Art girl about town

I’ve been terrible at updating my blog of late, but that’s not to say I haven’t been writing. In May I went to Hong Kong for Art Basel and have been writing like crazy since then. I did highlights of the fair for both FAD and Complex, as well as an article about the street art scene in Hong Kong for Complex.

Then there were exhibition reviews back in London – the huge Banksy show that Sotheby’s held in their gallery as well as the amusing yet melancholic Museum of Broken Relationships at Southbank Centre. I went to the Sotheby’s Contemporary evening sale, and wrote about that too. Plus I threw some fashion into the mix with 40 things you didn’t know about Givenchy’s Riccardo Tisci in honour of his 40^th birthday in August.

There’s lots more in the pipeline. Am working on some features for State Magazine and I wrote three philanthropist profiles for the forthcoming Giving Magazine – will share these with you as soon as they come out.

But in the meantime, if you want to find out what galleries and artworks have been impressing me on a day-to-day basis, follow my feeds on Twitter or Instagram.

Over and out x

Going for a slash in the park

Decided to tackle tai chi again – tackle being the operative word is this case. Found an instructor who taught a number of styles, including sword form which I wanted to learn here, so I popped along with a friend. After numerous phone calls and 20 minutes roaming the park, we eventually found the class. It didn’t seem particularly like tai chi to me, although the instructor had said that he doesn’t teach his classes in the usual manner of a tai chi class. After practising some moves in pairs about how to deflect a punch to the face, the instructor then pulled some knives from his bag. They were blunt training knives, but looked enough like the real thing to freak me out a little. Then we put the deflecting moves into practise armed with the knives.

“Aim with intent” he kept encouraging us. “Don’t aim for the side of the head, aim for the middle of the face.”
“Great”, I thought to myself. “With my slow reflexes, I’m bound to get stabbed in the face.” Thankfully, I didn’t.

However, I did manage to keep tangling my arms, so I asked the instructor where exactly I should be positioning my hands on my opponent’s arm to deflect the attack. “It doesn’t really matter. In the heat of the fight, you’re not going to have time to check that your hands are in precisely the correct position.”
True, but then in the heat of the fight, I’m more likely to kick my opponent in the nuts and scarper than try practising some new martial arts moves. And what’s the point in learning the moves if you don’t learn how to do them properly in the beginning?

He then whizzed through a sequence of moves for the sword form and asked me to repeat them on my own. All I could think was – if I was doing this with my class in the UK, what you’ve just sped through would take at least three classes to teach properly. So it wasn’t the class for me, which was a pity. I think the instructor is probably quite accomplished, just maybe not suited to teaching people. Well, not suited to teaching me anyway. Although I do now know how to stab someone in the face with a knife. Which is bound to come in handy back in London…

Explore, explore, explore

So as I enter my final month in Hong Kong, the race is on to make sure I have seen all the key sites before I leave. Today I ventured to Kowloon for two reasons: The first was because there were a number of markets I had yet to visit, Apliu Street Flea Market in Sham Shui Po and the bird, flower and goldfish markets in the Prince Edward area. The second reason was because some contractors are doing work in my building and it sounded like someone was standing beside me with a Kango hammer, so I needed to escape. The flower market was pleasant enough and featured the ubiquitous bunches of roses with each flower wrapped in polystyrene.

The bird market wasn’t that big – possibly due to the old bird flu issue – but it did have a lot of bugs for sale, which was pretty squeal-inducing for a wimp like me. I also enjoyed watching the local birds nipping in and out around the stands, hovering up the spilt grains of birdseed.

Then to the goldfish market, which for some inexplicable reason stank to high heaven. As the fish were already packaged in plastic bags like funfair prizes, I’m not entirely sure where the whiff was coming from. However, with prices starting from $10 a fish (80p), I know where I’ll be coming should there be a food shortage in the future...

New Dan Flavin installation?

Or stall in Sham Shui Po selling a variety of light bulbs? You decide...
You can read about Dan Flavin here.

Terrapins

The original inspiration begind cheerleaders' pyramid formations?

Happiness is...

…self gifting. Turns out the Americans were right all along. I decided not to give or receive Christmas presents this year because (a) the thought of posting loads of packets from Hong Kong was a headache and (b) I had no way to bring anything back from here as I had already exceeded my luggage allowance on the way out. So, having saved all that money, I decided to self-gift and spend £30 on a small box of chocolates and three pieces of cheese. Rock and roll. And so bloody Western too. Oh and the crackers are from Shanghai. Yes, I went all the way to China for Tuc crackers.

