Last Thursday I went to the Dragon Boat Races in Stanley. Legend has it that a Chinese poet, Qu Yuan, banished from the kingdom more than 2,000 years ago, committed suicide by drowning, and the local people, who loved him, paddled boats out into the water scattering steamed rice dumplings to scare away the fish and keep them from dining on their poet.
There were no suicidal poets in attendance this year, just thousands of Hong Kongers, Chinese and expat, out for a day at the races.
I rode the scary bus to Stanley, thus named because it is a) a double decker, which shouldn’t be driven around Piccadilly too fast, let alone down Hong Kong’s narrow mountain roads, and b) there’s a point at the top of the mountain pass, looking down the rollercoasterlike drop ahead, where all passengers are compelled to raise their arms and scream with terrified glee. Luckily most don’t, or it truly would be a scary ride.
Being on my own I had the advantage of being able to snatch one of the empty front seats upstairs, which had been staked out by two Western men, Jonny From the Block and Canuck DJ. As is nearly always the case on such a jovial festival day, everyone was talking to everyone, and by the time we arrived at Stanley beach, I’d been invited out to their party junk.
Not one to pass up an invitation, especially one so kindly extended, I jumped at the chance to see the races from the water instead of craning my neck from the beach. After wading through the water to the ferry dock through the warm, happily not shark-infested waters, we eventually made it to the ferry, and out to the junk. The dance music was thumping, in what was possibly another ritual to keep the fish away from the poet, and the beer flowing.
(I know this photo is small, but as I didn't specifically ask permission to post the photo on the blog, to protect the innocent, and in case there are any Prime Minister's daughters or philandering Presidents aboard, I thought it best to obscure faces. But yes, that is a giant blow up Corona bottle.)
The races are exciting. At the front of the 20 rower boat (though only 12 on this day because it was so choppy) is a drummer in place of the cox. So the races are accompanied by a slow, deep rhythmic drumming that sounds in the chest. There are men’s races, women’s races and mixed races. Most athletes aren’t too serious about the event, as is often evident by their teamwear. In one boat a dozen pandas paddled to glory while in another, the athletes wore head to toe hot pink spandex with sparkly cowboy hats. As you’d expect, the boys on the team looked slightly uncomfortable.
It was a splendid day and I went home happy and full of beer. Thank you Jonny From the Block and Canuck DJ, for your hospitality.