Little man has been my concern lately, he always is, but special efforts are called for when the time has come to find a suitable secondary school.

My parents had it much easier. They send me to the comprehensive school five minutes away at age five, where I spent the next thirteen years and managed to attain my German high-school diploma and entry into the world of university education. It had good teachers who 95% of the time loved their professions, model architecture with classrooms flooded with daylight from two sides emptying out to big halls, big playgrounds, one small and one big sports hall, library, and all sorts of dedicated rooms for explosive chemical experiments and arts splashings.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t well regarded at the time. Left-leaning teachers, parent involvement, poor kids having an equal chance, teachers full of ideals…

In Hong Kong, I am now confronted with schools that pay very close attention where the parents work. Can they pay the tuition fees for seven years to come? Can they tell other parents how hard it was to get into our school and which academic rigor we apply? Will this kid meet all the credentials to get into Harvard, Yale, MIT, whatever? We have a reputation to loose, fuck about the well-being of kids, we have a high-brow reputation to loose.

On one hand, I am caught in the rat race here in Hong Kong that demands you to get your kid into one of the prime schools, which will get him into prime colleges… etc, etc. On the other hand, I just read a forum post of a mum about bullying at one of the above schools, and I know that everyone just cooks with water, and I know that parents, in the end, not schools educate children.

I want little man to be happy, confident, and loving life.

After a long hard search on the internet I found a secondary school that I feel is right. It’s not well known, it’s relatively cheap, it’s located in the boonies, but still I hope that little man will be accepted there.

It’s mum intuition that teachers there care about children, that they will have their happiness in mind, support them in meeting challenges, and love teaching them.

Yes of course, it’s not the only school I will send applications to, but it’s one of the few that truly deserves to teach little man. Press your thumbs please.

I have been in Hong Kong for roughly 15 years and I am ashamed to say that I discovered its true beauty only recently. Hong Kong is renowned for it’s skyline of skyscrapers. But if you really want to see it you need to tie your sneakers, put your sun hat on, pack lots of water, and head for one of its fabulous country parks.

Since we came back from Dubai, we live right at the edge of one, and I am truly thankful that destiny put us here. Right from my doorstep I can head up the mountain, and see subtropical wilderness. It bowls me over every time.

Little man is less smitten. Hiking 45 degrees up a mountain, sweating a lot, and only with your mother as company …

The first time it’s fun, because you bathe in a rock pool. The second time is fun, because you see a cobra. The third time is fun for your mummy because lots of shrubs are in bloom. The fourth time you run into half a dozen spider webs, and mosquitoes are out in force. The fifth time takes most of the day and is much too long. The sixth time you go on strike.

So I was more than happy when I discovered a web site that told of World War II tunnels the British had built to defend their Hong Kong colony from the invading Japanese. I knew right away that this would get little man to head out with me without any complaints, and that it would be fun for us both. A wonderful adventure.

We put our hats on, loaded up on water and snacks, calibrated mum’s gps system on a parking lot near Shing Mun reservoir, and took the 12 year old Volvo for a ride. You can get there with public transport too… aah, the beauty of Hong Kong.

When we arrived, we discovered that Shing Mun country park is a much more frequented area than the country park near us. Lots of people were hauling barbeque supplies along the road to get ready for a day of family fun, and there was some sort of hiking race going on. But I bet it’s deserted on a weekday.

We went along the Maclehose trail past barbecue areas, and although I had packed a map, and read all sorts of websites, I was worried that we would miss the entrance to the tunnels.

In the end it was very easy to find them, because there are warning signs on the path below, discouraging you from entering them :).

Little man and I left the hiking path and scrambled up a hill, despite a group of hikers behind us mumbling “The sign clearly says it’s dangerous”. Little man was on fire and the kid in me was too.

We scrambled up the hill and were met by a giant electricity pylon, concrete tunnels exposed by erosion, and a large group of people with a guide ready to dive into World War II adventure.

