Surfing the Third Wave

Remember that light we thought we saw at the end of Coronavirus Tunnel? Well, it turned out to be the headlamp of an oncoming COVID Express train.

As this unending pandemic stretches into it eighth month, different cities and countries are faced with a diverse array of challenges and problems. We are all at separate stages of the global crisis, and I must report that here in Hong Kong, we’re experiencing our scariest stretch yet: the ominous sounding third wave.

Back in late January, when the first wave crept across the border, Hong Kong’s tally trickled up to around a hundred and fifty cases before coming under control. The uncertainty of a new virus scared many, but through vigilance and determination, very little damage actually took place—from a public health perspective, anyway.

Then the virus starting to spread globally, and a second wave of imported cases swept in, as residents who had initially fled Hong Kong—under the incorrect assumption that our proximity to (and interconnectivity with) Wuhan would spell disaster—returned, many bringing COVID-19 with them. But, again, the situation was brought under control, although the case count did rise above the relatively alarming threshold of one thousand.

Throughout all those cautious months—while devastating news from Italy, Spain, the UK, and the United States flashed across our screens—local hospitals were never overwhelmed and our restaurants (though slapped with certain rules) were never shut. For a month or so, cinemas, gyms, beauty parlors and other high-risk establishments were ordered to close temporarily, but life continued largely as per usual.

Now, with the arrival of this devastating third wave, all that has changed. A local outbreak was reported on 5 July—after three weeks without any local transmission—and alarming increases in both case count and fatalities has followed in its wake. Ten days later, with little sign of improvement, life in this city was truly disrupted for the first time.

The government ordered restaurants to suspend dine-in services between 6pm and 5am. Breakfast and lunch were given a green light. But dinner was nixed. The cinemas had to close again, as did the bars and gyms and karaoke lounges.

But with so much glorious outdoor space—beaches, parks, trails—you can spend the bulk of your time without setting foot in those types of establishments. Sure, it would get to you eventually, but for a short stretch, it would be a small burden to bear. We could make the best of that. (If nothing else, this whole experience has taught the world to make the best of things. Remember, I’m supposed to be at the Tokyo Olympics this week.) 

Sadly, as local infections continued to surge—we’re now in our tenth consecutive day of triple digit increases—even more drastic measures were in order. The forty-fourth annual Hong Kong International Film Festival, cancelled in March, then re-scheduled for August, now has the dubious distinction of having been scrapped twice. So has the Rugby Sevens, which was initially postponed until October before the organizers announced it would not take place at all this year. 

But there have been rainbows throughout it all. I mean this both figuratively and literally. For, as you may remember from my post back in June about my stellar staycation at the Peninsula, an actual rainbow appeared over Victoria Harbour as I sipped craft cocktails at their swanky skybar, Felix. And in the weeks that have followed, several more colorful arcs have appeared in suitably photogenic fashion across our city, reminding us that there is beauty all around us, even in troubled times.

And apart from the actual rainbows, many a stunning sunset has colored the evening skies these past weeks, whether enjoyed from my flat or elsewhere in town. After the 6pm dine-in ban was implemented, I took up a new habit of leaving the office around 4:30pm for a very early dinner, then heading home to savor a glass or two (or three) of wine on my rooftop.

Of course, it's summer here, the heart of the year's hottest stretch. That means glorious weather, humidity, stunning vistas and lots of outdoor time, whether on my roof or elsewhere. And with a few good books and some wine, I guess it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if I had to isolate myself up here... I hope not, but it's a slight comfort to know that if it becomes a necessity, I'm very blessed to have this place.

What if this is only the beginning? 

What if things get worse, much worse, before they get better? 

Well, at least we got to savor the good times before it all went south: ice cream a-plenty, public holidays soaking up the joys of this wonderful city and birthdays or group gatherings to celebrate the arrival of summer and the anticipated demise of the coronavirus.

