So there I was, in central Hong Kong, about to greedily inhale another mouthful of unbelievably authentic Indian food when the aptness city's marketing tagline 'Asia's World City' hit me in the face like a hidden chilli in chana dahl.
I was sitting in one of the many nameless Indian restaurants in the cramped, light- and air-less labyrinth of small shops that is Kowloon's infamous Chungking Mansions. To get to it I'd fought my way through swarms of touts offering 'Suit, buddy?', 'Money change, buddy?', 'Hostel, buddy?' or 'Indian food, buddy?'. A random Indian guy who wasn't a tout eventually recommended this place. When I eventually found it, I ordered food in Hindi - none of the staff spoke any English. The food came, and may as well have been flown in from Bombay; it was incredible.
But I digress. One table over two enormous Ugandan men were talking with an Indian guy who spoke impeccable, Canadian-accented English. Their table was crammed with all manner of meat and biryani dishes and their conversation was hushed and serious.
Meanwhile, two Swedish guys in matching suits tapped earnestly on the keyboards of their MacBook Pros. They were creating a slide deck. For what purpose, I wasn't sure - there was nowhere near enough room for a projector in this place. They eventually packed their things and marched off in single file.
Around us a United Nations of South Asian and Chinese men scurried about with stacks of goods - among them, an estimated 20% of all the mobile phones to be sold on the African continent in the coming year. People walked by eating doner kebabs, garlic naan, noodles and pizza. The collision of cultures was like nothing I had ever seen before. In a place which I had long regarded as the boring cousin of major Asian hubs.
The Ugandan/Indian table took a break from business talk. The Ugandans switched to French to converse between themselves whilst the Indian guy fielded a heated business call in ... spanish? I frowned, mid bite and promptly bit my cheek. That can't be right. Why would an Indian guy ... speak spanish? I continued to listen surreptitiously. Eventually the Indian guy waved his hands - his fingertips missing the ceiling fan by centimeters - and shouted 'mui importante!' which pretty much settled the issue once and for all.
The morning in Hong Kong yielded two soakings in the rain, one plate of phenomenally good food and one moment of discovery. Not bad for a morning's work.
I was sitting in one of the many nameless Indian restaurants in the cramped, light- and air-less labyrinth of small shops that is Kowloon's infamous Chungking Mansions. To get to it I'd fought my way through swarms of touts offering 'Suit, buddy?', 'Money change, buddy?', 'Hostel, buddy?' or 'Indian food, buddy?'. A random Indian guy who wasn't a tout eventually recommended this place. When I eventually found it, I ordered food in Hindi - none of the staff spoke any English. The food came, and may as well have been flown in from Bombay; it was incredible.
But I digress. One table over two enormous Ugandan men were talking with an Indian guy who spoke impeccable, Canadian-accented English. Their table was crammed with all manner of meat and biryani dishes and their conversation was hushed and serious.
Meanwhile, two Swedish guys in matching suits tapped earnestly on the keyboards of their MacBook Pros. They were creating a slide deck. For what purpose, I wasn't sure - there was nowhere near enough room for a projector in this place. They eventually packed their things and marched off in single file.
Around us a United Nations of South Asian and Chinese men scurried about with stacks of goods - among them, an estimated 20% of all the mobile phones to be sold on the African continent in the coming year. People walked by eating doner kebabs, garlic naan, noodles and pizza. The collision of cultures was like nothing I had ever seen before. In a place which I had long regarded as the boring cousin of major Asian hubs.
The Ugandan/Indian table took a break from business talk. The Ugandans switched to French to converse between themselves whilst the Indian guy fielded a heated business call in ... spanish? I frowned, mid bite and promptly bit my cheek. That can't be right. Why would an Indian guy ... speak spanish? I continued to listen surreptitiously. Eventually the Indian guy waved his hands - his fingertips missing the ceiling fan by centimeters - and shouted 'mui importante!' which pretty much settled the issue once and for all.
The morning in Hong Kong yielded two soakings in the rain, one plate of phenomenally good food and one moment of discovery. Not bad for a morning's work.
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