interesting Fact: Hong Kong is geographically compact and boasts one of the world’s most efficient, safe, and affordable public transportation systems. In fact, over 90 percent of daily travels are on public transport. Also helping Hong Kongers and visitors traverse the city is the world’s longest covered escalator. Because part of Hong Kong Island is built into the side of a steep hill, the Mid-Levels escalator— stretching 800 meters in length and consisting of 20 escalators and 3 moving pavements—moves more than 35,000 commuters each day (it operates downhill during morning rush hour and reverses direction for the remainder of the day).

(See more of my published articles here.)

During my trip around the world I’ve now logged 115 hours flight hours (not even including the many hours getting to and from airports plus doing the wonderful ‘arrive two hours ahead of time for international flights’ game) and feel that my time flying the friendly skies has given me enough research to compile this list of things that will inevitably happen to you on international flights:

1. There are always, at least, two screaming, crying children on board. And one of them will always be an average of 3.3 seats away from your ears.
2. The headphones they give you to watch a movie are always crap and so is the audio. Four out of five times, the used ‘toy’ headphones you remove from their specially ‘sealed’ plastic wrapping will only have sound in one ear forcing you to go back to 1940 when everything was in mono.
3. On some budget flights nowadays you have to pay (way too much) for your own food and drink, but the pungent body odor coming from the passenger next to you is always free.
4. Also on some budget flights (ie Air Asia, Ryanair) there are enforced weight restrictions for your checked baggage (15Kg/30lbs or less). I often had to shove my boots, toiletries, and other heavier items into a second carry-on bag. Unless, of course, they only allow you one stinkin’ carry on (including purse!) like the good folks at Ryannair, then I was stuffing all things imaginable into my one carry on back pack…its weight seeming to outpace even my checked bag. This makes no sense whatsoever considering it all goes on the same plane anyway.
5. More body odor.
6. The fattest and only American on the plane will sit next to you. She didn’t pay for two seats, but she certainly is using them.
7. Or…there are two Brits sitting next to you that do NOT shut up the whole time and there voices are the loudest on the plane. And not only that…they ‘talk’ with their hands in a very ‘herky-jerky’ way nearly slapping you with every damn punctuated sentence.

I flew to New York’s JFK International Airport on Air India. It was the cheapest flight available at $400. When I mentioned flying on Air India, a few raised their eyebrows. It was a standard 747 like all others, the flight was great, I had scored an exit row all to myself (I always ask for it, ya know, because I’m just so darn tall), and as I’d hoped the food was a tasty Indian curry. I even requested the vegetarian meal. Yum.

Inevitably, as soon as the plane touches down on terra firma and skids to a screeching halt at the last bit of runway, all passengers (especially in Asia) jump to their feet (yes, seat belt light is still on) so they can stand hunched over in a queue in the aisle for ten minutes as we taxi to the gate and wait for the plane’s doors to fly open and release its fidgety human contents. It is as if somehow standing will get them out of the plane faster. And now they can get to the baggage carousel that much faster so they can stand there for fifteen extra minutes and wait for their bag to come off…unless it’s lost, of course. By the way, in my thirty-five or so flights not once did my bag get ‘lost, stolen, or damaged.’ Sweet.

With the proliferation of the internet and WiFi, I have found myself sending a lot less postcards then on former trips. But when you’re on a ‘round the world’ tour like me, you will inevitably have to send some packages home from various countries. I’ve been fortunate to have a few friends visit me while I travel and not only of course is it great to see them, I also benefit by being able to shove some crap into their bag that I no longer need—like some memorabilia I’ve collected or the hiking boots I haven’t worn since the rainforests of South America or the magic walking stick from New Zealand or the conical Asian hat I got in Vietnam. This way they can cart it home for me and I save a ton on postage and mostly am saved from the stress I would suffer by worrying if my precious package would ever make it safely to the shores of ‘Amerika.’When I could not pawn things off to friends, every few months I’d put a little care package together to send home.I’ve learned that the post offices around the world are as varied as the toilets.And some are just as stinky.

Monteverde, Costa Rica

This was a tiny post office up in the cloud forest with one window and one man. No muss no fuss. Signed, sealed, delivered.

