Under typhoon skies: Rediscovering the Hong Kong I thought I’d lost
After a recent trip to Hong Kong that coincided with Typhoon Wipha, ThinkChina’s Candice Chan muses about the Hong Kong she knew and loved before, and the Hong Kong she got to know again, under the wind and rain.
The last time I had to stay indoors by necessity was five years ago. (Anyone want to guess why?)
And now here I was, on the last full day of a short holiday, stuck in my hotel room in Tsim Sha Tsui in Hong Kong amid Typhoon Wipha and the most severe Hurricane Signal No. 10, which I had previously only seen and heard of on screen.
On screen… channel surfing on the hotel TV yielded mostly news broadcasts, with footage of the typhoon and its effects on loop. Obviously relevant and understandable given the circumstances, but hardly the peak of entertainment.
Rewind to my very first trip to Hong Kong over 30 years ago, staying at the very same hotel. As a kid, I recall flicking between Eric Tsang and Carol Cheng hosting variety shows (plural), TVB series and movies starring people like Jackie Chan, Maggie Cheung and Lau Ching-wan, all featuring the original Cantonese dialogue. That vibrant lineup is gone now. In its place: reports of a tourist boat capsizing in Ha Long Bay, flooding in South Korea, and at least one government media clip on the fifth anniversary of the National Security Law.
Hong Kong when I first encountered it was raw and unfiltered and in your face, and I loved it.
Cantonese cacophony: music to the ears
On the topic of Cantonese — have I mentioned it? — I distinctly remember on the ride home back in Singapore after that first trip to Hong Kong, I asked: “Why does everything sound like Cantonese?”
And it was true. Pre-1997, all I heard in Hong Kong was Cantonese. On the streets, newspaper sellers yelled the headlines, while market vendors haggled loudly with customers.
Mobile street stalls dotted the pavements, with vendors selling fishballs and desserts and egg waffles, all of them ready to pack up and run from law enforcement at a moment’s notice. The smell from the food was delicious — the stench from the trash generated was not.
Impatient drivers honked and gestured at one another on choked-up roads, while teenage me picked up a few — shall we say — choice phrases in Cantonese for future reference, from jabbering locals as they hurried by.
Hong Kong when I first encountered it was raw and unfiltered and in your face, and I loved it.
Even from the early 2000s up until the mid-2010s, over four or five visits following the handover, I heard radio DJs at high volume discussing the news of the day, from demonstrations for direct elections in 2005, to protests over introducing national education in Hong Kong schools in 2012, to the Umbrella Movement and the “parallel trade” protests in 2015. Of course, the cabbies usually also had their own views that they were more than ready to share, as with cabbies all over the world.
Even on my last visit in 2018 before the anti-extradition protests and the pandemic, much to my surprise, I came across an open protest — albeit a small one — against laws prohibiting disrespect to the Chinese flag and national anthem.
Transition to the more subdued, formal
Fast forward seven years. As soon as we landed, airport staff greeted disembarking passengers in English: “Hello, welcome to Hong Kong!” (The customs officer did not speak, but rendered his service with a frown, so at least that was familiar.)
Was this the same place where ten years ago the menu — in traditional Chinese characters only — was plonked unceremoniously on the table, and we were grumpily told to hurry up and order and eat quickly?
We used a ride-hailing app instead of getting a cab, and our driver nodded politely and got out to load our luggage without us having to ask. On the 30-minute ride to our hotel, all I heard was song after song playing softly — I believe the one time I heard the DJ’s voice, they said in Cantonese: “Next up is Eason Chan’s Under Mount Fuji (《富士山下》).” The driver stayed silent. (This turned out to be generally true of all four rides we hired during our trip.)
As for that most “Hong Kong” of experiences — the cha chaan teng — we ate at two of them. The staff were courteous and patient: one wait staff at a well-known cha chaan teng that shall remain unnamed even told us to take our time and call him when we were ready to order. Wait, what? Was this the same place where ten years ago the menu — in traditional Chinese characters only — was plonked unceremoniously on the table, and we were grumpily told to hurry up and order and eat quickly? And it was quieter; where was the noise, the energy, the adrenaline rush?
Side note. At the other cha chaan teng, one of the staff did say to our group: “Oh, you can’t read Chinese or Cantonese? Then don’t order!” Ah, that’s the Hong Kong I know and love. But then came a smile: “It’s fine, I’ll get you an English menu.” What is happening?!
... mixed in with Cantonese, I heard a lot more mainland Chinese accents, from passersby to service staff to eatery owners.
And as we moved around, it hit me that on the streets too, there was a general hush. No more street vendors, no more honking, no more little groups gathering, no more… buzz. It was so orderly, it felt like: Singapore. (Take that line however you will.)
Oh, there was one makeshift food stall we saw in the Central area where people were having a late-ish breakfast, but that was the only one.
And mixed in with Cantonese, I heard a lot more mainland Chinese accents, from passersby to service staff to eatery owners. The lady boss of a congee shop opposite our hotel definitely did not have a Hong Kong twang when she spoke to us in Chinese and English. But the congee was authentic enough, with the kind of smooth texture that is hardly found any more in Singapore.
One thing stays the same
Then there were the tour groups — students on school outings to Disneyland and shoppers shepherded through the city by guides holding little flags or pennants on extendable metal rods. At the Pop Mart in the airport, two guys were busy shaking blind boxes, while another pair hovered at the checkout, fumbling with their phones as they figured out how to pay. The cashier stood waiting, thumbs tapping at her own mobile screen, gaze drifting upward in practised indifference. A small, literal economy in motion all around.
On the day of the typhoon, we did manage to go out for lunch, to one of the few places that remained open, just a few steps next door to our hotel. For the first time, I saw doors and windows and display cases taped up against the typhoon, just like on TV. And when we got back, we asked the two young chaps at the concierge whether we had to tape up our room windows as well.
... one thing at least has not changed in Hong Kong — staying unruffled amid the wind and rain.
One of the guys chuckled and said in classic Cantonese-accented English: “Don’t worry, if it was necessary we would have done it already.”
So, one thing at least has not changed in Hong Kong — staying unruffled amid the wind and rain.
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