Cultural revolution in Hong Kong

By TIM PILE

There are 44 houses in my village. I know that because I've just counted them.

Mrs Chan is scrubbing her wok and washing vegetables at the standpipe; she'll be starting dinner soon. Mr Leung is using the last of the evening light to water his crops, and the group outside the village shop is cooing over a new baby.

Peaceful images from rural China, you might be thinking. China yes, but this is life on one of Hong Kong's outlying islands.

You remember Hong Kong: that densely populated former British colony with its magnificent harbour setting and blazing neon skyline. Teeming streets, ceaseless jackhammers, decibel-defying dim sum restaurants, and a language rumoured to be the only one that can't be whispered. It's hardly surprising that the tourist office chose "City of Life" as its slogan.

By contrast, only 30 minutes away by ferry is a less well-known side to Hong Kong, anchored sleepily in the South China Sea. Small island communities go about their business much as they've always done. Here, cattle and water buffalo roam, pink dolphins swim offshore and monks seek enlightenment.

If you've flown into Hong Kong in recent years, you'll have arrived on the island I call home. Built on reclaimed land, the vast ultra-modern airport is situated on the north side of Lantau Island.

Fortunately, the creased, mountainous landscape that makes up much of southern China ensures that what is out of sight remains out of mind for most of the residents. It helps, too, that Lantau is twice the size of its more famous neighbour.

Lop-sided population statistics hint at where the next housing expansion programme is likely to be. While about 3 million live on Hong Kong Island, a mere 30,000 souls call Lantau home.

Recently, though, it seems that the urban drift that took place during the manufacturing heyday of the 1960s might be going into reverse. This time it's the foreign community who are on the move, five years after the last British Governor, Chris Patten, returned the capitalist colony to communist China.

It's no secret that rent for any space larger than a postage stamp eats up the lion's share of an expatriate's income, unless they are lucky enough to receive a much-coveted housing allowance.

Now, as lucrative perks are slowly being curtailed, the outlying islands are gradually becoming more popular with non-Chinese residents.

Ferry connections are more frequent and faster than a few years ago. Village apartments are all low-rise, invariably larger, noticeably cheaper, and how do you put a price on unpolluted air, old fishing villages, clean beaches and beautiful hiking trails?

Every few weeks, I spy Old Man Cheung wheeling a full cart of furniture up to my village as another foreigner begins the process of unpacking a motley collection of possessions.

I watch discreetly through the blinds, not to gain pleasure from seeing folks struggle with sofas and beds in the enveloping humidity, but because I'm keen to watch Cheung craftily renegotiate his asking price with a big, toothless grin. Business is improving in rural Hong Kong.

From our ferry pier it's a 10-minute stroll past the beach to the network of bicycle paths that connect the villages of the Silvermine Valley. The locals are a mixture of schoolkids, the elderly and foreigners, who all seem to be cycling somewhere at the same time.

Many Chinese of working age have relocated to the city and only visit on compulsory occasions such as the twice-yearly ancestors' grave-sweeping day. After all, these "backward" islands offer only snakes and mosquitoes, no karaoke bars or cable television.

Energetic old-timers still farm the valley. From my balcony a patchwork of intensively cultivated plots stretches as far as Butterfly Hill away in the distance.

Bananas, papayas and lychees grow everywhere, but since each tree belongs to someone somewhere, it's best to head to the local market where a wide range of fresh produce is reasonably priced.

So with all this bucolic appeal, why does the rest of the world continue to cling to an image of Hong Kong as the Manhattan of the Far East? Postcards offer umpteen views of that great engineering achievement, the new airport. None show waterfalls.

Many more depict neon-lit canyons of concrete framing the harbour. But you'll struggle to find one of an elderly farmer nursing his bak choi (Chinese cabbage) to maturity.

Civic leaders seem keen that this is the impression that the world sees.

Ironically, Lantau is home to one of the top tourist attractions in the entire territory. The Big Buddha, a 26m-high, 202-tonne wonder, is rightly a must-see on even the most fleeting visit.

Tourists tend to rush their trip. Dazed and disoriented, they're taken off the ferry, squeezed on to buses for the 45-minute ride and decanted at the Buddha for the obligatory dash around.

They are soon back on the bus racing towards the ferry pier and the city. The most majestic of Hong Kong's 330 outlying islands is remembered as little more than a blur.

When I find myself leaving Lantau for the city on an afternoon ferry, I chat to the returning day-trippers. My belated suggestions of a languid lunch on the white sands of Cheung Sha beach, followed by a hike into the hills to the gloriously eccentric temple folly of Ng Yuen, are met with smiles and a cheerful "We'll have to do that next time".

I want to tell them about a short hike which leads to waterfalls with plunge pools for swimming and a picnic. Then there are the scenic mountain bike trails, the Trappist monastery, and even a good curry house. On reflection, perhaps I should enjoy the tranquillity while it lasts.

Nothing stays the same for long in Hong Kong. A blueprint to develop southern Lantau and its outlying islands into a tourist haven has been revealed. And a Disneyland theme park is due to open on Lantau in April 2005.

While these developments are unlikely to affect the peaceful Silvermine Valley for now, I can't help feeling that the march of "progress" is heading our way.

My loss will be Old Man Cheung's gain.

Case notes


Getting there


Ferries to Lantau run from Pier 7 of the Outlying Islands Ferry Terminal, Hong Kong. It costs $2.70-$5.50, 50 per cent more on Sundays and public holidays.

Places to see


Buses go from the Silvermine Bay ferry pier to the Big Buddha, Cheung Sha beach and Tai O fishing village - hike from there to Ng Yuen temple. Explore Silvermine Valley on bicycle, $7.80 a day, from King of Bicycles.

Where to stay


Silvermine Beach Hotel, ph 00852 2984 8295, from $150 a night, or $95 a night for a week.

Mui Wo Inn, Silvermine Bay, ph 00852 2984 7225, from $80 a night, including breakfast.

There are also holiday homes in the valley.

Eating and drinking

Noodle and rice dishes cost about $7.80.

When to visit

October to April, when it is sunny and dry.

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