Luckily some people took pity on me and did hook me up with some amazing prezzies. Thanks to my dad for The Sunday Times (real journalism…how I have missed thee), to my mum for the mince pies (well it wouldn’t be Christmas without them) and to T for the card (although I’m not sure I approve of violence against pandas).

An oven of one’s own*

*With apologies to Virginia Woolf.

So, two months in, I decided to have a housewarming party. Why, you may ask? Well, why not? Of course, it did require some careful planning. As my flat is pretty damn small, and really can’t fit that many people, I decided that while I wanted to invite all my friends here, I was worried that if they all turned up, I’d have to get some of them to hang outside my windows cause there simply isn’t enough floor space. So I came up with two solutions. 1. Have the party on a week night. 2. Send out the invite only a few days beforehand so most people will be booked up already. And it worked a treat!

Of course, limiting the number of guests turned it from a housewarming party into more of a haphazard dinner party. I decided to make some food so that we would have something to soak up the booze. So thought to myself, what can I make that’s easy, feeds a lot of people, and can be cooked in one pot (I only have a one-ring electric hob). Ahh yes – the vegetarian Moroccan cous cous dish.

Well let me tell you now – that’s only easy in Europe. Sourcing the ingredients here was a nightmare. No one sells cous cous, the relevant spices were pricey and a pain in the ass to get hold of, chickpeas aren’t available in all supermarkets and are imported from the States (and called Garbanzo beans – who knew?!), and I couldn’t find courgettes anywhere. So I ventured to my local wet market to have a look at what vegetables they had in stock. Saw some things that looked like courgettes. Held one up to the lady on the stall, and asked “courgette?” She nodded and added something in Cantonese. Hmm. Was she agreeing with me or giving me a price? I picked out another green vegetable that may or may not have been a courgette and repeated my question. And got the same response. Hmm. This technique wasn’t going to work. I had already asked a friend what the Cantonese word was for courgette and she didn’t know. (So she asked her mum…who also didn’t know. Sigh…)

Suddenly I had the solution. I whipped out my camera and started photographing a number of green vegetables that quite frankly all could have been courgettes and then went home and emailed them to the gang, two of whom were able to correctly identify them, and lo, I was able to complete my shopping for the meal. (They’re much paler and larger than the ones you get in Europe, just in case you were wondering after all this hoohah, although perhaps you may have paused for a nap by now).

Managed to make the food successfully (although a ton of it splattered onto the floor – my cooking area is small and the pot I was using was even smaller. Fear not, I didn’t scoop it up and back into the pot…I think…) and everyone turned up – one to two hours late – but I was drinking red wine by this point and wasn’t too bothered.

So as it was now turning into more of a dinner party than a let’s stand around and get drunk party, I decided to dish up the food. In paper bowls. With plastic forks. Ah, the art of fine dining Chez Howe. And once we had all sat down to eat (an amazing accomplishment in itself given that I only have four seats and no one sat on the floor), we decided to indulge in some classic dinner party conversation. Thankfully it wasn’t as boring as some of the ones I have engaged in in London (talking about property and house prices is officially boring, people), although at one point it did slip into the dull Hong Kong Island vs Kowloon debate – see my previous post.

But the highlight of the evening’s conversation was…kitchen ovens. And no, I’m not being sarcastic. Only one guest had an oven. And damn, but the rest of us were jealous. There was even a moment of silence while each of us indulged in our individual fantasies of what we would do if we had an oven of our own – roasting vegetables, cooking a turkey, baking a cake – the possibilities seemed endless…

Maybe I’ll have to write a nice letter to Santa.

Tai chi, dim sum, the beach – where did it all go wrong?

So my Hong Kong plan was to become a tai chi master and a dim sum mistress who would potter off to the beach everyday to write. Well, that hasn’t quite happened. I haven’t been to a single tai chi session yet – mainly because it involves getting up at 6.30am and y’all know how I feel about early morning starts (despite, for the record, holding down three different jobs that required 6am starts). Of course, the theory is that once I go, I will be able to then line-up some private tuition at a more civilised time.

Then there’s the issue of dim sum. Well it’s a sociable meal, isn’t it? And it’s a lunch thing. And all of my friends here have these funny little daily pastimes they call jobs, so they’re always engaged during the week. And my last visitor was a vegetarian, so there was no point taking him. So in short, I haven’t been yet. However, I have discovered microwaveable cheung fun which isn’t too bad. But yes, I am craving the real thing. Maybe I should set up a restaurant that offers dim sum for one? Or maybe just set up a layabouts club so I could meet other dossers to dine with (that’s dossers with a “d”, y’hear? Not a “t”).

