April 8 - 9
Hong Kong to Bourne End
April 8
Hong Kong
Looking from my room again at the reclamation work underway outside, I was reminded of one of Martha's gems. She has only used the ferry once in years as she suffers badly from seasickness. She is convinced that the more reclamation that has taken place and the narrower that the harbour has become, the bigger the waves have grown. I have noticed several times that the ferry has had to wait for a couple of minutes at the wharf to allow the waves to subside before lowering the gang plank.
With packing to do, I breakfasted at the hotel. It is the normal sort of buffet. The dim sum are better than in many hotels and they do excellent stewed mushrooms - Chinese ones, not the normal European sort.
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When I had completed the bulk of the packing, I left the hotel and used the bridge over Gloucester Road. I stopped to take photos of the traffic and noticed a young man who I saw yesterday, undertaking some form of traffic census. There's plenty to count in this area! I caught a bus from beneath the footbridge and alighted at Central, outside my bank - I must own at least one rivet. En route, I was able to watch the TV, except that there was no sound and the text was all Chinese to me. |
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HSBC is a wonderful building, now much smaller than the surrounding buildings but still an interesting shape. The lions are very grand. What's more important is that there was a machine which sold me some money.
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Statue Square is now largely devoted to the statue of Sir Thomas Jackson, 1841-1915, Chief Manager of HSBC for 32 years. There is also a small, nude, statue of Sir Anthony Gormley, one of a series to be found in Hong Kong. Very strange! The Court of Last Resort is a glorious contrast to the modern behemoths which surround it.
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Next door, in Chater Gardens, is a fan zone for the Rugby Sevens and lots of water features and flowers, just begging to be photographed, which is exactly what I did.
The Cenotaph, over the road, appears to be a copy of the one in Whitehall.
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From there, it was a short walk to the Star Ferry Terminal, passing the big wheel en route. This offered photo opportunities from several different directions.
I worked out some time ago that the cheapest way to travel from Central to Wan Chai was on the ferry, crossing the harbour to the mainland and then returning to the Island at Wan Chai. This I achieved without incident, providing my last look at the harbour for another year.
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From Wan Chai I had to negotiate the construction work and then the fiercely busy roads in order to find the route to Causeway Bay. I had thought of catching a bus but it was easier to walk than to work out how to access the bus stops, many of which were in the middle of the road works.
Right: Roadworks everywhere |
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I arrived at the hotel bar, where I had arranged to met John and Pauline, on the dot of 12. John and his mate, who's name I have completely forgotten, arrived a couple of minutes later, and Pauline about half an hour after that. John's mate was an old work colleague, now permanently based in Hong Kong. We chatted and drank several glasses of a very good local IPA called Gweilo, the Chinese name for us white folk. Pauline and I decided that we wanted more than a liquid lunch so attacked the rather splendid buffet. John and Pauline then departed to watch their son playing in the Sevens, their friend went off to work and I tottered off to play shopping.
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I didn't actually buy anything but examined clothes and electricals in both normal shops and at market stalls. I had a good look at Bowrington Market and its wonderful food.
It is frustrating that I can't buy anything at these wonderful markets as I have nowhere to cook anything. In the case of the meat, that may not be an entirely bad thing.
With fatigue catching up, I caught my breath at Southorn Playground, watching a few lads kicking a ball around. As ever, the stand was reasonably full of people using it as a convenient meeting place.
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I walked slowly back to the hotel, dozed in a chair in my room for a while, half watching the TV. I showered, changed and completed my packing. Everything fitted into my bags without difficulty so I dumped them at reception, paid for my morning's breakfast and completed checking out.
My plan had been to have a beer in the pub followed by a sandwich at the coffee shop. The excessive consumption at lunchtime put paid to the former but the latter successfully occupied an hour or more until it was time to get a taxi from the hotel to the station.
In the event, it took about as long to attract a taxi from the rush hour traffic as it did to make the journey to the station. The fare, with tip, was about £3 so the taxi and train work out quite a lot cheaper than the bus.
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Check-in at the station was quick, although I was asked if I would like to change my seat or my flight as Virgin had overbooked. I politely declined. Virgin must stop doing this. I would use another airline if there were a reasonable alternative.
At the MTR information desk, I asked about a senior's octopus card and was told that I could trade my current one in and obtain a new one when I next returned as long as I could proved that I was over 65. As I would be fresh off the plane, I should have my passport with me.
The train got me to the airport in 25 minutes so I completed the trip from hotel to Immigration in an hour. I would struggle to do that using the bus.
After that, I waited and waited. More food was out of the question but I eventually succumbed to a beer. At £9 for a pint, that was an expensive option.
April 9
Hong Kong to Bourne End
The plane took off two minutes early, almost on the stroke of midnight, and landed half an hour early. The cabin was smart and the staff were very good. The food was mediocre and the wine was disgusting.
We had a huge walk at Heathrow, probably 15 minutes. Immigration, however, was very quick, about four minutes. That has to be a record and the best reason that I can think of for arriving at about 04.30. All was going well at the baggage conveyor until it ceased going round and round and an alarm sounded. We were told that they were looking for an engineer to mend it. I shouldn't have been surprised that at that hour of the morning, it took quite a while, about ten minutes I should think, to find one.
This meant that I arrived at the Heathrow train station a few seconds before the first Heathrow Connect train of the morning departed. I looked on helplessly as it pulled away.
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I waited in splendid isolation for 29 and a half minutes until the next one arrived.
I had a short wait in the cold at Hayes & Harlington and arrived at Maidenhead in the drizzle to face a 30 minute wait until the next Marlow Donkey. As the coffee counter wasn't open, I grabbed a taxi, which rushed me home along very quiet roads. All was well there except that my car was immobile and in hospital.
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