Galapagos Islands

In the middle of an empty beach on an island only inhabited by animals three hours from mainland Ecuador is a ‘post office.’ Well, it’s actually just a wood barrel with a door cut out, but it may actually work better than some real postal systems that I have come across. Here’s the deal: You write a postcard to someone you know (or perhaps a stranger if you are feeling friendly) who lives anywhere in the world. You address it and sign it, but you DON’T put a stamp on it. You leave it there in the barrel. Then you look through the other postcards that have been left in there and take one that is supposed to be ‘sent’ to your country…or a country where you are headed. Once you get to that country you can either hand deliver it if you are near the address or just buy local postage and just send it off.It’s a postal system by the people, for the people.Sounds perfect, but, by the way, has anyone ever received my postcards from here??

Melbourne, Australia

Fairly similar to going to the post office in the US: fill out some forms, pay way too much money, stamp it with some official looking seals and away it goes—all the way around the world and up into another hemisphere. Too efficiently boring to give me anything interesting to write about.

Hong Kong

Here I remember playing ‘musical windows;’ the first window guy said to go to another window across the room. At the second window, they weighed my package and addressed it. Then I had to return to the first window with some kind of receipt which I gave window guy #1. Here I had to pay and he stamped it. Then I returned to finished package the second guy. Got it?

Hanoi, Vietnam

I think I could have sat in this tiny post office (similar to a small bar with some round stools at the windows) all day and never have been served. They certainly didn’t ask me if I needed help and when someone local came in she would literally just shove in front of me at the window and be helped before I was even acknowledged. Before I ‘went postal,’ I finally pushed my way in and was handed, I kid you not, about five different convoluted forms to fill out—each one just about the same as the last.My current address, the recipients address, the address of my second cousin once removed, several lists of what the contents of the box where, the value of each item in Vietnamese Dong, the total weight, etc. I was given two different total costs by two different people. I was not feeling confident about this one and thought I would never see my Vietnamese trinkets and souvenirs ever again…but alas it arrived weeks later intact and unharmed.

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

One of the prettiest post offices, it was in a grand old building and kind of looked like an old fashioned train terminal.I had been told ahead of time by fellow travelers that I did not need to scavenge for a box prior to my arrival here. The young man that helped me here was great—he found me a box behind the counter, we put everything in it exactly how I wanted it and he spent the next ten minutes taping it up so good—that the whole box was covered in blue tape and you could not see one speck of brown from the original box color. I filled out one form and paid in cash (only). I noticed that the ‘form process’ was much simpler than in Hanoi—kind of strange considering it is the same country, no? In the end, I made a possibly detrimental decision and chose to save money by sending it ‘sea mail’ as opposed to the modern method of ‘air mail.’ I pictured my sad little package all wet and moldy with crabs and seaweed clinging to it on the decks of some old pirate ship. Four months later it arrived in the US and apparently had no sea creatures in it. Amazing.

Istanbul, Turkey

This was a doozey. There were only five windows at this post office and yet none of them wanted my package. They actually ushered me through the ‘employees only’ door and behind the glass partition that usually must separate postal worker and postal user. I had brought my package unsealed to show its contents. Not only did they not care one iota of what was inside, they did not have me fill out one form at all. No, actually there was one form—it was practically the size of a postage stamp and had three lines on it—one for the sender’s name, one for the recipient’s name, and on the final line they scribbled the word ‘Amerika.’Doesn’t seem like enough info for an important international parcel, does it? I already did not have a very confident feeling. After finding out my package was going to ‘Amerika’ the postman told me, like nearly every other foreigner I’ve met, ‘America? George Bush bad man.’ I agree, but it gets tiring after a while being a spokesperson for our entire nation and carrying the weight of the American government’s often bad decisions on my shoulders. Plus, at this point, I just wanted to mail my package, not be a diplomat. I actually forced the two Turkish postal workers that were helping me to just take a gander of what was inside my box, just out of habit. Then they haphazardly taped the box shut, took it away, and told me the price as if we were finished.

“What about the address??” I exclaimed.

“Oh yeah, address, address.” The two men said in unison. Then they proceeded to slap on some plain white stickers onto the top of the box where I was to write in the address.

