April Foolery

As April draws to a most spectacular close and May arrives with a public holiday tomorrow, I can't help but look back over the past thirty days with anything other than astonishment. I'll risk repeating myself, because I feel like I have a tendency to stay things like this over and over and over again, but the month that's about to expire was without doubt one of the most jam-packed races I've ever run.

From Rugby Sevens to visits from old friends, from Easter Sunday to Tin Hau's Birthday, from Cadbury Creme Eggs to Peking duck, April 2019 has been one long celebratory, gluttonous, sleepless, boozy adventure.

The highlights are seemingly endless, so I guess it makes sense to pause for a moment as the month is about to end, to preserve a few of the best for posterity.

Two senior directors of my company, Gabby and Mike, permanently based in England, quickly passed through Hong Kong for only one full day on Tuesday, 2 April, the day after the closing screening of the Hong Kong International Film Festival. Although we speak often, it was undeniably great to get some facetime with them, especially since they graciously treated me (and the rest of our Hong Kong-based team) to both lunch and dinner that day.

Lunch was at Café TOO in the Island Shangri-la, which gets my vote for Hong Kong’s best buffet. And dinner followed at Peking Garden in Alexandra House, one of my ‘go to’ spots for Peking duck when VIPs are visiting from out-of-town.

It was surely not a day for calorie counting. As my colleagues Cherry, Jenny and I walked back to the office after lunch, we were all full to capacity! And as Cherry and I got ready to head to dinner after work, we both kept remarking that not only were we not yet hungry, we were actually still uncomfortably full from lunch!

Of course, once the wine started flowing and the scrumptious Chinese dishes began to arrive, we both found our appetites. And it was a stellar evening, with fantastic food and company.

Like that, Sevens Fever was in the air, and people had started pouring into Hong Kong from overseas for our signature sporting event, set to take place between Friday and Sunday. Among the visitors were Sonia, Motez, and Silja Boy, in addition to friends of these guys who were accompanying them for the festivities, Rossi, Jorg and Nele!

So after a stellar catch-up with one of my insurance contacts at the Chinnery in the Mandarin Oriental, I met my crew in Wan Chai to get our Sevens celebration off to a good start.

We had a big day planned for Thursday, complete with a junk trip to Clearwater Bay, so we opted to keep Wednesday evening relatively low key. But a few drinks with these guys is always in order, and it was so great to prep for the city’s biggest weekend with the gang!

Although the weather wasn’t perfect, there’s no sense complaining about a little junk trip. And Fredric got to tag along, making the whole experience even more special. It’s always a thrilling experience sailing past the impressive skyline of Hong Kong Island before it fades into the distance and the green hills and rocky outcrops of the New Territories come to dominate the landscape.

With new, first-time visitors to the city, a little sightseeing was obviously in order on Friday. It was a beautiful day, much more appropriate for a junk than Thursday had been, but that means that our romp up Victoria Peak and our waterfront beers in Stanley were about as perfect as could be.

And then the Rugby kicked off! Sonia’s big brother Kareem, his buddy Philipp and I left the rest of the group in Stanley and caught a taxi back to Happy Valley, eventually making our way to Hong Kong Stadium. Sitting with Kareem’s parents, Martin and Mongia—also in town for the event—was wonderful.

After the day’s matches were finished, we headed to the cooked food center in Happy Valley for a delicious local dinner before turning in early. It was Sevens Saturday the next morning, so you know big things were in store!

The group costume idea suggested several weeks back was to go as Where’s Waldo (or Where Wally, in British parlance). So we donned our red-and-white striped shirts, horn-rimmed glasses and jorts, headed up to my Happy Valley rooftop for a champagne “breakfast” —I put the word in quotes because no food was actually consumed—and excitedly prepared for the big day.

We easily traipsed straight into the South Stand and secured a prime spot for our group. Saturday in the South Stand is a phenomenon the likes of which I’ve never experienced anywhere else on earth. You arrive around 8am and leave around 5pm, but somehow the hours in between just blur together into one giant jumble. There are literally thousands of people dressed up in all sorts of costumes, and the loudspeakers blare the same dozen or so tunes over and over again, while the entire crowd sings along, drowning out the recordings.

All the while, rugby is taking place on the pitch, but for the most part, the South Stand revelers have their attention fixed elsewhere, except if Hong Kong or England are playing. You’re more concerned with complimenting an eye-catching disguise, or cheers-ing to a long-lost friend, or making a paper airplane. It’s a crazy, one-of-a-kind day.

I had started early this year, and partied hard, so I didn’t make it out after the conclusion of the day’s games. I’d like to say it was a conscious decision to turn in early, so as to make the most of Sunday. But I really shouldn’t lie.

After two separate breakfasts on Sunday—first with Kareem and Philipp at the newly opened Wagyu Lounge a few steps my front door, and then with Sonia, Motez, Silja, Rossi, Jorg and Nele, a little further down the hill, at the classic Happy Valley Bar and Grill—I had to make up my mind on my day’s agenda. Having thoroughly enjoyed my Friday and Saturday at the stadium, I was actually content to skip the final day’s matches and just relax. But Sonia convinced me I should attend, so I stuck with the group. 

Somehow, they also convinced me we should enter the South Stand again, even though I had suggested spending the day watching the final games from the much better vantage point of the upper tiers of the East or West Stand. And en route from the entry to the Stand, I bumped into Matt and Ana, who also tagged along. 

Far more civilized than its Saturday counterpart, Sevens Sunday—even in the South Stand—is much more rugby-focused. We watched almost all of the matches that afternoon, and though it was complimented with ample cold Carlsberg for good measure, the sportsmanship of the athletes on display always seems to trump the debauchery of your fellow revelers as the last games approach.

After Fiji emerged victorious in the final, the iconic closing fireworks shot off overhead, bringing this year’s event to a close. What a day it had been! And what a weekend!

