A dragon, awake?

From high up on our ship, the Hugo, I gaze out across Hong Kong’s International Container Terminal.

This pulsating new world is full of strange new sights and sounds, like some massive new planet straight from the mind of George Lucas.

Against a backdrop of tower blocks, between the sea and sweeping expressways this massive port never rests. Huge metal containers are neatly stacked up, one on top of the other, row after row after row, like some monstrous supermarket.

Giant machines preside over these containers, mechanical monsters staking out their territory. War of the Worlds meets Bladerunner.

The huge cranes run on rails, their massive legs either side of the rows of containers. One in front of us slides regally up to a heavy container, plucks it up into the air and plonks it onto a waiting, long, gaunt trailer.

The lorry’s chassis shudders under the impact; in this land of giants large trucks seem tiny, one of hundreds of automobile ants scuttling around the crowded loading bays, in a constant rush to keep their Queen fed.

She waits at the dockside - an enormous gantry crane.

This leviathan, one of many lined up along the waterfront, dwarfs even the picker cranes, her operator, high up in his cabin, a mere speck in the sky.

With a pull of a lever his charge reaches down and relives the lorry of its burden, whisking a 40 foot container high into the air, his cabin shooting out over a waiting container ship, and swiftly lowering the cargo into the bowels of the boat.

Another container loaded - a few thousand to go.

A few hours sailing up the coast, from the Special Administrative Region of Hong Kong to ‘the mainland’ proper and the port of Yantian, the scene is repeated. Great containers taken on board, others unloaded.

Yantian is the port for Shenzhen - one of China‘s maritime gateways to the world. As we waited at the dockside I mused on our recent visit to this city.

Back in the 1980s, in the days of Deng, the enlightened Premier opened up this little settlement, on the borders of the British-held New Territories to outside economic forces.

As one of his Special Economic Zones, Shenzhen was allowed to wander down the path of the ‘capitalist running dogs’, to experience the pleasures and pains of capitalism relatively unhindered - something unthinkable only a few years before.
Shenzhen rocketed in size, from a town of 30,000 in 1970 to the present bulging megalopolis of some 14 million. It’s ballooning was such that, by 1990 the city had even outgrown the local energy supply, requiring the construction of a brand new nuclear power station.

Today other Chinese cities have caught up and share the same appearance as Shenzen. Booming metropolises in this overstuffed duvet of a country.
There’s less to distinguish them from each other (and perhaps from many elsewhere in the world?) as they tend towards the universal blueprint from which many local authorities seem to take their cue.
They’re becoming identikit cities, as if they are constructed from some massive ready-to-assemble pack. Cram your steel and glass skyscrapers into the centre; thread your huge, radiating freeways out to the edges.
We hurried headlong through Shenzhen into Hong Kong, crossing the border into Lo Wu.

A filthy little river, strewn with rubbish and framed by barbed wire and huge hoardings for the latest electronic gadgets denotes the border. You cross it via an enclosed pedestrian walkway, through shopping arcades and following signs reading ‘please leave the country by [the] lift’.


By doing so we followed in the footsteps of millions of immigrant Chinese who once left their homeland in search of a better life in the West.

Back to the present, on board the Hugo, I considered how these migratory patterns are changing, as the balance of economic power in the world shifts East.
China’s ’economic miracle’ is by no means unheard of back home. It’s origins are dissected in the Sundays and Newsnight specials, its knock-on effects muttered about down the pub and the gym.
It’s expanding its economic muscles, growing in confidence and might.
From the 50 million containers it moves annually at present this is projected to grow to a gobsmacking 100 million in 2020.
This region is right at the forefront of this.
I need look no further than the scene in front of me, unfolding before us. Mountains of manufactured goods, all bagged up and ready to be shipped, direct to our doorsteps.

Indeed here in Shenzhen are produced all the world’s ipods and apple computers (surely then without this city our global civilisation would take a terrible tumble).

Yet it seems strange that this is occurring in a country where half the population lives below the poverty line, where people still pull handcarts.

Economic progress in China it seems comes at different speeds for different people.

