Inspect the slippery live scallops, mussels and assorted other bivalves neatly arranged on plastic plates to tempt passersby, the sea snail making a run for it at its own creeping pace onto the neighbouring plate of razor clams. The slightest sign of interest by tourists and locals alike, or truthfully, no sign of interest at all, will prompt hardworking restaurateurs to ask if you’ve eaten, because if you haven’t – or even if you have – their stall is the best and worth a sit-down. The folding tables, plastic stools and naked bulbs under tarps offer just enough space, hygiene, lighting and shelter in the kerb-side dining area. It’s not gourmet, world-class, or the best outdoor seafood ever – but beer guzzling and shrimp shelling go great with watching throngs of everyday living go by.

Urban Asian cities are on a different eating schedule from much of the rest of the world. Late-night meals and snacking are common, and perhaps this is the reason night markets thrive throughout Asia. None can top Taiwan’s famous markets, filled with smells of street food, swarms of people and lots of shouting. Hong Kong’s night market scene doesn’t come close in terms of scale and madness, but Temple Street is on par with its hawking of random curios, its native cuisine and its jam-packed crowds. It has been famously portrayed in films as a lawless stomping ground for knife-wielding gangsters, a phenomenon that has only raised its image to that of romantic notoriety. But in reality it’s just a street with a famous market, visited by tourists and locals who get lost in sensory overload in its five-block stretch.

Temple Street undergoes an amazing feat of transformation on a daily basis. By day, it is simply another busy street, recognisable only by the festive streams of bunting hanging overhead. Starting at around 4pm, the steel skeletons of stalls are assembled and dressed up in rows of handbags, bangles, magnets, badges, T-shirts, mobile phone cases, sunglasses, wood carvings, watches and pretty paintings on canvas still smelling of oils. By the time evening falls, the thoroughfare becomes knick-knack heaven. As they stroll through and scan each stall, sometimes pausing mid-step to study this or that item, the usually hurried people of Hong Kong can be found moving at a dawdling pace. No one minds, because everyone is similarly lured into this world of wall-to-wall cheap wares.

Another break from the Hong Kong norm are the surprisingly laidback stallholders. Hands-on browsing seems welcome. They won’t watch you like a hawk or shoo you away if you take pictures. They don’t roll their eyes when you walk off. The fortune-tellers who gather at one end of the market are another story. Make eye contact with the palm readers who might also know how to use tarot cards, crystal balls, or three old coins dropped out of a tortoise shell, and you will meet with a barrage of warm invitations to have your destiny examined. Haggling with the soothsayers might feel more awkward than with shopkeepers, but the prices are high if you are just going in on a whim. At least some customers find it worth the cost, as evidenced by queues outside several fortune-tellers’ tents.

The singing that emanates from portable amplifiers makes this night market uniquely nostalgic. If you’re lucky, Chinese opera singers might put on a show complete with theatre makeup and costumes. Most of the time it is amateurs who go up to the microphones to sing Cantonese oldies, karaoke-style, while an accompanist plays keyboard. Around midnight, the stalls come down, the roads are unblocked, tourists are hotel-bound with their loot, and the music dies down. Temple Street becomes just another street for 16 hours, until it starts up all over again.

Take the MTR to Jordan station, exit A. Turn right, walk along Jordan Road for 2.5 blocks until you reach Temple Street.

Ten Things Under $10 at Temple Street