The summer heat is finally showing signs of relenting. For months there has been a deluge of TV commercials of some curious round pastry that is somehow linked to the full moon. Bright-coloured lanterns of all shapes and sizes dominate the market stalls. The soccer pitches in Victoria Park are being turned into a fairground. What’s with all this fuss, one wonders. From as early as 4pm, office workers get their early release and begin to file out of their workplaces and straight home for dinner – not that they have been in any mood for work that day, what with their eager anticipation of what the evening has to offer, and of course the prospect of having the following day off. By nightfall crowds and glowing lanterns fill up most available open space in the territory: be it on a beach, in a park, or on the rooftop of a dilapidated building in Sham Shui Po. No matter where one happens to be, it’s the same full moon that takes centre stage on Mid Autumn night, the second biggest Chinese festival after Lunar New Year.

As with any traditional festival, legends and anecdotes abound as to the origins of Mid Autumn Festival, which falls on the 15th day of the eighth moon on the lunar calendar (usually mid September to early October on the Gregorian calendar, depending on the year). Classic poetry dating back to the fifth century B.C. has records of post-harvest celebrations under the bright moonlight. As a reward for two seasons of extreme hard work, and as a show of gratitude towards Heaven and Earth, farmers offered their fruits of labour to the higher beings and revelled with days of singing, dancing and, of course, serious drinking.

Emperors, in their capacity as Sons of Heaven, held elaborate ceremonies to show reverence to the forces of nature that helped regulate farming activities – the livelihood of the entire civilisation. The Spring Worship was consecrated to the Sun, and the Autumn Worship to the Moon.?

By the fourth century A.D. the focus had shifted from moon worship to moon-gazing in appreciation, but it was not until the Tang Dynasty (618 – 907 A.D.) that Mid Autumn became an observed festival, and it flourished in the Song Dynasty (960 – 1279 A.D.). Streets were decked out with colourful ribbon bows and lanterns, paving the way for parades and Chinese opera shows. Restaurants and watering holes were full to the brim with revellers even before sunset.? Scenic rivers and lakes ideal for moon-gazing would be dotted with bejewelled flotillas chartered by high-class brothels. Courtesans would sing, play instruments and engage in impromptu poetry composition with their distinguished guests: imperial mandarins, rich merchants and foreign dignitaries from Central Asia and beyond.

True to its origins as a festival celebrating autumn harvest, food is in abundance at Mid Autumn.? Seasonal produce such as pomelos, water caltrops and taros can be found stacked on the cupboards, and no doubt the household kitchens are busy churning out one rich dish after another, but the most iconic foodstuff is the moon cake, a round baked pastry filled with lotus seed paste and shaped in
an engraved wooden mould. Just as the festival itself, there are numerous theories surrounding the origins of this pastry. It is said to have been modified from a popular pastry at the time, but of course a far more romantic version is preferred and it has to do with the anti-Mongol uprising in the Yuan Dynasty (1279 – 1368 A.D.).? Bits of paper with written messages were said to be embedded in the moon cakes, which were distributed among fellow renegades, signalling an orchestrated surprise attack on
Mid Autumn night

What is without dispute is the metaphoric link between the roundness of the pastry – like that of the full moon – and the notion of a family reunited. Poetry written about the festival, curiously enough, mostly deals with the longing sentiments for the loved ones afar. The example below sums up what Mid Autumn means to the family-orientated Chinese psyche:

Why does the moon tend to be full when people are apart?
People may have sorrow or joy, be near or far apart.
The moon may be dim or bright, wax or wane.
This has been going on since the beginning of time.
May we all be blessed with longevity.
Though far apart, we are still able to share the beauty of the moon together.

– Excerpt of a poem written on Mid Autumn night in 1076 by Su Dongbo, celebrated poet and calligrapher in the Song Dynasty

Today the tradition of families being together lives on, but with much less sentimentality. Festive revelry and dazzling spectacles are what Mid Autumn is made of. Lantern carnivals are held at various districts in Hong Kong, but the most spectacular is always the one at Victoria Park, Causeway Bay. Aided by colourful lighting, giant lanterns shaped as pagodas, animals, flowers and flying fairies conjure up an ethereal classical Chinese garden, re-creating scenes of various legends surrounding the festival. You are also likely to see rockets on standby, as if ready to take off for the moon.

Less than 10 minutes walk away from the carnival is a far more dynamic spectacle. For three nights in a row from the night before Mid Autumn (the 14th of the eighth moon, when one ‘ushers in the moon’) through to the night after Mid Autumn (the 16th of the eighth moon, when one ‘chases the moon’), a long blazing, smoking dragon roams the streets of Tai Hang to the deafening beats of gongs and drums. Rather than wreaking havoc the dragon is said to have healed this once plague-ridden village. Legend has it that on the eve of Mid Autumn in 1880, a giant sea snake slipped into Tai Hang Village and attacked the livestock in it. Soon after it was killed its remains mysteriously disappeared and a severe plague shortly followed. The villagers believed that they had mistakenly killed what was in fact an incarnate of the Sea Dragon King and that the plague was inflicted upon them as retribution. Soothsayers in the village soon came up with a cure: the wrath of the Sea Dragon King had to be tamed by the opposite force of nature in the form of a Fire Dragon. It was believed that if the latter was paraded around for three days straddling Mid Autumn, the plague would eventually go away. That must have worked: the tradition is still alive and unique to the neighbourhood.

The body of the dragon is made of tightly bunched up straw, whilst the skull is formed with intricately wrought strips of wicker. Hand torches, inserted and securely fastened into the skull, are switched on to give the dragon’s eyes the needed glow. Lit joss sticks are like glowing spikes sprouting out of the pores of this surreal mythical beast. Years ago what was left of the Fire Dragon would be thrown into the Causeway Bay Typhoon Shelter, signifying the ‘return of the dragon to the water’, but in recent years the ritual was replaced by incineration, ‘letting the dragon take to the sky’ as it were.

The fun is not confined to the city centre. The bright full moon and the company of friends and families are best enjoyed in wide open space, which is at a premium in Hong Kong. Beaches in Shek O, Stanley, Clear Water Bay and on the Outlying Islands are just some of the most popular spots. A word of warning to the motorists though: car parks are usually full by 8pm, so if you are heading there, the best way is to go by public transport, which runs overnight on the Mid Autumn night. The only other Chinese festival that is accorded with the same degree of importance by the municipal authorities and public utilities is Lunar New Year.?

Behind the veneer of obsessive westernisation, Hong Kong still retains its core Chinese values as shown by the way its people celebrate Mid Autumn. Some may choose to go on a deluxe private cruise, whilst others are just as content to spend the evening moon-gazing from the 80 sq. ft balconies of their shoebox apartments.? What unites these people is the Mid Autumn spirit of plenitude and togetherness.

Safe and efficient, public transport is the best means to get around on Mid Autumn night. For more information, please visit www.mtr.com.hk