Still the giant - or perhaps more appropriately, the dragon - is awake, he’s fully alert and throwing all his muscle into it.
The forces of global power are shifting, revolving around pivots such as Yantian.

In the West we seem to delight in prophesizing our doom here, scaring ourselves silly. Of course that doesn’t stop us relocating our factories and services here, or buying their products, in our desperate lust for a bargain.
Nor does it allow for there the argument that perhaps there is room for more than one economic superpower in this new world order.
Must the international order follow the laws of Newtonian physics, where the rise of one will see the consequent decline of the other?

In this other power, the United States of course, there’s considerable concern: talk about power already seeping away; the inevitable end of the American hegemony, the inexorable decline of US might.
Is this the true picture of what’s happening? We’ll soon find out for ourselves as we travel between these two great countries.

Uncle Sam’s up next but in the meantime there’s the small matter of a great Ocean to cross.




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Symphonies of Lights

Hong Kong Island was ablaze with the 8pm music and light show. The grey concrete and glass skyscrapers of day suddenly took on individual personalities as they jovially flashed and jiggled their multitude of rainbow lights and sent lasers into the night sky in synchrony with the retro electronic beat of the music. All very Orbital and quite spectacular. (see video below)

Watching the show for a second time from the deck of our cargo ship the distant skyscraper disco paled in comparison to the dockyard rave around us. CMA CGM Hugo was being loaded up. Six thousand forty foot containers were being stacked like duplo blocks in the holds. Cranes the size of skyscrapers wheeled along the port side flashing and beeping as they went, picking up crates from the back of lorries, tugging them into the air and bringing them crashing down with a metal on metal thud on top of the layer below. The ship shook with each deposit.

There were six cranes dancing on our ship, hundreds more in the port moving and stacking boxes, and ships all around us being laden in a similar way. All glistening with flashing warning lights. Set to the accompaniment of a repetitive beats (engines thumping) and bleeps (reversing lorries, moving cranes) soundtrack with overlying noises (crash and click of containers) that would make Aphex Twin jealous.

It is a gargantuan operation and must have a powerful, logistical mind behind it all. Someone must know what is in the surrounding sea of containers (the officers on the ship do not), where they have come from and where they are going. Containers from the stacks stored on shore are lifted onto lorries that bring them around to the ship edge where a small man in a control box dangling from the top of a crane picks up, drags and drops the containers on board. The men operating these pods must be regular winners on the fairground snatch and grab games. Between them, they load thirty containers onto the ship every hour. It’s a long track.

This is the international world of shipping. This is how Made In China products arrive in our shops. And tonight I feel like a VIP guest at an exclusive underground party. Hong Kong International Port is where the Symphony of Lights is really at.

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Hong Kong - in between China and Los Angeles

Hong Kong is, as Tom would call it, a WISM* hotspot. It is a place where the cultures of the country we are leaving and the country we are headed towards collide. Like two records being mixed, rustic, exotic, communist China is faded out and the modern, familiar, capitalist West (in this case Los Angeles) is added in. Hong Kong is those moments in the mix when you wonder if the DJ will miss a beat or make a seamless transition.

As soon as we crossed the border from Shenzhen in China to Lu Wo in Hong Kong (an easy border crossing; simply follow the signs to Hong Kong once you get off the train; British passport holders don‘t need a visa) it felt different. It felt like the concourse at a large British train station and the train into the town centre (Tsim Sha Tsui) was like an overground London underground train. Hong Kong felt unusually familiar with British road names (Dundas Street, Lambeth Walk), double decker buses and fish and chips readily available.
Hong Kong is unashamedly consumerist and much more established in comparison to mainland China. The whole point of Hong Kong seems to be earning money and spending it. The stacks of skyscrapers are emblazoned with the flashing names of banks and financial institutions whilst at street level Prada, DKNY and all the other labels that have been so carefully faked elsewhere in China are authentically on sale.

It is so easy to spend money in Hong Kong. Along with the labels are all the Western coffee shop and restaurant chains, exclusive patisseries and fashionable boutiques, that make parts of it feel like Hampstead in London. Everything in Hong Kong is a lot more expensive than mainland China, but it’s probably cheaper than Los Angeles. After the cheap living of S.E. Asia we needed to prepare for the transition. No more eating in restaurants three times a day, now it‘s convenience stores and cheap holes in the wall.

