Many expatriates in Hong Kong tried to discourage us from going to Macau, warning us about the triads, and saying it was dirty. As the triads are pre-occupied with gambling, we were unconcerned as we had no intention of gambling, in spite of this the main attraction of many Hong Kong Chinese. Only on our return from a long day exploring on foot on our first day did we learn from the news that the cacophony of police sirens was due to the drive-by gunning down of the gambling regulator in the street in the middle of the day. Only then did we begin to learn a little more about Macau’s triads, who only a month or so before had burst into a packed casino, spraying the hall with machine gun fire. I onl
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Rather philosophically, we concluded the triads would probably lie low for a while giving us a ‘quiet’ few days to explore the island. Nothing was particularly astounding, just a fascinating and decaying jumble of Portuguese and Chinese influences. The Tourist Office provided us with a leaflet with several walking tours, providing a few goals to our meandering like the ruins of St Paul, A-Ma Temple, Luis Camoes Gardens, the fortress (from where we first heard the police sirens), and Lou Lim Loc Gardens.
We stayed in a fabulous corner double room with air con and en suite at the East Asia Hotel. The hotel appeared to house a fair number of young Asian prostitutes. Very smartly dressed young women hung around the main entrance both day and night. As a couple we were not bothered, although the service from the reception slowed up in the evening as the men were either engrossed in conversation, or handing out a constant stream of keys. For an experiment I rushed on ahead one evening. My bemused boyfriend followed me up to our room only a few minutes later. Several women had approached him, but seemed far more interested in his Celtic colouring, simply pinching the fair skin on his arms lightly as he walked by!
The dim sum breakfast in the hotel was a tasty experience. A constant stream of steaming trolleys was wheeled by us, in the café cum commercial kitchen of a dining room. With no common language, we simply beckoned for the trolley to stop, and gestured approvingly as the waitress opened the baskets one by one. If it looked interesting, a nod was enough to get the basket left at your table. We got loads of encouraging grins from other diners and tried to follow their lead, but with so many baskets it is a little hard to play copycat. Until we bit in we quite simply had no idea what each steaming parcel contained. Most were savoury, so the odd sweet sticky one always came as a sudden shock to the palate.
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