Last(ing) Impressions
We can never be sure, as it is happening, whether something we do, a place we visit, or an interaction with someone, will be for the very last time. That, sadly, is the glorious uncertainty of life.
Each edition of Lighting the Path deals with a new aspect of our family’s 2016 or 2023 journeys; sometimes both. So please make sure to carefully note the dates of each post as you browse in order to better understand how they relate to one another.
16 June 2023
There are a couple of immutable truths about travel, for me at least. One is that everywhere looks better, and feels more hospitable and inviting, when the weather is fine. The second is that Asia is no longer my cup of tea. (Although, curiously, I do love the tea in Asia).
A wet and miserable day today in Hong Kong - possibly the last we will ever spend in these parts? - left me a little out of sorts. Not only did the weather limit our options, but I found myself feeling particularly alienated and disconnected as a result of the language and cultural differences. I don’t recall such a strong sense of dislocation when Linda and I were last here in HK thirty-odd years ago (in 1994). Although it might be tempting to attribute my current discomfort to the handover of Hong Kong from Britain to China that took place in July 1997, and the subsequent resumption of Chinese sovereignty and influence, the more likely source of my discomfort is that I have been wearing high-waisted (corduroy) grumpy-old-man pants for a little while now. Thus it seems I am no longer equipped, if indeed I ever was, to embrace and adapt to those differences.
But, speaking of limited options: that is an accusation that could most definitely not be levelled at the breakfast buffet here in our hotel. I can say with absolute certainty that I have never seen such an extensive array of offerings as were available to us here this morning. Just about every form of international cuisine imaginable appeared to have been given a nod, at least to some extent. To the point where I almost felt I had let the side down by not trying a bit of everything. (That said, I did give it a bloody good go!).
With a generous load of fuel on board one might have hoped we would have grabbed the bull by the horns and journeyed bravely into parts unknown. But as a result of the weather (mostly), and the aforementioned discomfort (somewhat), in the final wash-up our sightseeing for the day consisted of little more than catching the Star Ferry to Hong Kong Island, and a bit of idle window shopping. As we wandered past a succession of impressively ritzy, but almost entirely unpatronised retail outlets, I found myself wondering repeatedly how any of these places can possibly survive – most especially given that they are located smack bang in the middle of the city that has been renowned for some time as home to the most expensive commercial real estate in the world. Attracting patrons was most definitely not an issue however for the majority of the food outlets we passed during our day out; particularly, of course, around lunchtime. A number had dozens of presumably hungry, but undoubtedly very patient customers queueing out their doors, as they waited their turn to sample the culinary wares.
And if the weather hadn’t been enough to ruin our day, the traffic en route to Kowloon station certainly could have. A trip for which the anticipated fare of 35HKD was well exceeded on our arrival yesterday (57HKD), was almost tripled (just over 100HKD) on our return – admittedly a journey taken, unwisely in retrospect, at peak hour on a Friday night. However a quick calculation once we settled into our seats on the train from Kowloon to the airport cooled any financial frustration we might have otherwise been carrying. Our 30‑minute cab ride had barely cost us 20 Aussie dollars! Who’d be a cab driver in Hong Kong?
And the day wasn’t all doom and gloom. This morning we did manage a video call with son Tim – during which we were not only able to wish him a very happy birthday for yesterday, but catch up on his own recent travels. Having departed Australia for the UK and Europe with his girlfriend, Veronika, three weeks or so before we left home, Tim has already sampled the delights of Ireland and Scotland; places we are soon due to visit ourselves. More recently he has crossed the Channel to check out Amsterdam, Berlin (where he caught up with his cousin/my nephew, Jack, who has been living and working there for the past four years), and Prague. We were delighted to see how healthy and happy he looked, and to hear what a great time he and Vee have been having on their first international expedition together. Because after all, as a parent, seeing your children enjoying a fulfilling life in the company of people they care for, and who care for them, is the thing most likely to make us genuinely happy ourselves, isn’t it?
