Feng Shui: Domestic and Urban

April 17: Master Alex Yu begins class by defining “feng shui,” (風 水).

Feng shui literally translates to “wind water.” The name stems from the Taoist belief that wind and water are the two most basic forces affecting the harmony of energy in nature.

“Feng shui is not a science, feng shui is feng shui,” Master Yu says. He explains that it’s more like interior design soaked in superstition. Feng shui seeks to maximize positive energy from arrangement within the home, as well as in architecture or even agriculture.

Following the rules, buildings should face water, with a mountain at the back. Mountains are stable forces good for relationships. Bodies of water bring wealth (open space, like a parking lot, can also symbolize water). If your home has a swimming pool in the backyard, the flow of energy is disrupted. Bad fortune will likely follow, according to principle. Master Yu suggests moving to a new home, or if that isn’t an option, place a very tall object in the back yard to offset the water. A tree might work.

Numbers 1 through 9 are important for determining feng shui.

8 = the best number

9,6,4 = also good numbers. 9 is good for romance. If you are lonely, Master Yu says, place your bed at #9. You will be very busy at night.

5 = the worst number

2,3 = also bad numbers

1 = change. Can be good or bad
7 = neutral

The following chart shows the positive and negative positioning for the year of the rat (2008). Note that each axis is flipped from the standard Western compass. The difference results from Chinese geography. Traditionally, the north represented mountains and the south (with the South China Sea) represented water. The chart changes every year with the farming calendar. Subtract one from each square to determine the number arrangement for 2009. Subtract one again for 2010, etc.



If you want good energy, follow the chart. Make a map of your home. Find the approximate center. Draw eight lines from the center, like spokes on a wheel, to divide your home (floor by floor) into nine segments. Make another map that includes your yard and consult both.

If your bedroom is on a bad number, Master Yu says, change your bedroom or move to a different house. It’s that simple. However, if you can’t change your sleeping area for some reason, there are ways of neutralizing the negative energy. For example, in our current classroom, at #5 in the south of the room, he has hung a circular wind chime with six metallic cylinders. For this location, he says, “Placing heavy and round-shaped metal objects can reduce inauspicious energy.”

From this number theory and calendar, last November, Master Yu used feng shui to predict that Barrack Obama would become the next president of the United States. Here’s his logic: The number 1 sits at the center of the chart for 2008. Number 1 is a number of change - the slogan of Obama’s campaign. Number 1 is also represented by the color black. Obama has dark skin. No wonder Hillary Clinton has had such a hard time this primary. Cosmic forces are conspiring against her.

After class, I take a ride on the Duk Ling, a traditional Chinese junk that the Hong Kong Tourism Board says was “originally owned and manned by Chinese fishermen, the Duk Ling is typical of the junks which used to crisscross Hong Kong’s waters for hundreds of years.”

Supposedly, it sailed for 25 years before restoration in the 1980s. The ride across Victoria Harbor is nice. It’s sorta fun to ride on a junk, but I’m not sure it’s worth the price - $50 HKD (about $6.4 US). The gray sky doesn’t make the price any more attractive.




From behind the fog, architectural use of feng shui appears on Hong Kong Island. My guidebook, Fodor’s, includes an article that cites two case studies – the Bank of China Tower and the HSBC Main Building. The Bank of China building, designed by famous architect I. M. Pei, is dominant over Victoria Harbor. According to Fodor’s, the giant triangles that form its outer-walls are bad feng shui (“3” was one of the bad numbers discussed in class), and some say that, “it resembles a screwdriver – one that’s drilling the wealth out of Hong Kong, others prefer the metaphor of a knife into the heart of the SAR.” On the other hand, the HSBC headquarters, designed by Sir Norman Foster, seems to have nothing but positive feng shui. Fodor’s reports that the escalators were supposedly redesigned at an angle because “evil spirits can only travel in a straight line,” thus preventing evil sprits from entering from the Victoria Harbor (while they also resemble the whiskers of a dragon, “sucking money into the bank”).

Politically-charged feng shui energy? Maybe.

