Hong Kong Alphabet :: A.

A :: Airdry



It's an iconic scene in Hong Kong: the apartment block with poles and wires coming out of the windows, looking like not-very-sturdy scaffolding. That is, until you see one loaded with laundry, shirts and towels fluttering like flags above the street. It's a dying tradition here---only the old buildings have these outdoor drying racks, and many are left unused. To my joy, our new apartment has two things--one, a dryer that is actually effective at drying clothes, and two, a clothes line right outside our window.



These things are brilliant, I tell you. We've had backyard clotheslines before, and I've dutifully lugged that wet laundry basket up from the basement and hung it all up, but oh my. How easy is it to just walk across a room, lean out the window, and clip up the towels or shirts? Yes, "leaning out" 20 stories up is a little vertigo inducing, and you do run the risk of dropping that favorite shirt, but what's a little thrill for the price of convenience? In truth, we've only lost one washcloth and that's just because I wasn't paying attention. Ground-floor rooftops all across Hong Kong are littered with such droppings, the colorful remains of a housewife's momentary daydream or an ill-timed gust of wind.

Hong Kong Alphabet :: introduction

Many of you know that Matt and I are currently in a decision-making phase. He has to choose to renew (or not) his contract in HK by mid-December. The tricky part is that American schools don't start hiring until the spring, so if we choose to go, we're saying no to this job before having lined up a new one. While we don't doubt that Matt could get a job somewhere, it might leave us in a position of not being very picky about that next job.

So. Everyday, it seems, we go back and forth, weighing the advantages of being near family versus being able to travel, of continuing his career in a known great school versus getting rooted in a new school and community. We're trying hard not to let it dominate our conversations and emotions, but it's hard.

All this is a very long preamble to a little project I'm starting, a Hong Kong alphabet---a way of methodically thinking about and recording the things we love about this city. If we stay, it will help us remember what is good here. And if we leave, well, it will help us remember what was good here. So even though it's not helping us make our decision, it's keeping us grateful while we do so. And more than that, it's keeping us here now.

Coming right up :: A.

The chestnuts are back, the chestnuts are back!

Actually, they've been back for a few weeks now. Living in a new neighborhood, we don't have a chestnut man like last year, but chestnut ladies. And even though I buy the chestnuts for some reason having to do with books I read as a child, what we really love are the roasted sweet potatoes. Here where fall means temperatures that are still in the 70's and even 80's, where the leaves stay green and no one has a front porch to decorate with a pumpkin or corn stalks, it's nice to have at least one thing that smells autumnal and traditional to me, even if the tradition is only a year old.

I have to admit that at this time of year, when all my friends' family photos have pictures of kids visiting pumpkin patches and picking apples, kicking up leaves and pulling out sweaters and hats, I catch my breath with nolstalgia and longing, wishing to give those experiences to Finn. I've been surprised many times since becoming a mother how strong is the desire to recreate my own childhood experiences--is this just a desire to relive my own life? Or is it wanting to enact the motherhood I witnessed and thus imagined for myself?

It's not like experiencing autumn is important in a moral or character-building sense, like passing on our faith or other traditions. Moreover, we know that Finn is young, and has many, many pumpkins and apples in his future. But we have learned over and over in the last year how deeply we have been formed by our midwestern American upbringing, and in that upbringing, October = fall = leaves, pumpkins and apples. It just feels right.

Living in Hong Kong has taught us other things, though, too. It's taught us how similar you can be to someone from an entirely different background. It's taught us how much we can enjoy and take on new traditions, and helped me understand how a person might take great joy and comfort in celebrating a (religious to me) holiday like Christmas or Easter with no religious beliefs involved whatsoever. I have even felt grateful (and a tiny bit smug) a time or two when we've heard about snow in Minnesota or Vermont and our plans for the day included the beach. New things can become normal surprisingly quickly.

So our "new normal" today included a Halloween spent at the beach, enjoying sand and water (and a nap!); a romp in the green-leaved and profusely-blooming park; toasted nori and roasted sweet potato with Finn's dinner; and date night at a tempura bar (in a mall's food court, no less!) .... Not a bad normal at all.

