We frequented Sai Kung Peninsula to visit its pristine beaches, hike on some of Hong Kong’s best trails, appreciate the awesome mix of manmade and natural wonders, or hop from island to island in the Mirs Bay. But there was one time we went to this “Back Garden of Hong Kong” not for its natural beauty, but for the cultural heritage of its Boat People and Hakka communities. A few days after we visited Tsing Yi Bamboo Theatre, we found ourselves once again in a community festival dedicated to Tin Hau, the Goddess of the Sea. This time, we arrived at Sai Kung Town, a seafood paradise and transportation hub that we often pass by on our way to other destinations in the area. Celebrations of Tin Hau Festival (天后誕) began at Tin Hau & Hip Tin Temple (天后古廟及協天大帝廟), a lovely historical complex dedicated to both Tin Hau and Kwan Tai (關帝), the God of War and Righteousness. Similar to other traditional festivals in Hong Kong, colourful flower plaques (花牌) were the first things we saw as we approached the temple and festival ground. In front of the temple, a large bamboo theatre was erected to house performances of Shen Gong opera (神功戲), the ritual operas dedicated to the deity.
On the slope behind the temple, the former Sai Kung Primary School was temporarily converted into a visitor centre, displaying cultural heritage of the community and Tin Hau Festival. Despite modest in size, it was fun to wander around the former school complex, from courtyards to classrooms where festival artefacts were put on display. Apart from the former school complex, two streets near the temple were blocked off to host a community fair. Among vendors selling jewellery, confections, wine, sake, stalls selling ready-to-eat snacks like grilled meat skewers and bubble tea seemed to be more popular. After indulging ourselves with local snacks, night had already fallen upon. We stopped by the bamboo theatre once again to have a peek of the Cantonese Opera. Actors with traditional makeups and ornate costumes were performing on stage a famous scene from the “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” (三國演義). Outside the theatre, crowds at the street fair had thinned out a little bit, probably many had already gone home for dinner.
Imagine flying a 747 Jumbo Jet in the 1990’s and approaching Hong Kong from the southwest near Cheung Chau Island, where the localizer would be intercepted for the runway and a right turn must be made towards Kai Tak Airport (啟德機場) in the middle of the densely populated Kowloon City, and in front of the range of Kowloon peaks. Due to the mountainous terrain, the IGS (instrument guidance system) was offset from the runway by 47 degrees. Using the red and white Checkerboard Hill in Kowloon Tsai Park as a visual reference, a 47 degree right turn, famously known as the “Hong Kong Turn” or “Checkerboard Turn”, must be made manually upon reaching the hill to avoid crashing into the mountains, and line up the jet with the runway. With less than two nautical miles of distance to manoeuvre the turn, starting from the height of about 650 feet and exited at 140 feet for the final descend onto Runway 13, the move was referred to as the “Kai Tak Heart Attack”. Every decision had to made in a short period of time precisely to avoid causing delays in one of the world’s busiest airport (3rd busiest for passenger and 1st for cargo in 1996). When I was a child, I never thought that the old Kai Tak Airport was special. Upon descending at Kai Tak Airport, I still remember passing over Kowloon City in seemingly touchable distance from building rooftops, seeing the interiors of apartment units and people playing basketball in ball courts. 25 years after the closure of Kai Tak Airport, Kowloon Walled City no longer exists and Kai Tak runway has become a residential district. Standing on the Checkerboard Hill looking south, we could appreciate the impressive operations of Kai Tak Airport and the marvelous skills of the pilots who braved the “Kai Tak Heart Attack”.
At the foot of Checkerboard Hill, Hau Wong Temple (侯王廟) remains as the last surviving remnant from the Kowloon Walled City. Built in 1730, today the temple stands across the street from Kowloon Walled City Park, overlooking the disappeared community it once served as their patron saint. The temple is dedicated to Hau Wong, a loyal follower of the last Emperor of the Southern Song Dynasty who tried to escape the pursuit of Mongols and fled to Kowloon City from the north. The temple consists of a main hall, side chambers, courtyards and a garden. After a descending from Checkerboard Hill, we stumbled upon the beautiful Hau Wong Temple by chance. Apart from the temple’s history related to the walled city, we were also impressed by the temple’s Shiwan ceramic figurines (石灣陶塑) in the courtyards, and the Eighteen Buddha Guardians Lohan (十八羅漢), and Sixty Tai Shui (太歲, Gods of Time).
