Its Lamma Week-End

The graveyard tour was cancelled due to the forecast of inclement weather.

Not being able to enjoy Paul’s much anticipated historical tour of the cemetery at Happy Valley, we decided that the Museum of Art might make a suitable wet weather alternative.

And with that in mind, we caught the packed Star Ferry to Tsim Sa Tsui and the rain just about held off.

For reasons best known to Hong Kong's urban planning elite, the museum and its neighbouring cultural buildings are built in pink bricks and turn their back on the magnificent Kowloon harbour- front and the stunning panorama it offers.

Once inside this architectural oddity, we found an exhibition called Lofty Integrity by Wu Guanzhong which was quite lovely. His work combines a style connected to traditional Chinese ink landscapes and calligraphy with contemporary western style abstracts.

I liked his words too. They accompanied each piece that he had donated to the museum.

The easterly breeze blows open the wisteria. The isolated reds entangled in the midst are dots of lovesickness.

After an al fresco burger at Red Bar in the lofty heights of the IFC complex and overlooking the lights of Kowloon obscured in drizzly mist, we watched the Flowers of War. This movie is set amongst the tragedy of the Nanjing Massacre and stars the American actor Christian Bale. The seats at the IFC cinema are so luxurious that they let out a soft “whoosh” each time a patron sits in them. You feel embraced and relaxed at the same time and that’s before the opening credits have started.

The movie itself is a vulgar and sordid affair with countless scenes of bloodshed, rape and brutality without much emotion and only cheap Hollywood sentimentality and some crude Chinese patriotism to interrupt the horror.  Admittedly it would be a tough job to find much warmth and humour within the context of the Nanjing massacre, a humanitarian outrage, which still provokes strong feelings in China today. But this could have been a Chinese version of Schindlers List. Instead it ended up being closer to Rocky III in emotional subtlety.  At least the seats were comfy and you could admire some stunning photography.

It rained and rained some more on Lamma on Sunday which at least meant the tourists were kept away.

Craving fresh air we walked in the rain to Lo So Wan beach and then on to Sok Kwu Wan where we ate a late seafood lunch at our favourite restaurant on the island, the Lamma Hilton. I can’t imagine for a moment this typical seaside seafood eatery has anything to do with the international hotel brand now characterised by the exploits of Ms Paris Hilton but the food is very good. We always have the same set menu for two which includes deep fried squid with black pepper and salt and enormous fried prawns in black pepper, garlic and red chilli.

Jack, the manager, assumed we were getting the ferry home from Sok Kwu Wan and thought it “very romantic” when we advised him that we were walking back to Yung Shue Wan.  It turned out be more wet than romantic.

So that was our Lamma week-end as they like to call it here.

Lamma life and Lamma dogs

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Sitting in the garden of our modest flat, I am enjoying the mid-morning sights and sounds of Lamma Island. The deafening, grinding, drilling noise as two octogenarian Chinese gentlemen struggle with a pneumatic drill which they share to dig up the narrow concrete pathway that connects the traditional three storey houses of Wang Long Village.

To my right, the sound of Abba’s "Dancing Queen" pounds out at some considerable volume from the home of our trans-sexual neighbour with the amazing new breasts. She parks his/her bike against the picket fence of our garden, so we often exchange shy glances across the tropical plants. She is a helper for a family and can be heard scolding the small child in her care with a deep threatening voice.

Inevitably, the unique symphony of noise is embellished by the wild howling of someone’s dog. Even if you are a committed dog lover, you will hate most of the dogs on Lamma Island.  They are all descended from the same feral pack of wolf-like mongrels with pointy snarling faces and curled up tails.  They come in about three different shades of shitty brown and prowl the streets in packs, cocking their enormous legs on small children and crapping where the hell they like. Quite sensibly, owners of these vicious beasts do not even attempt to train or discipline them for fear of being eaten alive.

Often they are left all day on the balcony of their owner’s flat pacing backwards and forwards in the heat going more and more insane and barking madly at any sight or sign of human or dog life.

There was enormous controversy recently when it was discovered that some heinous member of the Lamma community was distributing toxic poison for the dogs. Cruel and evil yes, but if you were living in a flat next to three of these beasts barking and howling all day and night, weeing on your children and defecating in your bed, you might feel sorely tempted into extreme measures too.

There are no cars and no high rise buildings on Lamma Island. If you ignore the three towering chimneys of the coal fired power station (and the copious amounts of dog poo) it is a pretty green and tranquil place compared to most of Hong Kong.

Its 3000 residents are an eclectic mix of Chinese fisherman, Filipino maids , ex-patriot teachers and writers, bankers, vegetarian women of a certain age and just some general intoxicated low-life that were washed up on the beach when the tide went out about 25 years ago.

Lamma life revolves around the ferry that transports residents from the ferry pier at Lung Shue Wan to the high rise concrete and glass chaos of Central district. It is usually a 20 minute journey that costs about £1-40 and remains my favourite boat trip in the world. Crossing one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world,  past anchored container ships awaiting cargo and then depositing you in the heart of one of the most vibrant and cosmopolitan  cities in Asia.

It’s like getting on a boat in a remote Breton Island and 20 minutes later having crossed the English Channel, arriving in the middle of Piccadilly Circus or Canary Wharf.

Hope all is well with you guys.  I am very sorry that I will not be joining you for the top of the table clash on Monday night. It will be a tough and tense game and I will try and stay up for it but 4am is not my preferred time for listening to football.