TRIP report: Hong Kong and Freising
A Taste of Bavaria
Wednesday 19 April
We left Hong Kong in a balmy 28 degrees. We arrived in Munich to zero degrees. And, to Ben’s great joy, snow; snow on the ground, and snow falling in gentle whispers. It was 6am. We had slept pretty well on the plane, but were still kind of stuffed.
Munich Airport describes itself on its website as “the best airport in the world” but it just looked like a large glass box to me, not the most inviting place to spend 8 hours. So after a while hanging out in the hotel lobby we caught the local bus to Freising. (Praise the Lord for the internet telling me about such things) We could have gone into Munich on the train, but after Hong Kong I didn’t think I could quite manage another city just yet.
Freising was just perfect. A perfectly preserved medieval town. We arrived just as the sun was attempting to make a come back and lift the temperature into actual numbers (and mostly failing). We found one café open (Praise the Lord!!) and it was a vision in loveliness. Absolutely the nicest looking display of the nicest looking breads, buns and cakes. Ever. Suitably sustained, we rugged up as best we could and set off up the hill to the church. Simply called “Dom”, it was Absolutely the most ridiculous looking church I have ever seen on the inside. O. M. G. gold twiddly bits and Italian marble and cherubs and statuary and paintings dripping from the high curved roof … and none of the paintings were recognisably biblical scenes, it was all bishops and angels. Honestly I had not a clue what it was all about, but it certainly impressed.
Classic story: an old church (8th century), added onto on top, more chapels added onto on the side, then impossible amounts of money spent in the counter-reformationary ‘glitz blitz’ called High Baroque in the 1600s. As the reformers were busy clearing out churches of clutter, the catholics were busy adding to it. Lol.
I adored the ancient stone crypt, what am amazing space, so deeply devotional, but Oh So Cold!!
Wednesday 19 April
We left Hong Kong in a balmy 28 degrees. We arrived in Munich to zero degrees. And, to Ben’s great joy, snow; snow on the ground, and snow falling in gentle whispers. It was 6am. We had slept pretty well on the plane, but were still kind of stuffed.
Munich Airport describes itself on its website as “the best airport in the world” but it just looked like a large glass box to me, not the most inviting place to spend 8 hours. So after a while hanging out in the hotel lobby we caught the local bus to Freising. (Praise the Lord for the internet telling me about such things) We could have gone into Munich on the train, but after Hong Kong I didn’t think I could quite manage another city just yet.
Freising was just perfect. A perfectly preserved medieval town. We arrived just as the sun was attempting to make a come back and lift the temperature into actual numbers (and mostly failing). We found one café open (Praise the Lord!!) and it was a vision in loveliness. Absolutely the nicest looking display of the nicest looking breads, buns and cakes. Ever. Suitably sustained, we rugged up as best we could and set off up the hill to the church. Simply called “Dom”, it was Absolutely the most ridiculous looking church I have ever seen on the inside. O. M. G. gold twiddly bits and Italian marble and cherubs and statuary and paintings dripping from the high curved roof … and none of the paintings were recognisably biblical scenes, it was all bishops and angels. Honestly I had not a clue what it was all about, but it certainly impressed.
Classic story: an old church (8th century), added onto on top, more chapels added onto on the side, then impossible amounts of money spent in the counter-reformationary ‘glitz blitz’ called High Baroque in the 1600s. As the reformers were busy clearing out churches of clutter, the catholics were busy adding to it. Lol.
I adored the ancient stone crypt, what am amazing space, so deeply devotional, but Oh So Cold!!
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After the wow of the cathedral Ben and I were ready for some fresh air. What a beautiful time we had, down the bank to the river, through the apple blossom and the gentle snow … aah, certainly a moment to remember.
Also worthy of being remembered was the other food we bought in Freising: a German hot dog in the most scrumptious bun ever, and a Turkish doner kebab, in the most scrumptious bun ever, in a different way, filled with deliciousness. Ahhh.
