Hong Kong 1995
Snakes like glowing magma
(Excerpt from the diary)
Arriving at Victoriapark, we watch the unique and sensational spectacle of the sun setting over Hong Kong, a city of six million people that, due to an obvious lack of space, rises up into the sky rather than outwards. The golden light of the setting sun gives the buildings made of concrete, steel and glass an unreal, almost romantic glow. Tanja and I gaze, stunned, at the image of an unreal, unearthly vision of the future. With the last rays of the sun, the first artificial lights come on. And then, as the darkness of the night absorbs the light of day, an incomparable act begins that is unlikely to be seen a second time on earth in this form.
Like a gigantic firework display, more and more lights come on. Initially still quite restrained, but then overturning, small and large sources of light appear – in all corners and ends, in all heights and depths. Their variety of colors dwarfs that of a huge fairground. Due to the haze and the darkness, the ever-changing shapes of light appear like a colorful paint box whose pigments blur into one another. As if an extraterrestrial power were using a paintbrush to blot the yawning night. Spellbound, I watch a crimson red climbing up a skyscraper below us. White dots speckle an oversized cube. They seem to multiply ad infinitum. The white turns unexpectedly to saffron yellow and radiates into nothingness until it mixes with dark crimson, which radiates from a giant neon sign. From a distant corner of the inferno of lights, it glows apple green, then sky blue, which immediately turns a bright purple. Before our eyes, the colors of this dream world begin to dance, flicker, jump, bounce and flow. Only wide and narrow stripes – one smoky black, one gray-black and one blue-black – separate and unite the millions of light sources as if by magic. In the gorges and depths of the all-encompassing black coloration, endless floods flow like glowing magma. The fiery lindworms with their thousand eyes writhe around the bare reinforced concrete walls, inexorably growing longer and longer. We catch a glimpse of the awakening nightlife of the global metropolis of Hong Kong…
Goo worms on a spoon
Our senses thus satisfied, we make our way back to Kowloon. Hungry, we head for a Chinese restaurant. Tanja orders a “hot-and-sour-soup” with a friendly laugh. “Enjoy your meal,” I wish her as the waitress serves Tanja’s favorite soup in a huge bowl. Tanja brings it out and tastes the first spoonful. “Hmmm, very good,” I hear and am delighted that she likes it so much. I also spoon up some soup, but it doesn’t agree with my taste buds at all. Although I’m not particularly picky and have eaten a lot of undefinable things, I have to fish out disgusting, translucent strips from my soup. I know they’re not worms, but I’ve heard so many bad stories about the eating habits of the Chinese that the sight of these disgusting things makes my stomach turn. I poke around listlessly in my soup and find large slippery mushrooms, or at least something similar, next to wobbly, white pieces of fat. When I put them in my mouth, my hair stands on end. Disgusted and as inconspicuous as possible, I let the inedible goo slide out of my mouth back onto the spoon and place it with the transparent, worm-like strips that have already been sorted out and the white pieces of fat on the edge of the plate. As I continue my search in my expensive family bowl, I find what I’m looking for more and more often. As I look at the pile of garbage on the saucer, more and more sweat forms on my forehead.
I watch Tanja out of the corner of my eye, not entirely without pity. With a satisfied look on her face, she scoops from the large bowl into her small bowl, as is customary with the Chinese. “Don’t you like it?” she asks as she watches me poke around. “Not at all. I’ve rarely had such bad soup,” I reply grumpily. “But she looks quite good,” she says, chewing with relish. “Good? It looks awful and tastes at least as good as those horrible things there,” I reply, pointing to the edge of the plate with my spoon. “Would you like some of my soup?” she asks in a motherly tone. “Gladly!” While Tanja excuses herself for a moment, I eat her hot-and-sour-soup ravenously. But after just two spoonfuls, I also discover these wunrm-like white stripes in her soup, one of which I swallow by mistake. With growing disgust, I feel the thing slide down my gullet and smack into my stomach. Shuddering, I push Tanja’s family bowl to her side of the table and rinse my throat with a big gulp of beer. A few minutes later, Tanja sits down at the table again. She looks at me in amazement. “Are you full yet or don’t you like my soup either?” “Hmm, I think I’m full,” I fib so as not to spoil her appetite. I watch in amazement as she lets one spoonful after another disappear between her teeth with the same ravenous appetite as before. “Why are you looking at me so funny? If you’re still hungry, just order something else,” she suggests. “No, no, I’m full,” I say meekly, not sure whether she has discovered the things in her soup or not. After a while, my curiosity grows immeasurably and I just have to know. “Tell me,” I begin with a reserved smile. “Don’t you mind the slippery things in your soup? Do you still like them in the end?” “What slippery things?” she asks with a reproachful tone. As she is about to shove another spoonful of goo worms into her mouth, she suddenly stops moving. Her eyes focus on one of the disgusting, ugly slippery things that is making itself comfortable on her spoon. She slowly puts the spoon down, removes the goo and says: “These are really disgusting goo worms.” “I think so too,” I confirm, and as Tanja is still eating, I don’t want to talk to her about it any further. After a few minutes, she has a similarly large pile of garbage on the edge of her plate. Suddenly she puts her spoon on the saucer and says: “I think that was my first and last hot-and-sour-soup in Hong Kong.” As we are traveling to China in a few weeks to cross the Taklamakan, Tanja asks: “Do you think they eat goo worms like that in China?” “I have no idea. But we’d better leave the store. The smell alone is not to my taste,” I urge, to which Tanja agrees wholeheartedly…
Hong Kong 1985/1986/1995
Exciting Hong Kong. Metropolis of superlatives. Breathtaking skyline. The hustle and bustle unites the unique blend of old and new, Far Eastern and Western culture. Hong Kong is always an exciting stopover for Tanja & Denis Katzer.
