Atlantic City of the East

Early Saturday morning about 75 of my Chinese brethren and I boarded the TurboJet and settled in for an hour's motor over to Macau. Macau is a former colony of Portugal famous for it's casinos, and much like Hong Kong it is tagged as a 'Special Administrative Region' of China. It's a way of associating with the Communists without actually having to call yourself a Communist. I have video of the ride that I tried to upload but unfortunately the internet machine is not cooperating with me.

No doubt about it, the gales of February were slashing which made for quite a turbulent ride. I've alway had a pretty good grasp on my sea legs. Others on the jet were not as seasoned as I, and one passenger three seats to my left eventually grabbed for his doggie bag and proceeded to deposit his egg rolls. The trip marked the first time I have made it off of Hong Kong island, and it also offered a chance for me to fatten my passport as Macau requires a stamp to step foot on their land.

Once through customs, I hitched on a courtesy shuttle ride to the Wynn casino. I had no idea what direction to head and so I figured this was the best way to get somewhere worth going. During the 10 minute ride I spied a great deal of Portugese influence in the architecture and the area seemed to have a very lively shopping scene. Macau is also billed as the "Vegas of China"... Hmm... While I've never been to Vegas, I couldn't help but think on the ride over that Mo Green would be rolling over in his grave if he found out that this place decided to ride Sin City's coat-tails.

The Wynn was lavish, even more so than any casino I have been to in Atlantic City. I couldn't really figure out whether the vestibule was imposing for its ornate decorations or the fact that I was the only Cacausian in the building. Regardless, I made my way into the casino to see if I could find an inviting spot to park at one of the tables. Not long after walking into the room I realized this was no place for a pale, Irish guy with a loose grasp on gaming rules to be messing around. I mean I must have missed the sign at the door... If you were more than two generations removed from Johnny Chan himself, you had no business occupying a spot at the green felt. Sit at your own risk. You hit on the wrong card at one of these tables and you better duck or be content to get a stern smack from a bow staff across the mouth.

I abandoned my initial intention almost immediately and walked around in search of a restaurant in which I could stop, grab something small for lunch and gather my thoughts. Unfortunately, everything at the hotel was way too ritzy for the modest meal I was seeking. Not willing to make a production of lunch, I decided to stop in a Starbucks instead. I walked up to the counter, ordered a small black coffee, and when it was delivered I provided the $31 fare the Barista had asked for. No surprise to anyone out there, I'm sure, but I was ill prepared as my Hong Kong dollars were of no use in Macau. Apparently, this miniscule region of China has it's own currency - Macau Pitacas. Let's be serious here. It's all China, right? Who in their right mind would think that this place would have its own currency? It's the same as going from NJ to Pennsylvania and when you cross the state line having to stop at the Welcome Center to trade your dollars in for beaver pelts or something. C'mon..get it together, guys... Regardless, we reached a crossroads...me, the barista and a full cup of coffee. I pleaded for her patience as I politely advised that didn't have any of that currency, but promised that I would return shortly after I was able to find an ATM that would dispense Pitacas. My intentions were good...I promise. I searched for about 5 minutes but I couldn't for the life of me find an ATM that offered what I needed. I'm ashamed to say that I didn't go back to make good. I bolted instead and if you're reading this, Wing, I'm sorry... I owe you an apology, an explanation and 31 big ones.. Oh, and you can keep the cold cup of java.

It did not take me long to come to the conclusion that the casinos and I were not going to mix. So, here I was..in Macau..no idea what to do. It was pouring rain outside and I had another 5 hours until my booked ferry was set to depart. I decided to roam around in the cold rain and find my own entertainment....

Study hard, kids...

Not saying much, is it?

Drawing upon the lesson I learned from watching Pee Wee’s mistake years ago, I heeded warning and gingerly tip-toed safely around this row…

Hmmm…well I have been in the market for a new car….

I was able to get to the bottom of this one.... Apparently, she’s not originally from the area. She’s out here working for tuition money to pay her way through the Canadian College of Macau. And we all should be very supportive...

I Hope This 'Peaks' Your Interest - Part 2

By this time it was around 3pm and I found a comfortable looking establishment to patronize about a 100 yards from the last viewing platform I had occupied. The place was nearly empty on account of the lunch crowd having dissipated, and I found myself dodging empty tables through the dining room on my way to the bar that was affixed parallel to the back wall. I ordered a beer, pulled out my camera and began flipping through the photos reviewing the day’s work.

