Elements: Jiufen, Taiwan

Jiufen is an old mining town in Taiwan and is famous for a traditional old retail street.  The street is a market that winds down narrow alleys, giving it a souq-like atmosphere.

On the weekends, the amount of people visiting gives it a feel like you’re in Downtown Disney – packed full of people walking in either direction, not exactly leisurely.

But it’s famous for a reason.  The elevation and its placement on the hillside also gives you charming, wonderful vistas like this one.

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So much so, that it was reportedly an inspiration for Miyazaki’s Spirited Away.  You might see the resemblance.

What is the essential element of this place that gives it magic?

1.  The stairways and elevation changes give it a lot of charm.  You don’t know what’s around the corner, and you have a lot of views that are uncommon.

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2.  Red lanterns: lighting is huge, and by stringing these everywhere, basically it gives the night market a special glow.  Warm, inviting, a little magical.  Lighting can be a huge signature, and you can really see the difference here when you compare the market during the day versus the evening.  So simple.

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3.  Vibrant tenant mix.  I’ve consulted on a lot of projects where clients try to artificially create this kind of retail entertainment.  There’s nothing wrong with that, but usually where projects like this fail, is that everyone spends time on creating an incredibly fantastic, magical environment and less time on the actual substance of the place – it’s great to have spectacular surroundings, but what will people actually end up doing?

Shopping, eating, being entertained – and that is delivered by the individual tenants themselves.  Ensuring a vibrant, authentic, sometimes irreverent tenant mix is the absolute key.

If you really think about it, and decompose Jiufen into its elements, that last one is really the secret to its success.  There’s nothing so crazy about stringing up red lanterns, or narrow alleys.  But the reason it’s like Disneyland on a summer weekend, with a crush of people walking in either direction, is because of the combination of all three of those elements.

The other place I’ve seen this is in Hongyadong, in Chongqing, which is arguably more fantastic and magical looking than Jiufen.  You can take the whole sight of Hongyadong in, at a glance, but you can’t put the architecture or structures of it into any category.  You can’t even tell where it starts or stops, or what anything even is.  It’s hands down the craziest piece of real estate I’ve ever seen.  Below:

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Do yourself a favor and Google ‘hongyadong’.  It’s really one of the most insane structures I’ve ever seen.

And inside, it’s much of the same.  Chongqing is a hilly city, and you need to climb narrow winding stairs to get anywhere.  Once inside, you’re greeted by a crush of people, restaurants, shops, like you’ve arrived at a magical floating island.

Back to Jiufen.  Teahouses are one of the essential places to visit in Jiufen.  And there’s a lot to be said about Chinese teahouses.

This is the one we visited in Jiufen.

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The apothecary-like counter and cabinets holding a variety of teas, accessories, paraphernalia imbues the place with a special, bespoke touch.  You get the feeling they’re sifting through all these pots and bottles for the tea that you and you alone ordered, mixing it in the exact proportions right for you.  They possess an arcane knowledge of teas, the depths of which are mysterious and a world to be explored.

The teapots on the counter look industrious.  You get the feeling that something is always brewing 🙂

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The individual seat compartments are divided by dark woods and stone, and spaced at perfect intervals.  Solid, subdued materials surround you and invite quiet contemplation.

One day I’d like to develop such a place, but it’ll be one dedicated to chocolate.

A Real Estate Career: Lessons Learned (2014-2015)

In 2014, my tax business was winding down, and during the summer I was getting anxious again.

As these things tend to happen, while randomly talking to a friend, he asked me if I wanted to join his hedge fund as an analyst.

Completely putting aside the fact the position was in Hong Kong, I accepted.  And for the next 18 months, I helped them analyze real estate and Korean stocks.

This was my first real job in finance.

When you work in finance, you get spoiled – especially if you’re on the buyside, and you have all sorts of service providers working for you.

