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| April 23rd |
| 04.23.04 (6:48 am) [edit] |
April 23rd
Lantau Island; Stanley Market, Hong Kong side
26-32C, cloudy, then sunny, and brutally hot
Mr. Slattery, suddenly aware of his upcoming departure from Hong Kong, decided to do it all today. He rode the MTR then a bus for close to two hours, so as to reach the inner reaches of Lantau Island and witness the largest outdoor bronze statue of Budha in the world. Lantau island is twice the size of Hong Kong island, 2/3 of which is officially parkland. The point is to provide a green space for all and the pious visitor with an example of what the area used to look like before the metropolis of Hong Kong appeared. He also ate a vegetarian meal made by the Buddhist monks who, having been able to build a giant statue of budha up on a hilltop, were unable to add enough salt to the food. In some sort of wicked buddhist twist of irony, one much purchase a meal ticket so as to reach the third and, as it turned out, cordoned off section within the great buddha. Still, Mr. Slattery felt altruistically enlightened, as his money was greasing the great wheel of dharma, or something to that effect.
The Buddhist retreat is nestled in the middle of a shallow valley, shouldered by several large green and rocky hills, the largest standing a neat 910ft high. Clouds rode the hilltops, obscuring them from view; thus cloaked in greyness, the surrounding landscape had an ancient feel, romanticizing the heavily touristed Monastery below.
Following the vegetarian extravaganza, which definitely awarded the larger groups with
1)bigger portions
2)more food items (8 to 10 dishes)
and punished the lonely, single, diner with
1)smaller portions
2)less food items (3 in all)
So Mr. Slattery got back on the bus, karmaed up, somewhat full, and ready to roll. While lacking in spices, the food he ate must have had some sort of other secret, religioso, properties , because Mr. Slattery passed out on the drive back to the MTR station, his head alternately striking his bench partner or the window, the banging having little or not effect on the sleeper.
Refreshed, Mr. Slattery rode the MTR back into civilization. He then decided to visit the famed Stanley Market, found on the south side of Hong Kong island. For HK$2.2, he rode the Star Ferry across the harbour, enjoying the sun that had appeared—only to later curse it, as it beat his body into a slump while he trooped around the open air Stanley Market. Not much of a shopper, Mr. Slattery pretty much saw as much of Stanley Market as one who doesn’t shop very well can, which is to say, he saw it all—the bolts of cloth, the shirts, the silk sheets, silk underwear, silk trousers, blouses, pashmina this, pashmina that, cashmere, jade chops, the tourist shirts that said “I Ate Hong Kong”--without buying a single thing.
He ate some noodles at a little restaurant that faced Stanley bay, enjoying the look of things, but seriously daunted by the reality of the sun’s glitter on the water. Stanley Market is a serious tourist draw, and there were lots of nice pubs and western style eateries there. Many white people, few locals—and the low rise buildings gave the area a beach life sort of atmosphere. Mr. Slattery, though glad he had come to see the Market, was also glad he had left it to last.
Afterwards, he went home, his dogs seriously tired.
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