My good buddy Chun marked his thirty-fourth birthday with a hearty Sichuan feast in Wan Chai at the tail end of June, which, of course, segued into a night out in Lan Kwai Fong. (Complete with a tram ride in between!) And the very next day, before the effects of the party had fully worn off on yours truly, my friends Lou and Kathy organized a Sunday free flow brunch in Sai Ying Pun, getting a solid assemblage of us together to catch up after a long stretch of separation.

Christina and Clement even organized a wonderful evening at their home, gathering a nice group to play an amusing game called What Do You Meme? Our gracious hosts ordered pizzas and provided plenty of beverages while we enjoyed a Cards Against Humanity-esque diversion where you have to select the most fitting caption for a photograph among the options you’ve been dealt. The player whose turn it is gets to decide the winner of the round, who, in turn, keeps the photo card. At the end, the one with the most photo cards wins the game.

The first of July is a public holiday here: the date of return of Hong Kong from Britain to China in 1997. My friend Gabby suggested a day trip to Sai Kung, where a quick ferry connects to Yim Tin Tsai, a pint-sized outlying island famous for its abandoned buildings and salt fields. She invited her friend Holly to come along, and the three of us had ourselves a grand adventure.

Over on the island, there’s a stately church set on a small hill overlooking the beautiful Sai Kung peninsula, but I think the informative tour of the salt fields was my favorite part of the day. We all bought some to take home, and although I’m not much of a cook, it’s never a bad idea to have a little high-quality salt around the house.

Traffic both in and out of Sai Kung during peak hours can be an absolute nightmare, especially on a public holiday when the masses flock to its sun-drenched wonders. So Gabby, Holly and I agreed that we might as well linger until late into the night, giving the roads a chance to clear up.

Back on dry land, we strolled the waterfront promenade, grabbed a few seaside drinks, and capped it all off with a hearty seafood dinner at one of the famous eateries, including plentiful Tsing Taos and my favorite salted egg yolk fried prawns.

And, as expected, we veritably flew back to Hong Kong Island in our Uber when we were ready to call it a night. All in all, a very fruitful public holiday.

I played host myself a few days later, on Independence Day, when about twenty revelers of all nationalities made their way to the roof for a good, old-fashioned American barbecue. And Illi again brought along a stunning contribution, in the form of red velvet Jack Daniels mini-cupcakes.

As delightful as they were to look at, believe me, they tasted even better!

The rooftop's mini-fridge was stocked with American brands: Budweiser and Oscar Meyer and Kraft. Not the stuff you'd normally find there, but it felt appropriate to mark the first time the holiday has fallen on a Saturday since 2015. And I found all the condiments you’d expect to complement them. It was the first significant grocery shopping undertaking I’ve attempted in years, but by all accounts, it was a wild success.

I even ordered a Key lime pie from a local bakery service called Tai Tai Pie Pies, which was also a delicious—and photogenic—hit. Key lime pie is one of the essential tastes of summer for me. I absolutely adore it. But it's not the most common delicacy here in the Far East. So I was over-the-moon when I learned Tai Tai Pie Pies produced a version of this zesty treat. 

The weather was perfect, the grill was in fine form, and the booze flowed freely. That quintessentially distinct smoky aroma of burgers and dogs grilling on a warm midsummer afternoon was so exemplary that, with a little bit of imagination, we could almost have been back on the East Coast of the good old US of A.

And the timing couldn’t have been better, because it was that very next day when the situation on the ground began to deteriorate, meaning we probably couldn’t have had the same celebration only a few days later.

The next morning, Martin and Mongia’s former helper Liza stopped by for a long-overdue catch-up. You probably remember that when Rich and I first moved into this apartment back in 2012, Martin and Mongia—whose daughter Sonia, a great friend of mine, lived here before she moved to Singapore—arranged for Liza to continue living in the third bedroom during our tenancy, just had she had done during Sonia’s. And so, although Liza took marvelous care of the apartment, I always considered her to be more of a roommate than a helper.