Finance draws hard-charging, intelligent, and driven types, and when you have Ivy Leaguers and graduates of Asia/Europe’s top 10 universities as your service providers – your bankers, brokers, traders, accountants, and researchers, well, I’m not sure I’ll ever have that level of service again.  Emails were written to me in clear prose.  If there was a problem, I received a phone call explanation within seconds.  Things got scheduled, presentations were efficient, full of information, and if I asked for anything, things just got done.  No one passed the buck, and if they did, it was to actually find the person who could solve the problem, and these problems got solved in hours, if not minutes.

Sigh.  Maybe this is the daily reality for many people, but for me it was new.  This meant that literally all I had to do was focus on the thing I had been hired to do, which was to stay plugged into the markets, pore through financials and industry reports, think, and analyze.

Never before in my life had I woken up so early, before 6, to catch the bus into Central to start fielding the calls and get work done before the Korean and Japanese markets opened at 8am.  Never had I had so much energy as when I was plugged into the information flow and market chatter every day, hearing from analysts, companies, and brokers spanning Tokyo to Mumbai.  The financial markets are an arena where the biggest game in the world – the exchange of capital – is played out on a daily basis, against some of the smartest people, with huge sums of money at stake.

And looking back at that time, that’s what I miss the most.  There’s no feeling or job quite like working in the financial markets – the pace, the energy.  It’s like being plugged into an IV of chatter and information and raw sentiment.  You can actually feel, around town, when the markets are up or down.

Now onto the actual job.

Our fund had a value bent, which meant that we were looking for undervalued or overvalued companies to buy or sell.  Before joining, I had a romanticized notion that it was all about digging through data and research, coming up with some sort of brilliant, deviant opinion and using that to make money.

There is that.  But I learned I was quite naive, because identifying the stock to buy/sell is only a fraction of the job.

Being good at analysis, and picking the right name, is only one leg of the stool.  It doesn’t matter if you’re good at analysis if you buy in at the wrong time or sell at the wrong time.  It also doesn’t matter if you buy/sell too much or too little of it, or if you can’t or don’t have the conviction to hold during the hard times.  Also, since you’re never going to be 100% right, 100% of the time, you have to be constantly evaluating your own decisions, your decision-making process, your own thoughts, in context with the present and history of the market.

In short, not only do you have to be brilliantly analytical, you have to have the instincts of a gambler to size and time the bet, the temperament of a stoic to not let gains or losses affect you, and the introspection of a monk.

Only by getting all four of those things right, can you succeed in the job, and it’s why investing is so hard.

It’s always been my opinion that investing is the best interdisciplinary exercise you could ever conduct, or learn.  And one of the biggest reasons is for the last point above.

Constantly evaluating your own thinking and process for making decisions will serve you well not only in investing, but in life in general, and is the foundation for success in general.

At the fund, though, I found myself teetering on the edge of this.  If you’re not careful, endless introspection can lead you to have massive self-doubt all the time, and start going down epistemological rabbit holes, like ‘how do I know I know this’, or ‘am I sure that I know this, and with what probability, and how do I know this probability is even correct’.

In my job, I found a lot of parallels to surfing.  The financial markets do not have sympathy or other human sentiments, just like the ocean.  You can’t fight them, just as you can’t fight or force a wave to do anything.  You can only react to what’s given to you.  You can’t argue about rightness or wrongness.  The markets, and the ocean alike, do not care about you.

Working in the markets is one of the most humility-inducing jobs you can have, and those who get arrogant get crushed.

In many ways, the job gave me an appreciation for knowledge in general.  When you can sit in a room with extremely intelligent people discussing a company, and everyone has extremely divergent, completely opposite viewpoints and opinions on the company’s prospects, you begin to see that it’s hard to purport to ‘know’ or declare anything with certitude.

And that states of the world are best expressed in probabilities, and the smartest people are always questioning and changing their minds.  They’re comfortable with uncertainty, and don’t let it paralyze them.

I learned a lot on the job, but that might have been the greatest lesson for me.

What I’ve Seen in China

Spending time in China is enough to convince you that you know nothing about it.