In fact, I was ready to rank this year’s Rugby Sevens as one of the best of the nine I’ve attended since 2011. I couldn’t believe I had almost skipped out on the Sunday session! It had turned into such a great day with all my friends, encounters planned and unplanned alike, and nothing, I thought, could dampen my spirits. As I exited Hong Kong Stadium, however, disaster struck.

Hundreds of metal barricades are deployed over Sevens weekend, to aide in crowd flow. But stupid me—the ultimate  April fool—decided that walking an extra twenty feet  out of my way to simply get around a barrier and head back in the same direction was laboriously inefficient. Surely it would be a better idea to hop over said barrier and continue unabated on my path.

Nothing surprising here. I’d guess I do something similar a couple times a week. But the key difference is that when, for example, I hop the barrier in Wan Chai to cross from one side of Lockhart Road to the other, or saunter over the fence in Admiralty when I alight from the tram at Pacific Place, it’s a solid hunk of metal permanently fixed into the concrete pavement below.

Whether my judgment was clouded by the electric atmosphere or the mayhem or the Carlsberg, I know not. But what I didn’t take into consideration was that this barrier was freestanding, and, thus, when I grabbed hold of it with my hand and swung my left leg over to surmount the structure, it promptly came crashing down.

Slamming into the sidewalk, I thought it was just a simple mishap. People were looking at me, so I immediately picked myself up, even lifting my hands above my head, offering the crowd a little, “He’s alright, folks.” But then I looked down at my hand. It was cut. And it was cut very badly.

I had separated from the gang already at this point, but some good Samaritans—a couple from California to whom I’m eternally grateful, even though I never got a chance to properly thank them—approached me. They immediately grasped the severity of the situation and helped me navigate my way through the crowds to the first aid officers. It’s all a bit of a blur, but I’d say in about three to five minutes’ time, I was seated in the back of an ambulance, which whisked me to Ruttonjee Hospital in Wan Chai.

About three hours and nine stitches later, I was home. The whole ordeal, including the ambulance ride, x-rays, a tetanus booster, stitches, dressings and medications, cost me HKD 180, or USD 23. In close to ten years, it was my first trip to a Hong Kong hospital (apart from visiting friends), and I was floored by the professionalism, high quality care and unbelievably low price tag. 

I worked from home on Monday and Tuesday, indulging in delivery from Pizza Hut to perk me up. I didn’t have much time to dwell on my condition, however, because just after noon on Wednesday, my old buddy Logan arrived in Hong Kong for a three day stay with his fiancé Patrick.

Logan, two years behind me at Villanova before he transferred to Michigan his sophomore year, was also a member of Singers. Shockingly, one of the first things he pointed out upon our reunion was that it’s been nearly a decade since we last saw each other!

With the middle finger of my left hand carefully bandaged, I resumed tour guide duties for my new visitors. And I must say, it was a great way to take my mind off my injury.

One of the main objectives of Logan and Patrick’s too short stay in the Pearl of the Orient was to get some suits made over at Sam’s Tailor in Tsim Sha Tsui. Eyeing their relatively compact luggage, I suggested we hop straight on the Star Ferry to cross the harbor. They agreed.

We chatted with a friendly member of the Sam’s staff, named Love, picking out fabrics and designs. And in the end, both Logan and Patrick wound up ordering multiple garments, including jackets, full suits, bow ties and even a tuxedo!

We celebrated the successful visit to Sam’s with waterfront burgers and a bottle of white wine in the glorious weather, looking across to Hong Kong Island from a waterfront table at BLT in Harbour City.  

Back on the Star Ferry, we crossed the harbor again, this time over to Wan Chai, where I walked the guys to their hotel so they could check in and freshen up. I met them back there again about an hour and a half later, took them over to my place for a rooftop drink and then hit up Happy Valley Racecourse for the rest of the night. Kareem—still in town from the Sevens—and Matt were also about, making for a fun and atmospheric evening. 

                                                                          

                         

But jet lag and a few nights’ worth of poor sleeping had caught up with Patrick and Logan, who had been in Beijing and Shanghai before now finishing their Asia trip in Hong Kong, so they actually cut their race meeting a little bit shorter than I had anticipated. Try as I might, I couldn’t convince them to come to Wan Chai for a drink. But that didn’t stop me from popping into Saint-Germain with Kareem on my own way home after the last race.

Thursday morning, I had to visit the doctor for a scheduled check-up on my finger. I was the first one in line as soon as the clinic opened, and in about half an hour, I was in and out. My wound was re-dressed, and the nurse told me that it looked like everything was "healing nicely." I'm not sure those are quite the words I would use to describe the situation on the finger. But take a look at the below photo and you tell me. Nicely?

In a very odd and convenient coincidence, Logan and Patrick’s hotel, the Dorsett, just happened to be literally across the street from the outpatient clinic, so I hopped over (get it?) after I had finished to pick them up and kickstart our day.

I introduced them to my favorite local coffeehouse, Happy Alley, and then fetched Fredric from the flat while they waited. And after our morning beverages, we all crammed into a taxi to mount Victoria Peak. Although the weather wasn’t ideal, it was as good a chance as we’d get in the next couple days—according to the weathermen—so it seemed appropriate to stick to the itinerary. And although once you’ve seen the Peak on the clearest of clear days, a hazy view is bound to be a little disappointing, it’s still nothing short of stunning to newbies!

Logan and Patrick took the historic Peak Tram down, but as it doesn’t allow dogs, Freddie and I returned to Happy Valley via taxi. Knowing it would take my guests a little bit longer, we ducked into the little pet shop around the corner from my apartment so Fredric could play with one of several of his Valley doppelgangers, Lara, who is the “assistant manager” of the charming store.

