Le Beaujolais Nouveau est Arrivé

As you probably know, visiting Macau is—for me at least—one of the greatest things about living in Hong Kong. The former Portuguese colony, a mere forty miles or so from the SAR, is easily accessible and full of interesting things to do. Macau is now internationally known for its glittering casinos, but for centuries, it was a thriving trading port—and the first European colony in Asia—where spices and other goods passed on their voyage from East to West. Unlike Hong Kong, where the need to provide for the future mandated the unfortunate destruction of many monuments of the past, Macau has miraculously managed to preserve huge sections of its history. Walking around the old city is like strolling through a nineteenth century picture postcard somehow come to life. And I love to soak up all the character of this gem of a place.

Last night, one of my favorite Macau events took place. The local Alliance Française puts on an annual fête to celebrate the release of the Beaujolais nouveau, the first of the year's grapes to be turned into wine. Although Beaujolais nouveau itself is rarely exceptional, it does offer oenophiles their first taste of what's to come when more prestigious regions release their wines over the course of the season. And it's a great excuse to have a little celebration.

So I caught the ferry over and hopped on the number 12 bus to the party. My friend Christina was joining too, but because she couldn't get off work early, I figured it made sense for me to go down first so I'd have some extra time in Macau. The event is held in the courtyard of the Albergue SCM, which is tucked away up some side streets and therefore pretty difficult to find if you don't know where you're going. Surprisingly, after a short wander around the charming quarter, I found it relatively easily. But when I approached the woman seated at the table and asked for a ticket, she told me the party had reached capacity and no more tickets were being sold! I begged and pleaded but to no avail. She said there were no exceptions.

Dejected, I wandered around some more, found a payphone, called Christina (who was already en route) to give her the bad news, and made plans to instead meet her on the steps of the ruins of Saint Paul's, Macau's most famous site. Having been to the party two years in a row, I was so looking forward to my third go. And Christina was also excited for it, having been part of our crew for last year's installment. But we decided to make the best of it and still have a good night.

Strolling around the old cobblestone streets, past reminders of a colonial heritage infused with distinctly Asian accents, we both perked up. (A tasty Portuguese egg tart from a local shop made this even easier.) Macau was still a great place to be, and the clear, cool night was perfect. We sat down at Restaurant Platao, a Portuguese place with a charming patio, up a side alley just off Senado Square. We ordered a bottle of wine, some bread and baked eggplant stuffed with cheese, and we lingered there until they told us they were closing and we had to leave.

And afterwards we just wandered some more, back to Saint Paul's and then up to the ancient fortress that caps a nearby hill. I'd never seen this part of Macau—usually packed with thousands of tourists—so empty. A few locals were chatting with one another on benches or jogging along the path, but it felt like we had the magical place all to ourselves.

Then we had an idea, perhaps inspired by that bottle of wine we had at the restaurant: make our way back towards the Beaujolais party and find some way to get in. So when we approached the Albergue and nobody was manning the entrance, we just waltzed on by, found a (nearly) full bottle and grabbed two empty glasses. We were in.

Sitting in the courtyard, with the moss-covered trees and din of French conversation in the background, we chilled out for an hour or so. In the end we had made it to our party after all. True, the music had stopped by the time we arrived and many party guests had begun filtering out, but we really didn't mind. It was a great development to what had already turned out to be a wonderful evening.

Slowly, lights began turning off, and eventually it became clear that it was again time to leave. So we grabbed some vin-to-go, plopped down on the steps in front of the Church of Saint Lazarus, and basked in the moonlit, floodlit, old world glories of Macau. Although the night had gone decidedly different from how we had expected it to go, it proved that if you just roll with the punches, things always seem to find a way of working out.