Campede!

My father and cousin arrived in Hong Kong last week. Our conversation at the airport may have just as well gone like this:

Dad and Dan: "Look at us! We're in Hong Kong! Look at us in Hong Kong!"

Jacob: "I see you! This all feels uncanny; you being in this place where I have been on this side of this planet!"

D&D: "Let's stop using so many exclamation points!"

J: "Okay."

D&D: "So are you going to dictate our lives for the next week?"

J: "I am."

D&D"Wonderful."

Oh, I wasn't that much of a fascist tour guide. Having said that, I'm guessing there were a few points when the two travelers felt like I was running some Asian hybrid boot camp. An hour after they arrived in Hong Kong I had them squeezing their luggage through Saturday night Lan Kwai Fong toward the monthly barbershop blues night in SoHo (new readers see September 20th entry). That night they slept on inch-thick mattresses in my room. Come morning I spat on the notion of jet-lag as I rounded up the troops and took them to Tsim Sha Tsui where they had to fend for themselves against the dozens vendors selling copy-watches and tailor suits. Wasn't an easy thing for these two calm, kind gents. Dad kept saying no thank you, which actually means "tell me more!" and Dan asked how much, which means he now owns 17 fake Rolexes and a zebra-skin Versace suit.

That day, my Chinese class happened to be going to a Beijing-style restaurant as a sort of fun, out of class assignment. Dad and Dan were able to meet my laoshi and many of my classmates as we dined on duck and fried bananas. Dan wasn't too enthused about eating something that had once quacked. I think it had something to do with cultural icons Daffy, Donald, Huey Dewey and Louie, Launchpad McQuack, and Laffy.

 

After the meal we took a tram to the top of Victoria Peak, which overlooks downtown Hong Kong. It was here that two profound things happened. The first was that we found a seven-story shopping mall on top of a mountain. Typical Hong Kong. The second thing was when Dad speculated that my friend Dahee, who he had met earlier and is from Korea, is so nice that she makes Mother Theresa look like a gangster. I guess the view was profound as well: 

The next day we voyaged across the New Territories to Sai Kung to do some camping. It's a bit of trouble just getting Sai Kung (like, two hours by train and bus), but once there we still had to get a taxi ride and do a two hour hike. Lucky for me as a boot camp drill sergeant, it was already dusk before the hike started. 

"A little nightfall oughtta keep 'em on their toes," I would have been thinking had I actually treated their trip to Hong Kong like boot camp. And if I was treating their trip like boot camp, I would have been losing major face as a clean-cut colonel because our cabbie dropped us off at the wrong spot, which I realized after he sped away... which I realized was bad because we were in the middle of a foreign jungle with no working cell phone... which I realized was extra bad because the sun was just about to pay the western hemisphere a visit. 

So what was I actually thinking as I quietly led these men deeper into a shroud?

Some combination of "Just keep swimming," "That mountain kind of looks familiar?" and "Heavens to Murgatroyd, we are so lost."

I kept thinking that if we just got to the other side of the next mountain we would be at the beach and campsite I was familiar with. But at this point Dan and Dad could easily detect my doomed navigation that I had tried to conceal by keeping quiet. But the darkness and their (okay, our) "Cobras and monkeys and wild dogs, oh my!" attitude had us pitching the tent on the first beach we found. Sure, this beach had the occasional wild dog. But one-for-three. Not bad.

"Throw another bamboo on the fire." -The Hong Kong Camper.

The next morning, after Dan had a nightmare about a duck, we awoke to these images:

Turned out that we did need to just climb that one last mountain to be at Camp Familiar. Ah well. We had our fun and trekked back, finding out along the way that we should have been worrying about wild bulls as well.  

Dan was wearing red shorts. He's okay.

We made it back in time for my rugby game. 

Lingnan University vs. Institute of Vocational Education. We're all friends.