When Martin and Mongia relocated to Thailand in 2015, Liza found new employers and moved to Tung Chung. And although we’d stayed in contact via Facebook, we hadn’t actually seen each other in over four years!

So it was oh-so lovely to catch up that Sunday, rehashing old memories and filling each other in on all the major changes that had taken place in our lives since our last encounter. We even video-called Sonia and Motez down in the Lion City on Whatsapp, and it was such a good reminder that even as life changes, it’s good to keep in touch with all your old friends.

I’m sure it will also come as no surprise to you to learn that, after the cinemas re-opened, I became a frequent visitor once again. With only a limited selection of new releases, the theaters here were mostly projecting repertory films, which couldn’t have pleased me more! And I took full advantage.

Having loved it so much the first time, I brought a quartet of friends back to Pacific Place for a subsequent showing of Cinema Paradiso. And I finally saw The Godfather and The Godfather Part II on the big screen with Danijela—who, coincidentally, was finally able to move to Germany today, after months of delay—over the course of one weekend. We went for hearty Italian feasts after each screening, at La Taverna in TST and Motorino in Wan Chai, respectively.  

Thrilled with my ability to become a habitual moviegoer again, I also took the opportunity to catch Pulp Fiction, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Memento, The Wizard of Oz, Whitney, Joker (which I had missed during its first run last year), The Apartment and The Green Mile. It was a joy to catch such iconic favorites with an audience on a huge screen. 

That last title added a nice little bonus to my life, because the screening was in Olympian City, where the first local branch of Cinnabon opened back in February. I’d never had a sufficient excuse to trek out there, but The Green Mile finally provided the perfect justification indeed. (And, oh, was it delicious!)  

And there were a few new releases scattered among the classics, including an animated Spanish movie titled Bunuel in the Labyrinth of the Turtles, a tense Japanese drama about the 2011 nuclear disaster called Fukushima 50 and a delightful Argentinian black comedy named The Weasel’s Tale.

But perhaps the quirkiest of the bunch was Tommy Wiseau’s The Room, which has come to be admired in the same vein as Plan Nine from Outer Space, one of those “so awful it’s amazing” achievements. Some even refer to it as the Citizen Kane of bad movies and have taken to interacting with the action on screen, à la Rocky Horror Picture Show.

So in addition to the cinema attendant who ripped my ticket and the ubiquitous temperature checker, a third employee passed out bundles of plastic spoons as I entered the massive hall at the Grand Ocean, so I could throw them at the screen at appropriate moments. (For some unexplained reason, there are framed photos of spoons situated around the apartment where most of the action takes place. So when one of these photos is onscreen, the audience cries out, “Spoons!” and everybody throws a few!)

I don’t know what to say about The Room except that I had such a ball watching it—yelling at the characters, laughing at its ridiculousness, throwing my spoons—that I hope I get the chance to see it many times in the future. As I walked out of the cinema that night, the floor littered with plastic cutlery, I was in such a giddy state! 

My last movie screening took place on Bastille Day: appropriately enough Les Miserables. No, not another adaptation of Victor Hugo’s novel, but rather last year’s French submission for Best International Feature at the Academy Awards, which was nominated for the final Oscar but lost, inevitably, to Parasite.

I’d wanted to see this one for a while, but I decided to wait until the French national holiday. It seemed a suitable occasion. It was impeccable timing, for it wound up being the last day cinemas were allowed to open before the mid-July tightening of the social distancing measures.

That very next day was when that first round of sweeping restrictions were to come into effect, shuttering the high risk establishments, reducing restaurants to serving take-out only after six o’clock in the evening, and the rest. So, of course, I couldn’t forego the temptation to indulge in one final evening meal, fittingly at Eiffel Bistro, a short distance from the cinema.

Fresh baked bread and butter, mussels in white wine and garlic, crème brûlée, and some obligatory vin français to wash it all down. I hope we can eat dinner out again in the near future, but I’ll live on the memory of Eiffel Bistro until that fine day. 

