Macau minute: a daytrip of culture and kitsch

Macau's lesser-known casinos are more Chesty Bond than James Bond.

I daytrip Macau from Hong Kong, looking for a change of pace. It's the second time I've visited the former Portuguese colony (now a special administrative region of the People's Republic of China) but the first time I've stayed overnight.

I enjoy a 55-minute ride on the high-speed TurboJet ferry across the Pearl River to Macau's Outer Harbour. It's a buzz to arrive anywhere by sea, and the customs and immigration procedures in Macau are almost imperceptible.

I've got less than 24 hours, so there's only time for a whistlestop tour: a hotel, a casino, a restaurant, a museum, a few heritage buildings and a Portuguese tart.

At first, Macau seems to be a theme park without a theme, or a storage area for recently abandoned movie sets.

It's a casino town, perhaps the only place in the world that became more capitalist when Communists took over. After the territory was handed back to China, the Chinese broke the monopoly of the local casino king and opened up the organised gambling market to competition. There are now 36 casinos, with a total gross revenue of nearly US$2 billion ($3.11 billion).

Just southwest of the ferry terminal is the curious Roman Amphitheatre, a limestone replica of the ruins of the Colosseum. Apparently, concerts are held here, but it looks like it's getting ready for a film crew to make a movie about gladiators.

The Colosseum is part of the Fisherman's Wharf jumble of architecturally eclectic restaurants, hotels, entertainment venues and a casino. It is easy to laugh at but, to be fair, it's no sillier than certain developments on the Gold Coast.

I like the place.

I stay at the Hotel Casa Real, close to the ferry port. Hotels are cheaper in Macau than in Hong Kong and the rooms are generally larger. The coffee shop in the lobby of the Casa Real sells delicious Portuguese custard tarts (pastel de nata), enabling me to easily knock one item off my to-do list.

Macau's Portuguese heritage is unusual, but not unique, in Asia. The ruins of the 17th-century St Paul's Church, which was destroyed by a fire in 1835, have become a symbol of the territory. However, since only the facade remains, they offer an extension of that overriding filmset feeling encouraged by the pinball-backbox-Neoclassical-meets-kung-fu-epic-Versace aesthetic of the casinos.

St Paul's reigns over Santo Antonio in western Macau, where it sits under the gaze of the 17th-century Portuguese mountain fortress, Fortaleza de Monte. I drift south of the monuments towards Largo do Senado, a paved town square lined with colonial-era buildings. I had planned to do something cultural, but the closest museum to my hotel is the Grand Prix Museum, where visitors can stare at racing cars and take a turn on an F3 simulator to see how they would go in a real race.

I know exactly how I would go, since I have failed my driving test seven times, so I'm pleased to be able to combine a museum-style experience with dinner at the Portucau, a touristy restaurant with an outlook onto a Portuguese-style street and what looks like a giant model of the Nando's chicken out the front.

The local speciality of bacalhau, or Portuguese salt cod, is not to everyone's taste and - in this instance, at least - I am everyone. More appetising is Macanese chicken, a mild, African-influenced chicken-and-potato curry. I order the dish in a dining room cluttered with colonial memorabilia grouped into apparently unrelated displays of birdcages; jars and vases; ashtrays; cameras, radios and a theodolite; model ships; religious items; typewriters and adding machines; floral dresses; and a figure of a golden penguin wearing a pearl-encrusted collar-cum-necktie.

Museum: tick.

It's curiously difficult to negotiate payment at Portucau (I seem to be billed twice then charged half) but my meal is nicely complemented by a robust Portuguese red wine - which is just as well, since this part of Macau is a bit short on bars. On the esplanade nearby, I find a fenced-off and airconditioned vending-machine room and toilet with some nice flowers inside. I'm not certain what it is, or even what kind of thing it is, but you can buy soft drinks and sit at a table here - although not many people do.

Despite their extravagant facades, many of the casinos are not particularly glamorous - think the Keno room at the back of the RSL, rather than the Casino de Monte-Carlo. Some - like the Casino Real, next to my hotel - don't even have bars, and some gamblers picnic with their own soft drinks.

With older guys dressed in singlets, the vibe is more Chesty Bond than James Bond. In the casinos around here, they play baccarat, boule, fan-tan and sic bo - and it's certainly a change of pace from Hong Kong.

Getting there: The only convenient way to reach Macau from Australia is via Hong Kong: Qantas and Cathay Pacific fly nonstop from Sydney, Melbourne and Perth. A TurboJet ferry departs Hong Kong International Airport for Macau at 12.45pm on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays. The journey takes 70 minutes and would be a triumphant way to arrive in the territory, sharing a boat with a junket of Chinese gamblers. Fares start at about $53. The TurboJet from Hong Kong (Sheung Wan) leaves every half hour during daylight and hourly at night. Fares start at about $31. The route is also served by Cotai Water Jet. See turbojet.com.hk

Australians can enter both Hong Kong and Macau for 30 days without a visa.

Staying there: The writer stayed at the Casa Real, which he booked for the blingy exterior. It turned out to be a pleasant, quiet, well-run hotel, with rooms from $HK900 ($180). See casarealhotel.com.mo

Explore more: macaotourism.gov.mo

The writer travelled at his own expense.