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.
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.