Someone recently asked if I'm having a good time? I thought it was an odd question. Yeah, I'm having the time of my life, but it made me wonder what the hell I was saying might be throwing readers off course. On the other hand, I'm not a paid-to-tell-you-wonderful-shit, travel writer. I enjoy pointing out the madcap foibles at each port and send up flags to be recognized and avoided by travelers. I also find this shipping industry fraught with odd equations to profits, strange traditions and a wild deck of cards to be dealt in each dank harbor. I also have found that each seaside haven is a mess, yet the most precious land in the community. I believe in my heart that something could be done about this errant condition that would help and entertain all involved. Traveling, unless under specific conditions, has its share of dark alleys and risks. If you want to travel in specific tour groups your conditions can be monitored to a certain extent. If you've got money to burn you can duck some of the slums, much of the world has to trounce through, to get to the Jade Garden of Luxury.

Traveling on a Tramp freighter has neither of the above accouterments. There are risks and the unknown at each port. In general the shipping folks don't want to have anything to do with their passengers. In some respects you can't blame them. They're not set up for passengers, they don't have the time or the money to go ashore in most ports, and they have hundreds of strange unknown stevedores, agents, gangs and officials running around each ship, who they can't communicate with, and constantly break cranes and equipment. I feel for these bastards. They work their asses off and the only fun they look forward to are cheap whores in some ports, maybe a tattoo from a kid with dirty needles and warm beer once in a while. It's not bad, it's just a tough existence.

Well Hong Kong was no different, in fact, for the crew it wasn't much fun, for us another wild encounter. We pulled into the port again in the middle of the night. I discovered that Hong Kong is noted for the Hong Kong Island, but it reality Hong Kong is made up of four different and distinct departments. There's this small island slightly larger than Singapore with much less build able land due to the steep hills. Next is the Koloon Peninsula which is a sizeable chunk of property across from the island. Then there is the large mainland area that has a border with mainland China. This portion of Hong Kong is called the new territories and is substantially agricultural. Finally there's a smattering of 235 surrounding islands that make up the rest of the Hong Kong State. Altogether, it's probably the size of New Jersey surrounding one of the largest ports in the world in Victoria Bay. We rolled in through the East Lamma Channel during the middle of the night as usual so we couldn't see shit, course it didn't matter because we were quarantined due to our Vietnam excursion. So we were told to anchor out of the harbor by about a mile. Now, get this. The captain asked the harbor pilot what the requirements we were subject to under the quarantined conditions, since he had never encountered the Vietnam rule. The pilot told him that ships from Vietnam, Russia or Cuba had to endure quarantine regulations. Immediately the captain asked, "Oh, so it's political?" "No, no," the pilot said with emphasis. "Well, then what is required?" the captained continued to question. "Is there a health inspection?" "No," the pilot said, "I will call the officials when you lay anchor. He will come to the ship but not board. You take him your ship's paper and he will review, then we can move into the harbor." That was it and a half hour later we pulled anchor and moved a mile closer in the harbor and dropped the sonuvabitch again. We were still five miles off the coast of the Kowloon Peninsula and five from the Hong Kong Island. We were in the middle of no place, the coastline off in the distance. Next we had to find out how the hell to get to shore. The agent showed up and reported that it would cost us 120 bucks (US) to get a lift to shore. That didn't cut it and our dubious report was that were only scheduled to be in port for 24 hours. That sucked as the barges began to pull along side in the choppy currents and the crew began to prepare for offloading. The next morning after very little sleep I drug my ass to breakfast to check the situation. I was beginning to think that we wouldn't be able to afford the trip to the coast due to the high costs and the fact that boats weren't available and we might be leaving in the evening. Doesn't make too much sense to pay $250 to get into town to have lunch and leave. Ah, but there are always alternatives. The Cargo Superintendent came on board and shrugged his shoulders with a lack of solutions to the problems afoot, but the Chinese Agent, Henry Cheung from the Gulf Agency Company, showed up and volunteered to take us to Kowloon on his dime on the harbor skiff, a 40-ft, high-powered launch.

One problem, though. Henry was peeling out as we spoke. I had to hit the showers and head to the gangplank. I spent the night in town without so much as a tooth brush, so some shopping had to take place and as usual, few shops accepted American Express and if you wanted cash from American Express you had to walk miles to the one Amex ATM in downtown Kowloon, only to find out it was out of order. We were told that another Chinese bank would accept it. That alternative was tried and a passenger had her card sucked by the machine, leaving her cardless. She had to spend the afternoon waiting around the office for a temporary card. There was nothing wrong with her balance. She swore that when she returned to the states she would use up her miles and burn the card. Such fools. Instead of assisting cardholders they put as many obstacles in the way of using the card as possible.

The last time I was in Hong Kong was during my stint in the Vietnam War. I sailed into the Hong Kong harbor three times. During the late '60s the harbor was packed with a myriad of Chinese Junks, but this time as I looked out over the vast harbor, I didn't see a one. I wasn't reminded much of the old Hong Kong and wasn't sure I would be startled by remembering something. The city has grown to a population of 6.9 million. It's a madhouse metropolis teaming with shopping and high rise buildings. There something odd about it though. From the harbor or any distance the city reflects a massive sizzling beautiful metropolitan area, but when you get close in the daylight and look up, most of the buildings are apartments where people live. They are not luxury apartments but grubby stained buildings with air conditioners hanging out of window and clothes hanging on anything outside to dry.

More importantly, I exposed the fact that it is actually a downright expensive place to live. Apartments range from 20-40 grand a year to rent. That's for the low rent districts and low on the elevator check list. As you move from floor to floor the rent increases until you're facing 65-100,000 a year to be less than street people. No wonder the population clamors to gamble and there are only two types of gaming allowed. There is one race track on the island which produces 74 horse races a year and the crowds Annie up 81 Billion a year on the races. The only other legal gambling fare was to roll the dice on the Hong Kong lottery.

