I didn’t want to get up on Sunday morning, but we had to go to Shenzhen. Why, I’m still not entirely sure. In any case, we checked out and walked the nearly empty streets in the morning sun to the MTR station and got on the train to the border, where the immigration officials expressed a little confusion over my Laos visa, as it had no English or Chinese on it describing just what country it signified. After a few small gasps of realization, we were through.

Walking through the station on the other side of the river felt like a different world. Suddenly my instincts were telling me to be extra cautious. I took one snap of some people sitting by the stairs, and one of them got up and made a threatening gesture. It didn’t feel very welcoming, and we skipped the walking-around that would usually accompany visiting a new place and negotiated a day’s fare with a nearby cabbie, Mr. Chen.

We took the highway past gleaming, tacky hotels and high-rises amid unfinished sidewalks. The traffic moved slow, as if everyone expected to have to stop at any time. We drove along the coast through tunnel after tunnel as Mr. Chen complained how expensive everything was, more expensive even than Hong Kong. Perhaps it was a hint that we weren’t paying him enough.

Our destination was Da Peng, an old walled city that is more or less preserved. Only part of it isn’t still lived in, the old residence of the local bigshot family, including a general or five. The rest of it is still lived in, mostly by migrant workers from all over China. The original owners, Mr. Chen said, lived outside the old city walls in nicer houses. Mr. Chen seemed to know a lot about the place despite claiming he’d never been there before.

We walked up and down small alleys, chatting with women sewing clothing and shoes, men playing cards, chess or mahjong, and kids playing with soccer balls, yo-yos and fake swords. Women in tradition hats that look like lampshades collected garbage, and an official-looking group walked around looking official. Chenbl bought bags of candy for the kids, but some of them, wisely in my opinion, refused. At least they know not to take candy from strangers, I thought. The villagers kept asking how I spoke such fluent Chinese, and eventually Chenbl took me aside and told me to just tell everyone I was half Chinese so I could get past all the questions.

Laundry was hung up everywhere in the brilliant sun, and women washed their hair in the streets. The water comes from the original wells. We came upon three old ladies who spoke mostly Cantonese. Chenbl can parody the language, but he doesn’t speak it. He does know a little Hakka, however, and the matrons knew a bit as well.

I wasn’t yelled at once the entire time.

It was 3 p.m. by the time we left, hungry for lunch, which was at a dumpling place where shirtless men were fixing all the chairs so that they didn’t collapse under a person’s weight. The dumplings were delicious.

The sun was getting low in the sky by the time we made it to our second destination, an old Hakka walled village. Nobody lived there, and it was more than a little spooky. Chenbl followed an old guy around, trying to take his picture, but he was soon trapped by the man’s wife, who wanted to show him an exhibition of old furniture in the back rooms. We escaped the couple and wandered about the deserted alleys and dilapidated houses. It felt like, once upon a time, it must have been a really cool, interesting place to live, probably lively with hundreds of families living together, each house a story, but now it just felt sad and empty, left to crumble. I hope they do something with it. At the very least it would make a great backdrop for a war film.

We drove back to Shenzhen as the sun set. Mr. Chen dropped us off at the sauna, and the old feeling of…not anxiety, but heightened alertness, returned. Not without reason. The sauna Victor had warned us against going to was the Queen. He told us his friend had been robbed there, and held until they could extort money from him. Well, that sounded like fun, so of course we went to the Queen.

But first, dinner. There didn’t seem to be much in the way of restaurants or even convenience stores in the neighborhood, so we walked around town a bit. I didn’t feel like taking pictures, and kept the Invincible Rabbit in my bag. We had dinner at a pseudo-Japanese place with a nice layout and food seasoned with lots of ketchup.

The Queen Sauna is a complex affair; the pre-sauna process is complex. The sauna was…well, it was nice enough, though a bit rundown. The pools were large, a good thing because we needed a bit of space to avoid all the boisterous splashing going on. I cracked my head on the ceiling overhang getting out of one of the pools, and nobody said anything. Bad design+no service=brilliant marketing, apparently.

We got traditional Chinese masseurs, who were surprisingly interested in the upcoming elections in Taiwan. “We wish the KMT ruled China,” one of them told us.

