I tried to embrace some Hong Kong culture this past week with fellow exchange students. The result was one friend in the hospital, some spoiled food and a whole contingent of firefighters walking up a hill in full uniform.
The lesson learned was that foreigners should be very careful when trying to do things that seem to come naturally to locals. The rather embarrassing incident did allow a rare opportunity to see Hong Kong's finest in action, though. Not surprisingly, they passed the test.
Hong Kong loves its barbecues. Thanks to the pleasant climate and the large number of public parks, Hong Kong-dwellers can cook outdoors nearly all year round.
Barbecue here is more diverse than its Western counterpart. While most Americans are content with some burgers, hot dogs and maybe some corn-on-the-cob, anything here is game. Fish balls, tofu, raw shrimp and fried bread are regulars in the picnic basket.
The preferred way to cook food is on the end of a roasting stick. Grills are allowed, but not really encouraged. Instead, they cook as much food as possible in the shortest amount of time. I once saw a local cram three sausages, a piece of tofu and a small steak on one skewer. The steak very shortly fell off the stick and into the fire.
It is a delicate art. Foreigners can have a tough time, something that became all too apparent this week. Ten people, none of whom were local, decided to have a Hong Kong-style barbecue on Victoria Peak, the highest point on Hong Kong Island.
The problems began immediately. We had brought no wood or lighter fluid and were reduced to searching for sticks around the barbecue site. The only place we could find sticks was near an abandoned stone structure resembling the finale of the "Blair Witch Project." Corn-on-the-cob slices, wrapped in aluminum foil, were stone cold on one side and charred on the other. One item of food after another caught fire as we tried to minimize cooking time.
We allowed ourselves one item from the Western barbecue: the marshmallow. Every person placed three or four marshmallows on the roasting stick (that each of these held raw meat less than an hour earlier did not cross my mind until much later) and began toasting.
Suddenly, the stick of a British friend caught fire. She took the stick out of the fire and began to shake it furiously, trying to put the flame out. Two still-flaming marshmallows flew off the stick immediately in the direction of another Brit. One hit her upper face, the other landed in her hair.
Within seconds, we were on the phone to the police. No place is a dead zone in Hong Kong, and a quick type of 999 (not 911!) had an operator on the line.
The major problem was explaining to the authorities what exactly had caused the burn. No one could remember the word for "marshmallow" in Cantonese. Our description of a white, sugary cylinder did not register. I ran along with a Chinese-Canadian who spoke Cantonese to meet the authorities.
Fifteen minutes later, I saw nine men dressed in full firefighters' gear slowly marching up the hill. They were carrying pickaxes and
flashlights, and had no stretcher. While my friend had a discussion with the leader, I was left with the others.
"What happened to your friend?" one paramedic asked me in broken English. I explained, although again the marshmallow part was not understood.
"So there's no fire?" he said, obviously disappointed. This explained his heavy uniform. After that, the fireman was not interested in making conversation. We walked back up the hill and met with our injured friend, who was escorted to a waiting ambulance.
She spent the night in the hospital in observation and was released the next day. The final diagnosis was a second-degree burn around the cheek and upper eyelash, but no damage to the eye itself.
In spite of the language difficulties, I was very impressed by the response of the police. They reached a remote area very quickly, and were able to react to a situation that was different than expected (no forest fires, as the offending marshmallow was already put out). The treatment was free and everyone was kind.
Part of the reason why this was such a surprise is that previously I had not had any reason to deal with the authorities. They are largely invisible on Hong Kong Island. There are not the constant blaring sirens of police cars and ambulance vans speeding down the highways. The police are present at the sidelines of large crowd gatherings, but they rarely seem to be involved in any action. Things run in an orderly way, and this carried over to our little emergency situation.
The recommended treatment was no contact lenses for two weeks, keeping the area moist with Vasoline, and no more attempts at Hong Kong
No one could remember the word for 'marshmallow' in Cantonese. Our description of a white, sugary cylinder did not register.
