Fourth Wave Blues and November News

As you may have heard elsewhere already, the much dreaded Fourth Wave has descended upon Hong Kong. I’m pretty sick of writing about it by now, having covered our first, second and third waves in previous posts.

Anyway, we’re told that in the coming days, there will be more restrictions imposed upon us by the government, the exact nature of the new rules still unknown. If the past is any guidance, they’ll limit the number of people allowed at a table—currently set at four—down to two. They might also play around with the hours, like they did back in late July, mandating restaurants cease dine-in operations from 6pm. Whether the cinemas or gyms or beauty parlors will remain open is still unclear. To be safe, I’m heading to the Grand Ocean shortly to see Blade Runner, in what might prove to be the last chance I have to catch a movie on the big screen for a while.

But enough about the benighted coronavirus. There’s been so much more that has happened over the last few weeks of perhaps my favorite month that I’d much rather fill you in on birthday and Thanksgiving updates, with a liberal sprinkling of some other autumnal highlights.  

Of all the wonderful November events, I guess my birthday takes the cake—pun intended—so I might as well start by summarizing the day for posterity.

I awoke to a few lovely messages on my phone, which set my day on a fantastic course, putting me in a magical mood from the start. My colleague Laren had arrived in work before me that morning and placed an awesome gift on my desk: a portable speaker. I guess he’s gotten to know me pretty well over the past few months, with all the music I play during lulls at the office. And with the dismal built-in speaker included in my work computer not really up to the task of blasting tunes to a suitable level, he hit upon an item that was truly lacking in my life. Let’s just say, I love it. And it’s gotten ample use in its brief period of service.

Two other colleagues, Pauline and Cherry, joined Laren and me for lunch at Café Rangoon, the Burmese-style restaurant near SoHo that I’ve written about a couple of times before. Over a million laughs and some delectable dishes, the four of us had a wonderful feast, including a homemade cheesecake courtesy of Cherry, and the restaurant’s signature Burmese umbrella presented to guests who happen to dine in the venue on their special day.

Post-work, I zipped down to the ferry piers, where I met up with my friend Max for a celebratory beer. He couldn’t join for the dinner I had organized, because he had a soccer game scheduled at 8pm—and if the rumors are true, group sports are another one of the activities that will be axed in the coming  days, so he wanted to squeeze one in. But it was great to briefly connect with him as other friends started to arrive.

Eventually, after Max’s departure, our dinner crew took shape. We headed up to Market S.E.A., another new favorite restaurant of mine, located in ifc mall, with an expansive terrace looking out over Victoria Harbour, plus wonderful Southeast Asian cuisine coupled with some pretty insane happy hour specials. It was great to be with such close friends during increasingly uncertain times to mark the passage of another year.

Last stragglers Gabby and James kept me company until midnight, the current official closing time of the bars, and, apparently, I pocketed a potted cactus because, “it’s technically not stealing if it’s your birthday.” You see, old and wiser.

So my thirty-fourth birthday was definitely a success, and I had little time to prepare for the next late November event a mere two days later, Thanksgiving. You probably know the drill by now. I’ve eschewed the traditional American Thanksgiving and created a bespoke Hong Kong iteration perfectly suited to the specifics of the situation here.

Owing to the glorious weather that normally accompanies this time of year, an indoor celebration would just feel a little wasteful. I mean, how could we not take advantage of the balmy evening breezes that blow through the Valley on a warm November night? Also, tracking down all the ingredients necessary to create a full-on homecooked Thanksgiving meal would just take up too much time without an official public holiday to prepare.

And so, long ago, I struck on the idea that has delighted countless friends for years. Step one: move the party to the roof to take full advantage of the glorious weather. Step two: as the host, procure a turkey from a local rotisserie to ensure at least one element conjures a connection to the American holiday. Step three: every other guest bring a dish of his or her choosing, plus a bottle or two of wine. Step four: place everything on the middle of the table and go to town, potluck style.

This Thanksgiving was one of my favorites ever, with a rollicking crew. We partied until the early hours, and I was reminded in so many way of how grateful I am, 2020 be damned!

So, as the last month of this long year approaches, as the finish line nears, though the last yards of the race will be uncertain, I’d like to thank everybody who wished me many happy returns last week, and reiterate how fortunate I feel to have you all in my life!