“The KMT and the CPP, together,” the other rushed to add. The massage was painful at times, but not too bad. We slept in the barracks-like general sleeping section, amid a symphony of snoring featuring Chenbl’s resonant solos throughout the night. In the morning, we walked out on the street, disappointed in the lack of theft or even extortion, and promptly decided we’d had enough of Shenzhen.

So it was back to Hong Kong. We had to catch a flight that evening anyway. Entering the station, crossing the river, going through immigration…each stage was an obvious improvement and a step towards the different world of Hong Kong. By now you can probably tell that I don’t think much of Shenzhen. I’ve been to many cities in China, including Guangzhou, Qingdao, Beijing and Shanghai, but Shenzhen left me with the worst impression. I’m still not entirely sure why…perhaps the lack of history, the bad planning, or just the general atmosphere. It’s all money, no class. If it weren’t for the visit to Da Peng village, I’d say the entire trip was a wash.

Back in Hong Kong, we decided to spend the afternoon riding the trams up and down Hong Kong island, which was a nice way to see stuff without all the walking bits. We did visit the alleys of Central, having a large, noodle-themed lunch on a staircase stall. Say what you like about Hong Kong men, but all that stair-climbing makes for some verrrry nice calves.

Chenbl kept reminding me of the time, but I wanted one last stroll around the streets before taking the airport express, so we circled the block, encountering some film people doing something with a Red camera. Chenbl thought one of them was Chris Doyle, but the fellow looked too young for the part to me. We snapped some shots, and walked back to the terminal, where we got on the train and sped out to the airport in about 20 minutes.

The airport has a Popeye’s Chicken, but it was a bit disappointing. The flight back was bumpy, probably thanks to our seats at the very back of the plane, but the view of the city as we flew over Hong Kong island at night, clouds sweeping in from the sea, was amazing.

It was a nice little trip, I guess, though as usual we did too many things, and I didn’t get a chance to just wander around, as I usually do. I took a little video but not much; I often found myself wishing I’d had a little Canon to do video with. Oh, well. The photos will have to wait, as I’m still very behind on that front.

Our friend Marquis took us to a Hong Kong breakfast place on the second floor of a building on the same alley as the Bottoms Up club from the Man with the Golden Gun. I like breakfast in booths. There’s just something attractive about the idea, especially in a Bond-film related alley. And the food wasn’t bad either.

The weather was still nice, murky air but cooler than yesterday. As we walked across an intersection I donated HK$5 to a charity; the girl wouldn’t take the money directly and pointed mutely at a slot in her bag. Clever. A block later, just after I’d taken a photo of a newsstand, I turned down one of her charity co-workers. Just as I walked away I heard someone behind cursing me. It wasn’t the charity worker, however; it was the newsstand lady. Over on the docks, an American family, all dressed in the same plaid, was taking family photos and having a miserable time getting everyone just so for a photographer who seemed to be a relative.

The Star Ferry over to Central was wonderful as usual. As we crossed, a large ocean liner sidled into the harbor. We then spent an hour or so stalking the many overpasses. One security guard came out and said we could only photograph from half of the overpass, as apparently his company owned the other half. I watched a beautiful photo opportunity pass from the wrong vantage point as a bicycle rider slipped in between two trams. Hoping Chenbl had been in the right place, I asked him if he got the shot, but he hadn’t seen it. Oh, well.

We took the series of escalators up the hill past the trendy shops and slick restaurants filled with blonde people, and then walked back down through the various alleys. Other than the 84-year-old umbrella-maker who was in the Guinness Book of World Records, just about everyone resisted having their photo taken. I was shouted at several times, and was on the receiving end of more glares than I could count. More than once I actually wished I had a Leica with me, just for the quieter shutter.

The weather turned overcast and cool as we prowled the alleys, and we took the subway to Mongkok to meet up with Sean, Lily, Miao-miao and my old W&L classmate Victor Cheung, who runs a photo workshop in Kowloon these days. We had a table full of dim sum, but I forgot to eat most of it as the conversation was so interesting.

After lunch we took the MTR on our way to Tai-O. The subway, as always was crowded. One thing I’ve learned during this trip is that Hong Kong feels a lot more crowded than it used to. Whereever you want to be, someone’s already there. Wherever you are, you’re in someone’s way. Also, the escalators are really fast. I guess they have to be in order to keep up with the demand without playing human dominoes.