I’ll spare you the minutia that followed. Aside from the welcome surprise of Huey Lewis’s greatest hits playing in the background it was an uneventful 45 minutes. I’d be remiss, however, to neglect to mention the two Sri Lankan gentlemen that bellied up next to me shortly after my arrival. We struck up a conversation almost immediately, and I came to learn that they were visiting the peak to celebrate the start of a two-week vacation in Hong Kong. They were very friendly and seemed genuinely interested in who I was and where I was from. We talked for about 5 minutes until they became preoccupied with their delivery from the kitchen, which just so happen to be a whole, proper chocolate cake. They alternated fork full’s and washed each bite down with very forgiving shots of Bailey’s. It wouldn’t have been my choice, but I chalked it up to these guys starting their vacation off on the right foot…

Two beers amounted to plenty for me and so I paid the tab, bid my new friends farewell and made way back towards the train. Much to my chagrin, the line was immense and considering I didn’t have the patience or the proper attire to tolerate another hour outside, I figured that any excitement the train would offer would pale in comparison to the comfort and warmth of a taxi.

I flagged down a ride almost immediately, climbed in, buckled my seatbelt and began to get settled. Time for a little aside…people often scoff at my diligence when it comes to my relentless use of seatbelts in taxi-cabs. I never could understand why…I guess it’s just not the “cool” thing to do. Whatever… seldom have I found a cab driver that I would consider to be sufficiently in control of the car enough so as to trust my life.

It’s good to know that at least one of my buddies is on my side when it comes to this point. Not long after I left the States, I received a very heartfelt, touching note from my good buddy, DJ. I’ll save him any embarrassment when it comes to its content, but just so that you can get a sense of its message, it was the normal "How am I ever going to find my way without your guidance? ” and “Now that you’re gone, who am I going to look up to?”…you know, that sort of thing… Anyway, among his genuine worry, he typed a brilliant nugget of wisdom that I have carried with me throughout my journey. I’ll quote…”Remember, Matt, safety has no holidays…not even Chinese New Year.” Amen, brother…

The drizzle that had impeded my lens for most of the day had picked up to the point that the rain was coming down at a pretty good clip. I spent the ride gazing out the window spotting the flickering lights that began to give life to the skyline. I couldn’t help but recognize the irony of it all that the view coming down the mountain was purer than at the peak as the fog became more forgiving during the decent.

I began to sense an eerie feeling that something wasn’t quite right as we approached the bottom of the mountain. It became very apparent that the 1984 Toyota and its bald tires were not equipped to handle this sort of jaunt. I dismissed the premonition as I gained comfort that the taxi driver was occupied in a spirited whistling rendition of the song on the radio. His whistling skills were serviceable but I could have taken him in a competition with my eyes closed (in fact, and not to toot my own horn, so to speak, I’d confidently challenge Axl himself to a competition whistling the first bars of GNR’s classic, “Patience”…yeah, I’m that good).

I began to recognize my surroundings as we got closer to my neighborhood and my tension further lightened. Unfortunately for all involved, the driver took the last turn a little too aggressively on the slick path, the rear of the car fish-tailed away from us and as he fought to right the ship, we careened through a guardrail and into an unforgiving oak tree.

I was jarred, but unfazed. I immediately called out for the driver (his name was Leo). Although he did not answer at first, I could tell that he wasn’t hurt. As shock gave way to reality, he turned and confirmed the notion. With both of the important considerations accounted for, Leo and I got out of the taxi to survey the damage. It wasn’t pretty. We didn’t say much at first as we both tried to collect our thoughts. Having no other choice but to figure a way out of this mess, he got back behind the wheel, put the car in reverse and gently pushed the gas as I applied pressure to the hood to guide it out of the weeds. We were eventually successful in realigning the car on the road. Once on the road, I fended off his profuse apologies, denied his offer to carry me the final leg and paid the fare times two.

Although I recognized the area, I wasn’t completely sure of the best way to get home and so “I took a look down a westbound road, and right away I made my choice…”

On that note, let’s lighten the mood a bit.

Now, unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last two weeks, you are all well aware that Bob Seger has announced the first 8 stops on his 2011 North American tour. The world holds its collective breath as we all await an indication as to when The Silver Bullet Band will invade the Big Apple. Just in case you’ll be looking for me at that time...check the front of the line. Let me know who’s in and I’ll reserve a block of seats.

And I did promise some folks a shot of where I spend the majority of my time here...

And here is the perpetually foggy view that I'm fortunate to enjoy...

I Hope This 'Peaks' Your Interest - Part 1

Work's been busy…the writing has suffered. A vicious weekend case of writer’s block didn’t help matters and now I beg your forgiveness and hope that you’ll stick with me. It’ll be a two-parter folks…just too much fun to squeeze into one post. The afternoon started innocently enough, but things ended up getting a little out of hand...

