The Mezcal Diaries: Mexican Adventures, Part 1

Greetings from Tulum! After four fun-filled days in Mexico City, Heidi and I have moved on to our second destinations, where we are going to celebrate the wedding of her friends Colleen and Greg, in addition to exploring the Mayan wonders of this historic locale and a bit of R&R. As we get ready to head out for our first day, here's a re-cap of our amazing jaunt around the frenetic capital!

I touched down in Mexico City around 4pm on Saturday, after my whirlwind romp through Los Angeles. It was easy enough to arrange an Uber from the airport to the hotel, where Heidi was eagerly awaiting my arrival. Having flown in from Newark earlier that day, she had held off exploring until I got there, and we pretty much set out straight away!

Heidi, as you all probably know, is one of my best friends from Villanova, and we’ve managed to maintain our friendship over the past ten years in spite of living on different continents. I always catch up with her during my frequent trips home, and she even made it out to Asia in 2016, visiting me in Hong Kong before we both set off to Siem Reap, Cambodia, on a grand adventure.

So when she got invited to a wedding in Tulum, I guess I was a good choice to be her ‘plus one.’ Hong Kong and Mexico are far apart, to be sure, but when she asked if I wanted to tag along, I decided it was too good a travel opportunity to pass up.

To make the long-haul flight worthwhile, we decided to tack on some extra time in Mexico City before heading to Tulum. And in the end, I wound up adding an entire second extra leg to my itinerary, after Heidi returns to New York.

For the past several weeks, I’ve been getting very excited for the trip, and doing boatloads of research. And I’ve really enjoyed watching people’s reactions when I told them I was flying to Mexico to attend the wedding of two people I’ve never met!

My buddy (and former roomie) Maxime lived in Mexico City for the immediate four years preceding his move to Hong Kong in 2016. It’s always been one of his favorite topics of conversation, and I took full advantage of his passion by getting a whole list of suggestions – in addition to an introduction to one of his good local friends, Arturo, who promised to show Heidi and me a night on the town.

And Maxime wasn’t the only one. My buddy Omar is actually from Mexico, and we met for a tasty Sichuan lunch a few days before my departure so he could also load me up with tips. And there were plenty of other friends who were more than happy to recommend must-visit destinations and must-try dishes.

So, with all my own research and the tips which flowed freely from my circle, I was uncontrollably excited to finally see Heidi open the door of room 507 of Hotel Catedrale, our accommodation in the capital city.

Maxime had recommended a rooftop patio above a bookstore near the main square, or zocalo, and Heidi discovered from Google that the place was literally a two-minute walk from the hotel’s front doors.

We found an open table, plopped down and promptly ordered a round of Micheladas, an intriguing concoction of beer mixed with lime juice and spices, all served in a salt-rimmed glass.

As the sunset over the city, Heidi and I caught up with one another, and began laying out an itinerary for the coming days. There was so much to do in Mexico City, and we were pretty certain it would take a lot more than four days to check all the items off our communal “to do list.” So it became clear from the start that some things would be left undone.

Discovering that a Max-approved restaurant was also within walking distance, Heidi and I set off on foot to find Azul Historico for dinner. Just strolling the streets from bar to eatery gave me promising indications that I was going to love this place. Every avenue was full of life, all the buildings seemed to tell a story, the smells of the various street food stalls were incredibly aromatic, and I immediately got the feeling that this was my kind of town.

Azul Historico took our name and told us a table wouldn’t be available for about an hour. We decided to find a local bar to grab a drink or, perhaps, a taco to tide us over—as I hadn’t eaten since the night before—but the place we stumbled upon was so darn tempting, that, in addition to another round of Micheladas, we also ordered generous helpings of tacos al pastor and heavenly gringas, plus a delicious flan for our postre (dessert). So stuffed were Heidi and myself that we didn’t bother returning to Azul Historico. It was time for a night on the town.

With only one Saturday in the city, we had to make the most of our evening. To soak in the real flavor of Mexico, we headed to Plaza Garibaldi, the capital’s Mariachi mecca. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Picture hundreds of musicians, with multiple bands spread across the square all playing at the same time, a dissonant symphony of brass and guitars and accordions, all mixed with singers and boisterous revelers adding their voices to the mélange. A dozen or more bars and cafés spill out onto the plaza, and the bands wander from one place to the next, hoping a table will hire them to play a few songs.

Heidi and I first plopped down at a pulqueria called La Hermosa Hortensia. They had a variety of fruit-flavored pulques, in addition to a style called origanle. Since I’d never sampled the spirit before, it seemed logical to me to start with its original form before experimenting with other varietals.

My immediate reaction upon tasting the cloudy contents of my pulque was akin to Lucy Ricardo taking her first tablespoonful of Vitameatavegamin. I don’t think I could hide my disgust from Heidi, who just burst out laughing. But, strange as it may seem, just like Lucy, I was in love with the stuff by the time I got to the bottom of the glass. It really grew on me.

We then hopped a few meters away to another bar and ordered our first round of Coronas, followed by our first of many tequila shots of the trip. The bands were still wandering about, and Heidi and I were just loving the ambiance.

