and we have picture of Man Mo temple.
From Kowloon you can take the Star Ferry to Hong Kong Island.
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| Crossing to the Island |
Star Ferry is a venerable institution in a community which apparently loves the new above all things. The boats are about 50 years old, two decks with very basic seating and holding, I'd guess, 350 people. So why hasn't Hong Kong replaced them with some hi-tech alternative? Well, they work and efficiency means a lot here. I estimated that a boat load can embark (no pushing or queue jumping, all very orderly), the boat can cross the harbour with just enough time for several hundred Chinese to use their mobiles ("I'm on the ferry, Dear, be home soon") and the the passengers can then disembark (equally well behaved) in about five minutes. About the time it takes ten people to get on a bus in England.
Getting off the ferry on H-K Island is a shock. The percentage of Western faces goes up by a factor of ten. And they aren't the scruffy tourists you see looking for bargains in Kowloon. These are, almost without exception, men in dark suits which probably cost more than our entire trip. This is where money and power live.
Immediately ahead is the HSBC head quarters, designed by Norman Foster. It is surrounded by many other 30-40 storey buildings, some more beautiful, but none which shouts its message quite so clearly. It is like a glass safe bound in steel bands. It says "power" and "wealth" and "permanence". The only remnant of its predecessor are two bronze lions and its one concession to Chinese sensibilities is that it is built on pillars to allow the 'dragon energy' to flow into the sea unhindered (Feng Sui is big here). Of course, a cynic might say that it is on pillars because most big building are built that way in Hong Kong to resist earth quakes.
You can walk under it and look up, a vast space stretches above you giving a sense of reverse vertigo as if you could fall up into it. You have looked into the belly of the beast.
Moving up the hill you come to Hollywood Road which contours slowly upward crossed by incredibly steep roads going up and down. The main shops are either art galleries featuring modern Chinese art or antique shops. No price tags on display. What would you pay for a life size, twelfth century silver Buddha? About a quarter of the antiques shops display Tibetan art, very chic at the moment, the rest Chinese. Of course to the Chinese Goverment, Tibet is part of China. Pity the Tibetans don't agree but how generous of them to allow so many of their most sacred possessions to furnish the homes of rich bankers.
The Man Mo temple marks a break all this. From here on the shops are more traditionally Chinese, selling things which we often don't recognise and sometimes which we wish we didn't.
The temple itself was founded by Sz Man King in the mid 19th century. He seems to have been an early entrepreneur of the hospitality management industry, i.e. he owned brothels, opium dens and illegal gambling houses. The temple however is now very respectable with the great and good very keen to be on its management committee. It does good works, runs it own schools for poor kids, has soup kitchens etc. Entering it is a disorienting experience. It isn't large and consists of three adjacent rooms, the size of a class room for 30 students maybe. The incense smoke hits you like a wall but as you peer through it the scene is unlike any English church. One side is taken up with assorted parcels and packages (content unknown), the other has vast piles of incense sticks. Prices are indicated (in both English and Chinese of course) and there is an honesty box. Visitors buy a big bundle, light them from any of the many candles (this is a major fire hazard) and poke them into bowls of sand. As soon a you leave, a temple official pulls them out and douses them in a bucket of water. After all, you've gained good karma from your pious intention and if they were all left burning the temperature would be unbearable. In addition, every inch of roof space is taken up with hanging incense coils which burn for hours - these are allowed to remain, each with a small message label attached.
Facing you are the statues of the Gods and 'saints'. China is very pragmatic on religion. The statues include local holy men, immortals from Taoism, Buddhist arhats and boddhisatvas and Gods (in this case those of literature and war, seen as a natural pairing). Probably Confucious is there too.
Religious practices are also eclectic. In one room a young woman kneels in the Chritian position of prayer with palms together talking earnestly to a statue. In the next and old lady sits cross legged on a cushion in front of her chosen figure. It is all very individual. There wouldn't be room for 'services' with more than ten people anyway and besides, what are streets for?
From the temple on, the shops change. Slightly down the hill is Cat St. The origin of the name is unknown but none of the proposed explanations suggest it is a place to take a maiden aunt. Think "cat house", "cat burglar", "alley cat". It is where "antique" meets "tatty junk". You can buy old coins, some of which may be genuine, picture post cards of old Hong Kong, plastic Mickey Mouses, plaster models of Marilyn Monroe, Bruce Lee posters, ....
Slightly further down Hollywood Rd, and conveniently placed for the temple, are a coffin seller with stacks of shiney wood samples and a shop selling funery goods. These are designed to be burnt (they are mostly paper) and become real in Heaven, providing for the departed's next life. First, there is a four foot long paper model of a yacht. It has a Blue Peter look to it and isn't exactly professionally finished, but in heaven it could, no doubt, win the Americas' Cup. Parked at the side of the road (nice touch) is a paper sports car. A gust of wind would take it a hundred yards but the absence of a paper engine would seem to limit its usefulness even in Heaven. But if you aren't sure what to buy you can always give money. Great bundles of celestial banknotes can be bought for a few dollars. The exchange rate with heaven seems a bit one sided!
And if that all seems very quaint and odd, imagine explaining to a Chinese person why we give flowers.
Back again down the hill, and into a side street for a posh meal in a restaurant favoured by those with expense accounts (and those who fancy the much much cheaper fixed price lunch). The restaurant is decorated with elegant black wood and primitve antiques in glass fronted cabinets. For about £15 the two of us get soup ("Delightful Vegetable") , four small cold dishes: bamboo shouts with flavoured oil, a sort of coarse duck patee, marinaded aubergine and tofu with 1000 year old egg. The last isn't very nice but then I don't like tofu. 1000 year old egg on the other hand is quite nice, a bit like hardboiled egg yolk in aspic (you probably don't want to know about the colour or taste). A tiny cake filled with pork and spinach is brought as an extra, courtesy of the new chef. For the main course I have "Pomfret fish" and I have no idea what it is except it has scales and tastes like fish. Eleanor has pork served with a delicately honey flavoured sweet and sour sauce. If you are ever in Lam Fong Fai, I'd suggest the pork, a pomfret is a just pomfret ... whatever that is.
And so back to Kowloon. It would be nice to rest for an hour or so to digest the meal but the Start Ferry only gives you five minutes. Efficiency can be a bore sometimes.
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