On Easter Sunday I thought William and I should experience afternoon tea at the Peninsula hotel. Work had kept him busy and his sightseeing had been limited to cell-phone and DVD stores. It was high time for high tea, a signature British tradition left behind by exiting colonialists.
In 1997 the English gave up Hong Kong after 156 years of colonial rule. We were living on Salisbury Road, we shopped on Nathan Road and visited Aberdeen Harbor, but for the most part the British are very much gone and, though English is widely spoken, the streets are filled with a bustling Chinese population.
Nevertheless, I sensed glimmers of Hong Kong's colonial past. The spirit of a Macao-era Jane Russell lingered, a glass of champagne in one delicate hand while the other held a cigarette between perfectly manicured fingers. Maybe it was the time I'd spent with Mr. Tailor draping brocade silk across my body, but I could easily imagine Shantung suits, Mandarin collars, hairdos slick with pomade and a magenta orchid tucked behind a lady's ear.
There was something vaguely 1950s about Hong Kong. Curlicue ironwork, creaking wood stairwells with polished banisters, and intricate black-and-white floor tiles pulled me to an earlier time. I noticed a brick wall charred in history and wondered what its story was.
Yet every day I witnessed more construction and escalating architecture. It was odd to be in such a storied city surrounded by predominately 21st-century buildings. I'm an arrogant tourist; I wanted old stuff. I searched for cultural originality: a couple of pagodas, at the very least.
But Hong Kong insisted on reveling in her multiple personalities. She was an exotic hybrid of East and West, rich and poor, old and new. I'd catch an unfamiliar scent emanating from a Chinese apothecary and ponder who used those ancient concoctions. Next door, in a chic lime-green cocktail lounge, a group of hipsters sipped rosy cosmopolitans. And then the gadget stores with racks of watches, cameras, cell phones and DVD players.
My head reeled. I took a moment to stand in the commotion and let it swirl around me. For all of Hong Kong's modernism, I wanted to go backward. I wanted to steep myself in the romantic long ago I imagined Hong Kong to hold. Hence: tea time.
At the Peninsula, my heels clicked across the marble floor as we followed the maitre d' to a small table set with linen napkins alongside a creamer and sugar bowl in gleaming silver. We were surrounded by high, buttery walls topped in ornate gilt. Palm shrubs potted in bronze urns provided lush greenery beneath chandeliers hanging in gold fixtures.
Up on a balcony, musicians played "Somewhere I'll Find You." We lunched on crustless cucumber sandwiches, creamy pastries and currant scones with clotted cream. All very, very. Oh look, Noel Coward tinkling the ivories. I gave him a wink. Here we were, together in Hong Kong. Who would've thought?
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