I consider myself a simple man; romantic at heart, a perennial fan of the underdog, passionate about Asia. The combination made me a sucker for Richard Mason’s The World of Suzie Wong, the story of struggling English artist Robert Lomax, who, looking for a cheap boarding house moves into the Nam Kok hotel along the quay of Hong Kong’s notorious Wan Chai district. He soon learns that the Nam Kok’s bar is the hunting ground for local prostitutes. Lomax stays as he is unable to afford any place else and is intrigued by the prospect of having a stable of potential models. It’s at the Nam Kok that Lomax falls in love with Suzie Wong, a saucy Wan Chai hooker with the proverbial heart of gold. However, unlike other famous inter-racial love stories such as Madame Butterfly, Westside Story and Miss Saigon, or even Somerset Maugham’s The Pool, this couple does end up living happily ever after. Mason wrote The World of Suzie Wong in 1956 after he, himself, inadvertently checked into the Luk Kwok Hotel, a waterfront hotel frequented by prostitutes in Wan Chai. “This is fabulous, I’ve found it!” Mason said to an interviewer recalling his initial reaction to his hotel, which he later used as the model for the Nam Kok Hotel in his novel. “From that moment I knew I had my book. I thought that was unbelievable – like a gift from God.” Not everyone however, considered the book to be so sacrosanct. The New York Times Book Review savaged it, “As a rendering of the artist and of artistic endeavor, [the book] is regrettably absurd. As a rendering of love, which subsumes art, it is merely topical, superficial and thin.” Nonetheless The World of Suzie Wong became a multi-million seller and was later made into a stage play as well as the 1960 movie of the same name starring William Holden as Lomax and Nancy Kwan as Suzie. Neither however did justice to the novel.
IN SEARCH OF SUZIE WONG by M.E. Kowalski
Even before his fateful trip to Hong Kong, Richard Mason had enjoyed some notable literary success with romantic novels such as The Wind Cannot Read – about an English soldier falling in love with his Japanese language instructor – and The Shadow and the Peak - a love story set in Jamaica that was later made into a movie called The Passionate Summer. However, after the huge success of The World of Suzie Wong he never had to work again and as a consequence has now been largely forgotten. In fact Mason wrote only one novel after The World of Suzie Wong, a rather forgettable spy novel set in Nepal called The Fever Tree. “Perhaps I got lazy, or perhaps it was because I didn’t have any more inspiration. And I didn’t,” Mason explained. The World of Suzie Wong went out of print for decades before being revived in paperback during the run up to the 1997 hand-over of Hong Kong. Ironically just a few months after the handover, Mason died in Rome of lung cancer at the age of 78, never having returned to Hong Kong. Predictably, Mason’s book is now much easier to find in Hong Kong bookstores than those in North America. Hong Kong was where I obtained my copy some years ago and it was to there that I was now returning in search of what was left of The World of Suzie Wong.
Picking Up Suzie Wong
Looking around the waiting area of the Kowloon Star Ferry terminal I absentmindedly dunk my chocolate chip cookie into my no foam, extra hot latte. This is where it all began. This is where Robert Lomax first met, or more accurately, tried to “pick up” Suzie Wong who he believed at that time, was the virgin daughter of a rich taipan. It wasn’t until he later sees her in action at the Nam Kok’s bar that he finds out that there has been, by Suzie’s own count, about 2,000 guys before him. I try, unsuccessfully, to visualize Lomax waiting at this very spot surrounded by “coolies in blue tattered trousers” and “Cantonese fisherwomen in conical straw hats.” Then he spots a 23 year old denim-clad Suzie.
She came through the turnstile and joined the crowd waiting for the ferry: the women in cotton pajama suits, the men with felt slippers and gold teeth. Her hair was tied behind her head in a pony-tail, and she wore jeans – green knee-length denim jeans.
That’s odd, I thought.
A Chinese girl in jeans. How do you explain that?