  • There is no architecture quite like the public architecture of the Communist Party.  Roads and sidewalks are massive, supposedly wide enough to drive tanks through.  The railroad stations are simply just the largest buildings I’ve ever seen or been in, looking like you could fly an A380 through them.  Government buildings are fronted by sidewalks that are like stadiums.  It communicates authority.  The scale is hard to comprehend if you’ve never been there.
  • The power of the state, in terms of it being manifested, is intermittent but ubiquitous.  After 950 AQI readings (~20 is healthy) on the air quality scale in Beijing, you can count on the next day being completely crystal blue.  How does this happen, is there a natural way?  It’s as if the air itself was reprimanded by the inner sanctum of the CCCP and told about the errors of its ways.
  • Blue skies are not taken for granted.  I once had a taxi driver take me from the airport in Chongqing to my hotel, and for the entire thirty minutes he was exclaiming loudly about how clear and blue the skies were, sticking his head out of the window, looking up, and yes – all while driving.  The air is indeed noxious, and during days when the readings are, say, above 300, visibility on the streets are as if you’re driving through fog.  Above 500, heavy fog.  Above 700, like you’re in a cloud.  The romantic side of me, on these days, can’t help but imagine myself back in London during the Industrial Revolution, or Chicago during the age of the railroads.  It must be what those cities were like: swarming seas of people, raucous roads, barely contained chaos, buildings rising impossibly fast, out of nowhere.
  • Is there another economy that has so many feverish booms and busts, in so compressed a timeframe?  Bubbles roil through the property market, then stock market, then private wealth products market, not necessarily in that order, but predictably every few years.  Technology companies are the same.  Two years ago, I started noticing a lot of green, orange, and yellow bikes on the road, with bike-sharing becoming huge there, way before it did anywhere else in the world.  A few months later, I saw entire sidewalks become parking lots for these bikes.  They were everywhere, the streets were filled with them.  A few months later still, I saw empty lots full of these bikes, rusting and old, unattended.  A few months later, I came back and saw nearly all of the bikes gone, and read that a lot of the companies had gone bankrupt.
  • Parts of the large cities – Shanghai, Shenzhen, Beijing – are more expensive, posh, and futuristic than equivalent places in London, Hong Kong, or New York.  And I will assume that they will only get even more so.
  • The line cutting is maddening and annoying.
  • But I can emphathize with some of it, as it is less a personal act of discourtesy, and more a symptom of an everyone-for-themselves, distrust of rules and the state that leads people to have this interesting mentality that there are rules and laws, there are taboos, and there are absolutely forbidden things that you must never do, and the intersection of those three things are like a Venn diagram – they are not one and the same.  I.e., everyone seems to use a VPN to access all the ‘forbidden’ websites, even at work, no one actually uses the metal detector machines in the subways, queues are optional, and most confoundingly to foreigners – contracts really don’t mean anything.
  • People are honest and straightforward.  They will tell you to your face that you look tired or if you’re fat, or if you need to eat.  In restaurants, you can regularly ask for things not on the menu.  You can ask and talk about anything, and people will tell you, as long as you avoid the subjects of Tibet and Taiwan.  Sometimes when we do market research, we literally go to our competitors and ask their frontline staff about stuff.  For a North/East Asian country, refreshingly informal and with a language devoid of hierarchy and formality.
  • When I first went to China, back in the winter of 2010, there was barely even a smartphone market.  I remember buying a used Nokia with a monochrome screen and using that.  Now just 7 years later, almost the entire population is on WeChat, which is a portal for everything from taxis, medical services, banking, and other payments.  Merchants in the middle of rural villages in China will prefer taking your cash over your credit card, but WeChat payments trump all.  In 2010, I remember my classmates telling me there was a huge difference between kids born in the late 80s and kids born in the 90s.  It was a seven-year difference we were talking about.  Now, you could probably feasibly move those endpoints to the 90s and aughts, and there would be even more of a generation gap still – think about it, two degrees of a generation gap in 20 years.
  • The resultant optimism, though, is refreshing.  This is a country that hasn’t had a major recession in twenty years – economic growth has always rounded to 10%.  Can you imagine that?  It means that everyone is down to try new things.  They’re figuring it out.  There’s no established tradition that needs to be followed, but nor are there established best practices.  In my field, it means that clients sometimes ask for – and expect – insane things that have never worked in the history of the world.  I’ve driven through 2nd and 3rd tier cities to the edge of the city, through rural villages, and then come face to face with resorts on the scale of Dubai.  I’ve driven deep into the mountains and seen waterslides and retail malls that wouldn’t be out of place in Orlando.  I’ve spelunked through entire cities where they built something, and no one showed up – yet.  To be clear, many of these insane projects and endeavors are destined for the dust-bin of history, but the risk-taking and dice-rolling is something to marvel at.
  • There seems to be no established dress code at most of the offices I visit.  Women wear skirts that are shorter than sexy nurse Halloween costumes, and tops that look like bright foliage.  Men wear business casual, loosely interpreted, like rocker boots and hawaiian shirts and whatever it is, it’s untucked.  Everyone is on their own phone during meetings.  Sometimes people answer their own phone during meetings and whisper into it without any repercussions from others.  Business cards were a thing for a few years, but it’s gone straight to WeChat.  Government officials will add you as contacts on WeChat and then send you funny memes.
  • It’s changing rapidly.  And on this note, a lot of the criticisms leveled against Chinese tourists abroad – rude, dismissive of lines, loud and obnoxious, pushy – I recall as things I thought about Koreans about 20 years ago.  Koreans of a certain age, say 50s, will fit this stereotype.  Social norms change and I can see them changing in China too.  Younger people have been abroad, studied abroad, and bring mores and expectations back home.