Eating Local, Hong Kong Style: Ginger

I consider having a weekly CSA farmshare here in Hong Kong a triumph, one of those things I'm secretly really proud of (or not so secretly, once this is published.) But really, all it testifies to is the power of the internet ... just a few clicks, an email, a money transfer and voila ... fresh organic vegetables at our door.

We opt for the Western/Asian mixed pack, and thus we usually get an assortment of salad greens, tomatoes, bok choy, celery, carrots, eggplant, potatos, and all sorts of squash/winter melons that I never know quite what to do with. But last week, amidst the various greens and dirt-covered carrots, we got ginger. Ginger! Fresh-from-the-ground ginger. Still-dirty ginger. Of course ginger has to be locally grown somewhere, but, wow. This was a gift I did not expect.

The flavor of Hong Kong-grown ginger was familiar ... sharp, spicy, warm, pungent. But it was somehow a little fresher, and also completely lacking in bitterness. I know, I've never thought of grocery-store ginger as bitter either, but this was so un-bitter that it completely changed how I think about ginger. And the best thing? No fibers, no strings---just crisp, firm flesh, easy to slice or mince as fine as you like.

Immediately upon discovery visions of candied ginger filled my head---specifically, chocolate-dipped candied ginger. Elegant, sophisticated, and completely delicious. I decided then and there that this would be my Christmas present for the Hong Kong crowd, and they would all see me as the pastry chef I used to be. Sigh. This isn't the first time that Christmas plans have, um, over-reached.

The candying procedure itself was straightforward (I used instructions from David Lebovitz) and it's basically the same process as candying ornage rind. But after cooking the ginger in the syrup, you have a choice---either to drain the ginger from the syrup, dip in granulated sugar and let dry overnight, or store in the syrup. Of course what I had imagined was the dry version, but I hadn't thought through the process to the point of letting it dry on a rack overnight. What's the problem, you say? One word: cockroaches.

Not that we've seen any, let me hasten to add, but that doesn't mean much. We know cockroaches are a reality in Hong Kong, and in an old building like ours it's almost a given. But I'm as afraid of the chemicals used to kill cockroaches as I am of the little guys themselves, so I've developed an obsession about doing the dishes, sweeping and taking out the trash. Truly, I've never been concerned about leaving a few dishes in the sink all day, and I've certainly never felt a need to sweep after each meal, but this is my new reality. Dirty dishes hardly last 5 minutes in this kitchen, friends. So leaving sugary, candied ginger slices out on the counter overnight? No way.

I drained some of the ginger and let it dry on a rack in the refrigerator, just to see what would happen, but no luck. It's just too moist in there. (For that matter, the humidity is out of control right now, so maybe they wouldn't have dried properly on our counter anyway?)

Alas, no elegant, dark-chocolate-dipped ginger for me. What I do have, though, is a whole jar filled with syrupy sweet, chewy ginger slices and lovely ginger-spiked syrup...just right for adding to cocktails, pouring over ice cream, pouring over oatmeal!, or using in salad dressings. And I have these cookies, which are so comforting and cozy I can almost forgive them for not being the confection I wanted.

Chewy Ginger-Chocolate Cookies

(probably my all-time favorite cookies … from a Martha Stewart Living magazine years ago)

• 7 ounces semisweet chocolate (or good quality chocolate chips)
• 1 ½ cups +1 tbsp all-purpose flour
• 1 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• ¼ teaspoon ground cloves
• 1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• 1 tablespoon cocoa powder
• 8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
• 1 tablespoon freshly grated ginger (or a couple tablespoons chopped candied ginger)
• ½ cup dark brown sugar, packed
• ½ cup molasses
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• ¼ cup granulated sugar

Line two baking sheets with parchment. Chop chocolate into 1/4-inch chunks; set aside. In a medium bowl, sift together flour, ground ginger, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and cocoa.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, fitted with the paddle attachment, beat butter and grated ginger until whitened, about 4 minutes. Add brown sugar; beat until combined. Add molasses; beat until combined. (Note: there is no electric mixer in this tiny kitchen. A spatula works just fine, as long as the butter is soft enough, but don't let it be too soft and melty either. A KAF dough whisk is brilliant for this.)