Which brings me to the most difficult part of this story. But, equally, the most important part of it. Indeed the part, without which, it would probably never have been told at all.
26 January 2019
As all Australians are of course aware, January 26 is our national day - for the time being in any event. In 2019 this day of patriotic celebration fell on a Saturday. As a result of which, unlike most Saturdays through the Australian summer, I was not on a cricket field.
Playing and following cricket has been an ongoing obsession for me since I was about eight years of age. As a result, the opportunity to share the field with either Tim or Ben, and occasionally both of them, over the past ten years has been one of the great joys of my life. Just seven days ago, on 19 January 2019, Ben and I were part of a stirring outright victory for North Ryde RSL Cricket Club’s Second Grade team – only our second victory, to that point, of a rain-affected season. But, in deference to the national holiday, no matches have been scheduled this weekend.
I freely admit I have felt conflicted about the date for Australia Day for a few years now – it being the anniversary of the arrival upon our shores of Britain’s imperial colonising force, the First Fleet, in 1788. I now understand, and empathise with the position taken by a large portion of our nation’s indigenous community; namely, that the date upon which control of significant parts of this great brown land was permanently removed from their ancestors is hardly a cause for celebration. So instead of cricketing, or celebrating, I am taking the opportunity, with Linda’s help, to catch up on a little bit of outstanding work in our home office. Meanwhile the boys are each spending the day with their respective groups of friends at separate house parties – Ben in Putney, and Tim in Dural.
Earlier today, some time around 11am, I last saw Ben when he rolled into the kitchen, his arms full of an esky crammed with beer. He and his girlfriend, Laura, were getting ready at that stage to head off to their party. Earlier this week Ben had asked if he could host the party at our house. After due consideration Linda and I declined the request, principally because tomorrow we are expecting to receive a couple of overseas house guests – they being Johnny and Bonny Davidson, members of the Norton Oakes Cricket Club touring party from Sheffield in England, who are scheduled to stay with us for three weeks whilst our Club hosts the Oakes for the seventh time over the past 30 years or so. (Johnny and Bonny had generously provided accommodation for Linda and I in July 2016, when the North Ryde RSL Cricket Club travelled to Sheffield; and it seemed only right that we reciprocate their wonderful hospitality at the first opportunity to do so).
Although Ben had accepted our decision with (relatively) good grace ‑ especially once his friend, Matt E, offered to play the hosting role in his stead ‑ he was mildly upset as he wandered in from the garage with his esky. The source of his frustration was apparently the fact that two of the beers from the case he had bought earlier in the week were missing. After I denied any involvement in the disappearance, he concluded with some annoyance that his elder brother Tim was the culprit; a pretty fair conclusion it must be said. I mean that’s what brothers do, right?
I’ll admit I was mildly disturbed by Ben’s reaction, given that he still had 22 beers to keep him happy throughout the day. Indeed I couldn’t help but make what I hope passed for a measured and reasonable observation: “Mate, it’s not a big deal is it? I mean you’re not planning on drinking all the rest of those beers on your own anyway are you? Remember you haven’t had a drink for quite a while. Your tolerance is going to be down on what it normally would be. You don’t want to go too hard too soon”. Ben had not had an alcoholic beverage for the past three weeks, having implemented a self-imposed booze ban following a heavy schedule of partying and drinking over the New Year, and the coinciding music festival season. His response to my urgings was a cheeky sort of grin, and “We’ll see how we go”.
After we hugged it out, as was our usual form of farewell by that point in time, and the same with Laura, the two of them made their way up the hallway to the front door. As they headed out into the light I remember saying, as I usually did any time Ben left the house to go out socialising, “Have a good time. Be safe. Be sensible”. On almost every occasion over recent years Ben’s response to that appeal has been an optimistic and largely confidence-inspiring “Of course”, or “Always”. On this occasion he didn’t say anything audible, or maybe just “See ya”, as the two of them headed out the door; leaving me, I confess, with a sense of unease. We would never speak again.
Coming soon - New places, and familiar faces
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