But the star attraction of Plaza Garibaldi, according to Max and other friends, at least, was a raucous bar called Tenampa. So we made our way to that corner of the square and were seated in the midst of a cacophonous frenzy. There was more Mariachi, more tequila and another round of Coronas, complemented by a crowd that was clearing digging the scene.

As a last stop, we plopped down at the relatively subdued Museo de Tequila y Mezcal, our fourth bar of the night. We’d started with pulque, moved to Corona, sampled several tequilas, and, so, it seemed fitting to finish things off with a nightcap of mezcal, a cousin of tequila that many aficionados prefer to its more internationally renowned relative. Watching the square quiet down, the last of the revelers stumbling homeward, I couldn’t help feeling like we’d just witnessed—and, in fact, been a part of—a quintessentially Mexican Saturday evening. What a splendid introduction to this fascinating place!

The icing on the cake (or, in this case, the lime squeezed on the tacos) was during our nocturnal crawl back to our hotel, which included multiple pit-stops for unbelievably delicious late night street food, and friendly chats with the local barflies who were still stirring at that late hour.

Sunday began surprisingly early, the Mexican sun warming the timeworn cobblestones of the monumental zocalo, where Heidi and I entered the squat, hulking Metropolitan Cathedral for mass. I always enjoy attending a church service in a foreign language, and the interior of the cathedral was downright gorgeous, adding to our spiritual high.

Post-service, we linked up with Heidi’s friend Molly who also happened to be in town, for a day cruising along the ancient Aztec canals of Xochimilco. Loaded up with Micheladas and tons of supplementary beer, we headed off on our brightly colored trajinera (named Jurginus), the old school style boat that is ubiquitous on these waterways.

Hundreds of other boats—and thousands of other passengers, mostly, it seemed, crammed with Mexican families enjoying their weekend together—floated down the crowded channels alongside Jurginus, with names like Margarita, Ximena, Victoria, Valentina, Vesenia, Conchita, Princesa and Isabel. I wondered how we lucked out to get the one with the most elegant name.

Many of our floating neighbors had hired mariachi bands to join them on their outing, serenading the entire flotilla of vessels, each band trying to be the loudest. Smaller boats were peddling food and souvenirs. (One was even selling bonsai trees!) And the whole affair was all very leisurely in a quaint Mexican sort of way.

It was a long, full day, with great people who quickly became new friends. First, of course, there was Molly, whom Heidi had met on a recent trip to Colombia, and who, through our very good fortune, also happened to be in Mexico City during our visit and, thus, facilitated our invitation to this gathering. She was travelling with another friend Ariel, a chatty, worldly young lady who had coincidentally even lived in Hong Kong at one point! Then there was Molly’s college buddy, Nate, who now lived in Mexico City with his Venezuelan girlfriend, Catalina, and his mother, called Mue (a portmanteau of “mom” and her actual name, Sue), visiting from Florida, who was the catalyst for Nate arranging the entire gig. Rounding out the group were Camille and her husband Gaurav, friends of Nate’s, a young couple who recently relocated from New York to Los Angeles. After we got off the boat, we all headed back to the city for drinks and dinner.

All in all, it was unforgettable. But even greater sights were in store for Monday.

About an hour’s drive from downtown Mexico City lie the ruins of the ancient metropolis of Teotihuacan, probably the most famous pyramids in the Americas. The collection of pre-Aztec monuments is on practically everybody’s Mexico checklist, and Heidi and I were both eager to visit the site.

We caught an early morning Uber from Hotel Catedrale and arrived shortly after the opening, hoping to beat the crowds. Luckily, there were few other tourists about at that hour, and we began our exploration.

The largest pyramid at Teotihuacan is the so-called Pyramid of the Sun, a massive stone structure rising out of the ground. With a much more gradual incline than the iconic Pyramids of Giza, the Pyramid of the Sun actually looks more like a mountain than a pyramid until you get very close to it, when it becomes clear this is a man-made structure.

As we began to scale the steep stone steps leading up the side of the pyramid, Heidi stopped in her tracks. “Did I ever mention I’m afraid of heights?” she said. “I don’t think I can do this. I’ll wait for you down here. Take your time and enjoy.”

How Heidi and I managed to be friends for fourteen years before I learned of her acrophobia is beyond me! But the steps were a challenge even for me, so I treaded carefully as I made my way to the top.

Standing at the center of the pyramid’s apex was awe-inspiring, make no mistake, but at this point, I began to realize that my morning headache was not simply a vestige of Sunday’s boozy afternoon. Because Mexico City is at an elevation of more than a mile above sea-level, altitude sickness is known to strike first-time visitors. Having made it through Saturday afternoon and all of Sunday without even a trace of pain, I figured I had been one of the lucky unaffected ones. But standing atop the pyramid, I began to suppose it might be hitting me after all.

“Man up,” I told myself. “It’s not so bad, and you’re definitely not going to waste precious time here because of a silly headache.”

Back down and reunited with Heidi, we began a long, slow walk along the flat, sandy Avenue of the Dead, the massive ancient boulevard linking one end of Teotihuacan to the other. Straight ahead of us on our jaunt was an even more impressive timeworn structure, the Pyramid of the Moon.

