Much ado over flowers.

That magical time of year is swiftly approaching for most Chinese families... And with the Year of the Rabbit in the unbelievably close horizon, the city is aglow with activity to welcome in the Chinese New Year. It's a massive deal.

We're not talking confetti, champagne, and Old Lang Syne, though. CNY here is beyond a festival or a holiday. It has the glamor of Christmas, the fireworks of the 4th of July (so I've heard), the staying-up-all-night fiasco of New Years, the biggest feast of the year a la Thanksgiving, and the gift-hoarding (in cash form) of both Christmas and every birthday put together, celebrated all at once. You can just call it MegaHoliday. It involves a week off from school (beginning tomorrow), and is mostly a celebration between families to usher in prosperous growth and wisdom collectively. But, seeing as home is an ocean away, and we'd prefer to see the pure bliss of the season, we decided to have our own little intra-group celebration.

Tonight was the first night, where all of us (and apparently every other person in the city) visited Flower Market Road in Mong Kok East.

That's right, an entire street devoted to the selling of one event for one time of year. And this market, thrown up somehow while we were sleeping, stretches for blocks and blocks, and into adjacent roads even.

Just doing a picture dump right now because I'm waiting for some more to be uploaded soon, but here's what my awful cell phone and a couple others I found could produce. Beginning with some absurdly pink mall displays, and then some candid photos of me taking sneaky pictures of flowers and the general hubbub while store clerks looked away ("no picture!" might be the only two words of English they knew).

So. Many. People. In the background.

Related adventures: getting lost in the pedestrian market, getting lost in Mong Kok, having the revelation that running over people solves problems, running over people for sake of survival, a horrid dinner, and American pop music from 2005.

Yeah, that's all I have for now. I'll update this when my other sources get me the necessary supplies to adequately depict this. And another post from the past about the Tai O experience. Promise.

The great trash paradox.

Plenty to update on, but instead of updating on that, I'll do a pictureless quip about something that nags at me.

Part of the appeal of Hong Kong to outsiders, citizens, and come-and-goers alike is the pleasing, yet perplexing phenomenon with its trash and litter circulation: in most parts of town, from the financial districts to the shopping malls, there is no litter. Period. Anywhere. Nothing blows in the wind, nothing hides under tables; nobody even considers littering or even putting their gum under a desk. Given the sheer bulk of people living all in one clumped region, literally one top of one another, you'd think the propensity to accidentally leave a newspaper somewhere for the wind's grasp would happen now and then, or even the more American view where paper cups and Coke cans can be found on the street occasionally.

Nothing.

But here's the thing: everything you obtain, whether at a street stall, 7-Eleven, or a gadget store, comes with some kind of litterable paraphernalia.

Yet I can't find a trash can anywhere in this city.

They aren't every block adjacent to the roads. They aren't conveniently grouped together for the average person to walk over and deposit their stuff. Heck, at most fast food eateries and canteens, it's the practice to leave all utensils (chopsticks, cups, trays, napkins, anything) as they are at the table. And just leave. You leave the trash there on the table. Somehow, a mystical force grabs to it, tosses it into a vortex destined for the great unknown, and you never see or hear about that trash again.

But where do they put it? Why can't I find a trash can to throw away the paper wrapping for my egg puff dessert or the disposable chopsticks with my lunch meal or the attached receipt for my Octopus card deposit? Where do these people go to make the trash go away? It's common knowledge here than any kind of littering is a $1500 fine, no questions asked or appeals won. But still. There's a lot of trash to be disposed, and no place to dispose it. How are all of these people avoiding certain monetary fines by not having a canister at every street corner?

It makes me scratch my head a little too hard sometimes.

Temple hopping: Big, big Buddha.

This past weekend, in commemoration of having nothing to do, we decided to visit something a little less urban, as most weekends tend to involve us simply riding the train downtown, pretending to shop, haggling with no intention of buying things, and eating way too much food that doesn't have a chance of being healthy.