Eleventh Heaven

It’s been a weird week and, it hardly needs to be said, a weird year. But regardless of what’s happened or is happening, I always try to make the most of this crazy adventure we call life. And whenever November rolls around, I know it’s time for reflection, with two major milestones that make their annual appearance. At the start of the month, on the ninth, I commemorate the anniversary of my arrival in Hong Kong, and at the end, on the twenty-fourth, I celebrate yet another inevitable birthday.  

Yesterday being the ninth, I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to organize a group dinner to mark the (can you believe it?) eleventh—ELEVENTH!—anniversary of that day now more than a decade in the past when that twenty-two year old hopped off a plan and started his new life.

My life is awesome, COVID be damned. True, 2020 has seen a tone down in international travel and there were brief spurts where our social life here in Hong Kong were pretty drastically curtailed. But we’ve had it lucky. Lockdowns and sheltering in place aren’t something we’ve had to endure, and there’s a part of me that feels that I’ve actually missed out on the atrocious 2020 that so many people have been forced to endure.

I’ve never failed to observe my Hong Kong anniversary in some way, whether it be the mammoth free-flow brunches I organized for my fifth and tenth festivities, or the simpler dinners I’ve scrapped together pretty much every other year. Making this anniversary a bit more special was the fact that it fell on a Monday, which also happened to be the day of the week on that first day, way back in 2009!

So a few weeks ago, I decided it would be good to gather five friends together (six including myself, which is the current cap the Hong Kong government has imposed on restaurant gatherings) for revelry at the notorious Tung Po.

I think I must have written about Tung Po before. Basically, this super friendly local guy named Robbie started a restaurant in a wet market in North Point, serving killer food but also not forgetting that atmosphere can be an equally strong contributor to a good meal. He blasts the music—and takes request from the crowd—all while moonwalking and doing splits for his constantly-entertained clientele. I’ve visited around five times over the years, and, owing to some new friends I met at the Mid-Autumn camping extravaganza last month who are new to Hong Kong, I decided to push forward with planning the eleventh anniversary party in this popular venue.

A little part of me wondered whether this was madness. I’ve only ever stopped by Tung Po on weekends previously. Perhaps, I reckoned, a Monday night visit would lead to boredom, with empty tables and a subdued atmosphere. But, boy, I needn’t had worried! The place was in full swing, and the videos and photographs of the night will help remind me for years to come that this anniversary—on a Monday night in the midst of a global pandemic—was one of the best yet!

Stay tuned for details of my upcoming birthday and Thanksgiving adventures! But in the meantime, know that yours truly has passed the eleven year marker with a rousing success of a party, and the sprint to 2021 has commenced!

This is Halloween!

 

September Affair

I’m standing near Central Ferry Pier 3 drinking a crisp beer on the waterfront. A few friends are coming over shortly and we’ll cross the harbor later to catch a screening of Casablanca on the monumental screen at the Grand Ocean in TST. What a month this September has been! Of course, I just can’t resist the temptation to preserve a few of its top memories for posterity. So here it goes…

It’s actually been quite a wet stretch of weeks, to be honest, including one of the rainiest mornings I can ever recall. I was definitely a bit nervous as my taxi cruised along the elevated highway en route to the office, but, after assessing the situation upon waking, I decided there was no way I was enduring my standard morning tram journey in those conditions!

One of the hallmarks of September in Hong Kong is an ever-so-slight dip in temperature. To an outsider, it probably still seems like a full-fledged midsummer heatwave, but to the well-conditioned, we can clearly discern the drop. That means I’m more willing to go hiking again once this time of year arrives, an activity which I normally scale back—if not altogether avoid—starting at the end of May.

Making the most of things, I took the first Friday of the month off from work and spent the day with my friend Julius. After a hearty breakfast of grilled cheeses and milkshakes from an American-style joint called No Milkshake No Life, we embarked on a little adventure to discover a part of Hong Kong neither of us knew much about.

We hiked up from Hong Kong University MTR Station into the wooded hills of Lung Fu Shan Country Park, eventually coming to Pinewood Battery, an old British army relic built at the turn of the twentieth century.

It was a mildly challenging jaunt, but it was undeniably worthwhile. We stopped a few times to catch our breath—err—I mean, to admire the lovely view. And I was shocked when we finally arrived because it struck me that I’d strolled by the staircase leading up to the site dozens of times before without realizing what lurks up there, since the trail down from Victoria Peak passes just beneath it.

