Ludo Dawnay
Staff writer
There is a common cliché in documentaries. The clip shows huge swarms of people crossing busy streets in Asian capitals, always with an authoritative voiceover. This is what it was like for me going to work, every day. My alarm would go off at about seven, I’d get into my suit and head for the MTR (their version of the London Underground or the New York Subway), coming out under the towering glass building which was my office.
Jardine Matheson are a holdings company, owning many firms specialising in a wide range of industries such as construction, fast food, finance and hospitality. It was founded as a trading company in China in 1832, selling opium. I was working in their Auditing and Risk Management department, responsible for the accounting side of internal, as well as occasionally external, firms. My boss was a straight-talking Scot, and my colleagues were destined to be CFOs of major companies. Generally, my days consisted of tedious tasks, if asked to do anything at all. The most entertaining aspect of the six weeks was, of course, out of the office and in the bars.
Having finished my A-levels, I left on the Virgin Atlantic flight knowing hardly anyone in Hong Kong. A week in, I called a friend who I had not spoken to in five years. He was very friendly and accommodating, and invited me to a party with his friends. The house was located in The Peak, an area on the outskirts of the island and where the wealthiest live. His home, which was in a beautiful location, just by the sea, was well furnished. (I found out later that the bank pays for the rent). Outside of long working hours, the ex-pats divide their time between boat trips and visits to the country club. It is very similar in Beijing, where I visited my my uncle, who was in his late twenties, after I had finished my placement. He worked in commodities, making deals in Mandarin at all hours of the day. He was supplied with a car and a driver, and lived in a lovely serviced apartment fitted out with a swimming pool, a sauna and a gym.
On my second weekend, all the interns were invited to the home of the chairman, Sir Henry Keswick. It turned out I was the youngest there by three years. We had lunch with Sir Henry’s respectable friends; I was sitting next to the man in charge of every UK referendum victory since 1975. After playing tennis and swimming in the pool, it was time to leave. There were too many of us for the chauffeur-driven car, so a few had to take a taxi instead. Sir Henry quickly said, ‘Ludo is the youngest here, so he should go in the car’.
As my uncle and I walked along the Great Wall of China, we discussed the costs of being so far from home. Working in the Far East requires courage to venture far away from family and friends. When I used to see Chinese people in Chinese restaurants, it would puzzle me. But now, I understand. They’re nostalgically looking for a bit of home. It’s what I felt when I went into a McDonald’s or ordered an ale. One has to adapt to a new culture. However, what I noticed was how insulated English people in Asia seemed to be. Both my uncle and the friend I met seemed to have exclusively English circles of friends. In Hong Kong, there were ex-pat bars, restaurants and societies. So, part of the reason to work abroad, meeting new people, gaining another perspective, is gone. Tobogganing down the Great Wall, I was a tourist, not a resident. And, for now, that’s all I wanted to be.