On the way back to the bus stop we went in to the Lutheran church. I wanted to show Ben the contrast as a glimpse into the conflicts in the church 500 years ago. And what a contrast it was. This Lutheran church was utterly simple. No colour other than an extraordinary modern art piece against the front wall, interlocking coloured shapes. What a shark expression of difference ecclesiology and theology. While the Catholic Baroque church spoke of adoration of saints and heroes of the faith, as colourful and intricate an ensemble as you could find anywhere, the Lutheran church lifted up the simple access of people to God, together as a people, opening the Bible and singing their faith together. There was not even a cross, other than a little cross-shaped gap in the plaster around one corner. Simple, clean, white, communal. The modern elegance of table, pulpit and lecturn touched my soul.
And one last photo - Ben with the bear. Apparently there was some story about the patron saint of Freising getting a bear to carry his luggage after the bear ate his horse ...??!!
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British Hong Kong and a cup of tea
Ben and I crossed the harbour on a ferry, through the smog, to Kowloon on the mainland. Near the old ferry terminal we discovered the old British Police headquarters, built in 1889, and the Time Ball built in 1881. The garrison building now offers various fine dining options, and a large complex of flash shops at road level, continuing the long tradition of wealth from the trade in silk & jewels, luxuries from the east for the rich. The Time Ball, set by one of the most accurate clocks in the world, dropped the large shining ball on the very dot of 1pm every day.
It got me thinking about the British. I am almost all (7/8 to be precise) of English stock. By the 1880s all my ancestors had immigrated to New Zealand. By 1889 Britain had controlled Hong Kong for nearly 50 years. Sitting there on the verandah of the police headquarters Ben and I could almost imagine a clear view out across a harbour (“Victoria Harbour”) teeming with tall ships and Chinese boats of all shapes and sizes, looking up at the hill on Hong Kong island (“Victoria Park”). The symbols of British colonialism were right there in the old canons and the time ball, and in the imposing police headquarters. The power of the gun, military might; Britain won Hong Kong in battle against the Chinese drug lords in 1841. The power of the law; based on paper and pen, lists, administration. The power of formality; uniforms, marching, routines of order, tea and beer and linen napkins, symbols of status and the unswerving belief in the good of civilization and Empire. Queen Victoria never visited this place, named for her, controlled with her as the crowning peak, literally. The power of money; the ships carrying trade, gold, paying for the empire. And the power of time; detail, the time ball.
I have been musing on this, the astonishing accuracy of the technology, the astonishing global vision of those British captains, to declare all time founded in London, and to mark all time everywhere on the globe from that point. Hong Kong was Greenwich Mean Time + 8 hours. New Zealand, + 12 hours. With the help of time balls, ship captains could calculate where they were anywhere on the seas.
This is my heritage, and I claim it, guns and all. In my lifetime the history books have been overturned on the British and their empire, and the responsibility for many modern evils laid at their feet. But sitting there, drinking tea, in a very different part of the British Empire from the one I call home, I allowed myself to feel proud of my British ancestors and their grand schemes. Which other people in human history went so far, achieved so much?
I remember those diagrams I learned in School C History, pull factors and push factors for early British immigration. I remember the ship logs of my tipuna, each name neatly recorded in alphabetical order in 1858, with the amount paid by the family, the amount paid by the colonial government (and I remember that they never went back). I remember coats of arms in my husband’s Officers Mess and the quiet intensity of pride held in military tradition. I remember my great-grandmother’s hymnbook, the faith of the English, expressed in song, converging in prayer and worship wherever they went, their sense that God had called them and equipped them and no matter how hard the journey it was part of a bigger plan, that the praise of Christ and Queen be sung in every corner of the world.
So I poured perfect tea from an old silver tea pot into a white tea cup, and I held together in myself these threads, details of systems and violence and faith and culture, and I know myself part of this story.