The next day we paid the other Special Administrative Region of China a visit. The Vegas of the East. Post-Portuguese-controlled Macau. It was really boring. I had to sit on top of the 338 meter-high Macau Tower while Dad waited in line to jump off the world's highest bungee jump.  Actually, I was more nervous than Dad. It gave me great joy to watch him keep it chill while knowing the severe umbrage gravity was about to take at him. (That's my way of saying I wasn't actually bored.)

Anyway, this blog is getting pretty long, so long(er) story short: he survived. We returned to Hong Kong but I lost my cell phone on the ferry, Dan got lost but he really didn't, Dad got his haircut, we saw monkeys, and Dad spilled beer on the sixth floor of the Chungking Mansions in an Indian-Pakistani restaurant that doesn't even serve beer (sorry Dad, the world must know).

This was just a great week. Both in quality and quantity. Ask me about this in person if you want to hear more.

Jacob Boat Racing

I recently asked my dragon boat racing captains if we could pack food and sleeping bags and embark on a dragon boat camping trip up the Yangtze River. They said absolutely not. Kaiyu and Terry, the captains, explained that the dragon boat is strictly designed for short-term races, unlike the kayak or canoe.

To spite them, I'll begin describing my current dragon boat racing experiences by comparing the dragon boat to a giant canoe. It is exactly like a canoe, but has room for about 20 people--two on each side, a drummer in the front and a steerer in the back. It's nearly impossible to tip over, so all you mischievous canoe-rockers are going to have to resort to splashing or paddle-whacking if you want to cause any trouble for your fellow shipmates while aboard.

The dragon boat racing happens in Fo Tan, Sha Tin on the Shing Mun River. Along the river (and in the picture above) is the Hong Kong Sports Institute, featuring one of the two racetracks where the 2008 Equestrian Olympics took place. Horse racing is the only legal form of gambling in Hong Kong, so I think it's always a full house at the racetrack. I digress.

The people in charge kept telling me this boat carried the Olympic torch. I wasn't sure if they meant this specific boat or not, so I thought I would seize me a photo-op in case it was. The good news is I got yelled at, leading me to believe it was the legitimate Olympic torch-lighting dragon boat.

The biggest letdown about dragon boat racing is that there aren't any menacing dragon heads on the boat. The dragon heads, which look like this: are only used during the actual competitions, which only take place in the springtime. In the meantime, decapitated dragon boat scrimmaging will have to suffice. If you'd like to catch a glimpse of the real deal, I wouldn't suggest watching this whole video unless you've got a hankering for good ol' Linkin Park.

Other big news: I might be changing my name to dragon because everyone thinks my name is Dragon when I tell them it is Jacob.

Win paddles on the left side.

Bangkok... Phuket

I've been pretty busy lately. Ashley came to visit, and we traveled to Bangkok. Why Bangkok? A few people I talked to said that Thailand was incredible. Perhaps too reliant on the casual advice of others, I booked the tickets to Bangkok. Before I could finish the in-flight movie Baby Mama, Ash and I were in Bangkok, fully unprepared.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. We had a tip to stay at a cheap hostel, Suk 11, with lots of writing on the wall. Once we had shelter out of the way, food and clothing were our next priorities for survival. I ate crickets and other cheap street food ("street" meaning sold by vendors).

As for clothing and other purchases/sightseeing, it was pretty cheap, but we had to be careful not to get scammed--which we did, by this tuk-tuk driver who told us that the Grand Palace was closed (which it never is, we later found out). 

 

He got pulled over by the police, who are also in on the tuk-tuk scams, I found out.

Though the tuk-tuk driver took us to a shady jewelry shop, tailor, and gift shop (the gift shop wasn't too shady, but the only reason the driver took us there was because he got a free gas coupon for bringing in customers), he finished off the tour with a trip to the largest standing giant Buddah. As we arrived, a man handed us caged birds, which we set free and were then charged 90 baht for. After that, we should have left Bangkok. If you ever find yourself in Thailand, try Phuket. I did not know this. I traveled to Bangkok on too much of a whim and was unprepared. And though we were going to attend a lecture on the recent protests in Bangkok, our tuk-tuk driver got lost and we lacked the internet/phone/Thai language to help us get a feel of much else regarding the local attitude toward the protests.

