The ancient passenger liner turned slowly out into the busy waters of North Kowloon, and most of the passengers, clutching their Carlsbergs (the preferred tipple of our club), made their way on to the deck to take a last look at Hong Kong, at least for a couple of days. We were on our way to the ancient city of Canton (now Guangzhou) up the Pearl River. We sailed at 11pm and were due to arrive at dawn the next morning.
We'd already had our first brush with Chinese bureaucracy. While we were alongside we were in Hong Kong territorial waters, and had been paying for our tipple in HK dollars and at (very cheap) HK prices. As soon as we cast off, the girl suddenly charged us about five times as much: "It's a China ship" she explained, "China price now." She also seemed to have some difficulty with what currency to use. We had at that stage never seen renminbi nor did we have any of the Foreign Exchange Certificates which foreign visitors could use in China in those distant days. US dollars would have done apparently, at a pinch, but not having many greenbacks amongst us either, we finally persuaded her to continue to accept HK money - or, we said, the little ship's bar would do no more business.
This affair being settled, although not wholly satisfactorily, I leant on the ship's rail in company with Ted Brown, an official with the HK government and 'an old China Hand', watching the junks and sampans still criss-crossing the harbour late at night. We had to be up early and my thoughts were turning towards sleep, but Ted said he thought we'd soon get a spectacular view of the Portuguese colony of Macau. He was right: suddenly to port there was a glow, and soon the lights of the myriad casinos which graced the shoreline came into view. Macau, Ted told me, was already full of gamblers from Hong Kong, who always rushed there after work (it was a Friday night) by fast ferry and gambled non-stop for 48 hours before returning tireder, poorer but not wiser at the end of the weekend.
I don't think any of our group (we were as I recall the only passengers) had ever been to the Mainland. During the Cultural Revolution visits were all but impossible. If you wanted to see China from Hong Kong in those days, you had to go to Robin's Nest in the New Territories, climb a small hill and then if you were lucky you might see a peasant in a distant rice-field; it's amazing to think that those rice-fields have now become Shenzen, a city of (probably at least) 10,000,000 today, crowded with Chinese whose life differs only from Hong Kongers in that they drive on the wrong side of the road...
It's difficult to describe our entrance to Canton the next morning. We had been warned that although Canton was the most advanced city in China, it was light years behind Hong Kong. Well, about 100 years anyway; then as now, I would put Hong Kong about 10 years ahead of England - they had a new spankingly efficient underground, trucks that beeped when they reversed, fast lifts, free local phones, etc. - but by my calculation that meant there was still about 90 years between South China and the UK.
Looking back I don't know now whether it was the silence (after the bustle of the metropolis we'd left the night before) or the colours which made the greater impression on us all. We got up to a beautiful October day and the ship was gliding quietly towards what appeared (speaking of impressions) to be an Impressionist painting. Canton harbour seemingly hadn't changed since the 19th century; the early morning sun was shining on what seemed like banks of faded yellowing go-downs (warehouses), with a few orange ones thrown in. Neither ashore nor at sea did there appear to be any movement at all. We were heading for an ancient pier that would I'm sure would have been recognisable to many a 19th century trader plying his trade in tea, gold and drugs. But the tea clippers had long disappeared and instead as we watched we were awed at the sight of a real old fashioned junk creeping down the river under full sail. (Even in those days commercial junks in Hong Kong had for decades been motorised, and the only ones to be seen under sail were a few made for the tourist trade).
A few sleepy looking shorehands (perhaps the first Communists I'd ever seen, apart from the girl in the bar) were standing by to make fast our mooring ropes, and we'd arrived....
To read more of the thrills and spills of this first weekend in China, watch this space for the next instalment.
We'd already had our first brush with Chinese bureaucracy. While we were alongside we were in Hong Kong territorial waters, and had been paying for our tipple in HK dollars and at (very cheap) HK prices. As soon as we cast off, the girl suddenly charged us about five times as much: "It's a China ship" she explained, "China price now." She also seemed to have some difficulty with what currency to use. We had at that stage never seen renminbi nor did we have any of the Foreign Exchange Certificates which foreign visitors could use in China in those distant days. US dollars would have done apparently, at a pinch, but not having many greenbacks amongst us either, we finally persuaded her to continue to accept HK money - or, we said, the little ship's bar would do no more business.
This affair being settled, although not wholly satisfactorily, I leant on the ship's rail in company with Ted Brown, an official with the HK government and 'an old China Hand', watching the junks and sampans still criss-crossing the harbour late at night. We had to be up early and my thoughts were turning towards sleep, but Ted said he thought we'd soon get a spectacular view of the Portuguese colony of Macau. He was right: suddenly to port there was a glow, and soon the lights of the myriad casinos which graced the shoreline came into view. Macau, Ted told me, was already full of gamblers from Hong Kong, who always rushed there after work (it was a Friday night) by fast ferry and gambled non-stop for 48 hours before returning tireder, poorer but not wiser at the end of the weekend.
I don't think any of our group (we were as I recall the only passengers) had ever been to the Mainland. During the Cultural Revolution visits were all but impossible. If you wanted to see China from Hong Kong in those days, you had to go to Robin's Nest in the New Territories, climb a small hill and then if you were lucky you might see a peasant in a distant rice-field; it's amazing to think that those rice-fields have now become Shenzen, a city of (probably at least) 10,000,000 today, crowded with Chinese whose life differs only from Hong Kongers in that they drive on the wrong side of the road...
It's difficult to describe our entrance to Canton the next morning. We had been warned that although Canton was the most advanced city in China, it was light years behind Hong Kong. Well, about 100 years anyway; then as now, I would put Hong Kong about 10 years ahead of England - they had a new spankingly efficient underground, trucks that beeped when they reversed, fast lifts, free local phones, etc. - but by my calculation that meant there was still about 90 years between South China and the UK.
Looking back I don't know now whether it was the silence (after the bustle of the metropolis we'd left the night before) or the colours which made the greater impression on us all. We got up to a beautiful October day and the ship was gliding quietly towards what appeared (speaking of impressions) to be an Impressionist painting. Canton harbour seemingly hadn't changed since the 19th century; the early morning sun was shining on what seemed like banks of faded yellowing go-downs (warehouses), with a few orange ones thrown in. Neither ashore nor at sea did there appear to be any movement at all. We were heading for an ancient pier that would I'm sure would have been recognisable to many a 19th century trader plying his trade in tea, gold and drugs. But the tea clippers had long disappeared and instead as we watched we were awed at the sight of a real old fashioned junk creeping down the river under full sail. (Even in those days commercial junks in Hong Kong had for decades been motorised, and the only ones to be seen under sail were a few made for the tourist trade).
A few sleepy looking shorehands (perhaps the first Communists I'd ever seen, apart from the girl in the bar) were standing by to make fast our mooring ropes, and we'd arrived....
To read more of the thrills and spills of this first weekend in China, watch this space for the next instalment.
By Kit Villiers
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