Well, as far as the future is concerned, one thing is about as far in the bag as one can say with certainty – we leave Hong Kong in January 2013.
We've been in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (such a politically over-cautious term full of control-driven Chinese socialist idealism) since 1988. For good or ill, back then the territory still had its distinct Anglo flavour. This has diminished through design and disfavour and risen again through style and choice. A pivotal moment came when the MTR announcements were changed from a distinctly clipped British accent to the whiny quasi-Southern Californian that it remains today. On the barricades provocative political kids wave the old colonial flag in the faces of the Beijing masters as much to score a point as to pretend they love the life that probably ended before they were out of nappies.
I will write more about Hong Kong, about working here, the people and the politics on a later occasion. But to wrap up this intro, whether I like it or not Hong Kong is in the blood and unless I'm caught buggering the Chief Executive in LEGCO I'll undoubtedly turn up back here, bad penny-like, again... and again...
What precipitated our oncoming departure is the same thing that brought us here: work. The Memsahib's, to be precise. Back in 1998 she and I travelled by wheezy old British Rail to a job interview with Hong Kong's English Schools Foundation in the Big Stink. Nervous moments passed for me as behind the panelled doors of the St James Club the muffled conversation continued into the afternoon. What I was not to know for quite some time was that the Mem was demanding that her gorgeous, sweet-smelling husband (of Newly Qualified Teacher status) should also be found favourable employ with the ESF. To this firm request they duly and correctly complied and after some brief stints of supply at certain primary schools in the region I obtained a proper job teaching music at Kowloon Junior School.
The cause of our imminent departure is to work in the Czech Republic. But the choice was not simple – Ireland also beckoned with a juicy, fat, Guinness-soaked finger. The only way to make a decision was to visit both countries and this we duly did in mid-December.
Whichever way you cut it, Ireland is a special, not to say amazing, place. There's something beguiling about being at the edge of things – the Atlantic Ocean or Europe, depending on which way you're facing at the time. It was a terrifically important part of the world for the megalithic tomb builders thousands of years ago, the sun's daily death into the western sea had obvious religious and symbolic overtones. The enlightened religious houses of the early medieval period sent many successful missions into the darkened dark age Anglorium and even further afield into Europe. Today, Irish intellectualism (not a cheap gag) is a marvellous green-tinged twinkly thing long interconnected with a host of American, British and European movements. To be connected with it through Limerick University would be exciting, dynamic and future-oriented. With enough beautiful local Guinness in the blood, who knows where it could lead!
Despite driving from Rosslare 'Europort' -such an exciting sobriquet- into the rain-sodden landscape covered in low, misty cloud and puddles nearly as deep as the sea we'd just crossed, it was with happy hearts we stopped at lovely Wexford, a comfortable place of pretty shop fronts on the high street, grey seals in the harbour and fine culinary fayre in the exclusive (not to say expensive) fine-dine restaurants. It's a great little city.
Cork is also a magnificent but much bigger town. Feeling more like a regional capital than a provincial town, its shopping crowds testify to the presence of many Euro-weighted pockets, even if the country is said to be permanently on the verge of, if not beyond, bankruptcy. Limerick is its smaller cousin, a little more modest in size and scope. Perhaps it was down to the season of goodwill, but on every corner on every intersection could be heard the jangling of buckets of change, carolling children's choirs and good causes a-plenty fearlessly promoted. The Irish truly have the tenderest of hearts.
Having visited Blarney Castle, the Mem took to her interview whilst I took to finding a suitable place to live. I have mentioned on a previous occasion how much fun it is to sit staring at the sunset and consider living right there in the holiday destination. This was always on the cards as far as this trip was concerned and down by the River Shannon the little village of Killaloe shone out of the County Clare countryside like a beautiful bright new pin – dimmed somewhat with it being the middle of winter. The deserted St Flannan's Cathedral, hitherto completely unknown to me, had an ancient and ethereal attraction matched only by the nave's astonishing acoustics. The Irish countryside is full of old buildings going to rack and ruin: barns, farmhouses and townhouses, the mind raced with fantasies of converting these damp shells into fine, warm, liveable dwellings.
One worrying element to our trip was the tendency, to our eternal shame, to slip into a stereotypical Oirish accent at any given moment, begorrah, with the accompanying Father Ted-esque 'Drink', 'Feck', 'Arse' and 'Girls'! There are times when I needed to be reminded not to shout those expletives before elevated members of the clergy – unless they did it first.
We returned back over the water and hurried to overnight in Stroud, a place we once thought we would make home. Down to the Prince Albert for lovely pints of local ale, the whiff of woodsmoke, live jazz and good company... But the flight to Prague was on the morrow.
This must have been one of the least-planned trips we've ever mounted. Assuming, like expats everywhere, that everyone speaks English, we didn't even know the price of a common-or-garden cab into town! Each capital city is the most expensive element in a country. We were, however, quite pleasantly surprised by the cost of things, being equivalent or marginally less than Hong Kong, the UK & Ireland.
The quality of Czech food also seemed tip-top. But the best was the beer – the ubiquitous Pilsner Urquell as light as spring water and as flavoursome as any tap-poured micro-brewery output can be!
One could, however, happily travel around the Czech Republic on next-to-nothing, stay at very cheap hostels and pensions and merely drink in the architectural splendour of the place. To say it is a jewel is to cheapen it. Even the new central city building work is done in sympathy with its late medieval or baroque surroundings. We were frequently, and pleasantly, open-mouthed at the richness of even the meanest streets. Of course there are whole ghettos of bleak, graffiti-covered communist-era blocks just as in any city, but far removed from any touristy site worth seeing. The low house prices outside Prague are also breathtaking: we could buy a castle with the change in our pocket (well, nearly)!
The little town of Olomouc (pop. 102,000) is somewhere you've never heard of. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the medieval centre of town is chocolaty-box-cobbledy-street loveliness, or at least it was at Christmastime without the 24,000 student population.
Palacký University has been around since 1573 and has quite a reputation in Theology and Philosophy in addition to Education, Science and Law. The Special Education Department want to become better-known within the English speaking world outside the Czech Republic and have recently printed its first English bi-annual publication. This fits in quite nicely with the Mem's plans for world domination.
Although cold, the people felt warm and friendly. Many spoke English (I suppose that's a good thing). The country feels like it has one respectful and retrospective eye on the values of the past and another, exciting and positive, very much fixed on the future. It is a culturally rich and youthful place. It's got a bit of everything!
So, the deal's done. And it's a good'n! We may be earning less in terms of what can be cleared in London or Kowloon, but koruna-for-koruna (written acronymically Kč, by the way) you can buy more giant pretzels in Moravia -or so we're led to believe.
This is possibly the last (and probably the longest!) blog of the year. If you've kept up this far then you're either a fan, a friend or a masochist! In the new year I may put this blog to bed and begin another more keenly Česká republika-focused on our new doings!
So farewell to 2012 and wherever you are and however you see it in, I wish you all a very Happy New Year for 2013.
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