It was hard to stop little man from diving head first into the ventilation chimney, but I convinced him to follow the group of hikers before us to a more accessible entrance.

When mama finally found the two flashlights she had in her backpack, the other people were gone and the adventure was ours alone.

The tunnels at Shing Mun are part of the “Gin Drinker’s Line” (gosh, I love the Britsh even if I am German myself), a defense line across the Kowloon peninsula that was designed to hold up the Japanese from conquering Hong Kong.

In the end, it didn’t do much to hold up the Japanese, because it wasn’t manned by enough British soldiers, but if you scramble along the tunnels today, you can certainly see why they choose this line. At the outlooks, it has very good views of the lands below.

I think we walked all the tunnels that are still accessible. All of them are quite low because of silt that was washed into them, which gave me back pain but was no problem for short little man. At no point I felt that it was a dangerous adventure, although I would not do it after heavy rains.

I am very happy that something like this still exists in Hong Kong. When you are here, please check it out, I guarantee it will be a fun day out.

The Majestic Plastic Bag from Heal the Bay on Vimeo.

Unfortunately, on my side of the Pacific Ocean people behave just the same, if not worse. A few weeks ago, I discovered the most beautiful beach inside a protected country park. It looked like paradise from the trail above. Then I went down to the coast line and there was plastic trash everywhere. On the beach, in the bushes behind it, hanging from trees. Plastic bottles, styrofoam lunch boxes, toys, bags, and lots of shoes. All dumped into the sea one way or the other and then spit out again by wind and waves.

One of the commentators on youtube asked why the Pacific garbage patch can’t be seen from satellites. I read because the plastic is not necessarily swimming on the surface, but just below it. If you go swimming on one of Hong Kong beaches it’s just the same. It looks ok from the shore, but then you head out, and garbage bags touch your legs and wind themselves around your arms.

The big beaches here are cleaned everyday, but the cleaners find it hard to pick up tiny pieces of plastic and styrofoam. So there is this constant colorful line of miniscule plastic bits on the beach that marks high tide.

A year ago, I wrote an email to the biggest supermarket in Hong Kong commending them on the introduction of a HK$ 0.50 fee for plastic bags at the checkout, but also asking them to get rid of the excessive plastic trays and cling wrap they use for fruits and vegetables. Why does a single fruit need to be put on a plastic tray and wrapped in cling wrap?

I got a call back from them, and I got the feeling that the girl did not like her job, although I was very friendly. She told me that she would send my email further up the command line. Don’t think that I had ever any hopes. Writing emails has as much impact as cleaning beaches.

I have decided to buy more of my veggies and fruit in wet markets, where the produce is not disguised in cling wrap and where I can bring my own bags. I have also decided to leave excessive plastic wrappings right where I bought it, in the bins behind the checkout counters.

And I feel pretty helpless to be honest, and a bit angry, like that teacup yorkshire.

Well, the arugula has been eaten by a dozen caterpillars a few months ago. They looked beautiful, grass green with bright yellow stripes on their back. When I discovered them it was much too late. A woman from the local gardening society told me that they would turn into beautiful butterflies. Little bastards!

They also ate the Kailan (Chinese greens). The Japanese cucumber and string beans climbed up the bamboo sticks and look pretty, but there is not a single pickle nor bean in sight.

The surprising winners are the cocktail tomatoes and carrots from seeds I bought in Germany. Thirty juicy and sweet tomatoes and a dozen small but very orange carrots. I also put supermarket ginger into the ground and it sprouted. However the lemon grass, which was such a success in Dubai, withered and died.

I knew it would happen. Gardening is about learning and sticking with the winners. It takes time and experience. Next year my compost will be ready and I will dig it into the very clayie veggie bed. Every morning I will search for caterpillars. I will construct a raised bed, because tropical downpours will turn level veggie beds into ponds (with tiny cute frogs). And I will plant German carrots and tomatoes and maybe have a second go at Japanese cucumbers.