“Atop the (HSBC) building and pointing towards the Bank of China Tower are two metal rods that look like window-washing apparatus. The rods are a classic feng shui technique designed to deflect negative energy – in this case, of the Bank of China’s dreaded triangles – away and back to its source,” according to Fodor’s.

Oranges, Yin and Yang

April 16: I'm probably the only tourist in Hong Kong packing Tupperware full of pre-peeled orange slices. Thank you Mrs. Choi!

Waiting for the Traditional Chinese Medicine class, I sit outside a skyscraper in the Central District. I eat pre-peeled oranges and wonder if any other tourist is so lucky. Over my shoulder, a man is frowning. Jealousy? I think he wants my orange slices. Based on his ugly look, I think he needs some yin medicine quick... I finish eating and head to class.



The class, hosted by Eu Yan Sang
(余 仁 生, which means “Eu” - the founder Eu Kong Pai – “caring for mankind”) outlines some of the basic ideas of Tradtional Chinese Medicine while offering promotional time for the expensive TCM pharmacy.

Important points:

Yin and Yang (陰 陽).
Yin = female, darkness, cold, water
Yang = male, brightness, heat, fire

Together they represent the balance and harmony of chi (energy,) in life. The two are inseparable and mutually dependant. Both are strongest where the other is weakest. When one is in excess, the other recedes. Each is transmutable into its opposite. The seed of either rests at the heart of the opposite's strongest, thickest point.



The yin and yang symbol, known as taijitu (太 極 圖), represents the ideal balance of yin and yang.

Traditional Chinese doctors, referred to as TCM practitioners in the States, inspect the balance of chi in a person by looking at the patient's tongue, feeling the pulse, examining breathing patterns and whites of the eyes, and through conversation about the ailment.

I had a special opportunity to experience this traditional check-up earlier in my trip.

According to TCM, illness results from an imbalance of yin and yang. If the patient is too hot, or has too much yang, the doctor prescribes cooling yin medicine (which could be sour, bitter or salty in flavor, astringent and subsisting). If the patient is too cold, vice versa; yang medicine is prescribed (which could be pungent or sweet in flavor, dispersing and floating).

A cough or sneeze is caused by excess cold or yin. Traditional Chinese Medicine could suggest donggui as a yang remedy.

While acne is an example of excess heat or yang. American ginseng could be prescribed (although, be careful not to take Chinese or Korean ginseng instead).

The distinction between Asian and American ginseng, I think is the most interesting point in the class. Mary Chang, the class instructor and pharmacist for Eu Yan Sang, explains that three types of ginseng exist:

1. Chinese ginseng (panax ginseng, or 紅 蔘): harvested after 5-6 year, properties are increased strength and reguvination, yang medicine
2. Korean ginseng (高 麗 蔘): harvested after 7 years, properties are increased blood circulation and physical strength, yang medicine
3. North American ginseng (panax quinquefolium, 西 洋 蔘): harvested after 4 years, provides energy, good for stress, insomnia, indigestion, dry throat, mental tiredness, acne and menopausal depression, yin medicine
* Also: wild ginseng, which is left in the ground longer, offers a more potent substance of any of the three).

Ms. Chang also explains the significance of bizarre foodstuffs, i.e. medicines, such as lingzhi 靈 芝(ganoderma mushroom, good for immune system), cordycepts 冬 蟲 夏 草(a caterpillar killed by fungus in its cocoon, good for fighting fatigue), donggui 當 歸(good for ailments of the uterus), tian qi 田 七(lowers cholesterol), deer antler 鹿 茸(only from certain types of deer, good for treatment of impotence) and birds nest 燕 窩(swallows' nests, made of saliva and rich in protein, good for skin).

After the class is over, she takes us downstairs to buy Eu Yan Sang’s products. I walk away with a free bag of herbal throat lozenges.

