Hong Kong has always been a special city to me. It was the first place I ever visited as a “real” traveler, and over the next almost 20 years, I returned many times for school holidays, family trips, business travel, and short personal getaways.
Writing this Hong Kong travel journal turned out to be much harder than I expected, not because I had too little to say, but because my memories of Hong Kong belong to so many different versions of myself: a teenage girl seeing an international city for the first time, a student spending happy holidays there, and an adult returning after years away.
So instead of writing a practical Hong Kong itinerary, this post is more personal — a story about the city, memory, growing up, and the complicated tenderness I still feel toward Hong Kong.
My First Encounter with Hong Kong
Even today, Hong Kong remains one of the first Chinese cities many international travelers think of, often alongside Shanghai. It is still a city full of character and cinematic energy: dense streets, dramatic skylines, a fascinating mix of Chinese and Western influences, and a modern urban rhythm that feels different from anywhere else in China — and honestly, different from anywhere else in the world.
For mainland Chinese travelers in the 2000s, Hong Kong carried an even more magical meaning. The internet was not as developed as it is today. International travel was far less common for ordinary families. For many of us, Hong Kong felt both close and foreign: emotionally connected to us, yet culturally different; geographically near, yet somehow like a small window into a more international world.
That was why, when my mother first asked me where I wanted to travel, I chose Hong Kong.
At that time, planning an independent trip was not as easy as it is now. We had little travel experience, and language also felt like a real barrier: Hong Kong mainly used Cantonese and English, while we only spoke Mandarin. So we joined a group tour. The whole trip was five days and four nights, with three days and two nights in Hong Kong, plus transportation time and a short visit to Macau.
That was in July 2007. Almost 20 years have passed since then.
Looking back, those three days were rushed and touristy, but they left a surprisingly deep impression on me: the crowds of Tsim Sha Tsui, the colorful dreaminess of Hong Kong Disneyland, the glittering lights of Victoria Harbour, and the strange little memories that somehow stayed with me more clearly than the famous attractions themselves.
One of those memories was Wong Tai Sin Temple.
We arrived early in the morning, but the temple was already full of people. The incense was strong, the atmosphere was lively, and before we entered, our tour guide told us to walk clockwise around the Yuk Yik Fountain three times for good luck. I carefully finished my three circles — only to realize afterward that I had walked in the wrong direction.
For years, this became one of my private reasons for wanting to return to Hong Kong: I had to go back and reclaim the good luck I accidentally left there. 😛
Another small regret from that first trip was The Peak. Because our schedule was tight, we had to choose between Hong Kong Disneyland and the night view from Victoria Peak. Since there were many children in the tour group, Disneyland won. At the time, I did not fully understand what I had missed. Later, of course, I realized that the Hong Kong skyline from The Peak was one of the city’s classic views.
If I had to summarize my first impression of Hong Kong, it was not actually about pop culture, movies, or Cantopop. As someone born in the 1990s, I was not as deeply shaped by Hong Kong popular culture as the generation before me. What I remember most clearly is more physical and immediate: the blazing summer sun, the density of people and buildings, the narrow streets compared with Beijing’s wide roads, and the feeling that English was everywhere.
Hong Kong felt international, crowded, bright, intense, and slightly overwhelming. It was the first city that made me feel the world was bigger than the one I knew.
A Happy Place for School Holidays
Unexpectedly, not long after my first trip, a family member’s job change gave me more chances to travel between Hong Kong and Macau during school holidays. Hong Kong gradually became my happy holiday place.
The place I remember most vividly from that period is Ocean Park. I must have visited at least two or three times, and each time, I loved the roller coasters. I am not sure whether the rides today still feel the same as they did back then, but in my memory, Ocean Park’s roller coasters were thrilling without being terrifying. On one visit, I remember rushing straight to the roller coaster as soon as the park opened and riding it twice in a row before I felt satisfied.
Of course, Ocean Park was not just about rides. It also had many marine animals and family-friendly attractions, which made it a classic place for children and families.
Besides Ocean Park, I also remember Hong Kong Wetland Park as a quieter place for a walk, Sai Kung as a more remote area for a seafood meal, and Hong Kong’s shopping malls as a serious test of physical endurance. There were so many products, so many malls, and so many floors that shopping itself felt like a full-day sport.
One thing I found especially interesting was how quickly language seemed to change.
