Impressions of Hong Kong

English Version (中文版本在下方)

Former Glory

Before I ever landed there, Hong Kong already came with a set of labels and impressions in my mind.

An Asian financial center. Dense rows of towering buildings. The National Security Law and the anti-extradition protests. And a long series of Hong Kong film scenes permanently etched into memory.

Back in the years when its cultural exports still carried real force, Cantonese was dubbed into different voices and projected across the sea in distant places. Its streets and faces were recognized everywhere. A narrow peninsula radiating influence for thousands of miles.

Some people say that era was a product of a very particular historical moment. Maybe so. But what undeniably existed was an extraordinary overflow of music and film created under capital concentration and creative abundance. Gangsters at war. Cops and criminals in high-speed pursuit. Cold green camera shakes. Sharpened faces distorted and enlarged on screen.

That glory was short-lived, like a flower that bloomed magnificently and then vanished. Time moved forward, but somehow the soul stayed where it was.

Even so, once I actually stepped onto the land, I could still see deep traces of that dazzling past. The layout of streets and roads is clearly better than in Taiwan. In crowded districts, the curved one-way streets naturally slow cars down. Sidewalks, loading zones, and public transport are clearly separated and orderly. Unlike Taiwan, the traffic system does not feel designed entirely around cars.

The tall, weathered buildings, meanwhile, symbolize a city that had already become overdeveloped thirty years ago.

Rows of thirty- and forty-story towers are planted into scarce land along the waterfront. Shopping malls sit below; above them are tiny living spaces stacked with people. Hong Kong has one of the highest price-to-income ratios in the world. These towers are immensely expensive, yet their facades often look poorly maintained. Bamboo scaffolding and peeling paint define much of Kowloon.

I wrote a blunt note in my notebook: nothing in Hong Kong feels new.

The face on street ads is Aaron Kwok. Entire rows of towers look like properties waiting for urban renewal. The taxis are old red-painted sedans. Most shop staff are older. Even the Octopus card, used almost everywhere, had already become widespread before 2000, back when the Taipei MRT had not fully taken shape.

If time could be paused, the 1990s were probably Hong Kong’s last great moment of radiance.

Urgency and Aggression

Another thing I found interesting is that everything in Hong Kong seems fast, or rather, urgent. Traffic lights at intersections are paired with sharp beeping sounds. The moment the light turns green, the speaker starts blasting a high-pitched, hurried rhythm, pushing pedestrians to move faster.

And that is not all. The escalators in the MTR also seem about 1.2 times faster than the ones in Taipei. More than once I almost lost my balance when the moving belt suddenly pulled away beneath me. Maybe it is just inertia, but it does not feel like a very gentle speed.

It feels like the city runs faster than the one I grew up in by default. People walk faster. Traffic lights change faster. Escalators move faster. Everything is optimized for transport efficiency. Which naturally raises the question: where does all the time saved by that efficiency actually go?

Besides the speed, the other thing I struggled with was the hostility of service workers.

Setting aside higher-end restaurants and bars, meals are usually delivered with nothing but the sound of plates hitting the table. At checkout, there is only the total and a gesture. No conversation. No greeting. As if the whole city has been put on mute.

And if you are lucky enough to meet a staff member willing to speak, what you may get is a burst of Cantonese and pressure to make your decision quickly, as if you should naturally understand both their language and their tempo. Any hesitation is met with a sigh.

I do not know where that irritation comes from. It could also be that Taiwan’s service industry is simply too attentive. But I still want to understand what kind of environment shapes Hong Kong’s distinctive service attitude.

A Great City

This trip was not only for sightseeing. I also met a few Taiwanese friends there.

Each of them was living in Hong Kong temporarily for school or work. Their reasons and lengths of stay differed, but one thing was consistent: they all hated the city.

And yet, despite all the complaints and criticism, none of them chose to leave. They did not return home. They did not move to some other more livable city. Behind every complaint, they were still there, still in Hong Kong.

Someone once said that the mark of a great city is its ruthlessness toward ambitious people. I think it may be something else: a city that fills people with frustration, yet still makes them reluctant to leave.

Its flaws may be endless and easy to list. But for the sake of a dream, for the sake of a bigger stage, people weigh the tradeoffs and still decide to grit their teeth and keep hustling on this piece of land. If that does not count as greatness, what does?

Prologue

On the way to Hong Kong, the plane hit turbulence. The aircraft tilted sharply in the air before stabilizing, then shook for a while. Things fell. Babies cried. It was irritating, mostly because there was nothing to do. In a situation where control disappears, the only thing left is a kind of forced openness. You observe like an outsider even while still being trapped inside the event.

Thinking about it carefully, taking part in a National Geographic-style disaster scene like this is not the worst kind of souvenir. No one is going to read out your name one by one, but perhaps having been part of it is enough.

In that moment I thought about the people who fell from the Twin Towers, and the crowds who watched from nearby buildings. The cries of people and the flames rising from the towers formed a scene like hell itself. Even watching the footage is enough to leave you shaken.

