Red Bolts in the City of Neon

One night, returning from Macau and feeling more than a little fatigued, I resolved to splurge on a Hong Kong taxi — an institution known for its high prices (a decision, I should say at the outset, I never came to regret).

A Hong Kong taxi may be summoned in what one might call the classical manner — by raising an arm to the void and trusting that a passing cab will correctly interpret the gesture largely extinct in many parts of the world where we rely on mobile apps to call a cab. With my phone clinging to its last 3% of battery and refusing to register any of my foreign numbers for Uber, this ancient art of hailing came to my rescue.

It must be said that the ubiquitous Hong Kong taxis constitute a curious ecosystem. Their colours indicate the territories they serve: the red ones roaming the urban districts of Kowloon and Hong Kong Island; the green ones covering the New Territories; and the minor blue ones dominating Lantau Island.

Passengers typically find themselves riding in one of two models: the Toyota Crown Comfort, a mechanical veteran of the streets, or its more modern successor, the Toyota JPN Taxi (a design that may strike some travellers as suspiciously reminiscent of a certain British silhouette — an echo of a hackney carriage relocated to the Pearl of the Orient).

My first surprise came immediately: the door slid open as if of its own accord, though in fact the driver had merely pressed a button. Having attempted to communicate my destination in English to him, I was soon forced to expend the final breath of my phone’s battery to display the map. Thankfully, the driver, with the dignified patience of a man well accustomed to tourists, eventually deciphered my intended whereabouts.

You could almost watch the gears turning in his mind as he reconstructed the route, for Hong Kong taxi drivers famously eschew electronic navigation. To obtain their licence, they must pass a formidable topographical exam — an encyclopaedic mastery of the city’s labyrinth required before one may sit at the helm of a red, lacquered chariot.

The ride felt unexpectedly authentic, in that peculiar way things feel when they belong to another era but are cared for as if they were new. The sleepless city seemed to gleam more radiantly when observed from the interior of a retro cab, which, contrary to all expectations, showed no trace of rust or fatigue.

As we moved along, I found myself walking down memory lane — one leading not to my own past but to a past I had only imagined. The neon spectres of 1970s Hong Kong flickered by, merging unexpectedly with vague recollections of riding in the back seat of my father’s old shestyorka.

Seven minutes later, the journey ended. I handed over HK$50, stepped out at the threshold of my godforsaken hostel, and the driver drove off into the neon-lit infinity, leaving me in the midst of my timeless retro musings.

Useful vocabulary:

splurge on — to spend a lot of money on something unnecessary but enjoyable

void — an empty space; something missing or lacking

hailing (a cab) — calling or signaling a taxi to stop

ubiquitous — found everywhere; very common

veteran — someone with long experience in a field; or a former soldier

reminiscent of — reminding you of something

expend — to use up (time, money, energy)

at the helm of — in charge of; leading

walking down memory lane — recalling past memories fondly

musings — thoughts or reflections, often thoughtful or daydream-like

(c) Daniil Shuklin, 2025