Mention ‘Hong Kong’ and people are likely to conjure up images, first of Kowloon, its streets thick with signs stretching out over the roadway fighting for the attention of passersby, like tree branches fighting for sunlight, and then perhaps a bird’s eye view of the north shore of Hong Kong Island,  its mass of skyscrapers rivaled only by that of Manhattan.  Yet Hong Kong is a Territory of 33 kilometers (21 miles) on a side and only half of its nearly 7 million people live in Kowloon and Hong Kong Island.  Some choose to live, as I was to, on one of ‘outlying islands’.  I was moving from the big city life of Hong Kong Island (1.3 million people) to the village of Yung Shue Wan (population of about 5,ooo) on the much smaller Lamma Island.  Moving home from one island to another (even one close by) involves logistics that tend to unfold in unexpected ways.  Allow for lots of time and pray for good weather.

The distance between the two islands isn’t much (only a few kilometers) and on a clear day looking at one island from to the other, they seem quite close. Yet in many ways the water is wide.

To plan the move I called a moving company on Hong Kong Island.  Yes, they could move me, but only as far as arranging transfer of my household things to a small commercial freight boat (a ‘gaidoh’) on the Sheung Wan waterfront on Hong Kong Island.  This gaidoh, a much scaled-up version of a sampan with high bow and stern and with little in the way of a keel, would deliver my belongings to the pier in Yung Shue Wan. The challenge from there on was that there are few vehicles and no cars on Lamma.  Heavy items are moved by a small flight of less than quarter-sized flat-bed trucks, that serve as the village’s only mechanized transport.

For the Lamma portion of the move I arranged with an informal mover (‘Chandra’, a Tamal Indian). Chandra is a big guy, easy going with a predisposition to break into a smile when difficulties arise.  Ramesh, his helper, was much smaller, but seemed eager enough. 

A quirk from colonial times means that ‘village’ houses in the ‘New Territories’ of Hong Kong (of which Lamma is a part) may have outside dimensions resulting in no more than 700 feet square and a maximum of 3 floors, counting the ground floor, but excluding the rooftop.  This results in a reluctance to give up precious space on things like stairways.  I had rented the top floor of a village house and had use of the rooftop for things like a washing machine and for sitting out. I would gladly given up a little of that for more stairway space. 

The move into the flat from the pier involved a distance of 800 meters, followed by a two story climb up narrow stairways and some items being hauled up to the roof top just above my flat.  Chandra said he had arranged for one of the small trucks to help in the move of my bulkier items from the pier to the house.

The day of the move dawned rainy, but the Hong Kong-side movers arrived as scheduled promptly at 10 AM.  They came armed with rolls and rolls of thick plastic sheeting and wrapped everything in it.  By 11 we were all out the door, in their truck and headed off to the boat cargo loading docks of Hong Kong Island’s Sheung Wan area.  As the moving truck pulled out from the home I was leaving, it began to rain.

The pier area of Sheung Wan is not open to the public and this was my first time inside. After discussions between the truck driver and various people on the pier, my things were off-loaded and stacked onto wooden pallets on the pier, exposed to the elements.  After each pallet was piled high with my things, the whole load was again covered in a fresh sheet of heavy clingy plastic wrapping.  In all I had 7 pallets stacked precariously high with my worldly possessions. The rain had stopped but across the harbor, black clouds loomed on the horizon toward west Kowloon.

The truck driver then collected my money, $1,800 Hong Kong dollars ($US 230).  I handed him two $HK1,000 bills. In place of change he responded,  ‘tip’, ok?  He then took me to meet the gaidoh captain.  The captain did not speak English and my Cantonese (ashamed to say) is only good enough to direct a taxi driver.  Before departing me, the truck driver said not to worry, my load was scheduled to be put on before the 2 PM departure. The captain did not actually promise that he could get my load on that trip, but the truck driver thought it be ok. Good luck and good bye.