Basically, it’s growing at an exponential pace and everything you know about it now, will be wrong tomorrow.

If you are interested in the evolution of cultures, the study of cities, if you’re interested in seeing an economy and society change, if you’re interested in history or curious about what the future might look like, visit China.  Don’t miss it.

Elements: Hakone, Japan

Before Hakone, we were in Ginza.  Ginza is the quietest retail high street you’ll ever encounter in the world.  This is the 5th Ave/Rodeo Drive of Tokyo but you can carry on conversations at a whisper.  And the lights, all muted.  True class.

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A centuries-old ryokan.  It practically looks like the building has grown out of the same soil as the trees around it, the way it’s blended in so well.

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The ryokan where we stayed.  Simple wood, polished by decades (centuries?) of guests walking over it.  The wood creaked and bent – almost bounced – under your step.  I’d never had that feeling of walking on wood before, with so much give.

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The warm lighting in the hallway across this garden really makes this scene.  This was in the dead of winter, and it looks like the building promises warm hearths and fresh, hot tea for a traveler that’s come a long way.

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It’s hard to describe why the below scene affected me so much.  To the right of here is a shrine, and that red torii gate is the threshold to the sacred space.

As you stand here, the sun bursts through the crack in the trees in just the right way to light the moss verdantly.  The wind rustles the leaves gently and they sound like palms rubbing together, some sort of reverential gesture.  You have the sense that this space, which if you were in a hurry and passed by it looks completely ordinary – what with the street signs and electric wires – was hallowed.

And why was it hallowed?  Because of the torii gate?  The way the sun hit the trees?

Or maybe because the combination of all these things made you just stop.  Stop, and recognize the sacred or hallowed in the ordinary, which is the whole point of shinto and a core part of the Japanese aesthetic.

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There were very few things in the courtyard/garden of this temple.  But for some reason they looked artfully arranged.  I don’t know why the whole scene was so beautiful.  It just is.  The fact that the grounds were completely silent helped.

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But maybe the point of the space, with very few things in it, is precisely that there is space.

The space brings into greater relief the objects that are in the courtyard, like the bell and the beautiful trees.

