My new Hat

On the recommendation of a third generation Australian I have splashed out and bought a genuine Akubra hat. It sports no words, no pictures of koalas and above all, no corks. It is a simple straw hat with a band. I bought it in the old established Strand Hatters in the beautiful 19th century Strand Arcade. It is as fine a hat as Sydney has to offer and I have walked round the city today with it proudly on my head, except for the one time it was blown off by a gust of wind.

I had a very delightful lunch with an old colleague who gave me a curious insight into the current financial crisis. Apparently, some time last year he was phoned by his bank at shortly before 5pm to be told that five million Australian dollars had just been paid into his account. Thinking the phone call must have been a mistake, he went online and sure enough, there was five million dollars just credited to his account. He phoned the bank back and to tell them this was an erroneous transaction, only to be told that it was not possible to correct the error as it was now past five o'clock and the bank had done its balance for the day. Furthermore it was Friday and the money could not be removed until Monday. On the dot, forty eight hours later he was contacted by the bank on Monday morning and told that the error had now been corrected but that he could keep the interest, as recompense for the time it had taken him in contacting the bank. Very nice, he thought, given that two days interest on five million is not insubstantial.

He thought no more about it until he was contacted again by the bank some months later to be asked to pay back the interest. He pointed out that he had been told to keep it. There was a quick, muffled conversation at the other end and then he was told, yes that was quite right, it had been agreed that he could keep the interest. My friend said that with banks chucking money around in such a cavalier manner, even though he was a chance beneficiary, it was not surprising to him that we are in such a financial mess today.

Finally, while having a beer on Circular Quai in the late afternoon, I met a woman from Hokitiki, on the west coast of New Zealand's South Island. She gave me lots of good advice about my visit next month. Almost the best thing she said was that it is a myth that it rains all the time on the west coast. Indeed at this time of year, the weather should be excellent. Good news.

Sydney Harbour

This really is one of the great natural places and even though the harbour is extensively surrounded by buildings and very busy with water traffic, it maintains its spacious magic. I caught a bus from Glebe all the way down to Circular Quai. The urban scenery has changed a bit from last time I was here, but it's still breathtaking, even with an enormous cruise ship - the curiously named Rhapsody of the Seas - moored alongside, dwarfing everything. I wandered around, had lunch at Wolfies, consumed an amazingly sickly ice cream covered in chocolate and nuts and generally rubbernecked.

Towards three o'clock the sun became unbearably hot on my bald head and I went in search of a hat. This is not to be recommended in the area of the harbour. Not, that is, unless you want to wear a hat emblazoned with Sydney or Australia or romping koala bears. Even worse, and I am entirely certain a lot of people do buy them, for an extra 6 dollars, you can buy a hat hung about this corks. I just wanted a hat to keep the sun off, but no luck. The only unlettered hat I could find dropped down around my ears and would have made me look anything but sophisticated. So, hatless, I crept home in the shadows.

Tomorrow I shall have to find a hat without a name, which may be an impossibility. I hope not for the sake of my scalp.

Life in the Burbs

Sydney city centre is what most of the tourists see. But if you live in Sydney, you are most likely to live in one of the suburbs - the burbs. Most of them are low rise and many contain wonderful vestiges of another era.

I'm staying in Glebe which to my ear always has echoes of The Archers. It's only a short bus ride from the centre but seems a world away from the high rises of downtown Sydney. Here there are small arcades of shops, architecture on a very domestic scale, where quiet, tree lined streets are flanked by balconied houses, with tiny front gardens burgeoning with shrubs and flowers. It is quite different and distinct from any other city I have visited and makes Sydney so curiously special. It isn't that its old fashioned but it does have a spirit that has survived the modernity of the city and which seems to speak volumes about the way Australians in this city make their lives.

Australia Day Arrival

Arriving in Sydney on Australia Day, I was met with overcast skies and the promise of rain. This was apparently better than the day before when the temperature touched 40 celsius. Australia Day is a big event, with loads of public events, including, apparently, an attempt at the flip-flop record (whatever that is) and private garden barbeques, heavily laced with booze. My host, Caroline, had invited friends round and my very groggy morning was partially spent skewering prawns to toss on the barbie later.

Inevitably, we ate, drank, talked and only occasionally slagged off the Poms, which is also part of the ritual. I had to retire to bed every now and then when my eyes closed of their own accord, and would come down to find yet more empty bottles. The day ended or rather drained away as darkness came and the rain started. It was a good welcome.

Lamma Island Walk

I have done more walking in Hong Kong than I anticipated. Jos route marches everywhere in his rubber Crocs. He wanted to show me the island of Lamma and he certainly succeeded in that. Sunday was planned as a shortish walk to the other side of the island for lunch. The whole family – Jos and Sarah with Finlay (9) and Zander (6) – set out with me in tow around 10 am. We were meeting up with friends at a beach about 15 minutes away, then walking (or so I thought) in a leisurely way to Sok Kwa Wan, about 30 minutes on from the beach.

