April 5: If Hong Kong is busy, Mong Kok is chaos. Street performers and promoters form pockets in the surging human tide. Floor shops and restaurants support upper level stores and restaurants. Neon signs flash. Street stalls slalom through t-shirts, fabrics and knock-off goods on the inner streets of the central Kowloon district.
Joyce and I wander together for a bit, eat some Japanese shrimp balls. She has a meeting with a class group at Starbucks. I wander the neighborhood. I pass through the goldfish market with the bags of fish hanging from storefronts, go to the flower market to find sunflowers for Joyce.
Passersby occasionally mutter, “Gwai lo.”
After her meeting completes, I give her two sunflowers wrapped in newspaper. We wander and eat more: frozen sour fruits, curry squid. An altar to a god hides behind a stool at a noodle shop. We wander the two blocks west of Nathan Road for a bit. We pass signs in Chinese, Japanese and English advertising girls at different rates. I take photos of the hallways leading up to a few. A man glares at me. He wears a gold chain. Triad gang members run these establishments, Joyce says.
Men carrying shopping bags for women walk past. Joyce hands me the flowers to carry.
We go back to eating, now at a small restaurant. Working-class men enter with beautiful women in skimpy, shiny clothing. They order noodles. We order BBQ pork neck and mushrooms wrapped in bacon fried. From watching Hong Kong films about Triads, Joyce says it's common for men to take their hostesses out for a meal.
Joyce insists that she pay.
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