Complete with informative historical panels explaining its significance in the defense of Britain’s former colony in the early 1940s, the former gun pedestals, watch towers and ammunition storerooms all bear silent witness to this almost-forgotten chapter of local history. But it was really fun to discover the place with Julius. It’s yet another irony that he is from here and I’ve lived in the city for close to eleven years, yet somehow neither of us had ever been to the site before.

One Sunday a little bit later in the month, I awoke earlier than expected and—encouraged by blue skies and a balmy breeze—I took Fredric to Victoria Peak, where we had a sensational Indian brunch at Rajasthan Riffles. The incredible number of visitors combined with the temperate September weather convinced me to trek up beyond the standard circular walk of Lugard Road, so we made a beeline to Victoria Peak Garden, a place I hadn’t been for nearly seven years!

It was an absolutely stunning spot, and dog-friendly, to boot. And I’m sure I’ll be back again soon, to bask on the park’s expansive lawns and take in the wonderful vistas awaiting those willing to scale the hills that gives way to its highest vantage points.  

And, as fate would have it, I made some new friends up there, a trio of expats who also had their pooches in tow. After a long while watching them all romp in the garden, we all headed back down to Rajasthan Riffles, where my new friends ordered lunch while I simply sipped a Gunner on the al fresco terrace.

It seems my recollections of any given month consist mostly of movie screenings and meals. And with COVID removing my ability to travel, 2020 has amplified this reality to new heights! So, since I’m about to close out September with a seventh visit to the cinema, let’s journey back to the first of the month and walk through the catalog.

First up was Portrait of a Lady on Fire, an intense French romantic drama that won Best Screenplay at Cannes last year. I followed this up with the devastating documentary For Sama, which provides a first-hand account of the siege of Aleppo. The horrors faced by that city’s unfortunate residents were shocking and downright heart-breaking. But, somehow, the filmmaker managed to keep an optimistic point of view, even as bombs rained down on a near-daily basis.

I also went with my Finnish friend Ilse to see Aki Kaurismäki’s The Other Side of Hope, a 2017 comedy-drama about Middle Eastern refugees trying to forge a new life in Helsinki. Complementing this screening was a wonderful pre-movie dinner on atmospheric Temple Street, plus a good chance to catch up with Ilse, whom I hadn’t seen in quite a long while.

One Tuesday after work, I headed out to Yau Ma Tei to see Bamboo Theatre, a local Hong Kong documentary that really piqued my interest. Having lived here for over a decade, I’m accustomed to seeing the temporary playhouses rise up to complement many a local festival. This narration-less film follows the intricate construction of the structures, before highlighting the Cantonese operas that are showcased within them upon their completion. Finally, it concludes with their destruction, underscoring the ephemeral nature of this intangible element of Hong Kong’s cultural heritage.

Christopher Nolan’s hotly-anticipated Tenet was the next of my movies. I found the work confusing but certainly worthwhile, and I’m definitely glad I caught it at the Grand Ocean, where certain scenes were nothing short of mesmerizing.

But a much rarer opportunity presented itself back at the Cinematheque one Sunday evening. A Russian documentary from 1926, A Sixth Part of the World, was screened as part of a festival entitled Reconstructed Realities. Directed by Dziga Vertov, whose Man With a Movie Camera is one of silent cinema’s most celebrated works, this precursor was spellbinding from start to finish. Ostensibly a propagandic travelogue about the wealth of culture within the broad expanses of the Soviet Union, it was Vertov’s inventive camera angles and editing that kept me rapt from the first frame to the last.

And, as I mentioned earlier, my September movie screenings are going out on a high note tonight with Casablanca, a flick I must have seen at least a hundred times since I first fell in love with it as a fourteen year old. Still, this will only be the second time I’ve been fortunate enough to watch it in a theater, following a screening in one of those art house cinemas hiding in the Latin Quarter during my semester abroad in Paris back in 2007.

Of course, home screenings also play a big part in my life, especially with COVID limiting certain social events. I’ve written before about this new habit I’ve implemented of trying to screen classic movies on the milestone anniversaries of their original releases. And this month, I managed to fit two memorable additions to the list: I Love You Again—the classic screwball comedy from Thin Man stars Myrna Loy and William Powell—which turned eighty on the ninth and Mildred Pierce—Joan Crawford’s Oscar-winning, career-defining vehicle,—which remains indescribably engrossing in spite of hitting seventy-five on Monday.