I reunited with the boys a little bit later, taking them back to Sam’s, by way of tram and MTR. They had their first fittings, getting a chance to inspect their fabrics and cuts, while I enjoyed a cold beer during my wait. (There is free flow beer included in most tailors’ suit making packages!)

We wandered up Nathan Road afterwards, on my own Kowloon walking tour that I’ve perfected over the past year. We stopped for egg waffles at a little place on Nathan Road, before ducking into the Jade Market—where I unexpectedly bought a pair of what Logan deemed “blue dragon dogs”—and plopping down in the very retro Mido Café in Yau Ma Tei.

More food was obviously in the cards, so in addition to some cold Tsing Tao, we got a bo lo yau (pineapple bun with butter) and two helpings of Hong Kong-style French Toast. (We had only gotten one to start, but after we wolfed it down in seconds, we opted for a supplemental order. Our group makes good decisions.)

From here, we checked off nearly all of the Kowloon markets: first Temple Street, then Ladies Market, then the Goldfish Market, then the Flower Market and, finally, the Yuen Po Street Bird Garden, which seemed just on the cusp of closing for the day when we passed through the gate.

Having walked all the way from TST to Prince Edward over the past several hours, we now retraced that path via MTR, getting to the Avenue of Stars with not a moment to spare, as the nightly Symphony of Lights began.

I think I mentioned this in a previous post, but about eighteen months ago, the Hong Kong Tourism Board completely revamped the lightshow. Now, I don’t know about you, but when I hear the word “revamped,” I take it to mean “improved.” In my (very humble) opinion, what the HKTB has done to the light show has not improved it, but simply shortened it.

They added new music but cut the running time from twelve minutes to a mere eight. So I told Logan and Patrick that their review of the event would influence my decision on whether or not to include it on future itineraries. I’m happy to report they both said they liked it, so it will be retained for my next visitor(s)—whoever he or she (or they) may be!

As you probably know by now, when friends are in town, I normally try to organize at least one communal Chinese feast. I’ve already lamented the closure of my perennial favorite for this event, American Peking over in Wan Chai. But I have a few contenders that, while not perfect replacements, still hold their own in that regard. Spring Deer was the spot I picked for our dinner that evening, only a few minutes’ walk from the Avenue of Stars and a delightful, noisy, welcoming venue it is!

Kareem came, of course, as did Matt, Ana and my buddy James. And we had plenty of great dishes that night, especially the phenomenal Peking duck, all washed down with Tsing Tao and a bit of Logan’s favorite tipple, white wine.

After dinner, we caught the MTR home, and try thought I did, I just couldn’t convince either Logan or Patrick to join me for a nightcap. Such is life.

Friday, I found a way to squeeze in breakfast at the Wong Nai Chung Cooked Food Centre across the road from my flat in Happy Valley. They had sold out of pineapple buns by the time we arrived, but we consoled ourselves with four orders of French toast to split among the three of us, plus other goodies.

We then hopped on the tram, where I took my guests on Paul’s Signature Wan Chai Walking Tour, which I really ought to patent. Due to a work meeting, I had to cut it slightly short, but I’m sure Logan and Patrick didn’t mind, as they used their free time to go for massages.

Reunited, I took them back to Sam’s for their final fitting, and I must say, their suits looked amazingly sharp. There were a few small alterations required, which meant they wouldn’t be done in time to take home with them. But the friendly team at Sam’s assured they could arrange complimentary shipping to their address in Atlanta!

Back on Hong Kong Island, we stopped for a libation at Divino Patio, where we laid plans for Friday night, the boys’ last evening in town. We walked back to the Dorsett afterwards, where the objective was simply to give Logan and Patrick some time to change before we headed out.

But…. There was something crazy happening. Apparently Friday night madness is a regular fixture of the hotel, with free alcohol and live music on offer in the lobby. It was so unexpected, and so entertaining, that we wound up lingering far longer than originally intended.

There’s a small restaurant tucked on a quiet stretch of Graham Street called Tuk Tuk Thai, which I absolutely love. It’s reasonably priced and appropriately delicious, without any pretention or fuss. I’ve never walked away disappointed, so it seemed like a good spot for a final dinner.

And afterwards, we hit up some of my favorite watering holes in SoHo and LKF, before I ended up alone… again… after the boys decided to turn in but I was not yet ready to call it a night.

There was little to do Saturday morning except squeeze in the obligatory dim sum session, at Lin Heung Tea House, naturally. In the boisterous (and always memorable) dining hall, I taught Logan and Patrick how to ensure they got their hands on the choicest morsels in the joint. And, as usual, nobody left hungry. We headed straight to the Airport Express afterwards, as my guests left and my attention returned, albeit briefly, to my aching finger.

My buddy Myles convinced me to join him for Shake Shack and a movie on Palm Sunday, the spiritual Breakthrough starring Chrissy Metz and Topher Grace. And it was perfect timing for me to wander over to Saint John’s afterwards to their very special Tenebrae service, which sees a candelabra all aflame slowly extinguished one at a time, until the congregation is left contemplating in near-total darkness.

It was an appropriate start to Holy Week, but things soon turned maudlin when I awoke Tuesday to the awful news that came in the form of a text message from my dad. “Notre Dame on fire,” he wrote. “Does not look good.” It was one of those rare instances where I opened my eyes and was immediately wide awake, without any trace of fatigue. I ran straight to the living room and flipped on France 24, and sat in front of the television weeping.

I bought two bottles of French wine that night and watched Amelie while munching some cheese. And I pulled out an old shoebox full of relics from my semester abroad in Paris: coasters, business cards, receipts from restaurants, ticket stubs, a few photos. All my memories from one of the most foundational stretches of my life. What special places… France, Paris, Notre Dame. I even found the pew bulletin from the Good Friday service my mother, sister and I attended at the cathedral in 2007. All my prayers to a speedy rebuilding.

