I began my third and final day in Hong Kong with a trip up Victoria Peak. I’d been hoping for better weather, but the fog wouldn’t give way and the peak tram was calling my name. The tram climbs up the mountain on one thick wire and descends on two. This sounds scarier than it actually is, but that’s not to say the ride isn’t startlingly steep at times.
At the upper-level tram station you disembark into a gigantic mall-cum-viewing tower, and across from that is another mall. But you don’t have to buy a ticket to the top of the tower to get some excellent views, and there are plenty of trails/streets to stroll along and take in the scenery and breathtaking sights.
I headed down the mountain for a lunch of grilled goat cheese salad and fettucini with meatballs at Café Brunch, a truly chic little café at the top of Peel street. For dinner I indulged in a taco salad from El Taco Loco simply because it’d been so long since I’d been able to get Mexican, making the trip a gastronomical deportation of sorts as not one thing I ate was Chinese.
In mid-flight on my return trip to Qingdao the stewardesses turned on the lights and took to the front of the plane, poised to give some sort of presentation. As one woman began saying something indiscernible in Chinese the stewardesses started making motions and I thought to myself, “If this is an evacuation procedure, it’s nothing like I thought it would be.” I quickly realized that they were instructing the passengers in some kind of seated aerobics, which gave way to a choreographed song and dance in the end. Whatever their intended message might have been I couldn’t help thinking to myself, “welcome home.”