Also, the space seems meaningful.  The space allows for things to grow, like the moss.  It provides space for the steps to the shrine.  It provides space for you to move through it.  The space is deliberately there, without space things cannot grow or develop or move.

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Elsewhere in Hakone, this was a restaurant.  And after eating there, you pass through this portal on your way out to the real world again.  The way this dark entryway framed the winter scene outside was astounding.  It wouldn’t have worked, I think, if the distance of this passage were any longer or shorter.

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I just love how these trees are gnarled with character.  Although the branches ended up growing in one general direction, they twisted and took corkscrew paths to get there.  It’s about the journey.

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A Real Estate Career: Lessons Learned (2012-2015)

It’s weird the things that stick with you.  For the next few years, I worked three full-time jobs at a time.  I was in full execution mode as a property tax agent, international theme park consultant, and commercial property agent – and I don’t remember much about the period.

When I look back, I think it’s because I wasn’t growing.

There was little new to the jobs.  I was just executing on processes I had put in place years earlier.  I had become proficient, an ‘expert’.  And so the result was that financially, they were some of my peak earning years, but overall I’m not sure it was that fulfilling.

If you can find jobs where you get paid handsomely for personal growth, now that’s the holy grail.

But there were a few things that stuck with me.

I had a client who was an ex-Drexel Burnham Lambert banker.  He predated Michael Milken give/take by a decade, and had apparently made so much money that there was nothing else to do with it but plow it into real estate.

He worked out of one of his apartment properties in Brentwood, in a ground floor office strewn with papers and newspaper clippings.  He was in his 70s and his main tactic in any negotiation or even discussion was to immediately pretend he was slow.

Whenever you began speaking, he would tilt his head and look at you curiously before responding with a set of ‘is that right’s and ‘you don’t say’s.  He didn’t say much, but you could tell he was processing everything.  With so much office space all around LA, he offered free space to young brokers as a way of being plugged into deal flow.  Essentially, to listen.  He was always listening.  Sometimes his ‘you don’t say’s were sarcastic, as if he couldn’t keep listening to our stupidity anymore, but he was always listening.

We had another client who was a movie mogul.  Over a few decades, he had opened a regional chain of movie theaters and plowed the proceeds into real estate.  And about a mile down from our office, he owned 25 condos in the heart of Redondo Beach.  We brought him multiple offers on the property.  $18 million.  $20.  $22.  But he wouldn’t budge for less than his number, which was a million dollars per unit.

And although we had clients who probably would have bit at $22, he didn’t.  Something about his patience struck me, sitting in his office modeled after a miniature theater, cracking a grin at each new offer we brought him, and sitting back, a picture of consummate contentment, and telling us, if we could please try to get a higher number.

Years later, he was proved right.  Actually, the value of his condos probably exceeded a million dollars a unit.

The thing that both these clients had in common were that both owned and controlled more than $100 million in properties, each, both were well into retirement age, and both arrived at their offices at the crack of dawn.

This is just a sample.  There are people like this all over the country, all over the world.  It was just another lesson about wealth.  In so many ways, wealth is not the goal.

I wanted to be like them.  It would be nice to have the level of wealth they did, but I’m talking about their working for the purpose of their work itself.  And having a purpose that made them work harder than people half their age.

No doubt, it’s what made them great.

Then we had another client.  She had emerged as a buyer for another client’s property in Hermosa.

She made us work.

Among other things we had to do to close the deal, we had to chase down people to get them to sign estoppels.  The existing owner didn’t want to do it, because he preferred to be liked more than he preferred to sell the building.

This meant we had to camp out in front of all 12 units and try to get the tenants to sign a document verifying that they were paying, exactly what the rent rolls said they were paying.

Naturally, a lot of them were suspicious.  Was the new owner going to kick them out?  Was she going to convert the apartment into condos?  They were nervous.

No, no, I answered confidently.  I reassured them there was nothing to worry about, that the new owner had no intention of redeveloping.

But there was something else I had forgotten about.