Other flicks included Queen Christina, Manhattan, Brief Encounter, Here Comes Mr. Jordan, Heaven Can Wait, So Proudly We Hail, The Jungle Princess, Decasia and in a little prelude to Halloween, Cat People and Theatre of Blood.

And, the last of the lot, a sentimental little stunner from 1950 I discovered last night called September Affair, wherein Joan Fontaine and Joseph Cotton play a pair of middle-aged lonely-hearts who unexpectedly meet and fall in love in Italy and have to chose whether to return to their own lives or break free to remain together.

It was, possibly, a touch impractical, yet also suitably passionate, enhanced by its beautiful musical score—including liberal use of the plaintive ballad September Song—and, perhaps best of all, its gorgeous on-location cinematography showcasing Rome, Naples and Florence.

“Alright, alright, alright,” I hear you saying… “Enough with the old movies. Get on with the food!”

Well, as you may recall, when the month kicked off, government regulations still dictated that only a maximum of two patrons could be seated together in a restaurant. Better than nothing, granted, but not the most conducive for social feasts. So, we organized a small office pizza lunch for our newest colleague, Laren, to spend time with all of us together. And it was a great idea!

Jacomax, just across the street from our tower, provided the amazing pizzas, and it was great to have a chance to spend time with Cherry and Pauline, two of our team members whose roles are not desk-based, and, who, thus, make only cameo appearances in the office.

I also found a clever way to navigate the two person limit for a Saturday brunch at Honjo, a swanky Japanese restaurant in Sheung Wan. With a clear glass divider separating me and my friend Mandy from our companions Jay and Dave, we managed to skirt the regulations while still dining in public without breaking the rule.

Post-sushi, it turned into something of a big night, with espresso martinis at the Armoury and a stop at FAB, as well. It’s all fun and games until someone loses his credit card. Unfortunately, that night, that someone was me. But it was a small price to pay for having such a great day!

Still, even with loopholes and clever logistical gymnastics, some events just couldn’t proceed. Sadly, my friend Céline decided to cancel her fortieth birthday party, which I was going to host on the rooftop. We compensated with a Monday lunch at Crystal Jade in IFC. The next day, I was back to the mall for a long overdue birthday lunch for Myles, who had also nixed his birthday celebrations back in August thanks to the uncertain situation here. It was great to treat both these guys to a one-on-one meal and toast to their special days.

But, at long last, later that week, the government finally upped the table limit from two to four—where it still sits today—allowing Jenny, Cherry, Laren and me to enjoy a midday meal at Frites, a Belgian restaurant just up the street from our office. Happy days are here again!

And another memorable meal was right on its heels, when I met up with recently-engaged Sarah and Omar for an exquisite Lebanese feast at Zahrabel over in Wan Chai the next evening. To make it even more memorable, Omar asked me to be one of his groomsmen as we caught up over pre-dinner Margaritas at Coyote, an offer which—needless to say—I immediately accepted. The wedding is set for December 2021 in Campeche, Mexico, and I can hardly wait!

A few Fridays ago, one of our partnered insures took me and Pauline out to Madame Fu in Tai Kwun for a stellar Cantonese lunch. The history of the site, the elegant interior décor, the delicate local specialties on offer and the faultless service from the entire staff all combined for a top-notch repast, and I’m sure Madame Fu has a spot on many a future visitor’s Hong Kong itinerary, once this whole COVID-19 nightmare is firmly behind us and overseas travellers can once again make their way to Hong Kong to visit me!

Jenny, Laren and I even squeezed in another Friday lunch at an eclectic Southeast Asian eatery in IFC called Market SEA, with an expansive outdoor terrace where I wolfed down three softshell crabs in thick yellow curry while basking in the glorious September sun.

And, continuing the culinary tour through Southeast Asia (since a real journey is all but impossible due to travel restrictions), I made a triumphant return to Club Rangoon the next day. The place is finally open for dinner and now allows groups up to four, so I reserved a booth, inviting along Jay, Dave and our friend Kitty. It was a gluttonous occasion, for sure, with far too much food from the Restaurant Week set menu. In fact, Kitty even wound up taking a doggie bag home.

