By Eric Tiettmeyer

Hong Kong is a jungle, albeit a well paved jungle. The striking skyline of Victoria Island is so powerful because all that glinting steel and glass is set against a lush green mountain backdrop. The incongruity of tropical jungle and dense, urban architecture, the opposition of raging capitalism and new communism, the cultural texture of traditional China and colonial Britain – these are the contradictions that make Hong Kong such a rich city. Of course, one of the keys to remember about Hong Kong is that it is more than just a city, more than small Victoria Island. The New Territories are over 90% of Hong Kong's total area, and are almost completely undeveloped or just rural farmlands. Dozens of small islands dot the waters around Hong Kong, like Lantau, Lamma, and Cheung Chau. Though the city thrills me, it also wears me down with its non-stop blitz of traffic, neon and noise. Last summer, I made it my mission to hike to every remote hostel throughout Hong Kong. It becomes a very different place when viewed from the trailside, or on a remote beach, or at a hilltop hostel.

Lantau

I planned my first excursion to Lantau. After boarding a ferry bound for the outlying island, I realized that in my haste to escape from Hong Kong, I took the ferry heading to Discovery Bay, located five miles north of my intended destination, Silvermine Bay

After reading my map, I realized there were no transportation methods to reach my original destination, due in part to the towering, green jungle that covered the hills. My options were limited to taking the ferry back to Hong Kong and then catching the right ferry back to Silvermine Bay, or to follow a windy little path crossing the heavy vegetation to the other side of the island. From a lookout point I could barely see the top of the hill where the small wooden covering that was my destination stood. The 90% humidity was draining me and my backpack suddenly seemed a lot heavier. I estimated the hike would take about five hours and the ferry back to Hong Kong and then to Silvermine Bay the same amount of time. I balanced the time factor, my desire to hike, the fact that I hadn't hiked anywhere since I quit Boy Scouts, and the ferry price of about $10 US. I made up my mind. I chose to be cheap and strong, picked up my bag and set my eyes on that little speck beyond the jungle.

The journey down the path through the hills began simple enough, walking out of the downtown area where the ferry landed into an oddly placed collection of high rises. Many expatriates make their home on Lantau, and meeting a handful of Germans, English, and Australians walking down a block is expected here. After passing the apartment high rises, the path hugged the waterfront, full of traditional boats. As I walked down this winding path, little old ladies accompanied by their guard dogs gave hellos while sewing straw hats. You could see right into their simple wooden homes, embellished with the Buddha memorials prevalent in the houses of Hong Kong. I seemed to be crossing through a cultural time warp on this little path, into what Hong Kong may have been before skyscrapers and finance. I left the village behind and followed the footpath as it began to climb into the hills.

My welcome to the jungle was a three-foot long, bright orange snake that crossed 10 feet in front of me. First thought: what if this snake has many more poisonous and fanged friends waiting for me as I attempt this hillside climb alone? Second thought: run back. Third thought: protect myself. I pulled out an empty, plastic Coke bottle out of my pack as my sole protection and brandished it menacingly. I was already starting to feel like a city boy out of place.

Thick foliage surrounded me, droves of crickets, and grasshoppers cried around me, and intimidating tire-sized animal dung turned up at every bend. I felt very small in this isolated place, my every sense completely alert to all around me. The strange thing was that I didn't feel so different from the first time I walked down Nathan Road in Tsim Tsa Shui in Kowloon. The density, the incessant background noise, the ungodly humidity, the fear of snakes and rip-off artists.

After a mile through the jungle, I exited from the dense tree cover to find myself under a blistering blue sky. Another 1/2 mile up, I briefly entered the confines of a simple, wooden chapel. The brief rest was relaxing, but I was perspiring so much now, that I decided it was better to be outside with at least some sort of breeze, though my backpack began to weigh me down more than ever. I could see the trail ahead slowly wind around the sloped hillsides, leading to the small wooden structure topping the hill. I had to force myself with each step. Although tired and now out of water, that hilltop seemed enchanted, even if I wasn't living up to my Indiana Jones fantasies.

Another mile or so later, I reached the pinnacle, sopping wet, but quite content. The 360 degree view showcased all the outlying islands. Looking back down the windy road, I was filled with a bit of pride in tackling a feat despite the conditions, and a bit embarrassed that I worried so much about being eaten while coming up. The mile hike down to Silvermine Bay was a relief.

Po Lin Monastery

After striding into the town from the six-hour hike (yeah, I'm not the speediest on the trail), I quickly climbed aboard a bus heading to Po Lin Monastery. Located at the summit of a switchback road that takes about an hour to drive, the monastery is home to the world's tallest bronze Buddha. For a minimal fee one can climb the steep steps of this gargantuan, religious monument. At the top, religious necklaces, rocks and murals are sold, and there are incredible lookout points. The summit of Mt. Lantau beckoned from the Buddha's lookout, but after my less-than-glorious hike, I decided to relax a little.

Tucked along a narrow path behind the statue and monastery is a little hostel called S.G. Davis Hostel that is a great base to use to explore the surrounding area. Plus, there's got to be some great feng shui benefits from living next to the great Buddha, so I sat on the covered balcony of the simple sleeping area and let the good luck wash over me. I met Keith, a New Zealand writer traveling through China, and Caroline who was visiting after teaching in Taiwan for two years. We basically sat and talked and watched time go by. As evening fell, a lightning storm rolled in. I watched as the approaching clouds hugged the side of Lantau's peak, visible from the hostel. The tropical thunderstorm exploded over the Buddha's serene face, thunder crackled and waves of lightning splintered the murky sky.

Mong Tung Wan Youth Hostel

After a few days at the Po Lin monastery and its wonderful surroundings, I found an isolated, youth hostel near Pui O on the west coast of Chi Ma Wan Peninsula, still on Lantau. Because I preferred to experience the jungles of Lantau from a hostel balcony, I made my way back to Discovery Bay, and then caught another bus to Pui O.

Pui O's main attraction is a long stretch of white, sandy beach that is rather unusual for Lantau. Unfortunately, shark warnings are posted every twenty yards. Most beaches in the area have cordoned off swimming areas with shark protection nets for safety, though there hasn't been an attack since 1993. You're more likely to end up swimming with one of the water buffalo that wander in the marshes across from the beach.

The Mong Tung Wan hostel is located about three miles down a well-paved path from the beach. I reached the hostel only to find it closed until 3 p.m., a common afternoon lockout practice. Just steps beyond the building was a small retreat center located right on the water. I sat there and wrote for two hours, even after the hostel had opened, watching the clouds slowly drift past, and then a long, fading sunset. The hostel was empty that night, and all that could be heard was a light rain sprinkling the trees outside. I was really beginning to forget the cell phones and concrete of urban Hong Kong.