I also bought twenty-four Cadbury Crème Eggs, the taste of Easter, to help cheer myself up. And Wednesday, I was back at the races… again.

After drinks with a client in Pacific Place on Maundy Thursday, I returned to Saint John’s for another very special church service commemorating the Last Supper, including the Washing of the Feet, where the priest cleans the soles of selected members of the congregation to recall Jesus’ actions towards his disciples at his final meal.

And I was back again on Good Friday for another moving celebration of one of the most holy days of the year, which included some precipitation for us here in Hong Kong.

Being a Friday during Lent, I was abstaining from meat, and, being Good Friday, I was also fasting, which means partaking in only one meal throughout the day. And I had to save it up for dinner, because Jay had organized a group feast (luckily at a seafood hotspot) because her good friend Fiona was visiting from Australia.

We all met up at Fini in Wan Chai before taxiing to Tung Po over in North Point, where we reveled in the crazy atmosphere and chowed down on some incredible dishes. Things finished up in Lan Kwai Fong at Geronimo, so, in all, it was a memorable Good Friday.

Owing to the monster of a night, I laid low at first on Holy Saturday. In fact, I woke up to such dark skies after having not set an alarm, that I thought it might be as late as 7pm. I looked at my iPhone, which instead displayed a time of 2pm, but I was incredulous. So I checked my second phone, a new Blackberry KeyOne, as well, which confirmed it really was 2pm. As I’m sure you can guess, a massive rainstorm was headed out way.

Once it had passed, I made a beeline for the nearby McDonald’s, which helped to restore me somewhat to my usual self. Margaritas with Myles at Tequila Jack’s took it one step further, and by the time we got to dinner at Spring Deer (yes, again, since Jay also wanted Fi to get to experience the place), I was ready. In the end, we stayed out in Lan Kwai until 2am, which was a minor miracle considering the way I felt when I had woken up.

In spite of two late nights, I still made it to 9am Easter Sunday service, bright and early. And then it was off to Kowloon for a spicy Sichuan lunch at Qi Nine Dragons, with my dear friends Lou and Kathy, who also had guests from overseas. The weather wasn't quite as clear as I would have liked, but we still gamely popped up to Qi's rooftop to take in the view of the skyline and harbor. 

We took a lovely long wander around Tsim Sha Tsui afterwards, ducking into the tony Peninsula, sampling local delicacies like egg tarts and pineapple buns from favorite spots, a wander along the Avenue of Stars and, finally, a ferry ride back to Central, where I parted with with Lou, Kathy and Company.

I met Max and Celine at Thai Wan, a casual but popular bar in Wan Chai for a few quick catch-up drinks, which was mercifully near to the dinner venue Jay had selected for Fi’s final night in Hong Kong, an amazing hotpot spot called Xiao Yu. You know, it’s a funny thing… I didn’t use to like hotpot, but now I’m practically an addict. What I realized is that I’d mostly sampled cheap, all you can eat varieties with low quality meat and ingredients. Now that I’ve discovered top-of-the-line spots like Xiao Yu, I’m trying to make up for lost time!

We finished up our Easter Sunday with some live music at the Wanch, always a fun spot regardless of how quiet the rest of its neighbors might seem to be. I was reminded that, apart from having my own guests in town, there are no better times than when my friends have visitors that inspire them to organize such delightful communal events, really reinforcing what a wonderfully social city Hong Kong can be.

Glorious weather came at last on Monday! And, fortuitously, I think I’ve mentioned before that Hong Kong extends Easter break to include the day after the holiday itself, so the next morning, I headed up to Sha Tin Racecourse with Matt and Ana, and—of course—a visit to Shatin Inn featured in our day after the last race had been run.

As the beautiful temperature and skies continued on Tuesday, it was inevitably time to return to work. But the bright spot was my first post-Lent coffee… You see, I perennially forego my morning java between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday. However, owing to my first trip to Saigon last month, I granted myself a forty-eight-hour respite to fully explore the glories of one of Vietnam’s most famous products. The deal I struck with my conscience was that I’d wait until two days after Easter before indulging again.

Jumping right back into professional life, I had a meeting in Hung Hom, Kowloon, on Wednesday afternoon. Of course, I could have taken a train or even a taxi to the office, but I almost always opt to hop on the ferry. Unless you’re really in a rush, this is the way to go, with beautiful views and a balmy breeze a-blowing. There’s no better way to remind oneself that, when the good weather has arrived, Hong Kong is quite simply one of the most mesmerizing cityscapes on earth.

Of course, once the weather perks up, the crowds return to Happy Valley on Wednesday evenings as well. Though I’d never say the racetrack feels empty, there’s a palpable, frenetic energy that is unmistakable when the masses make their reappearance, as they did that night. 

And I’ve made good friends with Orna, the charming Chicago native who is responsible for running the Jockey Club’s “Happy Wednesday” promotion, so much so that she gave me eight free beer coupons when I went up to say hello to her that night!

Oh, I have some fairly big news! I am getting a new roommate next week. Antoine has moved to New York to be closer to his daughters, but before he left, he mentioned that our mutual acquaintance Simon, who manages the French restaurant around the corner from the flat— called Saint-Germain—might be interested in renting his old room. I’ve known Simon casually for over a year now, and I think it will be a good partnership.

We finalized our plan about his move-in last Thursday at the Armoury in Tai Kwun, which is really just an amazing spot (with an amazing happy hour deal). Set on the old parade grounds, with a flowering mango tree spreading out in front of the porch, the bar exudes colonial glamor and it fast becoming my new go-to spot.

I’ll be honest, when I made my “mid-year resolution” to spend more time in Tai Kwun, my intention was to take advantage of all the cultural events that take place throughout the massive compound. But now, I have a feeling my most frequent visits will be for a post-work beer in the happening courtyard!

