Water Under the Bridge

The World Returns to Normal

The Prodigal Returns

Letter from a Hong Kong Jail

The Treasure of the Sierra Nevada

On the eve of my first Saint Patrick's Day spent in the good old US of A since 2009 (yes, you read that right!), I wanted to sit down and put together a little recap of an amazing trip I took to California at the start of the month. Although I'm shocked as I sit here typing to realize that it was a full week yesterday since my return, the giddy memories of my reverie keep replaying in my head, and it still feels like it was just yesterday! 

My good friend Elyse from Hong Kong now lives in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains, about two hours' drive from San Francisco. She coaxed me into visiting, and I'm oh-so glad I took her up on her offer, because we had such a blast exploring majestic Yosemite National Park, plus a slew of "gold rush towns" that sprung up in the region back in the 1840s and 50s when the area known as the Mother Lode saw thousands upon thousands of prospectors from all walks of life trekking to the region in the hopes of striking it rich! 

There are few words to describe Yosemite. I'd been once before with my family back in the summer of 2004, when my mother, sister and I spent a month in California driving all over the place. My dad, unable to take as much time off from work, had to choose the highlights he most wanted to experience, so Napa, Sonoma and Yosemite were the stops he explored with us. Well, my memories are still clear all these years later, but it sure was nice to visit a second time. 

The park is truly awe inspiring. In fact, even the drive to the park before you've entered its boundaries is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. By the time we were nearing the floor of Yosemite Valley, Elyse was pulling her car over every couple of minutes so that we could get out and admire yet another stunning panorama.

After lunch at the Ahwahnee Hotel, we spent some time hiking to Lower Yosemite Fall and even encountered a herd of deer crossing the road near El Capitan. Although our time in the park was fairly short, I feel so grateful I got a chance to experience nature's beauty at one of this country's true treasures. 

Yosemite, impressive as it was, came as no surprise, because, as I said, I'd been there before. Not only that, but through iconic photographs like those of Ansel Adams, and even that recent documentary Free Solo, which won an Oscar a few years back, images of the park are seared into the collective mindset of Americans. 

However, I was in no way prepared for the charming string of gold rush towns we proceeded to visit over the next three days. 

I Forgot How Much I Love Winter

Well, the end of February has arrived, and I'm left scratching my head at how much I've enjoyed this past string of months. I've always loved to come home, regardless of the season. But there's something so special about how the seasons transition into one another that is completely lost when you just touch down right in the heart of one. So to have landed in the thick of summer, then to have it slowly turn to fall, and then to winter, and now to watch winter begin its gradual change into spring has been nothing short of miraculous. 

I guess all those years when I came home for Christmas and stuck around into the new year, I never got a chance to really understand how wonderful this season can be. I loved seeing family and friends, obviously, and I loved the random snowstorms that blanketed my world in a sea of white. But I abhorred the cold. Even the beauty of yesterday's blizzard soon turns to sleety, slushy blackness, stripping the snow of its purity. This was especially true when I spent so much of my free time within the confines of New York City during my all-too-brief returns. Now that I feel no such pressure, I've been able to linger in our suburban-on-the-cusp-of-rural paradise of Central New Jersey, where being far removed from the city's hubbub, our lease on fields of white snow can be extended by weeks. 

And I guess it's quite ironic if you think about it, but the winter seems colder when it just starts the moment you step off a plane, without a nice, temperate autumn to lull you into it. And knowing that same plane would just whisk me straight back to Hong Kong's perpetual heat and humidity robbed me of the joyous arrival of springtime. So you better believe I'm savoring this year as much as I possibly can. 

At the tail end of January, we even got a proper blizzard. Not only did the skies drop almost a foot of precious powder on our lawns, but we had one of the most essential elements that makes any snowstorm even more awesome: anticipation. The meteorologists giving us warnings for days - the snow is coming! - so although my sister gets freaked out by the waiting, I downright love it. 

True, shoveling isn't the most fun thing in the world. But sledding down the hills of nearby Cheesequake State Park with my sister on our vintage Flexible Flyer? Walking through the wooded trails on the sunniest of days after the snowfall had stopped? Retreating into the warm house with a mug of hot cocoa? That's pure bliss and worth every shovelful of snow it took to clear our steep driveway. 

