Jou san. Nei hou ma?

Yes - as should be obvious - I'm in Hong Kong

Hong Kong Trees

(don't tell me you've let your Cantonese get rusty).

The plan is to get a visa and plane ticket to Vietnam. It shouldn't take longer than four or five days, so this is only an extended stopover.

I know very little about Hong Kong - I was too busy playing frisbee to do any research in Australia - so I have a sly browse through the "Hong Kong Lonely Planet Guide" at the airport bookshop. The "Traveller's Bible" recommends: a) a guest house on Hong Kong Island, and b) I should really "try to avoid visiting Hong Kong during June" on account of the terrible weather.

The guest house turns out to be a dingy, low-rent operation above a Vivienne Westwood boutique in the main shopping district. And sure enough, when I awake the next morning it's stinking hot and tipping down with rain. Wearing my surf shorts and a plastic mac I head out in search of the Vietnamese embassy.

There are people, people, people everywhere. Seven million people live in Hong Kong in an area 20 miles by 20 miles. And seemingly they all work on the same street as my hotel.

All the world's big cities are the same in many ways. But whereas London and New York share roughly similar vibes, it's like elements of Hong Kong have been turned down to zero and some parts have been turned up to eleven. For example, there's double the overcrowding. There's barely any visible petty crime. There's McDonalds on every street corner. Let me try and dig deeper for a less cliched example. Um...

I'll have to get back to you on this.

Anyway, the subway system gets top marks.

Riding aboard the Hong subway is like riding London's Underground, New York's Subway or Paris's Metro - except that there are no divides between the carriages. So even though there may be ten carriages in a train, when you're inside it feels like there's just one big long carriage. And as the train pulls out of the station and starts to dip, climb, or turn round a bend, you get a great view down the whole length of the train as it twists, turns and snakes. Riding a Hong Kong underground train feels like riding inside a giant caterpillar. Hours of entertainment right there.

Yes, I was in Hong kong for four days and spent a large percentage of my time underground being a geek.

I also had a little love affair.

Neil's little love affair

It all starts with the football match. My first proper day in Hong Kong is the day of England versus Argentina. Kick-off is at 7.30pm so, after getting my visa application submitted to the Vietnamese consulate in the morning, I spend the afternoon hopping on and off trams scouting for a suitable venue to watch the game. The handful of English "pubs" are crammed with greasy ex-pats in business suits. No thanks. So I resolve to find a Hong Kong bar filled with Hong Kong football fans. My goal is to find a place where I'm the only Englishman. A fellow on the tram recommends just the place.

Quickly it enters my brain that if you're in a foreign country and you're going to be "the" Englishman watching the footy then you may as well be that Englishman watching the footy. So I buy a knock-off England kit from a woman's stall next to the bird market and go off in search of red and white face paints. Yes, yes, yes - I know - what an idiot. But I figure that it'll be fun to do it once, and I might as well put on a show for the locals.

It's 6.30pm and I haven't found any face paints so, wearing my English kit, I walk into "Eastern Elegance" a cosmetics shop close to my hotel. A crowd of women are all eager to serve me but only one speaks English and trying to explain what I want proves very difficult. Eventually the penny drops (kind of) after one of the women listens to the translation, dashes to the back of the shop and returns - bizarrely, I think - brandishing a framed photograph of David Beckham. I point at Becks, nod my agreement, and we're off. It's all very exciting. All the women gather around, a red cross is painted on my face, I have to stop someone from giving me a haircut. At the end of it the English-speaking girl - her name is Barby - gets permission from her boss to quit work early to come to the game with me.

All the ladies come to the front of the shop and wave goodbye as we leave.

Barby

I consider, for a moment, that by walking through the streets of Hong Kong painted as the English flag I may, unwittingly, be making some kind of unwelcome political statement. (Okay, paranoid, but it's only my first day in town and offending, even mildly, entire metropolitan areas isn't my thing). My concern: Hong Kong was an English territory up until 1997 when - against the wishes of most of its inhabitants - England handed it back to the Chinese. How do the Hong Kongers feel about this?

Time for the bloke in the England strip with the English flag on his face to find out. Anyway, they can lighten up. It's the bloody World Cup.

We walk out on the street and immediately I know it's going to be okay: I get lots of smiles and thumbs up from passersby.

Barby must be lagging two steps behind me for some other reason. Hmmm.

