Why the Newspaper Business is Like Mooncakes

I would be really sad if the direst predictions about the news business, in particular the newspaper business, were to come true. I love reading the morning paper with my cup of coffee, and particularly on Sundays—especially when the New York Times was much bigger than it is today.

So when I saw the bustle of delivery vans stacked full of morning papers, vendors offloading them onto pallets, men on bicycles stacking them up behind them, and middle-aged ladies selling a range of local and international ones on the platform outside the Star Ferry, I was encouraged about the health of the newspaper industry in Hong Kong. 

Every day on the way home from my walk, I buy the South China Morning Post, more commonly referred to as the SCMP, the most influential and most trusted daily in the territory—including  Chinese-language newspapers.  I like the writing style of the paper and the way it takes on local social issues—like the rising youth drug problems and the incompetence in area hospitals or government corruption. But SCMP is far from being the largest circulating paper. That honor goes to the combined market for the four free newspapers (three in Chinese and one in English) given out at train stations and other public transportation centers.

The press here isn’t as healthy as it appears, however. The industry has the same problems as it does in the West—declining advertising revenues (SCMP lost about $7.5 million in the first six months of this year alone) and failure to attract young readers. I have noted that the SCMP sells a special edition that includes only classified ads—for about half the price of the newspaper. I found that really interesting as in the U.S., newspapers have just about totally conceded classified advertising to craigslist. I mentioned this to my internet communication class and was told that Hong Kong has no craigslist equivalent—though just across the border in China one exists. After class a young woman came up to my desk and said that she often buys the paper’s classified section, touted to have the best employment ads in Hong Kong, when she is job hunting. She said she was happy to do that as otherwise, she would buy the paper and throw away the news section. She thought that was a waste of money and newsprint—so better to buy the ads without the news! Youth are the same everywhere—more interested in the internet, computer games, and other ways of getting the information they need. Consuming news the traditional way is far down on their list.

So us retired folks are about the only audience left for news it seems. When I travel, I love to read the local newspapers to learn about the culture, the local events, and what issues concern the population. It is also the way I learn how to make a distant location a little more like home. Alongside the SCMP, I also read the edgy Hong Kong Magazine—written primarily for expats—that can be found on Fridays at no cost in the neighborhood Starbucks. It is one of several Asia City Media Group publications that appear in several regional cities. 

Mooncakes and Moon Festivals

It was through a story about moon cakes that appeared in the magazine that first got me interested in the overpriced dessert that appears in supermarkets, bakeries, convenience stores and even in Haagen Dazs stores (where the special ice cream variety of mooncake is sold).  Later I found a mooncake story in the SCMP and many references to mooncakes on the web. Odd that I had never heard of them before—or of the holiday, the moon festival, itself before coming to Hong Kong. It illustrates how very disconnected from the rest of the world Americans can be. We expect to find our holidays wherever we go but are surprised that other traditions exist and that they are celebrated by more people than ever think about Thanksgiving or Halloween (though I understand there is a following for that holiday here).

The Moon or mid-Autumn festival has some connection to Thanksgiving, however, as it is considered a harvest festival. Now mind you, it is hard to imagine harvest in 95-degree heat in my shorts and t-shirt. But never mind, in some parts of Asia where the holiday is celebrated, actual autumn temperatures do exist. Celebrated on the 15^th day of the 8^th month of the lunar calendar (October 3, this year), it also resembles Thanksgiving in that families reunite and have a special meal together. Falling on a Sunday this year, there is no public holiday. On this day, gifts of food and money are given to relatives to indicate respect and love for them. Prior to the holiday you should at least give one box of moon cakes to your family. From the number of people I have seen on the streets carrying the beautifully wrapped or decorated boxes bearing mooncakes, the tradition seems to be widely upheld.

As students are a major source of information about the culture, I asked them about their fondness for mooncakes. “We don’t like them,” said one. She claimed that because the traditional mooncakes are falling out of favor with young people (much like the news business), bakers have come up with more attractive forms of the sweet in the “snowy” variety or the ice cream versions.

More needs to be said about the several kinds of moon cakes. After reading about them in the HK Magazine, described by Johannes Pong as “cloyingly sweet,” “rich with lard,” and “dense with egg yolk,” I just had to try them. But I thought I had better start out with the adapted and modernized version called the “snowy” moon cake that I found in the freezer section of my supermarket. I chose the little translucent glutinous rice gems that promised blueberry  and  chestnut fillings. Two of them, just 2 inches in diameter, sold for about $4. At home, I cut them up and sampled them with my husband, Pekin. Not bad, we thought. Now on to the real thing.

