A Run for the Border
A Run for the Border
I made two day-trips to Shenzhen, across the border into mainland China.
Hong Kong is considered part of China, yet the border remains sealed off from the mainland under the "one country-two systems" policy set in place after the handover of the territory on July 1, 1997.
I was required to obtain an entry visa. I went to China Travel Services to fill in the form, pay the fee and leave my passport for three days. I purchased a two-entry visa, which allowed me to visit China twice within a three-month period. As it was my first visit, it was the maximum number of entries I could buy. Once I used up the visa, were I to want to enter China again, I'd be able to purchase a six-month unlimited entry visa, which would allow me to visit as often as I liked.
The easiest way into the mainland was via the Kowloon-Canton Railway (KCR). I hopped on a cross-harbour bus and arrived at the KCR station at Hung Hom on the Kowloon waterfront. As this was my first trip, my friend Hillman Chan and his brother C.K. went with me. Along the way, they schooled me in some of the scams I might be confronted with once over the border. One such trick goes like this:
Con artists would drop a roll of say, $10,000 Chinese Yuan, aka rénmínbì or People's Money, (about US$1,210), and wait for someone to see it or pick it up. Once they have a fish nibbling about, one man will approach the fish and say he saw the money too, and then offer to split the cash. If the fish bites, the man will suggest they go someplace more private to divide the loot.
When the money is being doled out, another conman will come over and say he lost a larger amount of cash (whatever the cons estimate the fish might be capable of paying), usually with "witnesses" who can back up his claim. The fish is on the hook; they'll demand the fish pay back the difference. If the fish cannot come up with the cash, the con men may assault him to obtain his ATM or credit card and PIN. One way or another, they'll get the money. Hillman described all con games in those terms; he called it fishing. The best advice he gave me was this: if anyone approaches me or talks to me, I should ignore them.
The trip to the border was faster than I'd expected: 36 minutes. When we arrived, a mad dash of bodies rushed from the cars. A tidal wave of humanity in a hurry hustled to the first border control checkpoint on the Hong Kong side. I queued behind 10 people and waited my turn for my passport and Hong Kong ID card to be checked. From there, I walked down a hallway to the Chinese side, where I filled in an arrival card, queued again, and presented my passport to the immigration officer when my turn came. A short walk down another hallway, and I exited the control point. I was in China.
Were there any doubt, the high, double-walled fence topped with razor wire, which ran from border control up the sides of the surrounding hills, was a dead giveaway. Between the fences ran a concrete path for vehicles to patrol. Atop the peaks of the hills were armed guard towers. As we moved over the walkway that spanned a stinking sewage canal, I felt the border as a tangible, physical thing, rather than a concept. The Chinese were dead serious about keeping their citizens out of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region.
My first order of business was changing Hong Kong dollars into Yuan. Hillman showed me a row of banks; nothing more than tiny convenience stores which sold cigarettes and snacks, and exchanged money. The stores closest to border control had the lowest, or worst exchange rates. The farther away we moved, the better the rates became. He took me to a shop he frequents during his trips to the mainland, where I flipped some cash and walked away with what I came to call Mao Money.
Our next stop was to find a tailor that had been recommended, on the 5th floor of the Lo Wu Commercial Building, where Hong Kong residents like to shop. My goal was to get a traditional Chinese suit made. Think Bruce Lee. I knew it would be much less expensive to have it done in Shenzhen than in Hong Kong.
Once we located the shop, I was measured, and through Hillman I explained to the tailor what I wanted him to make. I was led into a huge room filled with dozens of stalls crammed with rolls of fabric. The place was jammed with people, like ants at a picnic. After looking at a few different patterns, I selected the material I'd had in mind, then returned to the shop to leave a deposit.
Then it was time for lunch, so we exited the building and queued for a taxi in the scorching heat. The air was worse than in Hong Kong because of poor-quality fuel.