Though dwarfed by the scale of its monumental neighbor from which we’d just come, the Pyramid of the Moon had a more intriguing design and placement, and we admired the noble façade from multiple ground-level viewpoints.

Now well-aware of Heidi’s aversion to steep stairs, I made up my mind not to scale the structure. Heidi was persistent. “I know you want to climb it. Please, go up. I’ll wait down here and take photos of you!”

Standing on its expansive upper platform, with the view out across the Avenue of the Dead, I was so glad I listened to her. The sight of the Pyramid of the Sun, and scores of more minor buildings, was unforgettable, in spite of my worsening headache. In fact, I think I’d rank drinking in that vista as the top moment of my short time in Mexico City.

As we ducked into a few smaller side attractions, we realized how right we were to have arrived for the opening. Throngs of visitors were now pouring in, quite literally, by the busload, and we had completed our tour and were ready to move on. The early bird had caught that worm once more.

We stopped in an absolutely delightful garden restaurant a few minutes’ walk from the pyramids, but my altitude sickness had reached a crescendo by this point, and all I could manage was a ginger ale while Heidi feasted on what she said was a delicious local breakfast. Alas, my headache was just too strong to indulge. But I enjoyed the lovely atmosphere and a spot of respite from the strong Mexican sun before we headed on to our next destination.

We powered on to the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, one of the world’s most visited religious sites, with somewhere around twenty million visitors each year! The reason it’s so popular is because the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared to a local villager named Juan Diego on 9 December 1531. There were three subsequent appearances that month, and a miraculous image of the Virgin surrounded by flowers was impressed on his cloak, which confirmed the authenticity of the apparitions as far as church leaders were concerned.

A shrine was built on the site, and over the years, more and more religious buildings were constructed. Now, it’s a veritable complex of churches, chapels, bell towers, gift shops, museums and gardens. It was wonderful strolling around the massive grounds, exploring the old basilica and the new one, in addition to learning more about the history of the place.

Back at Hotel Catedrale, we booked a highly recommended restaurant for dinner, MereToro, and headed to the Condesa neighborhood for a pre-meal cocktail at a champagne bar Heidi wanted to try.

The drinks at the bar were good, but dinner at MereToro was otherworldly! It was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long while, with stunners like octopus tartare with grasshoppers and perfectly cooked tuna. I knew I was going to like the place earlier in the day, when I read a TripAdvisor review exclaiming: “Horrible experience – very complicated menu, rare and strange ingredients combined in a bad way. Overpriced dishes that taste really awkward. No food for children whatsoever. The service and drinks are good though.” Sometimes a bad review from the right person actually encourages me to try a place, and this time, I was spot on.

The ingredients liberally used by MereToro’s chefs could indeed be described as “rare and strange.” However, I would say they were expertly combined, in an almost magical way. The lack of a child-friendly menu ensured a civilized, older crowd. And I could easily see myself become a regular here if I ever lived in Mexico City. The reviewer was spot on concerning the service and drinks. It was an utterly enjoyable meal.

I felt bad, but I couldn’t head out for another drink after dinner, though. My headache had not abated, and while the food was able to temporarily take my mind off the pain, it was getting harder and harder to distract myself. I told Heidi she should enjoy her evening, that I’d return to the hotel alone to try to sleep the headache off. But she couldn’t be swayed from accompanying me home. So we cut our night short to return to our lodging, where I promptly went to bed.

I awoke Tuesday morning in sheer delight. No headache at all! Not even a trace of one! I felt as right as rain, ready to put yesterday’s ordeal behind me. “How’s your man altitude sickness?” Heidi inquired.

“All cleared up,” I assured her. “Let’s head out for the day!” Spoiler alert: My altitude sickness did not return, and that Tuesday wound up being one of the fullest and most enjoyable days I’ve spent in a long while.

Although Hotel Catedrale includes breakfast in its room rate (and a perfectly adequate breakfast at that), we decided to skip it that morning in favor of a nearby restaurant recommended by Heidi’s guidebook.

We headed off on foot to find La Casa de los Azulejos, where a Sanbourne’s restaurant is located, which her guidebook said was housed in a stunning old mansion bedecked with antique tiles, the azulejos of its name. Seeing what we thought was the sign for the restaurant, we entered an intriguing looking building and almost scaled the grand staircase to ascend to the second floor restaurant. “Sorry, Paul,” Heidi interjected just as I was preparing to climb. “That sign says the Casa de los Abuelos, not the Casa de los Azulejos. It means ‘the house of grandparents,’ not ‘the house of tiles.’”

Back on the sidewalk, we continued a few paces further to find our desired restaurant, where we were treated to an amazing Mexican breakfast in a classic setting. It turns out the main dining room, in a fountain-graced internal courtyard, is the spot most people head. We unintentionally wound up eating in a much humbler—though undeniably atmospheric—side dining room that, for my money, was even more intriguing than its over-the-top neighbor. I was glad we got to duck into the more grandiose space before heading back outside, though.

We then hit up one of Mexico City’s most iconic architectural gems, the drop-dead stunning Palacio de Bellas Artes. An undisputed masterpiece of art nouveau design, the theater quickly skyrocketed to the top of my list of favorite buildings in town. I only wish we had found a way to get inside!