Now, Suzie’s green capri-type jeans wouldn’t draw a second look from anyone. The crowd waiting with me for the next ferry to Wan Chai is a diverse mixture of sunburned tourists with wide brimmed hats and loud shirts, young mothers with small children, bored teenagers, businessmen, Filipino and Indonesian housekeepers or “amahs” as they are referred to here, East Indian women in dark saris, and shuffling old Chinese men in Birkenstock type sandals chewing on some unknown substance. If Lomax was with me today, he would more likely have his attention drawn to the pretty Chinese girl with red-streaked hair standing beside me talking incessantly on her hands-free mobile phone. She’s in a short black mini skirt with knee high boots, fishnet stockings and hot pink tank top. Designer sunglasses and about half her mother’s silverware dangling from her ears complete the look. Her tiny phone is concealed in her black nylon Prada handbag. Prada, it seems, is the current handbag of choice in hyper image conscious Hong Kong. Even amahs carry what I am certain are authentic replicas of them.
The ferry terminal, which still provides an important link between the Kowloon peninsula and Hong Kong Island, has gone upscale since Suzie and Lomax met there. Well, as upscale as one can make a hulking block of concrete. Gone are the vendors who sold Suzie the melon seeds that Lomax watched her eat, wishing no doubt a'la Prince Charles, that he could be one. They have been replaced by camera kiosks, a bank branch, photo processing shops and an Okashi Land store serving “the latest and the trendiest snack and confectionery products from Japan”. Of course, there is also the North American style specialty cookie and coffee stores where I purchased my very un-Oriental fare. So much for the communist hordes ruining Hong Kong after 1997.
The only remnants of the opening scene in The World of Suzie Wong are the sturdy drab walls of the terminal itself and the green and white double-decked Star Ferries criss-crossing the harbour. Interestingly, many of the ferries currently in service were built in the days of Suzie Wong. Dodging cruise ships, barges and hydrofoils the Star Ferry remains one of the most recognized and endearing symbols of a constantly changing Hong Kong. Despite the competition from three vehicular tunnels and two rail tunnels, its routes are still valued by tourists and by those locals who love the outdoors and the odd bit of sea spray against their faces.
Across the harbour sits the massive Hong Kong Exhibition and Convention Centre. Jutting out from the Wan Chai waterfront like a mole on a supermodel’s face, this huge structure rests entirely on land reclaimed from the harbour and was completed just in time to host the official ceremonies for the historic, yet incredibly boring, return of Hong Kong to China in 1997. Now it houses nearly every convention or trade show of any importance in the region and has become the new focal point of all Hong Kong photos. In what is surely the ultimate example of tourism product placement, it even plays a prominent role in Celine Dion’s music video for A New Day Has Come.
“Soon we’ll be able to walk across the harbour,” the short East Indian man beside me jokes. I nod, finishing the bit of cookie in my mouth. He introduces himself as Ravi and tells me that he moved to Hong Kong from India when he was a child and now spends his time flying back and forth between Mumbai and Hong Kong looking after his family’s business interests. His joke however is not so far off the mark. Land filling is a barometer of the economic growth and prosperity of Hong Kong. The flip side is that 150 years of land filling have erased the “small bay” for which Wan Chai is named.
Ravi doesn’t remember the old Luk Kwok Hotel. The original Luk Kwok was a romantic six-story hotel along the Wan Chai waterfront. In Suzie’s day many of its rooms, like Robert Lomax’s corner room, would have had beautiful views of the harbour. The original hotel was demolished in the 1980’s to make way for a more modern, larger and upscale hotel. The reincarnated Luk Kwok is located on the same site as its predecessor but its guests now have to struggle to catch a glimpse of the harbour which has been pushed almost ¼ mile away. All that remains of its past are a few old photos in its sterile marble lobby. Gone also is its legendary sign “Girls, But No Obligation to Buy Drink! Take It Easy! You are At Home! Fine Food and Wines! Enjoy to the Maximum at the Least Expenses!”
“They say that reclamation has increased the harbour current by such a degree that the bottom will be scoured clean of its pollutants,” Ravi points out in perfect Queen’s English. I nod knowingly and try not to think of the two centuries worth of toxic sludge that line the harbour floor. “It does make the journey a bit choppier though,” he comments as we bob over the wake of a passing cruise ship. Within eight minutes, we arrive at the Wan Chai terminal. The rickshaws which Suzie would have taken home from the ferry terminal have been replaced by red Toyota taxis. Ravi and I say our good-byes.
