Think “surfing hotspot” and it’s unlikely China’s Qiantang River springs to mind. But not only is the 285-mile river home to the Moon Festival, an annual event attracting the best surfers from around the world, it’s also the site of a rare wave phenomenon that has mesmerized tourists for centuries. Each autumn, a massive tidal bore — a wave that travels against the current — surges up the river. At thirty-feet high and traveling at 25 miles per hour, the “Silver Dragon,” as it is known, is the largest tidal bore in the world and so powerful that only a few hefty commercial boats are allowed on the river at the same time. Now a group of American surfers has launched an annual festival on the river, using jet skis to reach the bore which pounds through the city of Hangzhou. Skyscrapers can be seen looming behind the daring surfers as they ride the murky Silver Dragon, while hundreds of thousands of people stand on the banks and watch this natural phenomenon barrel past. Like the fortune cookie said: no ocean, no problem.
killing time at incheon
With six hours to kill in Seoul’s Incheon Airport – before connecting in Beijing and only then on to home – what’s a weary traveler to do except take random photos of unsuspecting travelers and chance objects? After all, I’ve just slept through an overnight flight from Phuket with miles and miles to go before I sleep again.
loving the langham
I’ve spent so much time waxing rhapsodic about the dizzying heights of the Ritz that I forgot to mention I have since moved on to Langham Place, Mongkok. No slight intended, because this hotel is amazing. Rising 42 stories above the heaving heart of Kowloon it boasts the authentic sights, sounds and shops of old Hong Kong right on its doorstep. (As you’ve been reading about – I hope – for the past week.) And yes, it’s all sleek and modern and smells nice and wears its cheeky monkey on its sleeve, but what sets it apart from inferior chains – hello, W Hotels - is the substance beneath all the style: first and foremost is the X-Team, a handful of the friendliest, best-connected concierges I’ve ever put to the test. Then there’s Chuan Spa, as warm and welcoming as an opium den – from which the decor seems to take some inspiration. Treatments are guided by principles of Traditional Chinese Medicine – Wu Xing, or the Five Elements; Yin and Yang; and Jing Luo, the Meridian System – and it doesn’t get more authentically indulgent as this. The hotel also has one of the most impressive collections of contemporary Chinese art in the world, let alone Asia, including pieces from Wang Guangyi, Yue Minjun, and Jiang Shuo. Comprised of more than 1,500 pieces – some provocative, if not downright controversial –  you can explore highlights of the multi-million dollar collection via an interactive iPad tour narrated by the hotel’s curator. As for food, I don’t think I can sing any more praises for Ming Court than I already have. I’m going to miss it here. (Not to mention Hong Kong.) If the Ritz felt more like a mistress, over the top flashy with legs for days, Langham Place is the wife you’d like to have: smart and sexy, with just the right amount of wrong to keep you coming back for more.
strange fruit at ya fuen market
Back in Hong Kong for a last look around before heading to the airport and home, the strangest fruit in this picture is probably the three sad apples at rear. Still, I’ve been wondering all day about what those pale clusters in the foreground could possibly be. They look like baby potatoes – growing like bunches of champagne grapes.
a vida português
Just as suddenly as it swept me up in its current, the great wave of Macao deposited me in front of the picturesque ruins of the 17th century cathedral of St. Paul’s. It’s like I’m back in Lisbon – as the streets signs, architecture and cobblestones readily attest. If this is the true heart of Macao, perhaps all those naysayers doth protest too much; it’s a beautiful clash of culture. Just one niggling little question remains: is the way out the same as the way in?
crowd surfing
Only a few blocks away for the casino district and the atmosphere changes dramatically. Macao turns from a town of extreme order and almost ritualistic security to a rippling mass of people jostling each other down narrow, cramped streets towards some unseen goal. It’s dense, suffocating – made worse by the feeling that I’ve  quite literally traded the frying pan for the fire. I am crowd surfing a heaving wave of humanity – stopping for a photo is almost impossible, like standing against the rip tide.
macao, or i told you so
I had been told time and time again over the past week – by total strangers even – to avoid a planned side trip to Macao, the former Portuguese colony which returned to the fold of the Chinese motherland in 1999 as an autonomous Special Administrative Region similar to Hong Kong. Yet hearing it described variously as a hole, a pit, and a cesspool only made the prospect of a visit that much more tantalizing: if Macao was truly a vision out of Dante’s ninth circle, well, I needed to see the spectacle for myself. A speedy ferry from Kowloon or Hong Kong island made it a no-brainer for a day trip. Plus, the proliferation of big-time casinos clustered at the northern end of the peninsula means winners and losers can be shuttled back and forth through the night with all the ease of a taxi. If Macao was really that dreadful I could just up and leave. Well, surprise, despite the gluttonous display of wealth the casino end of town is a pit. Duh. (Was I expecting the Fremont Street experience?) But there’s history here, too, and a European-influenced heritage that I’m determined to see.
i know why the yuen po bird sings
A pleasant surprise on this morning’s stroll came along Yuen Po Street and the charming vest pocket garden situated there. It’s a gathering place for songbird owners, who carry their pets around in intricately carved cages. It also houses a few dozen stalls selling all manner of beautiful birds and their paraphernalia – including one vendor with varying sizes of live crickets: medium, large, and run-for-your-life-jumbo. Just keep in mind that whole avian flu scare a few years ago and keep your hands to yourself.
one night in mongkok
Mongkok, I learned today, means Busy Corner. It’s a working class neighborhood with the flair of old Hong Kong, teeming with markets of every stripe, food vendors, night markets, neon, and thousands and thousands of people all cheek by jowl. The name is apt. This is the Hong Kong I had envisioned. A city still on the skirt of urban renewal.
walk this way
As evident in the signage at Langham Place, the hotel has an insouciant style that’s just this side of cheeky. I think I’m going to like it here.
more stars: ming court
After yesterday’s mess hall meal it was a no brainer to accept the invitation to dine at Ming Court, the Michelin two-star restaurant at Langham Place, Mongkok. I’ll be moving to Langham Place in a few days, too, so not only did it give me the chance to do a bit of neighborhood reconnaissance, but it also gave me the leisurely opportunity to sample the contemporary Cantonese menu of chef Tsang Chiu King. Sophisticated yet approachable - and very, very comfortable – it’s an engaging dining experience of traditional fresh flavors, creatively presented: a trio of dim sum; bean curd three ways – with prawns, braised with black truffle & gold leaf, and stuffed inside whole abalone with black mushroom; subtly elegant matsutake and bamboo funghi soup; stir fried giant garoupa; award-winning pan-fried chicken skin filled with chicken and black truffle, accompanied with sliced pumpkin; baked rice with chicken and cheese served in bell pepper; and a refreshing tofu bird’s nest “extravagance.” Best of all, the food doesn’t take itself too seriously. Chef Tsang is obviously – thankfully – focused on form following flavor. Which makes for happy palates – not to mention empty plates.
tastes like communism
While the Hong Kong History Museum provides a fascinating and in-depth look into the city’s place within the context of two great empires, I must at all costs advise against a sidetrip to the cafeteria. Less a culinary adventure than an unappealing survival course, it is the first disgusting meal of the trip. Honestly, I can’t even remember what it is I had ordered at this point. What arrived was a study in browns: brown beans in brown sauce accompanying brown meat; a brown vegetable chunk in a bath of brown broth. Had there been a brown-shirted staff in Mao jackets I wouldn’t have flinched. The rice, however, was white.