No official stickers. No official cards. The postage meter machine apparently had a maximum of nine lire per sticker so now he had to slap about five different meter stickers all over the top of my box wherever they would fit. Lastly he licked an ‘airmail’ stamp and a “Turkey” sticker and slapped them on as well. By the end of this unofficial process I just about decided I would certainly never see this package or any of its contents again. When the nervous security-crazed U.S. Customs Department sees this crazy looking, hand scrawled box coming from 99% Muslim Turkey…they will probably just blow it up on site.

In actuality,all of my packages traveled half way around the world and have arrived safely. BUT ironically, the postcards I sent out from the most efficient, anal city in the world, Singapore, never made it.Makes you wonder. Maybe Turkey is on to something.

Here are some general tips for you if you decide to send packages from abroad:

1. Bring your passport.
2. Bring cash and lots of it. Many post offices in other parts of the world do not accept credit cards.
3. Bring your package unsealed. Oftentimes for Customs purposes, they will need to look inside (excluding Istanbul) to see what kind of contraband you are actually sending, so be prepared to explain your ‘apocalypse now’ shot glass from Vietnam or the ‘opium pipe’ you picked up for decorative purposes in Phnom Penh.Also be aware that many post offices can provide you with a box and tape it up for you.
4. Bring your patience, sense of humor, and comfortable shoes.
5. Before you go, make a list of what you are sending. This will make it easier to fill out all the forms and keep them all consistent rather than you repeatedly shuffling around the contents of your package (like most guys I know tend to do).
6. Of course, wrap everything breakable very carefully. And then you will inevitably unwrap it and wrap it again after you show it to the postal worker.
7. Don’t mail anything from Singapore.

Once again, my fabulous friends back home have hooked me up with some locals…or at least ‘temporary locals’ here in Hong Kong. Marc & Jenny moved here just 6 months ago to run Marc’s family’s toy company, Jaru. It was nice to be in a non-tourist setting even if it was in a big office building. I hadn’t really met anyone here in Hong Kong yet, so it was nice to just relax and chat awhile. We went out for a big traditional Chinese Dim Sum lunch at the East China Seafood Restaurant in Tsim Saa Tsui East.

Dim Sum literally translates to “touch the heart.” But with all this food I think it hit a little lower—and is more like “fill the stomach.” Dim sum are mostly small appetizer-sized portions of various different dumplings and other tasty morsels steamed in bamboo baskets. It’s definitely a communal meal in which everyone gets to try. One of Marc’s Chinese co-workers came along and did all the ordering for us–so we knew it would be good. This was so much fun. In the middle of the table was a lazy susan where the waiters continued to make room for more and more savory dishes:

• Fried Rice
• Noodles with Shrimp
• Barbecued Pork
• Duck
• Chinese Green Leafy Veg
• Pork Buns
• Vegetables with Garlic and Beef
• and many more I can’t remember!

According to my Lonely Planet Guide, the people here consume more protein per capita than any other group in the world. It was really fun to find out how expats liked Hong Kong. There are apparently a ton of Americans and others foreigners here mostly living in the area called the Mid-levels (just at the top of that crazy outdoor escalator). Their kids even attend Jewish day schools. Oh, and just so you know…there are never fortune cookies given out at the end of the meal—that is strictly a Western invention.

After the high prices in Australia where it was hard to find a sandwich under $10 (I’m not including McD’s, which is everywhere—like a bad infection), I love Hong Kong. Although, many said it was expensive, I’m finding it very affordable and for many things down right cheap! Hungry? Besides the ubiquitous Chinese eateries, there’s a pastry shop on every corner serving up mini croissants filled with all kinds of good things like ham and cheese, or mushrooms, or tuna, or chocolate. Each one is about HK$3 the equivalent of thirty-five US cents. And the regular size ones are still under a dollar. So, you can get a breakfast or a snack for mere change.

The public transportation here is also extremely cheap. The efficient work horse, the Star Ferry, takes passengers across the harbor every ten minutes or so and only costs about 20 cents. Underground I frequently used the MTR—Hong Kong’s super clean and super fast mass transit subway system. Each ride here was about a dollar.