Anyway, we quickly find the bar I've been recommended. Barby chats to the doorman - I think she has to explain that I'm not going to trash the place. From outside I can hear it's packed to the rafters. There's no turning back now. I bowl in with my painted face - sure enough I'm the only Westerner there - and give it a few "Come on England!"s in front of the big screen TV. All eyes turn towards me and there's a slight pause - I don't have quite enough time to think "Neil, you're a spectacular tit" - but soon the bar's laughing and shouting. Turns out most of the locals are David Beckham fans and are supporting our boys. Lots of high-fives and whooping follows.

We all know what happened in the game. I can't wish to have been in a better place.

By the time the match has finished Barby has decided that even if I'm a face-painted idiot, at least I'm a reasonably harmless face-painted idiot, and she invites me to join her for supper at her sister's home.

It's 9.30pm. We start walking towards the subway station. It's like daytime under the neon lights, the streets are jam-packed, and Hong Kong feels like Las Vegas. Lots of smiles from people in England shirts. I meet a family with two little boys dressed up as David Beckham - they think I'm hilarious. Michael Owen just earned us a 1-0 win over the Argies. I'm in Hong Kong. I just met a girl.

Blimey.

Barby's sister lives an hour away. Like millions of Hong Kongers she and her husband live in a tiny apartment in an enormous 50-story concrete towerblock. Theirs is one of seven identical towerblocks, nestled 100 yards or so from each other on a scrubby little hilltop on the outskirts of the city. As we approach on the bus I consider what a god forsaken corner of urban mess this development would be if, instead of Hong Kong, I were in some English or American city. Instead, of course, it's just the normal place for normal Hong Kongers to live. We hop off at the small grocery shop on the ground floor. It feels just like a bustling - and cleaner - version of my old local corner shop in San Francisco. We buy beers and make-up remover.

What her brother-in-law thinks of me when he opens the door is anyone's guess. It's late at night. I've had a few beers, don't forget. Her sister-in-law has known me for a whopping four hours or so. And - darling! - my make up is smeared all over my face!

But Barby has prepared them and I'm thoroughly welcomed. "Make yourself at home" is the English phrase the group recite in my honour. We stay up late drinking beers and munching Chinese hot-pot. All evening the hot-pot bubbles away in the center of the tiny dining table. You simply drop in whatever it is you fancy eating next. There are meats, vegetables, tofu items, fish, dumplings - all waiting to be dropped into the bubbling broth. We discuss Hong Kong and England (my hosts tell me that day-to-day life hasn't changed much for them since 1997, but that the English were better managers than the Chinese). We talk about their admiration for Chris Patten (the last governor of Hong Kong and occasionally my MP), possible reasons why their dog doesn't like me, and - towards the end of the evening - whether or not Barby and I are going to get married (!). I suddenly realize that it's 3am and it's been a very long day. I make my excuses, am escorted to a taxi, and swept through the eternal city lights to my bed.

I call Barby in the morning. Over the next two and a half days she shows me Hong Kong. We eat wonderful food. I'm her guest at a boozy dinner party to celebrate the opening of her old boss's new cosmetics shop - again I'm thoroughly welcomed, when it's time for speeches I dip into my bag of Cantonese phrases and manage to tell all the ladies how beautiful they are (I think. It's either that or I asked directions to the bus station). We take the Star Ferry back and forth over the harbour to the Kowloon side. We rent a karaoke booth and I trade Frank Sinatra numbers for Cantonese Love Songs. We take the tram up to Victoria Peak at the top of the city and gape at the city lights. Afterwards it's late and we ask the taxi driver to take us where he takes his girlfriends. He drives us to a great little late-night cafe.

It's all very cosy and sweet and romantic.

On my last day we have Dim Sum for breakfast and I walk her back to "Eastern Elegance" (she clocks on at 11am and works until 9pm - a standard six day, 60 hour Hong Kong week). I've managed to get my visa to Vietnam sorted and I won't have to delay my flight. It's time for goodbye and for the first time on my travels it feels like a wrench.

One reason I like Barby is because everyone loves talking with her. She's gentle but she's confident and people open up. Especially taxi drivers. I overheard some great conversations - that I didn't understand one word of - while in her company.

Our pretend plan: Maybe one day we can travel together in China. We seal things with a smile.

She goes to work, I take a train to the airport for a flight to Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon). The last leg. I think I want to catch up with Adrian, have a few beers with him, then get to England.

I don't look back.

- Neil