In a small bowl, dissolve baking soda in 1 1/2 teaspoons boiling water. Beat half of flour mixture into butter mixture. Beat in baking-soda mixture, then remaining half of flour mixture. Mix in chocolate; turn out onto a piece of plastic wrap. Pat dough out to about 1 inch thick; seal with wrap; refrigerate until firm, 2 hours or more.

Preheat oven to 325°F. Roll dough into 1 1/2- inch balls; place 2 inches apart on baking sheets. Refrigerate 20 minutes. Roll in granulated sugar. Bake until the surfaces crack slightly, 10 to 12 minutes. Let cool 5 minutes; transfer to a wire rack to cool completely, which you only need to do if you plan to transport them. Otherwise, eat warm, and preferably with a cold glass of milk.  Yields: 2 dozen cookies.

Phuket, part two.

Okay, so I know that things sounded idyllic in that last post. And actually, they were pretty nearly so. Matt has had a busy fall, and I'm finding parenting a toddler to be way more exhausting than the infant days, so we were both ready for vacation. It was heavenly to sit and knit, listening to my son and his father shriek with laughter as they chased each other on the beach or ran into the waves. Finn loved all that time with his papa and Matt and I each got alone time as well.





The resort we stayed in was, as I alluded to, quite hip. Every detail was clearly designed and in keeping with the theme, which references the history of tin mining here in Phuket.



It all felt very industrial, with lots of metal and concrete, like a hip urban nightclub. The techno music that played in the public areas--bathrooms, lobby, restaurants--added to that "club" feel.

It was cool---our room, and in particular, the shower, felt like something in a design magazine.



But it's not the type of space I could ever live in, and in fact started to feel a little oppressive. Matt, however, didn't find it oppressive at all and really loved how clean and modern it felt---not fussy or hokey in the least.



The other part of the trip which gave us mixed feelings was a mass-market tourist day trip out to the Phi Phi Islands. It was absolutely gorgeous and almost unreal to swim in such clear turquoise waters. And snorkeling among coral reefs and colorful fish is otherworldly and dream-like.

But ours was just one of so many boats, all putting down anchors in that coral, and we were just two of so many snorkelers, putting our sunscreen-lathered bodies into that water, letting the waves wash those chemicals right off of us.

We felt downright queasy when our boat pulled up to "Monkey Island" and people fed the monkeys from the boat. Everybody wanted a great picture, but the guides were clearly nervous, since the monkeys have become mean and bold, thanks to boat after boat of tourists bringing them food. We were warned not to let Finn near, since the monkeys have a tendency to bite children, and adults too, if they don't get what they want.

We don't regret seeing such beauty at all, nor are we sorry to put money into an economy that is still recovering from the 2004 tsunami. But I do regret not doing more advance research on responsible day-trip operators. I studied the environmental impacts of tourism while in Indonesia and I know better than to just go with the best price. We plan to return to Thailand over Christmas break (this time to Chiang Mai) and this is good motivation to do our homework on the various elephant camps and trekking outfits located in that region.

I guess the truth is just that travel is always complex, and that as much as local areas benefit from and rely on tourism dollars, there is a cost as well. From increased sewage load and trash production to outright exploitation of cultural practices or wildlife, rarely is the tourism industry entirely benign. We were reminded, in our island day-trip, that travel involves responsibility, and requires recognition of the social exchange that takes place, more than just the financial one. My responsibility, as a tourist, goes beyond simply learning something of the language and customs, though that is a good place to start. My responsibility involves research on activities and purchases that I can feel good about, and involves slowing down enough to treat each person I meet with courtesy and respect.

In the end, I guess, being a responsible tourist isn't all that different than being a responsible human being. The cultural differences may complicate what "responsible" looks like, but the limited demands of each day allow more than enough space and time for reflection.