While the caterpillars munch the rest of my veggies, I watch a BBC series Around the world in 80 gardens. It’s enlightening. Gardening is like religion, so different around the world, but the concept is the same, we all like it and it makes us happy, in a weird BDSM kind of way.

I have been fifteen years in Hong Kong, but having this little garden around the house has been such a pleasure and new discovery. The veggie garden is a work in progress, but the rest, the so-called weeds, the plants that just sprout up after each rain, they are so pretty. The ones I like, I transplant to prime spots where they will strive and grow.

Whereas gardening in Dubai was about watering thrice a day, gardening in Hong Kong is about cutting down plants you don’t like at least once a month. I feel like Tarzan in a jungle with a machete… ok, huge -made in Germany- garden scissors. I also spray myself with “Deep Woods” mosquito repellent. It lasts for about 15 minutes until a colony of these little devils break out in laughter and descent on me.

And then they are the palm-sized spiders, and the creepy crawlies in the compost pile, and at least three geckos inside the house. I was raised by a mum who threw the spiders from the ceilings under our bath tub to eat the silver fish. Nature is about balance, and we are a part of it.

Little man and I observed our bedroom gecko tonight. George the Slow climbed up the wall, ambled past the curtains, and then stumbled behind the TV. The insect population in our bedroom will be kept at a minimum, my task in the equilibrium will be to wipe the gecko shit away.

Tomorrow little man and I will leave for Berlin where we will take care of my Dad’s garden. He is in hospital and half of his right foot is amputated, but in spite of this, and because of this, his tiny allotment garden is Eden and I will help my mum to take care of it. I am so ready for the pleasure of a temperate garden in summer. A bit of grass cutting and watering, how hard can it be?

I was waiting for little man at the school bus stop. A little Dutch girl who was waiting for her brother together with her mum said “I don’t understand why Chinese eat dogs”. Another daddy (Australian, with Fido on the leash) said “At some point in time people had very little to eat, so I guess they started to eat dogs”. Little girl: “I still don’t understand. These poor little dogs. Just imagine. It’s as if they were eaten by GIANTS!”. Mum of little girl: “Lots of people around the world eat unusual foods. For example Germans eat horses” and looks at me with challenging eyes.

Lol… ok this was a new one for me. I usually have to deal with liverwurst and Hitler. How to respond? Yes, there is horse meat available in Germany, though you have to look for it really hard, and most Germans alive today have not eaten it, me included. But then I thought, what’s the difference between a cow, pig, chicken, dog, frog, monkey, or horse? It’s only in our minds and cultural upbringings. Many Chinese don’t eat beef, because they view cattle as loyal helpers that plow rice fields. It is very unlikely that I will ever eat horse sausages, dog drumsticks, or monkey brains, but I will not look down on people choose to do so, because I eat bacon, steak, and chicken breast, and like them. And liverwurst.

Me: “ Yeah, Germans are not the only ones. The French eat it too.” (Lame, I know.)

Little girl: Yeah (turns to her mummy). Do you remember? When we were in France, the people also ate snails… escargots.

Dutch mummy: Yes, with parsley butter.

Me: Have you tried snake?

Dutch mummy: No I haven’t. Is it any good?

Daddy from Alaska (“We don’t like Sarah Palin!”) stares at all of us opened mouthed.

Me: Tastes similar to chicken, almost the same like frog legs. I had it in a soup.

Little girl: The good thing about having a dad who is a pilot is that he brings you many different things from around the world. Clothes, toys, food.

Dutch mummy: Yeah (looks pained because she and daddy are in a nasty divorce)

Little girl: Do you remember when he brought emu and kangaroo meat from Australia?

(Australian dad smirks)

Me: Have you had Impala?

Dutch mummy: No

Little girl: What’s Impala?

Me: A gazelle, really tasty.

Gazelle eater. Dutch cheese lover. Sarah Palin… only well done.

One hour later, our neighbor came home and I helped him to chase Elsie away. She was obstinate, to say the least. She left remnants. Three in neighbor’s garden. Four heaps in mine.