The movie—I must gush—was exceptional. It lingered at the forefront of my mind for days afterwards, and when I found friends who had also seen it, it triggered complex, thought-provoking conversations about our impressions. I heartily recommend giving it a go, if you have the chance. In any other year without the irresistible Parasite as competition, it might have been a shoo-in to win the Oscar. As it turned out, even receiving the nomination was enough to secure ample international distribution, ensuring that Ladj Ly’s complex and penetrating study of life in the French projects receives worldwide attention.

In the end, that was a pretty French day. For when I got home, I switched on Midnight in Paris while sipping Benedictine. And even earlier, my colleague Jenny and I had snuck in lunch at Dalloyau (my new place for that week) before I stocked up on some Pierre Hermé macarons just next door. Vive la France!

A major silver lining to this whole thing was when the Hong Kong government announced a one-time cash payout of HKD 10,000 to all permanent residents. First confirmed back in February, while I was on my last pre-COVID trip to Thailand, it took them quite a long while to finally get it together.

But a few weeks back, when I received my windfall, I was a pretty happy camper. You can bet I celebrated with a tasty local dinner that night, at Gi Kee in the Wong Nai Chung Cooked Food Centre across the street from my apartment.

Speaking of memorable meals, perhaps you remember Cottage Vineyards and Ada’s wonderful wine dinners? You know, the one Courtney and I went to back in 2017 when she ended up being pushed through the lobby of the Macau Four Seasons in a wheelchair… Or when Yvonne and I were seated at Kin’s Kitchen alongside the garrulous Italian winemaker whose very creations were the focus of the feast the following year…

Well, although Cottage Vineyards has since been re-christened Wine Friends, good old Ada is still at it. And she hasn’t lost her touch. She sent me an invitation back in May for an irresistible event, called “The Bombay East Indian Girl’s Slow Food Story.” It told of Samaira, an amateur chef who grew up with a Hindu mother and Catholic father in cosmopolitan Bombay, with a complex and intriguing East Indian Indo-Portuguese Catholic upbringing that has inspired her culinary adventures. I excitedly booked a spot at the table, and on 9 July, it was time to indulge in the sublime spread.

Beetroot puri, fish kujit cooked in banana leaf, bottle masala sous-vide chicken: these were but three of the six impeccable courses. And friendly Samaira made frequent trips to our table to explain about the ingredients and cooking processes, which made the meal not only tasty but informative, as well.

And, it hardly needs to be said, Ada provided some out-of-this-world wines to complement each course. All in all, it was a worthy successor to its forebears, in every respect. And hopefully there are many more Wine Friends dinners in my future.

In fact, a lot of the joy of the past weeks has come in the form of new restaurants. You’ll remember that I force myself to sample at least one untested eatery for lunch each week, and I feel like I’ve been on a real winning streak of late.

First up was Sichuan Lab, a sleek and modern spice fest near the Wan Chai MTR. Their weekday lunch set includes unlimited dim sum, fried rice and dan dan noodles, plus a spicy main dish from a selection of Sichuan favorites. And it was all utterly fabulous, from the xiao long bao and har gau to the siu mai and char siu bao. I will be back again soon.

Another winner was Yum Cha, a playful dim sum specialist whose buns and dumplings are as fun to photograph and play with as they are to eat! Case in point: the hot custard bun with a pair of googly eyes. You’re encouraged to poke a hole to serve as this little critter’s would-be mouth, and then squeeze for a comical effect.

But perhaps the lunch to end all 2020 lunches was my feast last Friday at Amigo, just a few minutes’ walk from my front door, here in Happy Valley. Amigo has been around since 1968, and it’s weathered all kinds of storms. I’d always heard it was a special occasion kind of a place, and so I’d just always figured I’d keep it up my sleeve for a memorable first visit. When my dad and sister were in town back in 2016, it found a spot on our Wednesday evening itinerary, but the old man—feeling pangs of jet lag—opted to stay home and watch television with Fredric that night. And so Danii and I wound up at Pang’s Kitchen instead.