Tai-O, an old fishing village, was interesting once we got past all the touristy bits. Most of the houses are metal structures on stilts, and everyone was having dinner as we walked through the bridges and alleys. I got yelled at a few more times. I suppose one gets used to it. Also, Cantonese does sound a bit harsh even in normal conversation. One woman was doing a pretty good Louis Armstrong impression while shouting at her husband.

The moon rose over the nearby hill as Shawn, Lily and I checked out a monastery that turned out to be closed. The water pipes over the canals next to bridges had little barbed wire webs on them, but I couldn’t figure out what for. The gaps were too large to stop rats, and a cat could jump over them easily. Some other animal I’m not aware of, no doubt.

The bus ride back to the MTR station was wild, more like a fighter jet simulation than a bus ride, and we were all feeling ill afterwards as we had dinner in Sham Shui Po. Then it was farewells for the night, though Tsim Sha Tsui is still rocking as I type this at 1:08 a.m.

The backs of the buildings facing our room were bathed in a hazy yet unmistakable tinge of sunshine when I drew back the curtains this morning. Breakfast at a nearby place was an egg sandwich and almost undrinkably bitter milk tea from the steamy kitchen that faced the street.

We wandered through some alleys, to the still-closed shops downstairs at the Mirador Mansions where I used to stay. Nobody offered to sell me any suits or watches or anything else, which happened quite a lot the last I was in Hong Kong with Dean.

I grew quite familiar with Kowloon Park during my time in Hong Kong, and walking through it kept bringing back little memories of various corners of the park I used to haunt during the days I was off work in mainland China, and later as a stateless person. The empty pools, children in uniforms, old men sleeping on benches, a plethora of pigeons.

We walked across the bridge to the Royal Pacific, my home during my time at ES Originals. It had seemed to utterly luxurious when I first stayed there upon entering employment there, less so when I was recuperating (unsuccessfully) from knee surgery. We walked through the complex, stopping to take photos of workers throwing boxes at each other, and out onto the dock, where I took some shots of myself in the mirror. That is the tradition. Hopefully they’ll come out. It wasn’t difficult to trick myself into thinking it was 1993 again, that I was off for another weekend in Hong Kong after working the Kaiping factory for a month. The ferries bustled in and out of port below, and one of the Star cuiseliners lay at a nearby berth. Hong Kong island seemed further away in the mist. I have to say I don’t like the new tall building, whatever it is. It interrupts the classical skyline.

We took the MTR to Sham Shui Po, where we met Shawn and the others under the overhanging signs amid the cloth shops. Lunch was at a street-side noodle shop and would have been delicious if I hadn’t accidentally ordered the ammonia-flavored noodles. Sean made up for this however, with an extremely sweet and delicious French toast-like confectionery.

Walking around some more brought to an old apartment building whose headstone read 1932. We hung around the front door until an elderly resident approached, and we conned him into letting us in. The inside looked as if nothing had been replaced since 1932. We climbed the steep wooden steps, the original tile floors covered with dust, to the oddly slanted rooftop, where, inexplicably, various old action movie VCDs lay tossed around. I imagine there’s a story behind this phenomenon, but I can’t think of what it might be.

The old gentleman who let us in came up and was chatting quite happily with Sean’s girlfriend Lily until I stuck the Invincible Rabbit in his face and took a picture. That was the end of that interview. Oh, well.

We took the MTR to Tin Hou, as I wanted to see the old hostel I stayed there when I became stateless. I spent the days then in Victoria Park, exercising and eating under trees while reading old sci-fi books I’d gotten at the used bookstore. We then walked over to Times Square and passed the Sogo where I’d caught my first glimpse of a DVD, playing A League of Their Own clips over and over again on a large screen. I remember being quite impressed with the 720×480 quality.

None of this had really changed. Not much has changed in Hong Kong, it seems upon a cursory inspection. It does seem markedly less British and more Chinese, more like Kuala Lumpur than before. The wifi in the park was spotty.

It was around then that I concluded it was no good trying to walk around reminiscing with a gang of bored friends in tow, and gave up on the whole thing. We passed a selection of mid-level gods under the overpass, all ready to do battle with various annoying individuals people wanted “taken care of” for a small fee. Among them was a small Monkey King statue. Figures.