By the time I reached this point in my writing, the plane had landed safely. For the first time in my life, I had stepped onto the territory of the People’s Republic of China. To mark the occasion, I archived a few articles for myself. I need that goddamn freedom of speech. So I said.

中文版本

過往榮光

在落地之前，對於香港總有些莫名的標籤和印象。

亞洲金融中心、高聳密集的排排大廈、國安法和反送中、和一系列刻在腦海的港片情景。

在那個文化輸出依舊強勢的年代，粵語被配上不同聲音在跨海很遠的地方放映著，街景與臉孔被recognized ，狹小的半島往外輻射上千里。

儘管有人說是時代特殊下的產物，但真切存在的是資本密集下創意滿溢的歌曲與影視作品，是黑幫火拼的逞兇鬥狠，是警匪追逐的狂飆甩尾，是晃動冷綠的鏡頭下扭曲放大的刀削臉龐。

那些都是榮景曇花，盛開的時候很碩大，但時間已經往前邁進，而靈魂不慎留在原地。

踏上土地還是能發現絢麗過去留下的深刻痕跡。街區與馬路規劃明顯優於台灣，行經人潮密集區時，彎曲的單行道能讓車輛自然的減速，人行道、臨停區、大眾運輸也井然有序的切分著，不像台灣一切以車為本地設計交通。

而斑駁高挑的大樓，則象徵著30年前就發展過度的都會區。

動輒3、40層樓的大廈一排一排地插在稠密的土地上，依著岸邊，底下多是商場，往上是窩居平方米的人們。擁有世界前幾高的資產與收入比，這些物高樓個個要價不菲，但外牆卻沒有被妥善修繕，竹子做成的鷹架和油漆剝落的表面構成九龍城區的景象。

我武斷地下了備註在筆記本上：香港的一切都稱不上新。

街上的廣告代言是郭富城，整排高樓是待都更的物件，路上的計程車（的士）是紅色烤漆的舊式車輛，每個店鋪內的服務生大多上了年紀，隨處通用的八達通更是早在2000年之前便普及，台北捷運都尚未成形的年代。

時間若能按下pause，90年代大概是香港最後的光輝。

急促與暴戾

另外我覺得有趣的是，香港的一切似乎都很快，或是說，急促。路口的紅綠燈都搭配著喇叭，等著紅燈一轉綠，喇叭便開始放出急促刺耳的高頻，催促著行人趕緊過馬路。

不僅如此，地鐵上下的手扶梯也比台北快了1.2倍有，時常被突然抽走的履帶搞得險些站不穩，慣性作用，不是太友善的速度。

好像by default 這邊的速度就比我從小習慣的城市快不少，行人走得更快，紅綠燈更快，手扶梯更快，一切都為了更高的運輸效率，隨之而來的疑問便是，藉由這些高效所省下的時間不知道花在哪了？

除了快，另一個不適應的是服務生的戾氣。

撇除較高價位的餐廳和酒吧，上菜時多半只有碗盤敲上桌子的聲響，結帳時則只有金額與手勢，不存在交談和問候，就像是被開了靜音模式。

而若有幸遇到願意開口的店員，則可能遇到一陣廣東話的轟炸和催促你趕緊做決定的店員，彷彿你應該懂他們的語言和決策速度，疑惑和停頓則會換來一陣嘆氣。

不知道這些不滿是從何而來，也可能是台灣的服務業太過周到，但還是想了解是怎麼樣的成長環境塑造香港特色的服務態度。

偉大城市

這趟前來不僅是為了觀光，也見了幾位台灣的朋友 。

他們各自因為讀書或工作的緣故短住在香港，雖然待的年數和理由不盡相同，一致的是，他們都很討厭這個城市。

儘管充滿了挑剔和不滿，他們卻沒有選擇離開，沒有回到家鄉或前往另一個宜居城市，在這些抱怨背後，他們都還待在香港。

有人說，偉大城市的象徵是對進步團隊的無情，我反而覺得是讓人們滿腹牢騷卻又不捨離開，可能信手拈來是數不盡的缺點，但為了圓一個夢，為了更大的舞台，權衡過後，做出的決定依舊是牙咬著繼續在這片土地上hustle，這還不能算是偉大嗎？

前傳

在來港的途中遭遇亂流，機身在空中大幅度傾斜後回穩，震盪了一陣子，伴隨著許多東西掉落的聲響和嬰兒的哭鬧。挺煩人的，畢竟無法左右什麼，在這種喪失掌控的處境只能特別豁達，事不關己似的，以局外人的身份旁觀但同時卻又是局中人。

仔細想想，用這樣的事件和身份參與國家地理頻道也不失為特殊的紀念，雖然不會一一唱名，但曾經參與其中似乎也就夠了。

在這個瞬間想到從雙子星大廈墜落的人，和在遠處大樓旁觀的群眾。人們的哭喊和大樓著火的烈焰構成煉獄般的場景，僅僅是觀看錄像也夠震撼了。

走筆至此，飛機安全的降落了，人生第一次踏上中華人民共和國的領土，為此典藏了幾篇文，我需要那天殺的言論自由，我如是說。

• Tags:
• Travel
• Reflection
• Hong-Kong