Regular Noodle followers will know by now that I have a love-hate relationship with Hong Kong. Loves: food, cheap public transport, weather, beautiful scenery. Hates: shit bars, shit clubs, shit music – mass produced, commercialised banker-baiting shit.
I’ve been trying to get to a Hong Kong ‘bunker party’ for about a year and a half now. A combination of bad timing and unfortunate coincidences has stopped me up until now. Or, up until last weekend. I haven’t even been to that many illegal raves, having hit my latter teens a few years the wrong side of that deathknell for the spontaneous party, the UK Criminal Justice Act. That’s except from the first time I indulged in a disco biscuit – in a lock-up under the Byker Bridge, since you ask. Pretty sure that was an illegal rave, there were certainly lots of tyres.
The Hong Kong Bunker affairs, however, are something else altogether. A reputation for stunning locations – in caves, WW2 bunkers, secret islands and the like – and some decent electronic music you will be unlikely to find down Lan Kwai Fong has led to a loyal, if relatively small underground following. I joined that following with much trepidation – it was going to require a significant investment in time to get there and back; two taxis, a bus and a walk. And the risk that it would be raided by the fun police. Or as they’re called here: the police. Well, I’m glad to report, it was fucking worth it.
Yes, it took about 2 hours to get there and 2 to get back but a rave in an abandoned village in the middle of a forest up a mountain should never be missed. As we turned the final corner of an ear popping climb, the music began to drift through the trees. Then we saw some disco lights falling like multi-coloured jewels over the dark canvas all around us. Torches at the ready we steered single file towards the sound of fun: music, cans of beer spraying everywhere, whelps of delight, balloons exhaling. Turning a final corner and into the dance area proper was something akin to a religious experience – I’ve got a brilliant video of this but WordPress wants me to pay for an upgrade to embed this so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Now the first rule of Bunker Club is you shut the fuck up about bunker club (there was a fear the po-po would be monitoring taxi radios to spot where this dangerously anti-social gathering was held). However, no one reads this blog anyway, so hopefully no harm done.
I would be back in a second. The hours disappeared with each can of Tsingtao; each, er, paracetemol; each unintelligible chat with a thoroughly lovely fucked-up party person. I’d almost lost hope people like this existed over here. The bizarre array of Hallowe’en outfits, from slutty skeletons to predatorial vampires, only served to emphasise the other-worldliness of it all.
We got out just as the sun rose over the South China Sea, warming our tired and bruised bodies. I’d lost the torch long ago, but found a new reason to love Hong Kong.
(update: more pics here)
Death Noodle 