But everything was mouth-watering, and I’m sure this will become a frequent destination of mine! So stuffed was I at the meal’s conclusion that I opted to walk all the way home from SoHo to Happy Valley that night. But, oh, what a meal!

Sunday proved to be the third day in a row of memorable feasting, the destination now transferring from Asia to faraway Europe. A new tapas restaurant opened in Tseung Kwan O, near to where my friends Kathy and Lou (and their adorable two year old daughter Liberty) happen to live. So, we took the opportunity to test it out. From paella and chorizo to crème Catalan and chocolatey churros—and plenty of Sangria, as I probably don’t have to tell you—it was an indulgent marathon of a session for the record books!

And, speaking of indulging, I wanted to write a bit about my delayed embarkation on the ramen train. As of this month, I’m now a near-constant passenger. But I’ve hardly paid it much attention in the past. It’s funny, because I remember people talking about ramen as long ago as my freshman year at ‘Nova. And many of my Hong Kong friends—including some of the best of them—wax poetic about it on a regular basis. Still, for some reason, in spite of sporadic dabbles, I’ve never become a huge fan.

September changed all that.

I think it has to be mostly thanks to Zagin Soba, a Happy Valley ramen specialist that I first sampled back in April, when it had gotten to Thursday one week and I hadn’t yet tried a new lunch place. Knowing that Jenny, Cherry and I had already booked ourselves in for Friday at Jimmy’s Kitchen, it was my last remaining opportunity to squeeze an untried venue into my schedule. And so, working from home and having heard good things, I ventured down for a steaming bowl.

Fast forward to summer and I’m now a frequent caller on the friendly folks at Zagin Soba. I’ve returned no fewer than four times in the past six weeks. But, after initially remaining faithful to my first love, before long I was tempted to sample the goods on offer in plenty of other ramen joints. In fact, during the month of September, three of my new weekly meals have been at ramen places! I can’t believe it took so long to make a devotee out of me!

Funnily enough, a second Japanese cuisine that had also proved elusive until the past few weeks recently appeared on my radar: yakitori. My friend Ana celebrated her birthday last Thursday, so I joined her and her husband Matt at Yardbird, where Hong Kong’s most beautiful people seem to congregate for strong drinks and tasty skewers.

It was my inaugural yakitori experience, and I was blown away by the whole shebang. Yes, I sincerely hope my first visit to Yardbird isn’t my last. And, in an ironic turn of events, the very next day, I found myself at yet another yakitori feast in Wan Chai, this time to celebrate Yvonne’s birthday. Alcohol may have usurped food as the central focus of that event, but it was a night to remember, regardless.

And, of course, no description of this time of year in Hong Kong is complete without mooncakes, those delightful, waistline-expanding morsels which feature so prominently in the Mid-Autumn Festival, which takes place tomorrow.

I may have gone a little overboard this year, but I’m certainly not complaining (nor counting the calories). I bought a box of nut-filled varietals from Chan Yee Jai, a century-old speciality shop near the office in Sheung Wan. And I also picked up some traditional lotus seed and salted duck egg versions from stalwart Kee Wah. I even snagged a chocolate version from the same bakery.

But the best of all just may have been the mini-egg custard mooncakes from the Peninsula, which I received unexpectedly when my friend Hana presented me with a voucher to redeem a free set! Apparently, poor old Hana isn’t a fan, leaving me the most grateful recipient of a re-gift! Happy Mid-Autumn Festival to me! 

There is also a temporary art instalment taking place in Happy Valley now, called Unlucky Lucky. It’s worth checking out—if you have the chance—even if it will only take you ten minutes or so to thoroughly explore all the works, because it’s housed in a historic building over on Village Road, which serves as a home for creative types as they focus on creating new art. It was so great to sneak a peek around last Saturday before heading to Club Rangoon for dinner!

So, as you can see, life is pretty good in Hong Kong at the moment. And with my favorite time of the year just about to begin, I can only cross my fingers and hope things continue in this way! My Halloween decorations will go up tomorrow, and after decorating, I’m heading to the beach over on Lantau for a night of  camping and moon-watching. Jung Chau Jeet Fai Lok, everybody!

