Look up and there is the Peak’s Bel-Air skyscraper, turn around left and there is an old Beach Defence Unit (Pillbox 006 and Lyon Light), turn around right and there is a small shrine of gods, look backwards and there is a container ship passing a small motor-less fishing boat. Hong Kong in one breath; Snippets of nature neighbouring with sky-high development, modern life peppered with wartime history and intertwined with old traditions, grand ambitions sailing alongside reminders of its humble fishing village origins.
The locals have created their own open air swimming pool on the coast. Minimalist design and minimal maintenance costs. Steps and handrail enables easy access in and out of the South China Sea, a covered 3-walled enclosure with a freshwater hole provides a scenic one person changing and shower area.
And as for the swimming clubhouse, it has a coastline garden filled with never-ending statues watching over those taking a dip.
No cars, no shopping malls, no artificial frozen yoghurt fads. This island village is only half an hour by ferry from Hong Kong island, what a difference some distance by seawater makes.
After a delay of 15 minutes, our ferry ran through the trawler ship barricade. They were protesting at the removal of their fishing licenses by the HK government. While I can understand their dilemma, it is their livelihood that is being taken away from them, this form of fishing plays havoc with the ocean ecosystem in the non-selective manner they destroy and capture. The question should not be whether this form of fishing should be allowed to continue, but how the government will assist these fishing-families in finding an alternative way to sustain themselves.
I have only spent Chinese New Year in Hong Kong once before, and I was too young to remember. In the build up to the big day, I felt a flutter of excitement every time I left the house and past stands of calligraphers painting good wishes, streets lined with little orange plants and doorways surrounded by bright lanterns. My aunts tell me “it’s not the same anymore, it’s so commercial these days, many of the old traditions have been lost”. Walking past the 10 dollar shop (the 80p shop) filled with various red clothing items adorned with cutesy bunny rabbits, and yet another political party dressed in costume surrounded by suited men shouting propaganda through megaphones, I hoped that not all had been lost.
Once a friend told me that he wanted to buy an old-style hospital bed for his home because they were charmingly minimal and practical. I thought he was mad. Why would you want to live with something from a place associated with illness and pain? Wandering through the disused cells of Victoria Prison, a charmingly minimal and practical corner table catches my eye. Now you may think I am mad. Why would I want to live with something from a place associated with confinement and punishment?
Outside the eery confined prison walls, this table could sit quite innocently with a vase of flowers perched atop in a simple domestic interior. Context is everything. As time passes, the table will gather memories and create a new story. All objects tell a story, but as with all good stories the plot develops and changes. Maybe my friend was not so mad after all.
