Aftermath of the Year of the Rabbit's Arrival
By Jay Scott Kanes
LAMMA ISLAND, Hong Kong -- Kung Hei Fat Choy! Does indulging in Chinese New Year's Eve festivities still look like such a great idea when enduring hangovers the next day? I doubt it, but others may disagree.
When the Chinese Year of the Rabbit officially hopped into Yung Shue Wan, Lamma Island's largest village, I'd already been sleeping, snug in my bed, for more than an hour. Then the blasts of firecrackers and shouts of revelry from outside jolted me awake.
Knowing the impossibility of returning to dreamland (for a few minutes at least), I wandered downstairs to watch televised coverage of the New Year's Eve activities in more populous parts of Hong Kong. Once on the sofa, I also needed to reassure and comfort my dog. She dislikes firecrackers and trembles at the sounds. Who could blame her? No one enjoys the notion that maybe a guns-blazing, fight-to-the-finish war has erupted.
Eventually, the last Main Street partiers staggered home. Once morning had dawned, the dog and I strolled through the blissfully-quiet (at last) village.
Bits of red paper, remnants of firecrackers, fluttered underfoot, in places completely covering the pavement. Stone lions guarding the Tin Hau Temple were encircled by the stuff.
Red envelopes, earlier holding precious lai see (money), had been torn open and left to litter the streets. “That won't help the environment,” I muttered.
In front of a popular restaurant, bottles and bowls remained on tables surrounded by empty chairs. Uneaten food, no longer looking so delicious, filled some dishes. The scene, with everything still in place except the people, suggested that maybe a high-tech explosion had vaporized the party-minded diners.
Nearby the usually bustling Sampan Seafood Restaurant stood shuttered and silent, its tables oddly empty. Without clusters of people, it looked like an entirely different place.
Red posters showing amorous-looking rabbits appeared on the closed shutters of shops and eateries. Most indicated when the proprietors planned to reopen after the New Year holidays.
Along the nearly empty ferry pier, Chinese lanterns waved in the breeze. Colorful flags flapped overhead.
Not even many fellow dog-walkers appeared as I trudged along the Main Street, pointing my camera at everything of interest. Among the few early-risers were some children, dressed in holiday finery, but still ready to play.
Inside the village houses, people surely snored, their heads heavy, nearly impossible to lift off pillows. Before long, they might start to revive (reluctantly) with pounding headaches, fuzzy brains and other hangover symptoms to spoil the first day in the Year of the Rabbit.
“Ha! It serves them right for disturbing my sleep,” I told the dog. She replied by wagging her tail and marching straight through another mound of firecracker debris.
|