A monstrous eleven-lane urban highway called Gloucester Road divides the “old” Wan Chai of Suzie Wong’s days, from hundreds of acres of reclamation called Wan Chai North where the ferry terminal has been relocated next to the Exhibition and Convention Centre. In order to cross this furious torrent of traffic I hike along high pedestrian bridges called “flyovers,” which often pass within a few feet of the second and third storey windows of nearby residential and commercial buildings. They give voyeurs, like me, a variety of vistas to choose from; mah jong games, family dinners, a woman ironing clothes or bored treadmill runners at a local health club. All of my friendly hand waves to the occupants are ignored. Rebuffed, I turn and walk back to the Exhibition and Convention Centre where I’m greeted by a large sign pointing the way to the 9th World Congress of Gynecological Endocrinology. Is it just me or do others also see the twisted humor in having a gynecology convention in the Suzie Wong district?
Notorious Wanchai
Wan Chai’s notoriety did not start with The World of Suzie Wong Mason’s novel just made sure that its reputation received a much wider audience. Historically Wan Chai is the site of one of the earliest human settlements in Hong Kong, dating back several hundred years. Its small bay later made it an ideal location for commercial shipping, warehouses, and the British navy. The China Fleet Club - long since demolished – was located on the waterfront just a few blocks away from the Luk Kwok, next to the jetty upon which all sailors on shore leave would land. For decades it was the center of naval life in the former British colony. Not surprisingly this area of Wan Chai also became notorious for prostitution. Before World War II there were no girly bars and so women would ply their trade along the streets surrounding the China Fleet Club, catching the sailors as they got off their boats. During the Vietnam War, girly bars and tattoo parlours flourished along the streets near the China Fleet Club. It was during that time, according to local historian Arthur Hacker, that Suzie Wong’s sassy “No money, no talk” policy was replaced by the more vulgar Wan Chai bar girl war cry “I love you no shit! You buy me drink!” But the majority of Wan Chai was not so wild. The population of Wan Chai in Suzie’s days was comprised mainly of middle lower class Chinese families, many of whom had recently emigrated from China. They worked hard to make a living and to provide a better life for their families. Many set up stalls or shops in the number of colourful markets and bazaars which were located far from the vice area, all of which made Wan Chai a popular shopping destination.
To get a feel for what was left of The World of Suzie Wong I decided upon a two pronged approach. Speak to the people in charge of the district and then pound the pavement. First on my list was Ms. Peggy Lam, the closest one gets to being the mayor of Wan Chai. Wan Chai is one of 18 districts in Hong Kong. Each district has its own council, comprised of elected and appointed officials, that administers local needs, much like municipal governments in North America. The well dressed Ms. Lam - who I guessed to be in her early 60’s – has the energy of a person 1/3 of her age and is clearly devoted to making the Wan Chai district more livable for its 180,000 inhabitants. I found Ms. Lam and her senior district officer Miss Pauline Wong to be most impressive. It is not often that you meet public officials who speak with such excitement and conviction about their role in assisting the community.
“Usually, “ Ms. Lam says in a gravelly voice, “Wan Chai is identified as a red light district because there are a lot of bars and activities going on. But in reality we have changed our colour from red to green.” She recalls with a laugh another district official’s comment to her, “You chase all your vice across the harbour to Mong Kok and Sham Shui Po.” It is now these areas on the Kowloon side of the harbour that are the hardcore red-light areas. Ms. Wong recounts the district’s many environmental initiatives, new playgrounds and pedestrian zones. But she beams with particular pride while explaining the district’s new greenery programme which involves the planting of 1,000 trees. “We like to refer to Wan Chai as a green area, a healthy place. The problem now is that we can’t find places to plant the trees, and when we do, the ground underneath is laced with cabling and pipes.” Healthy? Green? Trees? Am I really in Wan Chai? As if to read my mind, she pulls out the brightly coloured and happy new Wan Chai district logo that she translates into English as “Health, Hygiene and Vitality”.
Trying to steer me away from questions about the Suzie Wong era, Ms. Lam explains how Wan Chai has re-invented itself and become a well-respected business, commercial and athletic center. It is in Wan Chai’s growing business area that Hong Kong’s tallest office tower, Central Plaza is located. Suzie Wong, who would now be pushing 70, would be completely lost in the Wan Chai of 2002. In fact, the business area is developing so rapidly that if Suzie was a young woman today, she would probably be out getting her MBA instead of looking for sailors.