Dinner at Five

Last night, I took a blissful moonlit stroll around Victoria Peak with a new friend. The breeze blowing, the clouds drifting overhead, the lush jungle vegetation encroaching upon civilization, a million lights of the metropolis sparkling in the darkness. 

I’ve embarked upon that exact same walk a thousand times. But it never fails to put me in the happiest of moods. And yesterday’s was as good as they come. 

In concluding my last post, I wondered aloud whether Hong Kong was at the nadir of our experience during the COVID-19 pandemic, or if, in fact, the bottom was about to fall out, sending us in a downward spiral of horror. Well, exactly one month later, I’m delighted to confirm that things have markedly improved. We’re not completely through the tough stretch yet. But our case count is steadily dropping, many restrictions have been somewhat eased, and life is slowly—but surely—returning to normal.

And, I’m also happy to report, the month of August was actually quite a memorable little jaunt in spite of it all. For all my fears that the sweeping curbs on public activity the Hong Kong authorities imposed upon its citizenry would all but drain the pleasure of quotidian life, these past weeks have seen more than their fare share of outstanding events. So as September rears it’s head, I thought I’d pause to memorialize some of the good times. 

You may remember that, starting in mid-July, local restaurants were ordered to cease dine-in services starting from 6pm. Well, as an avowed opponent of eating at home, that sweeping restriction caused a little bit of a conundrum for me.

Still, it didn’t take long to find a double-pronged solution. Many days, I simply moved my normal dinner window ahead by several hours, leaving the office around 4:30pm each afternoon so that I could savor a proper evening meal before the mandatory closing time. You’ve heard of dinner at eight, of course. But for the past six weeks, it’s been more like dinner at five. My new nickname is Grandpa Paul. But it sure beats eating at home and having to tidy up after myself.

Still, on other days, I have taken the opportunity to re-focus my efforts on lunchtime, pampering myself with midday feasts and relegating my nighttime meal to a small snack (or, on some occasions when I’ve really indulged, nothing at all).

And a few of these meals really deserve special attention, because they were so phenomenal.

Perhaps the best repast of the month took place on the anniversary of my arrival in Switzerland last summer. Coincidentally, that date is also the anniversary of my first day of work at my company back in 2014. I think you all know that I’m a pretty sentimental guy, so when I realized the auspicious double-whammy was approaching, I booked a table for two at the Swiss Chalet over on Hart Avenue in Tsim Sha Tsui.

I enlisted my friend Elyse, a fondue virgin, to join in the fun, and we veritably gorged on Alpine favorites in the atmospheric dining room. We ordered a generous helping of steak tartare drizzled with Calvados, and selected two distinct caquelons of warm, gooey fondue for our mains. And I’m sure it will come as no surprise that it was all washed down with a gorgeous bottle of Swiss white. 

Somehow, we both summoned the energy for a gluttonous dessert of meringue and zabaglione, complemented by Movenpick ice cream, to cap things off. And I can’t think of a better way to dim the downheartedness of a travel-less summer than by pretending I was back in Lausanne. 

Another occasion I wanted to mark was the postponed Tokyo Olympics. It’s not an exaggeration to say that when 2020 kicked off, the summer extravaganza in the Land of the Rising Sun was perhaps the event to which I was most looking forward. I had fully intended to journey to Japan to bask in the glories of another Olympic Games. And so, to commemorate what might have been, my friend Christina and I sought out some tasty 5:30pm sushi at the Tuck Room—around the corner from my flat in Happy Valley—on what was meant to be the evening of the Closing Ceremony. 

And that wasn’t the only Happy Valley eatery that made a memorable appearance in my August. Locanda dell’Angelo, an Italian favorite literally steps from my door, has somehow eluded me over the past four years since its opening. But at long last, I gave it a whirl. And all I can say is: wow. 

Helmed by a protégé of late celebrity chef Joel Robuchon, Locanda dell’Angelo is normally a dinner-only venue. But due to the dining ban after 6pm, the management made the most welcome decision to create a limited-time lunch set.

So, on a rainy Wednesday mid-August afternoon, I met my friend Rachel for a phenomenal Sicilian feast, crowned with what was almost certainly the most delectable tiramisu I’ve yet found in Hong Kong—and even one that makes my short list of all-time bests.