And, we were tired and sick. Well, I was sick. I turned into a ghost: 

This city could have just as well been created by a bored, immature 4th grader sitting in Ms. Bloom's computer class playing SimCity 2008: BangCock.  Prostitutes, transvestites, the pointiest buildings imaginable--all crammed together in no order whatsoever.And billboards that all have weird-looking stands like this (it must be a money-saving strategy so that buildings like this can exist right next door): 

"There's gonna be 3-wheelers, taxis (with spoilers), and elephants for transportation," the fourth-grader would say.  "And a king who everyone loves and a president who everyone hates. Food will be dirt cheap. And it will all be my favorite food."

"What is your favorite food?"

"Pizza. No, Indian. No, Chinese. Phuket, we'll have everything."

"Even crickets?"

"Sure. And there will be massage parlors on every street for 300 baht."

"How much is that?"

"I don't know, like 10 bucks."

"Cool."

(End of disturbing cosmogony)

This rusty swimmer needs to jia yo

I thought it would be a good experience to represent my dorm in an all-campus, dorm-against-dorm swim meet last week. Kelvin, the organizer for my dorm, insisted I compete in three races, plus a relay-- the maximum number an individual is allowed. He told me I was Michael Phelps.

Perhaps I was flattered. Perhaps I thought If Michael Phelps could successfully complete eight races in two weeks, surely I can manage four races in four hours. Kelvin also told me that nobody in Hong Kong takes swimming lessons, exponentially upping my extrinsic motivation. So I agreed to race. I had made it to level five in Ms. Beardsly's swim class.

I learned a few things from the ordeal.

1. 200 meters is four laps.

2. If you give up after the first lap, your dorm might not just "laugh it off" like you do. They have a lot more riding on this than you do, apparently...

3. "Jia yo!" is a common term that the audience shouts to encourage swimmers. Supposedly, it means "you can do it," but literally it means "add oil!"

4. If you've never done the butterfly stroke before, it is impossible to "just wing it."

5. This is a lot of people to embarrass yourself in front of...

6. I will now wear a life jacket more often.

If any of this was ambiguous, my first race was the 200 freestyle. I swam one length, stood up in the water and looked around, noticed that I only had a smidgeon of energy remaining, had three races left and six opponents who were already forty meters ahead of me. So, shamelessly, I waved to the crowd and hopped out of the pool. I also opted not to participate in the other events I had signed up for (mostly because I was tired.) I still had lots of fun, I think.

Team America: The Champ: Sunset (NOW WITH POLLUTION ENHANCEMENT!):

Barbershop Blues

There was some pretty major carpe dieming happening today in Hong Kong. Some friends suggested that I visit a barbershop in the Soho district downtown. But not for the haircuts. Or, at least not in tonight's case.

The third Friday of each month, the owner of the Visage One barbershop hosts a few different blues/bluegrass musicians and packs forty or fifty people into the salon turned saloon. Typical capacity of the barbershop? Fifteen. Tops.

Six friends and I arrived two hours early to get decent seats and have a chance to explore the shop. It had a loft (see picture.)

Getting there before anyone else allowed us to fully appreciate the eventual transition into cramped madness this place would endure. But two hours is a long time. We started getting ansi. To our luck, there was an art gallery opening next door with free wine and painting, even for average nobodies like ourselves.

Some of them got carried away with the body paint. I liked it. New fashion, perhaps.

I painted a tree. 

We had a little more time to kill, so we mulled about and found a hip little bar called Club 11. Michael found a guitar hanging on the wall, which he played marvelously. He was even joined by a flutist.

I found some Confucian writing on the wall.Right?