It was turning out to be a crystal clear day, blue skies smiling down on us from on high. So, with the Latinamerican Tower rising just across the road, we took the opportunity to visit its observation deck, with panoramic views out in all directions. We could look straight down at the Palacio, getting an entirely new—and drastic—perspective from our outdoor perch, and we could also see the zocalo, the basilica, and the parks and gardens that dot the sprawling metropolis.

Then we waited an inexplicably long time to enter the National Palace, to view the famous murals of Diego Rivera, one of Mexico’s favorite sons but less popular internationally than his wife, artist Frida Kahlo.

More my speed was our next stop, the city’s most famous cantina, La Opera, not just famous for its cuisine but also for a bullet hole preserved in its ceiling that was fired by none other than Pancho Villa himself.

La Opera opens at noon, and it was only a little after eleven, so we plopped down at a sidewalk café and enjoyed a Corona while waiting.

We were among the day’s first patron when we finally took our seats in the red banquette inside La Opera’s belle epoque interior. What a special place it is! Situated just beneath the famous bullet hole, our table was perfectly placed to eye all the action of the storied dining room.

And our lunch was one of legend, itself. Starting with delicious escargot in a complex brown sauce, we moved on to a hysterical main course: bull testicles. I had ordered them half as a joke and half out of curiosity. In reality, they were absolutely delicious. Deep fried little balls (no pun intended), slightly fatty, served with ample tortillas in which to wrap them, with guacamole and refried beans. That lunch was one of many culinary highlights of our short time in Mexico City, and I’ll be back again on any future visit.

Having seen Diego Rivera’s celebrated murals in the National Palace that morning, we trekked out to Coyoacan in the afternoon to visit La Casa Azul—the Blue House—birthplace and longtime residence of his wife Frida Kahlo.

There was a moving video biography documenting all the hardships this woman endured throughout her tumultuous life, but what really shone through was her incredible joie de vivre. It was very cool to see the rooms where she lived and died, in addition to some of her artwork. And Heidi and I also had some fun with a photo stand-in of Frida and Diego in her garden. 

Walking distance from the museum is the main square of Coyoacan, which is home to what was purported to be an uber-famous ice creamery, Helados Siberia. I was immediately won over by the charming square, with the sun setting through the trees and kids playing near the fountain. Excitedly purchasing a scoop of pistachio (my favorite flavor) and another of rice pudding (why not?), I began indulging only to conclude the place is overrated. Ice cream is always nice, make no mistake, and I enjoyed my scoops, but I’d have been seriously disappointed if I had made a pilgrimage all the way to Coyoacan just for this.

Our next destination, however, was right up my alley: Mexico’s National Cinematheque. Max had put it at the very top of his personalized itinerary, telling me I’d just love the place. I guess he knows me pretty well, because the recommendation was spot on.

The National Cinematheque is a modern movie-lover’s paradise. It’s a stunning complex, consisting of ten screening rooms showcasing films in all their glory—contemporaries and classics, imports and locals—mixed in with coffeeshops, boutiques, restaurants and a large grassy field where scads of students seem to just be relaxing in the convivial setting.

Let’s just say, if I lived in Mexico City—and the thought was more than just a passing one at this point—I’d be a total regular here. Looking through the list of film’s playing, including Shane and many Hitchcock favorites forming a retrospective of the Master of Suspense, plus a flock of the current Oscar nominees to be honored at the coming weekend’s Academy Awards ceremony, I couldn’t help wondering why Hong Kong’s Film Archive couldn’t be as extensive as this amazing cinema city.

As dusk descended, we made our way to Roma Norte, the neighborhood we were finally meeting Max’s friend Arturo for dinner and drinks. Another friend-of-a-friend, Clark, an American who works for HSBC, also joined our party. And our quartet had one amazing night in the trendy international area.

Post-dinner, Arturo took us for a moonlit visit to the nearby independence monument, called El Angel, before we enjoyed a series of nightcaps at two venues with varying degrees of sophistication: the King Cole Bar at the Saint Regis, overlooking not only El Angel but also the elegant Huntress Diana Fountain… and El Departimento, a racous, student-filled, late night club, where a gaggle of frat-boy-esque bros were drinking vodka straight from the bottle, as couples made out, high school-style, while dancing to the thumping DJ-provided beats, which provided entertainment—in more ways than one—until we headed home in the wee small hours.

Wednesday didn’t offer us the ability for ample exploration before our afternoon flight. Traffic snarls the city center, so we had to allot more time than usual to the commute, just in case roads were clogged. So we found a fantastic local churro institution called El Moro, where we over-indulged in an amazing breakfast.

A little more wandering around the city, an early lunch at La Casa de las Sirenas—overlooking the zocalo—and it was time to catch that plane. I was in no way ready to leave. In fact, my "to do list" had only kept expanding as we talked to more people and saw more intriguing sights. I can't wait to go back. And, actually, I'll be flying into Mexico City again on Sunday after the wedding, though I'm not sure how long I'll chose to linger, owing to all the other destinations I'm still mulling over in my brain. But, wow, did this place win me over... and fast! Here's hoping life brings me back to this fascinating metropolis so I can explore more—eat more, drink more—of its ineffable charms!