It was now noon. I had not eaten since 8AM. There was nowhere nearby to buy food and I was afraid to leave the cargo loading area, fearing I might not be able to explain my way get back in.  With hunger gnawing, for the next two hours I watched the boat being loaded, ever so slowly.  There seemed to be lot of cargo to get on and mine appeared to be at the end of the queue. If my things did not make it aboard, I had no idea what the next step would be.  Hell, I couldn’t even ask anyone nearby what to do.  I told myself that only rarely do things turn out that badly.  I sat back and watched, trying not to think of my stomach or the likelihood of my things not getting on board.

This giadoh is about 6 meters long and under 3 wide (about 20 feet by 8).  A hydraulic crane sits near the front for loading and off loading.  With large, and in some cases obviously heavy, loads on their shoulders or backs, workmen crossed the wooden planks between the dock and the side of the boat.  These were all thin, wirey men without an ounce of body fat wearing only short pants (no more than swimming trunks sized) and sandals. There was something oddly familiar about them – but from where?  Then it hit me – dockside coolies in sepia photos of 19th Century Hong Kong. 

It was now 2:00 PM and my gaidoh appeared to be nearly full.  And my cargo is not even the next in line as a light rain begins!  Still, the water beaded up nicely on the plastic coverings and the rain soon stoped.  I used my mobile to call Chandra to say I’d miss the planned 2:30 arrival time in Yung Shue Wan and would be in touch with him as soon as I knew more. By this point the anxiety was back and my hunger forgotten.

But the boat had more cargo capacity than I realized and ever so slowly the crane and the coolies got it all on broad – my seven pallets included.  At 2:30 I was called over and via gestures encouraged to climb on board. This was harder than I thought as the loading planks had been removed.  Eventually, I decided the easiest way aboard was to scramble up over the old huge dump truck tire that served as the bow bumper.  As soon as I was on deck, the boat pulled away from the dock backing out a ways before turning around and heading into Victoria Harbour, and then the East Lamma Channel, Kong Kong’s main shipping lane.

Now that the anxiety of not getting my things off the dock had passed, my hunger came back.  But that was an acceptable tradeoff as far as I was concerned.  I took a seat on the worn bench outside the pilot’s wheelhouse as a light rain began. When soon the rain picked up I was invited into the wheelhouse. I called Chandra to say we were on our way.

This proved to be premature as I soon realized.  While Lamma Island was the gaidoh’s only destination this trip, Yung Shue Wan was not the only or the first stop.  We went first to the much smaller Lamma village of Pak Kok, population a few hundred.  Pat Kok does not lie within a bay, or even a minor indentation on the shore.  Its short pier juts out directly into the open channel.  Off-loading in the wind and choppy seas proved a challenge.  But with considerable care about a third of the cargo was off-loaded, mostly construction materials.  While this was going on I again called Chandra and gave him an up-date.  After about 20 minutes we were off on the final short leg of the trip to Yung Shue Wan, just on the other side of a rocky headland. 

I paid the captain $HK500 (about $US 65), much cheaper than expected, and although he didn’t ask, I added another $HK 50 as a tip (some things don’t need words). 

Chandra and his partner Ramesh were waiting dockside at 4:15 PM when my things were finally off-loaded on the pier at Yung Shue Wan. Chandra was completely undisturbed by the nearly two hour late arrival. Unfortunately, the small truck he had hired proved less flexible and its driver had gone on to other pursuits when my gaidoh didn’t show up promptly as scheduled at 2:30.  And when he did return to the dock, the driver claimed that the first call on his services was the commercial goods just off-loaded along my things. The unloading was entirely by the crane on the front of the gaidoh (no 21st century coolies on the Lamma side). 

So now what?  Chandra suggested we start carrying things by hand. He, his assistant Ramesh and I cut open one of the plastic wrapped pallets and carried what we could thru the village to my place.  Along the way I noticed that in one area the sides of path through the village were lines with an eclectic collection of cheap goods spread out on blankets on the ground.  Here about 50 pairs of shoes, there a miscellaneous assortment of small kitchen items, and next to it a collection of jade-like pendants.  It seemed as if the stores elsewhere in Hong Kong had sold to these Lamma traders whatever they had failed to sell themselves.  Village life would be interesting.

