Spring @ Chai Wan

 

 

 

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This is why it’s fun to bring your local friends to an erotic art exhibition.

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Alright, alright, alright, here are some damn photos from awhile back at AO Vertical’s opening reception for its erotica art exhibition. Chai Wan is teeming with activity on its good nights, as you hop from massive gallery to gallery tucked away on the tenth floors of industrial buildings. I never go to art stuff for the art, it’s mostly for the drinking, eating, and looking.

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After AO Vertical, we went over to the next street to something that is a kitschy furniture and clothing store in the day. I remember nothing but the MAD muffins and prosecco.

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MAAAAD muffins.

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Paintings and photographs occupied the third to thirteenth floors of the building, in what looks like the fire escape. Brilliant place for artwork. If you unsuccessfully run from a disaster, at least the last things you see will be these.

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We’re not sure why he looks so pleased.

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Tomorrow, June 8, is your last day to see Spring at AO Vertical.

 

 

 

Full Moons & Croquets

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I woke up with a pulled butt muscle from rolling off a picnic table, a pinched ankle, a bruise on my knee, a cigarette burn on my wrist and new scabby mosquito bites. Danny reports a hole in his crotch, tree branch scratches and probably a massive hangover. Sure, I’ll say the Full Moon Party had to be at least mildly fun. Ok, it was a lot of fun.

The party had a small hill overlooking the water for people to chill out and roll around drunk on, and a raving dance floor under a small dome structure. Given all the other options going on tonight, this was definitely the right place to be at.

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It was a long half hour walk from the Promenade because god knows who dissuaded the group from taking a cab in, laden with cockroaches, ick! Trust in Google Maps next time!

Before heading over, we grabbed a shitload of sparkling wine and perched along the stone wall for a scattered, treacherous game of Ring of Fire, a parlour favourite when in mixed company. The afternoon was spent croquetting at an Oxbridge garden party thing, Pimm’s and blue sky and all. Croquet is supposed to be one of those posh things I should hate but is actually really fun, but it would be even more fun if the mallets looked like flamingos.

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Brittany: Aren’t you afraid that your dark shirt will trap heat from the sunlight?

Danny: The flamingos will protect me!

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We had trouble catching a cab after lunching at Limehouse on Ship Street, so we decided to just pose for a million photos, excluding the one person who actually went to work hard to hail all of our lazy asses a cab. Hehe oops.

Snoozy Q roger out.

Asia World Expo hoards beer from attendees

Empty beer stand at Asia World Expo

Um, did anyone else see this empty beer stand while at David Guetta?

 

Asia World Expo, what are you doing?!? For some reason, when I came into the venue through the expo’s lobby, the drink line was long. And you might think I mean long when I say long, but you’re thinking nowhere near as long. On the Asia World Expo site, it lists Hall 10 as having either a square meterage of either 5,600 or 11,300 (nope, they can’t even make up their minds about that) and the drink lineup went from ONE END TO THE OTHER, and then add in some snaking and looping.

Yet had you walked further in and ran around a little bit to look for your friends, you’ll see this furtive sign that nobody can see saying, “Beer Express Line”. At this point I was trying to look for a group who had a big stash of booze with them so I could buy some at a black-market price. Screw waiting around for friends!

This area also appears to double as the place where early arrivals come to queue up before doors open. Here, I also found lineup-less ladies’ washrooms, tables to chill out at with a jug, and even food. But really, way to communicate between staff about a 40-minute wait at one bar and immediate booze available at the other.

Ok, picture time!

David Guetta @ Asia World Expo

@ David Guetta!

WKND: Secret Island Party!!!

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Can’t wait for the next one. Secret Island Party is what all socializing pretty much should be like. It’s the rare instance in Hong Kong where strangers say good morning to you without following it up immediately with a demand for your money or flyer-taking. It’s a mini-Coachella, except even better because there were a shocking lack of teenage kids and property-destroying assholes. Yes, it is possible to have a shitload of fun and get drunk while still being a nice person.

We set up our camp on the beach and promptly dozed off to the sound of ocean waves and distant, ambient beats from the festival grounds, then woke up to eat. This is what weekend retreats should all be about! Toilets were of the modern variety with flushes and toilet paper stocker, food was mostly wholesome (but cup noodles were broken out after midnight when the burgers ran out!). People wrapped themselves in Christmas lights and tied glowstick stars to the belts of their dresses, meditation circles were had, and DnB fueled the floor until morning. Here are some of the photos I took, but really, check out the souped-up ones taken by official photographers here at their Facebook page! It tells the story way better than I do (how do photogs-by-trade ever get a minute to join in on the fun?!)

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On the ferry over to SIP! I’ve been banned from posting my companion’s face on my blog, though, so here’s just some other strangers that were on it.

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Prepare for blastoff!! Cicada-spotting while lining up to get in.

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There were a couple of dorky-looking Golden Retrievers roaming around, owned by the villagers. This one likes to eat grass.

#hkproblems_theplay 2.0 @ Grappa’s Cellar

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#umbrelladodging

So what was that #HKProblems_theplay thing all about anyway? Other than its awfully formatted name, it was a light-hearted, over-the-top look at the culture shocks and shenanigans of expats in Hong Kong. It was billed as interactive theater as well as a social media experience, though it failed from being in the wrong company. The point was that throughout the play, audience members could tweet their thoughts and their own problems, which would be projected onto the screen at several points during the play.

