The Glistening Harbour
Kowloon Shangri-La, Hong Kong
Across the harbour, it was a beautiful morning, not a single cloud occupied the sky emanating a blue so bright, it was as if it had been lit up by some sort of electrical force. I stepped out of the hotel feeling fresh, and with my face held up to the warmth of the sun, I prepared myself for the decadence that was about to unfold. For here, in Tsim Sha Tsui, there was nothing one could not acquire; it was truly a shopping mecca where spirits were lifted and dreams really did come true.
When I returned to the hotel, darkness had arrived at the promenade. I slumped exhausted onto a bench, staring out at the glistening harbour before me, when all of a sudden, the sky exploded in a spectacular flurry of laser beams and lights. It was the city putting on its nightly show, as if telling us again what a spectacular city it was, but we already knew.
No sooner had I stepped into the magnificent lobby, I fell under its spell. A beautiful three-tiered white marble waterfall cascading in the centre of the room was immensely soothing, and all around Viennese chandeliers glittered invitingly. Everything seemed as if it had been dusted with a magical charm, and awash with an overall sensation of pleasantness, I hardly even noticed when a kind-hearted porter whisked my bags away into his care.
On the other side of the lobby, a striking mural featuring a mythical kingdom high in the Tibetan mountains emanated a deep sense of serenity, echoing the hotel perfectly. Saturated in shades of red, green and brown, the mural was arresting, reaching all the way from the floor to the ceiling. Gazing at it with admiration, I lost myself for a moment in its captivating beauty, and when I came to, for a second I thought I might have seen myself inside the mural, looking out, admiring the beautiful lobby.
When the Mediterranean sea bass, baked to perfection, arrived at our table, it still had that unmistakable ocean freshness, whisking us away to a quaint seaside village on the Tuscany Coast. We could have spent hours, perhaps even days, adrift in that sunny Mediterranean dream, if it were not for our waiter returning to our table with another bottle of Pinot Gris, bringing us back to the beautiful Angelini Restaurant with the stunning harbour shimmering just outside the window.
That evening, the chilled autumn air sat obediently at the door as we entered the golden warmth of the Shang Palace. Adorned with intricately carved wooden screens, silk tapestries and elaborate yellow lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the restaurant had a somewhat palatial glow. But it was not until the most authentic Cantonese dishes had arrived at our table that we truly felt we had been transported back to the grandiose days of imperial China.
Leaving the thrill of the city behind for another night, we returned to our hotel room and for the first time that evening, I could breathe. Like a lush green meadow, the room was invigorating, almost intoxicating. From the window, Hong Kong Island glittered intensely as if beckoning us to return, but nothing could coax us from our bed. Afloat on what seemed like a gigantic white feather, l drifted seamlessly into a psychedelic dream, with the rackety sounds of the city as my only link back to the real world.
The next morning, from the reception, I could see my limousine pull up just as the sun burst on to the horizon. Walking to the lobby doors, slowly, reluctantly, my favourite doorman who always remembered my name, gave me a smile that made me want to hug him. Then, settling into the plush leather seats of the car, I looked back one last time as we pulled away, to see him still waving at me affectionately.