Given that I wasn’t in the generation of my students who hated the authentic moon cakes, I thought maybe I would like them better than they did. They are called moon cakes because they are round, but also because they contain four salted duck egg yolks that represent the four phases of the moon. Surrounding the egg yolks are a lotus-seed paste (or bean paste), and all around that is the lard-filled pastry. Yum!

With just a few days left before the holiday and fearing the moon cake supply would be exhausted, I purchased a single traditional moon cake in a lovely decorated box (although the clerk assured me that this was the real thing and didn’t I really want to buy a box of four). At home I sliced it up in small pieces as is the custom and served it to Pekin. It was indeed sweet and heavy as described, but the taste wasn’t bad and the saltiness of the egg yolk offset the sweetness of the lotus paste.  I guess I must have consumed more of the egg yolk than did Pekin because my intestines responded unfavorably a few hours later. I wonder if it is a good idea to keep cooked egg yolks—even when surrounded by the other ingredients out on the shelf and unrefrigerated for so long.   Anyway, I don’t think we will finish the rest of the mooncake, despite the price. Reports are (but not listed on the box) that one mooncake contains 800 calories and 400 times the amount of daily cholesterol a person should consume.  Local campaigns have tried to warn people not to eat too many. But despite this, at least one school was giving them out as rewards to students who completed their homework.

News and Mooncakes

At first I thought writing about the news business and mooncakes in the same blog didn’t fit together at all. But the more I write, the more I am convinced they are intimately related. Here’s why.  First off, it seems that locally the state of the economy is measured by the sales of both newspapers and mooncakes.  Maxims, one of the large local bakers of the product, is reported to have ordered 32 million duck eggs for the 2009 season. The owners of the business insist that Hong Kongers will need to have their mooncakes, regardless of the economic downturn—or tsunami, as it is locally called. Early reports of sales showed a bit of a slump in mooncake sales, however. So like the newspaper business, mooncake sales are reflective of the larger economic conditions.

Hong Kong youth view mooncakes, like newspapers, as part of their parents’ and grandparents’ traditions—not their own. And they are not particularly fooled by marketing schemes and changes in ingredients to woo them to buy. Much like free newspapers and online news websites don’t necessarily hook young people into becoming lifelong news consumers. And if all the young people in Hong Kong stop eating mooncakes, one day the lovely decorated boxes will disappear from the store shelves to be replaced by something more tasteful to the next generation. If the same happens to newspapers, there will be no more vans backing up to the Star Ferry station to unload and no more employment for the women who sell the publications. That will be an even sadder day for the residents of Honk Kong and the rest of the world’s population. We will have lost two valued traditions. Let’s hear it for mooncakes. Long live mooncakes. And long live the South China Morning Post. 

Harbo(u)r Walks

When I begin my walks on Victoria Harbour at about 6 a.m., I feel like I have come late to the show. The mile long promenade,  parts of it better known as the Avenue of the Stars, is filled people—old and young, tourists and locals, workers and  those like me who start their day with a bit of exercise. I often wonder what has gone on there in the hour or so before I arrive, but can’t even think about getting up earlier to find out.  One of the reasons everyone gets such an early start is the rising of the sun. In September the temperatures don’t seem to ever drop below 80, and rise quickly into the 90s, while the terrible humidity is often in the 80-90 per cent range. So add the morning sun to those conditions, and everything becomes harder to manage.

The harbor today  has gone through some serious changes since the time when the British occupied the territory.  Much reclaimed land now supports the  walkway itself along with other buildings, including my own hotel, the Harbour Plaza Metropolis.  Opened in 2004, the Avenue is a tribute to the Hong Kong Film Industry, and sports souvenir shops, statues of filmmakers including a 2 meter tall monument of Bruce Lee in a martial arts pose. Daily, at least one photographer, amateur or professional, can be seen snapping pictures of Lee. Copying the Hollywood version, about 100 handprint  plaques of various film stars are scattered along the walkway, kept pristine by the sweeping and polishing of several ladies who start work every morning at seven. Cleaning staff in Hong Kong pay such attention to detail that they scrub the grout between tiles with a toothbrush or sweep leaves off dirt pathways.