As it turned out, Michael's guitar playing at Club 11 was just a warm-up. After we finally settled in at the barbershop and soaked in three or four quality blues songs from two guitarists, and one R Ha-ist (sp? plz?), Michael grabbed the guitar and started playing like he'd been jamming with these guys back in Florida. "How 'bout Blues in 'b?'" he decreed with the cool of Miles Davis and the authority of the munchkin coroner.

Just like that. The next three hours was a mix of blues, bluegrass, and jazz from the East and West. With covers of "Somewhere over the Rainbow" and John Lennon's "Imagine," plus "Hava Nagila," the night progressively awesomed. What came next? a flutist, a harmonica player, and and very cool audience interaction. Everything about this night was unexpected. I felt a part of something special. It was the best time I had with forty or fifty strangers in one room. I'm sad to think this sort of thing doesn't usually happen at Great Clips in the States... to the best of my knowledge.

Consider the day seized.

Enjoy low quality video of the event. I'm sorry it is so dark. Come with next time.

Some good R Ha/Bluegrass: Somewhere over the Rainbow: 

Let it Be: Let it Be, ending: Original blues: 

And for those of you who have just gotta see the real thing: I can't resist this voice.

Monkey Mountain

Imagine getting off a city bus only to be surrounded by monkeys. Having trouble? This should help the theater in your noggin... . The place is Kam Sham Park, or "Monkey Mountain." Located in Shatin (sort of the "Midwest" of Hong Kong), Kam Sham Park is fun and free. For those of you in Hong Kong, just take the train to Mon Kok and hop on the 81 bus until you see a bunch of monkeys on the side of the road. Though Monkey Mountain would be an easy place to stumble upon, I was not fortunate enough to meet the monkeys by surprise.

This is not to say I wasn't astounded by what I found. Their cute humanness surprised the absolute heck out of me. I'll say again what 

I said at the beginning of this entry: Imagine stepping off a bus and immediately walking among mankind's closest relative. It won't matter if you're aware that monkeys are there or not--you will be stupefied.

The lack of cages or any authority figure made it easier to interactively marvel at their utterly adorable humanness. The last time I had butterflies in my stomach from cuteness-induced excitement was when I watched a home video of my little brother Marcus when he was one or two years old climbing over Dad, reaching for some morsel of food he desired.

Yes, I am comparing my little brother to a primate.

If Marcus or the monkeys couldn't reach the target of consumption, the next recipient of their five-fingered extremities would be any article of clothing or exposed whisker that needed a good tug.

 

This always seemed to successfully notify the bearer of the clothes or whiskers that it would really be best for everyone if Marcus or the monkeys were masticating the comestibles they deemed edible for their abdomens.

This aggressive begging process seemed to work quite well both for Marcus and the macaques. So what can we learn from this? Observe: (listen up, Darwin) Survival of the cutest. There is just something so adorable about the curious faces and busy little hands of all these little monkeys (Marcus included)... it's no surprise they have climbed as high as they have on the evolution ladder.

As you may have guessed, the monkeys' cuteness, which attracts the grapes and peanuts of loving humans, is perpetuating their survival. Too much. 

That's right, as you also may have guessed, humans should not be feeding the monkeys. The picture I posted above doesn't exactly provide a convincing argument against feeding the monkeys, however. I shan't halt feeding the monkeys if it is only going to cause, "Rapid growth in monkey population," "Monkeys losing a fear of humans (that is to say, the more you feed these monkeys, the more they will play with you!)" and "The more you feed these monkeys, the more they are going to want to come to this one area (where you always know where they are... so you can always play with an increasing amount of horribly adorable monkeys...)" 

As for the last bullet-point on the sign about increased aggression, I begin to understand what the problem is. And while I don't think they will become aggressive to the point of Congo gorillas, or overpopulated and organized as Charlton Heston's arch nemeses, there is certainly some inimical evolution happening at Monkey Mountain.

