Twenty Formula 3 race cars
vroom by,
sending late afternoon sunbeams scattering across the track. The noise
of tires skating against turns at speeds of 160 miles per hour is
deafening to spectators, who don’t seem the least bit bothered by it.
(Earplugs are a godsend.) The fall breeze off the sea keeps the heat at
bay during my foray into the world of racing. Though I originally hail
from the South where Talladega and Bristol are burned into our
collective lexicon from birth, it’s fitting that my virgin experience
should occur on the road. In fact, that’s my whole purpose for being in
Macau:
the annual Grand Prix.
But after a few days of experiencing what the Special Administrative
Region of China has to offer, it’s no longer my sole focus.
Those who have never been to Macau
likely have visions of Vegas: tacky, bright-lit casinos overwhelming
the landscape; drunken, fumbling gamblers causing debauchery in the
streets until the wee hours of the morning. At least, that was my own
ill-conceived opinion of Asia’s gambling capital. But upon stepping foot
on the island, I found there is, indeed, much more to the bustling city
than blackjack and craps.
Back in the 16th century, Macau was
considered the Pearl of Asia for its position as a high-profile trading
post. A wall surrounded the island to keep the Dutch and Chinese pirates
out; those who were caught trying to get in were shipped to prisons in
Angola and Mozambique. The Portuguese continued to govern the region for
more than 400 years until China took control in 1999 and the island
underwent a facelift of sorts.
In 2004, the U.S. casinos were then
allowed in, and Macau’s reputation began to change with the times.
Locally owned casinos have existed for the past 120 years, but it’s only
in the last decade that worldwide brands like Caesar’s Palace and the Venetian have set up camp, bringing the total to 33. For a city of just half a million inhabitants, that isn’t shabby.
But what impressed me about Macau was
hardly the casinos, nor was it all the hustle and bustle that centered
on the Grand Prix. A lover of Portuguese architecture, I couldn’t get
enough of the centuries-old facades, and the UNESCO World Heritage
sites. Macau boasts 25 of them—and an area of just 11 square miles—many
of which are located around Senado Square. It was surreal being in what
felt like an intimate European town right smack in a Chinese territory.
While wandering around Senado’s
arteries, absorbing sites like the St. Paul’s Cathedral ruins, I popped
into a few boutiques (unfortunately, they don’t carry “American sizes”)
and stopped for a ham sandwich on the local specialty coconut bread and a
cup of the best coffee in town at Ou Café Mun.
After refueling, I strolled along the
main drag, San Man Lo (or Avenida Almeida Ribero), where I discovered
the Cultural Centre, busting at the seams with Chinese trinkets,
furniture and a whole level devoted to tea. If you’re looking for a
token to take home, here’s your ticket. On the third floor is an entire
wall of zodiac selections—one for every sign. These single cup tea bombs
blossom into the corresponding zodiac’s flower when steeped for two
minutes, leaving behind a beautiful bloom. After the tea is served, the
remaining flower can serve as a table centerpiece for up to five days. I
left with three tins.
When my feet were throbbing from
walking, I caught a cab from Macau’s epicenter, over two bridges,
through Taipa and eventually to the smaller isle of Coloane. A
blink-and-you’ll-miss-it fishing village that appears to have been
trapped in time, there’s not much to it. An hour’s walk and you can see
the “downtown” Coloane in its entirely.
But I had other intentions in mind than exploration.
Coloane also happens to lay claim to the
greatest egg tart ever made, a testament to which any traveler passing
through will vouch. What is simply a bakery with a checkout counter,
Lord Stow’s has become something of a Macau staple. There are now two
Lord Stow’s cafes around the corner, too, which serve excellent food,
but it’s no secret that people primarily make the journey for the egg
tart, a native Macanese pastry. I ate three—just to make sure all those
travelers who came before we weren’t lying. (They weren’t.)
After I met my caloric intake for the
day, it was time to head back to Macau’s epicenter. In the months
leading up to my trip, I had one iconic Macau activity that lingered in
the back of my mind. I knew I wanted to do it, I just wasn’t entirely
sure, when it came down to it, that I’d have the guts.
At a height of 700 feet, the
Macau Tower’s SkyJump
is the highest city jump in the world. The tower can be seen from many
points on the island, a constant reminder of what I had to do.
I was blessed with a disposition that
some people call crazy, but what I like to believe is simply intrepid.
Still, that doesn’t mean it gets any easier, particularly when you’re
outfitted, strapped into your harness and ready to go—then made to wait
45 minutes on a windy, rail-less platform at the top of the edifice for
your chance to plummet to the concrete jungle below. But when it was my turn, I didn’t even hesitate—I took the plunge, letting my pride trump my fear. I’ve learned if you so much as pause, you might talk yourself out of it.
The difference between a SkyJump and a
normal bungee, also an option at the tower, is that you jump feet first
and are strapped in around the torso, staying upright throughout the
fall. After dropping vertically for 15 seconds, the ropes tighten and
you’re suspended in air, an opportunity to actually enjoy the panoramic.
Those not brave enough to jump can check out the SkyWalk or simply
visit one of the cafes or observatories on floors 58 through 61.
I returned the blue-and-yellow, 80’s-style jumpsuit and headed back to my hotel, the new
Sofitel Ponte 16,
to shake off my euphoria and freshen up before a night out. I booked
one of the basic rooms, which come complete with a TV in the bathtub,
but if I had the money (and clout) to do it all over again, I’d opt for
one of the VIP residences; with names like “White Romance” and “Black
Galaxy” and themes that followed suit, they sounded as if they should
house armies of Victoria’s Secret angels.
After a dip in the pool, it was off for
yet another round of eating. Macanese cuisine—a fusion between Chinese
and Portuguese fare—is heavy on the seafood. I dropped by
O Porto Interior,
which recently hosted the Travel Channel’s Samantha Brown for one of
her shows, and filled up on cod and king shrimp. To top off a delightful
meal, I ordered the
serradura mousse, which literally translates to “sawdust” in Portuguese. Luckily, it’s much more appetizing than it sounds: A chilled soufflé,
serradura
consists of alternating layers of vanilla whipped pudding—which is
simply whipping cream, condensed milk and vanilla flavoring—and the
“sawdust,” or crumbled cookies.
No night on the town in Macau is
complete without a bar crawl of Outer Harbour Pub Row, karaoke at Mix
Sense included. After quenching my thirst and testing out my pipes, I
found myself at the
Wynn to see the
Tree of Prosperity and
Dragon of Fortune,
free special effect shows that alternate every half hour until 11pm.
While there were plenty of Grand Prix shindigs going on around me, I
retreated to the
Lion’s Bar at the MGM Grand every night, both for the cover band Lockdown and the escape from racing mania.
The Grand Prix ended with a
bang—literally; I’ve never witnessed so many flames, crashes and
theatrics in my life—and I prepared to return to San Francisco after
five nights away, just the right amount of time to see and do
everything. My pockets were a little bit lighter—how could I resist a
game (or several) of blackjack?—and my ears still ringing from the hum
of the racecars. But while the Prix may come and go each fall, I’d say
Macau as a burgeoning vacation destination is here to stay.
LOVE YAA ♥♥♥