C.K. took us to a restaurant that served Hakka-style food. I was impressed with the level of service we received. The staff were attentive and friendly. When they handed me a menu, it was written in both Chinese and English, though some of the translations were comical. There I found another sign I was in China: dog was on the menu. That, and deep-fried frog. I wasn't offended; the Chinese are known for eating everything.
I was surprised when the bill arrived. We'd eaten four dishes, dessert, and had quaffed three large bottles of Tsing Dao beer among us. The total came to a little over US$17. Though tips weren't expected, I left one.
Sated from our wonderful dog-free lunch, we jumped into another taxi and headed to a place called HuaHong Blindman Massage. I'd never been to a mainland massage place before; I was curious about the operation. As Hillman is a moral man, I knew he wouldn't take me to a place that offered extra services. I relaxed and enjoy the experience.
When we arrived, both doors were manned by staff that opened them. We were greeted, then seated in comfy chairs in a central lounge area. We were given fruit and tea to refresh us as we cooled off from the insane heat.
As we sat, Hillman pointed out the main counter. On the wall were many photos of men and women; some sighted, some blind; from which I could choose the person I wanted to perform my massage. Hillman and I chose women, while C.K. chose a blind man.
We were free to choose what we wanted to do first: we could get an hour-long foot massage, have a shower, bath or sauna, or proceed with the body massage. Hillman and C.K. elected to go for a dip, while I went up five flights of stairs to the Canada Room (how appropriate) to start my massage. Each room was named for a country, which I thought was fun.
The room contained four massage tables set parallel to each other, a water cooler, towels and a clock. The door had rectangular glass running up the center, allowing a view into the room. On the wall was a sign that proclaimed a list of things patrons were entitled to complain about were they to feel something was amiss. For example, if the masseuse didn't appear within 15 minutes of my arrival, I could complain and receive a $100 discount. Astounding. Again I was impressed with the level of customer service. I have yet to experience the same effort in Hong Kong.
Thus began a three-hour massage. I stripped down to my shorts and with great anticipation plopped onto the bench. Hillman and C.K. joined me afterward, and the three of us were worked over. My masseuse was from northern China and she was skilled. During the session Hillman translated a bunch of jokes I told, and everyone in the room was laughing and having a good time. It's nice to know my sense of humour works cross-culturally. Hillman translated our conversation as we got to know each other, and he let her know where I needed more work.
She did a fantastic job on my knees, which had been in pain from the strain I'd been putting on them while exercising. I'd had to hobble up the stairs to get to the massage room, but I moved without pain after she'd finished. She was so pleasant that I booked an appointment with her for my trip a week later. I tipped her double the expected amount of only HK$10 per hour, which I later felt even better about after learning her income isn't great. The massage came to US$17 for three hours of work. When we went back to the lobby we settled our bills, and were offered more fruit and tea, as well as a dessert called Tao Fu Fa, at no extra charge.
From there it was a short walk back to the commercial building. Clearing the two checkpoints took about as long as it did when we'd arrived, and before I knew it I was back on the KCR heading toward Hung Hom station. I reflected on the differences between what I'd heard of Shenzhen and what I'd witnessed. I was stared at, but not as much as I'd expected. The people were more used to foreigners than they'd be elsewhere in China. The area of the city we were in was spacious and clean (except for the air), and not as crowded as Hong Kong. It was easy to see why Hong Kong residents were willing to buy property there.
I realised the border crossing at Lo Wu is no place to be other than during weekdays. If it was this busy on a weekday afternoon, I'd hate to be caught in the midst of several hundred thousand bodies crossing the border on the weekend or during a public holiday. I've seen news photos when that happens and being a sardine doesn't look like fun.
I've applied for a six-month visa as I plan to have more traditional clothing made for other occasions, such as Lunar New Year, and I want to go back for more massages. It costs me less to go to China for a massage than it does to walk 10 minutes from my home and have it done in Causeway Bay. That doesn't make me a wetback though. I prefer living in Hong Kong.
Now that I can, I plan to make regular runs for the border.
June 25, 2002
Next Tale - Grasp the Peacock's Tail