We waited at the beach and drank an awful cup of coffee then set off with the friends. What I didn't realise was that Jos and the friends had other ideas and on reaching what I thought was our destination a bit early, we diverted onto another path right over the top of the island. We walked and walked and walked. The path, concrete all the way – Hong Kong seems to be largely constructed of concrete – wound up the mountain in the centre of Lamma. There were fantastic views over the sea on all sides, but it seemed to go on forever. The stamina of the kids was amazing – they hardly complained, leaving the bulk of that to me, as my feet became ever more sore and I wondered if I would get to the airport or perhaps this was a cunning plot to keep me in Hong Kong.

When we reached to top, marked by a trig point, the way down seemed to drop into the abyss, with a million concrete steps disappearing into the vegetation and boulders strewn over the mountain side. My knees, my calves and my hips were complaining bitterly as I staggered down, wondering (a) if there was to be any lunch (b) whether I'd catch the plane Sydney and ( c) whether I would simply collapse by the side of the path like a retreating soldier staggering back from Moscow (this casts Jos in the role of Napoleon).

In the event I did manage to complete the long march, we did get lunch (albeit somewhat hurried) and then I was hit with the final surprise of the day. It had been planned to take a sampan back to Jos and Sarah's house. I had imagined myself having a delightful trip back across the bay, stretching out my tired legs with my shoes off. But, it being Chinese New Year, all the sampans had vanished with their owners. “We'll have to walk,” said Jos, and I could swear I saw a slight gleam in his eye. So my tired feet had another 45 minutes of walking and now I am sitting on the plane, with various bits of my body tingling and throbbing, exhausted from what should have been a leisurely two hours that turned into a gruelling five. Even Jos admitted “It was quite a day, really”.

But it was a wonderful five days in their company, surrounded by kindness and the warmth of a happy, though energetic, family. Thank you.

Markets

The vast numbers of people in East Asia always amaze me. Leaving western Europe behind and coming to any of the countries along the shore of the China sea produces real culture shock. There are people everywhere, rushing about with a purposeful look in their eyes. Yesterday Jos, my host here, took me to the Flower market in Kowloon. As it's coming up to Chinese New Year, the citizens of Hong Kong were out in force buying all kinds of flowers. They were of every imaginable sort, many completely unfamiliar. As a present for Sarah, I bought a pot of lucky gourds, which look a bit like lemons. There were growing in a pot shaped like an Ox, in honour of the coming year of the Ox.

After that we walked through the bird market, surrounded by endless twittering from a thousand cages. I don't really like caged birds and was tempted to rush through the market opening the locks but I don't think I would have got far like that.

After the market, we went to Sham Shui Po, home to the electronics street market, a very long street with stalls on either side selling everything from torches to tripods, from cameras to cellphones. It's impossible to know who buys all this stuff, just as it is impossible to imagine how the thousands of fabric shops next to the electronics market make a living. Look into any of these shops and there's at least a couple of industrial sewing machines whirring away, making up anything from curtains to trousers.

The day continued with a trip to the fish market (mostly crustaceans from all over the world, flown in to satisfy the Hong Kong population's appetite for fish) then a meal of giant prawns, cockles and scallops at a neighbouring restaurant.

Of course this all had to be walked off so a ferry and a taxi took us up to the top of Hong Kong island, where we walked down through the green forest, past reservoirs, back to the concrete jungle of the city.

It was quite a day.

Getting over Jet lag

My friend Norman swears by the sunshine cure for jet lag. A four hour walk in the sun resets the body clock or so he claims.

So yesterday I set out with Jos to tramp over the top of Lantau island, the biggest island in the Hong Kong group. To get to the start of the trail it was a ferry from Central, then a bus to the Po Lin monastery at the beginning of the trail. Given that downtown Hong Kong is one of the most densely populated areas on the planet, it is fairly amazing to go to the top of Lantau and find endless green clad hills, whose undergrowth bustles with unseen creatures. Jos and I walked for 8 kilometres down from the top, to Tung Chung town, which is right next to Hong Kong airport. Once again the contrasts amaze. From green clad hills to the airport in two hours walk.

And did it cure the jet lag. I'm sorry to say, Norman, that today I completely fell over and had to sleep two hours in the afternoon. Oh well, I'll have to find another cure.

Hong Kong Arrival

Arrived in Hong Kong to overcast sky and warmth. I had decent sleep on the plane but as usual I got off feeling hot and sweaty and completely disorientated. The MTR into the city is easy and Jos was waiting for me as promised in Starbucks. Next was the ferry to Lama island, clutching a bottle of beer.

At Jos and Sarah's home there was a generous welcome, noisy kids and a curry. I crashed out at 10pm. Today it's a walk over the top of Hong Kong island.

Waiting in London

There is always time to repack the suitcase. Do I really need all this stuff, or perhaps I've forgotten something. Check and double check. It's all part of the nervous ritual as I wait for the trip to the airport tomorrow.

Waiting for the Off

Where are the tickets, have I got my passport, what clothes should I take, is my suitcase too heavy, what time do I have to be at the airport, is the taxi never coming? The joys of travel, including absentmindedness, anxiety, lack of sleep, jet lag, diarrhea, sore feet, lost luggage and finally, a rapidly emptying bank account. Why do I do it?

Monday night is the hour when I take the plane to Hong Kong. By then the anxiety should be over - I hope.