But hardly anybody outside of the cast and crew bothered. The kind of people who actually bother to reserve a table somewhere are just usually not frivolous tweeters. I did sent out the following into the Twitterstars: “How can this be observational humour when there has not been one single joke about the French?” but after realized that I @-mentioned a non-entity because goddamned awfully formatted names!

They definitely need a French character in there.

Some cringey bits aside (#suicide, I’m looking at you), the actors were great as amateur comedians, most of the skits were at least entertaining, with 180 degree costume changes, laisee confetti and a showdown between Rubber Duck and #saikungshark. It does kind of suck that the parts that got the most laughs was the video screenings, and the audience usually seemed unsure when to offer applause — actors, if you lead the applause the first couple of times, we’ll learn how to time it for the rest of the show.

There is a certain desperation in Hong Kong for more of this kind of stuff, if not simply due to a sheer lack of it. So while back home I would have written this off as not being worth the $200 cover charge, here I get that it just doesn’t go as far. They promised to be back in the fall, and they better be better.

Double-dawn at Paradisco

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Paradisco couldn’t have picked a more perfect fall/winter to spring up. Despite being completely open-air and exposed to the elements, it only had to shut down operations a handful of times due to bad weather. From time to time, idiots come in and get the idea to pinch an heirloom disco ball or two, but generally it’s awash in good vibes and a trash-can bonfire if it’s cold.

We stayed until dawn on Saturday. Originally, the plan was to see Afrojack at Play. I’d supposedly won some spots on the guestlist at Play, but 20 minutes in a stone-still lineup and a bouncer denying the existence of a guestlist at all for the night was too sobering to be pre-emptive of a good time. It’s a $100, 15-minute cab ride from Central — reasonable if spent with even just one friend. You’re bound to make some more once you reach, anyway.

Having tended bar there a couple of times myself, the drinks seem pricey on the surface — $70 flat other than some snazzy ol’ Louis — but generally we’re free-pouring doubles all over the place (and we’ll even double that if you ask nicely without trying to actually hit on us) and the good beers are half a liter (tip: don’t ask for the Corona).

Cheers to a view of blinking cargo ships pulling into Hong Kong, a mountainside laser show, oldies remixes at 4am, rose and freshly-baked/stolen croissants from the bakery down the hall. Paradisco’s last party happens this Saturday, and then it moves to a new location rumoured to be in Aberdeen. See Facebook event for details.

Village party like it’s 1945

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Talk about partying in the middle of nowhere.

Last night’s bunkeroo party didn’t actually take place in a bunker, unlike all the other times that I missed out on because I preferred to lie in bed and be lazy. The hush-hush organizers of the hush-hush Bunker Club (a Facebook page with only 50 likes but a full house to every event, screw you social media!) discovered an abandoned village far into the Maclehose Trail up in Sai Kung, where wild dogs hunt at night and the headlights of a taxi will never shine on.

We roll up to the end of the trail after a bumpy, harrowing ride in our friend’s soccer mom van for the seven of us. I got to stick my head out of the sunroof and almost lost it to a tree, a decidedly sobering moment.

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Booze box. We cleaned out dat 7/11.

Glowsticks were arranged in arrows on the ground to lead the way, breaking off into a few dozen candles. The houses are dark and filled with trees and wilderness. From a distance, disco lights twinkle on the leafy canopies. Christmas lights are wound around the house that borders the back of the makeshift dance floor, which really used to be someone’s front yard.

Avid hikers are often rewarded with secretive, out-of-the-way party spots in Hong Kong, whether it’s the odd terrace in an industrial building or war bunkers by the Chinese border. The distance of a location from civilization acts as a very discerning asshole filter. You’re usually guaranteed a good time at any party that people have to make an effort to go to, because everyone who turns up are people trying to get away from what makes Soho so bad.

Danny, ever the social flutterby, didn’t stay with us longer than 30 seconds at a time, as he went around saying hello, referring people to the drug dealers and our booze box. The rest of us wallflowered it, or made friends by smelling friendly. I was later told that it was fake stuff as if that were a bad thing. Hell, if it got me high, who cares?! Actually, it would have been nice if I didn’t pee on my shoe accidentally because I was too slow to figure out that I was peeing on a slope and it kept going sideways.

Twenty minutes after we were promised a cab, no dice, so Y and I made a crazy-stupid decision to walk down the trail in pitch-blackness. Five minutes into the walk, she tells me she popped some E at the beginning of the party. I panicked a little, because I knew she hadn’t drank anything but beer since, and we didn’t have any water on us for the walk. Just as it dawned on me that we were probably going to die that night, the cab we called pulls in. The taxi driver had been reluctant to come all the way, but someone at the bottom of the hill had insisted there were two girls (us!) waiting for a cab up that way. What amazing souls they are.

Throughout the entire trip, the taxi uncle was half-praising and half-insulting us, calling us really brave but definitely in the way that meant “You two are fucking dumbasses.”

It would actually have been a great idea to set up a campsite further down the trail in Big Wave Bay, but too bad no one really wants to rough it out here. Anyone for the next round?

P.S. Check out Hong Wrong’s photos from a previous party these guys put on. Their venue choices are a little questionable sometimes, but if we could afford not to practically party on people’s deathbeds, we would.