So that leaves the beach. Why have I not gone everyday? Well initially I was looking for a flat (settled on Hong Kong Island in the end). Then came the typhoon (despite my hatches being battened, the water still poured into my flat, resulting in me sleeping in the living room and setting my alarm for 4am so I could empty the rapidly filling pots and pans). Then I had an intensive writing project so I didn’t leave the house for a week. Then Wayne came to visit and it rained for most of his stay. I have however, made it to the beach on three occasions.

The first time was on the hottest day in September (well it must have been the hottest day because everyone’s clothes were sopping with sweat at 10am while standing in the shade), when I went on a junk boat trip to Tai Long Wan near Sai Kung. I swam from the boat to the beach and then back again (see picture). With an inflatable “noodle” admittedly, but those who have previously witnessed me thrashing in the water will know that it was no mean feat for me.

The next time was on Wayne’s second last day when the sun decided to finally show its face. We went to Shek O to meet a friend at the beach. Even though it took 90 minutes to get there (which is the same as going from my London flat to Brighton), it was spectacular. And hot! It felt a bit like being an extra on Lost with the lush green hills sweeping heavenward behind the beach.

Then on Saturday I took the plunge and went to the beach on my own. Took the bus to Repulse Bay, enjoying the hairpin bends along roads with sheer drops to one side. Felt pretty relaxed about the whole trip – somehow you don’t feel like such a loner/loser in the same way that you would were you doing this solo in your own country. Got to the beach and unrolled my beach mat. Whipped off my top to reveal my bikini underneath, then paused to watch some guy line up his friend almost in front of me and take a picture. That’s weird, I thought, it’s almost like he was trying to take a picture of me getting undressed. So instead of removing my shorts, I decide to walk a little to the left so I’m out of shot and therefore not “spoiling his picture”. Only then he stops taking pictures. Hmm. So I get out my camera and take a picture of these two fully clothed men on the beach and then, unsurprisingly, they walk off. So that was a bit creepy. (Although not as bad as when some guy photographed Nathalie and I on the beach in France. I was topless, but it was Cannes for crissakes – everyone goes topless!)

Anyway, decided to ignore all that and do some writing instead. Then it was so hot that I had to go for a paddle to cool down, and on my way back to my beach mat, some guy started filming me. Now y’all know what I look like (namely, not a fit model) and I swear I’m not some sort of delusional fantasist, but this definitely happened. Because when I angrily ripped off my (pause) sunglasses and glared at the guy, he closed his video camera and turned in a different direction. And he definitely wasn’t filming anyone else. Oh well, maybe it’s just that I look like some sort of Gweilo Godzilla (GG). Good thing I wasn’t wearing my heels then, eh?!

Am off to Shanghai, Osaka and Kyoto for two weeks on Monday, so when I get back, I shall definitely get down to some tai chi/dim sum business. Promise. Love from GG xx

Footnote: Relayed the photography story to a BBC (British-born Chinese) friend on Saturday night, who just rolled his eyes and declared that they were probably “mainlanders” – i.e. those from mainland China. And my friend Marc heard me bemoaning my lack of dim sum and took me to City Hall on Sunday to experience old-skool trolley dim sum where the ladies push round carts of dumpling goodness for you pick the ones you want. Wo hoo! Oh and the shark warning picture – that’s for Miss Watkins! She loves a good shark infested beach.

Fatter, thinner, or the same? (part 1)

So the big debate before I moved to Hong Kong was whether I was going to be fatter, thinner, or the same weight when I returned to the UK. At this point in time, I reckon it’s still too early to tell. For example, today I walked from my house to the IFC in Central, which is a 30 minute walk each way. I thought I should enjoy the good weather and do some writing for my blog alfresco, while checking out the great views of the harbour (see photo). Unfortunately, I was quite hot by the time I got there and felt compelled to pop to McDonald’s for a chocolate milkshake – well they are only 40p. So there you go – a classic example of my good work being outweighed by my greed.

Similarly, I’ve now tried a number of Chinese desserts and can safely conclude that they’re all revolting. I had imagined that this would be the outcome based on past experiences, so I reckoned I would be saving thousands of calories by not eating the sweet stuff. However, it turns out that Western desserts aren’t actually that hard to come by, so it’s not like it’s gonna be four months until my next slice of chocolate cake (although it may be that long until I make a tiramisu – my local Italian deli sells mascarpone for £8 – four times the UK price!). And the local bakeries sell excellent old-skool ring doughnuts for about 30p – literally tipping the scales for a fatter me.