Phuket, part one.

This past week we've been in Phuket, Thailand. (n.b. Phuket is pronounced "poo-ket." It hadn't occurred to me that there was a less-than-family-friendly way to mispronounce Phuket, until my friend Andrea left a comment on facebook alluding to said mispronunciation. Now, of course, that's all I can think of when I see the word written. Thanks, Andrea!)

Phuket has quite a reputation for parties and sleaze ... think beach spring break all year round. But we found a resort in a quiet village and haven't seen a bit of that. Instead, this is what we've been experiencing ...

hearing:

• waves crash on the shore (obvious, I know, but true)
• new phrases from Finn: "okey-i" (okay, guys) "oh no!" (mainly said if loses a ball) "ten-ten" (tennis, his current obsession) and "be-ball" (beach ball)
• The Story of Edgar Sawtelle---we listen at night (after Finn goes to sleep) on one of two porches. I knit, Matt stretches.
• techno-pop music throughout the resort (more on this later)

feeling:

• sugar-soft sand (again, obvious, but so marvelously true) and salty breezes
• a foot massage while lounging on the beach (heaven!)
• wool in my hands (is it crazy to knit on the beach?)
• just a teensy sunburn on my shoulders and on Matt's neck, but none for Finn!

tasting:

• king prawns with garlic, grilled fish with lemongrass and chilies, curried crab
• fresh juice, milkshakes, and cocktails everyday...Finn is in love with virgin pina coladas.
• amazing breakfasts: fruit, cheese, breads, pastries, waffles, omelets, fresh honey from a honeycomb!

watching:

• Finn gain confidence with the waves
• fishermen bring in the boats while we eat dinner
• Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter--another Korean movie which will get full review next week

marveling at:

• the wonderful way baby powder gets sand off a baby's body ... off a grown-up's body too!
• this ultra-cool hotel, almost too cool for me.
• classic tropical postcard scenes: white sand, clear turquoise waters

wishing for:

• nothing, except that you were here. Truly. We said many times on this vacation that as wonderful as it was, it would be better to share it with friends or family. So, we're heading to Chiang Mai for Christmas ... anyone coming along?

More later, and lots of pictures over at flickr.

Hong Kong health care: a note on costs

Ok, this is the last thing I'll say about health care, in Hong Kong or otherwise. First, I heartily recommend last week's This American Life episode about the exploding costs of health care.

Said episode prompted me to ask my pregnant friend about the costs of maternity care in HK. Her first baby was at a public hospital, and the second one will be in a private one. A number of things surprised me about our conversation:

1. The costs were much less than I expected, even at the fancy private hospital on The Peak. An average normal delivery here in a private hospital runs between HK $60,000 and $100,000, which is about US $7500-13,000. That includes a 3 day stay, doctor's fees, epidural and anesthesiologist's fees and pediatric care. I don't know how much insurance paid for our delivery of Finn in the US, so maybe these costs are comparable (anyone know?), but honestly, US $10,000 seems sort of cheap. It's not cheap, I know that, but that's the point.

At a public hospital, on the other hand, for people with an ID card, it truly is cheap--between HK $1000-$10,000 (if in a private room), which is about US $100-1200. Lots of people choose a half/half option, going to a private doctor for prenatal care and then delivering in a public hospital. Private prenatal care runs between HK $10,000-20,000, which is about US $1280-2560.

2. The costs, both for prenatal care and for the delivery packages, are readily available. Hospital websites have them posted as well as online forums like geobaby. Maybe you can find a breakdown of the prices for medical services in the US, but I've never seen one. Having insurance meant I never cared what the cost was for a service, I just cared if it was covered.

3. One practice I find appalling here is that some doctors (and hospitals) charge more for their services if you use a private room rather than a shared room--up to twice as much. The only thing I can chalk this up to is pure greed--how could it possibly cost more to care for a person in a private room? You already pay more, of course, to the hospital for the private room, which makes sense. But to pay more for the doctor's fees, for the delivery, for the epidural, for the anesthesiologist? That's crazy.