Two weeks ago today, in the wee hours of Wednesday the 13th of May, my plane touched down in Heathrow and I set foot back on the soil of Blighty for the first time in almost 6 weeks.

It's interesting watching how news and current affairs play out around the world. In Bangkok, the news was all about the political unrest and the riots (it's rather disconcerting to catch a glimpse of the hotel you have just left, between rioters on one side throwing molotov cocktails and armed soldiers on the other firing rubber bullets. In New Zealand the headline stories were about a group of students quarantined with possible swine flu (they all eventually tested negative) and the David Bain murder re-trial. In Hong Kong the news was divided roughly between swine flu concerns and the anniversary of the terrible 2008 Sichuan earthquake.

And what was the lead item in Blighty? Sleazy politicans and their dodgy expense claims.

All things considered I guess we are pretty lucky, though having said that, you don't have to dig very deep to realise that the Westminster oinkers have been taking the proverbial Gypsy's to a fairly monumental degree. Witness the huge range of indefensible claims from claims for cleaning moats to travel expenses exceeding £10,000 per annum. At the current HM Customs and Excise mileage rate of 40p for the first 10,000 miles and 25p for every mile therafter, the worm in question (MP Janet Anderson) would have had to cover 41,000 miles - when the hell did she ever find time for sessions in the house or MP surgeries?

Jan was not alone of course; thieving scumbag-itus seems to have infected most of the commons. The largest expense claims come from from Falkirk MP Eric Joyce, who by his own admission appears to have "overcharged £160,000"!

If you want to see a summary, check out the expenses summary page on the BBC website.

If these bastards were in the private sector, not only would they have been drop-kicked out the door without pay, they would have to answer some rather sticky questions by both HM Customs & excise and the Serious Fraud Office. One or two of them would undoubtedly become very familiar with the phrase: "I have no recollection of that event yer honor".

But they arent in the private sector and they are not subject to the same rules as the rest of us. Which is why a few of them have even had the gall to whine and grizzle about being busted with their snouts in the trough.

...and they wonder why we all despise politicans...

Jaysus!

Hong Kong 2009 Photos now available.

Another day comes to an end.

Last night's visit to the Temple St Night Market was a good one. After leaving the Pacific Coffee House, I wandered down to the Market's edge and found a good seat at my favourite roadside restaurant. The place doesn't look like much and the cheap plastic tables and stools don't necessarily get your taste buds into overtime, but the owners cook the best sliced beef and vegetable satay, this side of the Pacific.

I sat in the warm humid afterglow of the afternoon, happily munching on this spicy dish and washing it down with a large chilled bottle of the local Tsing Tsao beer, watching life go by and the stall owners finish setting up for the evening. An hour later I was strolling through the markets, haggling for all I was worth with the stallholders and having a great time into the bargain (no pun intended).

At the end of Temple St, I watched the many fortune tellers plying their trade and as always, it was interesting to see the range of clientele; from wizened little old Haklo boat ladies to young business executives in their tailor-made silk suits, everyone wanted to know what the future held in store for them. Just around the bend is a place I affectionately refer to as: Karaoke corner. Here, the wannabe stars of "Hong Kong's got talent" sing their little selves hoarse, while a couple of volunteers do the panhandling. Chinese singers are not high on my list of musical favourites, but they get full marks for effort.

By around 10pm, I'd had enough and I dragged my tired ass and aching back down onto the MTR and returned to the hotel. After a long soak in a hot tub, I passed out on the bed and the next thing I knew it was 9am and the maid was knocking on the door!

Out and about again today - this time over to the Market st temple, where I burned a stick of incense and said a short prayer to any Gods that might happen to be listening. I'm somewhere between an athiest and an agnostic in matters of religion and belief, but something someone said to me once has stuck with me; just because we don't believe in the Gods, doesn't mean they don't believe in us.

After a quick lunch of Dim Sum at CMOT's stall on Peking Rd, I hopped back on the MTR and headed out to Tung Chung, right out on the end of the line. This was in order to visit the village of Ngong Ping via a spectacular 25-minute ride on the Ngong Ping cable car. Ngong Ping is home to both the Po Lin Monastery and the famous Tian Tan Buddha and every previous time I have come to Hong Kong, I have somehow run out of time and failed to get over to see both places. This time that wasn't going to happen...