On Saturday morning I left my apartment at around 10 a.m. with a plan to explore the mountain top and to catch a glimpse of the famous view that I’ve being seeing in pictures all over the city. Looking to start the day off on the right foot, I grabbed an apple and a cup of coffee at a convenience store right around the corner from my place, sat on a park bench and enjoyed while reading the newspaper. It was a cold morning on account of a brisk wind that was whipping and eventually the overcast skies gave way to a drizzle that sliced through a low hazy fog. Hoping that I would be able to get safely under cover before it intensified, I finished the apple, threw away half a cup of coffee, tucked the paper under my arm and set off for the train station. Once within sight of the station, I spied a line of straphangers nearly as long as the one I had balked at last weekend. There must have been 200 people waiting their turn to fork over HK$56 for a ticket to board the train to the peak. I thought for a split second about aborting the mission, but the line seemed to be flowing along at an acceptable pace and considering the alternative was to wander back to my apartment in a cold rain, I decided to suck it up and hop on the end.

The line inched through a series of winding ropes (like the kind you find at a bank) and after about 20 minutes I reached a point near the front where two Chinese teenagers toting what looked to be a very expensive camera were picking off groups of people, escorting them to the far corner of the area and taking portraits against a backdrop of an oversized picture of the famous train. Their routine included herding groups against their tapestry, hastily taking a photo and then frantically shouting direction to move along in hurried Cantonese. Every three minutes thereafter, a third member of the operation would appear whose job it was to hound each party and attempt to unload an 8x10 copy of the photo in a cardboard, novelty frame for a mere HK$150. You could probably guess that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with this production and so when I reached the on-deck circle I informed one of the crew that I would regretfully have to pass. He shook his head sternly, smirked as if he had been given the right to take my photograph by city ordinance and then proceeded to push me on the back towards the corner. I began to fear that I was already making a scene and so I made one last half-hearted attempt to waive him off before I finally gave in. I limped to the backdrop, affixed myself to left of center, grinned awkwardly and counted the seconds until I saw the camera flash. I got to thinking that any person that would have done this willingly and without protest certainly must have a screw loose. And let’s not talk about the saps willing to pay good money for the product to keep this venture in business. I mean, let’s be serious, nostalgia set aside, a photo posing in front of a picture of a train should generate just about as much excitement as a shuffleboard tournament at a nursing home or an afternoon of bird watching or whatever... And so, needless to say that when it was my turn to fend off the hard sell, I politely declined and thanked her for agreeing to burn the awkward shot at the first chance she got.

We boarded the train and spent the 10 minute journey covering more distance vertical than horizontal. It was a real white-knuckle ride. The car traveled at such an angle that whoever engineered this system should be commended for figuring a way to keep the train from sliding down, and at some points, off the track. About three-quarters of the way up the slope the city began to appear from beyond thick foliage and it really was spectacular to see as we traveled to heights that dwarfed the tallest buildings.

I felt much more at ease as we finally pulled into the peak station and after disembarking I followed the crowd towards the station exit. Now, I had no idea what to expect at the peak, but given the elevation and limited ground surface I had envisioned that this area would be the most likely to have escaped the stranglehold that retail commerce has on this city. If I might take this opportunity to register a complaint…Hong Kong is the most commercialized place I have ever been. And it’s a real shame because in a lot of ways commercialization has sucked the life and uniqueness out of a city that given its history should be one of a kind. It’s no exaggeration either…it’s everywhere. Show a Hong Kongeses a vacant 5ft plot and he’ll show you more than a suitable location to shove a Mrs. Fields. Sadly I realized within minutes of arriving that the mountain was no escape from this epidemic. The peak was more or less two malls that offered a decent view.

It was a condensed version of any other section of the city in which I have been. You name the store or restaurant and it is up there. And, keeping true to form, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to locate two 7-11s shortly after arrival. The city as a whole is freckled with the popular convenience stores, and although plentiful, they bare but a small resemblance in offering to their U.S. counterpart.