We caught one of the double-decker trams headed west. What a neat way to travel, or it would be if we weren’t stuck behind a smoke-belching truck. Apparently you can rent them out for parties.

Pacific Place was just where I’d left it, though looking a bit more careworn, especially in light of malls like the one in Taipei 101. We took the escalator up to Hong Kong park, where Chenbl found fountain of fortune and made everyone look like idiots as we sat in front of it, scooping imaginary money into our laps.

I went on ahead a bit and sat down on the edge of the stairs leading out of the park, stairs that, one evening many years ago, witnessed a handsome young Hong Kong man seated on them having his photo taken with a disposable camera.

We wanted to go to the peak, but the tram line seemed much too long, so we spent half an hour trying to find a bus, and another half hour waiting for it to come, and another half hour getting up the hill. Much to Chenbl’s dismay, I used his shirt to wipe the window clean enough to see out of. It was night by the time we made it there, and the peak was cold and crowded.

After taking the usual shots, I tried to photograph one of the “professional” photographers, one of the guys who lines tourists up against the railing and shoots them with his D200s, but he wasn’t having any of it.

I was cold by dinner, served in a nearby restaurant. We decided to line up for the peak tram back down the mountain, though it was standing-room only and at times seemed almost vertical. Then we boarded one of the tourist buses that wound through downtown, and then a ferry back across the harbor to Kowloon. There nothing about any of that I don’t love.

Tomorrow afternoon we are thinking of going out to Da Ao, but we’ll just have to see what happens.

I wasn’t in a great mood on the way to the airport this afternoon, staring at the beginnings of the airport MRT line stretching across the hills between Taipei and Taoyuan. I wasn’t really in the mood for a vacation with other people. So far, the best vacations I’ve ever had have been when I’ve been on my own. Still, I needed a break, a change of scenery. Hong Kong is nearby and convenient enough. It’d been years since I’d seen it. Of course, Chenbl was along as well.

Customs and immigration went smoothly, however, and we had lunch at a café just down from the gate. Our meal was delayed slightly by a middle-aged Taiwanese man shouting at the servers, “I told you three times already! Do you know who I am? I could make your lives miserable!” I could almost hear them thinking he already was.

Our flight, bumped up an hour, was wonderful. Or at least my flight was. I don’t know about Chenbl, as he was sitting somewhere else, on the other side of the plane. I got the coveted exit row and was able to stretch my feet out. As soon as we cleared the clouds I could see the plane’s shadow, surrounded by a brilliant halo, flitting along underneath us on the surface of the fluffy white clouds. Lines of planes and ships could be seen from our great height, travelling who knows where. I was already regretting not buying a Canon S95 for the trip.

Eventually we descended into a murky brown sea, landing an hour and half later in Hong Kong, but our friend Sean didn’t know we were early. We waited in the airport until 6:30 or so when he showed up with this girlfriend. We got on a double-decker bus that took us straight into town to our hotel, the Guangdong, in Tsim Sha Tsui.

The moment I stepped off the bus and inhaled I exclaimed, “Ah!” It’d been years since I smelled that peculiar mix of car exhaust and hard noodles. We walked a block to our hotel to meet some more friends and put our stuff away before heading out into the neon canyons in search of dinner.

We found it in an alley near Yau Ma Tei, fried oysters and beef noodles at a place accessed via half an hour’s wait in line outside. While the other waited I wandered around the area, taking snapshots, soaking in all the neon signs hanging bright and heavy over the streets. One of the other patrons had been to Taiwan and regaled us with heavily accented tales of her travels.

We walked dinner off on the way back to TST, stopping for some extremely rich ice cream in cones from a truck off of Kowloon Park, then down to the harbor. Of course we had to see the harbor. Now THIS is Hong Kong, I thought as I walked up the promenade, gazing out at the Hong Kong-side array of buildings, some of the festooned, as they were 20 years ago when I first laid eyes on them, with Christmas decorations.

It was getting late, however, so we made our way back to the hotel and said our see you tomorrows. I’m rather looking forward to wandering some of my old stomping grounds, less so to all the inevitable wondering where all the time went.