Rubbin' Elbows with the Ghosts of the Golden Age

Greetings from Mexico City! After only a few hours in town, I can say for certain that I love this place! I am so excited to enjoy the next fortnight in this incredible country. But my last two nights in Los Angeles were also sensational, so I wanted to pause and reflect on how much I loved my stay in Hollywood! Here's a recap of what's happened since my plane touched down Thursday evening around 9pm.

As you probably know, I consider myself to be a major film buff, and I'm particularly a fan of old movies. For me, visiting a place like Hollywood is pure magic. And since you can't fly directly from Hong Kong to Mexico City, it wasn't difficult for me to settle on Los Angeles as my ideal layover destination.

With only two brief nights in town, I was bent on making the most of things. I decided to spend my first evening downtown—making for easy access to the Walt Disney Concert Hall and Los Angeles City Hall—and my second at the fabled Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel—across the street from the Chinese Theatre. In spite of a heavy dose of rain, everything went pretty perfectly.

But before getting to the stories, I'd like to document for posterity two fun facts about my Cathay flight from Hong Kong to California. Firstly, we took off at 12:15am on Friday, 15 February, but landed at 8:40pm on Thursday, 14 February. And, secondly, I've never been on an emptier flight in my life! For a jet that could probably seat around three hundred passengers, I'd venture a guess there were about fifty scattered about the entire plane. It was pretty surreal!

I didn't have time to do much that first evening, though I learned that a famous twenty-four hour diner called the Original Pantry was just steps from my lodging, the Hotel Figueroa. Seated at the old-fashioned counter, I indulged in a French dip and otherworldly coleslaw at about one o'clock in the morning before turning in.

The next morning, I was up bright and early for a stroll. One of the coolest things about downtown LA was how familiar it can feel even if you've hardly been there before. Since these roads have served as the backdrop for countless movie scenes since Hollywood earliest days, there's a sense of reassurance as you wander the streets, a weird feeling that you somehow know it already even though it's your first time here.

My main objective of the morning was to tackle the free observation deck of City Hall, with its incredible views in each direction. Although rain was forecast—and would come later in the day—the morning was about as clear and sunny as you can imagine. I spent a silly amount of time ogling the city from this high perch.

Nearby is another architectural stunner, Union Station, with its distinctive Mission-style design combining effortlessly with chic art deco elements. Although times have certainly changed since the station's heyday, it's not too difficult to whiff up a bit of imagination and envision yesteryear's superstars like Gary Cooper or Carole Lombard disembarking from the Super Chief in the majestic terminal.

Making my way back to the Figueroa, I snuck in a ride on the Angel's Flight, said to be the world's shortest railway. Seen in classics like Criss Cross and Kiss Me Deadly, and, more recently, The Muppets and La La Land, the bright orange funicular is a cheap, fun attraction in this part of town, costing a mere dollar to ride from top to bottom (or vice versa).

But as good a time as I had exploring Downtown Los Angeles that morning, I was just itching to get to Hollywood! I had splurged and booked a room at the Roosevelt, and I wanted to savor my stay to the greatest extent possible, so I arrived earlier than my allowed check-in time, reasoning that even if my room wasn't ready, I could lounge by the pool or sip a cocktail in the historic lobby while I waited.

The Roosevelt has been on my list of must-visit hotels since I was a little kid. Purportedly haunted by the ghosts of both Marilyn Monroe (who lived there for two years) and Montgomery Clift (who stayed during the filming of From Here to Eternity in 1952), it was the sight of the very first Academy Awards ceremony back in 1929.

And in 1950, during the West Coast premier of my favorite movie, All About Eve, held across Hollywood Boulevard at the Chinese Theatre, the hotel's neon sign was blacked out except for the letter's E-V-E, in a cheeky nod to the title character.

The wonderful front desk clerk who checked me in—Amy—was a true gem. I told her that it was a major dream of mine to stay in the hotel, and she figured out a way to make my stay even more memorable, upgrading my standard tower room to a poolside cabana. She also gave me a free drink voucher, which I promptly used in the lobby bar since the room wasn't quite ready yet.

Already short on time and wishing I could linger for a few more days, I took the opportunity to pop across to the Chinese Theatre to pour over the hand and foot prints of some of Tinsletown's all-time greats. Jean Harlow. Clark Gable. Bette Davis. Fredric March. Norma Shearer. William Powell. Myrna Loy. And these are just the ones whose squares I felt compelled to photograph!

On any list of history's most fantastic ideas, Sid Grauman's decision to have moviedom's biggest stars immortalize themselves in cement in the forecourt of his grandest cinema palace has got to be near the top. And in spite of the drizzles, I loved every minute I spent looking down at the ground, placing my feet here and there as I soaked up the nostalgia of the place.

There's a nifty little museum just off Hollywood Boulevard on Highland, where I spent about an hour in that afternoon, simply called the Hollywood Museum. It's housed in the dazzling Max Factor Building, and the cosmetics giant's iconic work forms a large part of the exhibition.

Also among the artifacts on display? Two Oscars, a pair of Dorothy's ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz, Greta Garbo's personal makeup kit, a tray and glasses said to be used in Casablanca, various props from Gone With the Wind, and lipstick blotters saved by one of Jean Harlow's assistants! Only in Hollywood!

