Ulysses of Po Toi

Po Toi, Hong Kong

If anyone asks me my favourite place in the world, I will answer, without hesitation, Bhutan. When it comes to favourite city, I will also answer without hesitation: Hong Kong. But not for the reasons you may imagine. I have lost count of the number I times I have been there since the 1970s when you waved at people in their kitchens as you landed through a forest of high rise low cost apartments. The new airport, like all new airports, might be one of the best in the world but it is situated miles from the city. 

The hustle and bustle of the city are part of its charm. The harbor is spectacular. The public transport is amazing; but by and large the food is too sweet and too expensive.

The surprising thing about this place is that a few lesser-known ferry rides away or even a walk around a few blocks from Central can bring you to a natural world of real charm. Try walking up (or down) Victoria Peak through Green Park. It is truly beautiful. You may well be in the centre of that incredible city, a few meters from high rise buildings, offices and bustling traffic and yet you are in peace. It is amazing and well worth the attempt. But it is much easier walking down hill! It is a very, very, very long way up and unlike in Soho, has no escalator. I learned that before I walked down from the Po Lin Monastery on Lantau—all five hours. Going uphill would have killed me. The cable car was better.

So where else? Hong Kong has two hundred and twenty five islands to choose from. You can’t get on them all and many are uninhabited outcrops. For starters, try a trip to Po Toi Island. I happened on Po Toi quite by chance. The previous day I had been to the bicycle-only Lamma Island by Star Ferry to walk across the mountains from the largest settlement, Yng Shue Wan to the fishing village of Sok Kwu Wan on the northern side. In true Hong Kong fashion, everything was done ‘well’. A concrete path and stairs climbed up and down the steep slopes and allowed you to hike across in little over an hour of quite heavy walking.

 I arrived at Sok Kwu Wan to find that a further track wound round the northern peninsular via a couple of other villages. I checked the ferry timetable. I would have a three-hour wait, which was cutting it fine. I decided to keep walking and go part of the way and get back in time to catch the Star Ferry. As I walked I noticed another ferry—not a Star Ferry, that is for sure—chugging into the harbor.

I ran back and arrived to find it was from Aberdeen. Naturally, I boarded it. I would come back the following day and continue my trek.

The following day, sensibly trying to catch buses did not work. I arrived to see the ferry departing to Sok Kwu Wan and it was only one of two a day. Damn! I wandered along the wharf and saw an even smaller ferry.

The destination board said: Po Toi. Depart 10 am. Return 3 pm.

What is on Poi Toi Island? Half a dozen people were on board so it seemed the sensible thing to do to join them. The bemused ticket collector come boat hand came round and collected my fare. There were no Octopus cards to swipe on this boat!

The trip took well over an hour through open seas, quite choppy, passing the Ocean Park theme park near Aberdeen and the fancy northern beach resort of Stanley and then heading off across a choppy bay to some desolately bleak looking islands.

We pulled into a cove on what seemed to be the bleakest of the islands where I spied a few hovels along the shore and a small jetty. I disembarked and the captain and his deckhand prepared to take a nap till the return voyage at 3 pm.

I was looking at a map the Hong Kong government had set up on the jetty. It showed a few walking paths and approximate walking times. Two men who I had noticed drinking beer on the way over and carrying cameras and massive backpacks came up and asked me if I had been here before.

‘No!’ I replied.

‘So why come again?’ they asked.

‘But I have not been here before!’

‘So why are you here?’

I shrugged.

They laughed.

‘Care to join us?’ said one who subsequently introduced himself as Rocky Lee and his tiny, fifty-kilogram friend as Ulysses Fong.  

I nodded, wondered briefly why a toothpick should be called Ulysses, perished the thought and happily joined them. As usual, the government had constructed concrete walking tracks complete with steps and handrails. It made trekking and climbing a breeze.

We headed for one of the cliffs where Rocky, who was a photographer for a life style magazine (Next) edited by Ulysses, was going to take shots of the windswept coastline beyond Po Toi Island which it turned out was actually mainland China. 

Apart from the mountains of plastic and Styrofoam swept up on the isolated beaches, the island was amazing: massive rock formations; thousands of birds; windswept silence; and Rocky and Ulysses.

We made it to a lighthouse and Rocky checked the snaps he had taken hanging over cliffs and scaling rock walls whilst Ulysses yelled helpful directions such as ‘don’t fall’ and ‘hang on tight, now’.

We were thirsty. I had brought some bottled water.

‘Put that away,’ ordered Ulysses as Rocky opened his backpack and brought out three mugs and two large thermoses. From one, he ladled ice cubes into the mugs.  From the other he poured a suspicious colourless liquid. He then delved into another compartment of his rucksack and brought out a large bottle of tonic water to go with the suspicious colourless liquid.

We enjoyed a few glasses. The problem was how were we going to get to the top of the next hill and down in the kind of state brought on by too much suspicious colourless liquid and tonic? Rocky, slightly weaving, tried to top up our glasses but slipped and fell, the rest of the suspicious colourless liquid spilling over the ground.

Shock! Horror!

‘I have a great idea,’ said Rocky. ‘Let’s go back to the wharf. There is a small restaurant there serving beer. We can make do with the shots we have and enjoy the rest of the day over cold beer’.

Not being a drinker, I protested for thirteen seconds before we packed up and sloshed our way to spend the remaining three hours drinking cold beer while waiting for the ferry to leave.

Come ten to three and I suggested that we should leave and make our way to the boat.

‘One more drink,’ demanded Ulysses.

Who was I to argue with the editor of Hong Kong’s leading life style and adventure magazine and his favourite photographer? We ordered another beer. We missed the ferry. The next one wasn’t till two days later! Momentarily I was angry, but thought: what the hell! It is not often you can pretend to be Robinson Crusoe. I was looking forward to a night in a hut on Po Toi Island with Rocky and Ulysses when fate intervened. A junk sailed in to the bay.

‘Nuzza boot kum u go bek,’ said the old guy selling us more beer.

Rocky nodded.

‘We can go back on that boat for free,’ he said.

And we did, taking with us enough liquid supplies to last the almost three hours it took the junk to crawl back up the waves to Aberdeen. I won’t say I was ill. All I will admit to was that the seas were rough. But Ulysses had it covered! A few extra beers, to say nothing of a few suspicious colourless liquids that had magically reappeared probably from Mr Nuzza Boot, were always on hand as we chugged back to Aberdeen Harbor.

As I said, Hong Kong is a surprising place.