Bored in Macao
A couple of hours after I started writing I came to the conclusion that two weeks on the road can be a lot to relate. Hell, I was only on day two. Hence, we’ll stick to a few observations and leave the rest for another time.
My driver dropped me off at domestic departures, neither one of us remembering that China still considers Hong Kong to be an international destination. I dragged my bags a hundred yards through a cold, biting wind, wearing only a light sweater. The trip was not starting on a high note.
I stepped up to customs and declared that I was carrying excess cash (more than 20,000 yuan, or about $2,500). I was fully prepared, having been told that you simply need to show documentation proving that you brought the money into China and didn’t earn it there. I showed my bank books and wire transfer receipts and was promptly informed in polite bureaucratic language that I am an idiot. I get that a lot.
I had an illegal excess of about $1,000 on me and started visualizing several nasty possibilities. Would they seize it? Would they do a cavity search to find more? Would I have to miss my flight and go back home to the leave the balance? I started panicking about the system again, and I hadn’t done that in months. Once again it proved unfounded. He apparently decided that I was truly a moron to have the cash and then declare it. I wasn’t worth the prison space, so he said go ahead, just don’t do it again.
When I should have departed quickly departed, I stood there slack-jawed and asked for clarification. I just couldn’t believe it. I gave him plenty of time to change his mind and I think he would have if I hadn’t listened to him the third time he told me to go. I’m still a little stunned that they simply let me leave the country with the cash, especially since I had put it in writing.
My mind was quickly absorbed in all of the little details of travel: passport control, ticketing, boring three hour flight, thirty minute train ride, transferring to a shuttle bus, locating which of dozens of ferries would leave for Macao anytime soon, a one hour ferry ride, booking a hotel room at the terminal, finding a taxi and then waiting while the driver asked at other hotels where my hotel was. All in all, nine hours after leaving home I collapsed on my Macao bed.
After dinner, I was ready to explore. Ten minutes later, I was hopelessly lost. I hadn’t bothered to look at landmarks and none of the locals recognized the English name of my hotel, and I had overlooked my own rule – always grab a business card everywhere you go. You may end up with a wallet full of cards, but you can always give the card to your driver in lieu of verbal communication.
My only hope was to keep wandering until I recognized something. Macao is very much like San Francisco; older buildings, hilly, and many narrow, winding, one-way streets. You can see a building a block away and never figure out how to get there. At one point I stood on a high precipice outside a museum and overlooked the ruins of an 18th century cathedral to the west. I left the museum headed south and before I knew it, entered a little square facing the north side of the cathedral. I still have no idea how that happened. I couldn’t even recreate it when I tried, and I have a fairly good sense of direction.
I was also surprised when I found my hotel that first night. I had almost been to the point of getting a room somewhere else and resuming the search in the morning. I was exhausted, but found enough stamina to handle a couple of drinks in the lobby before heading to my room.
Travel always wears me out and I wasn’t surprised when I awoke at 10:30 the next morning. I grabbed my notes and headed for the historic square in the center of town. It was very attractive in an old European-style, most of the buildings now home to shops and eateries. I got my Starbucks fix and passed on the Egg McMuffin. If you can’t live without these two establishments or a KFC, don’t worry. I’m convinced that in any city of the world, you’re only a few blocks away from one or all of them. Personally, I've gotten to where I can't stand them and avoid them all except for when there are no other caffeine alternatives.
Even though I went through several casinos, my gambling choices were limited to a few blackjack tables or several hundred baccarat tables. Asians love baccarat. I don’t have a clue as to how it’s played, so I limited my losses by playing a few hands of blackjack.
I’d been seeing all sorts of promotions for the seafood restaurant in my hotel, so I decided to give its award-winning chef a chance to impress me. Although his seafood dishes certainly sounded unique (polite term for disgusting), a wide variety of other dishes were available. I briefly considered pigeon with abalone, ox brisket, chicken rice with a side of white rice, and a dish called chlorophyll of vegetables, I decided on a steak. Other menu choices in Macao included oxtail soup, ox tongue, ox sinew, German pork knuckle and borscht.
I’m still working on the chicken/egg question regarding the poor quality of steak in China. Is it so bad because no one likes it and it’s not worth the trouble to do right? Or is it that because no one does a good steak that it’s rarely asked for and, therefore, rarely offered? I’m not sure, but in this case my expensive steak from an award-winning chef was of greasy diner quality. I think his awards came from his mother.
I decided to try a few more casinos and walked to the strip of newer additions, which includes The Sands and Wynn casinos. More are under construction, but so far the American influence is minimal. Granted, the casinos and the gaming rooms are much bigger and nicer, but there are some quirks. Service levels are atrocious. Whereas in Las Vegas you are constantly offered a drink, I was continually forced to ask a floor man to find a waitress, who would then offer me a choice of fruit juices or hot tea. I’m sorry, but if I’m going to lose money playing games I don’t like you should at least have the courtesy to give me a good buzz.
Another difference is that in Las Vegas it’s often difficult to find the hotel lobby within the casino. In Macao finding the casino is the challenge. In my hotel, the casino was located in the basement and on the sixth floor, with almost no signage in the lobby. In one hotel I followed signs for the casino to a few dead ends and gave up after fifteen minutes.
Entertainment is not quite up to par with Vegas either. As a matter of fact, it may not threaten many Indian casinos. One large stage simply showed a video while a woman sang karaoke to the side. However, the lobby did have three Filipino guys strumming their guitars and singing Righteous Brothers tunes. The Sands offered a couple of bad cover bands and, at one point simply had four women dancing poorly to “Sweet Dreams” from The Eurhythmics. I guess the appeal was that they were Caucasian.
The next day I slipped back into my normal habit of rising at 6am and headed out to look for breakfast, never expecting it to be a challenge. I discovered that the 24 hour restaurant in my hotel opened at 7am. It was like the old Steven Wright joke – yeah we’re open 24 hours, but not in a row! I mumbled my way out onto the street and began searching.
Something had changed overnight. I could still buy a Rolex from five shops on every block, even at 6am: those guys know what 24 hours means. (I may have seen more Rolexes in Macao than the company has ever made!) However, everything else was closed. The only other business being conducted was the world’s oldest. For reasons that escape me, 6am is prime time for prostitutes to be walking the streets. I could get a watch or a roll in the hay but a cup of coffee was a ridiculous request. Even Starbucks opens at 8am.
Although Macao is a great place to wander through town, take a few pictures and visit a couple of museums, unless you play baccarat it’s probably only worth a couple of days. Since I was booked for three, I used one to walk across the border to Zhuhai. At least there I was able to talk with the bartenders. You can eat pretty well in Macao; asian, western and fusion dishes. I liked the pigeon with abalone and had some great paella as well as some fantastic breads. It seems like there are at least two bakeries on almost every block. The weather was great. I was like a Canadian in Phoenix or Florida. All of the locals were wearing coats and sweaters and I was walking around in shorts and a t-shirt. All-in-all, next time I’ll stick to Hong Kong.
Next up: The beaches of Hainan and how to watch the Super Bowl in style.
