A night at the races

The crowd begins to roar. Louder and louder, the whole stand expands with exultation and expectation, and then, a collective groan. The mob deflates into a drawn out gurgle of dissapointment. The Australian trained outsider finished outside of the placings, the favourite from the UAE is still wallowing amongst the mediocrity. Behind me an old Chinese man with a neatly buttoned shirt but glasses askew tares his slip in disgust. Someone squeezes past me clutching a polystyrene box, the smell of kebab rising in the beer froth bubbles of air. From the balcony I can see a young banker/investment/suit-wearer, straight out of Fulham, holding forth with two gorgeous South African blondes. If I haven't laboured the point enough already, Hong Kong is international and this is where its inhabitants collide. 

The races have endured since the 19th century and was one of the few places where British and European merchants would share the same space as the local Hong Kongnese residents (beside brothels and opium dens). It's longevity is a testament to how significant these brief moments of mutual pleasure were. The density of the city creates an intensity that has metamorphosed from narrow wooden streets to shiny glass skyscrapers which lean precariously on every river bank and hill. Yet rampant commercialism remains at the core of the city and its success. On the whole Hong Kong has been a triumph, like anywhere of immense prosperity there remains inequality. However, with increasing rapidity locals are rising to purchase their own companies and property. The recent student-led demonstrations have protested against China and its monopolying tendencies exerting too much influence.  Both the magnet for migration and the reason for its success has derived from this attitude to the great mercantile tradition. Different nations and cultures collect together such as the large population of Sunni's who live around the large Mosque just north of Kowloon bay. The issue of cultural identity which seems to cause such political strife in the West seems almost absent. This must be in part because each community must interact to survive in such a competitive atmosphere and so all supposed relative cultural values are secondary to market forces. 

What the Wednesday nights in Hong Kong reveal is the secret to how we can all get on in a globalised economy. It's not a newly found appreciation of other cultures which although, obviously desirable, has not been the view of much of the West's electorates. Instead we should celebrate our shared vices. If dancing is our universal language than its drinking which is our conversation. Even more puritanical attitudes have been quick to profit from drunken appetites. As I queued for my one winner it struck me that the only thing I shared in common with the other pushing punters was the Tsindao in my hand and that reckless fleeting elation of  triumphing over the odds. In that joyous crowd we were all reduced to our most basic human element and we are not always virtuous but if we can console ourselves in our shared failings, we can cultivate our shared aspirations.