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May 03, 2005

We of Hong Kong's glorious Golden Mile

From the tiny, high-up windows of Cosmic Guesthouse we can just about reach out and touch the windows of the salubrious ‘Golden Mile’ Holiday Inn. Budget dosshouse and ritzy hotel, kissing up against one another smackbang in the middle of Tsim Sha Tsui, a district beloved of tourists, touts, makers of neon signage, and purveyors of fake Rolex watches.

Funnily enough, the Holiday Inn turns out to be the place that Andrew stayed with his parents on his first ever trip to Hong Kong, aged ten. Now, in 2005, we amuse ourselves with the idea that we can see straight into the rooms of that hotel’s well-heeled guests, and perhaps be privy to the illicit detail of their lives.

As it happens, of course, it’s more a case of them being privy to our comings and goings, given that the Holiday Inn gives short shrift to my voyeuristic intentions by deploying bronze-tinted plate glass and two layers of curtain. I can tell you what our wealthy neighbours are watching on TV (sport … sigh), but that’s about all.

Our room, on the other hand, is brazenly unprotected. We have some thin curtains that are looped up in a tangle around the security bars that throng the window, and that’s the extent of it. The rushing fresh air, and the sound of traffic running like water are intoxicating up here on the twelfth floor, so we leave the do-nothing curtains looped up, and just accept that the Holiday Inn-ites can see straight into our cubicle of a room.

The changing of clothes is strictly a lights-off affair.

‘Chocolate box’ isn’t even the half of it here: our room’s just over one arms-span wide and maybe three spans’ deep. Into that space the Chinese family who run this joint have squeezed two narrow single beds and a shower/toilet/sink combo that beggars belief. Other than that, there’s not even room to swing a cat.

Although not normally prone to claustrophobia, a few times here I have had to stop myself panicking when I think about how small the space is, how it’s buried in a maze of windowless corridors all covered in mirrors and tiles and locked steel doors, and how high up we are, all edged in with bars and no means of escape. Fire is an awful, awful thought. I try to banish it.

The beds have duvets that are the most outrageous polyester I’ve ever encountered: shimmery champagne in colour, and slippery as thieves. Trying to sleep under the covers is like wrestling with jelly.

Yet I like it in here.

Our room is light and airy, despite being located in the city’s throbbing heart. It’s completely tiled, the gleam of which makes it seem practical and clean. We run across an el-cheapo Japanese home-wares shop on our first night here, and stock up on suction-cup plastic hooks that we will later stick to the walls to hang our spare clothes and odds and ends off. In tandem with our suction-cup travel washing line that’s strung across the room’s width, garrotting us every time we need to get to the toilet, the effect is hilarious: somewhere between ship’s cabin, capsule hotel, and Chinese laundry.

I love lying in my narrow bed at night, so close to Andrew’s that I can rest my hand on his, just listening to this city’s pulse. The window’s ajar – open and receptive as an upturned palm – so as to beckon in all the curious sounds of a city at night.

Traffic noise from on-high is pale like silk. All night long, it runs up the length of our building and into my ear: steady like water. It’s a sound that’s sure as gravity’s suck, and moody as jazz.

Like the promises of a New Age tape – Energise your life! Meditate while you doze! Learn while you slumber! – Hong Kong’s beat melts into my head even as I sleep.

Posted by Tiffany on May 3, 2005 06:08 PM
Category: Hong Kong
Comments

You guys are my heroes! I've been following you all over Asia.

Tiffany, you are such a gifted writer and a pleasure to read. Sometimes I'm put off by travel writing--somehow the author is trying too hard, or the piece reads like an itinerary. Not only that, I'll feel jealous of the writer b/c she's there and I'm not! But you've struck a really good balance with the scope of your pieces, your individual voice, and great subject matter. I feel like I'm there with you! No jealousy.

I hope you continue to blog or publish your writing after you get back home.

I'm curious about the process of blogging--do you write at leisure, and upload your pieces when you can get to an Internet connection? Do you know what you're going to write about or how you're going to approach the topic before you sit down to actually compose it? How long would you say you spend on a given piece? And how do you juggle traveling, eating, getting lost, meeting people, sightseeing, etc. with blogging? (I'm thinking a lot about writing these days so forgive me for asking these "boring" questions.)

Posted by: Tammy on May 4, 2005 08:54 AM

Hi Tammy!

Thank you for your lovely comments - it was very heartening to log on and read your words :)

As to process (something I am very interested in too, and have been thinking a lot about of late) - here's the deal:

The work of travel blogging seems to vary quite a lot. I can't pin down an exact routine that I follow to produce the words for this site, as it is greatly affected by mood, availability of technology, and other factors.

I usually make at least a 'note to self' either mentally or in my PDA (oh the yuppiness!!) when a new 'blog idea' occurs to me. That note will typically just be the kernel of the idea for that particular piece - I won't write it up at that stage. I can tell from the idea itself whether the piece will be long and rambly, or medium-sized, or very short and random-comment-like: those things tend to determine the tone that the written piece will take on.

The other way that a post might start out is that I see or experience something which is so odd or funny or emotionally affecting that I'm compelled to write down some of the things that occur to me about it then and there. This frantic, hyped-up excitement always seems to hit me most strongly when I arrive in a new place - I find that I'm much more receptive and kid-like and excited then than I am after twenty-four hours in a place. So that first taxi-ride (if we are so lucky as to be splurging on one) can be a real gold-mine of scribbled down first impressions. That's actually the reason I got the PDA - to use the voice-recorder function and the memo function to take down first impressions in situations (like the back seat pitch-black cabs) where I was full of ideas but couldn't write longhand in my journal 'cause it wasn't feasible.

Once I have my one line 'kernel' or my scattered first-impressions notes, then I will either write an entry on our laptop, transfer it to a USB memory key, and take it into an internet cafe to upload *OR* I will just take the notes along with me to the internet cafe and write the entry direct to the web. I work best with a certain amount of pressure, and can handle noise, distraction and company when I write, so writing the entries from scratch in an internet cafe can actually work out very well.

The most difficult situations for getting work done are those where friends are involved - I think it it's tacky to keep saying, 'I can't spend time with you as I have to blog ...', so often when we've met up with friends on the road I notice my output falls quite a bit. I think that's as it should be, though - after all, the travelling should stand on its own merits regardless of the blog. I don't want the blog to become so dominant in my travel consciousness that it strips away the pleasure and significance of travel-for-travel's-sake.

Other juggling is necessary too - as you point out, the day-to-day of travel routine (looking for edible food, searching out accommodation, getting lost, meeting new people etc etc) all takes time. I think I just squeeze the blog in to my general internet time as best I can, and then try to get on with the rest of the trip. I do find that I'm often turning ideas over in my head during downtime at airports, walking down the street, or on public transport.

The worst aspect of the time-jugging dilemma is that small breaks quickly snowball to become huge swathes of time (at least in one's own mind!) where you haven't blogged. Say you feel sick one night after a dodgy set of dumplings, then you have to move accommodation the next morning, then you have to get to the airport the following day, then you take a longish flight arriving late, and then you're in a new city with no idea what to eat, where to stay or where cheap, reliable internet might be found. Those situations crop up with alarming regularity, and the rigours of travel REALLY put the blog in its place, telling it, 'just hold on there. YOU are not the priority here - and no matter what else happens you're NOT going to get written up anytime soon!'

Posted by: Tiffany on May 5, 2005 03:58 PM
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