I haven’t had much chance to travel in my life, but when I have, those moments, those memories are the most vibrant of them all. This last spring I packed two just barely under fifty pound suitcases that were filled with too many pairs of shoes I didn’t need, but lacked a raincoat and the preconverted money I needed. I got my ticket, was overly kind to the TSA guard, stumbled over untied shoelaces leaving security, and hopped on my twenty-one-hour flight headed to Hong Kong.
Hong Kong is an uphill hike and a burnt tongue on scolding soup dumplings. It's getting lost in alleyways and stairwells yet somehow still knowing where to go. It's humid days and bustling nights, traffic jams through Soho, headphones crossing the commuters bridge, money conversions and spurges. It's small talk with strangers over lunch, accidentally breaking vegetarianism and sweating until my socks are wet.
I lived in a neighborhood called New Territories, it wasn’t too far away from the city, but disconnected enough that I could take time to relax, unplug and slowdown. School was twenty-five minutes away in the Sham Shui Po district. Walking down the streets of Sham Shui Po feels like the feeling of getting a peppercorn stuck in your teeth and biting into it hours after your meal, shocking your mouth with spice. Sham Shui Po is messy, busy, dirty, and packed. Each day would start of slow, shop owners sweeping store fronts and streets empty. But come noon, pedestrians dodge speeding taxis, street vendors are yelling trying to sell a suspicious snack, kites are flying, cars are honking, some people are speed walking and some are standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s as if you turn a corner and crunch down on that peppercorn, a whole new zest of life bursts and bustles on the streets of the low income neighborhood. That was home for the next three months.
Hong Kong is an overcast sunset and an overdressed tourist, a mural on a corner and a chocolate covered strawberry gummy. It's sparklers after midnight while wading in the water of a rocky beach, a vanilla soft serve swirl dripping down hands with chipped nails. Hong Kong is feeling buzzed standing on the top of the world drinking something fruity and not worrying about what's next. It's a peeling sunburn, a broken umbrella and sesame seeds sprinkled over rice noodles all wrapped up into one.
There was one night during the week that my brother visited. We hiked too many miles out to a secluded beach, got eaten alive by bloodthirsty bugs, and stood on top of what felt like the entire universe. We stood on a cliff in the middle of the sea, the bright city skyline in the distance, sounds of waves crashing, bugs buzzing in our ears and our bellies full of noodles and pineapple juice. In that moment everything seemed to disappear. It’s as if nothing else existed in the world except for the moon, the sea, the moment and us. We ran down the cliff to the sea, tripped over sandy rocks on a jagged seaside, we felt the water on our skin, smooth and soft. We went under, and relaxed to float on our backs. No sound but the sea. The moment was quiet, safe, and comfortable. In that moment I knew Hong Kong was safe, somewhere I never wanted to leave.
Hong Kong is the smile of a sleepless doorman when your Octopus card still isn't activated. It's rushing around to catch the last bus before midnight, the toxic smell of durian fruit, getting better at the art of chopsticks, breaking the bubble tea seal, walking seven miles to get to a crystal clear beach, 3am facetimes, a crowded MTR, and getting stuck behind a slow pedestrian.
Hong Kong is a place I will never have enough time to fully explore. A place where home never felt so close, somewhere where every second was a new highlight. Full of life and adventure, I'm sad to say my time here has come to an end, I crave those hustling streets, and irreplaceable smells, good and bad. To all those looking for something new, looking to engage each of your senses at once, buy the ticket, go to Hong Kong.