After dragging the deal across the finish line, I felt a sense of relief as we pulled up to the new owner’s $10 million house in Palos Verdes, with a tennis court in the back.  In the living room, she proudly showed us a rent roll of the $80 million portfolio she managed, from her living room.

And later, she even more triumphantly emailed us to say that she had doubled rents, because the previous owner had been undercharging.

It left me with a bad taste for these kinds of deals and people in general.  All part of the industry, but I couldn’t help but think that while knocking on doors to get those estoppels, I had led some of those people astray.  Some of them, kids younger than I was.

It turned out to be my last deal there.  That, combined with the diminishing fortunes of the property tax appeal business, a countercyclical business if there ever was one, led me to other things.

One last reflection about wealth.  I spent half this time period in Hong Kong.

And in Hong Kong, a summer rite is the boat trip.  On the weekends the waters around Hong Kong and its myriad islands teem with junks and yachts that anchor off a secluded beach, then descend into drunken orgy-level partying.

One of our friends was dating a guy who was as close as you could get to Hong Kong royalty.  He was the scion of a billionaire tycoon, which made him one himself, but you wouldn’t know it to meet him.  Well-educated, low-key, soft-spoken, there is no way you could pick him out in a lineup, as is often the case with billionaires.

Anyway, this weekend we had use of his dad’s yacht.  For seven of us, a uniformed staff perhaps double that number helped us board, navigated, helpfully pointed out the amenities, cooked us a hot lunch, and generally gave us the kind of five-star service you would expect from what was basically a floating villa, way larger than my childhood homes, combined.

After anchoring, there are only a few things you can do.  We rode jet-skis.  We bounced off of inflatables.  Some of us read a book on the upper deck.  Some of us just floated in the water.

Which is what I did.  Bobbing, I could see all the other boats around us.  Some of them were like us.

Splendid, sleek yachts.  Barely any people on them, though.  There were kids on some of the nicer yachts, towards the front, and they looked bored out of their minds.

And, the people on the nice yachts were all looking in the same direction I was, which was towards the bacchanal boats, the ones thumping music that could be heard hundreds of feet away, with the people backflipping off the upper rails, doing keg stands, sliding headfirst and belly up down makeshift slides into the water, floating around the boat suspiciously in pairs.

Of course sometimes it’s nice to be alone.  But also sometimes I think that with great wealth comes great isolation.

I noticed this during my brokerage days in LA.  Sometimes it seemed like our richest clients called…just to talk.  Or when we went out in Hollywood – there is type of person, usually male, who buys drinks for everyone, is exceedingly generous, talks a lot, is best friends with everyone at the bar, is also exceedingly rich, and then at some point during the night…leaves alone in a nice car.

In the summers in LA, you can ride a bike from Venice Beach down to Redondo.  Over the course of 15 miles, the crowd changes.  Rowdy and larger up around Venice and El Segundo, Playa del Rey, huge barbeques with organized beach football games.  Then you reach the $10 million houses (at least) in the South Bay, along the Strand.  Nice organized picnics going on, some beach volleyball games, more individual, more rich, smaller.  Sometimes just a guy on the upper balcony of his home sipping coffee and looking out over the ocean.  Of course in some of the houses in between were always some frat antics going on, but still.  Richer, more individual.  In many ways, more alone, although there’s nothing wrong with alone.

But, now why is that?

True Hustlers

There’s no leisurely setting to the pace and speed of life in Hong Kong.  You can feel it the moment you land at the airport.  Suddenly, everything is fast and you are too slow.

From the subways and trains that arrive at sub-1 minute intervals, to the buses that will run you over, or at least off, the road – because they, and not pedestrians, have the right of way, or the taxis will take off before you shut the door, because they’re Japanese cars where the driver can close the door with a button, or even the people, who will not just graze elbows, which might be common in major cities, but actually smash their shoulders into you without apology.

Hong Kong is a city made for work, and by work.

