A week and a bit
I'm writing this from an uncomfortable stool, in a Hackney knock-off coffee shop. I found it after an hour of wandering around Kowloon confused and sweaty. This has been a regular activity of mine in the last week and a bit. Various apps help with the navigation. But as for the heat, there's not a lot you can do. Since the typhoon earlier this month which flooded the local underground (MTR) station - felling trees and opening sinkholes - it's been clear skies and heavy sun. It's 34 degrees today and through the window from where I'm sat, I can see an old couple walking past. He's holding up a small umbrella to give her some shade.
Compared to us Brits, there is very little cynicism or biting sarcasm with Hongkongers. Everything feels frank. We were discussing which subjects are people's favourite subjects in year five. One slightly larger boy stood up and said: 'I wish there was an eating class, and that eating class was every class because I am very fat. Yes, I am fat. I love every food'. Rather than being mocked by his classmates as would undoubtedly happen in most English schools, they all laughed and nodded in warm agreement, as if to say: 'Yes, you are very fat, and we like you very much'. It was actually quite touching.
Most of my work is at this school: Munsang College. The students here have extremely wealthy parents, and there’s enormous pressure to succeed. On my first day, a boy in year six called Caster approached me with a huge smile. ‘I have a present for you, Mr Coombs’, he said. Gearing myself up for a bag of dog shit, to my surprise he presented me with a book. 'It is called The Predator and The Prey, he told me. 'It is the first book that I've published in my career. It is an adventure thriller but horror is my favourite genre. I hope you will enjoy it.' In the acknowledgments he writes:
I wrote this book at the age of eleven. I have started writing "stories" since the age of five, but none of them was successful. I like writing thrilling adventures because they seem exciting. I am looking forward to writing more books. Here I must thank everyone who helped and supported me throughout the time I wrote this book. Hope you enjoy this book!
I must admit I haven't read it in full. But from what I understand, the protagonist Castor - clearly a thinly-veiled portrait of the esteemed author - leaves a trail of blood and bone as he fights the 'filthy aliens' who have turned the city into 'an apocalyptic wasteland of alien invasion'. Bracing stuff. In the staff room one of the more experienced teachers told me that Caster got the lowest grade in year one and ever since then he has made it his personal mission to correct the record, hence The Predator and The Prey.
The other school I work at, Kei Wing, is on the complete opposite side of the spectrum. The students there have little to no English ability. They are from far more disadvantaged backgrounds. For half of them, their school uniforms won’t fit. But because of the Hong Kong school system, once you are in a certain stratum of school, you stay there. They probably won’t go to university. By year one, their prospects are predetermined.
I live in a building called Harbourview Horizon. My view is of neither a Harbour nor a Horizon. As is the Hong Kong way, I look directly into someone's bedroom and I can see their polka-dot pants hanging up to dry. There are two nearby train stations: Whampoa and Hung Hom. To get to Harbourview from Hung Hom you pass through a convoluted variety of walkways: up 2,3, no 4 escalators, through a glossy shopping mall called ‘Fortune Metropolis’, across traffic lights that intersect with a busy main road, along a winding overpass, down two more flights of stairs, before finally getting back onto a pavement. To enter the building, you pass through a cavernous lobby where taxis and buses pass through. You enter the reception where a wave of eighteen-degree air-conditioning hits you, giving you an almost ecstatic rush. The Rite of Spring swells (it's on a 24/7 loop, by the way), the security guard smiles through his mask, and you feel immensely relieved to be cool again. Out of the 38 floors, we live on the 12th.
An orderly queue forms for the elevator. They're very good at queues here. At rush hour on the MTR, long, neat lines stretch in front of every door and a transport official stops people getting on if the coach gets too crowded - a far cry from London's underground scrum. One thing that struck me was that people actually talk on public transport. Unlike the vow of silence you take before stepping onto the tube, people chat, gossip and laugh loudly down the phone. In every MTR coach, just as there is in my building's elevator, there's always a small, muted TV turned on. It has a very pale woman on it, silently giving Beijing's views on things.
The political situation here feels hushed. Although the CCP is in many ways ubiquitous - red flags with yellow stars line certain streets and you can't change the channel in the hotel gym from state news - this glaring reality is essentially invisible in conversation. People are either too comfortable to care, too aggrieved to discuss it, or life just simply has to go on - as long as your quality of life is maintained, most people’s private, immediate concerns naturally trump their political scruples. An older couple I met for lunch today cringed and changed the subject when I brought up China’s recent actions. In my training I was seriously warned against bringing up politics in the classroom. My boss said that one way or the other, every child's parents will have very strong views so you just do not broach the subject. But, owing to the 1997 Handover agreement, whether you talk to the kids about it or not, they will be fully-fledged Chinese citizens by 2047.
The food is fantastic. After work on Friday, we went to this unassuming noodle shop ran by two elderly women. Unbeknownst to me, this was a Michelin starred restaurant. For 45 HK dollars (£4.50) you can get pork and leek dumpling noodles so good they rearrange your taste buds. I've been doing a lot of walking up to hole-in-the-wall restaurants and pointing at Cantonese characters and seeing what I end up with. One time a lady, spotting my ignorance and clearly keen to ship off her stock, decided to hand me a random soup in addition to my original order ('20 dollars, 20 dollars, you take it'). I was handed this fishy soup (shark-fin?) filled with miscellaneous beige flotsam. I took one sip, and that was the extent of my bravery.
There's also the full-English noodle soup, a dish that I think symbolises Hong Kong's colonial legacy quite nicely. For a mere 30 dollars you can get your bacon, eggs and bangers in a rich, savoury broth (sans baked beans, alas). There's also an Italian-Chinese fusion place nearby - think spag-bol with a pickled egg on top. I was eating there alone one night and a guy about my age sat down next to me. 'You Russki?', he asks, turning to me. 'No, no, I'm British', I politely stammered. 'Ahh, you look Russki’. This is Miras. He's from Kazakhstan and is studying Engineering at the university next door. He seemed understandably perplexed as to why anyone would study English Literature. We had a long chat about Kazak politics, Russia, oligarchy and Dagastani wrestlers. He's only been here for three weeks but he hates Chinese food and a lot of it has pork in anyway which, as a Muslim, he can't eat. This odd, little Italian-ish restaurant has been his safe haven: 'I've been here over 60 times already, my friend’.
My new number is +852 9803 7154, if you want to post me anything send it to 3/F Kyoei Commercial Building, 3 Hillwood Road, Tsimshatsui, Kowloon, Hong Kong. Godspeed x