Hong Kong "returned" to China in 1997, and is now known as the Hong Kong SAR (special administrative region). When preparing for our trip we were surprised to find that, for obscure and/or inscrutable reasons, one still needs a visa when traveling from China to Hong Kong. Hong Kong SAR is more than just a city. Traveling south from the Chinese border town of Shenzhen, one passes through immigration into the greater Hong Kong area. Boarding the new, clean, and efficient rapid-transit system, one travels south through the New Territories, an undeveloped mix of land and sea that is rapidly sprouting urban areas, then to the city of Kowloon. From Kowloon one can take a short ferry ride across the harbor to the island that holds the city of Hong Kong.
We happened to cross the border at rush hour on the last day of the official holiday of spring festival. Everyone who had a regular job needed to be back at work the next day. I have heard that the Chinese spring festival is the largest annual mass migration on earth, and our experiences served to confirm this hypothesis. Actually, although it was indeed very crowded and the multitude was not exactly in a cheerful, polite mood, it did not take more than about an hour to get stamped out of China and into Hong Kong. We found our way downstairs to the rapid-transit trains and discussed options. We decided to get off at Shatin, about half way down to Kowloon, because that was the town where we would be staying in a few days, at the YMCA Youth Camp. We didn't want to end up stuck in downtown Hong Kong or Kowloon, God forbid, and felt confident we could find a cheap hotel in some outlying section of town. Having made this firm and sensible plan, we put it into action and soon found ourselves standing in Shatin Station, another madhouse of frenzied activity. To shorten the story, we eventually found out that there were only two hotels in town and that both were luxury hotels costing around 1000 HK$/night (1 US$ = about 8 HK$ = about 8 yuan; my monthly salary was 1800 yuan). All of the smart advice suggested that the only cheap hotels were in downtown Kowloon, so we submitted to our fate, got back on the train and sought out a "guesthouse" there.
One might be inclined to define Kowloon as "materiel Hell." If you are attached to things, to stuff, to spending money and shopping for that which glitters, Kowloon can be a great place. We managed to find a guesthouse at a bargain rate and settled in. A guesthouse is sort of a family-run business, and usually takes over one or two floors of a building. The bathroom was both immaculate and functional, with plenty of hot water, and the beds were large and soft. We found ourselves amidst the local enclave of Indians, and enjoyed the curry in the little restaurants. Back to Hell, though... Kowloon is a large city. The streets are dominated by expertly driven double-decker Mercedes buses; pedestrians generally respect the walk/wait signals there. The sidewalks were packed all through the day and evening. The dense shopping district surrounded us with store after store of cameras, watches, jewelry, currency exchange, and the like. I was offered "Copy of Rolex watch?" on the sidewalk at least 20 times in three days. Most of the people seemed intent on the old dream of buying and spending. Large signs, tiered three or four high, hung from the buildings out over the streets, written in an odd but perhaps inevitably prophetic mixture of Chinese, English, and international trade names. We spent our time relaxing and visiting the park, the space museum, and the like.
On the appointed day we caught a city bus and then the rapid transit back up to Shatin, followed the directions to the YMCA camp, and signed in for a pleasant four nights with fellow travelers in China. Most were also teaching English and some also had children. Shatin, like all of the New Territories that we saw, was new, clean, and as upscale as any large suburban area in America. The camp was beautifully laid out and had cabins with hot showers, classrooms, and recreation areas. On the last morning we said goodbyes, made our way to Shenzhen, crossed through the border formalities in what now seemed to be a hauntingly empty customs building, caught a bus up to Guangzhou, and then a taxi to visit Shahram and Ai. They were friends from the YMCA gathering who had managed to get us return train tickets from Guangzhou to Changsha. After a quick supper we made it onto the train with no trouble -- again a hard sleeper on the overnight train -- and crowded in for an early night's sleep. I relaxed, reflecting happily in my bunk that we had cleared the last hurdle and would be home in the morning.
