On Sunday, having boarded a bus the stops of which I vaguely recognized, I perched at the front of the air conditioned top level and watched the Hong Kong landscape unfold. From Diamond Hill in Kowloon, over to the eastern end of Hong Kong island and through Causeway Bay on to Aberdeen tunnel and finally, out the bridge to Ap Lei Chau. Here, my guidebook proclaimed, was a fascinating shipyard with all sorts of traditional crafts to observe. My bus went through various twists and turns, passing housing complexes and shopping centers before finally reaching the southern end of the island. Spread below me, no shipyard but a wide industrial street lined with warehouses, which oversaw the rocky coast and the green island of Lamma with its two infamous smoke stacks. The bus stopped, we were at the end of the line, and I stepped down to the empty sidewalk. The bus driver came over and with studied precision asked if he could help me. I had six minutes, said he, until the bus left again. The open street, lit with subtle sunlight, invited me to investigate, and I walked to the left, a concrete wall, graffiti scrawled; standing on my tip toes, I could just see over to the blue, blue water and dramatic coastline, quietly watching over the slow container ships as they traveled the channel. Beside me, an old woman sat in her lawn chair in front of the sea water-treatment building. I motioned to the building’s side, and she nodded, smiling. When I walked past her, to the water, I found a drop-off of concrete, with no railing, just steps leading down into the water and a complex maze of chain-link fences sheltering the mysterious treatment facilities. The bus had stopped at the end of the line, the end of the island, and I felt a little at the end of the world. When my six minutes were up, mysteriously, several people had appeared at the bus stop and got on board wordlessly with me, heading back towards the activity and the crowds. The woman remained in her lawn chair, watching us go.

¶ 4:22 PM