The last time I was in Hong Kong was a dozy 4 hour transit stop on the way to London Heathrow. That was 2007, 2 months before the big jump to Thailand. This time I wanted to see Hong Kong itself, see the tango, stay in the city. But now it was December 10, and I didn’t know what I would be doing, nor where I would be staying for the 4 nights, amended to 7 nights, that I would be staying here.
The flight from BKK was flying towards dusk. Below us was purple cloud reaching toward the orange sunset. The clouds seemed settled at a uniform altitude, the ripples in the cloud seen from above was so intricate, it looked like a great woolen blanket cloaking the world.
I knew that when I landed, there would be a Christmas milonga somewhere in Tsim Sha Tsui. That much I had booked. 3 classes and a Grand Milonga ticket with Carman via email. I liked the idea of this romantic notion, of travelling light, with only a suit and a pair of dance shoes. I wanted to see if the Hong Kong of my imagination were anything like the Hong Kong of reality.
Finding a bus from HKG to Kowloon was confusing. I remember the bus taking us to another bus station, but I was not sure where to alight. I was struck by the colour of the city, the way the buildings illuminated the world, like toys.
What surprised me was the cold. On this night, people in the street were looking up into the sky, to see the lunar eclipse, a blood moon gazing back from that cloudless sky. I took a picture with my camera.
Intent on dancing, searched around for Middle Road and found the Mariner’s Club, the venue for the evening. I walked up a flight of stairs until I found a bathroom and changed into my suit before stepping into the milonga one floor above. I was greeted and seated and watched on amazed at how well presented everyone was. Ray the tall American was in a tux as were many of the men. I was at a table of nice people, strangers, and a shyness came over me. But I stayed and got up a few times and watched the performance by Diego and Graciela.
As night ended, I stepped outside alone to discover just how cold HK could be in December. It was 2:00am and I didn’t have a clue where I would be sleeping, but I thought if I could find a place called Chun King Mansions, I might be okay. A sense of optimism prevailed.
I walked back to the main street and turned left and walked 50 paces. A middle eastern guy was standing suspiciously outside a plaza entrance, minding his phone.
You want a room? he asked.
Yes, I said.
150 Dollars.
Okay, I said.
He lead me around the security grill, into the lobby and up the escalator. Then down a flight of stairs and through a rabbit warren until we came upon a door, which he opened. Inside was a bed against the wall upon which lay a rudely awoken fellow, middle eastern. He chatted to the other guy for a moment and then opened a door behind him to a room, my bed for the night.
By a dumb stroke of blind luck, I had fumbled a room in Chun King Mansions.