I must confess, having now visited, I feel a little bit of a fool for having waited so long. I hop off the tram pretty much every day in front of the terra cotta structure, perhaps the only one of its distinctive kind in Hong Kong. So something felt a tiny bit odd walking inside.

The moment you enter, you realize you’re someplace very magical indeed. With its dark wooden beams and archways, Amigo's interiors instantly transport diners to some old-world European villa, where candles flicker even in the daytime and waiters anticipate your every wish.

Though they say dinner can run into the thousands, a weekday lunch deal costs around HKD 500, all in. And that’s a pretty good bargain considering the one-of-a-kind nature of the place. And with all the restaurants closing their doors in Hong Kong, I got scared Amigo might be a relic whose days were numbered. So I called and booked a table, so that I’d always be able to say I ate there in case it’s not around much longer.

I might add, from the look of the place on a Friday afternoon in the midst of a pandemic, I probably don’t have much to worry about. Every table was booked, and it seems Amigo has a loyal clientele of regulars who’ve been coming for decades and show no sign of declining interest.

This past weekend, I think everybody pretty much saw the writing on the wall and knew that stricter rules were a foregone conclusion. It was expected that the government would announce the specifics early the next week, so we all wanted to make the most of the last days of freedom. I normally put a temporary hiatus on hiking between the months of June and September, as the heat and humidity crescendo, making physical exertion difficult and unpleasant.

But when Matt suggested I tag along for a jaunt up into the hills near Pineapple Dam to explore the derelict World War II-era tunnels, followed by a visit to Monkey Hill, I couldn’t think of a good reason to decline.

The tunnels are an amazing—if overlooked—reminder of a faraway chapter of Hong Kong history, built by the British when a Japanese invasion of their territory seemed imminent. In 1941, when the assault happened, the fortified line didn’t hold up for long. The Battle of Hong Kong lasted from 8 December to 25 December of that year, when the British governor formally surrendered, instigation a period of occupation that lasted three years and eight months.

If this is my year for discovering all the hidden nooks and crannies of Hong Kong that I’ve left curiously uncharted in my decade plus in this town, a visit to these tunnels was an undoubted highlight.

From the hopping frogs and fluttering bats that have taken up residence inside the dark passageways, to the cheeky inscriptions left by the British, naming the corridors after famous thoroughfares in faraway Blighty, exploring these sights was both adventurous and educational.

I’d also never been to the nearby Monkey Hill, basically a paved road that snakes through some lovely forest in Kam Shan Country Park, where a nasty colony of macaques has taken up residence.

If you’re impression of monkeys is that they’re slightly impish but ultimately harmless creatures—like those in Bali or Thailand—you’ve got another thing coming here. These simians gnarl their sharp teeth, hiss at passersby and roughhouse with each other in a manner that actually made me a little nervous as I walked through, less for myself than for Fredric, who doesn’t seem particularly blessed with animal instincts. At multiple points, I had to shepherd him close beside me, because the little guy was getting dangerously close to the menacing monsters without seeming to realize they were on the cusp of attack!

The road over Monkey Hill takes you right out over the stunning Kowloon Reservoir Dam and deposits you on Tai Po Road, where Google informed me that Sha Tin Inn was only a five-minute car ride. A few moments later, we were seated in the convivial garden, sating our thirst with ice cold Tsing Tao.

A little later, a veritable Indonesian feast was placed before us, including lumpia, gulai, nasi goreng and twenty satays (ten each of chicken and beef). I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but this is a true gem of Hong Kong. It’s important to me to support the local restaurants I most treasure during this incredibly challenging period for them, and I’m glad we found the time to pay a visit to the friendly folks over at Sha Tin Inn.

