The Odd Voyage to Yuen Long

(dedicated to the best storyteller I know: My grandpa Jerry Lobb)

Yuen Long is a long way away.

There, I said it.

To put things in perspective, my lady and I had to take a bus deep into the heart of the city, stopping every minute or so until we rolled into an underwater tunnel, popped back on land, rode along a container port harbor until we reached another long tunnel through a mountain. Then,out through the tunnel,down stretches of freeway along mountains, trees, mountains,little villages,did I mention mountains?, and finally, finally:We reached Yuen Long on that sunny day in June.

And friends, it was all worth it, because we were damned if we didn’t take that long bus ride to Yuen Long.

We were out on an adventure.

Out on a quest,if you will, to a wetlands area called Nam Sang Wai. Now, Nam Sang Wai is certainly closer to Yuen Long than where we live out on Hong Kong Island, but it still wasn't close.

All according to our nifty digital map of course.

That day we braved the heat and began our trek, down a little bike path, passing more village communities further and further from the Yuen Long town-centre. And the further and further we got from Yuen Long, the more we basked in a quiet. We walked slowly in a quiet of country road peace impossible to achieve in our daily neck of the concrete jungle.

Yes, friends, there were long stretches of grassy fields, eucalyptus groves, and a muddy canal full of aquatic fowl and other critters. There were mudskippers flopping and puffing their chests out, crabs dueling one another, and me and my lady-some odd critters-walking on past all of this, soaking in the nature. But soon we came to the realization we had been walking for quite some time. An hour passed. Two hours. Still no wetlands.

And although the day grew thin, the sun was turning up the heat! Boy, we were dripping in sweat, and yours truly was starting to redden like a ripe tomato (despite the multiple layers of sunscreen I had been applying).

Well, we noticed this trend. We,a long way from Yuen Long. Not many fellow walkers. There were people,sure. But they were families in minivans, driving in air conditioning up to the eucalyptus groves. Or bike riding folks, speeding down the road. We, bikeless, minivanless,air-conditioningless,wondered if continuing to the wetlands on foot was going to be in the cards for us.

So, we veered off the road and escaped to the sanctuary of the shady grove. There we walked a while till an old gal in a rice paddy hat called out her wares in sing-song: herbal tea and Sports drinks. Her sing-song call hearkening back to a by-gone era. Lost to our generation. And her by-gone singing/advertising welcomed us too, to an old approaching village.

Since we had left Yuen Long it had been about three hours, by my impeccable timekeeping, and the sun, unrelenting, kept us in the grove, dragging sport-shoes towards the village.

And this was a bona fide village! Half the homes were abandoned, derelict, crumbling into a brown pea soup pond that served as the front yard of many of these village shacks.

We continued into the village, down a slim plank that served as a street there, maybe a hair wider than a balance beam. But we kept trekking, along the homes, along the marshy pond, which seemed to stretch far beyond this little village’s borders.

We continued on the plank until a village shack marked its end.

Nailed on the side of the shack was a sign:

“Boat to Yuen Long.”

Yuen Long?

I couldn’t believe my eyes. A boat ride along these village waters all the way back to Yuen Long?

We asked a man in a tank top sitting outside where the boat went.

“Yuen Long,” is all he said.

“How much?” I asked.

“7 dollars per person.”

“7 bucks?!”

That was all it cost for a village pond boat ride back to long off Yuen Long?!

Hell, I'd be a fool not to take that deal!

We were ready to call it a day, so we paid the man and vowed to get to the wetlands another time.

We tread lightly to a little wooden boat manned by a tan shirtless man with a pot belly.

I paid him fourteen dollars Hong Kong and after situating ourselves on the edges of that little boat he began to row.

I stared out as far as the brown pond rippled, looking forward to our voyage back to Yuen Long.

Three hours we had been out already!

Now, that pot bellied boatman rowed once,twice,three times, four times I reckoned, until the boat came to a halt.

I looked to my lady in confusion.

“Where are we going?”

The man gestured to the shore.

“Sir,where is this?” asked my Lady.

“Yuen Long,” is all he said.

My mouth would have dropped to the floor had I been a cartoon character.

We disembarked the wobbly old canoe and after another four strokes he returned whence he came.

“That fast?” I asked my lady.

We followed another hand-drawn sign pointing us towards our eponymous town,which took us to a minibus station.

From there, a minibus took us another few minutes until we arrived back to where he had begun our journey three hours before!

Well, I suppose the lesson of this story is there are always shortcuts in life, but digital maps from Silicon Valley tech companies rarely are the ones to assist you in that regard.

Instead it takes a bit of personal experience to figure them out.

Or maybe a pot-bellied boatman will take you on a four stroke canoe voyage to find those shortcuts for ya.