After Simon headed off, I called my friend Yvonne on a lark, to see if she was in the area and might want to grab a drink or dinner. Turns out, she was meeting friends around the corner in a little while to go for Nepalese food in Lan Kwai Fong, and asked me if I wanted to join. Can you guess my response? The momos were amazing and trusty Yvonne even smuggled her own mini-bottles of white in, leaving me one for my wine-soaked tram ride back to Happy Valley afterwards.

I know it was only a short stretch of days in the office, but after the four-day Easter weekend, I was itching for more free time. I mean, I was enjoying Hong Kong life so much and there was a lot on the agenda for the final weekend of the month. So it was with great excitement that I headed out on Friday evening.

Kathy had invited me to join her and her family on a private junk to Joss House Bay to celebrate Tin Hau’s birthday. But first, I got a random message from Chun right before leaving work, asking if I wanted to join for a Sichuan dinner. I can’t say no to that. I never have and I never will.

Afterwards, I hopped the Star Ferry to TST and boarded the boat for a spectacularly superior night. Tin Hau, sometimes also known as Mazu, is perhaps the most prominent Chinese sea goddess, at least in Hong Kong. She is deified as the protectress of fishermen and seafarers, and there are over one hundred temples dedicated to her throughout the SAR. Well, the oldest, apparently largest Tin Hau temple in Hong Kong—dating to 1266—is naturally the spot for the largest celebrations on her annual festival.

And, surprise! My old friend Pierre was there, too! He was back in Hong Kong for work and had reached out to Kathy and Lou. I haven’t seen him since 2015, and somehow the news that he now has a baby girl never made it to me! It was, needless to say, great to catch up on all that had happened in his life over the past few years.

We boarded the boat and soon set sail, with plentiful booze to see us on our way. Perhaps most the memorable aspect of the outward journey was a particular tradition that sees fake money offered to the gods. On the squally upper deck of the junk, we all tossed slips of paper into the night sky, where it caught the wings of the wind and glided in every direction, unavoidably winding up in the sea. I must confess, it felt a little negligent to pollute the harbor, but Kathy told me this was to feed the hungry sea ghosts and dragons who might cause trouble if we didn't appease them. She emphasized that it's a once-a-year tradition and it would be disrespectful of me not to participate.

Once we got off the boat in Joss House Bay, the atmosphere was electric! Candles burning, incense wafting across the night breeze, bangs and clangs of drums and cymbals. Kathy and her sisters Karrie and Karan walked around with Pierre and me, explaining certain customs and telling stories about the celebration.

I am so fortunate to have friends like Kathy and her family, who are proud to share their local heritage with expats like me who have selected Hong Kong as our adopted hometown. They are so generous, and the more time I spend with them, I deeper my connection with this place gets.

Of course, Lou, Pierre and I hit up Wan Chai after alighting in Central. And I even wound up walking all the way back to Happy Valley after our last drinks. Oh, what a Friday!

I really needed to set some time aside Saturday to tidy the flat and do a deep clean before Simon moves in. It’s a rare opportunity between roommates to get rid of stuff. I realized there are plenty of things I always assumed were Antoine’s, and, thus, didn’t want to throw away. I guess he similarly thought these items were mine, and also never touched them. So they’ve just wound up cluttering the common areas of my apartment. I marked the resurfacing of newly sparkling living space with screenings of All About Eve and Atlantic City.

On Sunday, for the third time in less than a week, I was back at a racetrack, Sha Tin again. But it was a far cry from my previous visit to the crowded public area. Kathy’s dad is actually a racehorse owner, so when his prized Thoroughbred, Glorious Forever, is running, the family reserves a private dining room in the member’s area.

Kathy had asked me a few days earlier if I was interested in joining for the upcoming meeting… And I bet you can guess my response.

Now, I’ve been fortunate on occasions in the past to enter the fashionable “member’s area” of Sha Tin. But I’ve never had an opportunity to venture into the even more exclusive “owner’s box.” What a feeling!

Unfortunately, Glorious Forever came in fourth in his race. But it was an undeniably novel experience to be standing right at the finish line as the horses barreled past. And, surprisingly to me, even fourth place finishers receive a cash prize, so Kathy’s dad splurged on a bottle of champagne to celebrate, splitting it with all his guests.

Yes, so much happened over the past few weeks that it’s really taken the focus off that ugly scar that’s replaced the cut on my finger. And in spite of that, em—small?—mishap, April 2019 has been a rip-roaring success, with visits from friends from overseas, plenty of good food, and several noteworthy cultural experiences. Here’s hoping that as summer arrives with May in the coming hours, my Hong Kong life continues on its exciting course!

A Fortnight of Film

I think I can safely say that my participation in this year's Hong Kong International Film Festival was a rousing success! After attending a mere four films last year due to that impeding business trip to the Middle East, I seriously doubled down on my efforts and made it to a whopping eighteen movies over the past two weeks! (Heck, I went to four screenings yesterday alone!)

As always, the mix of flicks consisted of beloved classics from generations past, current Oscar-winning movies I've been longing to see, foreign films from every corner of the globe and intriguing documentaries that shed light on little known topics. 

There weren't too many disappointments, and there were several films that stopped me dead in my tracks, with jaw-dropping moments that knocked me over with their power and beauty. It was pretty much a perfect festival, and you should run—not walk—to track down some of the movies that were shown!

The first movie that I caught this year was called Claire Darling. Pitting French screen legend Catherine Deneuve against her real-life daughter Chiara Mastroainni as a feuding mother-child duo, the film told an intriguing little tale of an elderly woman selling off her household's prized antique treasures, much to the consternation of her estranged daughter, who gets wind of the sale from a friend. It was undeniably entertaining to watch the two actresses play off one another, and the production values were of a very high nature. In the end, it was far from my favorite movie of the festival, but it was a great way to kick things off. And the venue, the JC Cube in newly-restored former police station Tai Kwun, was stunning. I'm going to make it a mid-year resolution to spend more time in this amazing space, whether in the screening room, restaurants, bars or amazing open spaces.

