Hong Kong, November 5-12, 1981

Hong Kong, the New York of Asia – big, busy and bossy.  People of all colours, from all over the world, most of them there to make a dollar – many dollars, in the free-wheeling financial centre within spitting distance of communist China.  

Hong Kong was no longer the bastion of the British Empire, although we saw and heard many horse-faced British women and their homely daughters, trying to keep up the show, and obviously losing.  “That’s lovely dear; how nice!”  And too many overweight Australians with loud boomerang voices: “That’s it mate, over here!”  But these pathetic and/or obnoxious white folk, although likely at the top of the economic ladder, were outnumbered by the multitude of Chinese and East Indian government officials, merchants, trades people, workers, sailors and street people.  While there didn’t seem to be any overt racism, the many signs in many places said it all:

“Beware of pickpockets.”

“No spitting.”

“Don’t put your feet on the toilet.”

We stayed right in the centre of Hong Kong, in what was then an infamous backpacker ‘hotel’ called the Chung King Mansions.  The Chung King is a huge 17 storey building covering several city blocks.  It houses not only a slew of cheap hotels and guest houses, but also restaurants, shops, import-export businesses, shipping services, money-changers, and brothels.  According to Wikipedia, “Chungking Mansions has earned a reputation as a dangerous place rife with crime and disaster.”  It was then, and quite likely still is, also associated with the drug trade.  We were in a ‘guest house’ up on the 11^th or 12^th floor.  It was small place, with maybe 3 or 4 other rooms, and respectable enough.  The rooms themselves were small, but did have their own bathrooms, which was a plus.  And despite the reputation of the place, we did feel safe there.

We did a fair amount of traipsing around the city, including down to the busy busy harbour, where we saw wonderful Chinese junks alongside huge rusty freighters.  We spent an inordinate amount of time in the huge Chinese Yue Hwa department store admiring beautiful silks and silk clothes, fine china and ceramics, and precious gems like opal, jade, and diamonds, as well as incredibly fine and detailed ivory carvings.  I loved looking at the wonderful inks, paints, specialty papers and bamboo paint brushes, as well as the ancient – and modern – artistry displayed on scrolls and screens.  Such talent!  And then of course there were the mountains of plastic kids’ toys and cheap knick-knacks like wind-up toys and bamboo back-scratchers that can be found in Chinese stores in North America.  

Within a few days of our arrival in Hong Kong we managed to get an appointment with an English speaking – actually British – doctor.  As it happened, the appointment was on November the 10^th, my 31^st birthday.  The doctor was very business like and ran through the usual sorts of questions about my health and my ‘current complaint.’  She then asked if I could ‘spend a penny.’  ‘Spend a penny?’  I had no idea what she was talking about, and I guess my confusion was apparent, as she was quick to elucidate: ‘Can you provide a urine sample?’  Ah, right.  I don’t recall whether she took a blood sample, but I think not.  In any event, the visit ended with the spent penny, and I went back to our room in the Chung King Mansions, having been advised that the doctor would ‘be in touch.’

For whatever reasons I had been feeling easily tired since we started out on our trip, so I was resting in our room when our hotel manageress knocked on our door.  ‘Missy, missy, telephone.  For you.’  The phone was in the ‘lobby’ of the guest house.  It was a wall phone, and the phone was dangling from its cord.  I remember it being green, but so were the walls, so I may be mistaken.  I picked it up and said hello.  A voice that I recognized as the doctor’s said:  “Is this Mrs. Atkins?”  I said “yes.”  She said: “It is Mrs. Atkins isn’t it?” with a distinct emphasis on the Missus.  I said “yes” again.  To which she replied: “Oh well then, congratulations, you’re preggers!”  

Preggers?  PREGGERS?  I screamed, dropped the phone like it was hot, leaving it dangling again at the end of its cord.  I hurried back into our room, escaping the bewildered look of our manageress, shut the door and climbed back into bed, where I spent the next hour or more crying piteously.  This was definitely not in the plan.  The plan was to travel for two years around the world.  Here we’d been gone only two weeks and I was pregnant?  I felt like I had ruined everything, and worried that D would not be just disappointed, but devastated.  How would he react to this news?  And where was he?  

I was still crying when D got back, and didn’t wait even for him to sit down before sharing the bad news with him.  “I’m pregnant!”  I will never forget his response: “That’s wonderful!”  He wasn’t just happy; he was ecstatic.  Ecstatic.  And he’d been out shopping for a birthday present for me: a pair of gorgeous fire opal earrings.  Although I didn’t know it then, fire opals are known as a stone of creativity.  They promote joy, serenity and enthusiasm for life.  What a perfect gift from a yet-to-be-aware-of-it father.  

So as it turns out, his ‘little lie’ to the airline agent in Tai Pei, saying we had to get an immediate flight to Hong Kong because ‘my wife is pregnant and needs to see a doctor,’ was not a lie at all, but a moment of prescience.  Or maybe he knew before I knew…  

Which makes me think about a sign in the window of a women’s tailor shop in Hong Kong: “Welcome Inquiries About Guess Making.”

 

For more about the amazing Chung King Mansions try starting with:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chungking_Mansions