Hong Kong overwhelmed me in the best way. The trams rattled through the city and neon signs buzzed above noodle shops. It felt like a city always mid-conversation, never quite finished.

And then, just minutes away, silence. I hiked up through jungle paths where butterflies floated past banyan trees, and the skyline vanished behind mist. Lantau, Lamma, even Dragon’s Back - nature here is always just behind the curtain.

There’s history in the details: a British crest on an old postbox, dim sum in a 70-year-old teahouse, the sound of Cantonese echoing through a wet market. You feel the tension, the pride, the weight of identity.

Hong Kong doesn’t explain itself. It moves. And if you walk with it, not behind it, you start to understand.