At the top, I found more — oh, swell — shopping malls. I donned blinkers, parked myself at a railing and took in the harbor view far below the thick forest of the mountain. First thought: snakes.
Deep in the greenery I saw the remains of a colonial estate. Cheek in my hand, I considered what must have been a formerly white mansion now turned a dirty gray. Who lived there? Who sat on those porticoes and balconies? The architecture stood out from the contemporary, gleaming glass of the condominium buildings. This mansion resonated of another time in Hong Kong's history.
Victoria Peak provides cooler temperatures than the city it overlooks. Before the construction of roads and the Peak Tramway funicular, passage to the top was provided by sedan chair. Personally, I would find it difficult to rest comfortably while two poor souls hoisted me straight up the severe elevation, but I suppose this was the rickshaw mentality of another time.
When the British began their colonization of Hong Kong in 1842, they introduced Victorian and Edwardian architecture along the harbor. As the popularity of transport up Victoria Peak by sedan chair grew, so did the concept of living on the mountain. Between 1904 and 1930, those rich citizens of Hong Kong desiring getaways raised their chins heavenward and started to build. Manors sprang up with the whimsical names of Treverbyn, the Haystack and Myrtle Bank. All very Tea time! and Tennis, anyone?
I longed to slash and crawl my way through the overgrown vines and roam the mansion I was studying. Second thought: snakes.
Back at the bottom of the Peak, curiosity won out and sent me into shops filled with gorgeous silks, pearls and china. I ran my fingers over the fabric and admired carved vases and sculptures. Just looking, just looking became a mantra, until it came to food. It was nearly dinnertime and I needed groceries.
I skimmed back to Kowloon on the ferry and found a supermarket. Meat and chicken were more expensive than expected, and stickers with Danish, Brazilian and French flags indicated some cuts had traveled nearly as far as I had. Because Hong Kong is an island, much of the food is imported: cheese and wine from Italy, lamb from New Zealand, lettuce from California.
Only after loading my cart and paying did I remember I wasn't back home and didn’t have a car. I could have flagged a taxi, but in my stubbornness and frugality figured the distance didn't warrant the extravagance. I heaved my bulging backpack over my shoulders and picked up a full bag in each hand.
Along crowded sidewalks I lugged, readjusted, and cursed myself for buying anything in a bottle or can.
And this became my grocery shopping ritual in Hong Kong. Unless torrential rain forced me into a taxi, I walked weighted down by my goods. In the end, I was rewarded by the loss of a good five pounds. Hmmm...maybe I deserved to celebrate with some new clothes.
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