Before I could doze off on the unforgiving firmness of the berth, I had a strong attack of the stomach flu, then another attack in the wee hours. I tossed, in more ways than one, through the night. To be more comfortable, I emptied my pockets (containing passports, phrasebook, etc.) into a small bag and put it under the small pillow. By early morning my back was extremely sore. Based on the length of the trip down, I expected the train to get in between 7 and 8 am. At 6 am, I was roused with the news that we were coming into the station and that we had 8 minutes to get off the train before it left the station. It was dark and the lights were off; I was sick, very sore, over-tired, and groggy. I lurched down to the bottom bunk and began putting on my shoes. Before we had time to collect our bags and get off, a crowd of people swarmed onto the train and began pushing their way into our bunks, stacking bags on top of our bags, and adding to the general air of confusion. We all managed to get our bags and worked our way off the train onto the platform. We counted bags and children. We had everything except one of Taalan's shoes; we decided to leave it on the train. The train pulled away. I thought for a moment, looked at Anne, and said, "I left the passports on the train." In the melee, I had forgotten the bag under the pillow.
We attracted the attention of some attendants and tried to convey our need. They thought we simply were concerned because Taalan's shoe had been left behind. I limped into the station, family in tow. Anne kept pantomiming a passport being stamped, but without the phrasebook it required all of her hidden talents to convey the image. After about 10 minutes and finally with the help of a young soldier who understood some English, we convinced them of the need to board the train at the next stop and retrieve the articles. After some checking we were told that the articles would be put on a return train and would be given back to us by 11 am. They escorted us upstairs to a large waiting room. Anne and Taalan and an attendant went off and came back with a new pair of runners for Taalan. I was still sick and tossing, and had difficulty both walking and sitting. The Chinese were very kind; they brought tea and were friendly. A high-ranking man from the Party office stopped by several times. His English was pretty good as he assured us that the stolen items would be found. "Please believe in us," he said. I owned up that the fault was entirely my own, and that no one on the train should be blamed. The children behaved extremely well during this time and were a joy both to us and the Chinese, who felt compelled to flock around them, as usual. The appointed hour came and went; it was now early afternoon. We asked if we could go home and come back for the papers the next day. Yes, of course, but there was no train to Xiangtan. Rather than leave us to ourselves or put us on a bus, the Party man brought in a van and driver, and accompanied us as we were driven charitably home.
The next day Anne went back to Changsha on the bus and returned with the offending articles – passports, our Chinese phrasebook, a treasured address book, a pocketknife, some ticket stubs, and a little money (the big bill had disappeared). They also returned two plastic bags full of my tossings, but Anne declined to accept those. We felt fortunate and grateful. In all, the Chinese people have gone to great lengths to be kind to us, and we always try to reciprocate in the spirit of "Be generous in prosperity, and thankful in adversity. Be worthy of the trust of thy neighbor, and look upon him with a bright and friendly face."
Back at home, Anne and Ruihong, our waiban -- the liaison for foreigners -- accompanied me to the campus hospital (infirmary) to get my back checked. A doctor laid me out on a table and set 10 glass cups onto my back. Before putting on each cup, she heated the inside with a large flaming swab. Anne watched apprehensively, but I couldn't see what was happening; the cups felt ice-cold to me. Ruihong explained that this was traditional Chinese medicine and that if there was "cold" in my back, the cups would draw it out and the area under the cup might turn a little red. The spot where my pain was the most intense immediately went beyond red to a deep, brilliant purple; the color slowly went away over a period of days. Strangely enough, as I lay there the pain went away; I felt fine but went back to bed as a precaution. Six hours later the pain returned, accompanied by uncontrollable spasms. The next day I hobbled back to the infirmary, and they concurred that I should go downtown to the hospital.
A hospital in a small city in China is a no-frills affair. The building is not fancy, and looks like any other building from the outside or in the hallways. It's a good idea to take along some relatives or friends – they might be needed to carry your stretcher or hold your IV drip. Paperwork? Your case history is written into a small booklet and it's your responsibility to bring it with you when you visit. Having said that, however, I was given good care. A competent doctor examined me and called for X-rays. We went upstairs and down the dim hall, and in a few minutes I was escorted into a room with a full-sized, Toshiba-brand CT scanner. In a few more minutes we were given the developed film to take back downstairs to the doctor. The doctor pointed out a problem disk as I explained that I had had an intermittent problem there for 25 years. He prescribed some medicine (no pain killers, it's not the Chinese way), demonstrated an exercise, and said to rest up and not strain myself in the hope that this would alleviate the need for more serious treatment. I concurred and went straight back to bed at home. Other than for cooking supper, I have stayed there for a week, with Anne graciously holding down the fort while refilling a constant supply of hot-water bottles. I'm feeling pretty well recovered, and will start teaching on Monday. It's been a few years, now, since I've felt the invulnerability of youth, but it's always humbling to realize how fragile is our hold on comfort and security. The year of the dragon has been a spring festival to remember.
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