So what is the problem? They are relying on humans for food. Therefore, they will continue to multiply in population as they enjoy the benefits of both human and foraged food (so far, so good.) I think the problem is some like this: The more they grow in population, the less food they will find in the scarce jungles of Hong Kong. Soon, many of them will never leave the park area of Monkey Mountain and never learn the skills of foraging, thus strictly relying on human food. At this point, the overabundant monkey population will be in dire need of mankind suddenly surging with interest in monkey cuteness, spending a hefty percentage of their salary on grapes and peanuts for the daily trip to Monkey Mountain. While I want to say my love and devotion to monkeys is unconditional, I shall make no promises as long as this dystopian vision of a daycare lingers in my imagination, where the children constantly beg and bicker the more you feed them and never learn to mature and just get louder and whinier and needier and...

Or, you can look at it this way: While Marcus spent his early 

childhood stunning our parents with his darling, I cannot say his cuteness would be effective on a father or mother monkey. Yet, if he did wander over to Shamrock Park by way of big wheel for a few hours each day where 

he was adored and fed by King Louie and a tribe of apes, I would have progressively devoured more of his rations in his absence back at the household. Soon, he would not know how to find food in the house because it either existed in my belly or because I dominantly hissed at him each time he reached for a popsicle. Thus, he would rely more and more on King Louie. All the meanwhile, King Louie would have lost interest in Marcus's cuteness and would even be a little afraid of his increasing aggression. On top of all this, other apes in the tribe would complain about their empty stomaches and the inflating appetite of the unwanted homosapien. Throw in Marcus's new, potentially deadly case of the chicken pox and he would be ostracized. Enter Shere Khan.

I'm sorry Marcus.

Enjoy some videos, and don't hesitate to email me at jacobcarrigan@gmail.com or write:

Jacob Carrigan

Lingnan University HC 105A

Tuen Mun, New Territories, Hong Kong

Or come visit me here. We can feed the monkeys.

Cinderfellow, or, an inside joke/apology to Bianca/Nuna for dropping English Drama Performance, even after our remarkable rendition of Cinderfellow

"I want to go to the ball!" said Cinderfellow

"You're too ugly!" said his wicked stepbrother.

"You're too stupid!" said his other wicked stepbrother.

"You're too young!" said Nuna, his wicked stepfather (no relation to Bianca).

Cinderfellow felt bad. He would have gone to the ball regardless of what his wicked step-relatives thought. The only problem was that he had wayyyyy too many classes he wanted to take. And the ball was at 9:30 AM on Wednesday morning, which is exactly when Cinderfellow liked to sleep.

On the Wednesday morning of the ball, Cinderfellow lay in bed, dreaming about how ugly, stupid, and young he was. He also dreamed about all the other classes he wanted to take that conflicted with the ball. All of the sudden, a Fairy Godfather appeared in his hostel.

"WTF?" shouted Cinderfellow, "How did you get in my hostel?"

"You're in Hostel C, where the security is shit," replied the Fairy Godfather.

"True," replied Cinderfellow. "Well, what are you going to do to me?"

"I'm going to send you to the ball!" declared the Fairy Godfather.

"But I'm too ugly, stupid, and young. And I'm too tired. And I have too many classes!" said Cinderfellow.

"That's okay! Here is some food from the Lingnan University canteen; it will make you older. And here is some Red Bull; it will make you less tired. And here are four extra hours; they will allow you to take more classes. As for your ugliness and stupidity... you're on your own."

"Hasa!!" (spelling?) exclaimed Cinderfellow, and took off for the ball.

At the ball, he met Princess Charming, who was a really good dancer and knew how to dance very well. They danced for a very long time, but then the clock struck 12 and Cinderfellow's Red Bull buzz wore off and he had another class to go to, so he had to leave. He ran away and might have accidently kicked his shoe at P.C. He was sorry for that.

Later on, Princess Charming found Cinderfellow and returned his shoe. He thanked her, but apologized that he couldn't go to any more Wednesday morning balls due to scheduling conflicts, but he wished her the best. And they lived happily ever after for the next four months.

The End.

Hasa!!!