Everything that has a beginning has an end, and so this trip — which started well and somehow just kept getting better — finally concluded with a long, drawn-out day and night of travel. Hong Kong did its best to soften the blow by rustling up almost perfect blue skies and agreeable temperatures.
We were in no rush to get up, eventually making our way to breakfast where we both had our final omelettes cooked to order. I will miss this ritual after a couple of days, although I’m already starting to crave some of my own good old-fashioned porridge.
The plan for the morning was a slow stroll along the Avenue of the Stars again, this time to the Starbucks Karen had spotted on Sunday. It was a glorious walk, though surprisingly busy — almost as busy as Sunday itself. This completely disproved my theory that most of the crowds must have been locals, as presumably they should all have been at work or studying somewhere today.
As we walked, I was approached roughly 50 times by the Harbour Tour chuggers. I appreciate they’re only trying to earn a living, but there’s something about having a laminated photo of a boat shoved six inches from your nose, accompanied by shrill, shouty sales pitches, that feels unnecessarily aggressive. This isn’t meant to be racist, but to my Western ears Cantonese often sounds angry — though I’m sure not everyone here is furious with each other all the time. It’s probably how English sounds to them: either aggressive or entirely baffling.
We reached Starbucks and Karen found us perfect seats on the roof terrace overlooking the harbour while I fetched the drinks. I was quietly impressed when I was asked whether I wanted cold milk with my tea — confirmation that we were very much in a tourist hotspot. This Starbucks could apparently feature in Karen’s all-time top 10 Starbucks around the world.
We weren’t in any hurry to move until Karen decided the breeze was picking up high up and suggested relocating to ground-level seats that were sunnier and more sheltered. Somehow along the way she discovered Starbucks were selling sausage rolls, which pretty much confirmed their target market. She bought one purely for research purposes for us to try. It was fine — just a little too herby and not quite meaty enough.
Eventually we decided we should wander back and were in our room by 1.30pm. I’d paid extra for a late checkout at 3pm, but that still left us with a good eight hours before our flight home.
My cunning plan was to leave our bags with the concierge at 2.30pm and then, while our key cards still worked the lift, quietly sneak back into the Continental Lounge for as long as we dared. Ideally we’d have preferred to have been outside enjoying the weather, but knowing we were going to be in the same clothes for over another 24 hours, we didn’t fancy getting hot and sweaty in the first few hours.
The plan worked beautifully. We arrived just in time for afternoon tea and happily indulged ourselves. Sitting quietly with our pots of tea, we dealt with some admin that had built up. Before we knew it, three hours had passed and the room was being reset for the evening soirée. We were promptly offered glasses of bubbles, which we accepted without hesitation, along with a few nibbles.
At 6.30pm we finally headed down to collect our bags and, with the concierge’s help, ordered an Uber for the 25-mile journey to the airport. We arrived ayt the airport just ten minutes before check-in opened and were through security surprisingly quickly. Both our bags were sent for “random” inspection, though neither was actually opened, which seemed a bit pointless.
Our Amex card gave us access to what was supposedly one of the best lounges in the airport — assuming, of course, you could find it. The maps were completely unhelpful. It turned out the terminal was flipping enormous and the lounge was at the exact opposite end. The walk took about 20 minutes, a fact made very clear by Karen’s increasingly animated commentary about the heat and how much further it could possibly be.
The lounge itself wasn’t too bad. I enjoyed another plate of mussels, while Karen was in no mood for anything other than cheese and biscuits. The Movenpick ice cream was excellent though, and Karen sampled two different flavours.
Naturally, when our gate was announced it involved walking even further back to where we had started and more. We boarded in Group 3 into our Premium Economy seats — aisle and middle in a 2-4-2 layout. As ever, it was simply assumed I would take the middle, as Karen always wants the aisle but then complains bitterly every time she has to move so I can go to the toilet.
By the time we were taxiing to the runway I was already half asleep. It was a 14-hour flight, and, with the time difference, I was concerned about staying awake enough to drive home from Heathrow. When the food choices came around, I decided it wasn’t worth staying awake for and told Karen not to wake me.
I slept fitfully for almost ten hours before needing the toilet. Karen informed me the dinner had been awful and that I’d done well to miss it — she’d only managed the roll and a small piece of cheese. I made my way to the toilet and had to walk through the Economy section to do so. I was astonished to find that it was very empty. Indeed, everyone had moved to have a whole row of seats each to lay out upon. How ironic as the Premium Economy, Club World- and First-Class sections were all full. I would have been very happy to been able to lay out flat on this journey.
Now properly awake, I watched the Bruce Springsteen film I’d been annoyed about missing at the cinema. It wasn’t quite what I expected, but I really enjoyed it. Breakfast was nearly acceptable, and just like that the long 14-hour flight was over. It was a relief to be able to stand up and walk off the plane.
Security was quick, but baggage reclaim was painfully slow to get going. Sunny was, as ever, wonderfully efficient in bringing our car back to us. Sunny by name and even sunnier by nature — it’s impressive that anyone can be that cheerful at 6am.
The drive home was grim. The M25 already felt like rush hour despite the early time, and it was dark and raining for good measure. After the usual quick stop on the A11, the only real challenge was negotiating the roadworks at Thickthorn, along with everyone else also trying to avoid them.
And then we were home.
There was more post than usual, but apart from some birthday cards for Karen and a couple of magazines, everything went straight in the bin. By 10am my suitcase was unpacked, although Karen was less impressed that 95% of it went straight into the washing basket.
Just four weeks to go before another quick week away — and then Karen’s hip replacement.
We do some things…………. And feel blessed we are able to.
