Some days it’s best to stay in bed.

I don’t like Hong Kong. The people that do think it’s a Shangri-La. It has everything, they say. It’s better than Disneyland. The sun rises and sets on/in HK.

Me? I say: Nay. Why?

1. The foreign residents of Hong Kong are more obnoxious than those in Mainland China.
2. Listening to Cantonese for an extended period makes me want to ram chopsticks in my ears.

But, I digress…

I went to Hong Kong a while back on a business matter. The day was doomed from the get-go. A co-worker and I boarded the fast bus to Honkers. Seventy minutes, the company advertises, from our district to Kowloon. Not bad. By Ferry, the next-fastest option, you’re looking at two hours.

As I was leaving Shenzhen and entering the Hong Kong SAR, the Chinese boarder guard placed my passport under a microscope-type thing. This caused a delay, and a nasty case of nerves for me. I am afraid of police officers, of any agency or stripe, without real reason.

The bus stopped at the Kowloon MTR station. The 70 minute bus ride had turned into more than 100 minutes because of my delicate dance with the immigration police. I discovered the zipper on my new camera bag would not close. As I got out of my seat the contents of the bag’s large pocket spilled onto the floor. Once in the mall attached to the station we couldn’t find an exit to the street. Damn mall planners and their devious way to keep you shopping!

After asking three different mall concierges for directions, we found an exit. (Question: What kind of mall has a concierge? Answer: A damn expensive one.) I led my co-worker to the hotel where she was meeting friends, and decided to take the Star Ferry to Hong Kong island, not the subway. The ferry terminal was closer. As I am in the running for being Shenzhen’s laziest man I didn’t want to walk the extra 300 meters to the nearest subway station. The warning buzzer sounded as I paid my fare which resulted in a harried 50 meter sprint to board the conveyance before it sailed.

I forgot there is no MTR station at the Wan Chai ferry terminal. I walked to Causeway Bay, my destination, fighting the crowds of tourists and window shoppers. Translating the map from the back of a business card to a real-life, congested business area is difficult. I wandered around, aimlessly, trying to match landmarks. After locating the right street and address I learned from a large sign that the guest house I sought was unlicensed. I cursed. The guest house, and paying a deposit for booking a large number of rooms, was the entire reason for my trip. It had been wasted time.

What followed was Karma kicking me when I was already down.

1. I couldn’t find a Hong Kong MTR station and wandered back towards the ferry. I was hungry. Not liking Cantonese cuisine, I stopped at two different McDonalds (It’s not Jollibee but it will do). The lines were so long I wondered if there was a two-for-one sale in progress.
2. A family of five was in line in front of me at the ferry terminal. I didn’t have enough money on my transit card to use the auto-pay wicket. The grandmother was paying the entire family’s fare with dimes. The ferry was boarding. My attempts at mentally projecting my wishes to grandma, to pay with a 20 dollar bill instead of dimes, were unsuccessful. The warning buzzer sounded, the ferry left, and I had to wait. My return bus was leaving in 30 minutes. I didn’t want to miss it.
3. Back in Kowloon, after catching the next ferry, I tried another McDonalds. Again, chaos. At a 7-11, I bought chocolate milk and a bag of strange potato chips. I waited at the cab stand, too tired and pissed off the walk the six blocks back to the mall. The taxi driver was a kindly old man of 67 that explained I shouldn’t live in Shenzhen, it was too violent. “Like Chicago with Al Capone,” he said. Funny, Shenzhen people think the same about Hong Kong. He talked about his reversal of fortunes since the handover in 1997. He used to make lots of money. Now, he said, “No money, no honey.” Hearing a 67-year-old man use that line put a smile on my weary face. Of course, I was deeply involved in my conversation with the taxi driver and didn’t notice he had taken me to the Kowloon train station, not the Kowloon MTR station. My bad, I said Kowloon station, not specifying. The MTR station is in West Kowloon, the train station in the east. It would be a long walk back. My bus left in 10 minutes, there would be another an hour after that. The station had a McDonalds, and it wasn’t busy. Small miracles.
4. I headed back across Kowloon in another taxi. I sat under very yellow subterranean lighting in the station and pulled out my camera. Usually I’m happy to explore but my urban zest had departed. I wanted to be home. The bus was fast, and the Hong Kong SAR exit and China immigration lines at the border were non-existent. I sailed through.
5. The bus company’s representative on the other side of the border told me I had to wait until 3:00 pm for the bus to my district. This was confusing as it was 3:30 pm. I gave up and hailed a taxi.

Back at Chateau Stevo I played video games until my blood pressure was at a more manageable level. Hong Kong?  Bu Hao!