Christmas in September

A few nights ago, I arrived at B’s apartment complex as I usually do after work – with a bag full of laundry and stomach empty of food. The front gate guards still welcomed me like an old friend, with broad smiles, warm “right this way, Sir” gestures, and cordial words like “Have you eaten?” (or maybe “Your fly is down!” Who knows?). But tonight, the complex’s gray and brown tiles were lit up with the glow of Western Christmastime. The bulbs were perfectly round, as opposed to the familiar teardrop shape, and red chandeliers substituted for Santa and Co. rooftop figurines; but maybe I missed home enough to convince myself, just for a moment, that my family, my dog, and a tree would be waiting for me inside.

According to several valuable sources (B, her mom, and Wikipedia), Mid-Autumn Festival doesn’t mark a significant historical event, like Independence Day, Easter, or my birthday. Instead, with distant origins in moon worship, the modern Chinese holiday is the aggregation of a number of fall-time traditions, such as the end of summer harvest, falling in love, and killing the Mongols.

(photo: children's lanterns and child) Despite this entry’s title, Mid-Autumn Festival is probably most similar to Halloween. Thankfully free of strong Satanic undertones, it involves parents buying their children a lantern (traditionally a paper box with a candle, but now “anything that lights up,” says B), staying up late, and eating deliciously unhealthy snacks. Children’s lanterns, like Halloween costumes, are patterned after classic (fish, rabbits) or popular (Hello Kitty, etc.) figures and usually use LED lights to avoid catching fire. Older kids prefer glow sticks (low quality ones that leak radioactive trails), and teens are too cool for this nonsense. The whole family stays up late to eat mooncakes (main ingredients: lard, sugar, flour, lotus seed paste), play with lanterns, and watch the bad moon risin’. For the easily distracted, it is common (and illegal) to heat candle wax in a mooncake tin until it begins to flame; add any liquid for pyrotechnic effects.


As this was my first Mid-Autumn Festival among people who celebrate it with time off work, B’s mom bought me my first lantern. It was a wheel with lights that could be sent flying up like a helicopter with a hard yank on a string – the perfect lantern for a fussy pre-teen male. I loved it. The night before the Festival, the three of us ventured down to a local park to play with it, and I was the envy of all the twelve-year-old boys (all two of them, since it wasn’t the actual Festival night). (photos: night lights)


To celebrate the actual day of Mid-Autumn Festival, B’s mom booked tickets for dinner and squidding. On the northeastern coast of Hong Kong is Sai Kung, a fishing village well-removed from the MTR lines and hardly comparable to the city’s more developed areas. After a brief stroll down the boardwalk, B, her parents, and I met our trip-mates over a seven-course seafood dinner. The four of us shared a table with two other groups, and the lack of interaction between the three parties ached of the awkward social obligation to speak to someone sharing such close quarters. But B explained that the regular sharing of restaurant tables in Hong Kong releases people from this pressure. I released myself for language reasons. (photo: on the boardwalk, with sea-inspired lanterns)

After dinner we had a few hours to get something cool for dessert before loading up on our boat. After a 15-minute ride we anchored near some outlying islands in the company of at least a dozen identical boats. Each vessel was equipped with bright lights shone directly on the water (to attract the squid?), and its passengers were, it seemed, in the middle of a collective fit. Squidding (squid fishing) involves little more than a line, a hook, a white piece of tubing (for lure), and an irregular jerking motion. Here I would like to make a snide comment about how embarrassing it must be to be taken by a spasmodic piece of steel, but since I caught no squid, well, hmm.

(photo: the full moon and our squidding boat) One slight consolation was that my zero squid tied for best in our party. B grew tired after about an hour and joined her parents on the upper deck to enjoy the night’s ocean breeze. I believe Mr. and Mrs. Liu were the only two on the trip not to drop a hunting line, but with the uncomfortable weather (the hottest Mid-Autumn Festival in 13 years), I think the quiet trade winds were a wise choice over the unrelenting shower of floodlight radiation.

The Christmas lanterns will be gone the next time I drag my sweaty body over to B’s flat, and I won’t have a good excuse to play with my light-up helicopter toy for at least a year. But if all goes well, I’ll have a family, a dog, and tree waiting for me in just a few months.