TBT: A recent article in the Daily Mail about Hong Kong’s notorious Walled City, the gang-controlled, densest slum on the planet, was a vivid reminder that Trisha and I were two of the few Westerners to ever get inside.   With a police escort, of course.   That was back in 1987 while researching “ Warlords of Crime," an investigation of the Triads and the heroin trade.

As I wrote in that book, the Walled City was “a haven for drug addicts, a stronghold of gangsters, and a refuge for those fleeing legitimate authorities. It is a center for numerous illicit businesses ranging from snake vendors to counterfeiting shops. At times it was ‘governed’ by a motley crew of adventurers comprised of gunrunners and narcotics smugglers. It was inevitable that it should also become one of the chief breeding grounds for the Triads.”

The Walled City was torn down in 1992.

Chapter 10, “White Powder Ma” describes the beginning of our ‘tour’:

"Three police were in front of me and another two stepped in

just behind. The police escort was gathered at the opening to

an alleyway off a busy street. With the street light illuminating

the front of the path, I walked into the place where a Hong

Kong police superintendent had told me, 'If you go in alone,

the chances are you won't be coming back out.'

The alley we entered was enclosed like a concrete tunnel. It

was dirty. More than a hundred years of neglect had left the

stucco walls with inches of grime. The ceiling was low and covered

by a bewildering jumble of knotted wires, dangling electric

cables, and exposed fuses and sockets, all hanging less than a foot

from the tallest cop's head. The floor was a mixture of broken

concrete and dirt, which made it difficult to walk. As my police

escort led me deeper into the tunnel, an occasional naked bulb

providing the barest light, the ceiling and walls closed in. Within

a hundred yards the walls had narrowed so that we had to proceed

single file, and the ceiling dropped so we could only walk

crouched over. Then the tunnel began to widen again, and suddenly

we entered a new section that first appeared to be a maze.

Other tunnels led off in a half-dozen directions, and some staircases

offered dark climbs to unknown overhead locations.

One of my police escorts pointed at a wooden sign imprinted with

Chinese characters hanging over the second opening on the right.

'See that, it says the name of that street is Rats' Piss. That's where

we are going.'"