FLASHBACK: December 4, 1987 Victoria Peak, Hong Kong

Six months after graduating from college. I went to Hong Kong to visit John, my boyfriend of a year and a half, who was in the middle of his junior year abroad and who I hadn’t seen in four months.

One day into my visit, he presented me with an engagement ring he’d purchased from Chung Fat Jewellers, and asked me to marry him. And there we were: not-quite-21 and 22, and prepared to commit ourselves to each other for life.December 4, 2017Victoria Peak, Hong Kong

Twenty-eight plus years after marrying, twenty-seven years after becoming coworkers and more than twenty-two years after becoming parents to our dreams-can-come-true kids, we returned to Hong Kong to high-five each other and say “so far, so good!”.

Return to China Trip - Day One: I Could Get Used To This

When we arrived at LAX, John walked up to the Korean Air first class desk. I thought, ‘huh’. After checking us in, the attendant pulled out a graphic of the plane and pointed to our seats: definitely first class. John had cashed in every last frequent flyer point we had and surprised me with the an upgrade. A first for me (pun intended), and my-oh-my, what an amazing experience. I didn’t know it was possible to not feel like you’d been dipped in stagnant water and put away wet after an international flight. And the take-off in an Airbus 380-800? Well, it makes a 747 feel like the Millennium Falcon.

I mention the details of our absurdly privileged travel experience at the risk of sounding like an insufferable braggart. I’ve included it because, despite the creature comforts and royal treatment, by far and away the most wonderful part has been John’s generosity; not just monetarily, but of time, talent and spirit. (Despite my grateful heart, when we return from our trip I fully expect to see a guillotine parked in our driveway.)

After exhaustively researching every form of accommodations Hong Kong had to offer, John booked us a suite at a gem of a hotel on Kowloon called The Icon. Our room had a flat-out view of Victoria Harbor, Hong Kong Island and in the distance, Victoria Peak. The Icon is attached to the Hong Kong Polytechnic University’s School of Hotel Management. Most of the staff are in the internship portion of their training. To call them attentive is an understatement. We were shuttled from the airport to the hotel in a Tesla from their fleet (personalized plates: “Icon 1”.) Thirty years ago, Hong Kong airport was right in downtown (much like San Diego’s). I remember being able to see people inside their apartments on final approach. Now the airport is about 30 minutes outside of downtown, on Lantau Island, and connected to the city by an array of byways and massive suspension bridges. When we arrived at the hotel, we were met at the car by our ‘valet’, Matthew and shuffled immediately through the lobby and to the bar. Matthew is a smiley, charming Millennial, born and raised in Hong Kong. He speaks English with the clipped tonality of someone whose first language is Cantonese, but with a splendid highbrow English accent. I asked him if it was still customary for Hong Kong children to be taught English by actual Englanders. He said ‘no’, that in fact, English teachers in Hong Kong are known for doing a pretty poor job of teaching English. He says he owes his command of English to Harry Potter. Dead serious.Miles walked: 10

Day Two: Walking with Celia (and returning to the scene of the crime)

At 10am we took the MTR to the Central station to meet our walking tour guide, Celia. Celia is a happily-single, fun-sized 51 year old Hong Kong native, who could easily pass for 30. Like Matthew, Celia told us that her English was not as good as it might have been due to the improper pronunciation taught in the local schools. Rather than learning English, Celia contends she was taught “Chinglish”. In a manner I found quite endearing, Celia punctuated the end of most sentences with the particle ‘la’, as in ‘yeah?’ ‘right?’ ‘understand?’, ‘got it?’.  Once we clued in to this foible, we were able to follow the rhythm of her rich and entertaining narrative.

Interesting Fact: Hong Kong is now one of the top ten most expensive cities in the world to live in. Hong Kong is dense with high-rise condos that range in size from 300 square feet (NOT a typo) to 1,200 square feet. These condos sell for $5,000 to $15,000 per square foot (also, NOT a typo). Over the last twenty years or so, the uber-wealthy (and I do mean UBER) mainland Chinese have been moving their money out of China - to Vancouver, Silicon Valley and Hong Kong, among other places. (Frequently they buy residential real estate in some of the priciest neighborhoods without occupying or even renting them.) In a place like Hong Kong, where land is limited, real estate prices have soared to astronomical levels, forcing everyone, including young, college-educated, otherwise upwardly-mobile Hong Kongers out. Celia’s commute, for example, is an hour by bus, ferry and train. The discontent with this situation as been one of the first things to come up in our conversations with locals.

Our tour with Celia was a part-cultural, part-architectural, quasi-foodie meander. I’ve never much appreciated the HSBC (Hong Kong Shanghai Banking Corp) building until I stepped into the lobby and Celia pointed out that it’s built like a bridge. We made quick stops to sample shrimp dumpling soup, egg custard tarts and perfectly blended iced tea. We visited the Eastern medicine apothocary where you'll find all manner of dried herbs, roots and sealife for whatever ails you, from diabetes to infertility. For $4HK (about .60 cents), you can pick up a cup of detoxifying tea from the table out front, and be on your way. Celia spoke a great deal about the Chinese preoccupation with good fortune and wealth. She took us to a Taoist temple where we were asked to pray to one of two gods; the god of literature, or the god of warriors. If you’re a scholar, lawyer, engineer (or investment manager) you pray to the god of literature. If you’re a soldier, police officer, or I suppose mixed-martial arts fighter, you pray to the god of warriors. You ask for advice, shake a jar of sticks to ascertain the receptiveness of your request and receive an answer from a book of explanations. My request was met with Highest Fortune (only one in ten requests are.) John’s was met with Low Fortune. So he was encouraged to make a donation to the monk in return for the burning of his fortune, so as to leave its bad juju behind.