On a June evening in 1997 Prince Charles lowered the Union Jack in Hong Kong. Fireworks lit up the sky and rain poured on the harbor. People said, "Heaven cried on Hong Kong that night."
Hong Kong is neither city nor country, but a "Special Administrative Region." Many feared that as the British flag was lowered she would no longer remain a free democracy, but rather would become a controlled state under the thumb of Beijing. China promised Hong Kong "universal suffrage," meaning free elections, but they've reneged on that agreement and created a politically tender climate of regular public protests.
Still, every night joyous laser light and firework shows exploded over Victoria Harbor. They ricocheted blues, reds and greens across our faces as William and I walked the promenade. On just such a night we celebrated my birthday.
Should anyone ever ask How would you like your birthday in Hong Kong? don't think and don't hesitate. Silently nod because here's what could happen:
You put on a string of pearls and stroll the harborfront to the Star Ferry dock. You slip across the brilliantly lit water in a cool breeze with your loved one who, after years of careful training, understands that during such a ride a kiss is required and there you are lip-locked and surrounded by skyscrapers reflecting myriad colors.
You've entered a movie called: Hong Kong.
Then it's up to the tippity-top of the Peninsula Hotel and the Philippe Starck-designed Felix bar for a strawberry champagne cocktail and a stunning view of the cityscape. After that, a window table at a restaurant in the Kowloon Hotel for delicious grilled New Zealand lamb.
A few kisses later it's a creamy, dreamy, sweet vanilla cone from the Mr. Softee ice cream truck parked on the side of the road and you walk home with your true love. Happy Birthday indeed.
My last day in Hong Kong was spent on a final tour of our neighborhood: the grocery market, the teddy bear museum next door (which featured a ten-foot tall specimen), the mall below our apartment for any last-minute shopping (I resisted), then a stop for one of my favorite Hong Kong food items: tea.
In the Metro stations, clinical-looking shops serve "Chinese Urban Herbal Teas." The sales staff wears lab coats with badges identifying them as Customer Ambassadors. Condensed tea is siphoned and mixed with fresh fruits into a cocktail that far surpasses Jamba Juice.
The drinks bear titles of enlightenment: Wake Up Passion, Excellence Memory, Morning Blessing, Speed Up Power, Awakening for Spring, Delivery of Happiness, Living Present, A Blue Clear Sky, and Immunity Warrior.
On my final pass of Hong Kong I marched up and ordered: A Beautiful Life, please.
And I got it.
The Chinese translation of Hong Kong is: A Sweet-Smelling Harbor.
I couldn't agree more.
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