Like the other island between China and the United States, Hong Kong feels a bit like Japan. Both have a similar blend of East meets West, but whereas Japan cherishes its history, all that obviously remains of Hong Kong’s heritage is the steadfast Star Ferry. Hong Kong has swept the past away and is all about the future, whereas Japan has taken the past and given it a modern edge. Like Soothe, a fantastic Japanese band we saw in Hong Kong harbour, whose tagline is ‘tradition and modernity’ - an edgy modern band performing on traditional Japanese instruments (they were so good I couldn‘t resist a plug).

Another key concept in Hong Kong is up. Everything happens above you. In China life happens on the street, in Hong Kong it happens in the sky. Here, land is at a premium and rents are high, so shops, restaurants and internet cafes are all hidden away up narrow staircases with only a sign and sometimes a tout to let you know they exist. Watching the cranes in the port load cargo onto our ship reminds me of Hong Kong. Upon entering a building, the lift, like the crane, picks you up and drops you off in your box. For rooms there are no more than boxes. It’s a very claustrophobic city.

Hong Kong is a real feat of human engineering and looks quite fantastical. How this tiny island and block of mainland can be such a powerful economic dynamo is amazing. And it’s still growing. Land is being reclaimed from the harbour to build more skyscrapers for the financial sector to fill.

As well as being an awesome creation, to me it looks how I imagine the end point of human civilisation to look. The point when the land is so full that the only place to move is into the sea and where the environment is so polluted the air is brown and it is never gets dark. It does make for an amazing light show though.

Sad as I am to say good bye to Asia’s noodles, dumplings and squiggly writing, Hong Kong has whetted my appetite for cheese, red wine and the ability to communicate in a common language. Hong Kong was the perfect go-between between China and the United States, and the next two weeks on a ship across the Pacific will provide the ideal time to reflect and look forward. Out of the mix and onto the next record.

*World in Slow Motion

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We are sailing...

So, farewell Asia.

After four months on the road and rails across this mighty continent, from the low mountains of the Urals to the warm waters of the South China Sea, we will finally bidding a farewell to this huge, diverse chunk of the planet.

Tomorrow we set off into new waters...literally. For the next two weeks our new home will be the CMA CGM Hugo, a container ship sailing across the Pacific Ocean, from Hong Kong to Long Beach, USA.

If you would like to find out quite where we are in our new watery world you can check on our progress here.

Beyond the ocean lie the delights of another continent:North America．

But first we have the small matter of a large pond to cross.

Laying my trusty Michelin out last night I realised that the Pacific covers a good third of the planet. It's going to be a long and (hopefully) fascinating voyage.

See you on the other side...
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The Star Ferry

Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me!
- Crossing the Bar, Alfred Lord Tennyson

Whilst much of Hong Kong’s attractions are fast, slick and ultra-modern my favourite place is decidedly different. It’s not a skyscraper or a shopping mall, a restaurant or a museum.

Indeed it’s not a place at all. It’s a boat, and a rather modest one at that: the Star Ferry.

This vessel is actually not one but several and together these ferries ship foot passengers short distances over Hong Kong’s waters. And though they several routes, it is only one, that between Central and Kowloon, that people are referring to when they talk of ’The Star Ferry‘.

It is this boat I like, bobbing its way through the harbour.

They bear their names proudly - ‘Shining Star’, ‘Morning Star’ and ‘Northern Star’ - all a variation on the company name, itself inspired by Tennyson.

The boats are old (most of them pushing, if not over, 50 years old) and grubby, slow and noisy.

They have no neon lights, no gizmos and gadgets. Their passengers are probably better kitted out than this transport, since the only satnav on board is probably on the mobile phone in their pocket.

Yet they’re lovingly maintained, a popular ride.

This is not out of sentiment or duty; she still provides a key service, a vital transport link across the water.

Still the ferry seems a bit of an anomaly in this slick, neon, ultra-modern world, and perhaps that is what appeals to many people.

All around is big and loud, quick and glitzy, hastily rushing headlong into the future. The buildings shoot up around her, and new ones rise ever higher.