So went took the train (yes, it goes everywhere -- even DisneyLand) from the New Territories, all the way in the northeastern area of town, and got off on Lantau Island, which is the island most south and west of downtown. This was the location of the famed "Big Buddha" temple - where, way on top of some amazing Asian mountain, above the thick foliage and multiple mountains away from town, lied a massive, world-eclipsing Buddha statue. The area has since gained a lot of tourism, but still retains an authentic charm.

The first, and easily best, part of the charm was the ride from the stop to the temple area. Two routes existed: either hike all day over a couple of mountains on a rock path, or take think like a bird and take a gondola over the mountains, capturing the unbelievable views of still-undeveloped Hong Kong territory.

Well, the choice was easy. Gondola it was.

The view was beyond outstanding. Someone said that you would eventually get tired of all of the unbelievable scenery. Hasn't felt that way for me yet.

You can begin to see the gargantuan Buddha jutting out in the distance. Thank you Matt and your ridiculous dSLR camera.

Finally, we reached the tram station, where yet another small hike, and bountiful views of the scenery emerged.

Getting there required walking through a whole bunch of Asian structures, a touristy shopping outlet (again, on top of a mountain, blah), and eventually through a large stone-paved road leading to steps up to see the statue. The simultaneous feelings of awe and beauty have never appeared so often as they have shown themselves here. I swear by it.

As someone said to me, everything here "looks straight out of a postcard".

More words later on some thoughts and other activities later (maybe), but for now, the pictures can best represent what I have to say. We hadn't even gone to the temple yet. A bold colorer's feast.

Again, more later.

When monkeys attack: the Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas.

Note: this is chronologically out of sync, as this past story occurred before some of my other posts. It's a big story with lots of hysterical moments, so stay tuned.

On Sunday, after we had dim sum at that amazing Michelin starred place, we decided to stop on the way home at the Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas in Sha Tin. One of our friends is Buddhist, so we make sure to do well and respect the temples and stuff, but this whole incident was in a word, hilarious. But for the first part of the trip, we got out of the train, sauntered down some streets into a more "rural" area of town, and went through this pristine entrance at the bottom of a mountain.

What is it about grand attractions and having to haul up mountains to see them here? Goodness.

Well anyway, the trip began by walking through a very aged stone path, essentially at a 45 degree angle plus the whole way, and on either side of the walking path were life-size Buddha statues. Tons of them. Each one of them unique from the other. It was quite the artistic feat. Considering this wasn't even the main attraction, we had plenty of spectacle before us.

 And that whole walk was pretty special. Given the strong Buddhist influence here, and my relative lack of knowledge of their rituals... I had to say that I was impressed by the devotion they put into some of their hallowed grounds. Different, absolutely. But on an aesthetic scale, definitely something that I can appreciate more. The entire style was very, very appealing: respectful, calming, and powerfully symbolic. These virtues definitely seep into some aspects of the culture.

But, as we walked up the trail, just before reaching the main attractions, we were caught by a pretty happy surprise: monkeys.

That's right. Monkeys. Wild monkeys. A huge pack of them. Had to be 30 or so of them in the trees and running around the area.

Not only were they adorable, but they did well to wreak all kind of monkey havoc on any passers-by with food. Solemnly, I looked down and wondered how I ended up carrying the bag of chestnuts for the group. I had to have been within 5 feet of some of these monkeys, while my friends Matt and Noah inched closer for even better photo opportunities (and whose photos I am undoubtedly stealing).

It was quite the interesting phenomenon here: as more and more monkeys of progressively smaller and smaller sizes came down from the trees to wreak monkey havoc on people and look through trash cans for sweets, the males in the group grew progressively more effeminate.

"MONKEYS. Look at the monkeys! LOOK AT THAT ONE IT'S THE BABIEST! His name is David," Matt cooed at some point.

It wasn't our finest moment. The girls were smarter, edging back toward the temple uphill, while we waited and snapped myriad photos of the scene before us, children living out some sort of wild jungle fantasy through our camera lens.