After a quick catch-up with my buddy Tobie in West Lost Angeles, I was back on the Boulevard for a special, 7:30pm screening of Alfonso Cuaron's Roma, the Mexican film nominated for a whopping ten Oscars.

Cuaron shot Roma in seventy millimeter, but since Netflix acquired the distribution rights, most people have seen it on their television screens. Not me! I caught it on the big screen at Grauman's Egyptian Theatre—the sight of Hollywood's first movie premier in 1922 and now home to the American Cinematheque—as I got pumped for my flight the following morning!

With its gorgeous black-and-white cinematography, heartfelt performances and tender family story, Roma is a force to be reckoned with. I'm so glad I got a chance to see it before heading to Mexico, and even more so that I got to see it in such a historic venue!

Back at the Roosevelt, I can definitely say that I succeeded in making the most of my short stay, by which I mean, savoring a drink or two in several of its swanky watering holes! Whether seated by the pool with an IPA, or sipping a Gibson in the lobby bar, or enjoying one last Negroni in the Spare Room, it was a night to remember, for sure.

Perhaps encouraged by a little too much gin, I took a midnight, moonlit stroll around the neighborhood one last time, and then decided to indulge in a burger in the Roosevelt's twenty-four hour diner before turning in, delighted that I had just lived a pure, unadulterated Hollywood dream.

It was a bright, sunny morning again when I awoke today, the Roosevelt's pool looking mighty tempting from my cabana room's balcony. It would have been oh-so nice to grab a lounge chair, order a Mimosa and chill out all day. But Mexico was a-waiting, and I had a plane to catch... and, well, here I am!

But my return flight back home—not that I want to think about it yet—is also from LAX in two weeks' time, so I suppose I may have a few more precious hours in the not-so-distant future to mingle with the ghosts of the golden age.

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Here's looking at you, Hollywood. Thanks for my short, sweet, unforgettable layover!

The Great Chinese New Year Staycation of 2019

Red lanterns swinging in the breeze; mandarin orange trees and orchids lining the streets; red pockets passed out like free fliers; lion and dragon dancers performing all throughout the city; and three days off from work to soak it all up... It can only be one stretch of the Hong Kong social calendar: Chinese New Year!

Red pockets (or lai see)

As I'm sure you're all aware, the Year of the Dog ended last Tuesday while the Year of the Pig has just begun! And, for only the second of the ten Chinese New Years that have come and gone since I moved to Hong Kong, I wound up staying put for the massive celebration.

Kung Hei Fat Choi!

I'm not entirely certain why I opted to remain in town this year. The last time that I stuck around—back in 2014—I was looking for a job and thrown a curveball by the public holidays falling on a Friday, Saturday and Monday, frustrating potential companions' ability to make the most of their travels. So it seemed like the right occasion to finally experience my first Chinese New Year in Hong Kong.

Flashback: Chinese New Year 2014

Fast forward to 2019, however, and I'm gainfully employed and the timing couldn't have been better: square in the middle of the work week. It would have been easy to take off Monday and Friday, fly out the weekend before, and return to Hong Kong tomorrow, squeezing a week-plus trip out of a mere two vacation days. In fact, I would still be somewhere exciting and exotic right now if I had done that!

But through an odd combination of circumstances, I never got my act together, although I did toy with the idea briefly. First (and, perhaps, foremost), the calendar simply didn't mesh with life. I felt like I had only just returned from my extended Christmas trip home, getting back to Hong Kong on 9 January. Zipping out again on the first day of February seemed too soon. Compounding matters, I am headed to Mexico next week for a wedding, and I wasn't sure if I wanted that hectic a schedule. Even if I only traveled over the public holidays themselves, I'd still have a mere week until setting off again.

Of course, I'd also have to find someone to take care of Fredric during my absence, which can be difficult during popular public holidays when most expat friends are away and most local friends have important family commitments. And, to be honest, perhaps I was just ready to experience a Chinese New Year here again.

Purple orchids in Victoria Park

In the end, I'm delighted that I stayed put. The weather was phenomenal, and it really is a special time of year in a place that means a lot to me. Yes, it was another great Chinese New Year staycation in a city where I couldn't feel more at home.

Massive crowds at the flower market in Victoria Park

Like most holidays, the telltale signs of Chinese New Year's approach are visible weeks in advance of the festival itself. The orange trees and flowers have been around pretty much since I got back. There were even lion and dragon dances at the Wednesday races in Happy Valley last week. Lanterns are everywhere, with the most stunning display fronting Kowloon's elegant Peninsula Hotel. And my friend Yvonne—who was travelling to Shanghai to spend the week with her family—organized a fantastic Friday night dinner at Red Pepper in Causeway Bay to have some quality time with her Hong Kong friends before flying out. It was a phenomenal meal and a night to remember.

But the real celebrations didn't begin until the following week.

On Monday, after a long day in the office, I headed home ready for three enjoyable days off. And I kick-started it all with a visit Victoria Park's iconic flower market. This popular event takes place in the week leading up to the festival, its final day being Chinese New Year's Eve. Since I hadn't been yet this year, it was my last chance.