The famous Happy Valley racecourse as well as Hong Kong Stadium where the hugely popular Rugby Sevens are played annually, are also within her district. Some of the oldest and poorest members of Hong Kong society share this district with the those of considerably more means many of whom live in the tony residences of Jardines Lookout. A short stroll from the Exhibition and Convention Centre - and its gynecologists - is the Hong Kong Centre for the Performing Arts as well as the shopping paradise of Causeway Bay that, she tells me, still commands some of the highest retail rents in the world “We still have some of those Suzie Wong bars but more ah,” she pauses to choose her words, “healthy bars.” By “healthy bars” she means the discos and pick up bars that are squeezing out the last remaining Suzie Wong bars. “Healthy” may be a generous term for these smoky bars teeming with expatriates trying to pick up Indonesian and Filipino amahs teetering on chunky shoes. In the wee hours of the morning, hardcore avant-garde local Chinese techno pop dancers take over the dance clubs. The bar scene here is, in terms of popularity, a close second to the Central District’s trendy Lan Kwai Fong area; although much less pretentious and significantly easier on the wallet.
Mrs. Lam looks at her watch. It’s time for her next meeting. She graciously excuses herself apologizing for not having more time for me. As a special treat, Miss Wong has arranged for me to meet with the Hong Kong Police Force’s Deputy District Commander of Wan Chai, and to have him tour me around what is left of Wan Chai in the days of The World of Suzie Wong. His office is a short walk away at the old Wan Chai police station, a grim institutional structure that, like all other buildings on Gloucester Road, once sat on the waterfront during Suzie’s day. This is also the police station where Suzie would have been detained for stabbing “that dirty Canton girl” Betty Lau with a pair of scissors.
Superintendent Hunt - a bear-like man with a boyish face - welcomes me into his large office. The office walls and side tables were cluttered with photos, awards, and memorabilia from over 20 years of service with the Hong Kong Police Force. Stuffed bears in police officer uniforms are interspersed between model soldiers on the tops of the side tables spread throughout his spacious office. Superintendent Hunt’s family it seems, has a long history of military service with the British army dating back to his grandfather’s action in the Boer War. He openly admits to being lured to Hong Kong by books like The World of Suzie Wong as well as its movie version. Here was a man after my own heart. “William Holden was hugely popular in Hong Kong,” he said. “Every tailor in town had a picture of him in his shop and claimed that he made suits for William Holden. Of course when Holden died in 1981 his pictures disappeared overnight. Bad joss to hang pictures of the dead in your shop,” he laughs. And, like many ex-pats, Hunt also found a local Chinese bride, a practice which in Suzie’s time would have had an adverse effect upon further promotion. This is no longer the case. In the Hong Kong of the new millenium, an interracial marriage may actually be an advantage.
We spend the first part of our discussion poring over a map of Wan Chai district that is posted to one of his walls. He points out to me that Ruttonjee Hospital, where Suzie was treated for TB still exists but it’s too far a walk. Lai Chi Kok Prison on the Kowloon side, where Suzie “did time” for the Betty Lau attack is obviously off limits. The Astoria Dance Hall mentioned in the novel never existed. The Luk Kwok Hotel, as I already knew, has been demolished and rebuilt. Tiger Balm Gardens is closed for repair. What about the Kit Kat Club? “Well, I can think of 3 or 4 different Kit Kat Clubs,” he shrugs. “All of which are now gone.” He pauses before chuckling “It’s going to be a short tour.” It only takes us 15 minutes to tour the narrow streets that once housed Suzie’s haunts, all of which had been replaced by office towers and high-rise residential buildings. Aside from the police station, which itself may be the subject of demolition, the only remaining buildings in the area are the Hung Shin Temple on Queens Road, and the marine police headquarters on Arsenal Road, neither of which figure in Mason’s novel at all.