As I walk as fast as I can in the heat, wiping my brow constantly with a wash cloth I carry, I observe that women often choose not to go bare headed. Some carry umbrellas to keep the sun from their eyes and skin. And I once saw a woman who covered every inch of her body, including her hands with long gloves that appeared to be made of wool. The ladies who work all day cleaning on the avenue, needing to have their hands free, wear wide-brimmed hats with cloth stitched onto them that covers their necks or long scarves inside their hats. Others cover their  heads with a sort of umbrella hat. How hot it must be under all that covering, but clearly a wise choice given what we know about melanoma.

Early Risers on the Avenue of Stars

            Runners, walkers, and those who do calisthenics make up the bulk of the people I see in the mornings. But there is another group of brave souls who climb over the barricades built along the harbour  to have a morning swim. There is a small ladder on the other side that allows them to get down to the water several feet below.  I wonder why they would want to do it. A natural deep-sea harbour, Victoris is filled with boat traffic of all kinds—from barges to ferries to the occasional sail boat.  Close to the swimmers  containers are loaded on and off barges by enormous cranes. The water certainly isn’t clean, and small objects float around the swimmers.  Though the water may be refreshing in 85-degree weather, from my last visit here, I remember that these swimmers are also not deterred by the colder temperatures in January and February.

            On the weekends especially, fish are being caught up and down the wall. To me that too is a curious activity in what must be quite polluted sea water. Their efforts never produce too many fish and most are so small, that I would have thrown them back to grow a little before eating.

            Weekdays the cement ledge around the sub-tropical flowers and shrubs growing at the end of the walk near the Star Ferry, is filled with mostly men waiting for a range of ferries to carry them from Kowloon to the Hong Kong island. While they wait for the boats to arrive, they read newspapers and munch on the soft buns—filled with everything from bean paste to tuna. Mixed in with this group is the occasional drunk who wanders around with a bottle of whatever he could afford with high alcohol content. If they can escape the watchful eye of security workers, they stretch out on the cement to get some sleep.

Star Ferry and the Return

            As I approach the entrance for the Star Ferry, I am reminded of the millions of people who have traveled between Tsim Sha Tsui (on my side of the harbor) to Pedders Wharf on Hong Kong Island. Accounts of the first crossings of the ferry date to 1888, but the Star Ferry company took ownership at the turn of the century. From the first coal-powered ferries that took about an hour for the crossing to today’s 10-minute trip in diesel-electric powered boats, the ferries have allowed people to move between work and home on both sides of the divided city. The current service has four routes, operating about every 20 minutes or less, for more convenience. And if you are  aged 60 and more, you make the trip free as often as you like.  For me, the ferry always makes me think of the much larger ferries bridging Asian and European Istanbul. Much as I enjoy my trips on the Star Ferry, my personal bias is for the Turkish ferries. Besides, they offer you the time for a leisurely cup of tea.

            My walk goes beyond the Star Ferry entrance down the harbor past what must be one of the largest shopping malls/complexes in the world—Harbour City. On second check, I find that not to be true. In 2007 Forbes listed several malls in China and the U.S., the Philippines and even Turkey that are larger, but many of those contain entertainment complexes or Olympic swimming pools.  Most malls here are just shopping centers and Harbour City is the biggest of them all, with about 800 shops and restaurants.

            Once I have reached the end of the complex, I reverse my course and walk back to my hotel for some weight lifting—well not much—and breakfast. But first, I pick up my newspaper from the always smiling  lady who sells them outside the Star Ferry for 7 HK dollars (about $1 U.S.) daily and 8 HK $ on Sundays. My next entry will be about the news business here—of course one of my favorite topics.

Transportation and Typhoons

One of the reasons I looked forward to a return to Hong Kong is that I found it such a livable place. Of the estimated 420 square miles of land (much of it mountainous) occupied by the territory, about 85 percent of it is uninhabited, so most of the 7 million people who live here are housed in small apartments in very tall buildings. You might think that cramming all those people into such little spaces would lead to a lot of congestion. Not so.

The people who live here usually keep personal space sacred and move orderly even when a typhoon warning has been issued and everyone needs to get home before public transportation shuts down. The picture I’ve included here was taken after the students were all sent home from City University late in the afternoon to await the arrival of cyclone  They are moving through the tunnel—orderly and quietly—from the school to the mall that connects with the trains they will take back to their homes.