Queen Victoria

I walked over around 10pm, basking in the unbelievably crowded, undeniably palpable atmosphere, surrounded by throngs of visitors in search of the perfect mandarin orange trees, colorful orchids, cherry blossoms, gladiolas and and chrysanthemums. Of course, there are also food and souvenir stalls, in addition to political organizations spreading their messages. And regal Queen Victoria surveys the multitudes, perpetually unimpressed.

Shopping for flowers in Victoria Park

But perhaps most memorable of all are the young students, with their high-octane energy. Many groups get together to brainstorm an idea, and then sell their product at the fair. To generate interest, they stand up on stools with megaphones, shouting out to the crowd. Of course, I hardly understand a word of it, but their enthusiasm is just so darn infectious.

Passionate students at the fair

Treating myself to a celebratory Haagen-Dazs from Seven-Eleven en route to Happy Valley, I remembered that back in 2014, the normally quiet Tam Kung Temple across the the street from my apartment was still abuzz when I returned home from a night of partying in Lan Kwai Fong around 4am. "Maybe," I thought to myself, "there will be something special to mark the moment the Year of the Pig officially begins."

As I walked up Blue Pool Road, I saw hundreds of people lining the steps up to the temple, its lights shining upon them. It was only a short while until midnight, so Fredric and I headed to the rooftop, where there is a clear view across the street. For such a large crowd, everybody was hushed and quiet.

Tam Kung Temple in Happy Valley, from my rooftop

Sure enough, at the stroke of twelve, everybody erupted in cheers! There were drums being banged, candles being lit, bells being rung, hands being shook, hugs being given. I got goosebumps as I witnessed the scene.

I took Fredric for a New Year's walk afterwards, and when we got home, I opened all the windows of my bedroom, allowing the cacophony from Kam Tung to serve as my lullaby. As I was serenaded to sleep, part of me felt like a fool for never having experienced this moment in the seven years I've lived in this building. It was pure magic.

View of the temple from my bedroom windows

Tuesday morning, my friend Carol called to ask if I had any plans for the day. To be honest, I only had a faint outline of an itinerary, and I was completely willing to toss it to the wind if needs be. So we decided to meet for lunch in Happy Valley and then go for a hike. After tasty French fare at Saint Germain, we climbed the six flights of stairs to my rooftop and enjoyed an al fresco drink before heading up Victoria Peak with Fredric.

Carol and Fredric

Although it was warm out, the weather was undeniably hazy. I reasoned that this would keep the throngs of tourists away from the Peak, giving us the chance to have a casual stroll in relative solitude. I've never been more wrong in my life. In spite of the murky views, the peak was about as crowded as I'd ever seen it.

A hazy day on the Peak

I wondered aloud to Carol—born in Staten Island with parents originally from Hong Kong—if the Chinese believe good fortune comes from going someplace high up on the first day of the new year, but she wasn't sure. I suppose it's also possible that a smoggy view from the Peak is better than not going up at all for those out-of-town visitors only here for a precious day or two. Whatever the reason, it's always a nice walk, and I'm glad we spent the day outside.

Flowering tree on Luggard Road, the Peak

One of my favorite parts of a visit to the Peak is walking down afterwards. While I almost always take a taxi or bus to the top, I love following the steep downward paths that lead back to Central, as nature merges into metropolis.

Walking down to the city

The city below was calm and serene, not chaotic and frazzled as it normally is. Chalk it up to Chinese New Year. The skies were about to gradually darken, and if I wanted to go to the parade in Kowloon, I'd have to hightail it home right quick to drop off Fredric and cross the harbor. But once I thought it through, I oped to skip out on it this time. After all, I'd done the parade fully and properly in 2014. It was surely a worthwhile experience, but it was one that required a lot of time and effort. And I thought a more relaxing alternative this year might be to grab a few drinks.

So I called Liz—another friend who also decided to stay put—to see what she was up to. We met at the foot of the Escalator in the midst of an eerily quiet SoHo. Wandering around, it was nearly impossible to find signs of life. Making lemonade out of lemons, we stopped for a cocktail at the normally-standing room only Old Man, where we easily found space at 10pm. A tiny bar often ranked among Asia's best, the Old Man only seats about fifteen or twenty guests, so it can feel buzzy and crowded on an otherwise quiet night. And it was the perfect place to kick things off.

Afterwards, we walked along deader-than-a-door-nail Wyndham Street and descended down into Lan Kwai Fong. It wasn't exactly empty, but it wasn't swinging by any stretch of the imagination. So Liz and I reasoned that Wan Chai might be a better bet. We climbed aboard the tram, hoping the crowd that prefers the humbler watering holes along Lockhart Road might be more apt to remain in Hong Kong over the holiday period than the swanky expats who normally take to the streets of SoHo.

For the second time that day, I was flat-out wrong. Wan Chai was just as empty as Central had been. Liz and I stopped for a few moments to talk with Cecille, who manages a pub called the Devil's Advocate. It was actually really nice to have such a personal conversation with her, because most nights her bar is so busy she hardly has time to make idle chitchat. She offered us two Jagerbombs before we headed off in search of our elusive hopping nightspot.

Finally, we struck gold at The Wanch, a live music venue on Jaffe Road that was full of revelers, including a middle-aged lady celebrating her birthday who was coaxed up on stage to perform two songs with the band. She had the voice of a rock 'n roll angel, and it was an absolute blast listening to her sing.

