Going Up Garden Hill

I got to Mei Ho House in Sham Shui Po. It looked closed down. Under standard times, it runs as a hostel, but with no one allowed to enter the city – there may be no one around. There is a hill behind the hostel giving good views of Kowloon, and I wanted to check it out. There was a sign and a closed gate. The security guard was kind enough to point me to another way.

The hike up was going up concrete steps in a typical HK hiking style. It is a small ‘hill’ compared to the mountains around, but with the steps – it felt like more. Most of the way up was exposed to the sun. There were no trees or brush for the way up. I was sweating a lot and didn’t bring water with me – not thinking, and not sure how steep it would be. Spring or fall would have been a better option.

Halfway up there was some shade, and I needed to stop, not wanting to push myself. The hill, and it is a hill, not a hike – is called ‘The Garden Hill.’ It’s named after the big bakery below. The headquarters and all the bread in the city lay below. The trees on the way up were small and randomly placed in the middle of concrete poured to prevent a landslip when the rains come. The trees are small and resemble cacti, with needles rather than leaves. Some provide a bit of shelter from the sun. Further up, near the top, there were more trees, more shade and thus more people.

Up on the hill was more shade from the trees. People lounged shirtless on metal chairs. Most, if not all, were over 65. The hike up and down as part of their daily exercise. Most had transistor radios blaring Cantonese or Mandarin Opera; some talked or listened to new shows. Not being able to tell the language is a clear sign that I need to improve my Cantonese. Maybe the screams make it hard for Marco, too. There were random dogs, but I'm not sure if anyone owned them. It was a community, and I guess I was the intruder.

The views were worth the river of sweat. There were memories of the heat stroke in Japan – the last time. I had sweated as much. I should have brought water or something. There were old men doing stretches, smoking, and playing chess. Below is Shek Kip Mei, and I wondered if coming up here was a way to get out of their small, dark apartments and the fear of the virus.

It was time to head down, and not surprisingly, it was a lot easier. It was still exposed to the scorching sun—more rivers of sweat and a pounding heart. I still snapped some photos of a Banyan Tree with idols around it. Street cleaners were catching the shade under her. Then went down the rest of the way.