Ok..I need to pause here for a second because I’m starting to break into a cold sweat…

7-11’s in Hong Kong are hands down the worst smelling establishments in the entire world. I realize it’s a bold statement but I’m confident making it given that anything more pungent would actually kill a man. The consistent odor that emanates from these stores is so incredibly retched that not only does walking by one teach your nostrils a lesson they’ll never forget, but the stench is literally so thick that you feel like you could actually chew it. The best I can offer by way of comparison is if for kicks you decided to microwave a bowl of vomit. I’ve peered in to see if I could pinpoint the root cause of the foulness and found that they have a food counter and a short-order menu with pictures of unrecognizable cuisine. I’m not certain what any of it is but let me put it this way, I’d sooner lower myself into a manhole armed with a pellet gun and a burlap sack in search of sustenance than order something off their menu. I quiver even keying this paragraph. It’s horrifying…

Alright, consider yourself warned if you ever visit, but I apologize for the tangent. I finally was able to make my way out of the mall to find a small trail that led to a series of viewing platforms that provided the perfect opportunity for me to show off my breadth behind the lens (see below). I stood for as long as I could take the cold and considered heading back home. However, as I passed the line for the train it was once again very long and what with having come all this way, I went looking for a place to grab a cold beer…

Oh yeah, I neglected to mention that I had a chance to slip over to the foothills of Scotland...

Looking Back Now, that "Sucker" Tatoo was Probably a Bad Idea...

I took advantage of one of those perfect weather days that you only read about by setting out early intent upon finding the Ferry station in the Lun Kwai Fung section of town. I plan to utilize the ferry next weekend to visit an area in Mainland China about an hour’s drift away called Macau. It’s famous mostly for casinos and while I’m not a huge gambler it should provide some interesting cultural observation opportunities.

While I waited at a cross light but 500 yards from my intended destination, I was approached by an Indian gentlemen dressed in a pin-stripped suit wearing a full, ratty, unkempt beard. As he inched closer I observed that he had his finger pressed against the space right above the bridge of his nose and he was uttering something that I had difficultly making out at first. His accent was very thick but I eventually decoded his message. He wanted to inform me that at this very indicated spot on my face I give off very positive energy. I was glad he thought so too, and I thanked him for noticing. Wishfully thinking that this potential nightmare had come to an end, I turned away from him back towards the direction I was originally headed. I did my best to ignore his stares and follow on comments so as to make it perfectly clear that I would rather have been just about anywhere else in the world at that very moment. Unfortunately, he must have mistaken my venom for bashfulness and he proceeded to grab my arm as so to indicate that he wasn’t finished with me yet. Just great…

Of course I always had a hunch that it is there, but I had absolutely no idea how strong this energy vibe that I give off really is…he wouldn’t shut up about it. After he spent sufficient time explaining that topic, he began to ask a series of small, yet probing personal questions. He wanted to know how old I was, how many brothers I had, where I hailed from and (oddly enough) what my favorite countries in both Europe and Asia are. I lied in my responses to his first three inquiries (Sorry, Mike…I didn’t feel like dragging you down with me here…) but I did truthfully offer Ireland and China as my favorite countries in the aforementioned continents respectively (confidently answered…you know…like the real, seasoned world traveler that I am). Now, I had no idea where this was going up until that point, but the fog then started to lift when he pulled out a piece of paper, stared me down and jotted down a couple of small phrases. I came to find that the purpose of this whole charade was to dissect my future based upon my considerable energy and the answers I had supplied him with. After about a minute of awkward silence, he began to report his findings…

Alright, gather around because I have some good news and some bad news to report to all of you. First, the bad… apparently I have two terrible habits (really…only two?) the most debilitating is that I am a person that is very open about sharing my plans for the future with anyone that cares to ask and as a result I am susceptible of being manipulated and taken advantage of (whatever the heck that means). The good news, however, is that I will be able to continue to make this mistake for quite a while given I should plan to live to the ripe old age of 97. It's a lopsided ruling if you ask me and I'll be more than happy to watch out for backstabbers as I age gracefully.

Now, I didn’t see it coming and I guess I never do (see: Indian soothsayer’s first observation), but in the end it was all a show aimed at conning me out of a couple of bucks. And here I thought we were actually starting to develop a rapport. Once I had had just about enough of this loon, I proceeded to inform him that his prophecy wasn’t worth squat and that he should move on to his next victim. He turned away looking discouraged, and unfortunately I doubt that we’re going stay in touch…

I just picked up my steady dinner of a Pizza Hut personal pizza for the third night in a row and considering the fact that 90% of my remaining solid intake consists of hamburgers (see: The Don Gorske Diet); I think it’s high time to get in the gym. I signed up this afternoon with ‘Pure Fitness’ and I’ll work out before work tomorrow morning. Hopefully, I’ll be able to catch the kick-off before having to head over to the office. I’ll root for two things: 1) that it is a good game so that you all can enjoy and 2) Rothelisberger ends up getting a real good vantage point of that jumbo-tron from his back.

Don’t forget to enjoy it.

Oh and I'm rapidly approaching 'jedi status' with this Canon. Grz has her hands full in next year's competition.