Dream Transportation System

I love traveling in Hong Kong. There are always multiple ways to get anywhere—by train; by bus; by light rail; by ferry; and by minibuses. A train to the airport is also available (that is accompanied by a bus to the train, of course). You can check your luggage before boarding the train and be ready to go to the gate upon arrival. 

            And when you get off the train going anywhere, there are escalators, stairs and elevators to take you to another level—all conveniently located with multiple signs telling you which exit to take. The airport train even has greeters to give you a cart for your luggage. 

Seemingly every metro stop also has a multi-storied mall located immediately next to it, and each chock full of every brand-name store you have ever heard of,  many in the Versace and Gucci class. Everyone manages the travel with one smart card, called the Octopus card, which is swiped on buses, trains, in convenience stores, car parks, supermarkets and much more.  These cards were introduced in 1997, the first contactless cards in the world. Today more than 10 million have been issued in a city whose population is only 70% of that number—wonder what they do with all those extra cards?

Koppu’s Arrival

I had heard reports of a typhoon on Monday morning but its scheduled arrival was not until early Tuesday so I put it out of my mind. It was my class day anyway—three hours, beginning at 3:30.  Just one hour into the class, we all suddenly were alerted by a disembodied voice telling us first in Cantonese and then in English to evacuate the university and return to our homes. Outside there was a little wind and some sprinkles, but not much else going on. I enquired whether this was serious and did we really have to leave and was told that was the case. I also asked what happened when the “typhoon alert was hoisted to level 8,” and learned that transportation might be shut down. So all of us dutifully walked out and to the train station to return home. Not much happened (as you can see in this picture of the harbor taken about 5:30 p.m.) for a number of hours, when the rain started beating against our 19^th floor window and the trees outside were being visibly tossed about.  School remained closed until the level 8 warning was reduced to a 3, and safety was assured.

            At first I thought that the university was being alarmist about the warning and the closure, but then I remembered Hurricane Katrina. If only Louisiana had thought of such a system and responded so very early for hurricane evacuation, more people might have been spared. Here the Hong Kong Observatory issues detailed instructions on nearly everything—school closings, transportation shut downs, work arrangements, emergency response systems, you name it. Neon sign owners are even alerted to the time for shutting off the power to those signs.

 

Rainy-day Services

Of course with a cyclone comes rain. And with the rain comes umbrellas, all of which are carried into the multiple malls around the city. But the management also has a way to deal with dripping umbrellas.  At the entrances you will find plastic bags, just the right size to cover the “brolly” completely.  Lately, because people were concerned with the proliferation of plastic bags, some malls instituted the practice of “brolly wiping.”  Upon entering a mall, someone will take your umbrella and wipe it dry. Result—no slippery floors, no mud (not so likely anyway because of all the concrete in the city); and no cleanup afterwards.What a great idea.

First Stops on my Post-Retirement Trip

I’m a little slow getting started writing about my retirement adventures. I left full-time teaching and research at the university in May of 2008. And since that time I have spent one semester teaching at the Katholieke University in Leuven, Belgium, and most of the rest of the winter in Florida working on an application for a research grant. Then I spent six weeks in Turkey in the summer. So all those stereotypes about sitting in rocking chairs and watching Oprah every day just haven’t happened so far. Well, I take that back. I do occasionally watch Oprah. One of the newly hired colleagues at Indiana University recently asked me why I retired if I was going to just continue working. It’s a good question.  I don’t have an answer for it yet, but perhaps it is because I’ve been working for so long that I’m experiencing the phenomenon that we used to have in an Oldsmobile we once owned. The engine just won’t shut off when the key is disengaged, because there is still fuel left in the cylinders wanting to be burned off.  

Interesting opportunities have come my way because of good friends and wonderful students who have invited me to work with them.  In August my husband and I packed up and took the very long trip  across the U.S. and the Pacific Ocean to Hong Kong. I have a semester-long  visiting position at the City University to teach two courses here.

