A Day At the Races

Hong Kong likes to race things, which contrasts it a bit with "Greater China," which seems more inclined toward team athletics (though every millennial Han male, wherever he is, seems predisposed toward basketball). Of particular note are the horse races, whose importance may have to do with the former colony's propensity toward British things as will as the popularity of gambling in the Pearl River Delta region (see also "Macau"). Whenever I ride the MTR on Wednesdays or Sundays I see many middle-aged males reading the horse profiles or whatever you call them on their way to the Shatin or Happy Valley racecourses, or alternately, one of the off-track betting branches of the Hong Kong Jockey Club. The HKJC is one the biggest and oldest institutions in the SAR, having taken a great deal of other peoples' money over the past century to fund important public services, such as my  cheap dormitory.

However, one thing that HK shares with the rest of the Chinese world is Dragon Boat racing, the sporting-cum-cultural event that takes place on whatever day of the Chinese calendar the Dragon Boat (duan wu) festival happens to take place, usually around the summer solstice. According to legend, the festival begin when the famous minister Qu Yuan was so depressed by the political situation in ancient China that he committed suicide (as classical bureaucrats and philosophers are wont to do, along with writing poetry). The local townsfolk were so distraught by this that they raced boats out to retrieve his drowned body.

This somber origin seems largely ignored in favor of the competitive races that pit political bodies and businesses against each other for bragging rights. It's not very different than rowing, except each person has only one paddle and the luckiest team member (in my view) gets to pace the whole effort by pounding on a giant drum. Each boat is also decorated with a dragon head and tail. There are three classes of boat (small, medium, and large), but the biggest boats are the most fun, the combined intensity of the rowers, drummers, and helmsmen evoking a Viking war party, or its hypothetical Asian equivalent.

Though Shatin district has its own races, a friend invited me to out to Tuen Mun, way out in the western corner of the SAR, to see theirs. Lining the town's harbor were freighters and junks displaying vibrant red and yellow flags and, presumably, the names of the various corporate entities and public utilities sponsoring each boating team. I was lucky enough to get into the staging area where most of the teams prepared, hydrated and rested. Each group had a tent as well as access to a cohort of young men that risked tetanus infections while swimming out to secure and retrieve their boats. The more well-funded teams and their posses had their own ships in the harbor from which to shove off. I was told to dislike them.

Unfortunately the team my friend and I cheered for did not make the finals, outclassed by EVIL SEAFOOD CONGLOMERATE and their crew of highly-paid and possibly steroidal jocks. It was comforting to find out even those sports with ancient cultural significance are dominated by money and shady tactics.