Next up was This Magnificent Cake!, a felt stop-motion animated drama telling five somewhat connected tales in Colonial Belgian Congo. Yes, felt. As in, all the characters and settings are creating out of the fabric. It was witty and fast-moving, but the real treat wasn't in the stories themselves but rather the unbelievably detailed characters and settings. I don't think I've ever seen a feature-length felt film before, but I hope there are more in the cards. The creativity of the filmmakers was on full display, and I was seriously impressed with the end result.

The screening of This Magnificent Cake! was in a cinema called the Metroplex, all the way in Kowloon Bay, about a forty minute MTR ride from my office. To be honest, it was the next movie of the night that convinced me to make the trek out there. But when I decided to do it, I figured I might as well see what else was playing to make the journey worthwhile. Hence, I had my first "two movie night" of this festival!

About an hour after This Magnificent Cake! ended, I caught a movie-themed documentary called What She Said: The Art of Pauline Kael, summarizing the life and work of the New Yorker's acerbic film guru. Ms. Kael was one of the first critics whose writing I encountered, through an old CD-Rom called Cinemania that cataloged many of her reviews.

Some of them have stuck in my head for years. Writing about There's No Business Like Show Business, she noted that "Ethel Merman sings the title song in a monstrous white gown that looks as if it's going to attack her." That seeing Pearls of the Crown "is rather like flipping the pages of a history book while drinking champagne." Of The Lady Eve, that "Barbara Stanwyck keeps sticking out a sensational leg, and Henry Fonda keeps tripping over it." Of Grand Hotel, that, "if you want to see what screen glamour used to be, and what, originally, 'stars' were, this is perhaps the best example of all time." And of the female lead in the original Dracula, that "pale Helen Chandler...seems too anemic to attract a vampire."

Her review of Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte is classic enough to be reprinted here in its entirety:

Bette Davis in a Grand Guignol melodrama directed by Robert Aldrich—an attempt to reproduce the box-office success of their camp Gothic What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, in which Davis's co-star was Joan Crawford. Crawford was to have appeared in this one also, but became ill and was replaced by Olivia De Havilland. Davis is a rich, dotty recluse living in a moldy mansion in Louisiana; she wanders about the shadowy rooms in streaming hair and billowing nighties, whispering telepathic endearments to her long-dead daddy. De Havilland  is her treacherous cousin, Agnes Moorehead the witchlike housekeeper, and Joseph Cotten the family doctor. The story, redolent of mutilation and assorted horrors, is from a novel by Henry Farrell, who was also the source of the earlier film. A lot of people seemed to enjoy the spectacle of Davis crawling and howling and looking wildly repulsive. 

Her typical snark is readily apparent in her vicious excoriation of Her Cardboard Lover:

A mistake that Norma Shearer made when she was old enough to know better. Her companions in this overstuffed whimsey that turns into sheer misery are Robert Taylor and George Sanders. George Cukor is listed as the director; it's up to him to refute the charge. With Frank McHugh, Elizabeth Patterson, and Chill Wills. From a Jacques Deval play that had been filmed in 1928 with Marion Davies, and in 1932, as The Passionate Plumber, with Buster Keaton; the adaptors (John Collier and Anthony Veiller were among them) must have hidden even from their families. J. Walter Ruben  produced, for MGM.

But my favorite review of all just might be her recap of Cecil B. De Mille's 1934 Cleopatra, which captures the utterly addictive improbability of that over-the-top production. She labels it "terrible" but you get the impression she's also eager to see it again:

The dialogue sounds like gossip over backyard clotheslines, with occasional Shakespearean overtones—flattened, of course. ("Her infinite variety" becomes "She's always new.") In this De Mille version, the actors' diction provides such dividends as Caesar (Warren William) saying "Nope" to the senators, and Antony (big, solid Henry Wilcoxon) mumbling "I'm dying, Egypt, dying" in the inflection of "I gotta pain." The extravaganza is moderate, with too much Rome and too little Egypt, and the usual Roman holidays, processions, and atrium orgies. Cleopatra (Claudette Colbert) wiggles her slim hips and wonders if her dress is becoming. It is, and the big bash aboard her barge has its own dreamy chic. A netful of beautiful adagio dancers are hauled out of the sea, which certainly beats popping out of a giant cake. Like the later, longer Elizabeth Taylor version, it's terrible yet compulsively watchable. 

Needless to say, I didn't always agree with Kael's assessments. As you can probably tell from her review, she despised Norma Shearer, one of my favorite movie stars. And she once wrote that It's a Wonderful Life—with its "bewildering" reputation—"is doggerel trying to pass as art." Of one of my top ten films, To Be or Not To Be, she declared that director Ernst Lubitsch "starts off on the wrong foot and never gets his balance."

Then again, we're in complete accord on the best line in Animal Crackers, we agree that Erich Wolfgang Korngold's score to The Adventures of Robin Hood is "marvelous," and we share a reverent affection for Unfaithfully Yours. I sighed in relief when I learned that her verdict on All About Eve, my all-time favorite film, is that it's "ersatz art of a very high grade, and one of the most enjoyable movies ever made." I can concur with her assessment that Double Indemnity is indeed "one of the high points of 40s films." And Children of Paradise is certainly the "lushly romantic" "one-of-a-kind film" she proclaimed it to be.

