Lau Fau Shan

Yesterday, I met up with Leung Ping-Kwan, a Hong Kong poet who is also a literature and film scholar at Lingnan University, near Tuen Mun (about an hour away from Central on the west rail). I was first introduced to his work (in particular, Travelling with a Bitter Melon) during an event at the International Writers Workshop back in October. It was great to sit down and talk with him about writing in Hong Kong, Hong Kong's history and identity, and what he's been working on. His concerns definitely echo with my own since I’ve been here: the creation of a bilingual literary festival (there is one in English and one in Chinese; why not combine?) and a stronger community of writers in order to reach the public and share Hong Kong writing abroad (which needs the support of the Arts Council and is currently shadowed by performing art). We also stopped by Xu Xi's Lingnan book launch for 50/50, which is a new anthology of Hong Kong writing.

Afterwards, Ping-Kwan showed me around Lau Fau Shan, which is between Tin Shui Wai and Yuen Long in the New Territories. It's an old village famous for its fresh oysters. However, nowadays, the water is dried up and the harbor is at a standstill. First, we walked to the park area, but as we went up, these two men hanging out told us 'no entry'. This didn't make much sense and it was pretty clear that they just didn't want tourists/visitors (which is funny since Ping-Kwan is a local). Anyway, we went and saw a view of the Mai Po marshes, which was quite beautiful. Except, as Ping-Kwan told me, pollution from Shenzhen is an increasing problem. Across the foggy horizon, you can see the bridge to Shenzhen and the city's eerie lights. Heading towards the harbor, we walked through this dried seafood market, which was pretty much empty. With the green lighting and stagnant buckets of water everywhere, it looked like the scene for some bizzare fish horror movie. Once out of the market, you instantly see mountains of chalky oyster shells along the harbor; you can hear the shells crack under your feet as you walk. It was completely abandoned, polluted (old flip flops, soda cans), and the thick smell of old fish filled the air. Nothing moved, save the occasional thin-legged bird digging for food and the strange black somethings hopping around in a trickle of water. Back in the market, we picked out some seafood and took it to the restaurant nearby to cook. Dinner was really nice, with true village hospitality as they gave us a huge pot of free fish, tofu, and vegetable soup. People slowly started coming in and soon enough, the place was packed and howling with conversation (the group upstairs kept slamming their cups, clearly inebriated and still going).

Heading back on the train, I realized how much it meant to see this other side of Hong Kong – a place that used to be a thriving local community, but is now threatened by large container ports and development. It’s a reminder of what will happen if Hong Kong continues to pollute/ignore local culture.