Changing The Meaning

The first thing that hit me as I was getting off of the ferry was the intense heat. I clocked it at 35 degrees on my little thermometer come compass. Together with the high humidity in the region, it made moving about difficult.
A special administration zone, Macau was returned to the Chinese after it had been a Portuguese colony. The small island is famed for it’s casinos and the opportunity this gives the gambling mad people of Hong Kong who otherwise have little outlet for one of their favourite past times.
My first stop was the Macau tower, at 338 metres, the tenth tallest freestanding structure in the world. It doesn't do anything apart from offer fantastic views if the smog isn’t too bad, or for the crazy people of the world that have plenty of money, there are extreme sports. I made do with a trip up to the observation platform as I didn’t really fall into either of the categories. Extreme options included climbing up the mast or zip flying all the way down to the bottom.
As I walked around the island, I observed that as with Hong Kong, it was hard to get a feel of the past rule. The only Portuguese vibe I picked up was the styling of some of the architecture, the odd restaurant and seeing the hundreds of scooters flying about the streets. Finding somewhere to eat was tricky as I'm not a big seafood fan and alternatives on the island were in short supply. And I still couldn’t speak any Chinese.
I walked around what seemed to be the main hub and found a little Indian cafe. I had been missing the chance of having a good curry and so entered the cosy looking establishment.
The food was good for a mere $30HK even though I heard the ping of a microwave just prior to it being served. I was the daredevil, risking the chicken with all the headlines about SARS in the region. But what made it was the friendly owner, a small Indian woman in advancing years, I made her day when I told her how good I thought the food was.
“It’s my own recipe,” she beamed with pride. She was a regular Delia Smith. While I ate, she sat at a nearby table with a young looking woman. She was giving Delia a lesson in Russian.
“I’m fascinated by languages,” Delia said to me later, her lesson completed and the Russian girl leaving to go to her next client.
“So you’re just learning Russian for the fun of it?” I asked.
“Oh yes. I’m learning Cantonese as well, though that’s more as a necessity. It’s much more difficult though.”
“So I hear. What makes it so hard?”
“I think it’s that the same word can be said with several different pitches, each completely changing the meaning. And then there’s all the hundreds of characters in the alphabet. That’s what I’m working on at the moment. Let me show you an example.” She fetched a piece of paper and carefully wrote out a symbol. “Each symbol represents a sound. This one represents ‘woman’.” She then drew a second symbol next to the first. “This one has another sound, but put it together with the first and the pair represent ‘horse’.” My mind boggled at the deeper meanings that lay behind the linkage to the two words.
“Well, you’re obviously a good student with languages, you’re English is very good.” I said.
“Oh no, not really, I only speak English, Spanish, some Russian now, some Cantonese and of course my home language. What languages do you speak?”
I felt embarrassed to admit my ignorance. “Just English, “ I said bowing my head.
“Oh... well I find England is interesting because of all the regional accents.”
“Yeah, thar’s the one from Berminghum, it soonds just liyke thuis,” I added, giving her my best impersonation of the black country accent.
“Are you serious? People don’t really sound like that do they?”
“Oh I’m afraid they do.”
She considered it for a moment and then stood up, “Would you like the bill now?” she asked bluntly. I think she thought I was taking the piss.
Although nowhere near as bad Shenzhan, I found the Chinese of Macau pretty disgusting with the constant spitting everywhere together with all the delightful sound effects. Taking a rest from the strength sapping humidity, I sat on a bench in a small park with an ice cream. Opposite me sat two old geezers. One began snorting away like a particularly unattractive pig. When he had suitably cleared that orifice, he worked his throat, hacking and gagging away like there was a marble caught in his gullet. He then unashamedly spat the produce in a high arc in front of him which landed with a splat on the ground a few feet away between us. I stared straight into his eyes, giving him my best look of contempt. He just smiled back, as if he was proud of his work. His mate just sat there, not bothered at all.
The day was getting older and so I decided to take a walk along the waterfront toward the ferry jetty. I encountered an old man of what appeared to be Portuguese origin with sun damaged wrinkled skin and clothes that suggested a leaning toward the alternative. As I walked past him he called out, giving me a big friendly ‘Hello!’ while he waved at me maniacally as I passed. I returned the greeting and continued on my way.
I ventured up a walkway that jutted out over the water to take in the view of the tower only to notice my new hippy friend standing at the bottom. He was looking unsure as to whether to follow me up, in the manner of a predator who had already eaten but who has just spotted some easy prey. Up he came.
"Hello!" he said again waving at me from barely three feet away. I returned the gesture.
"Baa-baa lollipop Macau Benfica," he said (or something like that) as he pointed to the ground. I guessed he was asking me if I was staying in Macau.
"Oh Yes," I replied to keep things simple. I assumed he might have trouble with the word ‘no’. We then shared several gestures and smiles about how good the view was.
"Ting-tang drivel-drivel Luis Figo blah," he then said (or something similar) making a fist with one hand and inserting his first finger in one end with his other hand. He then pointed at what was either my pockets or my crotch and laughed suggestively.
I was guessing that a) he was asking for money, b) he was a pimp or c) he was a fortune-teller and had followed me to have a good laugh about the fact that the last two years were bad ones for me to have had a girlfriend.
I shook my head, turning down his offer, whatever it was. He repeated himself, a little more loudly but I just kept shaking my head to his suggestions with my hands spread out in front of me to show I wasn’t a threat. Some more people arrived to look at the view. Now that there were witnesses should he of been thinking about throwing me into the sea, he quietened down. After it was clear that the group that arrived would be hanging around a while and that I was going nowhere, the hippy took his leave, giving me another big wave and a thumbs up.
I got back to the ferry and we pulled away with the lights of the tower and the casinos fading into the distance. I made a mental note that I really should do some washing on the following day.