In Downtown Kyoto, behind the commercial blocks on Karasuma-dori (烏丸通り) stands a hexagonal temple structure. Erected long before the surrounding buildings, Chōhō-ji (頂法寺), which commonly known as Rokkaku-dō (六角堂) – the Hexagonal Hall, was hidden from plain sight along the main street. We walked by the area several times but didn’t notice its presence until the morning when we returned from Higashiyama. Rokkaku-dō is loved by the locals not only for its 800-years of history, but also for the heritage of Ikebana or kadō (華道), the traditional art of flower arrangement dated back for centuries. In 538 AD, Buddhism was introduced into Japan. Instead of causally placing flowers in a vase upon the Buddhist altar, the Japanese took one step further by giving series considerations on the floral arrangement. Early flower arrangement emerged from an effort to place offering flowers in a proper and upright position. Throughout centuries, it further developed into an elegant way of living, an attitude attentive to details, and had become one of the three classical arts of Japan. Ikenobō (池坊), the biggest and oldest school of ikebana, is based at Rokkaku-dō since the 15th century. Ikenobō began when the 12th abbot of the temple created a method of flower arrangement as an offering to Kannon, the goddess of mercy at the temple. That’s why Rokkaku-dō is considered as the birthplace of Ikebana. We heard there is also the Ikebana Museum and Ikenobo Headquarters nearby, but we just spent time wandering in the temple garden and taking in the spiritual ambience that nurtures the development of a traditional art.
In the afternoon, we took a break from temples and shrines by hopping on a train to Osaka. We specifically wanted to check out the denim stores of the Osaka Five. In the postwar years, American influence was evident in many aspects in Japanese life, from food to film, music to fashion. Against the economic boom in the 1970’s and 1980’s, the pursuit of a rebellious youth and spirit of Americana was popular in Japan. As a symbol of freedom and rebellion since the days of James Dean, high quality jeans from America found a growing demand in Japan. However, high quality denim products gradually became rare in America since 1970’s when the denim industry shifted to mass production on projectile looms. Despite of the gradual drop of quality, a small group of denim enthusiasts continued to bring high quality denim into Japan by introducing vintage denim from America. And when vintage became too expensive and rare, they decided to reinvent heirloom denim in Japan that combined the traditions of American denim with local dyeing and weaving techniques and attention to details. Known as the Osaka Five, namely Studio d’Artisan, Full Count, Warehouse & Co, Denime, and Evisu, this small group of enthusiasts branched out into five small companies based in Osaka. Not only did they transformed the denim scene for Japan, but also reintroduce their take on selvedge denim to the world. During our time in Osaka, We ended up spending most of the time at Studio d’Artisan in Minamihorie (南堀江), and a nearby store that carried Full Count. By the time we reached Warehouse & Co, shops were beginning to close their doors due to the New Year’s holiday.
No matter in Rome, Buenos Aires or Hong Kong, taking morning walks is always one of our most enjoyable ways to appreciate a city. With an ever-present tranquility, elegance and otherworldliness, Kyoto is perfect for a morning stroll, especially to appreciate the beautiful tones of aged timber, indigo shingles and seasonal vegetation all under the crisp air of surrounding mountains. And what’s best to start a morning walk? For us, it’s a cup of good coffee. Tucked in a corner of an almost unnoticeable parking lot a block away from Nishiki Market (錦市場), a tiny coffee shop successfully captured our attention with its rich aroma and lovely ambience. Housed in an old machiya house, Weekenders Coffee provokes memories of a traditional kissaten (喫茶店) where writers and intellectuals in the old days gathered for a cup of tea or coffee. Opened since 2005, Weekenders was one of the first espresso shops in Kyoto. At Weekenders, a few customers may gather at the forecourt sipping coffee while resting the eyes upon a tiny Japanese garden. This was exactly what we did: sitting in front of the coffee shop at 7:30 in the morning, sniffing in fresh morning air and coffee aroma, and being enchanted with the pleasure of life.
At Nishiki Market, pickle vendors and fishmongers were busy setting up their stores. Laughter and giggles could be heard behind the counter of a tamagoyaki (Japanese rolled omelette) shop, where a team of staff were busy making omelettes for the day. It was still way too early to taste the food and shop for grocery at the iconic 400-year-old market. Unlike the crowded scenes during our 2016 visit, this time we almost had Nishiki all by ourselves. At the eastern end of where the market met Teramachi Shopping Street, we were once again attracted by the lanterns of Nishiki-Tenmangu Shrine (錦天満宮) just like in 2016. Headed north from the shrine, we entered the arcade of Teramachi Shopping Street (寺町通商店街), a famous destination for both locals and tourists.