I'm looking forward to the spring. There's no doubt about it. But I've also rekindled a love for winter that I always knew I had as a child but somehow thought I'd lost when I entered adulthood. I'm delighted to report that my affection turned out only to be dormant, not extinct. 

Requiem for a Coffee Bar

Although I'm half a world away from Hong Kong these days, I have to take a moment to mourn the loss of my favorite local establishment, which closed its doors Sunday, to the utter disappointment of Happy Valley residents who have relied on it as a communal meeting spot for half a dozen years. Multiple friends sent me messages and photos of the last hurrah, and trusty Simon even made sure Fredric popped by one final time to bid a fond farewell to a place he's spent countless happy hours. 

Lovely Happy Alley, which made the slow transition each day from morning coffee shop to evening cocktail bar, was the tiniest sliver of a space. In fact, specializing in not one but two popular items , coffee and cocktails, was less an endeavor of interest but rather of necessity, to ensure viability by stretching out the operating hours of a truly miniscule commercial space. 

But owners Oliver and Christine turned it into a little slice of paradise nestled on a nondescript Happy Valley corner. Torn between calling it a coffee shop or a cocktail bar, they settled on coffee bar, which was about as perfect as the spot itself. 

The coffee, I must confess, was divine. Oliver is Austrian, and, to the best of my knowledge, his was the only shop in all of Hong Kong to sell Julius Meinl, a high class Viennese coffee he took great pains to import from his faraway home country. 

He also kept Stiegl, a crisp brew from outside Salzburg, on draft, which was the most delightful of quaffs on those roasting summer days for which Hong Kong is infamous. 

And with a fully stocked bar behind the counter, it was not uncommon to switch to harder stuff, a crisp and refreshing Aperol Spritz or, unsurprisingly, a decadent espresso martini, making good use of those coffee machines well into the evening. 

In spite of the fantastic coffee, many a morning started for me with an Old Rosie cider or a glass of champagne, perhaps mixed with orange juice to create a nice mimosa. And I could always count on bumping into multiple friends as I lingered over my drinks, often opting for a second, a third, or even a fourth. 

Yes, I actually made multiple friends at the place. In addition to Oliver and Christine, who became pals, there was their top flight staff. Ronnie, Gabby, Nat, Dayson, Eugene, always ready to chat and lend an ear, regardless of the time of day. 

Then there were the regulars, Rachel and Emma and Christian and Priscilla and Thea and Julian and Steph and Tan, among others I'm sure I'm forgetting. Sometimes you'd hit the jackpot, Rachel and Emma would be there for a morning coffee with their dogs Tikka and Daisy, but a few moments after they left, Christian and Priscilla would arrive for a pre-lunch glass of wine. Inevitably, Thea would arrive, or at least walk by, since she literally lived a few floors above the shop. And so she'd often wind up imbibing with me, too. 

Many times, I didn't necessarily even intend to stop at Happy Alley. I'd just be on one of our routine walks with Fred and spot someone I knew having a drink. Of course, I had little choice but to pop up for one myself. 

Notably, Happy Alley was also the sole exception to one of my hard and fast rules, which is that in any given week, I can only visit each restaurant or bar one time only. I am not embarrassed to admit that sometimes I'd visit Happy Alley multiple times per day, a morning, afternoon and evening visit, especially on a Saturday, not being at all uncommon. 

When I left Hong Kong in August, we knew the fate of the spot. Oliver sadly had informed us that his landlords stated well in advance that they would not be extending the lease any further after it expired in January. So although I had every reason to believe that it would still be there after my return, I was already prepared for its loss. 

Mercifully, it wound up being the spot where my friends toasted my departure the evening before I flew home five months ago. We had a wonderful night drinking Aperol Spritzes in the warm August night. And even that next afternoon, mere hours before I headed to the airport, I met Blueky there for a final round of drinks. 

Something won't feel quite right about Happy Alley's not being there when I return to Hong Kong. It's a loss that will long stick out, but tonight, I'm content to bask in the wonderful memories and drink a glass or two in memory of a place that will forever hold a very special spot in my heart.

Thanks for everything, irreplaceable Happy Alley! You Will be sorely, sorely missed!