Hong Kong Hikes

I happen to mention I am missing the green spaces of home. A long-termer suggests we go on a hike. It isn’t hiking I’m missing. I didn’t hike round my garden in London after all, it’s barely big enough to sunbathe in. Nor did I hike on the Common; more often than not I sat on a picnic blanket drinking tea with my Lovely Neighbour while we watched our children exercise themselves. Yet going on a hike is the challenge thrown down to all those inclined to think that Hong Kong is a bit of a concrete jungle.

We went on a hike.

It starts innocently enough, downhill, along a road and through the Tai Tam Nature Reserve. We could have brought the buggy, so tame is this hike. We cross a reservoir or two and must have taken a wrong turn for each time we see a “You are here” arrow on map we are not where we want to be. We cross another reservoir and take a right turn along its eastern shore hoping to get back on track. Suddenly the walk becomes more Indiana Jones than Sound of Music. We scramble up and down along a narrow dirt path, crossing dry riverbeds on make-do stepping stones, whilst looking nervously at the signs telling us to “Beware Flash Floods”.

The boys bound ahead like puppies and remembering a recent tale I heard of a python in a Hong Kong garden which ate the neighbour’s cocker spaniel, I say to my husband, “What about S-N-A-K-E-S?” “Quite,” he says, “You’d better go ahead.”

“Why are you going in front?” ask the boys and without thinking I say,
“In case of mines.” Only then do I wonder if mention of L-A-N-D-M-I-N-E-S might actually be more scary to them than mention of S-N-A-K-E-S.

My eldest son says, “Do you think we might actually fall down a mine shaft Mummy?” and I can't help smiling for he is right there with me in Indiana Jones country. “Well, not really,” I say, “But if we do, Daddy would like me to go first.”

In true form we have not taken the day’s activity seriously enough. We have no map and, as soon becomes evident, too little water. My husband has to carry our two and a half year old daughter in a ruck sack more suited to a 10 month old. He is working harder than the rest of us and I insist he gets the lion’s share of the remaining water. The going is rocky, rough and narrow. We are eaten alive by mosquitos and as usual it’s too hot. It's a good thing we didn't bring the buggy.

I hear snakelike movement in the undergrowth on the bank beside me. “What was that?” chorus the boys. "Oh, just a lizard or something." I say. “Big lizard” says my eldest.

Let’s hope it slips down the mine shaft before we do, I think.