The Vice Trade
It was time to pound the pavement. It seemed logical to me to start out along Lockhart Road, once the main artery of vice in the district. This road was the heart of The World of Suzie Wong. It begins a short block south of where the China Fleet Club used to stand and ends at the Causeway Bay pedestrian shopping zone. The few remaining girly bars on Lockhart Road are still clustered in the first few blocks east of Arsenal Street and it is only due to sheer luck that I don’t have my arm ripped from its socket by the aggressive and unbelievably strong Mamasans standing outside them who target all Caucasian men – while ignoring all Oriental men - walking by their bars. Within a few steps of the vice pits are congee shops, noodle shops, barbecue restaurants, and fruit and sandwich shops all vying for customers. Inside these non-vice establishments I find an eclectic mix of giggling teenage girls in gray and plaid school uniforms, men reading newspapers or families with baby carriages. Further down, a street vendor is cooking food on an outdoor barbecue and noisily clanging the side of her wok with large steel tongs to attract customers. Beside her is an up scale “healthy” bar decorated in Santa Fe style with smooth sleek light cedar wood panels and French doors. Despite the cornucopia of different activities there is an air of peaceful co-existence. There is no open hostility toward what little remains of the vice trade here.
Every other corner seems to contain a 7-11 or other type of convenience store. Beside one, a skinny middle-aged Chinese man in yellow flip-flops squats on his haunches with his back to the wall drinking from a tall boy of San Miguel. On one side of him, the remainder of his six-pack, on the other, his low dollie of flattened cardboard boxes. He smiles at me revealing two missing front teeth. Then he suddenly begins gesturing and speaking in agitated Cantonese to some unseen phantom. I quicken my pace and become lost in a sea of street hawkers selling socks, scarves and blouses.
It is now early evening and with the setting sun the high-rise buildings – long gone are nearly all the four and five storey buildings under whose arched arcades Lomax and Suzie would stroll - coupled with the narrow streets give the feel of being inside a large atrium while overhead neon lights add a surreal touch. Every so often I hear the unmistakable clicking of mah jong tiles behind curtained doorways. Ahead a works department crew battles a broken watermain that is flooding a side street. The sounds of their jackhammers reverberate against the buildings.
Sadly for those travelers without foreign language skills, the level of spoken English proficiency in Hong Kong has declined in recent years. I had come to expect translation errors such as “Shredded crap meat” on restaurant menus, but I was unprepared for others. I had arrived a few minutes after a pastry shop had closed. The shop girl, quite rightly, stopped me from entering with the words “I’m sorry, we’re open.” Frowning, I switched into my very basic Cantonese and asked her if she had really meant to say that the shop was “closed”. “Yes,” she said in Cantonese, the shop was closed. She then switched back into English, “I’m sorry, we’re open”. It reminded me of something else that Ravi had said to me on the Star Ferry when we were discussing the English in Hong Kong. “In India, the British gave us English and not much else. Here, the British gave them everything else but English.”
It also seems that Mandarin or Putonghua as it is referred to, is swiftly gaining ground as many average Hong Kong yahn (people) believe it to be a much more useful language than English. “Do you speak Putonghua too?” another shopkeeper asks me after being delighted at my ability to bargain with her in Cantonese. I shake my head. “Cantonese no good, Putonghua much better,” she replies giving me my change. The harsher sound of Mandarin abounds now more than ever in Hong Kong and mostly from tourists. The “mainlanders” as they are referred to here, are still easy to spot in their ill-fitting suits clumped together on package tours that often select the cheaper of Wan Chai’s hotels. Hong Kong tour operators are obviously targeting mainland tourists as there is a definite focus on China or the “motherland” as many here call it, rather than the west as a tourist market place. It may come as a shock to many pseudo-political scientists in the West, but in many instances it appeared to me that Hong Kong people were only too happy to have the British turfed out in 1997.
