Hong Kong

It was August 1997. We had just landed, fresh off an Air France flight, reeking of cigarettes—back when smoking on a trans-Pacific flight was still a legitimate form of passive-aggressive passenger competition.

Hong Kong was still under British control, and the old airport on Kowloon Island was still in operation. I had no warning of the “extremely hard bank to the left” on landing—or that I could glimpse into residents’ homes as the pilot expertly maneuvered the plane onto the runway. Stepping off that 747 and descending the external staircase, I knew my life would be forever changed.

We stayed at the Royal Pacific Hotel in Kowloon, attached to our office building, with a westward view over the China Ferry Terminal. Boats below looked ancient and rustic, offering a glimpse into a city both vibrant and timeless.

As we walked through Tsim Sha Tsui toward Victoria Harbour for dinner at Felix in the Peninsula Hotel, the city began to reveal itself. Our first true view of the harbor came from Felix’s famed bathroom, internationally known for its 30-foot glass windows—a view that even the coolest visitors couldn’t resist.

Hong Kong’s charm slowly unfolds to the patient traveler. Streets are lined with restaurants serving subtle Cantonese dim sum, hot pot spots where friends gather to talk and eat, and neighborhood cafés with warm, filling wonton soup. I still remember wandering early in the morning with my camera, slurping noodles while fellow diners greeted me with a nod and a smile before the heat of the day set in.