Hong Kong is one massive shopping mall. Every tourist attraction, subway station, and skyscraper is decorated with an air-conditioned multistory promenade of acquisition. Often the actual tourist attraction isn’t signed very well — I just spent ten minutes wandering around the World Trade Center Mall, trying to find the tunnel to the Noonday Gun, which I eventually found by walking down the “automobiles only, no pedestrians” exit to the mall’s parking garage, hopping the vehicle crossing gate, and traversing a tunnel with massive green pipes labeled “Seawater Return.” And yes, it turns out that was the official route. If I were wealthy, uninterested in tourism, and flying back home instead of at the beginning of a long trip, I’d probably enjoy this more than I am.

The walking style here couldn’t be more different from other big cities. In places like New York, people are always moving fast & purposefully, in a straight line. Here — and I’ve confirmed this impression with other travelers — pedestrians are masters of aimless wandering. There’s a lot of looking to the left while meandering to the right, walking extremely slow, and stopping and turning in the middle of a crowd, charting a new course without regard for any obstacles. Everyone seems peacefully relaxed, or maybe just transfixed by the endless parade of things they could be purchasing.

When it’s raining, freakishly tall people like myself have to watch out for the tips of meandering umbrellas.

When my friend and I got here, we stayed two nights in a four-star hotel in Kowloon that he’d booked at nearly half price on the tubes. When they unsurprisingly refused to extend the same rate to us for another night, I stupidly insisted, against his advice, on booking an ultra-budget room in one of the “hostels” in Chungking Mansions.

Chunking Mansions (and the slightly nicer Mirador Mansions), would have been better named Chunking Private Housing Projects. They are massive buildings. The ground two or three floors are cramped shopping malls, selling everything from knockoff iPhones, DVDs, watches, handbags, and all manner of Indian and Pakistani food. The knock-off iPhones are particularly amusing. I watched one salesman repeatedly try to use the multi-touch interface, with no luck since it clearly wasn’t running the iPhone OS. Another knock-off was labeled “HiPhone” on the back, and a third was labeled “iPhone” in Arial, a sin El Jobso would never condone.

Above these mall floors rise six or eight towers, each served by two tiny elevators. There is always a five or ten minute line to get on, and you’ll share an elevator with building residents, mostly African, Pakistani, Middle Eastern, or Indian.

The “hostels” in this building make even the worst hostels in Europe seem palatial. They are run-down fire-traps, and you’re lucky if you get a room with a window. I met an unlucky traveler who got bed-bug bites in one.

Like New York, everything here is open late. Starbucks, McDonalds, Seven-Eleven, Haagen Dazs, and Ben & Jerrys, as well as all the local brands, are open at least until one or two am. Bars close whenever they feel like, and there’s a 24-hour supermarket across the street from my new hostel (a halfway decent affair on Hong Kong Island proper).

I allowed too much time in Hong Kong — I’ve long since seen most of the touristy stuff. Sunday I went to the Dragon Boat Race festival on the southeast town of Stanley (and Stanley Market). Victoria Peak (complete with mountaintop shopping mall) offered great walks and views. The I.M. Pei Bank of China and the HSBC building, the two famous buildings, are right next door to each other (and to several shopping malls). The Science Museum, although mostly for children, offered some great math puzzles and optical illusions on the top floor. It also had some prints from the Turkish artist Istvan Orosz, who may be the closest thing M.C. Escher has to an artistic heir (not counting the hyper-commercial Victor Vasarley). And, bonus, I was able to avoid the thunderstorm that day by walking to the Science Museum through a series of malls and covered mall-to-mall walkways.

The hostel on Lantau, a mostly unpopulated island near the airport, is no longer in daily operation, so my plan to spend a day in the woods before my umpteen-hour flight to Istanbul (which is running a pleasant 18 degrees cooler than Hong Kong’s 88 today), is shot.

Malls get old quick. I think I’ll go buy some Chairman Mao light-up cigarette lighters now.