Once through the village to my flat, I let the three of us in.  We dropped the things inside and I gave Chandra the key.  He recommended that I return to the pier and stay with my things.  We locked the flat and returned to the pier.  They loaded up again and I cut open the plastic on a pallet containing my favorite reading chair.  Fortunately, in the same pallet was a box of books.  I took out Michael Doris’s novel Cloud Chamber and settled down.  Doris’ lyrical prose proved a nice counterpoint to the activity and periodic anxiety of the day and the day wasn’t over yet.  Out of the rain, under the covered part of the pier,  and with a nice bay-side breeze, I settled into the book.

But there was the matter of hunger.  The kiosk at the pier sold junk food, only junk food. Normally I avoid such stuff, but …

Every 30 minutes or so Chanrda and Ramesh would make the round trip, to load up with as much as each could carry or wheel on a luggage cart we had dug out of my things.  Since someone had to stay with the things on the pier, I settled into that, sitting in a comfortable chair, book in hand and noticing It every half hour or so people would slowly drift in to the pier, ready to board the next ferry and then the arriving ferry would disgorge its passengers in a tight bundle. For a minute or two each half hour the pier would fill with people.  Otherwise, I was alone.

Still, I watched with some unease the movement of black clouds to the west across the wide outer harbor.  And every so often it would rain, but if the rain was heavy, it would last only a short time. Light showers were more common.  When it was raining heavily, Chandra and Ramesh would presumably take cover.  Meanwhile, me in my chair under the pier’s canopy and my things sheathed in plastic, remained dry. 

Finally, the small truck came to help out with the heavier items and the remaining smaller ones.  By 7PM, most of the items were gone, though as I was to discover when I got to the flat, the biggest ones, couch, mattress, washer, and dryer, were simply left outside the building as the narrow stairway (about 2/3 of a meter, or 2.5 ft. wide) proved too tight.

Here Chandra proved himself experienced and resourceful.  He noted that he saw on the outside of my flat sliding doors.  I could lower a rope down to the ground floor and the things could be pulled up hand-over-hand.  Actually someone had left a rope in the flat – at the time I had no clue as to why.  So yes we have a rope, but the landing from which the things would be pulled up was accessible only from the ground floor apartment’s yard and that was enclosed by a high fence, locked gate and no one home.  No problem, over the fence went Chandra.  Ramesh I then lifted the couch high overhead to where it could rest on top of the fence and then Chandra gently lowered it to the ground (as noted, he’s a big guy).  The mattress went the same way. Now you might wander, as I began to, was someone at this moment calling the police to arrest the apparent burglars? 

Fortunately, the house is an isolated one, the only building nearby being a small temple unoccupied at this hour. And burglaries being rare in Yung Shue Wan, presumably the somewhat more distant neighbors were not on the alert. Though now that I think about it, I wonder how safe I should feel about the possibility of real burglaries in my new place.

Ramesh climbed back over the gate and he and I go up to my apartment on the second floor (‘first’ floor as Americans count such things).  Out on the balcony we lowered the rope.  Ramesh yelled that the couch was secure.  The big guy and I began hauling up the rope until, about 4 feet into the air, the couch falls back to the ground with a thud as the ‘secure’ rope slips off.  Chandra shrugs and grins. Ramesh mutters a low ‘sorry’.  There being nothing for it, I put thoughts about the condition of my new couch out of my mind.  Ramesh re-ties the rope and we began hauling again, this time without a slip, so to speak. The mattress then went-up without incident.

Now all that remains is the washer and the dryer. But these are to go on the roof. Chandra and I went to the roof, and he lowers the rope (now barely long enough even as a single line instead of the double that he used for the couch).  With only one line it was Chandra who hauled up the washing machine slowly, hand-over-hand.  The only concern occurred when the washing machine began swaying and threatened to take out a window on the first floor flat.  But the tap against it was light and nothing broke or cracked. The dryer followed without even a scary bump.

Back inside the flat, I opened three beers I had put in the refrigerator the day before the move, paid the guys and when they left, I sat down in the middle of the chaos of boxes.  It was 9 PM, 11 hours since the move had begun. With relief came the hunger pangs. I went into the village to look for a restaurant.

Bill Barron