After climbing the 250-step "path to enlightenment" in front of the Buddha (*puff* - *pant*) I was presented with fantastic panoramic views which none of my photos do justice to. The collection of Buddhist relics was a bit interesting, but not very well displayed. Visitors who pay for access to the collection at a cost of $HK23 are funnelled through the interior where all filming is prohibited and suddenly find themselves back outside with the exit door closing behind them. Still, the fee does include a bottle of water and an ice cream...

Back down in Ngong Ping, I grab a free "wish card" from the gift shop and after writing my wish, I tie it to the "Wish Shrine" in the village centre, before strolling back to the Cable car in the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

By the time I reach Tsim Sha Tsui, the sun has set and Hong Kong once again comes into it's element as people surge out of their homes and offices into the cooler evening air.

Think I'll join them...

See ya.

Did you read Part 1 yet?

Hong Kong 2009 Photos now available.

Anyone who reads this blog (or the Bandanna Club website) - even occasionally - will know that I've made a number of visits to Hong Kong. Certainly it's my favourite stopover whenever I head back down under and I don't generally miss the chance to stroll down it's streets and sample the wares of it's markets. This time my stop-over was for 3 days and as always, it was a chance to indulge my touristy leanings a little, after a fairly busy month in NZ, helping my folks out with a few little jobs and catching up with some old friends.

The flight from NZ was fairly uneventful, except for a minor sense-of humour failure in Sydney, where a smug security guard clocked my accent and informed me that the Aussies had beaten the Kiwis in a Rugby League game the night before. I responded by suggesting that their success was probably due to the Aussie team having more time to practice in the prison yard, while our lads had to work. This resulted in being pulled into a booth for an explosives residue test (my Dad apparently experienced something similar, the last time he was in Sydney; when asked by the immigration officer: "Do you have a criminal record?", he replied: "I didn't realise you still needed one". My mother assured me that a similar stoney silence followed). To add a minor insult to injury, the Aussies gave me a seat reassignment, which left me with less free foot space than you would find on Imelda Marcos's wardrobe floor and it was with some relief that I disembarked in Hong kong some 10 hours later.

Being a reasonably frugal chap I had on previous visits shunned taxis etc in favour of the hotel shuttle bus, but on the last visit I ended up stuck at the airport for an hour and a half until the bus arrived and then had another hour on the bus as it stopped into every hotel before it reached mine. This time I was planning to do it in style and had arranged with the Hotel to be picked up in their "limo" - a late model Mercedes Benz S class with all the extras. What a nice thing it is to fly through immigration, grab your bags (which remarkably were the first to appear on the carrousel), clear customs and then see a uniformed chauffeur bearing a sign reading: "Mr. Mickenzee" as you walk into the arrivals lounge. Minutes later, we were on the road and I was watching the sun set through tinted glass, in air conditioned comfort with all the foot space my tired feet could wish for.

On almost all previous visits, I had stayed at the Kimberley hotel. It's a nice hotel, within easy walking distance from Nathan Road and the Golden Mile. It's slightly expensive but has an excellent in-house tailors' shop, from which I have purchased most of my more formal wardrobe. This time I decided to have a little change and booked myself into the Regal Oriental Hotel, which looked just as nice as the Kimberley with the added bonus of being a bit cheaper. Check-in was swift and efficient and I soon found myself settled into a very nice room on the 10th floor. As is mostly the case in all but the most prestigious hotels in Hong Kong, the view from my window was far from desirable, being that it overlooked a series of rather squalid and grubby-looking apartment blocks, all merrily waving the national flags of Hong Kong (i.e. the tennant's laundry/washing) from stained and rusty windows. Still, I never come here to look out the window, so who cares.

After settling in, I did my usual recon of the surrounding area and discovered something a little disturbing...I didn't recognise much of the area around the hotel at all. The following morning, my suspicions were confirmed when I looked at a map supplied by the concierge and discovered I was quite a way north of where I thought I would be, when I made the booking.

Bugger!

I shall take a moment now to make an observation about Hong Kong, which I should have mentioned in at least one of my previous musings about one of my favourite cities:-

A good cartographer could have a lifetime's worth of work, creating useable, readable maps for the Hong Kong Tourist board. The maps supplied by all the hotels absolutely suck!

Moving on...

The next morning, I rose early and headed out to get my bearings and work out just how far I was from where I thought I would be. Within about an hour, I returned to the hotel in considerable pain, thanks to my crocs rubbing the instep of both feet raw. Still, it wasn't all bad; I had located the Kowloon City Walled Park and the dramatic Wong Tai Sin temple along the way, although I had completely failed to find the Lok Fu MTR station, where my *@*!*$* map indicated it was supposed to be. However, once my feet were strapped with sticking plasters, I headed out again and this time I found it.

