The privately educated middle classes speak it more fluently and elegantly than ever, but lack of English is making the proletariat of the old Crown Colony more akin to the labouring masses of the People's Republic. Perhaps it is part of the scheme of things? In the news recently was an elderly citizen who, having spent 50 years of his life amid the modernist frenzy of Hong Kong, had sold his possessions and gone back to raise pigs in his ancestral village in Guangdong - a model, it was implied, of patriotic idealism. Alas, I fear Mr Wu Zhongwan and his pigs will eventually find themselves snarled up in materialism anyway, as the People's Republic storms its way to capitalist fruition.
From my hotel windows in Central I can see only the stumps of the central skyscrapers, like the trunks of some nightmare forest. At night they are illuminated by moving lights and neon colours, and on brilliantly lit office floors I can see, long into the night, purposeful money-making motions. It is a spectacular but scarcely comforting scene. Profit in property, in particular, now seems to preoccupy all classes in this city, and emblematic of the obsession are the skyscrapers of Central. In the days when this city was a fiery outpost of the capitalist ethos on the edge of the Marxist world they were undeniably exciting: now, to my eyes, they are beginning to seem a bit boring.
In Hong Kong , I pine instead for things small, delicate, perhaps holy.
I can see bigness and richness almost anywhere I go in the world. Some very famous international architects have contributed to the jam-packed grotesquerie of Central, unrestricted, it seems, by much aesthetic conscience. Within this couple of square miles no new building pays much attention to the one next door, except to make sure that it is smaller. It is all flamboyant clutter, and is at its most telling, I think, when on Sundays the vast, open ground floor of Norman Foster's brilliant Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank building is taken over by multitudes of Filipina maids, who flock here in their thousands for their day off, and sit around in exuberant groups loudly talking.
Their ceaseless gossip is often likened to the chatter of starlings, but it reminds me more of the frenzied calling of brokers on a market floor. Even Hong Kong people, long accustomed to it all, have protested against the latest and tallest of the Central prodigies. For my own tastes, Cesar Pelli's International Finance Centre, with 88 floors, is the most elegant skyscraper since the Chrysler Building, an uncluttered phallic steeple standing all on its own at the water's edge. Everyone I have consulted here, however, indigene or expatriate, has disliked it because it obstructs the view of the Peak behind.
Obstructs the view? Aren't there a thousand awful constructions obstructing the view already? Yes, I am told, but this is different. This goes too far. Perhaps the building does seem, however lovely in itself, a kind of last straw. It may be that the tireless pressure for more of everything really is beginning to weary the civic psyche.
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Far into the surrounding countryside the new estates remorselessly extend; Disneyland has implanted itself on the once bucolic Lantau island; terrific new roads and bridges link everywhere with everywhere else, and although the publicity machine likes to present SAR and its islands as ideal hiking territory, year by year it is harder to get away from that exhausting acquisitive energy at the heart of it.
Will it never stop? When I dropped in at Legco the other day they were discussing yet another characteristic mega-project: a new cultural centre beside the water in West Kowloon. For it Lord Foster has proposed an enormous transparent canopy to be, so its proponents claim, yet another new icon for Hong Kong. They have been arguing about it for years, and it really seemed to me that it might be a good idea to forget the whole thing, and make do with what they have got already. That has never been the Hong Kong way. But I wonder just which way Hong Kong now needs to go.
Can it keep up its tireless momentum when its historic purpose is lost, and it is no longer a marvellous anomaly but just another city of the Chinese Republic? Will it need that vastly extravagant cultural centre in another half-century, when its uniqueness is all but forgotten, its skills are overtaken and it subsides into provincialism?
And yet I have only to step on to my hotel balcony, and see those skyscrapers straining so competitively towards the stars, to know that this city is not in its twilight yet. Down there, amid the streaming traffic, I know, all the human energies are working unabated as ever, working out contracts in a thousand boardrooms, eating gargantuan meals in 10, restaurants, sweeping streets, plotting political alliances, wondering whether to commission Foster or Pelli next time, looking for Asian Fantasy Girls or ladyboys, calling Frankfurt on the party line, telling secretaries to get hold of the chief executive, attending functions vulgar beyond the dreams of footballers' wives in Cheshire, hanging out the laundry, doing homework, copulating, ordering a jet for tomorrow or simply thinking, now as always, about better ways of making money.