My roommate Simon had some friends over that evening, and I enjoyed dinner and drinks with them on the roof. But I called it a night around midnight, owing to an early start the next morning for a picnic on Welcome Beach over on Lantau.

It was a lovely day, with more amazing food and good friends under sunny skies, in a place we wouldn’t be able to visit in but a few short days, if the whispers were correct that the ban on public gatherings would be reduced to two people, with all beaches closed.

Yes, it was a perfect final weekend in a series of precious moments over these last weeks. But somehow, I had a feeling things were coming to a head.

I awoke Monday morning to sad news by way of the Drudge Report, where I learned that two-time Oscar-winner Olivia de Havilland had passed away in Paris on Sunday at the age of 104. She was the last of the big Golden Age movie stars. That’s all there is to be said. Membership to that group ceased acceptance of new joiners in the late 1940s. There may be great stars—even legends—still around, but they all got their start just a bit too late to join that club. (Sophia Loren, Sidney Poitier, Mitzi Gaynor and Shirley MacLaine spring to mind.) And though there are a few secondary performers from an earlier time, with Ms. de Havilland now gone, there's nobody around who achieved major stardom during those storied golden days. 

The list of grand old legends had been dwindling for the past half-decade or so. Lauren Bacall and Luise Rainer both died in the second half of 2014. Maureen O’Hara followed in October of 2015. Robust Kirk Douglas survived until February of this year. And, since then, only Ms. de Havilland had remained. It was an ever-shrinking directory that is now empty. And, like the last survivor of anything, she will be remembered as having been a final living link. And, man, was her endurance impressive! Just think about it. She was 104 years old, and had been born before such luminaries as William Holden, Judy Garland, Robert Mitchum, Rita Hayworth and Lana Turner, yet outlasted them all for decades.

I’m talking about a distinct and superior class of giants here—above the title A Listers who carried the films in which they appeared and whose very names were enough to incentivize moviegoers into buying their tickets—who were active in Hollywood during the thirties and forties and lived to see the descriptor legend appended to their names.

Like her fellow icons mentioned above, de Havilland represented that rare combination of popularity in her prime—including recognition and awards—coupled with an evergreen longevity, thanks to the films in which she appeared and the performances she gave in them. And she was lucky not just to have attained an immediate degree of approval with the audiences of her era but to have assured herself an enduring legacy by having acted in at least a few films that were also lauded by the critics and have come to be called classics, which has led to their being screened in film schools and art house cinemas to this very day, while references to them have entered into the public consciousness and lexicon through the phenomenon of popular culture. Yes, as long as we rank the greatest movies and biggest stars, Olivia de Havilland will always be remembered.

For me, that’s what really has changed with her passing. There is nobody else left who meets the eligibility requirements that granted de Havilland—and those who went before her—access into an exclusive club… A club that, as of last Monday, simply has no more members.  

Oh, there are other living connections to that more glamorous age of moviemaking, of course. Depending on how tenuous you like your connections, there are possibly thousands still around. And a few should be revered as precious treasures while they’re here to talk about it.

Top of the list is likely to be Margaret O’Brien, a child star who was born two years after Olivia de Havilland made her 1935 film debut. She was quite the early bloomer—and became a bona fide superstar before the much older Mr. Douglas had even appeared in his first film. For whatever reason, Ms. O’Brien didn’t sustain a successful career that saw her develop into a mature actress. But she won a juvenile Oscar for her performance in an all-time favorite, Meet Me in Saint Louis, which guarantees her work will continue to be seen by future generations. And as a mere sprig of a girl at age 83, she could be here until 2041—if she’s blessed with the similarly long life that Ms. de Havilland enjoyed—telling first-hand tales of how it was making pictures with the likes of Orson Wells and Judy Garland and Charles Laughton and Wally Beery and Edward G. Robinson. Let’s hope that’s the case.  