Heritage in Northern Kowloon: Bird Walkers, Temples and a Walled City

April 15: Bird-walking is daily custom for many old men in Hong Kong. From dawn until tea time, bird walkers congregate in favorite parks, or restaurants, to air and share their prized songbirds. In northern Kowloon, Yuen Po Street Bird Garden is devoted to the city’s bird walkers.

The historic bird street had been located in Mong Kok, but the government relocated the district in 1997 to the northeast, between Boundary Street and Prince Edward Road. Consolidated to roughly 70 stalls (according to the city), the modern pedestrian-only street/garden“is testimony to the excessive pampering (the birds) receive. Merchants stock items such as fancy teak cages, tiny porcelain water bowls, even culinary delicacies, such as grasshoppers. It opens from around 7am-8pm.”

I wake early and arrive before 7 a.m. The street is empty. Custodians water plants. A few men huddle around a cage pile. Up and down Yuen Po Street, songbirds chirp behind closed storefronts. Wild birds sing their refrain. An elderly man carries two cages and hangs them at different locations. He practices tai chi, and he moves the cages to different locations as he varies the motions of his exercise routine.






Two hours pass, men begin to wander. From the outside looking in, brown finch-looking birds investigate the accumulating cages. Bamboo cages (for sale) assemble a wall at the north entrance. Men examine those lively, chirping birds inside. The sullen, less-animated creatures go unnoticed.

Business gains momentum, and I walk east along Boundary Street. The street's namesake marked the separation between colonial Hong Kong and China from 1860 (the result of Britain’s victory in the second Opium War) during the Ming Dynasty until 1898 when the United Kingdom took a 99-year lease on New Territories.

I walk north into Kowloon City. Kowloon City's buildings appear more rundown than the waterfront of Hong Kong Island and Tsim Sha Tsui in southern Kowloon. Undoubtedly, the neighborhood is in exemplary shape compared to the days of the Kowloon Walled City (little more than a decade earlier).

The walled city was infamous for crime, drugs, prostitution and lack of governmental supervision. When a resident of the city was murdered in 1959, neither Britain nor the People’s Republic of China claimed responsibility for the region.

The city developed from an early village, which had been a military post for the Song Dynasty (960–1279) and later became a stronghold for the Ming Dynasty (1644–1912), after the 1842 Treaty of Nanking (when China first ceded Hong Kong Island to Britain). The 99-year lease of New Territories stipulated a continued military outpost at the location for the Qing Dynasty. The issue remained unresolved as Chinese immigrants flooded Hong Kong from the Mainland. Shoddy buildings grew atop one another, and the outpost developed into a maze-like slum. Upon demolition, the walled city housed 50,000 inhabitants on 0.026 km².





Across the street from the park (modeled after gardens from the Qing Dynasty), the Hau Wong Temple watches over passing traffic.

A bus takes me from the Hau Wong Temple to a giant shopping mall, which towers over the Sik Sik Yuen Wong Tai Sin Temple – a sprawling Taoist temple built during the early 20th century.






Stalls selling incense surround the entrance. Inside, tourists and worshippers crowd. Wads of soggy dollars join coins in wishing fountains. The scent of incense wafts from smoky altar-rooms. Around the wishing pond, families eat lunch and old men play chess. At the lower pond, I watch a turtle chase a fat orange koi. If the turtle tires of chase, another will inevitably catch/eat the fish. Masses of turtles bake on every available rock. Each scrambles its legs to climb atop the rest (or to prevent another turtle from accomplishing the task). The koi probably fell to the lower pond by a waterfall adjoining a higher pond. Fish symbolize fortune. Turtles symbolize longevity.

One metro stop away, at Diamond Hill, another mall towers over the local tourist attraction. The Nan Lian Garden, a Tang Dynasty style garden (618-906), precedes the Chi Lin Nunnery with a serene garden and walking path. A small museum explains the nearby Buddhist nunnery’s architectural significance. Also in Tang style, the building uses not one nail. A bridge leads to the giant pagoda. Inside, curtains cover the top portion of Buddha and bodhisattva altars. In order to view the golden statues, the curtains force visitors to bow.

Bowing tourists seem less offensive beside genuine worshippers.

