The first couple of roads, however, keep me caught in the urban jungle of Hong Kong where hyper-modern capitalist structures seamlessly give way to lowly built, slightly run-down dwellings, and vice versa.
Then I work my way upwards into the Mid-Levels, a mainly residential area populated by the happy few. On the way, I spot a tiny coffee bar, Kosyli Bakery, that looks as if they took their business seriously. And indeed, the espresso is more than decent. Actually, it is delicious. Italy first, but Hong Kong second. (Sorry, Croatia. I will reverse my judgment when I am back to your beaches.) Upon request, I learn that they blend Vietnam-grown Arabica beans with local Hong Kong beans. Never thought that you could grow coffee beans so far North, but apparently, you can.
After this delightful intermezzo, I follow roads which climb the mountain in serpentines, squeezed between huge residential buildings with names as tasteful as "Venice" and "Santa Lucia". But at least, the views get seriously nice. I am asking myself, however, how you can have kids in this area. There are enough green areas, but due to the hilly topography, there is no single place where they could play football or other games. If you live here, you are pretty much confined to your laptop and your smartphone.
I have mentioned in an earlier post that the future beginning here, in East Asia. This also benefits the traveller. My hotel has furnished me with a hypermodern gadget: a smartphone with all kinds of extra abilities. Fortunately, good old Google Maps is also installed---a feature that saves me a couple of times as I lose orientation in an illogical network of streets.
Finally, I am on the real walking track in the green, where the locals promenade their dogs, and Saturday morning tourists like me walk up the hill. Soon, I am at the summit, at the former Governor's lodge, and I enjoy the view of the Southern end of Hong Kong Island, and the outlying islands. It has become a bit cloudy, but it is still very enjoyable up here.
A fifteen minutes walk further is the mountain station of the tram that links the peak to the central district. The contrast could not be bigger. While the Governor's gardens were peaceful and quiet, they have built huge shopping malls with restaurants on this part of the peak. A terrible architectonical sin, but not without some perverse fascination.
I descend at the Southern side of the peak in order to avoid the crowds. I pass by a water reserve and end up in the village of Pok Fu Lam.
When I use the word "village", it is anything between 50,000 and 250,000 inhabitants. You never know. Even Wikipedia doesn't, in this particular case. I take the bus and leave in Aberdeen, the adjacent "village" and a traditional fishing port.
Here, I have to praise the Lonely Planet series. Often, it contains lots of suggestions that are tailored for the average 20- or 25-year-old backpacker, who is stingy, wanna-be-hipster and wants to get laid. When you follow the LP recommendations for accommodation and food, you often end up in places frequented by that kind of person. This annoying feature should not deceive you into believing that the Lonely Planet is useless. By contrast, it really contains some awesome suggestions which you are unlikely to find in vanilla guidebooks. In this particular case, the LP suggests to take the ferry to the nearby island of Ap Lai Chau (English: "duck tongue"), to walk into the fish market, to buy a fish you like, to watch it being killed by the fishmonger and to take it to the second floor, where various foodstalls will prepare it for you. I follow these instructions meticulously, and the steamed sai-lon (whatever this is) is gorgeous. A whole steamed fish, with some broth and spices (here: lemon grass, ginger) and a bowl of rice. What do you want more? My Chinese table companions tell me that this way of preparing fish is getting less popular these days. Indeed, everybody around me has soups with fish and meat balls in it. Certainly tasty, but what a shame.
I feel like at the end of the world, but fortunately, there is the MTR. A huge, hyper-efficient subterranean transport network with the train stations where atheletes can train for their next 200m run. It takes you from Ap Lai Chau to the Admiralty in Central Hong Kong in just three stops, thanks to a huge tunnel under the peak. In no time I have made it back to the center. I am charmed.
(Finding a station that is so empty was only possible in the New Territories and off peak hours. Usually, it is crowded.)
The day closes quietly. I prepare everything for a Bundesliga night with the legendary ARD radio conference and only leave my hotel for getting a quick bite. Anthony Modeste's penalty goal ten minutes before the end gives the lead to my club, the 1. FC Köln.
The final minutes of the conference are turbulent and wreck my nerves. "Goooooaaaaaalll ...in Berlin!" "Goooaaaalll... in Hoffenheim!" "Gooooaaall in Mönchengladbach!" But Cologne defends the tenuous 1-0 lead in a tense struggle. Three points in the pocket. What a wonderful day.
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