For dinner I recently had sushi. I ordered some salmon nigiri (on rice), Samna nigiri (a type of mackerel), yellowtail sashimi, and one soft shell crab roll. Each dish only had 2-3 pieces, but this was just perfect for me since I was dining alone. My tasty dinner came to just under $10. This town is totally affordable!

Of course to offset this savings, I decided to decompress one afternoon in the lobby bar of the strategically located Intercontinental Hotel with an Iced Mocha. The views of the harbor and Hong Kong Island are amazingly stunning from here and the staff was lovely. I even used the concierge for some info. It was nice to feel part of the ‘upper echelon’ of society for a change. But, of course, this came at a cost. My coffee cost me $8—just about as much as my entire dinner from the night before.

There are also tailors everywhere and their annoying aforementioned hawkers stationed on every corner just waiting to spring onto the fair eyed tourist (that’s me). But these prices are also amazing. I had unfortunately spent too much money on a new pair of jeans (the ONE pair I’d brought with me on the trip were getting slightly threadbare) in Australia. But they were too long for my short frame. So I brought them into one of the tailors here on Nathan Road inside the Mirador Mansion. The infamous Mirador and Chunking Mansions (have any of you see the flick Chungking Express? Much of it was shot in these concrete blocks) are a couple tremendous ramshackle concrete block buildings filled with random hostels, guest houses, restaurants, tailors, and other jumbled businesses. They are not attractive in any way, shape or form. From the outside, they look like old communist crumbling towers with window air conditioning units adorning every other window and peeling, chipping paint. On the inside, they are not much better. It felt a bit like a housing project. I took the creaky elevator up to the fifth floor where I was told someone had a strong enough sewing machine to hem jeans. When the slow, tiny elevator opened on the fifth floor I walked out into the cold dim corridor. Hmmm, where to go now? The halls are open to the outdoors on what is kind of an inner courtyard formed in the middle of the building. But instead of a nice garden or sitting area, this courtyard had some chain link fencing and big dumpsters where tenants were supposed to throw their trash. I walked in a circle around the perimeter of the fifth floor passing a few stray cats looking for fish scraps from today’s Chinese lunch and some random tailor workshops, but none that looked inviting enough to enter. Back at the elevator I asked a little old wrinkly Chinese man who stepped out of one of the workshops about hemming jeans. He sent me to the fourth floor. Instead of waiting for the world’s slowest elevator, I took the stairs down and found a mannequin outside of one tiny shop and she was adorned in a jean jacket with embroidery—this must be the place. A man was just arriving and unlocking the gate to the shop. I asked if he could shorten my jeans. We stepped inside his tiny, messy shop which was lit by a single fluorescent light and had some shelves with random fabric scraps and magazine pictures tacked to the walls with people smiling in suits and wedding gowns. I had turned up cuffs on my jeans because I’d already worn them once and he was going to just use that as a guide. But I wanted it done right so I asked if he had a changing room so we could just be sure of the length. Looking around I could see the answer was no. So he walked into the hall closing the metal door behind him and left me in this tiny shop to try on my jeans. Okay, I thought, ‘this isn’t too weird, I guess.’

With one leg in one pant leg and the other balancing on my sandals so as not to touch the grubby floor, he started to come back in.

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” I exclaimed. I really didn’t need him to see my white American ass now did I?

When I was all zipped up, I called for him to come back in. He measured, pinned, and stepped back out into the hall. I changed back into my other pants and a new man appeared and scurried down the hall with my jeans. They would be done while I waited. I took the time to chat with George Kwok, the owner. He said this tailor business had made him rich (you’d never know looking around the place) because he was the “first to take tailoring” to other cities in China like Shenzhen and Shanghai. I’m not sure I understood him exactly or if he was really the “Chinese Father of Tailoring” since the Ming Dynasty, but he was nice. Two of his children lived in the US, one in San Diego and one in San Francisco.

It was interesting to think about how many things we buy in the US that have the “Made in China” label on them. After all the importing and random US price jacking—things aren’t cheap. But here in China (well, close to mainland China) at the source, things seemed to be priced much closer to their actual cost.

Just ten minutes later, the little man returned with my jeans all shortened and sewn. The tailor job only cost me roughly US $3.50, less than most Starbucks coffees. And they are perfect.