But, whether she loved a movie or hated it, Kael had a way with words and, as the examples above confirm, her style was incredibly memorable. (Want more proof? She wrote that Lifeboat's "chief virtue is that it provides a raucous opportunity for Tallulah Bankhead to strut her comic sexiness." Of Torn Curtain, that "Brian Moore is credited with the original screenplay, but probably his friends don't mention it." And of Joan Crawford's final film, Trog, that the legendary actress plays "Stella Dallas with an ape instead of a baby girl," going on to conclude that "some actors will do anything to be in movies: she [Crawford] probably would have played the ape.")

As you can surely guess, What She Said immediately hit my radar when I read about it in the film listing, and I was ridiculously excited to see it. (Remember, I went all the way to Kowloon Bay for this screening.) I must confess, although I was thoroughly entertained, I didn't feel I learned too much about the subject's personal life and upbringing, which I think could have humanized her a bit more. Still, seeing clips of Kael in her prime, spouting off her opinions or hurling insults over what she considered sub-par film-making made for an entertaining night. 

On Saturday afternoon, I breathlessly ran into the screening room of Hong Kong Polytechnic University with seconds to spare, the lights dimming and opening titles about to commence. The film was Olivier Assayas' newest charmer, Non-Fiction, and it was the first film of this year's festival that I absolutely loved. Wholly captivating, with a quintet of sparkling main characters, Non-Fiction tells the story of two couples in the French literary demi-monde whose personal and professional lives intersect in various ways. Starring Guillaume Canet and Juliette Binoche, the film was ineffably witty from start to finish, full of marital infidelity, clever banter and meta touches. If Ernst Lubitsch were alive and working in Hollywood today, this is the kind of picture he would turn out. Luckily, Olivier Assayas is around to do the job now.

Back on Hong Kong Island that night, I popped into the Hong Kong Arts Centre to see an old Korean classic called My Mother and Her Guest from 1961. Introduced by a noted Seoul-based professor who had flown to Hong Kong to curate a special celebration of the centenary of Korean film, My Mother and Her Guest literally blew me away. The love story about a widow and her new tenant, who just may be a perfect second husband, was all told through the eyes of her young daughter. And what made the film so spectacular was that the two romantic leads hardly ever shared the screen together. It was truly unforgettable, albeit in a rather heartbreaking sort of way.

Moving from Asia to South America, Sunday's first movie was the Argentinian crime saga El Angel, a somewhat fictionalized account of that country's most notorious 1970s serial killer (who is still serving his life sentence behind bars). With a retro soundtrack and a loving evocation of the era, El Angel was almost addictive in its style. When the lights came up and I checked my watch, I thought there was some mistake. The time flew so quickly I could hardly believe two hours had already passed. Echoing shades of Tarantino, the director made a violent epic that was uncomfortably amusing until you stopped to reflect on what you were laughing about.

With a significant break before my next screening, I had a nice long wander around Kowloon, eventually stopping for a tasty Sichuan meal at a random restaurant on Portland Street, before heading back to Polytechnic. 

The movie that night was If Beale Street Could Talk, Barry Jenkins' newest drama which won Regina King the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress at February's awards ceremony. Jenkins' director of photography is a man named James Laxton, who also photographed his last film, Moonlight. Let's just say, this director/cinematographer combination should be required under Hollywood law to turn out at least one film together a year. The images of the film were ethereally beautiful, and the story was compelling. 

On Monday, I had a list of a few potential titles kicking about, but none that jumped off the page so greatly that I had my heart set on seeing it. However, finishing work and knowing Tai Kwun's JC Cube was only a few minutes' walk, I opted to take a chance on 1951's The Flower Girl, one of four old Chinese films being screened featuring the actress Li Lihua.

As the granddaughter of the film's producer introduced the screening, I began to get an inkling that I might be in for a treat. Then the film started... and I quickly realized I was watching pure perfection. Adapted from Guy de Maupassant's Boule de Suif, which also formed the basis for Shanghai Express, The Flower Girl was that rare combination of dynamite acting, compelling screenwriting and assured direction. There wasn't a false note in the entire picture, and I couldn't believe I almost skipped out on seeing it. It was easily the highlight of the festival for me, a movie I plan to see again and again. I feel like singing it's praises from the rooftops. If you have a chance to catch this stunner, please do yourself a favor and buy a ticket.

At times, it brought tears to my eyes and, towards the end, induced the entire audience to burst into spontaneous applause. And it hit me that, although I like to think I know a lot about classic film, there is a whole world of old movies from outside the Hollywood system that is still waiting to be discovered. The theme of this year's festival was "Colours in the Dark," so I suppose it was a tad ironic (though probably not surprising to those who know me well) that the high point for me was actually in black and white.

The next day, there was another Li Lihua movie, this one a romantic trifle from the late '40s, called The Barber Takes a Wife and introduced by a noted local film critic. A Chinese riff on pure screwball comedy, it followed the budding courtship between a barber masquerading as a tycoon and a penniless beauty passing herself off as a wealthy heiress. Each wants to marry the other under the mistaken assumption of vast wealth, but, of course, by the time reality comes-a-calling, they are too much in love to do much about it. As the Bard once wrote, the course of true lever ne'er did run smooth, but being a 1940s rom-com, you know it will get there eventually. The perfect denouement, culminating in one of the most adorable final shots I've ever seen, capped off this champagne cocktail of a movie.

After the stretch of great movies that had continued pretty much unabated for the past string of days, I decided I didn't feel like traipsing over to Kowloon on Wednesday to catch the movie I had highlighted on my itinerary. I decided that, with the packed conclusion of the festival approaching, I could afford to take a little break from movie-going and instead indulge in a good, old-fashioned horse race in Happy Valley.

But it was back to business on Thursday.

One of the gala presentations of this year's festival was Asghar Farhadi's newest movie, Everybody Knows, which sees the director switch locales from his native Iran to the Iberian Peninsula. Opening the competition of last year's Cannes Film Festival, Everybody Knows was one of the two or three titles I was most excited to see on the itinerary.

