One of the first things I noticed about Hong Kong, on my first day riding the MTR and getting acquainted with the city, was the way every stop opened up into a mall. Example: at Kowloon Tong, where I usually switch between the KCR and the MTR, there is a celebrated center called Festival Walk. Its logo is an enormous red ribbon, twined around its name, a gift to all suburban Hongkongers. Up a short escalator from the trains, and in fact between the KCR and MTR stations, are no less than seven stories of stores, natural light glittering on no less than five (and maybe more) different sets of silver escalators carrying people up and down. Welcoming all MTR passengers as they first enter is a grocery store called TASTE, whose produce aisle is (unlike the more urban foodstores here) respectably sized and whose dairy aisle sports six types of tofu. Bypass Taste (although I do my grocery shopping there); do not be intimidated by Anna Sui, Vuitton, and Prada on the lower levels; simply begin your ascent to the top. Pass the shoe level, keep up. Pass the make-up level, keep up. Pass the full size skating rink, full to the brim with children in winter coats, and the Kentucky Fried Chicken tables that overlook it. The food court, called “Food Fest,” offers Thai, Japanese, Cantonese food. At all hours it is lively, and open til 11. On Sunday I got a high-quality haircut at Festival Walk; ate sushi off a conveyor belt at Hollywood Plaza and took the bus from its bottom level; recharged my SIM card at Citylink; had a bubble tea in Windsor House. Though it may seem to some of you that I make it a pastime to defend ugly horrible soulless suburban things, there has always been little love lost between me and Mall as a theoretical object. Yet all over the city, I lived my Sunday in malls—and, after four weeks, barely noticed until I sat to tally for this entry.

¶ 4:19 PM