After the set ended, Liz and I headed over the the nearby Seven-Eleven to grab a couple of beers while we debated venues for a possible late night dinner. As we stood on the pavement about to head off, someone shouted out, "Is that you, Paul?"

Wan Chai neon

I turned to see Chun and Myles, two of my best buds who had also just bought drinks at the same shop. "What the hell are you guys doing out tonight? I figured you'd both be with your families, so I didn't want to bother you!"

"No, we were at a friend's apartment, and figured we'd have a last drink in Wan Chai before going home," Chun answered.

Chun and Myles are about as good of friends as anybody could ask for, and I can't think of two other guys who I'd have rather bumped into unexpectedly that night. They joined up with Liz and me for a round of Coronas in Amazonia before suggesting we head back to Lan Kwai Fong.

"These little piggies went to Wan Chai..."

Perhaps affected by the tipples of the evening, we agreed and hailed a taxi. "Maybe things have picked up a little," Liz wishfully thought. Alas, Lan Kwai was no better than it had been before. We attempted to enter Geronimo's, but the staff had locked the doors and were walking out as we passed them. So back to Seven-Eleven we went for the remainder of our evening.

Looking back now, I think it's funny that we tried so hard to find a crowd when we wound up having such a great time anyway. From SoHo to Lan Kwai to Wan Chai to Lan Kwai again, it was a pretty stellar night. And a late one, to boot.

With Chun and Myles

Wednesday, Liz and I met at the Central Ferry Piers for lunch in Mui Wo. I had called Bahce, my favorite Turkish restaurant, earlier that morning to ensure they were open, and an extremely chipper waitress informed me that they were indeed.

Fredric on the ferry

We feasted on stuff grape leaves, the restaurant's specialty eggplant dip, fried haloumi cheese, cigars borek and Turkish cigarettes. Everything was delicious, and sitting in tranquil Mui Wo, sipping a beer, and observing sleepy village life was wonderful. How to cap it all off? Rice pudding of course! And obviously the boat ride in each direction is as much a part of the fun as everything else! In short, a perfect afternoon.

More ferry fun

Liz was heading to the fireworks that night, and I had to get Fredric home before returning to Wan Chai for a pub quiz at 8pm, so we parted ways. I wound up walking back to Happy Valley from the piers, through Tamar Park with its gorgeous view of Victoria Harbour.

Ever since the Chapel closed, I've been in search of a replacement weekly pub quiz. Alas, I haven't found my perfect fit yet, but the closest I have come is the Wednesday night quiz at the Canny Man. Unfortunately, as high as pub quizzes are on my list of favorite evening activities, horse races are just a little bit higher. And the fact that the Canny Man's weekly quiz overlaps with the Happy Valley races means I rarely have the opportunity to visit.

When I realized the Wednesday races would not be run this week, I got a group together and booked a table. Five friends joined me in the quiz that evening: Kevin, Matt, Ana, Max and Celine—the last two announcing that they had gotten engaged the night before!

Our team name was Kung Hei Fat ChOINK, in a nod to the Year of the Pig! And although we only came in fourth place, it was great fun, complete with several drinks across the street at Devil's Advocate, significantly more crowded than it had been the night before.

Thursday was the last of this year's three public holidays afforded by Chinese New Year. And there was one item on my "to do" list I've wanted to check off for years: attending the massive race meeting at Sha Tin, where over one-hundred and five thousand people showed up! After International Race Day in December, this is probably the most popular day on the calendar, so I was delighted to finally witness the spectacle.

Races at Sha Tin

It was yet another gorgeous day, with blue skies shining on the green hills of the New Territories, and although I turned up alone, I wound up bumping into my friend Steve and even Carol in the frenetic setting! And the free souvenir pen the Jockey Club gave out to all entrants will help keep the memories fresh in my mind!

With Steve (and his souvenir pen) at the track

I'm not too modest to admit that I was doing all right from a gambling perspective at the lead-in to the day's final race. But then I really hit it big on a total and utter fluke. Looking over the tote board while filling out my ticket, I realized the six horse had the worst odds I have ever seen—literally—in my life. A successful HKD 10 wager on him to win was slated to pay over three thousand! Six being my perpetually lucky number, I put a minimal sum on him to place... and almost fell over when he came in second! Kung Hei Fat Choi to me!

The final race... Keep your eye on the six horse!

I treated myself to dinner at Shatin Inn afterwards, smirking like a cat who'd been at the cream, not just at my good fortune in race eleven—or even at the otherworldly magnificence of their satays—but at the improbable perfection of the past three days as a whole. So many moments in my Hong Kong life have reinforced my impression that I live in one of the greatest places on earth, but staying here for this stupendous occasion was really something exceptional.

Beef and chicken satays at Sha Tin Inn

I know I'll probably bolt off for the next four Chinese New Years, but in 2024—if my pattern holds firm—when I do this again, I know I'll be in for sheer bliss. So, from Hong Kong to the USA, and everywhere in between, I'd like to take a quick moment to say, "Kung Hei Fat Choi, everybody!" I hope your Year of the Pig is happy, healthy and prosperous!