Lots of other people had the same idea. The sidewalks were  crammed with people buying late Chinese New Year flowers.

I however was after this…

To put in here…

Last week I removed a lot of weeds, bougainvillea roots, and a lot of…

Now I have  so many seeds that I better prepare the neighboring bed as well…

Other girls buy handbags, I buy plants. Although I was strictly on a seed buying mission, I couldn’t resist buying this strange creature…

It’s a staghorn fern that in the wild takes it’s nutrients from the bark of trees (in the back are pomelos). So I plan to put the fern up there…

Next to the flower market is the bird market. It’s housed in a very nice building surrounded by a traditional Chinese garden. I loved looking at the  Chinese wooden cages, at all the colorful birds, and little man and I squeaked with delighted horror as we discovered the stall selling live grasshoppers. Some stalls however take hygiene a bit too lightly… it smelled, bird poo was mounting in the cages, and I had the urge to open them.

Please excuse the wobbles, I took the video with my phone.

Birds and grasshoppers were not the last fauna we encountered yesterday. When we came home, I noticed a very strong smell in the garden, then we heard some rustling and cracking up the hill behind our house. Urghh… burglars?

No, it was Elsie, having a late night snack. This morning I caught her on camera munching in our neighbor’s garden with long-neck birdie waiting for insects attracted by her not-so-Parisian smell. Elsie is a wild buffalo that roams through countryside and gardens with her mates. Later I saw three of her friends holding up traffic on the main village road. Yep, I live in the boonies, but the skyscrapers are only half an hour away.

Still it is beginning to be a home.

We have a car, but not yet a license to drive it on the seventh island. So, I took the bus to the third village north where they have a “supermarket” (cough… laugh… five short aisles stuffed to the ceiling). You learn to concentrate on the essentials  (that’s a good thing), if you have to take the public bus home, still four very heavy bags had to be hauled home.

Once through the door, I cooked Chinese winter melon soup and Jamie Oliver’s beef stew with guinness (yep, I watched TV last night). Both were a first and both are keepers for cold winter days. I love Chinese winter melon. It’s completely tasteless on its own, but in a soup it takes on the flavor of the rest of the ingredients.

I got the second last winter melon slice in the snow-white supermarket. My competitors were seasoned Cantonese grandmas… I had to grab quickly. I cooked it together with pork spareribs, sliced smoked ham, ginger, and wolfberries. The recipe also calls for red dates, but I didn’t want to buy them because of bad Dubai associations… ok, the truth is I wasn’t sure they were needed. Still the soup turned out yummy. I am a big fan of soups, especially if it’s cold and wet. One of the strength of German cuisine is its soups or “eintopf”. Like most of the best dishes around the world it’s poor men’s recipes, but oh so good. I can’t get all of the German ingredients here (does anyone have a cheap and reliable source of celeriac in Hong Kong?), so I am going for local recipes. Winter melon soup was yummy.

Jamie Oliver’s stew had to cook for two hours in the oven. The original recipe puts it into a pie with puff pastry. I am not that English, so I just made the stew and salt potatoes to go with it. It was very rich, smooth, and just what I needed today:

2 large sliced onions fried to gooey, sweet perfection

half a pound of marbled beef

3 cloves of diced garlic

stick of fresh rosemary, hacked to small pieces

1 stick of celery or two

a diced carrot or two

mushrooms ( I took local Chinese ones, not the tasteless, white Holland variety) and half a dozen dried ones (soaked in hot water for an hour)

pepper, salt

1 tablespoon of flour

a can of guinness (even the five-aisle supermarket had it ?!?)

water so that all ingredients are covered with liquid

at 180 degrees Celsius (360 Fahrenheit) for two hours in covered (oven-proof) pot

Jamie, you are the man!

I will also start a new sourdough production. Bread selection in Cinderella’s supermarket is pitiful, stuffed with preservatives, and I won’t buy it. Expect pics of burned sourdough bread in the future.

And one was hanging over my fence.

Mmmm