Perhaps even more bizarre than Hong Kong’s appearance in a Celine Dion music video is that Lockhart Road ends at what is surely Hong Kong’s largest Hello Kitty store. It has always been difficult for me to understand the power that this fluffy white kitten has over Hong Kong females of all ages. But nearly every women or girl I spoke to in Hong Kong loves this creature. This has not been lost on marketers who manage to place this feline’s likeness on everything from toothbrushes to knapsacks to pencil cases to doorknob covers to tampons. On the long walk back to my hotel, loaded down with Hello Kitty paraphernalia for my daughter, I wander into a bar aptly named “The Wanch”. It’s one of the “healthy bars” located just a block or so off Lockhart Road. The Wanch is only slightly bigger than my hotel room and its walls are covered in old Hollywood movie posters and Hong Kong memorabilia. A sign in the window promises live music. Here, a small crowd of about ten graying, potbellied ex-pats and myself (and Hello Kitty) are treated to the musical stylings of a Filipino guitarist accompanied by a drunk Scot singing a medley of “Sweet Caroline” and “New York, New York” through his thick brogue. Coaxing us to join in for the chorus he bellows out “Sing, you bastards,” accompanied by a variety of crude gestures. I cover Hello Kitty’s eyes and ears.
Streetwalkers from the Motherland
The changing face of Wan Chai seems to be completely lost on the American servicemen in civilian dress – in deference to the Chinese government no uniforms are to be worn - that I see along Lockhart Road late that evening. Or perhaps they are simply checking out where their fathers took R & R during the Vietnam War. The two sailors who pile out of a bar ahead of me holding on tightly to the four bar girls they have just rented, seem however, to be intent on something more up close and personal. Several American warships have anchored at the western edges of Hong Kong harbour on leave from Afghanistan. Despite the fact that this is technically a secret visit, many bars have signs out on the street that read “Welcome to all members of ______.” Streetwalkers, all of which are from the “motherland,” are also out in droves. It is late evening and neon lit Lockhart Road is now crowded with swarms of young sailors traveling in packs, whistling at every Asian girl - working or not – and shouting out “Hey! Boom Boom?” accompanied by the obligatory arm and hip gyrations. The working girls reply “You pay me how muchee?” while the non-working girls scowl. Working in pairs, American Shore Liaison Group (military police) personnel in golf shirts emblazoned with a gold S.L.G. on the arm wearing matching golf hats, wander in and out of every bar checking on their boys.
In front of the last girly bar in what little remains of the vice area, a Thai girl in shorts and a white halter-top squats before a red tin burner placed on the sidewalk. Incense sticks glow in front of a small goddess in front of the burner. She carefully places white strips of paper with markings to make them look like money into the fire. She bows slightly to the goddess and slips by a middle-aged Chinese man standing in the bar’s doorway.
“Wasn’t there a bar called Suzie Wong’s, here before,” I ask the Chinese guy who looks as if he’s the proprietor.
“You haven’t been to Hong Kong for a while, have you?” His English is very good.
I travel to Hong Kong at least once a year but I decide to play along. “No, not for a few years,” I lie. “But I’m right aren’t I? There used to be a bar called Suzie Wong’s here?” I say pointing to the left side of his bar.
“It was actually over there,” he says pointing to the chicken sandwich shop on the right side of his bar. “But it closed down about two years ago. There was a fight and a guy was stabbed and died.”
“Yeah, I could see how that would be bad for business.”
“Why don’t you come in and have a beer. Happy hour beer is two for one,” he says sensing – wrongly - that I’m looking for some action. He draws open the heavy velvet drapery that blocks the doorway and reveals the dimly lit interior of the bar. The scene inside was reminiscent of the bars I had been taken to by a bunch of rowdy rugby playing Brits several years ago. Garish neon lighting is strung along the walls and across the ceiling. A thin crowd of expatriates in their fifties watch as four scantily clad and very bored Filipino pole dancers – who are less than half their audience’s age - gyrate awkwardly on the raised stage. These girls rotate in and out of Hong Kong on three-month visas and all have two things in common; they are incredibly poor and desperate to make money. At least if they are in Hong Kong, they can lie to their families about the type of work they are doing.
A “price list” tacked up on the near wall indicates that ladies’ drinks are the equivalent of USD$15.00 and that for the equivalent of USD$500.00 I can “bar fine” (take out of the bar) one of the girls on display. At these prices its no wonder the girly bar scene is dying. These costs can only be handled by an expense account without limit and an accountant who asks no questions. I have neither. More importantly, I have a wife.
I politely decline.
“You sure Suzie Wong’s was on that corner?” I ask again. He nods. I look over at the chicken shop. In Cantonese, the slang for prostitute is “gai” or “chicken”.
Plus ca change, plus c’est la meme chose.
M.E. Kowalski is Canadian and frequently does business in Hong Kong.