We set off for a day in Macao via ferry. As we were purchasing our tickets at the ferry station, the ticket seller said to make sure we have our passports. Christine realized she had locked hers
safely away in the hotel room safe. We did a hotel round tripper and returned to the ferry station. We were set back by one hour. (Not bad, considering we could have arrived in Macao before we discovered the need for a passport). The ferry ride was a comfortable one hour fifteen, with assigned seats like an airplane.
When we arrived in Macao, there was a very long line for immigration. The man, wife and teenager in front of us held Myanmar passports. The immigration official inspected their documents and then called over a colleage who led them off to a separate area.
Christine approached and showed her Barbadian passport. The official started to motion to send her over to the guy-who-hauls-people-away, but Christine had a trick up her sleeve. She travels with two passports. She offered up her EU passport instead. That worked better. She was whisked right on through to the other side, into Macao. I was next. My USA passport got me through quickly without a hitch. Phew. We left the noisy crowded immigration hall and set off to scavenge.
We had to do four of six things. Heading by taxi to the northern border of Macau, we visited the Portas de Cerco, the gates that the Portugese constructed as the gateway into mainland China when Macao was a Portuguese colony. We did a quick drive-by visit of the Sao Paolo church which is now only the front wall, having been destroyed by fire, but seems to be an ornate sculptural frame.
The next scavenge took us to the casino district - just as glitzy as Las Vegas. We had to get a casino chip at either the Wynn or the Casino Lisboa. We chose Wynn. The casino looked just like one would expect in Las Vegas except that the staff and gamblers are almost all Asian (and skinny).
We went to A Ma Temple which honors seafarers. We had to take a rickshaw. Ugh. The poor guy was hauling us in the heat with buses and taxis passing by.
Taking the turbo ferry back to Hong Kong, we scavenged the afternoon and evening. One of the more interesting scavenges was to talk ou way in to the Foreign Correspondents' Club (members only) and look at the photo of the last helicopter leaving the US embassy in Saigon. The framed photo is on the wall in a lowly lit wood paneled room. About ten journalists were seated at tables working, either alone or in pairs, speaking in hushed tones. That was a cool experience.
We had several markets to choose from and had to visit two. The choices were: bird, flower, goldfish, jade, ladies, and Bowrington Road. We chose ladies and goldfish because theybwere near each other and near the Mong Kok train station. The ladies market is like a consumer goods knock off fleas market on steroids. The stalls seem two stories high and are packed together. Many are in front of street level stores and srve as a sort of foyer to the stores. The goldfish market is further down the same street. As the ladies' stalls peter out, the stores start developing a theme of pets, pet food, aquariums, and then fish - and then nothing but goldfish. There are large tanks on the street and in store windows, packed with blazing varieties of goldfish. One vendor on an alley adjacent to the main street had pinned rows of dozens of plastic bags of water, each with a sole fish in it. They looked like clear balls with fish floating inside. Big fish, little fish, red fish, gold fish.
Our choice for mandatory dinner was Nobu at the Intercontinental Hotel overlooking the harbor so we could also watch the light show. No suffering here and it was fabulous. The hitch was our attire. No time to change clothes. We were pretty sweaty and gross, wearing sneakers and chunky day packs. And, to make it worse, the restaurant staff has that weird custom of applauding when a new group enters. As we looked around, we noticed other diners wearing similar couture.
The last scavenge of the evening was karaoke. Instead of embarrasing yourself in a public bar, you rent a private studio for an hour at a time, where you could host friends. All we did was sing one song (Imagine by John Lennon) and leave.