Most people wait until retirement to embark on international travel, figuring that is when they will have the sufficient time and money. That may be a good idea, but international life is not for sissies so you might want to apply for that passport and try it out when you are a little younger.  You need to be able to adapt to life in new places with languages you may not speak and under conditions very different to those you are used to. I’ve had a lot of training for my post-full-time-work travels, beginning with my first trip abroad to get married to my husband of more than 42 years. We met in the U.S., but he told me then that if I wanted to marry him, I’d have to spend the rest of my life in Turkey. As it turned out, our lives in Turkey were not permanent and we spent most of our careers and raised our children in the Midwest of the U.S.  However, what I learned from those first years in Turkey was that everyone didn’t do things the way we did in America and that other people’s cultures had things to offer that my own did not. There were also a lot of things I didn’t like about the various places I’ve spent time over the years—but this blog is not about that. It is mostly about the present and right now that is the time we are spending in Hong Kong.

Another thing I’ve learned about living in various places is that being comfortable is increasingly important to me. That may have something to do with the condition of my body and the shortness of the time in this world left to me. Last year in Belgium, we were housed in the historic Begijnhof  (in Flemish) (Béguinage in French). Declared a Unesco Heritage site, the Begijnhof was a housing compound  built in the 12^th Century for women who dedicated their lives to serving God while living and making a living on their own without the help of any men.   You can find a number of lovely pictures of these ancient buildings here: http://www.cs.kuleuven.ac.be/~maarten/pics/begijnhofleuven/index.html  And the photo above is of our front door with the bicycle my husband borrowed from our Dutch friends so he could make his way around town like the natives do. 

While living in such a place is certainly an honor and a privilege, we found that actual daily life inside was also something of an historic experience. The spacious quarters had not likely been updated since the 1950s or so and we missed our kitchen and bed on a daily basis.  We decided that on any return trip we might make, we would seek out more modern facilities and test out the bed before occupying the place.

So when we arrived in Hong Kong we hoped that the pictures we had received of the place were a fair representation of the living quarters.  The university had graciously offered us this space as part of the compensation.  We arrived at the “suite” hotel mid-August after the grueling flight from Indianapolis via Atlanta and Shanghai, some 27 hours in all. Looking around the place, we were not pleased, but thought we’d reconsider our assessment after some sleep. Sleep came only in fits and starts and we finally gave up about 3:30 in the morning and rose to make coffee and unpack a few things. Our jet-lagged bodies really wanted lots of sleep, but the board-like mattress on a slab prevented that from happening. Our accommodation must have been designed for someone in a wheel chair as all of the bathroom fixtures were placed closer to the ground than we were used to; the small mirror was tilted downward; and the sink was about the size of the one in our Delta plane on the flight over from the U.S.  Though the bedroom was technically separate from the living space, it had no door and was just around the curved wall from the tiny space housing the living room/kitchen/dining room. A friend here asked if you could sit on the sofa and watch TV while stirring a pot on the stove and that was almost true.  The photos sent to us were accurate, but misleading as the space seemed larger, and what we thought was the bedroom door was actually the door to the bathroom.

I thought we should probably just suck it up and stay there. After all, the university had gone out of its way to arrange the place and we should be appreciative. In Hong Kong most of the population lives in very tiny spaces, so why should I complain? Just recently I read about the tens of thousands of people in Hong Kong who live illegally in makeshift structures built on rooftops around the city.  Most of these folks come from the mainland and have no rights to low-cost public housing until they have lived here for seven years, so the rooftops are one of their limited options in housing. Another is to live in cages on the streets—which are rented and sold to individuals and families who are forced to live like parakeets. My hard bed and  small bathroom sink hardly seems worth mentioning when compared to those living circumstances.

Nonetheless, we were able to get out of the contract and move to a terrific hotel on Victoria harbor in one of their “serviced suites.”  Here I have unspeakable luxury—someone changes my sheets and towels three times a week and also wipes up the floors and does the dusting. There is a great gym for exercising as well as a magnificent pool with view of the harbor. And the best part is the Victoria Harbor itself. I walk there every morning at six a.m. along with the many local people who run, walk, do Tai Chi or go through their morning calisthenics routine. All that happens as the big orange ball that is the sun rises over the water and the day heats up and the humidity rises. At 8 p.m. every evening there is a free light show from many of the very tall buildings surrounding the harbor. All of this is worth the extra money we have to pay for the comfort and full enjoyment of the experience.  Here are some links to daytime and night-time pictures of the view from my window. http://famouswonders.com/victoria-harbor-in-hong-kong/

Well, this overview of my life has rambled on a bit,  so the next entries will focus on specific aspects of the culture here and my observations of life spent here in the coming months.