John Waite was belting out, “Missing You”, as we stepped into a taxi outside Macau International Airport. That, along with the fact that the vehicle was a Toyota Crown, affirmed that Macau is similar to Hong Kong, the Philippines and much of South East Asia, for it being locked in a time warp with the 1980s.
But the similarities largely end there. And when accustomed to the enormity of cities in China, Macau comes as quite a shock. For two reasons; as populous as mini Montenegro or little Luxembourg, with just some 600,000 odd folks and one of the highest population densities on the planet, at over 20,000 people per square kilometre.
Macau is the mecca where Catholicism sits hand in hand with those in town to pray to the God of money; the roulette wheel. I harboured no such ambitions and had made no secret prior to my departure for the first time from the Middle Kingdom’s mainland in over 4 years that I was going for the architecture and the food. Portugal is my kind of thing. I was in for a treat with the former; the latter decidedly not.
The dead centre of Macau is undoubtedly the plaza outside the Lisboa Grand, that blossoming, shiny edifice to capitalism inspired by the feathered-head dresses of Mardi Gras announcing to the world Macau is open for business big time, the gambling business. That makes the plaza a 24/7 photo op.
But the enclave’s true heart lies not far away, to be found on the slopes, at times pretty steep, of Santo António civil parish, atop which is top-tourist attraction, the Fortaleza do Monte, which has also been home to the Macau Museum since 1998.
Not far away, a statue of Matteo Ricci goes almost unnoticed, with tourists’ phones poised instead in the direction of the adjacent Ruins of St. Paul’s with its facade all that remains of the 17th-century Catholic complex.
But it’s amid the alleyways of Santo António, where the population density soars to almost 100,000, that Macau’s real character reveals itself.
And its charming architecture too. Here, there is truly something to behold with every few steps taken; a shop, a shack, a school or a nod to Macau’s colonial past and continuing Catholic present. And at which to wonder; how can people live in such constricted spaces?
Then, as the afternoon closed, it was a joy to see the same alleyways that somehow can fit in a Uniqlo or Mannings quickly filled with schoolchildren just out of the Colégio Mateus Ricci, each noticeably proud of their uniform bearing the Jesuit’s name.
While we were not blessed by the weather in any manner, still there was much simple pleasure in a kebab from Rachel Barbecue and a Macau Beer on a more or less deserted Black Sand Beach (Praia de Hác Sá) at the southern tip of Coloane. Had we the sun and a few more degrees, it would have been perfect.
An escape on a public bus followed (they only take cash, and no change for you, but Alipay is fairly widely accepted across Macau) that took us to the nonsense that is The Venetian. Owned by the American Las Vegas Sands company, the saving grace of this, the second largest casino in the world, is ironically, its architecture.
Derivative as it may be, The Venetian is still several steps up from the vulgarities of The Parisian next door or the frankly-revolting faux Houses of Parliament and Big Ben of The Londoner across the road.
As for that Portuguese food, there was none to be had, other than a prohibitively-expensive hotel restaurant. That meant a return visit for a Korean beef bibimbap on an iron plate in a well-patronised, street-side diner with plastic stools for seating, together with the quite-remarkable burger on offer from the Lisboa’s room service.
Also making Macau an attractive option out of Nanjing is the sheer number of daily flights available. While Air Macau was tempting, The Nanjinger opted for Shenzhen Airlines, given its offering of a Premium Economy class; ample legroom for that tall foreigner.