Hell, a burial site on the island costs $200,000 since land is so precious. Someone told me that you are buried sitting on a chair to conserve landI can't confirm that gossip. There are several hospitals in town but only one government joint right across the street from a hilly cemetery. Rumor has it that if you end up in the hospital, it's likely that the only way out is the rocky road to a plot across the street. Yipes.

I took a ride through a tunnel from Kowloon to the island. The tunnel costs 320 million to build, but it's only 2 kilometer long and 24 meters below the surface of Victoria Bay. Keep in mind as I babble that the rate of exchange was 7.2 to one US dollar. Okay, so I'm blasting around the island looking at the sites and I cruised over a very tight winding road to the south side of the island to the small Aberdeen Harbor and when we pulled up to the dock leading to the popular floating restaurant in the middle of the bay I was taken back. A lump formed in my throat as I looked out at the odd looking floating Chinese River Boat still swaying in the calm waters 36 years later. It's now called the Jumbo and is covered in neon and glittering lights like a Las Vegas gambling boat. It's now owned by a gentleman who owns casinos in Macao and all over Indonesia.

I suddenly remembered the night I drug one of my buddies off the St. Paul and we grabbed a cab for the floating restaurants. We were 19 and 21 years old and concerned that the cabbie was taking us for a treacherous ride until he pulled into this small parking lot on the coast in front of a short pier some 20 feet long surrounded by little 5- foot sampans. We had hit the whores in strange tall buildings that were full of long halls without lights and dank rooms with little or no appliances. I remember the guy who lured us inside, gave us beers and showed us grotesque dirty movies before selling us on young girls. The girls were cute and in some cases not in a brothel ambiance. It was as if someone invited you into their home and offered you a drink, a daughter to fuck and dinner later. It was odd and somewhat uncomfortable. It was like going to see your girlfriend, fucking her in the room next to the dining room packed with relatives. Then dusting yourself off and saying goodbye.

If I'm not mistaken, my buddy, Outlaw (no shit, that was his last name) copped out when he saw the sampans and got back in the cab and headed back to the ship. I remember stepping into a wobbling sampan by myself. An old woman pushed off from the dock. She didn't say much, just rowed quietly to the glittering floating River Boat type craft in the harbor. Half way out she stopped the dinky vessel and I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into. It was dark on the water except for the reflection of the lights of the restaurant. She turned and picked up a bundle off the wooden deck that turned out to be a baby and held it up to me. I could see that the infant wrapped in the dirty blanket was sleeping soundly. She showed me the child then held out her hand. I don't remember anything about the money then, but I handed her a couple of bucks and she grinned a toothless smile, bowed and kept rowing.

I still remember that night. There were two restaurants at the time and one of the two allowed you to pick your fish from an adjoining tank and they would cook it up for you. I wasn't in the mood for that fare and went to the next boat for a real life Chinese dinner which was tremendous and the atmosphere eerie. The two restaurants are now one and they server 3,000 people a night.

It was out of a dream and we jumped aboard a large motorized sampan for a tour of the area which is packed with luxury yachts, the restaurants and rows of boats that people still live on. They were tied next to professional wooden fishing boats. This was the only area left where people can still live on boats and they must buy a license each year to remain there. Between the rotting boats, the cost of the licenses and a thinning ceiling on the number of live-aboards allowed the traditional live aboard situation is quickly diminishing. There were once six million live-aboard boats in the Victoria Channel and now there are only 11,000 and that number is fading fast. It was sad to look at the boats and wonder about their future. I asked the woman in the motorized sampan behind the long wooden rudder, who looked and was dressed like a bank teller, "What happened to Chinese Junks?" When I was a youngster my old man took the family down to Wilmington Harbor to look at some new imported Chinese Junks for sale. They were as cool as pirate ships. Unfortunately my folks were trying to decide whether to buy one of them or a cabin in the hills and decided on the cabin.

She looked at me as if I was a voice from the past bringing up a legend she would just as soon forget. I imagined the harbor in the '60s with thousands of these sailboats that looked like butterflies on the water flittering from harbor to harbor. Then she looked at me and I detected sadness in her broken English. "All the masts are gone. We have only motors now. Only one left with a sail for charter. The rest are either fishing sampans or live-aboard." I could tell as she finished explaining that the story would only end when all the old line of wooden hulls were gone, replaced with fiberglass high-dollar yachts. How times change.

I found it interesting that Hong Kong is noted for its jewelry deals and spent some time at the Dynasty Jewelry mart, yet almost none of the raw materials come from China. Diamonds and gold come from South Africa, Opals from Australia and Jade and Rubies come from Burma.

As a closing thought I would like to mention a bit of advice for those who are interested in living in the hills. According to Chinese legend, dragons live in the hills. Chinese lore has dragons built into their yearly schedules as if it was a true animal. For instance last year was the year of the snake and this the year of the horse. Since the dragon is the symbol of China it is to be respected and cared for so people who build homes in the hills make sure that each structure has a center courtyard to nurture dragons and let them breathe.

So if someone was to ask me if I had a good time in Hong Kong I would answer the same as all the ports I've entered: Each port has it challenges and adventures. Hell, yes I had a good time. I had a steak at the Morton's Steak House at the Sheraton over-looking the Victoria Bay and the brightly decorated high-rise buildings for the New Year Holiday. I walked along the edge of the channel surrounded by the Las Vegas like night lights incredible. There was a Ferry Boat ride to the Hong Kong Island and back. Indians attacked me on every corner with brochures about hand tailoring clothing for my lanky self. The city is just as mysterious as during the Vietnam era.-Bandit

On to Part 14