Alright, settle in, let me tell you about Kowloon back in the 90s. Now, if you’d been sailing container ships mostly, you’d be used to pulling into Kwai Chung – mountains of boxes, fences, pure work. But Kowloon, that was different. By the 90s, the big cargo stuff was mostly out, shifting west. Kowloon was the buzzing, vibrant heartbeat of Hong Kong, the place you really wanted to hit for shore leave.
You’d pull up to Ocean Terminal in Tsim Sha Tsui, right there in the thick of it. Cruise ships docking, people everywhere. You stepped off the gangway, and bam! You were smack in the middle of Harbour City, surrounded by shops selling everything from fancy watches to cheap souvenirs. The Star Ferry was right there too, those classic green and white boats constantly chugging across to Hong Kong Island – a must-do ride every time. And the view across the harbor, day or night, with that skyline lit up? Iconic. Just stunning.
Down the way was the China Ferry Terminal, a beehive of activity with hydrofoils zooming off to Macau and mainland ports. Kowloon in the 90s felt like a massive gateway, not just to the sea, but to China and beyond.
But the absolute, undeniable, defining feature of Kowloon back then? Kai Tak Airport. Right there. You’d be walking down the street, looking up at the buildings, and suddenly, this massive jet, a Boeing 747 usually, would come roaring in, looking like it was about to land on the rooftops. The noise was incredible, the sight unforgettable. It wasn’t a port for ships, but that airport was a huge part of the Kowloon vibe, constantly bringing people and energy right over your head.
Tsim Sha Tsui itself was the place to be. Nathan Road, known as the ‘Golden Mile’, was a kaleidoscope of neon signs, packed with casual eateries and quirky shops. Canton Road had the swanky places, the luxury goods. You could literally buy anything you could imagine, eat anything you craved, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. For a seaman coming off a ship, it was paradise.
We’d spend hours just soaking it in. Riding that Star Ferry back and forth. Maybe taking the tram up towards the Peak for those insane views (even if it wasn’t strictly Kowloon, it was the Hong Kong experience). Wandering through Kowloon Park during the day, a little green oasis. Checking out the clubs in Harbour City – three, four stories high, all thumping music and flashing lights. And a favorite adventure was heading out to Jumbo Kingdom, those famous floating restaurants in Aberdeen Harbour. Getting there by ferry, stepping onto this massive floating palace of food and lights – it was completely unique.
And you couldn’t leave Hong Kong without getting your movie supply for the next voyage. Kowloon was the place. You’d head down some unassuming alleyway, find a dodgy-looking set of stairs, maybe a locked door, and behind it? Piles of pirated CDs. Movies that were still in theaters back home! You’d stock up for the crew mess, a vital service keeping everyone entertained on those long sea legs. It felt slightly illicit, definitely a bit of mischief, but totally necessary for surviving months at sea.
The nightlife was legendary. The bars were lively, the music was loud, and yeah, plenty of beautiful people around. Never, ever a dull moment stepping ashore in Kowloon in the 90s.
Now, let me tell you about this one trip. I was ashore in Tsim Sha Tsui with “Sparky,” our Radio Operator. We’d done the usual routine – browsed the shops, probably grabbed some street food, and ended up, as all good seamen eventually did, at Ned Kelly’s Last Stand. Great bar, live jazz, cold beer. We were having a grand old time, soaking in the atmosphere.
Suddenly, Sparky’s pager goes off, or maybe his satellite phone rings, technology was getting fancier even then. It was the Captain. Sparky, being Sparky, asks, “Uh, Captain, where are you?” The Old Man didn’t sound amused. “Never mind where I am, Sparky, where are you?! Get your backside back to the ship, there’s a typhoon coming in! It’ll be here in a couple of hours. If you don’t want to be stuck ashore, move it!”
Well, that sobered us up right quick. A typhoon? Heading straight for Hong Kong? We legged it. Got back to the port, ran down the pier, and arrived at the ship just as they were literally raising the gangway. We scrambled aboard, the last two idiots ashore, leaving solid ground just in time. The crew on deck were probably shaking their heads, muttering about us cuttin’ it fine.
But the adventure wasn’t over. The Captain wasn’t sticking around in the harbor for a typhoon. He immediately ordered we head out. Out of the relatively protected Victoria Harbour, into the open sea. We steamed out a bit, found some deeper water, and dropped anchor. Not just one anchor, mind you. Two. The idea being, a typhoon isn’t going to budge a ship with two anchors down, right?
Wrong.
That night was wild. The wind howled like a banshee, the rain felt like bullets, and the ship was pitching and rolling like a cork in a bathtub. Below decks, everything was creaking and groaning. And despite having both anchors dug into the seabed, we were moving. You could feel it. The Captain later told us, after it was all over, that we dragged anchor. Not just a little bit. We dragged the ship, with both anchors down, three miles across the ocean floor during that storm. Three miles! The power of a typhoon is just incredible.
So yeah, Kowloon in the 90s. It was this amazing, vibrant, slightly wild playground for a seaman on shore leave – the shops, the food, the bars, the floating restaurants, the sheer energy of the place, all under the shadow and roar of those planes landing overhead. But even in the middle of all that fun, the sea always reminded you who was boss. One minute you’re having a beer in Ned Kelly’s, the next you’re scrambling aboard just before a typhoon, and then you’re riding it out, getting dragged across the seabed. Never a dull moment, never predictable, and always, always, an adventure.
Anchors Away,
/.BH