Soft chants and shaking joss sticks cloak the nunnery in white noise. Freshly shorn nuns smile. Occasionally, one shakes her finger at a tourist who photographs a statue.

Tourist Visa to Mainland China

April 14: Visas for visiting mainland China have changed in preparation for the Olympics. Multiple entry visas are no longer available. Because I need to offer proof of accommodation for each day planned in China, I will need to use a significant amount of money to ensure my trip – which will take more planning than I have done to date.

What to do!?!? Postpone visa details with a madcap week of tourism. The Hong Kong Tourism Board helps with a slew of free classes. I register for Chinese medicine, fung shui, Duk Ling junk ride (no longer, free as of this spring. $50 HK), tea appreciation, Cantonese opera appreciation and Chinese cake-making.

A $30 weekly museum pass and crab dinner (from a market in nearby Aberdeen) prepares me for the rigors of budget tourism. Before you buy a weekly pass, be warned, only a select few museums honor the pass (although many are free anyway), and it will not allow entry to special exhibits at the Hong Kong Art Museum.

Happy and Confused

April 13: I never thought Cantonese would be so welcome to my ears. Often, I doubt I will ever speak the language, but I've picked up a few words during my time with Joyce. Very few words.

When I do try speaking, it often results in much laughter from Joyce and her mother. For example, before I went fishing, I tried to learn, “I want to catch fish.”

They said, “Ngo sheung DIU yue.”

I repeated after them, “Ngo sheung DIU YOU.”

Because Cantonese often substitutes English words, and I used the wrong intonation on “DIU,” I say something very offensive. To my ears, the sentence sounds the same, but it means, “I want to fuck you.”

To explain my error, Joyce consults “A Dictionary of Cantonese Slang,” which she bought from Amazon.com.



However bad my Cantonese, I understand much less in Mandarin.

Today, we attend a 1937 Chinese film at the Hong Kong Film Archive - "New Times, Old Times" written and directed by Zhu Shilin (朱 石 麟).

During the beginning of the film (without subtitles), I understand "how are you," in Mandarin (nee hau ma? or 你 好 嗎), and that's it. Joyce taught me the phrase to compare it to Cantonese (lay ho ma? or 你 好 嗎).

After the movie, I’m back to struggling through misunderstanding Cantonese. I feel better, pretending that I recognize parts of sentences. But maybe I’m in a much worse situation. Still, I’ll take embarrassing confusion over total ignorance.

Household Gods

April 12: I show Joyce’s mother this picture of Jerry. Her eyes flash. That’s the cover of his 2004 album. “I don’t like this picture, too open,” she says. His pose is too sexual. Sony, the label, made him do it. Evidently, Jerry (Jerry Yan or Yán Chéngxù, 言 承 旭) is a shy guy. She would know. She’s a “superfan” and travels across Asia with other Jerry-maniacs to adore the Taiwanese pop sensation.

In the dining room, an altar to Jerry nestles on a shelf above family photos and mementos. Pepsi cans bearing his face smile down on all family meals. He waves Oral B toothbrushes from promotional material. Out the window, onto the streets of South Horizons, he beams positive energy from a glued-together jigsaw puzzle.



Before arriving in Hong Kong, I read about the large quantity of temples and shrines throughout the city. The fact is reflected all over the city, where incense burners and small tributes crowd corners of giant buildings. I also read that Hong Kong’s spirituality is present in shrines to household gods.

Spirituality in Hong Kong takes many forms, from the innumerable Catholic and Protestant schools and 600,000-or-so Christians living in the city, to more than 600 Buddhist and Taoist temples in the Special Administrative Region, the schools of Confucius, roughly 80,000 Muslims and smaller pockets of Mormons and Orthodox Christians.

A statue of Guan Yin (觀 音), the Buddhist bodhisattva of compassion, sits in a glass cupboard full of precious family memorabilia, but Joyce says her once-Christian family doesn’t honor any household gods.

At least on her mother’s behalf, Jerry’s omni-present smile begs to differ.

