I always prefer walking or jogging outside to the confines of a workout room. In Hong Kong my favorite time to exercise is just as the sun is coming up. It’s early September and the air is very warm, still, thick with moisture, an instant coating on the skin as I leave the air conditioning of the hotel. Sunrises here are topical and lush but with a hushed softness: silver and lavender and peach making the harbor look like a pastel drawing. Skyscrapers are futuristic spires, hawks soaring between them. Hong Kong is a city of such contrasts, and one reason I love it so much.
It’s quiet as I cross the street to the walkway that follows the harbor. The elderly have beat me out here–men and women, some quite ancient, doing their odd, rhythmic exercises down by the water. I want to take a photo of each one. Each person is their own story.
The smells as I walk along are not pleasant. Whiffs of decay–fish? Dead bodies? Salt and seaweed?–come and go, but the views make it worth it. This is one of the busiest harbors in the world–or was; it’s certainly one of the most famous, but this time of day it’s peaceful. Only a few tiny fishing boats, an anchored cruise ship, a billionaire’s yacht, and a coast guard cutter slice silently across the glassy water. It’s Sunday morning and the old ferries that ceaselessly carry crowds between Kowloon and Hong Kong Island haven’t started.
A movement on the chunks of cement at the bottom on huge pilings catches my eye. I glimpse the trailing edge of a huge white rat and its thick pink tail before it disappears between the rocks. I have never seen a rat this large. No exaggeration, it’s bigger than my cat. Seconds later, a woman is heading toward me, her two little dogs tip-tapping along at her feet, unleashed, their little pink tongues lolling. They are smaller than the rat. I decide not to warn. They’ve done this before, I’m sure.
I keep going, past a cluster of waterside food vendors, the store-fronts still closed with metal shutters. Up on one service counter, his back to me, a man sleeps where later bowls of noodles and soft drinks will be served. I marvel at (1) how he does this without rolling off, and (2) he must be either very thin or short to be able to fit there. He does not become rat food…this night.
A pair of westerners jog by in designer gear. Tourists, they look out of place. Then again, I probably do, too, even though I don’t feel it. I’ve been coming here on and off since 1989, before the city was even returned to the Chinese.
I reach the end of my circuit and reverse course. The sun is higher. It’s getting hot. The first ferry of the day chugs away from the pier belching black smoke. The elderly still exercise, each in a trance of movement. The sleeping man is now gone. And down where I saw the rat, a woman kneels, an empty can of cat food on the sidewalk next to her as she slides food on a piece of paper under the chain link fence. I’ve seen people feed pigeons and squirrels, but never rats. Now at least I know why they grew so big.
