The year of the rabbit was upon us... And we really didn't know what that meant, since a good portion of the holiday up until this point is supposed to be kept behind closed doors to family for purposes of celebrating the holiday in an intimate environment. Now that I've lived here for over a month, I can say with full certainty that I know why this holiday lasts for this long: "intimate" and "meaningful" are terms here that don't exist at all in the other 350 or so days that don't comprise the Chinese New Year.
The point of all of this, though, is that, though we chose to stay home for the New Lunar Year, we really haven't done much in the way of traditional celebrations for varying reasons. Luckily for us, the decently-attended New Year's parade would be happening in the evening, so we settled for meeting in TST to get spots some 4 hours before the parade.
Which brought us to another issue, upon arrival. All canteens on campus were closed, all food markets closed, and all tight-knit restaurants in holes in buildings long closed for family purposes. What could ever be the solution?
Oh. McDonald's was open.
That's right. Topping off our layman's feast from yesterday were some McNuggets, undercooked "potatoes", and a watered-down Sprite. It was abysmal; it was delicious. I'm pretty sure that I'm going to have a McDonald's-themed post here, because the case study of this place is beyond phenomenal.
Doddling a bit around the pier, we walked right into the thick of the parade preparations, including some inflatables (nothing that rivals Thanksgiving in NYC, but it's a parade staple, even here), bands practicing, and of course, way too many people to fathom enjoying the pre-parade merriment. A gallimaufry of personas... Families, grandparents with younger kids, single families, dating-but-not-really-comfortable-with-it-yet high schoolers who have a rare day off from studies. Everyone. A delightful cross section of everyone in Hong Kong, which is rare to capture in the informally segmented city.
Yes, the grimly serious marching band director here was wearing a white tiger... hat.
Noticing that the person to available sidewalk ration was growing at a heightened pace, we quit our dilly-dallying and looked for real estate along the parade route, hoping to score some prime standing spots. We took a good open space right at the front of a sidewalk, bolstered by nothing but a metal guard rail. The police were just starting to get here to begin preparations for the performance area just ahead of us (what great luck).
We were fascinated by the police here, whom drove futuristic motorcycles, and garbed themselves with Power Ranger-esque uniforms.
Oh, did I mention that the parade won't begin for another 3 hours?
Yeah, I'm fast forwarding through this part. In those 3 hours, we sat against the cross rail, we joked and talked too loudly, we forced people behind us to leave us because we talked too loudly, and we watched small maintenance crews begin to assemble an observation deck, wiring for an external music system, and marveled as the roads cleared and people clogged down the street, the apparent "prime viewing area" of the parade. We miss a lot of memos here with the language barrier and all.
But that's life, and we still had front row seats.
By this point, the crowd around us had steadily formed, disallowing us of any free movements or weight shifts. We were literally trapped against the fence.
Some of the more kid-participant acts were allowed rehearsal time about an hour before the show. Apparently, in order to participate in a parade in Hong Kong and be under the age of 10, you have to give away any and all shreds of dignity.
Read: you have to dance in the rainbow bunny horde.
Nowhere near intimidating enough for a gang, way too organized to be a throng, and way too creepy to be a crew.
Perhaps "cult" is the closest thing for this assemblage of
Speaking of loss of American things. Personal space. That whole concept doesn't really exist, and is exacerbated when people of all disciplines cluster together for festivals. A lady behind Brooke and I, perhaps disgruntled with her circumstances (being behind rowdy, loud, and tall Americans, mostly), decided to unleash a horrid bout of attempts to slide into the inch and a half space between Brooke's shoes and mine. Needless to say, we learned the drill, and promptly sealed up that inch. Law of Firsties upholds, and this slightly older local wasn't going to spoil it.
But she sure tried, whether or not she knew it. When the rainbow cult of bunny-eared doom (I'm getting there with the epithet) arrived, some made-for-Sesame-Street singsong jingle went over the airwaves, prompting her to start hopping up and down... Like a rabbit... Or something. Which, from the lack of personal space, did well to brush up against Brooke and I's backsides. Charming, yes. And when the kids walked by us briefly, she decided that Brooke's head was perfect to rest her elbow on to take stable pictures. She was a little bonkers.
So of course, Brooke and I began the passive aggressive counterattack:
Step 1: Lean forward on the railing. Occupy as much space as possible.
Step 2: Force weight back a little. Pray that she reclines backward.
Step 3: Slowly rise upward and scoot back, hoping she gets the picture.
It took five tries, but she did. Only to be next to Ainhi for the rest of the parade. Oops.
And, with that obstruction gone, it's as if the parade finally began for us. Captions free of charge.
Cathay Pacific Airways = Macy's for this parade. Except I bet Macy's didn't start off the shebang with a chorus of dancing flight attendants. Oh yeah. Only the best for Hong Kong.
("Who wouldn't, Jeff?") I know, right.
And with that, the Year of the Rabbit was thrust upon us, bringing prosperity, and a much happier outlook than the now expired Year of the Tiger. With prosperity in our veins, and the night ours, we did the thing any rightful Citizen of the World would do.
Grabbed a late dinner at McDonalds.
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