Somehow, we were pulled away from the sight. 

And from there, we were able to really see the best points in the series: the Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas. They weren't kidding, either. Lining the walls of this temple, amongst a massive stone plaza and a collection of fountains and a pagoda was the festive coloring of the temple, with a view that I can only describe as "wowing". My jaw dropped. Ten thousand tiny Buddha figures, each adorned with a small light, circled in rows upon rows on the walls. Take a look.

 The dedication into seeing this temple through was beyond anything quite like this. Despite it not being a massive structure on the outside that I've seen with the glamor of, say St. Peter's in Vatican City, this small, but famous temple was an amazing showcase of Buddhist culture. And no souvenir stands, either. It was still a functional temple.

Next, we walked across to view the pagoda. In fact, we were able to travel to the top of it. Though I constantly seem to take photos of every view I've seen, these following, showing Sha Tin and the surrounding suburb, was simple gorgeous. Perhaps even more calming and external than the view from Victoria Peak, I'd say.

And from there, we continued upward.

But wouldn't you know it, look who showed up? That's right, the monkeys. This time, mother monkeys, their babies wrapped around them as they hopped from statue to tree, were in the midst.

Noah and Matt were in the fray again, taking ample pictures of something we'd never see in the States.

Super baby monkey! His name was Rick.

So, here's where the drama ensued, in a flash... Noah, fully engaged in his photography of these trespassing monkeys, gradually funneled closer and closer to the crossing, unaware of his edging. All of a sudden, Ainhi yells "Noah! Watch out!" to which he turns sharply, and Rick, the baby monkey makes a noise and runs by. All of a sudden, a huge, massive granddaddy monkey (that Matt named "Jumanji") jumped to the rescue of the little monkey. "NOAH! WATCH OUT!" And Noah finally breaks away from his photos. Jumanji grunted and swiped his arm at Noah, showing his teeth. Everyone bolted back in horror. He just missed the swipe by the monkey (and didn't even see the swipe because he was so focused on the teeth), and we bolted upward. Chaos ensued as we bolted backward. And yes, it was caught briefly on camera.

Ha.

Anyway, Noah's incident was not met softly by the group. From that hour on, every joke typically involved a scream of "NOAH WATCH OUT", Noah flinching violently, and everyone laughing at his expense.

But, hey, it's deserved. Don't pet the monkeys. Don't look like you're going to pet the monkeys. Don't even think about petting the monkeys. Just don't.

Or else you're the punchline of a joke for at least a week.

Elevator etiquette.

Of all of the intricacies that make up Hong Kong's, or maybe contemporary Asian culture in general, one of my favorite notes has to be what I call the "Asian Elevator Scramble".

It's definitely an indication of the society's constant move to not only constantly move, but move in a means that is obsessed with punctuality.

Elevators are built to deal with this need. In America, we take the elevator out of convenience, a fun way to get up the stairs at close to or a bit faster than the standard stairs after you factor the wait in the elevator lobby, the slow habit of pressing the buttons (or all of them, like in Elf), the tendency to look at the ceiling or exchange casualties with your partners on the elevator for a brief stay, and then lackadaisically exiting and getting on your way.

Well, it's a bit different here. Here's why:
1. In most cases, the lift (not the elevator) is necessary. There are a lot of floors to move, and they were designed with break-neck engineering to get you places faster than your feet.

2. Since they're faster, everyone uses them. Personal space? No.

3. Since everyone uses them, they make a lot of stops up and down, oftentimes only for one more person to try to squeeze in. And, being taller than everyone in the elevator, I find it quite comical.

4. Because there are so many stops, people get impatient that they'll be late to their destination. As such, it is typical for the first person in the lift to walk in and directly next to the buttons to hit the destination, wait for everyone to get in, and begin hitting the "close doors" button like a madman. This button is hit at least twenty times at each floor arrival.

