Weekend in Macau

It took seven trips to Macau for me to set foot in Wynn for the first time. We were drawn in mostly by the AC, but once inside I actually managed to find the casino hotel borderline grand. On the ceiling just inside the main entrance is a magnificent sculpture featuring the 12 Chinese zodiac animals, seemingly dominated by the tiger displaying its ferocious roar. Both the ceiling and the astrology-themed dome directly below were structured to suggest that they’d crack open to reveal something mystical. Soon enough crowds started to gather for what’s to come.

At 15 minutes past the hour, the show began. Lights dimmed and music played. Like the shutter of a film camera, the sculpture split into pizza-slice-shaped plates and slowly retracted into the ceiling to unveil a glow, which was simply a giant LCD screen displaying winding swirls of multicolored lights ― short of magical but would easily be the Mecca of any rave party. The LCD itself then split open and uncovered yet another bright light. This time it was a massive upside-down-pudding-shaped chandelier. As it lower from inside the ceiling, the astrology-themed dome on the ground split open. The crowd ooh-ed and ahh-ed as we braced ourselves for the moment of truth. Who knew the fancy 15-minute buildup would be followed by the ultimate anticlimax of a Styrofoam tree spray-painted gold rising from the underground, for people to throw spare change at. I think it’s safe to say this has constituted my WTF moment of the year.

As we window shopped our way through the Wynn Esplanade, we made every effort to zone out the rowdy chitchat in oh so many different Chinese dialects that were echoing past Hermès, Rolex and Ferrari. One conversation in particular was interrupted by the distinctive sound of someone hocking up phlegm as if from the bottom of his knees. I quickly turned around and prepared myself to dodge what flying dagger could be coming my way. I was one of at least four people including a Wynn staff who witnessed as the foamy puddle landed on the mosaic marble floors, right there in front of Prada. The shooter must’ve seen my look of disgust and kept his ears away from his phone just long enough to hear my loud exclamation of “Oh my God”, because he quickly looked away, picked up his pace and returned to his tongue-rolling prattle on his Vertu, only now in a much lower volume than before. Sadder yet, the Wynn staff was even quicker to flee the scene.

We didn't stay at Wynn, but at Rio (don’t ask) where everything screams Mainland: Complimentary breakfast with flies (Not in the food, just hovering around. Just.); hookers roaming the lobby; gamblers filling up the casinos with clatter, cheap smoke and booger darts; spitting hookers handing out business cards to gamblers; spitting gamblers in the casinos straight-out eyeing you as if ready to ask your price. What more could you ask for?

Until Cirque du Soleil debuts its second resident show at the Venetian Macau, I’m done with the so-called Vegas of Asia. Like with every other potentially wonderful thing in the Greater China Region, Mainlanders have taken over Macau and contaminated it with their sheer inconsideration for the existence of everything that’s not them.

ROARRR

Shanghai

Had my hopes up too high. Way too high. It only took the first four hours of a four-day trip for Shanghai to disappoint me. May be the most metropolitan city of China, sadly enough, but Shanghai is still very far from sophistication, and even further from civilization.

Can’t deny the beauty of many of the buildings there, colonial and modern architecture, with the obvious exception of the Oriental Pearl TV Tower. If only the city wasn’t so far enclosed inside the bubble of filth, overlooking the Huangpu river would’ve been just a little more pleasant than looking at the Hong Kong island from TST.

Considering how little time I had to prepare for this trip, I actually made a lot of effort to research for places to go and, more importantly, places to eat. But in the end, two of the only three decent meals I had there weren’t even Shanghainese.

The people—oh my god, the people. And I thought Hong Kong and Shenzhen were bad. Kudos to their very well developed metro network, including China’s very own Maglev; but it will take a lot more than high-speed train to drive this city away from the barbarianism so deeply rooted in all of China. Not only do people push their ways into the train before passengers get a chance to get out, but they turn back after they’ve entered the train to give an extra shove to those trying to get out.

The most enjoyable part of the trip was probably the walk through an “antique” street lined up with stall after stall selling fake watches, Chairman Mao playing cards, and a bunch of other dirty useless junk. The goods weren’t nearly as interesting as the neighborhood. Just a couple blocks away from the hip and cool Xintiandi, the area around the antique street was the oldest part of the city I saw. With residents just chilling and playing mahjong on the street, and kids running around laughing while attacking tourists with their water guns, it was as genuine as Shanghai could get in this century.

China will forever be China

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Anxiety kicked in at the precise moment I stepped onto the train to Lo Wu. Half the passengers had with them huge luggage you have to maneuver through like soldiers get pass military obstacle courses of rubber tires and barbwire. And more often on Lo Wu trains than on trains to other destinations that you'll find fellow passengers much more eager to shove through and step on your feet, and reluctant to apologize for such behavior.

It was my second time going to Guangzhou. Just like last time, I was to meet my boss at “Harbor Cha Chan Teng” just past the Shenzhen customs. The only difference is that this time I’m bringing my notebook, which I hung on to it with my dear life the whole time, in fear that some perfectly or not-so-much disguised crook would just snatch it from my hands and run.

Why my boss insists on visiting this particular cha chan teng is as big a mystery as why the thing isn’t out of business. I ordered the shrimp wonton noodle breakfast set, which comes with scrambled eggs with ham, and buttered toast. I’m not being sarcastic when I say it was the worst-tasting wonton I’ve ever had, the worst egg noodles I’ve ever tasted, and the most disgusting so-called scrambled eggs I’ve ever seen. If the toast hadn’t been left under the exhaust fan for three days before being served, I would’ve actually had something with which to fill my stomach.

If my stomach had been filled though, my experience for the next hour and a half would’ve been even more unpleasant (as if that was possible). For each part of Guangzhou has a distinct smell, each with a hint of either burnt engine oil or excrement. I refrained from eating for the rest of the day. My busy schedule allowed no time for hurling.

Like on any other rainy day, I manage to forget my umbrella at home. Good thing I was wise enough to be wearing my trusty Converse for the day though. Had I worn anything dressier my feet would've rotted by the end of the day of the fungal infection from the puddles of shit water we had to stride across throughout the sheltered parts of the Guangzhou train station.

One of the things I noticed about Mainlanders (at least those in Shenzhen and Guangzhou) is that they seem to have a whole different perspective on queues. The relatively new railway systems in these cities are, in many ways, carbon copies of our MTR. Passengers are encouraged by the multilingual PA system to act courteous. As civilized a city as I’d like to believe Hong Kong to be, I still find myself occasionally having to go head-to-head with one or two boarding passengers when I exit from MTR trains. But exiting from a train in Shenzhen is much like a salmon swimming upstream. It was no longer the one or two barbarians I had to fight with, but tidal waves of white water. More fascinating yet was the bottleneck queue at the taxi stand. The enthusiam of the crowd had me suspect someone was handing out cash at the front.

Now imagine the same chaos, but with cars. You can easily find seven vehicles scrunched side-by-side on a five-lane road in Guangzhou. Not to mention the cyclists coming from every which direction, who, on a rainy day, look like escapees from barbershops hiding under their dark-toned PVC capes.

When we finally reached the office, it was already lunchtime. The lack of air con (and air circulation for that matter) in the office, together with the scent of my lunchboxes of leftovers being heated up in the microwave, made me even sicker than I already was. Resorted to the trusty remedy called Coca Cola, only to discover that the Mainland version of the world's most popular drink tastes like, well, anything but.

For now I'm back in our suddenly notorious office building in Kowloon East. But by the looks of it, I'll be making at least two or three more trips to the home of my mother tongue in the coming weeks. There's bound to be a sequel to this piece.