There’s also Jane Powell, a singing and dancing star at M-G-M who certainly could—and did—carry many a movie at the height of her fame. She was a big celebrity who had a sustained career in Tinseltown throughout the 1940s and 50s, resulting in a score of charming pictures. Her career started significantly later than Ms. de Havilland's (and even Ms. O'Brien's), and she didn't hit her peak until the 50s, the studio system fading. Moreover, when they compile that list I mentioned earlier, it’s unlikely any of the titles from her filmography will be on it. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers comes close, but it isn’t a Gone With the Wind or even a Meet Me in Saint Louis. Still, with Olivia de Havilland now gone and Margaret O’Brien best remembered as an impish youngster, Jane Powell is the biggest adult star of the Golden Age still around. 

But let’s not forget the character actors and supporting players who, while they can’t tell us what is was like to be a superstar in those glory days, can at least tell us what is was like to be a member of that same vanished world. Some, like Angela Lansbury—who dabbled in cinema but never became a top-billed motion picture actress—achieved a level of renown in other arenas of the performing arts, like the stage or television, and have become legends in their medium. Their movie performances remain a footnote to their greater fame, but they are here to share their memories, all the same.

And there are quite a few others—none, it must be confessed, whose legacy has seen them join the same ranks as a Bacall, O’Hara or de Havilland—who have rich filmographies and valuable stories. They may be mostly forgotten by the public at large, but film buffs treasure their performances and sleep easy knowing a fair number are still around to give interviews, write books and share their unique perspectives at festival screenings across the globe. Ann Blyth, Jane Withers, Norman Lloyd, Arlene Dahl, Rhonda Fleming, Cora Sue Collins, June Lockhart, Marsha Hunt. These are but a handful of the most notable names.

And when we move down to obscure extras, the behind the camera talent, and family members of the stars, it might almost seem like there’ll always be someone around with first-hand knowledge to tell us what it was like in Hollywood during the height of the studio system. This train of thought is certainly a comfort on a melancholy day like Monday was for me.

Still, as a surviving adult superstar whose body of work stretched back to the mid-thirties, with multiple unqualified masterpieces to her credit, de Havilland held a unique place, even before Mr. Douglas’ passing. For although he achieved ever-lasting fame and proved enduringly popular, it wasn’t until after World War II had ended that he got his start. De Havilland, less than half a year older, was a household name roughly a decade earlier. 

So I had to raise a toast to the great lady that night. After a few drinks on the roof with some friends, I popped The Adventures of Robin Hood into the DVD player, and, with tears in my eyes at certain moments, savored the glories of one of my all-time favorite flicks. (I watched her Oscar-winning performance in The Heiress a few nights later and will likely be hosting a single-viewer Olivia de Havilland festival for the foreseeable future. Or, at least until the government allows the cinemas to reopen.)

It was only a few hours after I learned of Ms. de Havilland’s death that the press announced the new missive from on high: public gatherings were to be limited to two, with an all-out dine-in ban forcing restaurants to confine services to take-away and delivery only, even during breakfast and lunch. No in-house service for at least seven days... What a crumby start to a week!

Then, in a shock move yesterday, the Hong Kong government, facing widespread criticism of its actions, reversed the dine-in ban and again announced that restaurants could return to serving customers between 5am and 6pm. They must limit tables to only two people apiece, and those tables must be placed five feet apart from each other, and the whole restaurant must be run at half normal capacity.

But they can stay open. That’s one thing we’ve got. 

I must admit, it's very strange, but going two days without setting foot inside a restaurant felt very odd indeed. And the stretch felt much longer than a mere forty-eight hours. I was oh-so delighted to meet Gabby for an Indian lunch today at Gunpowder on Ship Street in Wan Chai, which also served as my new place for the week. 

So it’s August tomorrow, and the future is uncertain, but the year—like years do—is barreling forward at breakneck speed. What lies ahead? Are things going to get worse before they get better, or is this our rock bottom? A famous character in Ms. de Havilland's most famous film once observed, “I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about it tomorrow… After all, tomorrow is another day.”