The Mass Transit Railway (or MTR) is a shining example of what a public transport system should be and a fantastic way to get around Hong Kong. A tourist day pass (equivalent to the one-day travel card in the UK) costs only HK$55 (about £4.60) and is good for as many journeys as you want in a day, from one end of the network to the other. The system is clean, efficient, well organised and safe. All signs and all on-board announcements are in both English and Cantonese and the on-board maps even have little LED's showing what station you are at, which direction the train is heading and what station is the next destination. The whole system is properly air-conditioned. By comparison, the London Underground is a shitty, third-world setup and Britain could learn a LOT from Hong Kong that's for sure.

Back in Nathan Rd, I spent a couple of hours shopping for a little of Su's favourite perfume and negotiating the purchase of a telephoto lens for my digital camera, before heading down to Peking Road for a quick lunch comprising a couple of kebab sticks of delicious mystery meat that would put CMOT Dibbler to shame, along with a cup of freshly squeezed mango juice, both served to me by an old lady who kept smiling at me. Slightly disconcerting, but what the hell right?

Once the inner tourist was satisfied, it was time to visit the Hong Kong Cultural Centre, which I have meant to do on every previous occasion. Among it's other attractions, the centre features a very good Space Museum and I spent an enjoyable couple of hours browsing around it's exhibits. With an entry fee of only HK$10 it is well worth a visit. The centre itself is an impressive building which also has great views of the Hong Kong Harbour and is quite picturesque in places, with tropical Orchids and Jasmine dotted around the place.

Back into the Golden Mile and I took the opportunity to duck over to the Harbour City Shopping Centre in Canton Road, which is home of most of the world's best known designer brands. It was interesting to see that virtually all the posh-brand shops were empty, save for a number of bored-looking staff, milling about in groups and surreptitiously looking at their watches every few minutes. Meanwhile, the little one-man shops tucked into most of the surrounding alleys on Haiphong road are still doing a good trade. People appear to be a little more dollar-conscious than style-obsessed even here in Hong Kong these days...

The copy watch and tailor touts are still very much in evidence, but since the Chinese takeover, their approach is a little more subtle. Gone are the pocket-sized flip charts showing all available styles that they used to wave under your nose as you passed. Possession of one will apparently earn it's owner a swift ding on the head and a night in the slammer as the Authorities attempt to show the world that they take copyright fraud seriously. Still, the banter is much the same ("Copy watch mister? I do cheap" or "Good tailor sir. You buy"). However, on my way back down Nathan Road, one of the more imaginative touts walked up to me and said: "Sir, you are a lucky man". In one of those rare moments of coming up with an off-the-cuff reply (the ones you generally think of two hours later), I responded with: "Yes I know, but thanks for confirming it" and caught his open-mouthed expression out of the corner of my eye as I walked on. Result!

Time to visit Pacific Coffee on Nathan Rd - which always serves up a great cuppa and is apparently the only Internet cafe around for a mile or two. Two large cups of Sumatran cappuccino later and I'm suitably refreshed and ready to head down to the Temple street markets for a bit to eat, followed by a little hard-bargaining at the night markets....

Catch you later...

On to Part 2 ...

It's been more than 20 years since I helped with a fruit harvest on my folks' orchard. Back in those days, when the orchard primarily grew citrus fruit, my folks would hire a handful of staff to help them pick the crop and we would work at a steady pace for weeks, filling bin after bin. I can remember some harvests taking as long as 6-8 weeks to complete.

How times have changed. These days, most of the citrus has been replaced with kiwifruit. The picking has also been contracted out to a local packhouse (one of several in the area) who supply the staff and equipment and run a factory-like operation.

Normally, the kiwifruit harvest takes place in May, but a Brix test confirmed that the sugar levels were already very high. Over the last week, further tests have been conducted, which seemed to mostly involve blokes on quad bikes suddenly appearing around the place and then just as suddenly leaving, in a cloud of dust, clutching a labelled testing bag containing 90 fruit.

The weather held things up as well. We had a week of showers and little squalls which didn't help. Every day, the Rep from the packhouse was on the phone to give my Dad an update ("Sorry mate. Looks like it might be a day or two later"). Dad and I used the time to do some of the prep work; swapping out the mower and forklift units on two tractors and replacing them with cross-bars, ready to tow trailers. Diesel was purchased in fairly large volumes and both tractors filled, checked and OK'ed.