* * *

"You are very lucky," said the huge Indian man. He was smartly dressed in a suit with black tie and came complete with a turban. "Some great fortune is going to happen to you in the next month."
I was sitting on the Kowloon side of the harbour early in the morning and had already waved away two beggars and was now having the attentions of another fortune-teller. I was dubious about his skills, he looked more like he should have been working in airline security. After I told him I had already had my fortune told and had got a lucky charm I think that I worried him that there was another teller on his patch.
"Who was she? What did she look like? When was this?" he asked. I didn't have the grace to tell him that it was on the other side of Hong Kong as I shooed him away.
I was without much of a plan for my last few days in Hong Kong. Ricky and Mick had left and, I had to admit, I needed time out from Lorenzo’s hyperactivity. My new dormitory buddies was made up of a quiet German who spent his time going to museums and having early nights and an American guy who seemed to sleep all of the time. The jet lag must be harder to get over when travelling from America. Or else maybe young American men are just lazy.
Hong Kong boasts the longest escalator in the world, built to get workers home to the Midlevels from the central financial district. This sounded like a good way to waste away a couple of hours and so I made a visit. I was disappointed to find a series of little escalators. And not only is the supposedly longest escalator in the world in sections, but the bloody thing ran in only one direction. It was a long walk back down especially as the rain started to pour down for my trek back.
One day I headed to the bank of China building, for no other reason then to take in the view of the city from the public floor. I spotted a park so decided to waste the afternoon mooching around it. Hong Kong Park turned out to be a great place. It was entirely artificial which gave it the feeling of being from a Tim Burton movie set. As well as all the lakes, waterfalls and greenery, there was a conservatory housing Hong Kong native plants though upon entering, amongst the rules is one that clearly stated, 'no balloons'. Did balloons constitute a dangerous weapon?
Within the park was the most crap museum in the world. The Tea Museum. It was so bad, it was brilliant, though the five minutes I spent there was more then enough. There were nine galleries or so, some devoted to different parts of the teapot; the lid, the handle and my favourite - the spout. Sadly there wasn't much detail on cups and saucers. The highlight for me though was the ceramic texture gallery, within which were ‘interactive’ samples that could be touched. One such example was a teapot made to look like corrugated cardboard. With the exhibit, there was a section of corrugated cardboard, just in case the visitor didn't understand. It was in a glass case like some kind of archaeological treasure. Now that Harrison Ford's getting on a bit could we soon be seeing the movie Indiana Jones and the Section of Corrugated Cardboard?
I thought that this summarised Hong Kong up quite well. I arrived expecting glamour, style and sophistication but so much was actually quite tatty. Yes, there was the latest technological gadgets in the shops, but they all seemed to be finished poorly in cheap looking plastic casing. I went to Hong Kong expected the artistry of a Bruce Lee movie but found - while still entertaining - the tackiness of a Jackie Chan flick. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed my time there. Hong Kong has an excellent transport system considering that if the UK had such a high population density, the system would more then likely have collapsed long ago. The people were always polite with the service excellent, and wherever I went, I always felt perfectly safe. But I can't help worry a little for the place; the smog is choking the city and the lack of noticeable acknowledgement of former British rule caused me concern on what the future holds under the Chinese administration.
But I would soon be going to Sydney and I reflected on how lucky I felt to have the opportunity be to travelling there. I didn't need a fortune-teller to tell me that.