Ben and I crossed the harbour on a ferry, through the smog, to Kowloon on the mainland. Near the old ferry terminal we discovered the old British Police headquarters, built in 1889, and the Time Ball built in 1881. The garrison building now offers various fine dining options, and a large complex of flash shops at road level, continuing the long tradition of wealth from the trade in silk & jewels, luxuries from the east for the rich. The Time Ball, set by one of the most accurate clocks in the world, dropped the large shining ball on the very dot of 1pm every day.
It got me thinking about the British. I am almost all (7/8 to be precise) of English stock. By the 1880s all my ancestors had immigrated to New Zealand. By 1889 Britain had controlled Hong Kong for nearly 50 years. Sitting there on the verandah of the police headquarters Ben and I could almost imagine a clear view out across a harbour (“Victoria Harbour”) teeming with tall ships and Chinese boats of all shapes and sizes, looking up at the hill on Hong Kong island (“Victoria Park”). The symbols of British colonialism were right there in the old canons and the time ball, and in the imposing police headquarters. The power of the gun, military might; Britain won Hong Kong in battle against the Chinese drug lords in 1841. The power of the law; based on paper and pen, lists, administration. The power of formality; uniforms, marching, routines of order, tea and beer and linen napkins, symbols of status and the unswerving belief in the good of civilization and Empire. Queen Victoria never visited this place, named for her, controlled with her as the crowning peak, literally. The power of money; the ships carrying trade, gold, paying for the empire. And the power of time; detail, the time ball.
I have been musing on this, the astonishing accuracy of the technology, the astonishing global vision of those British captains, to declare all time founded in London, and to mark all time everywhere on the globe from that point. Hong Kong was Greenwich Mean Time + 8 hours. New Zealand, + 12 hours. With the help of time balls, ship captains could calculate where they were anywhere on the seas.
This is my heritage, and I claim it, guns and all. In my lifetime the history books have been overturned on the British and their empire, and the responsibility for many modern evils laid at their feet. But sitting there, drinking tea, in a very different part of the British Empire from the one I call home, I allowed myself to feel proud of my British ancestors and their grand schemes. Which other people in human history went so far, achieved so much?
I remember those diagrams I learned in School C History, pull factors and push factors for early British immigration. I remember the ship logs of my tipuna, each name neatly recorded in alphabetical order in 1858, with the amount paid by the family, the amount paid by the colonial government (and I remember that they never went back). I remember coats of arms in my husband’s Officers Mess and the quiet intensity of pride held in military tradition. I remember my great-grandmother’s hymnbook, the faith of the English, expressed in song, converging in prayer and worship wherever they went, their sense that God had called them and equipped them and no matter how hard the journey it was part of a bigger plan, that the praise of Christ and Queen be sung in every corner of the world.
So I poured perfect tea from an old silver tea pot into a white tea cup, and I held together in myself these threads, details of systems and violence and faith and culture, and I know myself part of this story.
Photo:
The time ball in front of Marine Police Headquarters Compound, Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon circa 1908. |
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This from the lift at the iClub Hotel in Wan Chai ... Ben & are form our very own infinite queue, upside down!!
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Best Mango Ever!!!
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Munich Airport: Written at 7am, Wednesday 19 April
It was a long flight from Hong Kong to Munich, and Lufthansa squashes you in rather. But Ben & I both slept pretty well. Dark all the way; the satellite imagery on our little screens tempting me with visions of what was passing beneath us; mainland China, icy steepes of central Russia, German forests & rivers.
The worst thing was getting to the plane, boarding at 11pm after a very long full exciting day. We went back to the little noodle house and was well restored with broth, rice, spinach & ginger beef. Yum. That helped, but we were both shattered. I had a sore throat, Ben’s eyes were stinging.
