Today

For a taste of real Hong Kong, look no further than the streets and associated markets of Kowloon, where every aspect of life is played out before your eyes.

Nowhere is the true essence of Hong Kong more brazenly displayed than in the street markets of Kowloon. These exuberant bazaars, where everything has a price, are a tribute to capitalism Hong Kong-style, a homage to the invisible hand of the market and the god of quick-witted commerce, who resides in every true Hong Konger's heart.

Of all the markets, Temple Street is king. Merchants roll up around mid-afternoon, setting up stalls and tables in anticipation of a solid day's trading, in everything from mobile phones to humble screwdrivers, designer jeans to can-openers.

From 7pm, the area really starts to liven up as workers arrive to shop and dine on their way home, and merchants, under hissing gas lamps and swaying electric light bulbs, ply their wares. Food stalls serve shrimp and abalone, roast duck and goose from farms.

Jeans vendors are equipped with sewing machines for on-the-spot alterations. They are the regulars. The newcomers are the ones with a sixth sense for the latest gimmick, which invariably reaches the stalls of Temple Street just as the radar of the young and trendy locks on to the item that they really, really want.

By day, Temple Street is a rather unprepossessing avenue in the heart of Kowloon, lined with a variety of stores of the kind seen anywhere in the city - Chinese medicine shops, electronics emporiums and, this being Hong Kong, clothing and shoe shops of every shape and description.

But when the light fades and stall-holders noisily claim their pitches, the street becomes a fairyland of consumerism. Some stalls are humble, no more than a piece of cardboard on the ground, protecting a pile of buttons or threads from the sweating concrete. Some are elaborate, piled high with gleaming electronics.

But it's not all goods for sale here. Fortune-tellers, with their dog-eared copies of the I Ching - the Chinese book of changes - flock to Temple Street each evening. Here, for a modest fee, they give advice to customers who have lined up patiently to wait their turn, regarding present-day tribulations and future prospects.

Beyond this haven, seemingly far from the shrill world of commerce, lies Hong Kong's nightly cultural show. Chinese opera buffs meet here to practice. There are no costumes, no props; this is strictly for the masses. Indeed, the glittering finery of Chinese opera would be out of place here.

Instead, cheap, tinny amplifiers blast the asynchronic tones of Chinese arias into the night air. And the singers are anything but glamorous. They are usually middle-aged, working women in their everyday clothes, and gnarled elderly men. But the crowds are appreciative, if not particularly reverent. There is much comment, and considerable chewing of melon seeds. The singers carry on, oblivious to their critics.

By day, the streets adjoining the far reaches of Temple Street, around the Temple Square containing Kowloon's Tin Hau Temple, are Hong Kong's main emporiums for jade. From 10am to mid-afternoon, traders and buyers gather at Kansu Street to bargain for the precious, green stone. For Chinese people, jade is lucky. Even the tiniest sliver will protect a traveller from misfortune, something akin to a Christian's St Christopher's medal.

This is where grandparents come to buy a jade amulet for a new-born grandchild. Where a father arrives, embarrassed but determined, to find the right piece for a son or daughter off to university in North America or Europe.

This is not a place for the amateur. Top-quality jade is judged according to its consistent colour, translucence and coldness to the touch. Experienced dealers have an elaborate system of secret hand signals for bargaining. But jade is difficult to price, and bargaining is best left to the experts.

A little further north, on Tung Choi Street, is Ladies' Market, the daylight equivalent of Temple Street Night Market. It used to be that the Ladies' Market, true to its name, specialised almost exclusively in women's clothing, but the lines are becoming blurred. Many consider there to be more bargains here than at the night market. It's certainly easier to check for a crooked seam or sagging hem in natural light.

Fears that redevelopment would rip the heart out of Bird Street have proved unfounded. After some initial grousing, the street's predominantly elderly vendors and customers moved en masse to a brand-new complex on Yuen Po Street. As before, the market is open during the day, and stall-holders tend to emerge around 10am.

The trade in tiny, jewel-like songbirds, exquisite cages, delicate, thumb-nail sized, porcelain, feeding bowls, and the insects and grains needed to keep a precious song-bird melodious, peaks before lunchtime. Then, cages carefully covered, the men troop off for a meal, a smoke and a gossip, taking their birds with them. Nearby restaurants provide hooks for the cages, naturally.

Catching a glimpse of Hong Kong's other pet passion - goldfish - requires an early start. Breeding goldfish is a tradition stretching back hundreds of years, with goldfish tanks warding off bad fung shui.

The goldfish market operates briefly, between the hours of 5am and 6am, at Boundary Street, the dividing line between Kowloon and the New Territories. Plastic tanks swarm with guppies, and seethe with maroon bloodworms. Then the vans move in, and the trade ships off to shopping arcades throughout the city.