I loved Farhadi's earlier films, A Separation (which won the Oscar for Best Foreign Film) and The Past, and the added attraction of his casting Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem immediately piqued my interest. When I learned that Farhadi himself would be attending the screening to do a question-and-answer with the audience, I booked a ticket. And three friends—Katie, Yvonne and Liz—decided to attend, as well, which made for an amazing evening in the Grand Theatre of the Hong Kong Cultural Centre.

Farhadi participated in an intruding discussion for about an hour after the closing credits, moderated by a German critic and (somewhat frustratingly) interrupted by a translator, as the auteur spoke mainly in Farsi. He took questions from the crowd and shed lots of light on his film-making style. And it was such an incredible opportunity to see such a master in person.

Like that, another Friday was upon us, and the festival was entering its final stretch. I beelined from work to Tai Kwun to catch the sold-out screening of Loro, Paolo Sorrentino's take on Silvio Berlusconi's political career. Gorgeously shot in stunning color and liberally peppered with gratuitous nudity and surreal moments, it was a trippy, brilliant movie. Impossibly cool, effortlessly stylish, Loro is difficult to sum up in any number of words. My advice: Go see it, and on the big screen!

From Tai Kwun on Hollywood Road, I had to leg it down to City Hall for my next movie, the 1927 silent drama 7th Heaven, starring Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell. Of the eighteen movies I caught during the festival, this was the only one I'd seen before. I caught it back in 2011 or 2012, when it was screened as part of the French Film Festival. Twice, in fact. I loved it so much that I went to both screenings during its last run. And when I saw it on this year's film listing, I relished the opportunity to savor it once more.

Gaynor won the first ever Academy Award for Best Actress for her performance in this film, combined with two others (Sunrise and Street Angel—it was the only year the award was given in recognition of a performer's combined recent work). And the mix of poetic expressionistic camerawork with an emotional love story remains dynamite over ninety years after the film's initial release.

On Saturday, I was back in Kowloon, at the Grand Theatre of the Cultural Centre for yet another sold-out screening of yet another recent Oscar-winner: Free Solo. Awarded Best Documentary Feature, the film follows the exploits of Alex Honnold, whose mind-boggling rock climbing prowess resulted in his being the first person to scale the heights of Yosemite's El Capitan without any safety gear whatsoever.

I had put together an ideal itinerary for yesterday, Sunday, the festival's penultimate day. I had only bought one ticket in advance, but I knew that if everything worked out the way I expected, I'd see four movies in total. I was ready to drop one if I felt exhausted or overwhelmed. But in the end it wasn't necessary. The timings were pretty perfect, stretched out enough to make it easy to travel from venue to venue. And all four were unforgettable.

I started back in Tai Kwun on Hollywood Road, for a screening of a documentary feature called Midnight Family. Set in Mexico City, the film traced the harrowing nocturnal life of a poor family who operate a private ambulance in the sprawling capital. Truth be told, I'm not sure the film would have ever entered my peripheral vision had it not been for my recent trip. However, I'm so glad I caught it.

It was engrossing, taut, dramatic and humanistic. And as an added surprise, the director, Luke Lorentzen, appeared post-screening to field questions from the crowd.

Hopping the MTR to Kowloon Station, I was soon with Yvonne and Liz again in Elements, at the recently renamed Premiere Cinemas (formerly the Grand Cinema), to catch Edmond. A hysterically comedic re-telling of the first staging of Cyrano de Bergerac, Edmond vividly recreated the fin-de-siecle Paris of your dreams, with great performances from the entire cast.

I'm sure quite a few historical liberties were taken, but  hardly cared. The tale was imaginative and delightful from start to finish, and it's another one of the movies I'd highly recommend if you have a chance to see it.

Luckily, my third movie of the day, In Fabric, was also in Premiere Cinemas. So Liz, Yvonne and I were actually able to squeeze in a pizza and a round of wine overlooking Elements' ice skating rink before they went on their merry way and I returned to the theater.

I'm not sure how many movies can be described as delicious, but In Fabric would certainly be one of the few. It was a campy, over-the-top, horror comedy about a possessed, evil red dress that brings misery and misfortune to those who come across it. With bright, vivid image punctuated by creepy moments and an appropriately nightmarish musical score, In Fabric was odd, entrancing and endearing.

With plenty of time to spare, I took a nice, leisurely walk from West Kowloon to Tsim Sha Tsui for the last movie of the day, Pawel Pawlikowski's black-and-white follow up to his Oscar-winning Ida. Filmed in an old-time ratio and perpetuated with both Polish folk music and haunting jazz, Cold War was a fitting finale to a full day of film.

Sadly, today marked the festival's conclusion, and my last ticket—ironically one of the first I actually purchased—was for Francois Ozon's By the Grace of God. It was a bittersweet ride on the Star Ferry after work, back across to Tsim Sha Tsui while relishing the glorious view but knowing HKIFF 43 was drawing to a close.

Ozon is among my favorite directors working today, and his name attached to a film is enough to induce me to book a seat. So when I realized the Asian premier of his newest work would be closing this year's program, I quickly snapped up a spot.

His take on the sex scandal within the Roman Catholic Church made for compelling, compulsive viewing. While Spotlight memorably told its own tale from the point of view of journalists breaking the story, By the Grace of God instead focuses on the survivors trying to get on with their lives, some more successfully than others.

Clocking in at over two hours, but not a second too long, By the Grace of God was a perfect last note for HKIFF 2019. Moving, powerful and heartbreaking, with moments of humor to help you through the pain, the film is perhaps atypical for Ozon, whose quirky filmography is the stuff of legend, but proves his durability and expertise at his craft.

So with this year's festival now drawn to a close, I think I made up for last year's light film load. Eighteen films sure ain't bad, but my goal is to hit an even twenty next year! Twenty movies at HKIFF 2020! See you there!