The Legend of the Flashpacker Part 4 (The Conclusion): A Traveler is Born

BASED ON A TRUE STORY

When you can't take it anymore, do you take a deep breath? Or do you walk out?

You choose to leave your tour group.

Surrounded by green HK trams, red taxicabs, and a gazillion apartment buildings, you walk around aimlessly, wondering how this could happen to you.

Cantonese-speaking locals in fleece jackets walk past you. The smell of freshly steamed dimsum lingers in the air. Your tummy tells you you need to stop and grab a bite somewhere. You place your hand on your stomach. Yeah, you feel it grumbling. You can even hear it growling, despite all the Cantonese pop songs blasting from the giant speakers of clothing and cosmetics stores you pass by.

You are hungry, but your head tells you to pull out your itinerary sheet again to check the address of the hotel. TST, Kowloon.

You have to head back to Tsim Sha Tsui. And you have no idea where that is.

You follow the swarms of people all hurrying to get home. You pull out your blue scarf, as the temperature keeps on dropping every second. You look up the sky.

The sun is about to set.  All you want to do now is go back to the hotel, find your way out of here, and get some rest.

You follow a group of young Hong Kong-ese in tasseled boots, hoping they'd walk straight to the subway station. Minutes pass. They pause at a bus stop and get on a yellow bus with a big Admiralty sign.

You pull out your tourist map this time. You learn that Admiralty is where you can transfer to a subway station en route to Kowloon where Tsim Sha Tsui is.

Too shy to ask for directions, you start scanning all the bus numbers and their destinations on the bus timetable. What the heck? You tell yourself to just take the next bus and it'd probably bring you somewhere where there is a subway station.

A yellow double-decker bus stops before you. You get a little disoriented, since driving in Hong Kong is on the left side of the road. The digital sign says North Point. You get on, hoping it'd get you somewhere closer to your hotel.

Good thing a friend back home lent you an Octopus Card, so you swipe it against the machine beside the driver, following the locals' lead.

You settle in the third row. You look around. Everybody seems to be minding their own business, all excited to go home, have dinner with their families, and probably watch Cantonese soap before calling it a day.

A high school girl in pigtails seated beside you is reading her English textbook. Amused, you hesitantly ask her, "Excuse me. Do you know where the next subway station is?"

Probably surprised, she looks at you and only murmurs "Oh!". She then removes one hand from her book and presses a button beside her. Did you just scare her? You are about to say sorry, until she opens her mouth again, "Subway, next stop."

You smile and say "Xie xie", even if your thank you is in Mandarin. Locals use Cantonese in this part of China but everyone seems to understand Mandarin anyway. Besides, thanks in Cantonese is too difficult to pronounce.

"Your stop," she says pointing to your right. People start standing up and getting off, so you follow, after thanking the kid.

You take the escalators going down the station and walk behind the locals again. Getting lost isn't that bad after all.

Quarry Bay. This is what the subway map says. You are supposed to take the blue line heading west and transfer to the red line in Admiralty going back to Tsim Sha Tsui. Piece of cake, you tell yourself.

You can do this.

The next train arrives. You get on. No seats. So you settle beside the door and check the map posted on top of the train’s windows.

The train moves and suddenly you feel something is wrong.

Today REALLY is your lucky day. Instead of taking the blue line, you accidentally boarded the purple line!!! You are hungry, you are lost, and you are on the wrong train.

You hear the next stop announcement in Cantonese. Then Mandarin. Then English: Next Stop, Yau Tong.

Yau what?

The train grinds to a halt. And you don't hesitate to get off. Then, you hear it again: your stomach grumbling. You feel your throat is dry.

You. Gotta. Eat.

Okay. Don't panic. Deep breath. 

You decide that a few minutes outside the station to find a restaurant won't probably cause you to miss the last train. It's HK. It's a first world country. You can find your way around. Hopefully.

So, you try to find your way out of the yellow train station. Passing by a map of the neighborhood, you try to search for the nearest restaurant. No luck. You think, "Why don't I just ask a local?"

And so you do. You approach a young guy, as you exit the station. He’s probably heading out to the city from what looks like a rural part of Hong Kong, a place you never read about online; one missed by your travel guide.

"Excuse me, do you know if there is a restaurant somewhere here?" He points to the left and tells you, "Take minibus", and before you can ask why, he has taken off.

There is no minibus in sight. You could not even find the minibus stop (maybe because it's a mini bus stop?).

You check your HK MTR map again. You are in Yau Tong station. Good thing you are back in Kowloon. Well, that's a relief. But to get back to your hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui, you either take the green line that goes north, then transfer to the red line. Or head back to HK Island on the purple, then blue, then red line. You are counting which route would take fewer stations, when Minibus 24 miraculously stops before you, as if it was sent by heaven.

The driver smiles, and sensing you are a tourist (How could he??? Oh yeah, the map). You hear Lei Yue Mun. 

You ask the driver again, "Where does..."

You haven't even finished when he tries an English sentence, but all you understand is sea-foot.

Sea what? Seafood? 

You drool at the thought of grilled fish, buttered shrimp, and calamari. You get on the minibus.

The drive was just a short one and before you can say I am lost in Hong Kong but I don't care, the driver drops you off. He points to a small fishing village and says "Lei Yue Mun".

You marvel at the junk boats lining the channel. You never saw this side of Hong Kong during your pre-trip research. Not even on the Internet. You take a photo, proceed to walk past the Chinese arc, and wonder if this is Chinatown.