5. Seeing as everyone has a use for that button, it's quite responsive. The door shuts immediately after pressing it for the first or second time. The other 18 clicks are just to make sure it keeps going.

6. Since elevators are part of everyday life, and everyone is there, you might as well continue your conversation occurring before the elevator to in it with people all around. After all, I sure don't know Cantonese.

7. The bell rings, and you have to be moving by the time the door opens. Otherwise, you get caught in the frantic pace of a million people entering a lift and another million leaving, as if they don't do this multiple times per day. Don't hesitate. Just leave. It's a massacre in there.

Maybe I read too much into little things like the AES, but hey, it's for my enjoyment anyway. After all, I've got plenty of time to get where I need to be.

Looking up.

I get made fun of for a lot of things here (all in good fun, of course), but specifically, I get some jests from always looking up, around, never quite focusing on the target ahead. I'd rather have my vision tracing the horizon of the nearby buildings or examining the view around me than staying pointed at the goal. Sure, this may seem touristy in some respects, but how can I not? This place is by far the most kinetic, the most genuinely lived in, the most vertically-oriented city that I have ever witnessed. Nothing compares.

I just keep looking up.

Though it is difficult to show just how awe-inspiring these views are, but the pictures below are essentially all the result of me looking up, out, about, anywhere but at the ground. There's just too much to see. I don't follow the Asian moniker of looking at the ground (which holds true here)... I'm always looking up, looking for something to admire. Believe me, there's plenty. You don't get much of this in Oxford, that's for sure.

 Mong Kok. Distinctly lived in. Yet distinctly beautiful in its usage, its placement, its capacity to hold life and help the cogs of the city churn forward.

 Billboards EVERYWHERE in Mong Kok. This is the Hong Kong that is seen everywhere. Hordes of people, hordes of signage. Hordes of things to look at.

 Again, note the people, all on their way. Fulfilling their stories. While I'm watching. Hmm. A bit creepy, maybe.

 Night. The darkness sweeps in, but the lights fight the temptation. Industry never dies, and the cogs never stop moving. After all, life goes on.

 6 lanes of traffic. With essentially no rules. But still fun to watch... From a distance.

 At Victoria Harbor... These red-finned sailboats clip through the water for potential tourists, adding a zest of the Chinese red intermittently into serene panoramas of the skyline.

 I don't have the slightest idea where this is. Looks kind of like Tsim Sha Tsui, the luxury store area. I think I took it for the message on the catwalk over there, but I don't remember what it was. "Season's Greetings" maybe? Either way, we walked through the entire luxury shopping district, driving the girls mad because security guards were in front of all of the stores, almost acting as bouncers for the place.

 Reflective. I don't remember the brand, though. ____ON... Eh. Guess that brand?

 The Espirit store had a massive rotating and flickering display. How could I not look?

 Get ready for this. This... This right here... Is a library.

Gasp.

I like to refer to it as the boy-girl building, based on the hysterical color choices. This is in Hung Hom, where some of the museums and whatnot are located. Lots of plazas, palm trees, and glossy skyscrapers.

 Again, the partial eclipse effect.

 Hong Hum, at a plaza. People diverting everywhere... The perfect tightrope of controlled chaos. Billboards, displays... Ubiquity.

 No idea.

Only the top few floors of what had to be a building of 50 floors, given the monikor "that Dubai building" by the friend group. Well, it's kind of true...

And after that amazing weekend, we were able to allow the world to fade into its sunset, yet another day in the life of the Hong Kong machine. I'll never be able to give it justice. I try to step back, look from afar. But I'm just as integrated into the innerworkings of it... My ventures throughout the city, even with the goal of capturing its intricacies, is yet again one cog in the identity. My goal of defining Hong Kong and its people is probably getting more and more clouded as I begin to match its stride. An outsider for not much longer with each breath I take. I'll say goodbye to it, I'm sure. But for a time, I was a cog, and I had a duty.

But instead, I just looked up.