I have a friend who lives on the small island of Ma Wan, half an hour by ferry from Central. The island's only residents used to be a small fishing community on its northern shore, and life there was idyllically rustic. However, when the mighty new airport was built on the neighbouring island of Lantau, its approach bridge passed almost over little Ma Wan, making it easily approachable from the city and instantly changing its character. A resort sprang up there, a copse of high-rise buildings with a shady plaza, and the fishing folk were rehoused in a specially built modern village with a brand-new temple.
In one of its houses my friend now lives.
Behind my friend's house there is still a little grassy hillock, to remind me that only a few years ago this was just a rural islet of the South China Sea, but to the south the huge bridge rushes its traffic to the airport, cars on the upper deck, trains in a tube below. The island has become quite pleasantly suburban, and from its balconies gleeful children can watch the firework displays of Disneyland. It does not feel to me an abrupt or cruel transition, and in the same way the future of Hong Kong itself is being almost organically engineered.
The worst has not happened to the former Crown Colony. Beijing has not imposed its full despotism upon the place. Speech is free, censorship is self-administered. When the SAR government has seemed to be moving towards autocracy in the Beijing kind, public demonstrations have so far prevented it. Terrible things are still happening over in China proper, but they are not touch wood happening in Hong Kong. So, just as Man Wa has been gently incorporated into 21st-century Hong Kong, so Hong Kong is being subtly ushered towards 22nd-century China - Confucian convergence, perhaps, rather than Maoist fusion.
Gone is the hope of local democrats that the SAR would enjoy universal suffrage by , but few citizens appear to care much. I seem to hear ancestral voices whispering, as I stand on the roof of the village house to watch the traffic on the bridge above. Take it easy, they seem to be advising destiny. Be patient. A few things I found puzzling. The tables lack the kind of condiments that more restaurants just put there--had to ask for Sweet-and-Lo for the coffee, no jellies or jams, must request ketchup. I wonder if this lack of table condiments puts stress on the wait staff?
Nonetheless, the food was good and the value was fine, so I won't mind if we wind up here in the future if we're needing lunch. Simple Breakfast, Nothing to brag about. Bacon Eggs and Toast for the people. The food was good. We had to move to a new table because our 1st table was wobbling and would not sit flat. We asked for Lemon and were given packets of Lemon Crystals. How do you not have fresh lemons??
Waitress was fine, the atmostphere was boring and bland. We had breakfast on Sunday morning. I had a bacon omelette that was cooked perfectly, tasty and satisfying.
March 10, Johnson: We need somebody over there that can get us some better plans than we've got. It is a perfect indifference to the violation of all engagements. The ministers contribute to the destruction of ministerial authority, without knowing either what they are doing or what to do. The weather contributes to render it disagreeable— Edition: current; Page: [ 49 ] wind, rain, and, of course mud without, and dampness within. I shared it then and I believe it even more strongly today. And Kennedy knew and I knew, that to some degree, the U. Generations of imperial rule have created here, for the moment at least, a separate kind of Chinese.
One daughter had strawberry French toast and my other daughter had eggs and scrapple. Both were thoroughly enjoyed. We will definitely dine here again. Went here for breakfast while I was visiting with an old friend. We both ordered the classic bacon and egs with homefries and toast.
Decent coffee, attentive service and we took another breakfast of the same to go for my friends son who was working elsewhere. Own or manage this property? Claim your listing for free to respond to reviews, update your profile and much more. Tip: All of your saved places can be found here in My Trips. Log in to get trip updates and message other travelers. Profile Join. Log in Join. Review of Morris Family Restaurant. Morris Family Restaurant. Improve this listing. Ranked 20 of Restaurants in Bloomsburg.
Restaurant details. Reviewed September 16, Good food at good prices. Date of visit: April Thank HAYchristineb. Write a review Reviews Traveler rating. See what travelers are saying:. Reviewed July 31, Interesting chain-in-waiting. Date of visit: July Thank TR Reviewed July 29, Not Bad Not Great Just OK.