Literally means “Temple Town Street”, Teramachi (寺町通) has much more to offer than a covered arcade both sides flanked by shops. In 1590, 80 or so Buddhist temples from the area were relocated to Teramachi. It was Toyotomi Hideyoshi (豊臣秀吉), the powerful daimyo (feudal lord) or de facto ruler of Japan, who ordered the move during Sengoku period (戦国時代) in the late 16th century. In the subsequent centuries, stores selling books, Buddhist rosaries, medicine, stationery, handicrafts and clothing flourished and gradually developed into the present arcades. Today, in the midst of shops, restaurants, and entertainment facilities, places of worship and even small graveyards maintain a strong presence at Teramachi, with temple entrances open right next to boutiques and stores. While most shops on Teramachi and the adjacent Shinkyogoku Shopping Street (新京極商店街) had yet opened for business, we took the opportunity to do some temple hopping while window shopping at the same time.
Apartment blocks mushroom in clusters north of Kwun Tong’s MTR viaduct all the way to the slopes of Sau Mau Ping and Lam Tin, where stone quarries once dominated the skyline of Kowloon East. With 59,000 persons per square kilometre (2016), Kwun Tong is the most densely populated district in Hong Kong. Since the first public housing was erected in late 1950’s, Kwun Tong has become home to many public housing estates: Ngau Tau Kok (牛頭角邨), Lam Tin (藍田邨), Sau Mau Ping (秀茂坪邨), just to name a few. At the neighborhood centre lies Yue Man Square (裕民坊), the former commercial heart, and Shui Wo Street Market (瑞和街街市), the bustling street market that fascinates me every time I walk by the area. While Shui Wo Street Market remains as busy as decades ago, the original Yue Man Square is all but gone, giving way to new shopping malls and glassy towers. Beyond the vibrancy, noises, and dust, I was surprised to find pockets of breathing spaces beyond the crowded streets of Kwun Tong while exploring the area. Be it a decades old temple that was left untouched and hidden from plain sight throughout all these years of urban transformations, or forgotten reservoir structures that were left for decay in a lush green ravine, these peaceful corners have been serving as peaceful “backyards” for local residents, and any curious outsider who chooses to explore Kwun Tong beyond its shopping malls.
Surrounded by apartment blocks of Tsui Ping Estate (翠屏邨) and several school compounds, traditional Tai Wong Yeh Temple (大王爺廟) sits on a slope that is invisible from the streets below. Meandering between groups of school kids and elderly at the covered plazas of Tsui Ping Estate just minutes ago, entering the tranquil temple complex felt like going into an hidden retreat. During my brief visit, I was the only visitor and was free to wander around the temple complex all by myself. Clustered over a slope on three terraces, the complex was erected in 1958 as a replacement of an earlier temple in Lok Fu. I took my time to check out the colouful wall reliefs around the temple. Reliefs of a tiger and dragon particularly captured my attention. They may not be the most exquisite artworks found in galleries, but nevertheless they are valuable relics of the old Kwun Tong, from a time when skillful mural artisans were much more common.
North of Lok Wah Estate (樂華邨), lush green Jordan Valley (佐敦谷) wraps along the northern boundary of Kwun Tung. It is at Jordan Valley that the 648,541 (2016) Kwun Tong residents can cool themselves off at a 1.7 hectare swimming compound, hike in forested trails, picnic on park lawns, exercise in public playgrounds and ball courts, under the shadow of the majestic Kowloon Peak (飛鵝山). What fascinates me is that much of these pleasant green spaces and recreational facilities were once occupied by 16 blocks of social housing apartments known as Jordan Valley Estate (佐敦谷邨). In 1990’s, the former colonial government decided to tear down the housing estate and replace it with the much needed public recreational facilities of Kwun Tong. This was the only time in Hong Kong where a public housing estate was torn down and not replaced by taller apartment blocks. Perched above Jordan Valley, a red running track awaits anyone who is willing to hike up to the secret getaway of Kwun Tong High Level Service Reservoir Playground (觀塘上配水庫遊樂場). Attracted by photos of the running track against the dramatic backdrop of a ruined reservoir wall and Kowloon Peak, I braved the summer heat to climb up the hill for the relatively little-known scenery. On the way up, I passed by the main dam of the former Jordan Valley Reservoir, a decommissioned facility that once supplied Kwun Tong with seawater for flushing. Completed in 1960, the reservoir ceased operations in early 1980’s and was subsequently filled up. Today, apart from elderly residents or the few who come to exercise at the dam or running track, hardly anyone knows about the reservoir remnants. Without much documentation about its history, memories of the former Jordan Valley Reservoir are actually fading fast.