Joyce finishes an essay in Chinese for a Chinese etymology class. She uses a writing pad to speed the tedious typing process. Maybe Jerry will bless her work, but she doesn't think so.

Sloped Cemetery

April 11: In a pile of broken headstones and concrete chunks, a woman’s face rests on a crumbling slab at the bottom of the Chinese Christian Cemetery, a private hillside cemetery on western Hong Kong Island. Her bodily remains have since relocated, I imagine.

When there is barely room for the living, where do the dead rest? Cemetery space in Hong Kong is few and far between, but public cemeteries do exist around the city. Although they offer no final peace.

In regards to public burial, the Hong Kong Food and Environment Hygiene Department Web site explains: “Burials in aforesaid public cemeteries are not permanent, but exhumable. Every year, the Food and Environmental Hygiene Department will issue an exhumation order in the Government Gazette, requiring the removal from graves of all human remains which have been interred in the aforesaid public cemeteries for more than six years. If the remains are not exhumed after expiry of the exhumation order, the Government will disinter the remains, cremate them, and re-inter the ashes in the Communal Grave at Sandy Ridge Cemetery. However, one can arrange, through an undertaker, to have the remains exhumed, and either cremated, or reburied in an urn grave in the Wo Hop Shek Cemetery.”



Sounds harsh, but the practice follows traditional Cantonese burial custom. B. D. Wilson explains the relationship in his article titled “Burial Customs in Hong Kong:”

After the initial burial, “remains are normally fit for exhumation after a minimum of five years of burial (…) In Chinese public cemeteries, the same principle of exhumation is practiced.”

Wilson notes that he is an amateur in the field of local burial rites. Still, he outlines many interesting tidbits about local burial practices. If interested, I recommend reading the brief article.

He mentions that white is the traditional mourning color - a marked contrast to the black clothes associated with funerals in Western culture (although Joyce says that a small black cloth - or white flower clip - is worn as tribute during and after the funeral). Loud firecrackers and gong banging - normally celebratory - could be common at the event to call the spirit to the burial. A pile of trousers might be placed on the coffins of the deceased (man or woman). Wilson writes that the practice is based on a Cantonese pun. The word for “trousers” in Cantonese sounds like “riches.” Neither Joyce nor her mother has heard of this one, though. But Mrs. Choi says it is common to throw rice or soil to symbolize riches.

The Hong Kong Food and Environment Hygiene Department explains protocol for importing bodies to mainland China. Wilson’s article explains why this is important: “The deceased is considered to be in a better position to watch over his earthly descendants if buried close to his native place, where it is also, of course, easier for his family to pay their respects to him. This has led to the practice of conveying the deceased back to the place in China whence he came and interring him in a traditional burial ground.”

Hillside burials aren’t too common in my native Nebraska, and on the plains of the Midwestern U.S., but in Hong Kong and China, they are much desired. Wilson explains that “commanding a view of water, and on a ridge or spur which represents, for instance, a dragon, snake, shrimp or crab in its formation,” is ideal for burial. Feng Shui is a big factor, but also that the sloped terrain is not practical for construction.




The Chinese Christian Cemetery follows suit with a commanding view of the ocean. The hillside is adorned with Christian and Chinese imagery, such as the Chinese lions guarding crucifixes.

After leaving the cemetery, I wander through the Western District, and I pass a mass of shops specializing in incense and burnable paper replicas of everyday products (from miniature homes to cell phones to cigarettes to dim sum). These shops are present on the edge of Mong Kok, around Causeway Bay and all over Hong Kong.

Joyce says that the paper products can be burned, along with paper money and folded gold paper, to respect the dead. People believe, by burning, the spirits from the other world will receive the gifts. However, she says there is a duality to the concept; at home or when visiting the grave, you often bring fresh items like crispy pork or fruit. As a child, she asked a relative about the idea, “Why don’t you burn the fruit or pork too?” The response was, “The spirits come to lick and sniff the food. That's how ghosts eat. Then, they're full.” Then, “it’s basically like a picnic for the family,” she says.