The Watch, the Wonder, and the Wander: Hong Kong Through a Child’s Eyes

When I was ten years old, my Papa brought me and my mother to Hong Kong. He had traveled all over Asia as the general manager of a Hong Kong based multinational firm, often sending me postcards from faraway places. I treasured those cards, imagining what it would be like to see the world with my own eyes.

I had been a consistent honor student, and Papa wanted to reward me for it. But this trip was not only for me — it was also for my mother. Her birthday fell within the schedule of his travels, and he decided to bring us both along to celebrate. It was a double gift: for her, a birthday in Hong Kong; for me, a child’s dream of stepping into the world I had only imagined through postcards.

The Landing at Kai Tak

As our plane approached Kai Tak Airport, Papa leaned over and told me in a serious voice that this was one of the most dangerous airports in the world. Mountains, tall buildings, and Victoria Harbour all pressed close to the narrow runway, leaving little room for error. I felt both nervous and excited, peering out the window at the tiny buildings rushing up to meet us. But the landing was smooth, almost graceful, and Papa explained that while Kai Tak had a fearsome reputation, the truth was that accidents were rare. The pilots were simply that good.

And then came a moment that made me feel as though I had stepped into a different world. Waiting for us on the tarmac was a Bentley limousine, sent by the Italian Count who was our host during the trip. Instead of passing through the crowded immigration lines like everyone else, we were ushered straight into the car. I pressed my face to the window, watching the sea of travelers inside as the Bentley glided past. To a ten-year-old boy, it was like living in a dream reserved for royalty.

A Count, a Yacht, and a Dream

The Count’s estate was so vast it seemed endless, like stepping into a kingdom from a storybook. The next day, he invited us aboard his yacht. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and seafood as we ate lunch and dinner on deck, gazing at the Hong Kong skyline. I remember looking out and seeing small sampans and fishing boats bobbing alongside this vessel of privilege. To me, it felt like a dream — and I hoped it wouldn’t end too soon.

Tiger Balm Garden Adventure

Among the outings we made in Hong Kong, one stands out vividly in my memory: our visit to the Tiger Balm Garden. The place is no longer there today — it has since given way to a housing estate — but in 1969 it was unlike anything I had ever seen.

As a ten-year-old boy, the garden felt both magical and daunting. The pathways wound through scenes filled with statues that looked almost lifelike — fierce guardians, mythical creatures, and depictions of morality tales carved in stone and color. Their expressions were so vivid that I half expected them to move. At times I was scared, shrinking back from the towering figures, yet I felt an equal thrill. It was as if I had stepped into a living storybook, one that whispered both warnings and adventures. I was frightened, but I liked it. The strangeness of it all stayed with me, teaching me that even fear can carry wonder when you see the world through a child’s eyes.

Walking with My Mother to the Ladies’ Market

Another memory that has stayed with me was walking hand in hand with my mother toward the Ladies’ Market. In those days there was no MTR yet, so walking was the way to get around. But we didn’t mind the distance — the cool weather kept us from getting tired, and the streets themselves were full of life.

The market was crowded with stalls piled high with bags, clothes, trinkets, and every kind of bargain. My mother, with her confident smile, knew exactly how to haggle. I watched in admiration as she bargained with the vendors, always respectful but always firm. By the end of our stroll, she had secured good deals on bags and other items — gifts she would later bring home to our relatives and friends in the Philippines.

For me, that walk was less about the things we bought and more about the lesson I learned at her side: how grace, patience, and determination could turn even a crowded street market into a place of triumph.

Music, Celebration, and a Birthday in Hong Kong

One evening, we were invited by the CEO of Papa’s company, who was based in Hong Kong, to join him for dinner at one of the city’s plush hotels. It was a grand setting: chandeliers sparkled overhead, polished waiters moved gracefully between tables, and the air carried the hum of elegance.

A Filipino band performed on stage that night, filling the ballroom with energy and joy. Two songs remain etched in my memory: their vibrant performance of “Celebration”, which lifted the entire room into cheer, and their soulful rendition of “Those Were the Days”, a tune that seemed to echo both nostalgia and hope.

That night was made even more special because it was also my mother’s birthday. I remember the waiters bringing out a small cake, and everyone around our table joining in to wish her well. My mother’s smile that evening is something I will never forget. For her, it was a birthday far from home but wrapped in music, laughter, and warmth.

And for me, it was also the night I discovered Peking duck. The crisp skin, the tender meat, the sweet sauce wrapped in thin pancakes — it was unlike anything I had ever tasted before. To my young self, it wasn’t just a dish but a discovery: that food could be an experience, a memory, a flavor that stays with you for a lifetime.

Little Treasures to Take Home

Papa also handed me the loose change he didn’t want jangling in his pocket. To me, those coins were treasures. I saved them carefully, and by the end of the trip, I had enough to buy so many Matchbox model cars that they filled a small box. Those cars joined the few I already owned back home, becoming the pride of my little collection. In my young eyes, they weren’t just toys — they were tiny symbols of adventure, reminders that the world was vast and waiting to be explored.

Crossing the Harbour

In 1969, there was no Cross-Harbour Tunnel yet, so cars had to cross Victoria Harbour on the Star Ferry. I’ll never forget seeing the Bentley — the same one that fetched us on the tarmac — rolling onto the ferry, gleaming proudly alongside ordinary cars. As the ferry glided across the dark waters, the city lights shimmered in the distance. In that moment, I felt suspended between two worlds: the humble and the grand, the old and the new — all coexisting in one magical city.

Lessons in Honesty

On our last night in Hong Kong, after a fine dinner, I absentmindedly left my watch in the restroom. My mother scolded me when she realized it was gone, and I felt a wave of dread. It was expensive, and we were flying home the next morning. Surely it was lost forever. But just hours before our departure, I hurried back to the restaurant and asked if anyone had seen it. A waiter led me to the manager’s office. The manager opened a drawer in his desk and explained that a watch had been turned in. Before showing it to me, he asked me to describe it in detail. I carefully recited its color, the strap, the markings — everything I could remember. Only then did he reach into the drawer, take it out, and ask, “Is this it?” A surge of relief flushed through me. More than the joy of having the watch back, it was the honesty and care shown by strangers that stayed with me. It felt as if Hong Kong itself had chosen to send me home with one last lesson: that integrity is a treasure greater than gold.

What Remains

Looking back now, I know why Papa chose to take us to Hong Kong. It was more than a business trip. It was his way of rewarding me for being a consistent honor student, and of giving my mother a birthday she would never forget. Instead of just giving me postcards, he wanted me to experience the world; instead of just giving my mother a gift, he gave her the memory of a birthday in a foreign city filled with light. As a parting gift, Papa also bought me a pair of powerful binoculars. Back home, on quiet nights, I would point them toward the sky and see the Moon in sharp detail — its craters, its scars, its mysteries laid bare. Those binoculars became a bridge between the wonder I felt in Hong Kong and the curiosity that would follow me through life. At ten years old, everything felt magical, dreamlike, and bigger than life. A child’s eye sees the world differently, and that is why those moments from Hong Kong in 1969 — the landing at Kai Tak, the Bentley on the tarmac, the laughter on a yacht, the eerie thrill of Tiger Balm Garden, the walk through the Ladies’ Market with my mother, her birthday in a foreign land, the dinner hosted by the CEO, the taste of Peking duck, the music of a Filipino band singing “Celebration” and “Those Were the Days”, the ferry ride across Victoria Harbour, the coins from Papa that became Matchbox cars in a box, the honesty of a stranger, and the binoculars that let me touch the Moon — remain etched in me more vividly than so many others. — Solon II