This summer, the Conservancy Association Centre for Heritage (CACHE) has organized a number of guided walks in Cha Kwo Ling, hosted a small exhibition at St. Mark’s Lutheran Church, and published Travelling through Cha Kwo Ling – A Memoir of the Urban Village, a free publication that documents the oral history of villagers who have spent decades in Hong Kong’s last quarry community. These personal recollections might seem fragmentary, but once pieced together they form a comprehensive set of living memories for a place pretty much frozen in time for the past few decades. The fact that Cha Kwo Ling has been able to evade bulldozers all these years was quite remarkable, especially when the adjacent Kwun Tong (觀塘), a former industrial district and Hong Kong’s most densely populated area (57,250 persons per sq.km as of 2014), has gone through series of major makeovers since 1990’s. One of the main reasons why villagers prefer not to rebuild or renovate their squatter homes was because they never knew when the government would arrive to lock down their homes. Decades have past, Cha Kwo Ling gradually becomes a special place in Hong Kong where aura of the 60’s and 70’s still rules, allowing contemporary visitors to have a sense of the village’s heyday, when granite and Kaolin clay mining were major industries in East Kowloon.
Oral history of villagers records stories of Cha Kwo Ling from a bygone era, many objects in Cha Kwo Ling, be it a set of rusty metal shutters, a stone stele with fading inscriptions, or an abandoned animal cage, can still be found today, representing tangible evidences for the villagers’ stories. If these objects can speak, what would they say about the urban village and its generations of inhabitants? These silent artefacts would probably be gone in two years’ time, along with the squatter homes, community stores, small tea shops, narrow alleys, etc. Before their disappearance, we did a small walk in Cha Kwo Ling and photo documented the village scenery. Once Cha Kwo Ling is gone, former villagers and anyone who is interested in the city’s urban transformations would sadly mourn the loss of these precious artefacts. Here are objects that caught our eyes during our two recent visits.
On 21 September 1989, the city’s second harbour tunnel Eastern Harbour Crossing (東區海底隧道) officially opened between Quarry Bay of Hong Kong Island and Cha Kwo Ling of Kowloon. Cha Kwo Ling (茶果嶺), a lush green hill in East Kowloon, was once home to about 10,000 villagers in its heyday, when granite quarrying was a major industry in Hong Kong. Sitting below the green hill facing the harbour, the Hakka village of Cha Kwo Ling has a 400+ years of history, thriving long before this part of Kowloon and the New Territories were leased to Britain in 1899. In the 19th century, Cha Kwo Ling and three other mining villages in East Kowloon, namely Ngau Tau Kok (牛頭角), Sai Tso Wan (晒草灣), and Lei Yue Mun (鯉魚門), were administered as the Four Hills of Kowloon (九龍四山), each had its own leader who would report directly to the Qing government office at Kowloon Walled City. After becoming part of the British colony, the four mining villages continued to flourish as a collective community with shared schools, community facilities and temple. Similar to many neighborhoods in Hong Kong, Cha Kwo Ling saw an influx of newcomers from Mainland China during mid 20th century. Stone quarrying at Cha Kwo Ling ceased after 1967, when the government no longer licensed permits for industries using explosives. Apart from granite stones, Kaolin clay mining was also a major industry in the village. The white Kaolin clay is used in a wide range of products, from ceramics, toothpaste, cosmetics, paint, industrial insulation, paper, etc.
In 1980’s, the government put the second nail in Cha Kwo Ling’s coffin by tearing down a part of the village, including a former stone quarry, to make way for Eastern Harbour Crossing (東區海底隧道). A shrank Cha Kwo Ling continued to exist as a village of squatter houses somehow isolated from the surrounding urbanization. Since 2011, a number of government plans were released to replace Cha Kwo Ling village with a high density housing development. The 2021 plan gave the final verdict: erecting six residential towers at the Cha Kwo Ling site, and demolishing the existing village in two years’ time. As one of the last remaining urban village, Cha Kwo Ling has long been a unique place in Hong Kong where things seem to be frozen in time since decades ago, luring photographers and filmmakers seeking for a bygone Hong Kong, from a time when many poor were living in squatter homes but enjoying a strong community bonding. Cha Kwo Ling’s inevitable fate might long be sealed since granite quarrying ceased operations. Witnessing the final demise for one of Kowloon’s last remaining urban villages and anticipating yet another high density housing development that can be found all over the city is rather upsetting.