amanda castleman - diary of a gweipo 4

travelgirl
March 2006

Diary of a Gweipo
Falling for hysteric glamour in Hong Kong
travelgirl sent journalist Amanda Castleman to explore Hong Kong and measure the pulse of this powerhouse of finance and fashion. Here's a glimpse into her travel diary.

1 2 3 4 5

Back to nature
After two hours of sleep, my jet-lagged body is humming, eager for more abuse. I swim and sauna, leaving just a nasty scrim of fatigue. The same tai tai roams the spa dressing room. Does Thong-Also-Rises ever get dressed? Go home? I'm too tired to ask and too old to pick locker room catfights anymore. I sip water, considerately steeped with strawberries, and remain smooth.

We ferry out to Lamma, a bohemian island popular with the new-moon-party set. Seafood restaurants crowd the harbor at Yung Shue Wan, a merry strip reminiscent of the Mediterranean. No cars are permitted here, so pedestrians stray freely among the shanties, shops and lush hills.

Nature wreathes the mouth of the Pearl River Delta, the portal between China and the Pacific. As Morris wrote, “it is more than a city actually, being an archipelago of some 235 rocks and islands attendant upon a squat mountainous peninsula.” Indeed, Hong Kong is highly concentrated: 70 percent of the region remains blanketed in forests, farmland and country parks.

Lamma is a heavyweight: Hong Kong's third largest island at five square miles. I storm away from a souvenir shop, outraged by the HK$25 sunhats and the rebuffed bartering. I squint into the fierce sun, gweipo skin scorching. Then I return, humbled. “I'm being silly over three American dollars,” I admit. The shopkeeper rings up the sale mutely, but wrath backlights her eyes.

The experience is profound and unsettling. My capitalist guilt is back. Worse yet, I now realize I won't ever win in Hong Kong, as a sucker or a skinflint. Pennies saved are plums deprived to children living in poverty. Hundreds squandered pad the pockets of fat cats and their multinational shareholders. I return to Seattle nearly empty-handed. In a city celebrated for shopping, I have found friends and a happy fortune, but little fashion, high or low.

The customs official doesn't believe me. “C'mon, you bought some designer duds, right? Some DVDs?”

I shake my head. My dishwater mane brushes my shoulders, stirs memories. “All I took away was a red wig, pink aviators and some smooth advice,” I confess. “But I loved it.”

##tg##

Sidebars 1 2 3 4 5

"My capitalist guilt is
back. Worse yet, I now
realize I won't ever win
in Hong Kong, as a sucker
or a skinflint.."

" In a city celebrated
for shopping, I have
found friends and
a happ fortune,
but little fashion,
high or low."

January 2007

Back to recent work

travelgirl March 2006		Diary of a Gweipo Falling for hysteric glamour in Hong Kong travelgirl sent journalist Amanda Castleman to explore Hong Kong and measure the pulse of this powerhouse of finance and fashion. Here's a glimpse into her travel diary.
		1 2 3 4 5 Back to nature After two hours of sleep, my jet-lagged body is humming, eager for more abuse. I swim and sauna, leaving just a nasty scrim of fatigue. The same tai tai roams the spa dressing room. Does Thong-Also-Rises ever get dressed? Go home? I'm too tired to ask and too old to pick locker room catfights anymore. I sip water, considerately steeped with strawberries, and remain smooth. We ferry out to Lamma, a bohemian island popular with the new-moon-party set. Seafood restaurants crowd the harbor at Yung Shue Wan, a merry strip reminiscent of the Mediterranean. No cars are permitted here, so pedestrians stray freely among the shanties, shops and lush hills. Nature wreathes the mouth of the Pearl River Delta, the portal between China and the Pacific. As Morris wrote, “it is more than a city actually, being an archipelago of some 235 rocks and islands attendant upon a squat mountainous peninsula.” Indeed, Hong Kong is highly concentrated: 70 percent of the region remains blanketed in forests, farmland and country parks. Lamma is a heavyweight: Hong Kong's third largest island at five square miles. I storm away from a souvenir shop, outraged by the HK$25 sunhats and the rebuffed bartering. I squint into the fierce sun, gweipo skin scorching. Then I return, humbled. “I'm being silly over three American dollars,” I admit. The shopkeeper rings up the sale mutely, but wrath backlights her eyes. The experience is profound and unsettling. My capitalist guilt is back. Worse yet, I now realize I won't ever win in Hong Kong, as a sucker or a skinflint. Pennies saved are plums deprived to children living in poverty. Hundreds squandered pad the pockets of fat cats and their multinational shareholders. I return to Seattle nearly empty-handed. In a city celebrated for shopping, I have found friends and a happy fortune, but little fashion, high or low. The customs official doesn't believe me. “C'mon, you bought some designer duds, right? Some DVDs?” I shake my head. My dishwater mane brushes my shoulders, stirs memories. “All I took away was a red wig, pink aviators and some smooth advice,” I confess. “But I loved it.” ##tg## Sidebars 1 2 3 4 5
"My capitalist guilt is back. Worse yet, I now realize I won't ever win in Hong Kong, as a sucker or a skinflint.."
" In a city celebrated for shopping, I have found friends and a happ fortune, but little fashion, high or low."
January 2007		*Back to recent work*