Finding the familiar in the exotic

I had been looking for it everywhere: the tiny bus depot with excited hikers and tourists jumping in and out, the Beijing Olympic trail that lay like remnants of a past civilization, shiny bicycles parked in all corners by simple villagers, tinkling rickshaws ambling along the paved boardwalks, the charming rocky coastline and the sea-facing arcades packed with generous portions of delicacies, conversations and music.

But it had been eluding me like the legendary nineteenth century pirates of this very region.

Quite waterlogged with SMS-length touristy wrap-ups of new places, the passionate traveler in me had been craving for a Garcia-style novella-length voyage. So, with wasps in my stomach and a pepper-spray the size of the Titanic, I had recently arrived solo in Hong Kong with a long term travel plan. I wanted to uncover every bit of magic that Hong Kong hid in its seams. But now my enthusiasm was almost packing its bags and leaving me with this dull confusing ache of loneliness.

Funnily, I did not know what that ‘it’ looked, sounded or felt like. Each time I sat down at the Bombay cafe for a felafel I would turn my chair around to face the ferry pier anticipating its arrival from Hong Kong central. When I sipped a beer at the Silver Mine Bay beach, I’d gaze at the multihued relationship between the white sand, the South China Sea and the wispy island sky, hoping that the answer lay in their interplay. But what was it that unsettled me?

And one morning, I saw my elderly neighbor play with his grandson who was giggling loudly. Then I saw it everywhere. The British expatriate with his backpack and briefcase pedaling his bicycle, heading for the ferry to his job in downtown Hong Kong, laughed to himself. The local shopkeeper at the indoor food and vegetable market in the old town chuckled kindly as I kept dropping tomatoes.

The laughter instantly transported me back home. I was there with my friends and family having a great time. The giggles I heard in this foreign land had hints of my mother’s amateurish humming, my city’s dreamy sunset and my morning coffee’s mystical aroma. This universal language of smiles evoked mushy memories that eased me, calmed me. That day I was integrated into the local landscape, that day I was at home.

Mui Wo had opened its arms wide to give me a big bear hug.

Or had I opened my eyes and my heart to its overwhelming gentleness?