Small and intimate, with only seats for about twenty diners even in the best of times before the government ordered tables spaced significantly farther apart than normal, Locanda dell’Angelo is a real stunner. And for a brief stretch that day, I felt like I was somewhere in Manhattan, as opposed to the Far East.

It was with great excitement that I learned about the opening of a new Burmese restaurant in SoHo back in early July. I almost instantly reserved a table for four for dinner one Friday night, but—regrettably—by the time the date actually arrived, the government had imposed its restrictions. I compensated by re-scheduling for several weeks later, when I hoped things would have improved to the point of allowing nighttime dining again. Alas, when that second booking rolled around, the ban was still in place.

But, similar to Locanda dell’Angelo, the friendly folks over at Club Rangoon—also originally intended as a dinner-only restaurant—decided to dabble in lunchtime dining. And so, I jumped at the chance to get to know a new colleague, Laren, over tea life salad, curried eggs, mohinga and Shan noodles. 

Let’s just say, I’m sure I’ll return again… And soon. Hopefully for dinner, and hopefully in a larger group, so as to sample even more of their specialties. But back I will be. 

Once 6pm has rolled around and I’ve been kicked out whatever restaurant it was where I’d just been, I naturally wound up on my rooftop, usually with a crisp and refreshing glass of white wine and often with a good book. And the sunsets have been stunning of late, which I guess isn’t much of a surprise.

Most weeknights, with my private happy hour for one concluding after the sun had firmly set and darkness encroached upon the scene, I usually migrated one floor down, into the living room, to indulge in a movie screening. You remember, of course, that the closing of the cinemas for the second time since this pandemic began was another of the hallmarks of the most recent round of limitations. So, without the option of buying a ticket at the movie theater, I naturally wound up binging on the couch.

Thirty of the movies I’ve recently screened featured Olivia de Havilland, the Golden Age superstar whose passing late last month marked the end of an era. I’m not sure I ever intended to delve so deeply into her filmography. But the quality of the movies was just so darn incredible that I never got bored. So I decided to run with it.

I’ll be honest: I always considered myself a pretty big fan of the actress, loving her most iconic pictures like Gone With the Wind, The Adventures of Robin Hood, Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte and A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But I realized over this past month just how many amazing classics I’d never caught—and some, shockingly, I’d never even heard of until my research.

What a rich body of work! Here’s just a handful of the famous faces who’ve flickered across my screen of late, acting alongside Dame Olivia: Errol Flynn, Basil Rathbone, Fredric March, Miriam Hopkins, Montgomery Clift, Bette Davis, Mary Astor, James Cagney, Rita Hayworth, Richard Burton, Rosalind Russell, Frank Sinatra, Robert Mitchum, David Niven, Charles Boyer, Paulette Goddard, Jane Wyman, Henry Fonda, James Stewart, Myrna Loy, Jack Lemmon, Leslie Howard and Ronald Reagan.

And several of her movies that I’ve watched for the first time these past weeks have certainly found a place on my list of all-time favorites. Her dual role as identical twins—one wicked, the other virtuous—in a noir nightmare called The Dark Mirror. An Oscar-nominated turn from the lead-up to World War II, as a naïve California schoolteacher who, while chaperoning a class trip to Mexico, falls for a suave immigrant scheming for easy entry to the United States in Hold Back the Dawn. The first of her two Oscar wins, as an unwed mother forced to give up her son in To Each His Own. And as a French aristocrat who just so happens to arrive at a remote country inn outside Paris as a troupe of histrionic thespians seek revenge on a British stage actor who insulted them in James Whales criminally-underappreciated farce The Great Garrick. 

Don’t worry. There were some definite duds among the lot, too, albeit in a fun sort of way. I made sure to include the star-studded disaster sequel Airport ’77 and Irwin Allen’s maligned killer bee travesty The Swarm, neither of which possessed even a glimmer of brilliance yet still somehow managed to be ineffably entertaining. And, all in all, it was a very enjoyable way to muddle through my evenings.

And, when the occasion dictated, I ventured a bit beyond the confines of Olivia de Havilland’s oeuvre. I watched Sunset Boulevard and The Great McGinty on the anniversaries of their original release dates, as they turned seventy and eighty, respectively. And during a morning off thanks to the summer’s first major storm, Typhoon Higos, I screened my obligatory tropical cyclone flick China Seas from 1935, which, coincidentally, had turned eighty-five less than two weeks earlier. 