It had been such a full, confronting day. Hong Kong is an incessant bombardment. We did pretty well in a day, seeing a wide variety of aspects of Hong Kong, from the back alleys to the new high-rises, from the old ferry to the mega malls. We saw some trees & flowers & birds at the park
It was a long flight from Hong Kong to Munich, and Lufthansa squashes you in rather. But Ben & I both slept pretty well. Dark all the way; the satellite imagery on our little screens tempting me with visions of what was passing beneath us; mainland China, icy steepes of central Russia, German forests & rivers.
The worst thing was getting to the plane, boarding at 11pm after a very long full exciting day. We went back to the little noodle house and was well restored with broth, rice, spinach & ginger beef. Yum. That helped, but we were both shattered. I had a sore throat, Ben’s eyes were stinging.
It had been such a full, confronting day. Hong Kong is an incessant bombardment. We did pretty well in a day, seeing a wide variety of aspects of Hong Kong, from the back alleys to the new high-rises, from the old ferry to the mega malls. We saw some trees & flowers & birds at the park
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Never a dull moment travelling with Ben ... you see him looking upward everywhere he goes, assessing the feasibility of climbing things, flipping himself, jumping over gaps, or simply longing to fly off over impossible spaces!
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Hong Kong
Written in the lounge of iClub Wan Chai, Hong Kong, Tuesday 18 April, 7am, after giving up on my longing for more sleep, Ben doing far better at that than me. Our 24-hour Hong Kong adventure began with arriving, on time, off our Cathay Pacific flight, at 9.15pm Hong Kong time, which was 1am Tuesday NZ time. The 12 hours on the plane hadn’t been too bad, tho Ben couldn’t figure out how to sleep sitting up. We were doing great until I discovered that my reading glasses case was empty. Not so helpful for filling out immigration forms. So after a couple of loops around various information & lost property counters we managed to waste an hour, still no glasses, too bad never mind. Hong Kong airport is an engineering phenomenon, all high vaulted white concrete and swishing trains, built 20 years ago on an artificial island, and now (thanks Wikipedia) the world’s biggest cargo airport. The train swooshed us into Hong Kong central, without answering my question of how it goes underneath the water without seeming to drop down much below sea level. I’d booked a hotel in Wan Chai, an old district on Hong Kong island. I’d mapped out, at home, that a good way to get there would be to swap to the city train line for 2 stations, and the nice man at the train ticket desk at the airport told me that yes I could buy a ticket with my card. Yeah right. Not so. Cash required. So back we went up the lift in the airport train station, found an ATM machine, my Cash Passport card worked yay, back down the lift, only to find that the smallest note the ticket vendor machine took was $20. The smallest note the ATM machine gave was $100. Right. So Ben was super brave, went back up the lift in search of someone who would give him change, back down the lift, and yippee! – 2 train tickets. There were staff everywhere in the airport train station, but down in the deeper underground metro it is all fully automated, which is fine if you know what to do but somewhat challenging when you’re quite new and quite sleepy, and in Ben’s case, seriously HUNGRY! All the shops and cafes in the wide white tunnels of the Hong Kong metro system are shut at midnight. What a relief to emerge into actual air on an actual street, to find we were actually on the right street with just a couple of blocks to walk to our hotel (Am I good or what!!), and there, just before Ben quite collapsed with starvation, was a perfect tiny ancient noodle house, packed with people & amazing smells, at midnight, and a very nice man squeezed us into a tiny table, served us delicious soup & milk tea & pork noodles. We’ll go back today to try the beef which bubbles indefinitely in the window, and looks soft, pale and scrumptious. Our hotel room is on the 12th floor, looking out on Hong Kong’s unique mix of buildings mind-bogglingly tall and thin, shiny, colourful or utterly dilapidated, squeezed on the narrow strip of flat land between steep green hill and sea … and all of it squeezed historically between East and West, this little piece of English land for 100 years, this hinge of Empire, this gateway of trade, portal of vast sums of money. Ours to explore for one day. Awesome sushi counter at the supermarket!
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