The Ugly World

So I’ve been talking about the prototypical stereotypical “Ugly American” over several posts prior. Loud and obnoxious, drinking to no end, the “Ugly American” was what we were told not to be. We were told that the rest of the world frowns on such seemingly senseless actions, but after what happened last night, not only do I have doubts about how inclusive the “Ugly American” is of Americans and exclusive of everyone else, but also I feel I sense a common humanity among the people of the world.

Last night was something of an unofficial gathering of the HKU international exchange students. We were to meet at HKU’s west gate and then venture over to the party area of Central by bus. People from the Sasoon Road Campus, myself included, met earlier and then trucked over to west gate together. There we found a small crowd of international students.

And that was my intention in going to this get together. As previously explained, I’m not a huge fan of drinking. I still have never been drunk, never hungover, and the most I’ve drunk at one time was one-and-a-half limoncellos in Sorrento, Italy. In short, I made no effort to disguise the fact that I was there primarily to meet-and-greet other exchange students.

I met a lot of people from Australia, Canada, the United States, and Europe mostly. It was a diverse group. I thought the gathering would be very casual—you know, maybe a drink or two—nothing big and explosive.

I’m not against drinking personally, despite what my actions seem to suggest. I always thought that I was more of a glass-of-wine-with-dinner kind of guy over a let’s-go-drink-the-night-away one. I don’t drink also because in the United States the appropriate age is 21, whereas most everywhere else it hovers around 18, as most people know.

And the little get-together was going great. The crowd began growing and before we knew it, we probably numbered in the low hundreds. I met more people than I could ever possibly remember (a sentiment shared by many of those students), and before I knew it we were being herded onto a double-decker bus.

Now trying to get some hundred people onto a single bus at a single bus stop is kind of a nightmare. First, we were on a two-lane road with blind curves, so we stopped all traffic behind the bus as we filed our way onto it. To make matters worse, most of us, having just arrived from our home countries used coins to pay the fare. Locals prefer to use so-called Octopus cards, which work like rechargeable, good-as-cash gift cards all around Hong Kong, that are way more convenient for purchasing as well as public transportation. Unfortunately, taxis only take cash, but that’s beside the point.

When all of us managed to get on the bus, over twenty of us didn’t have seats. Standing in the aisle, most of us used this highly claustrophobic time to acquaint ourselves with more people with varying levels of success.

We got off in Lai Kwai Fong in Central, which pretty much serves as Hong Kong’s party district, and the drinking began. Some people easily spent hundreds of Hong Kong dollars on drinks (as the prices at the bars were absolutely ridiculous). Most of us went onto this small pedestrian side street where there was a 7-Eleven, which was much, much cheaper than the bars, of course. Whereas the bars had loud music, the pedestrian street had lower volumes of it, allowing us to keep introducing ourselves and such.

I only had one beer the whole night, but as the night went on and the drinking began showing its effects, it became less a night about meeting other people and more about having drunken fun, I guess. And while the Americans drank to the effect of the “Ugly American” stereotype, others of different nationalities drank to that same effect. The taxis for hire were patrolling the streets for business as the partying went on and on and on.

While they remained in a drunken stupor, I became bored, being completely sober and all. Ugly American? I couldn’t help thinking that that classification is more deserving of the title “Ugly World.” As the night went on, I split a taxi back to my hall with two other people. I pronounced Sasoon more properly, with rounded lips and a French “u” for the “oo” of Sasoon and we found our way back easily.

The night was over and I was ready to go to sleep. And for the record, I still don’t see the point.