Yet the Star Ferry remains, a link with the past, a reassuring rock standing solid in the fast river of change.

The Star Ferry has been running, in one form or another, for well over a hundred years, founded by a Parsee merchant, then sold to a British entrepreneur.

She’s an icon of Hong Kong, internationally renowned, up there with the London Route master (RIP) and San Francisco's trams.

She is for anyone and everyone - you’ll rub shoulders with all sorts on board, Rolex-toting bankers, western package tourists.

They’ve all ridden on her, and she’s lived her life through them. She‘s part of their history and part of Hong Kong’s too

At HK$2.20 (about 20p) a ride it was even within our budget - the cheapest ride in town. The locals are rightly proud of this and the authorities meddle with this at their peril.

Back in 1966, a 25% fare increase, pushing tickets up by a whole 5 cents prompted a student to protest and go on hunger strike, and his subsequent arrest to spark riots.

We regularly caught the Star Ferry, leaving Kowloon and our rabbit hutch in the sky to see what life was like on the other side of the harbour.

We went out of our way to make sure our day included a return trip on the ferry, even if it took more time and a lengthy detour through the huge building site they grandly term a ‘land reclamation scheme’ (they must have very long memories).

We head for the terminal, taking our token and squeezing through the turnstiles to await the boat at the end of the pier.

The little boat hoves into view, rounded at bow and stern, with a smart green and cream livery.

A siren sounds and everyone scrambles down the ramp, balancing gingerly on the heavy gangplank as it slid back and forth in the swell.

We ascend onto the wooden deck, the varnish peeling, the timbers worn smooth by a million feet.

It creaks under our feet as we head for the port side and pick a seat, our view uninterrupted by any window.

The benches are wooden and slim, worn soft by decades of passengers before us and with an old-fashioned backrest you could swing over to face the other way.

The air smells of engine oil and fresh paint, salt water and stir fries.

The boisterous crew wear navy blue uniforms, they laugh and chatter, hauling in mooring ropes with long handled hooks.

On the walls stencilled signs read warnings in English and Chinese, whilst in the wheelhose a scrawny chap heaves a heavy wooden wheel, set amongst brass-edged dials and instruments.

By the cabin door a huge curved exhaust vent protrudes out of the deck, like a monstrous ear trumpet, whilst over amidships an open door gushes hot air and the whiff of diesel from the bowels below.

From inside we hear the protests of the old engine, grumbling from below decks.

A siren sounds and an excitable hum rises up amongst the passengers as the vessel noses out into the waters of the harbour.

This soon turns into ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s as they take in the view. A hundred camera shutters click.

The bow churns up a steady white froth as the bobs up and down towards the opposite pier. To an onlooker onshore it might look like a child’s toy, rocking slowly on a central pivot, its rounded ends rising in turn.

The wind breezes through, picking up salty spray and occasionally coating us in fine cloud.

Hong Kong surely doesn’t look finer from the deck of the Star Ferry.

During the day we share the harbour with a whole host of other craft. We weave through them - dredgers and small freighters, tourist junks and huge cruise ships, fishermen and police launches.

They glide and they chug and they scuttle on past, a moving foreground to the fantastical skyscrapers of Central. Like plants in a jungle these giant of concrete and steel seem to compete with each other, fighting for light in a crowded terrain.

At night they continue their tussle with light shows of their own, spectacular displays which blaze in a great riot of colour, yellow cubes, flashing neon, stretching out to us in the waters of the harbour.

It transfixes its appreciative audience, flickering, transforming, as we head over to Kowloon.

We pull into the opposite terminal in the good ol’ fashion way, casually ramming the side, gently bumping into the dock.

The crew hitch her up to barnacle-encrusted moorings, old wooden stakes coated with seaweed, slowly rotting away.

The ramp is soon lowered and the passengers pile off, to business appointments in Tsim Sha Tsui, shop in Mong Kok, homes in the New Territories.

Soon a siren sounds, the gate lifts once more and another swathe of passengers storms down the ramp to her waiting embrace, like a herd of cattle heading home, impatient for dinner.

The ferry’s off again, back into the waters.

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