You snicker at the thought. Hong Kong is one big Chinatown itself.

You follow some teenage locals hoping they are headed too to the seafood restaurant the driver was trying to tell you about earlier. You just wish you understood the rest of his Chinese-accented English so you could find your way more easily. 

You were checking the last few photos you took on your phone, trying to convince yourself that you could be a travel photographer, when you start hearing shopkeepers shouting in Cantonese. Could it be a brawl?

You expected woks flying. 


But no one is fighting.

You check the sign boards around you: This Seafood, That Seafood.

Welcome to Lei Yue Mun Seafood Bazaar.

A small, dark alley leads you to aquariums full of sea creatures, still alive. From shrimps, to prawns, to fish, to shellfish. And all species and families in between.

There are stores selling raw seafood exclusively, restaurants that can cook the seafood you just purchased, and other shops which you think that can do both.

For some reason, you feel sorry for these little creatures. You could not take the thought of picking a still swimming fish and have him cooked minutes later. Besides, when you asked the old grandma how much it'd cost, you knew that you should have brought someone along and split the bill --- somewhere around $US 20-30. 

You check how much HK dollars you have left. Right pocket: HKD25. Left pocket: HKD15 and some change. Wallet: HKD50.

You couldn't afford to eat here, you tell yourself.

Disappointed, you try to find your way out of the Seafood Bazaar. It was an interesting walk though. Out of your four friends who have been to HK, you conclude that nobody among them has been here, based on their advice (which mainly revolved around Disneyland) and their Hong Kong Facebook albums, which you checked the night before your flight. 

You were already looking for your minibus stop, when you notice two locals make a quick turn in front of you. You quickly inspect what could be in the small alley. 

You almost raised your hands to heaven when you see a Chinese eatery.

Since it looks like a small, family owned restaurant, you instantly feel more comfortable. No pressure to buy, no old ladies shouting, unlike at the Seafood Bazaar earlier. You ask the friendly grandpa, who probably owns the restaurant, "Pai fan? Mei you?". Do you have rice? 

He smiles, "Putonghua!". Mandarin in Mandarin. Uh-oh, he thinks you are Chinese. He places a Chinese menu on the plastic table.

You check your phrasebook again. Some of the words are too long, so you just pick the easiest, "Eeng-woon!". English.

Grandpa says "OK, OK", walks back to his table and gets another menu, but this time with English translations. You order a Coke, while picking which pai-fan meal you'd have. You settle for the HKD25 Shrimp and Egg Rice. Maybe US $3. Not bad.

Grandpa comes to collect the menu and tries to strike a conversation. With his limited English and your yi-tiyen-tiyen Mandarin, you swap stories and learn that he has been running this restaurant for over twenty years. You don't remember how many times you mentioned WOW, but the smell of Chinese food is keeping you in the mood for an interesting conversation with a local. He was trying to tell you about the village’s Seafood Festival, and drums, and dancing when your food arrives. Grandpa excuses himself to let you eat and proceeds to entertain other customers.

As you pour Chinese soy sauce into your plate full of rice, shrimps, and egg soup, you start reminiscing about the past few hours. 

Walking out on your tour group.

Walking aimlessly behind locals.

Hopping on a random bus.

Boarding the wrong train.

Getting lost in rural Hong Kong.

Finding a seafood market by accident.

Exchanging stories with a local restaurant owner.

You are officially off the beaten path. 

You are no longer the tourist you were when you woke up this morning. As you munch on the best Chinese meal you have had since arriving in this interesting territory, you pull out your phone and logon to Facebook. 


New status message: A traveler is born. ●  

The Legend of the Flashpacker: Part 1

BASED ON A TRUE STORY

One hot 34-degree-Celsius summer afternoon, you click the TV remote while you try downing a bottle of freezing soda. You try to squish the plastic bottle hoping it miraculously melts so you can finish it off. While cherishing the last few drops of cola, a TV commercial shows a beach with a group of dancing friends with the same soda you are drinking. You realize the only difference is that while they flaunt their bikini-contest-eligible bodies in a remote island in the Pacific, you are stuck in your room with a broken air-conditioner.

You stare at the TV asking yourself how can these twenty-something yuppies afford this vacation. They must be really wealthy.

Envious, you change the channel.

The travel show is about to end. The half-Asian, half-Caucasian host with a Sydney accent invites you to flashpack while you are young. Your eyebrows meet. Flash what?

The end credits scroll up while snippets of this episode's blooper moments do not make you laugh at all.

Flash what again?

You pick up your smart phone. You open the default browser and type in Flashp... Google suggests FLASHPACKING and FLASHPACKER.

You click the first entry.

Though you pay about $20 for unlimited internet, your speed test app laughs at how slow your connection is. You begin counting aloud.

While you stare at the blue bar moving from left to right at one inch per hour, you think again.

You know what backpacking is. Some of your college friends have done it in Vietnam and Cambodia and their Facebook photos make you want to follow suit.

But flashpacking? Nah, you absolutely have no idea.

The page loads after a couple of minutes. You check your soda bottle and gulp what has melted so far.

Fonts on your screen are too small. You try making them bigger. You read the five words in bold letters that catch your attention: Flashpacking is backpacking in style.

Cool, you think.

You close the browser, smiling. You open a blank text message, still smiling. You choose two of your most adventurous and travel-addicted friends at the same time and you type: Friends, let's go on a flashpacking adventure, followed by three smiley faces.

Three minutes later you get the same reply from both friends:

We are in Bangkok! Join us! •