It is late and the traffic is beginning to calm. The knuckles whiten and mirrors are checked for approaching cars who might dare to overtake. The perceived insult of being cut-up by a green minibus is intolerable and the ears strain for the siren song of the traffic cops who have noticed something abominable about your driving. There is desperation in reaching a destination, regardless of the urgency of the occasion, and a gleeful victory over lane hoppers is achieved by sailing past them boxed into their continuous white-line lane choice. It’s the same craziness today as it was yesterday. And it will be the same tomorrow.
The madness of driving in Hong Kong is no worse than other intense motoring experiences around the world. The same competitive psychosis disturbs those behind the wheel. The only difference will be the average value of the vehicles on the road. What makes Hong Kong driving such an attention-demanding activity is the necessity to be in the right lane for upcoming forks and intersections. Quite simply, there is very little room for error. Getting into the wrong lane exiting the Cross-Harbour Tunnel could mean the daydreaming motorist must complete a non-stop full circuit of Hong Kong Island!
Some, of course, sidestep all of the problems associated with car transportation (ever-increasing licensing, astronomical insurance prices, mortgage-sized parking fees, the inevitable speeding fines, unavoidable accidental damage and wear and tear) by taking taxis. This is all fine and dandy until changeover time (just before teatime) or it rains, which is a lot in Hong Kong, and the aquaphobic taxis disappear leaving the poor stranded shopper/worker/party-goer stranded on a rainy pavement under a useless umbrella and waving a soaking arm at occupied taxis-who-hopefully-might-just-stop-anyway.
So, the road from Choi Hung opens up and the slow climb to the top of Razor Hill means Kowloon and Hong Kong fills the rearview mirror. Before the descent into Sai Kung down Hiram’s Highway there is the magnificent view of forested slopes from Pik Uk, the snaky village road that winds away from the darkness of Kowloon Peak. The single-track road through Sai Kung slows the speed to that of the double-decker buses. Marina Cove’s yacht masts sail past at Hebe Haven. Then Sai Kung is reached.
This is the last opportunity for late shopping, to snatch a meal or even take a drink. But onwards: home beckons. So the driver continues along the winding Tai Mong Tsai Road as it skirts the sandy coast, past temples and new condominiums. The moonrise sits between the hills of the peninsula and a blessed feeling of calm rises with each kilometer. And then the gateway to the Sai Kung Country Park is reached – a non-permeable security zone for all but the most serious of gangsters on their way to midnight rendezvous with smugglers. None shall pass, especially if the date on the driving permit has expired!
At this point the windows should be opened. Through the aperture comes the sounds of the night – chirpy crickets and cicadas, wooping asian koels and hooty scops owls, squeaky bats and singing frogs and the belchy cows that meander from village to village to take their fill of the vegetation. The musky smells of resins, night flowers, pollen and foliage fills the nostrils. My God! It’s good to live here.
And, as quickly as it arrived, the mantel of driving madness has dissipated. There is no rush, no urgency and no deadline. Who knows what might cross the road at this time of night. As the car is parked up, the night offers a warm embrace. Perhaps I will walk with the dogs down to Wong Shek pier to feel the breeze from the waters or see the lights of the speedboats coming and going out to Tap Mun Island. Perhaps I will sit outside and have a beer and consider the day. Perhaps I will spend some time with good neighbours. And perhaps we will discuss the traffic that happens all the time elsewhere – away from home.
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