Wealth Blog | A Hong Kong crematorium – definition of the fast farewell

Cape Collinson in Chai Wan is a strange place. I’m not sure what a Hong Kong crematorium is supposed to look like, but the name suggests dignified landscaped gardens of remembrance  overlooking the ocean, perhaps. The reality is hoardings and workers all wearing blue SARS facemasks.

Not a good sign. Add renovations and knots of people, gathering into their respective groups with, hopefully, the right coffin and you have the scene. This part happens outside, with coffins on trolleys. I didn’t look, but I’m sure there was a bar code or at least a label to make sure the right family got the right box.  

Quick in and out

The formal part of matches and dispatches is a perfunctory business in Hong Kong. You hear of marriages and crematorium ceremonies spaced 15 minutes apart, with the next customers entering as the previous ones leave.

That was pretty much the case. The room at the spruced-up Cape Collinson into which we were ushered was beige, bare and totally utilitarian. Stripped of any vestige of religious fixtures, it was a blank canvas, a space upon which you could impose the paraphernalia or your particular brand of beliefs. Or lack of them. It was utterly soul less. In the centre was an “altar” which could double for a buffet display in a no-frills hotel, while to the side was a line of rollers leading to a small curtain in the wall. This resembles an airport security check, the one where you put liquids in small plastic bags as the tray rolls along and disappears behind a flapping rubber curtain.