BY ROGER WATSON
One of my favourite places to stay in Hong Kong is ‘The Y”. This is the YMCA Hotel in Tsim Tsa Tsui on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong harbour. Sitting next to the unaffordable (for me!) Peninsula it offers the same views and the same convenience as its more prestigious neighbour but at less than half the price.
Before you have images of The Village People and a dingy hall with snooker tables, let me disabuse you. The Y is a 4-star hotel with superb rooms and suites, a swimming pool, an indoor climbing wall and good restaurants. It also has one of the most impressive foyers of any hotel in Hong Kong.
The Y is one of several hotels run by youth organisations and charities. The hotel trade in Hong Kong is lucrative and even the Boy Scout movement is in on the act with the Baden Powell Hotel.
Proof of the popularity of The Y is the sheer difficulty of getting one of its hundreds of rooms. But when you do, you realise why it is so popular. If you are lucky enough to get a harbour view at a high enough level the permanent light show from the Hong Kong Island buildings is breathtaking and this is a superb place from which to watch the seven o’clock evening laser light show.
Even when I am not staying in The Y I always visit. It is a great place for brunch, it offers a pleasant, air-conditioned conduit between Peking Road and the waterfront and, at times when my work in the Far East had detained me for several weeks, it is a good place to get a haircut. I have had many haircuts there, but it is my first haircut there that was the most memorable.
My locks have not been flowing for many years and a short spell on active service with the British Army in the Middle East convinced me of the many benefits of keeping my hair under close-cropped control. I hate to feel it on my collar or to see it creeping round the side of my head when I look in the mirror. If it is not dry by the time I have stepped out of the shower, then I know it’s time to seek professional help.
I was staying in The Y and had passed the hairdressing salon several times. It did say on a sign on the door that appointments were possible but not always necessary. Most of the time I passed by it was busy, but I returned to the hotel one day and, entering by the waterfront door where the salon is located, I saw that it was empty and took my chances.
A small Chinese lady with little English, in a smock, was sweeping up hair from the previous customer and I asked if it was possible for me to have a haircut. She looked around, I presumed to indicate that the place was empty, and gestured for me to sit down on the chair in front of the large mirror.
By a series of gestures and using my fingers to indicate ‘number 2’ I showed the lady what kind of cut I wanted, and she proceeded to trim my hair. She made a beautiful job and I asked how much it was going to cost. ‘One hunded dolla’ she told me (about ten pounds sterling) and I paid her with a one hundred Hong Kong dollar note which she put into her pocket and then started sweeping up my hair from the floor.
A few months later I was back in Hong Kong and in need of a haircut. I was not staying at The Y but I made the journey there from my hotel off Nathan Road and, to my delight, the hairdressing salon was empty. There was the same Chinese lady who had cut my hair, leaning on her brush, and a Chinese gentleman in a smock, but one much superior to that worn by the lady. He indicated that I should sit down, and proceeded, speaking to me now and then, to cut my hair.
When it came to paying, I forked a hundred dollar note out of my wallet and handed it to him, but he indicated that the cost was one hundred and ten dollars. So I fished out a ten dollar note, assuming that the prices had been raised, and tried to hand him the money. He put his hands up shook his head and told me ‘no, no, we don’t handle the money.’ He wrote me a bill to take to the YMCA bookshop opposite where I was supposed to pay.
I stole a glance at the very sheepish Chinese lady, quietly sweeping up my hair and trying not to make eye contact with me. I had to make a quick exit and to this day the people at the till in the bookshop will wonder why that crazy old gweilo was laughing so hysterically.
Roger Watson is a Registered Nurse and Editor-in-Chief of Nurse Education in Practice.