It was literally created by a trade treaty in which one party got to sell drugs in exchange for gold, on a barren rock in the middle of the ocean with so little flat land that half the downtown area is built on artificially created land.

It was made so people could go there, trade freely, and then leave with the fruits of their labor.

While people settle in Hong Kong, many also have ancestral ties, homes, and families on the mainland, where they retreat during vacations or during retirement.  And for an entire class of expats employed in the financial services industry, well, Hong Kong allows you to make 1%-er money, pay some of the lowest taxes in the world, generate wealth, and move back home.

Everyone is a hustler in Hong Kong.

But the realest hustlers?  They’re not the investment bankers working all-nighters deep in the recesses of the IFC, Cheung Kong, or ICC.  They hustle too, but they party just as hard.

The real hustlers don’t get to party.  The real hustlers are almost invisible except on the weekends, when they come out on their one day off and congregate in Wan Chai and Causeway Bay.  And you could make the case that Hong Kong is run by them.  The city wouldn’t be as productive, as operationally leveraged, or as able to work, if they didn’t exist.

The maids.

In Hong Kong, the Indonesian and Filipina “domestic helpers” (maids) have standard working hours of between 12 to 15 hours a day, 6 days a week.  Often, their only space to themselves is a small closet that is as long as the length of a single bed, and just as wide – and sometimes if their households employ two maids, well, the bed is a bunk.

Working from 6am to 10pm is not uncommon, with household duties that include cleaning, cooking, taking care of the elderly and babies alike, and being the first point of call when the baby wakes up in the middle of the night.  Also, household shopping, miscellaneous chores.  Six days a week.  At least 10 hours a day.

Also, they do it without having basic rights or representation in the cities where they literally raise the next generation.  Sometimes they get kidnapped, their passports taken away, funds due to them not paid.

This is a note of gratitude to them.

Working and living in this part of the world, you come face to face with an entire class of manual laborers who are invisible.

Sometimes, working hard is no guarantee of success.  Sometimes it’s just a guarantee that you’ll survive.

Elements – Bangkok Mall Edition

In my opinion, the best malls in the world are in Dubai, Seoul, and Bangkok.  What do I mean by ‘best’?  Good tenant mixes, amenities, facilities, and above all, retail experiences that don’t feel like typical malls.  They feel like other worlds.

Bangkok’s malls are the best in the world in terms of design.  The city itself is underrated in terms of design.

My favorite space here is the 6th floor of the Central Embassy mall and I’ve pasted in a gratuitous amount of images for it below.  The floor is a food hall/market + bookstore.  It also hosts a kids cafe, “co-thinking” space, and a cinema at one of its far ends.

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The detail on the ceilings.  The interspersed foliage.  The lighting, especially under the shelves.  The lighting of the wood panels and under the bars.  The color of the wood.

This section where I’m standing in the below picture is the ‘out-of-print’ section and houses antique and rare books.  The fact that they dedicated an entire wall to this…well, thank you.

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The “co-thinking” space.
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This is what the Central Embassy looks like from the outside.  Outside, the design is just as gratuitous as it is inside.  Not gratuitous in the sense of frivolous or excessive, but gratuitous, as in overdelivering beyond expectations.  If you go there, don’t miss the other food court in the basement, which might also be one of the best food courts in the world.

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Pictures of other mall/retail spaces.  A futuristic, space-age apothecary, just a typical perfume and fragrances counter.

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The men’s-wear section in the same mall.

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The rest of that mall.  Again, gratuitous.  I wish there was a better word than that connoting overdelivery, but that’s what these malls are.  You cannot calculate a direct ROI on spending money on design like this.  But the malls in Bangkok do it anyway, and for that, I feel gratitude.

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Standing on the ground level, I like how you can clearly see all three floors above you have a distinct character and pattern.

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Food courts of the world are in general moving towards the food market/hall concept, which makes it look more authentic – food carts and kiosks arranged over the floor like they arrived there organically.  But probably outside of Bangkok, you cannot get decent, filling meals for less than $3, like you can here.

 

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