On the road

“Remember,” whispers Mr Wong over my shoulder, “You must believe!”

Ten pairs of eyes glint and the alleyway sinks into silence. In the shadows, something knocks an empty bottle; it rattles across the puddled concrete. A fluorescent lamp winks at me.

I pick up a bottle of Pearl River and angle my chopstick beneath its unopened cap. My left hand trembles but my right, polka-dotted with the bruises of previous attempts, is poised.

“It is time,” whispers Wong, soberly. “Pop the cap.”

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Two hours earlier, I was lost. Swallowed by Hong Kong's lofty maze and spat out in some raggedy corner of Mong Kok.

Like most tourists, I was heading for Tim Ho Wan, the world's cheapest Michelin-starred restaurant; unlike most tourists, I had no idea where it was. I lost my way somewhere among the laser pointers and 'Bruce Lee-Bad Mo Fo' t-shirts of Ladies Market, and now I sagged from hunger and big-city blues.

Dodging the drips from overhead air-cons, I rounded a corner and fell straight into the embrace of a small, smiling man.

“Hallo! You want to eat? Come, come!” said Mr Wong.

He ushered me off the dark street and into an alley that bristled with life.

In the garish light of a dozen fluorescent lamps was a mob of exchange students. Big-eyed youths from across the world who, every week, flocked to Mr Wong's with HK$50 for all-you-can-eat-and-drink all night.

Empty bottles clanked on the floor and full bottles clinked in hands. Woks sizzled and spat across the ratty tarpaulin walls. Each rotation of the fans sent a soupy whiff of mold, garlic, and sewage washing over the tables, but nobody cared – there was food, beer, and company.

I picked myself through the feasting throng and found a stool. Michelin-starred dim sum was far from my mind. I submitted myself and let the madness sweep me along.

Asked about Hong Kong, my first piece of advice is always Mr Wong's. It is easy to find, at 10 Shamchun Street near Mong Kok MTR, and is the cheapest, most vivid place in the city.

He opens from five till one, I say, so go early and stay late. Whatever you do, don't lose your seat.

If you're lucky, after closing time Mr Wong may impart to you a gem of worldly wisdom.

“Pop the cap,” he whispers. “Believe."

It is my fifth attempt but I feel confident. I believe.

I slam my right palm up into the chopstick and it splits down the middle with a crack. The bottle remains closed.

Mr Wong slaps me on the back, “See you tomorrow then!”