I returned to Hong Kong with two purposes: One, to enjoy a bit more time with my aunt and uncle who I see so infrequently, and two, to figure out where I was going after China and procure the appropriate visas. On my return, I was informed that the following week an international track meet was being held in Macau, which I was interested in attending. This effectively ended my bid to get visas and get going quickly, as I would need my passport to get to Macau. Thus, I set about relaxing and enjoying the less hectic pleasures of HK.

On my last visit, with Mike, we'd been in a hurry to tick off as many tourist hotspots as possible in our short time here. This time around, I had no agenda whatsoever, and set about ruining the productivity of my uncle, who works out of his house. Our first few days were spent in hiking about the barren hills of HK near his apartment. Though I can claim a few years of youth on my uncle, he is a well trained athlete (race walking is his discipline) and chasing him over hills rapidly wore me to a sweating, gasping mass. Nonetheless, I learned a good deal about the history and culture of the city which I would never have guessed. As it turns out in its dire need to keep its ever growing population watered, HK has installed a comprehensive system of catchments to collect all the rainfall in the hills around the city. By city ordinance, no one can build or live above the catchment line. As a result, an extensive wilderness is literally right outside the doors of the millions of city residents.

Like running the Adirondacks through the heart of Long Island and keeping them uninhabited. It helps to explain the proliferation of towering apartment complexes crowded in the valleys. Regrettably, a need for firewood during the second World War and poor management subsequently has left them devoid of all but shrubs and grasses, which makes for very hot hiking in the blazing tropical sun. Luckily, a clean shower, comfortable bed, and cold beer were waiting after every walk. A guy could get used to this travel thing.

Months ago, when gazing into my travel crystal ball, I foresaw myself wrapping up my trip in September, somewhere in Germany. That means Oktoberfest. Some good budgeting and some unexpected financial breaks have given me a few more months, and I don't regret missing Oktoberfest for a second. On scanning the local HK newsmagazine, though, I see that Germany has traveled to me, and a two week Oktoberfest celebration takes place each year at the end of October right in the heart of the city. Not one to to turn a blind eye on a lucky streak, I headed over with my uncle to see what all the fuss was about.

I've seen a few Oktoberfests in the States, and they pale in comparison to Munich, I'm sure. Nonetheless, the mood is always festive, and HK managed to maintain the standard. As the oompah band got started, I was a bit worried that the Chinese corporate groups who made up the majority of our Wednesday night crowd were going to be sticks in the mud. The upbeat polkas and waltzes were getting almost no response from the crowd, though I couldn't say much as I was glued to my seat by a pile of sausages, sauerkraut, and beer. When the chicken dance made its debut, though, I could stand by the sidelines no longer (I'm sure a liter of beer helped with my decision). It seems this Oktoberfest and 7th Inning Stretch standard hasn't seeped into the corporate culture of HK just yet, and so on the first run through, I found myself alone in the open-air beer hall flapping my arms and wiggling my butt to the open-mouthed horror of the suit and tie crowd around me (I think my uncle was a bit shocked as well). For a man who has braved a Brazilian nudist beach and the "Land of Fire" at the ends of the earth, though, it made little difference. By the end of the night, my repeated chicken dancing had brought on a few equally bleary-eyed recruits, and even earned me a free beer from an adjoining table. In fact, shortly after the first chicken dance, the band got fully into the act and had the whole dance hall singing "Ein Prost" and dancing in conga lines. The crowning moment for me, though, was when my second liter of beer kicked in and I managed to drag a local out on the dance floor for some swing, some hustle and even a polka (very brief, but it happened). What a night.

That weekend also marked the start of HK's Latin Fiesta. Having recently come from a Latin American area, I kept my eyes peeled for interesting events. The kick-off celebration was a series of bands and dancers from a variety of countries offering their traditional forms of enterainment, and since it was free of charge, I went to check it out. It certainly didn't draw a Woodstock sized crowd, but there was a fair enough turnout, and some of the acts were quite entertaining. I was not surprised that time and reflection had failed to endear the traditional Andean music (played by a group of Peruvians) to me any more than when it was piped into every bus and taxi in the region. I did feel some sympathy for the front man, whose repeated attempts to get the crowd clapping and active failed because he only spoke Spanish and Quechua. The Brazilian samba and forro still got me shaking my hips like nobody's business. The tango music sent me back to Buenos Aires (still my favorite city of the trip) but the dancing of the local HK Tango club, while good, lacked the spirit and romanticisim of the Argentenians. By far the best act of the group, though, was a full mixed band, with each member dressed in the stereotypical outfit of one of the countries (one of the ladies was dressed as Carmen Miranda, complete with the fruit headress), and they played music from each country, from tango to samba to mariachi. It was good atmosphere and great fun.

This is not to say that I spent my time in HK soaking up cultures from around the globe while overlooking the cultural treasures of the lively city at my doorstep. In fact, one of the highlights of my stay occurred the night of the Latin Fiesta as my aunt and uncle invited me to a dinner with some of their friends. We headed down to the seafront and sauntered through a massive seafood market with all varieties of sea creature you could imagine and a hefty grouping of those you couldn't. In true Chinese style, we were to select a number of different fish to be sent to the restaurant of our choice (in our case, the restaurant of our fish dealer) and prepared in the manner of our choosing. Luckily, we were in the company of two ladies who lived in this area and knew exactly what they were doing. We walked out among the tanks (all the seafood is still alive and kicking in saltwater tanks out front) and began picking our lot.

I would later learn what we picked (the entire transaction was conducted in Cantonese of course): spicy prawns, cuttlefish sashimi, clams on the halfshell, lobster, and of course, baked fish (which I was unable to identify). The whole meal was fantastic and I thoroughly enjoyed the roundtable eating style, getting to know some of the locals, and of course, the food.

The following morning, we got up early and headed out to a local race to cheer on teams as they ran a long cross-country relay race. Before my trip began, I fancied myself a bit of a runner, and at times I really miss it. Seeing all these folks having a grand old time (including one of the ladies we'd eaten with the previous evening) had me wishing I had a pair of shoes to strap on and join in the fun. Oh well, plenty of time for that once the backpack is stored away for a while. In a bout of wishful thinking and an attempt to extend the trip a bit more, I even applied for a job in HK. I had been struggling with decisions about where to go next and figured a job would solve all that. It never materialized, but at least I gave it a shot.