Finally, word came down the line on Thursday, that we would be picking tomorrow. Mum headed into the local supermarket and returned with a ton of food to feed the pickers. Dad went over all the bits and pieces he had to do, including explaining to me what my job would involve as his second tractor driver. We watched the weather reports with some trepidation, but it all looked good (in fact, we were in the only place in the whole country that looked like it would be dry!) My head hit the pillow on Thursday night, knowing that Friday would be a busy day...

Before 8am, the phone rang again and the Rep informed Dad that the crews would be here between 9:30 and 10am as they needed to finish up at the orchard they were currently working on first. After a hasty breakfast and a strong coffee, heavily laced with large spoonfuls of sugar, I strapped on my boots, grabbed my sunglasses and cap and headed out with Dad to direct the picking crews into parking as they arrived in a convoy of cars and vans. Two additional tractors followed, both towing trailers and then a pair of ute's each towing another trailer, all loaded with picking bins.

Tractors and trailers were hitched up and a row of 3 empty picking bins were loaded onto each trailer by forklift. Hands were shaken and arrangements made for the incoming truck, full of empty picking bins to be directed past an obstacle or two ("tell him to watch out for the bloody power cables running to the big shed mate; their a bit low eh.")

We had two picking gangs, comprising a total of about 20 men and women. They came from many far-flung places; China, Malaysia, Bangladesh, Somalia. They were mostly quite young and some spoke only limited English. When the gangmasters left the foremen and headed over, they lifted their padded picking bags onto their shoulders and headed into the block, ahead of the tractors and trailers that brought up the rear.

As one of four tractor drivers and the least experienced (I haven't been on a tractor for quite a few years and never in a kiwifruit harvest), I wasn't sure quite what to expect, despite the dry-run that my dad had taken me through the previous day. I knew I needed to be careful with the fruit, but speed was also of the essence so it was with not a few butterflies in my stomach that I followed my Dad between the first rows of vines with one of the two gangs, while the other two tractors continued to the far end of the vineyard with the other gang.

Both gangs immediately swung into action behind the first tractor/trailer and began picking furiously. I had a few minutes of quiet time (enough to snap a few pictures), before Dad's 3 bins were full and I moved forward to take his place as he headed back up to the waiting truck.

Kiwifruit picking gangs are paid by volume, not by the hour and as a result there is no mucking about. Our crew picked swiftly and efficiently under the watchful eye of a middle aged Chinese woman who seemed the most experienced. Every now and then she would chastise one of the younger pickers in Cantonese or impatiently wave at me to move the tractor forward in the imperious style of Amahs throughout the course of history. Before I knew it, my bins were full and Dad was back, pulling into the row behind me, as I leveled off my 3 bins and swung out of the rows, heading back to base.

On my first trip, I crawled along a bit, concerned about bruising the fruit by bumping the trailer over uneven ground and trying to remember all the things Dad had told me. Fortunately, one of the drivers from the other crew raced in ahead of me (not too difficult at my speed!) and I was able to watch exactly what he did and then duplicate it. Result!

Back and forth a couple of times and the bins started to stack up. Our friendly forklift driver had his work cut out, loading the truck with full bins and loading our now-empty trailers with fresh bins. The process slowed and I returned to find the scowling faces of pickers with full picking bags and no empty bins ("where the hell ya been?"). Oops! Mental note: Kick the forklift driver in the arse if empty bins are not rapidly forthcoming!.

A little over three hours, 64½ bins and 20 tonnes of fruit later, it was all over. The now-full trucks headed out and the gangs congregated on our patio as Mum brought forth a slap-up feed of freshly cooked asparagus and sausage rolls, garlic bread and freshly baked scones with plum jam and fresh cream. Choice! The hungry crews made short work of the mountain of food, washed down with fresh apple juice or a steaming mug of tea, with grateful smiles all round (not many of the orchards still do a feed for the picking gangs anymore so it was a pleasant surprise for them all).

Half an hour later, the convoy was on it's way out, with smiles and waves, as they headed for the next orchard. More handshakes and a couple of dozen beers for after the days work was done were passed over to the foreman and moments later all that was left was dust (and a tractor left by the crews overnight!)

Zzzzzzz...

Check out the Harvest 2009 Photos - now available