KEY POINTS:
Excuse me, missy," she says. I can feel her breath on the back of my left shoulder. "Missy?"
She's a Hong Kong shop assistant. I'm her victim.
She's been following me around this boutique for the 90 seconds I've been in here, so close we're practically touching. Every
time I stop to touch a garment on the rack, she lunges in front to show me its features, helpfully pointing out the buttons, the label, the fabric. I'm trying my best to be coolly polite. I just want her to leave me alone - or at least step back a few centimetres.
"How long you here?" she says. Three days, I reply - I'm just about to leave for Vietnam, which is why I'm trying to kill time in a boutique at Hong Kong airport.
I don't add, although I feel like it, that after 72 glorious hours here, I've decided the only downside of Hong Kong is the shop assistants. They seem to be half-woman, half-Velcro; permanently adhered to the side of any Westerner who enters the stores.
"Ah," she says, looking me up and down. "You dye your hair." She smirks.
I give what I think is my best withering smile and continue pretending to be interested in the bespangled cardigan I'm holding until enough time has passed to allow a dignified exit.
Strictly, she's right. My hair is dyed - although I would really prefer to think of it as "highlighted". It's naturally a dingy shade of mouse and I'm happy to confess I get it lightened. But like so many women I've met in my years wandering through Asia, this young lady doesn't feel shy at all about openly demanding whether whether my tresses are truly golden.
Not all my Oriental inquisitors have been quite so bossy as this young lady or quite so creepily triumphant when I confirm that I've had a few visits from the peroxide fairy.
But then, there's nothing shy about Hong Kong - and the locals have an unashamed fascination for everything Western.
"British Dry Cleaners" declares a hoarding at the base of Victoria Peak, the green-black mountain that looms over the island. Outside the Jam Hong Diesel Injection Service on Shantung Road, someone is eating crumpets.
It's a lovely surprise; I had expected in post-handover Hong Kong, the traces of Englishness might have been wiped under a special Beijing-led cleansing campaign. But despite the fact they're now officially part of China, the locals here seem as proud as possible of their colonial heritage.
They just don't seem to bother cringing about their history; unlike so many of the world's ex-British subjects, the Honkers and Honkettes embrace the remnants of the Empire with a natural confidence, absorbing the bits they like and forgetting the rest.
Outside the poshest hotels, beautiful things step out of Rolls Royces and clatter inside on their strappy sandals to engage in the afternoon ritual of high tea; executed with 10 times the glamour and enthusiasm of the Ritz in London.
In the lobby of the Peninsula Hotel, on the tip of Kowloon, my mother and I are sitting at a little square table, deciding what to start with: the crustless cucumber sandwiches? The dark chocolate and kaffir lime truffles? On a balcony above us, there's a string quartet playing something by Handel.
We've decided to explore the afternoon tea tradition as a little insight into the east-west nature of this fascinating port. Hong Kong has always been the Englishman's Oriental rose, perched rosy-cheeked on the knee of empire. Today, she's a little more proud of her eastern heritage, but still taking a kitsch delight in those colonial twinges. While Mum is rhapsodising over the lychee tea, I take advantage of her distraction and get started on the tiramisu, dipping my spoon into the top layer of mascarpone, which is the palest of pale green.
There's a teapot on our table, silver and gleaming despite the batter-marks of years of use. I desperately want it. It's the apex of teapotness; large, solid, dripless. I'm overcome by an immediate impulse to stuff it inside my shirt. But just as fast, I'm restrained by a wave of common sense; even if the hotel security staff didn't drag me off to the Tsim Sha Tsui police station, I'd surely get a burnt tummy from the hot silver. (I'm ashamed to admit, upon reflection, that my thought process in those seconds was completely undisturbed by the moral point, that it is undoubtedly wrong to steal teapots, even if they are really shiny.)
This is my first visit to First World Asia. I've spent a lot of time in the developing and dumpy parts of the region, which has always been enormous fun - but no matter how "authentic" a time I've been having in India or Borneo, I've always dreamt of experiencing the non-dusty, ungrubby parts of Asia; places that combine Eastern exoticism with paved roads and toilets that flush. And it doesn't get much Firster than Hong Kong.
Prosperity is like a religion here. Actually it is a religion - witness the obsessive care with which the locals will eat, cook and worship anything that might impart luck. "For a special occasion," says passionate amateur cook Teresa Poon, "we'll make a nine-course banquet because the Cantonese word for 'nine' sounds like the word for 'long-lasting'. One of the courses is always deep-fried tofu, because it's the same colour as gold."
Poon, whose fingernails glitter with painted spangles, is a dainty person obsessed by food. Like all Honkettes, she seems to spend all day either thinking about, talking about, preparing or eating elaborate delicacies. Her personal record is preparing a 22-person banquet at home and she'll often spend two entire days in the kitchen, making a family feast for a big festival.
We're chatting over another of Hong Kong's afternoon tea spectaculars, at the Langham Place hotel in Mongkok, where Poon is director of sales. Served in a Chinese-style dark wood jewel box, this take on high tea is an array of glorious east-west delicacies including ginger creme brulee and spice-laden fruit tartlets, topped with delicate oriental fruits.
Poon takes the tiniest bite of a baked egg custard tart; another of the island's colonial food relics. A distant relative of the English custard tart, these are made with lard-laced flaky pastry instead of the traditional English shortcrust. Often, the custard is given an eastern zing with the addition of flavours like ginger, green tea and honey. But lard is the secret ingredient that makes so much of Hong Kong's Hakka food so delicious, says the hotel's chef, CK Tsang.
It's another cultural throwback, says Tsang, but this time to another group of "invaders", the northern Hakka Chinese who migrated to this southeastern coast in centuries past. Their strong flavours and love for lard persist in today's Hakka cuisine, which has become characteristically Hong Kong in dishes like red-roasted pork and duck. The Hakka also love elaborate methods; Tsang's first attempt, he says, took three days. "It was deep-fried pork intestines with sweet and sour sauce.
"You clean the intestines thoroughly, then marinate them with salt, pepper and herbs and leave them to air-dry, then add some food colouring and deep-fry them. Lots of work."
It is worthwhile; the dish is rich in Hong Kong's heritage, and its colour, a burnished golden red, is redolent with good fortune. In Hong Kong, the combination is a guaranteed winner.
GETTING THERE
Cathay Pacific has a special return economy-class fare from Auckland to Hong Kong of $1569, including all taxes and fuel surcharges, available until mid March.
Cathay Pacific has a Lantern Festival special return fare of $1349, including all taxes and surcharges.
This special fare is only available online and through travel agents until midnight tonight (February 26). Book at www.cathaypacific.co.nz.
WHERE TO STAY
Information about the Langham Place Hotel is at www.langhamhotels.com. The Regal Palace Hotel is online at www.regalhotel.com.
MORE INFORMATION
You can find about Hong Kong at www.discoverhongkong.com
* Claire Harvey travelled to Hong Kong as a guest of Cathay Pacific, as part of her Travcom 2007 Travel Writer of the Year prize, staying at the Langham Place and Regal Airport Hotel.