I also thought that I might have to give up bread (crackers – my favourite food/meal as many of you know – have already fallen by the wayside – they’re outrageously expensive and the selection is poor here). Bread is generally pretty shit here. As Vietnam Al had forewarned me, most of the bread here is sweet. Which is fine some of the time, but I have started to crave wholemeal bread or regular brown bread or anything that’s not a synthetic-looking white sliced pan with the crusts cut off (why do they do that?!). But today I found the most amazing bread at my Italian deli. Yes, it’s white, but it’s fresh and flakey with sprinklings of rosemary on the inside. It’s not sweet, yet it’s been made in a similar way to puff pastry. And they have loads of other lovely looking breads on sale that I plan to work my way though during my time here. If you’re reading this in HK, then check out Il Bel Paese on 68 Bonham Road.

5 things I’ve learned in my first week in HK

1. Despite the fact that it’s ridiculously hot and humid at the moment (around 32-35 degrees Celsius), and as an Irish person I’m dying from the heat (we’re talking three-showers-a-day kinda heat), I’ve been told that I shouldn’t talk about “sweating”. I must ignore the fact that as soon as I step outside, beads of perspiration roll from my neck, gathering speed as they pour down my back until they soak into my clothes and my underwear. No folks, I’m not sweating, I’m glowing. Hmm…

2. Further to the above point on the heat, if I want to act like a local, then I must dress like one. I have been warned that in the middle of winter, the temperature drops to a freezing 10-15 degrees. People die from the cold here. Apparently I will need a thick wool coat – and maybe a scarf and gloves too. In fact, the shops are already selling winter coats and jumpers. Of course, if it was 15 degrees in Ireland, I’d be running around in a t-shirt. But I must not talk about that. Keep quiet and button up!

3. If you’re walking along the street and you feel a large plop landing on you – fear not! It’s not bird shit. It’s just condensation from someone’s air conditioning unit high above you. Soon I hope to stop jumping in the air while flapping my arms about every time this happens. I also haven’t seen any birds in the sky, so no doubt this will help. (Is this linked to the pollution?!)

4. Creatures are scary here. Have already seen quite a few cockroaches on the street. And a rat (which my friends swear was a medium sized mouse. Now it was either a giant mouse or a rat, and my money is on the rat). Also, while someone was telling me about the wonders of living in Sai Kung (a fishing village in the New Territories – I’ve been and yes, it is rather lovely), they did mention in passing that one can find the occasional cobra sitting on one’s doorstep. Only a small one, mind. Fuck that. I’m staying in the city…

5. Every city divided by a river is also divided by its inhabitants who argue over which side is better. In Cork it’s bad, in London it’s even worse, but here it’s fricking ridiculous. Hong Kong Island is predominantly where the expat community live, whereas Kowloon is described as “more Chinese”. Both sides think the other is rubbish. HKers argue that Kowloon is “the dark side”, that it’s impossible to get to, it’s dirty, etc. A bit like the way North Londoners view South London. Kowlooners (Kowloonies?!) think HK Island is full of visiting foreigners, that it’s sterile, and that it’s a rip-off.

Now here’s the joke. You can take the MTR (tube/metro/subway) from Central (the main station in Hong Kong) to TST (the main station in Kowloon) in less than 10 minutes because they’re only two stops away from each other. Of course, have I decided which side I want to live on yet? No. Arse. Where am I going to live???

Hungry Ghostbusters

Ghosts – and ravenous ones at that – have been swarming round Hong Kong recently. It’s the annual Hungry Ghost Festival, which one friend succinctly described as “Chinese Halloween”. People burn paper money and goods to pass onto their ancestors in the afterlife. And they do this on the street. In a bucket. Turns out the people I saw weren’t mad tramps after all, but respectful citizens.

Shops in Sheung Wan do a roaring trade selling replica cardboard products for budding pyromaniacs – Sony tvs, mini BMWs, Vertu mobile phones, Louis Vuitton bags – you name it, they’ve got a paper version of it. I actually had to fight the urge to buy the replica LV with the intention of passing it off as a super limited edition bag from Hong Kong.

Another friend wagged her finger at me, warning me (a) not to steal the fruit offerings left out on the pavement and (b) not to flick my cigarette butt into one of the metal buckets used for the mini bonfire. Who? Me? As if I would…