In other news, the rooftop was the fortunate recipient of an amazing second-hand sofa and several potted plants, courtesy of Elyse and her husband Rob, who, sadly for me, have just moved from Happy Valley to Kennedy Town. Blessed with a gorgeous rooftop here in the Valley, but foregoing outdoor space in their new digs, they were looking to offload the sectional outdoor couch and greenery before moving out. And I must say, it is a most welcome addition here. 

I even hosted a barbecue this past Saturday to officially christen it. It was a wonderful opportunity to gather with friends in a secluded spot—remember, civil gatherings are capped at two people, so it’s only in non-public settings like a private apartment where larger groups are permissible—and spend some glorious time together. 

And the event also served as an informal farewell party for my guests of honor, Elyse and Rob. I know Kennedy Town isn’t terribly far away, but I always looked forward to our spontaneous meetings during morning dog walks and other gambols around our neighborhood. And I know I will miss espying their friendly faces as frequently as I used to.

Oh! And I got a new iPhone for work. It’s crazy to realize it’s been a full two years. But the contract was up for expiry, and a fresh phone came for free with the signing of a renewed agreement, so I’m still in the process of getting used to this toy.

I must say, the camera function is most impressive, indeed. (I guess I’m late to this game, but, man, do I love portrait mode.) It’s a kind of traditional habit of mine that my phone’s home screen photograph is a shot of Fredric while my lock screen captures some spicy Sichuan fare. So, I made it a point to return to Red Pepper for a fiery lunch a day or two after picking up the device. And, of course, my little mutt is always too willing to pose for me. So it didn’t take long before the telephone was properly broken in. 

And I am protecting the thing with two awesome cases I ordered from RedBubble, one featuring a stylized likeness of a besuited Cary Grant sprinting away from that crop duster in the most iconic moment from Hitchcock’s North by Northwest. And a second that splices together most of those censored kisses that feature so memorably in the finale of Cinema Paradiso. I just can’t decide which of these is my favorite, so I’ve fallen into the habit of switching them every few days.

As all of this has been happening, the number of new COVID-19 cases has dropped considerably from that previously-alarming stretch of triple digit daily increases. We’re back down to single-digits now, nine cases having been recorded today. Of course, if the past is anything to go by, we need to remain hyper-vigilant. We went weeks without a single reported new case just before the ongoing third wave appeared out of nowhere. But it’s reassuring to see our efforts paying off.

And we got a little reward for our hard work, when the government announced last week that, starting Friday, restaurants could extend their opening hours for an additional three hours, from six to nine in the evening. And the cinemas—while having to operate at half capacity and without the added appeal of their concession stands—have also been allowed to re-open their doors.

On Thursday afternoon a little before five, I entered Zagin Soba, an exquisite ramen specialist on King Kwong Street, where I savored the last of my grandpa dinners. I must admit, I’d come to enjoy them in a strange sort of way. But I was oh so excited for a return to normalcy that next evening. 

You can bet I hightailed it out of work and made a beeline straight for a restaurant at six sharp! Ironically, I wound up with a tantalising bowl of mussels in white wine and garlic, the same dish that had served as my Bastille Day feast back in mid-July, the last real restaurant dinner I’d savored before the dining constraints.

It was heavenly to be in a restaurant at nighttime again. What a spectacular meal! And a film screening of the Aretha Franklin documentary Amazing Grace at the nearby cinema followed right on its heels, a little before eight.

Dinner and a movie. Seems like old times.

Sunday afternoon, after a sensational helping of dosas at an incredible Indian restaurant in TST East, Rachel and I caught The Last Emperor on the big screen over in Elements. 

And you can bet that my life will be chock full o’ movies for the foreseeable future. I purchased a bunch of tickets today and have a list of quite a few others I’m plotting in my schedule.

Yes, as a new month gets ready to kick off, let’s all work hard to ensure that Hong Kong really has seen the worst of this benighted coronavirus, while vigilantly injecting our social lives with a dose of much needed vivacity. Hopefully there will be lots to look forward to as fall approaches, from the celebrations of the Mid-Autumn Festival to the most welcome dip in temperatures that always accompanies the arrival of the season. Stay safe, everybody, but don’t forget to constantly remind yourself how much beauty still exists all around you!

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.”