In my earliest Hong Kong memories, it was not always easy to ask strangers for directions in Mandarin. But just a few years later, I noticed that more and more people on the street could understand Mandarin and were willing to respond. The most memorable example was two students we met around 2010. After they successfully answered us in Mandarin, I could almost see the excitement on their faces — the kind of joy you feel when you manage to communicate with a foreigner in a language you have been learning.
At that moment, I felt I was witnessing the beginning of a deeper kind of connection between Hong Kong and the mainland. By then, more than ten years had passed since Hong Kong’s return to China in 1997, but real integration, at least in everyday life, seemed to be happening slowly, through small encounters like this.
To be honest, my impressions of Hong Kong during those years were not entirely romantic.
Because our trips were usually short and casual — often just two days and one night — accommodation was sometimes arranged very simply. That was when I first saw another side of this glamorous city: tiny rooms, dark and narrow corridors, bunk beds in four-person rooms, and spaces so narrow that only one person could pass through at a time. Some rooms felt almost like train sleepers.
Those experiences did not make me dislike Hong Kong. But they did teach me that behind the luxury malls, harbor lights, and international image, there was also pressure, limitation, and the reality of urban life in one of the densest cities in the world.
Returning to Hong Kong as an Adult
After my family’s situation changed and I moved away for university, I did not return to Hong Kong for more than ten years.
Then, in 2024, I finally had the chance to go back — this time for work.
Walking through Central as an adult felt completely different from visiting Hong Kong as a teenager. The tall buildings, crowded streets, and compressed urban space gave me the strange feeling that not only space, but also time, had been squeezed. In that environment, even sleeping felt almost like a waste of time.
It was the first time I physically understood Hong Kong’s fast pace.
I am not sure whether it was the city’s atmosphere, my work schedule, or simply my body not adapting well to the food and rhythm, but during that week, I slept very little. Strangely, during the day, I still felt energized enough to work as if I had been fully charged.
That business trip also allowed me to experience Hong Kong’s professional side more deeply. The work arrangements were clear. The travel instructions were detailed. The facilities and services were thoughtful. And the ability to work with people from different cultural backgrounds felt natural and mature.
To be frank, compared with the rapid development of mainland China in recent years, Hong Kong no longer feels as far ahead as it once did in every visible way. Mainland cities have grown tremendously in technology, infrastructure, and commercial energy. But this work experience reminded me that as an established international city, Hong Kong still has a kind of accumulated soft power that should not be underestimated: professionalism, service standards, cultural awareness, and an instinctive ability to navigate diversity.
Language had also changed dramatically.
By this time, my Hong Kong colleagues could communicate with us smoothly in Mandarin, even if with a charming Hong Kong accent. Young students I met spoke Mandarin almost as fluently as people from the mainland. Taxi drivers, small restaurants, and convenience stores were usually able to handle basic Mandarin communication too. Compared with my experiences between 2007 and 2011, the difference was obvious.
In recent years, I also returned to Hong Kong a few times for short personal trips. By now, I have clearly outgrown the version of myself who ran toward Disneyland and Ocean Park. 😛
Instead, I found myself drawn to Hong Kong’s museums and art spaces. The Hong Kong Museum of Art, in particular, became one of my favorite places to revisit. It is a free museum for general admission, yet the collections are rich, the aesthetics are refined, the exhibitions are thoughtfully curated, and there are many interactive elements that make art feel closer to ordinary people.
As someone who does not have a professional art background, I found that very moving. A good museum should not make people feel small in front of art. It should gently open a door. The Hong Kong Museum of Art does exactly that.
I also finally had the chance to make up for the two regrets from my first Hong Kong trip: Wong Tai Sin Temple and the night view from The Peak.
When I returned to Wong Tai Sin Temple, I realized that it was not as crowded as I remembered. The incense was not as overwhelming. The long staircase in my memory was actually just a short flight of steps. And the huge Yuk Yik Fountain that had stayed in my mind for years turned out to be a small, quiet pool.
Standing there, I felt a little emotional.
The place had changed, perhaps. But more than that, I had changed. I had grown up.
The Peak gave me another kind of feeling.
The night view from Victoria Peak is one of the most famous skyline views in the world, and I had waited years to see it. Naturally, I expected to be amazed. But when I finally stood there, looking down at the countless lights of Hong Kong, I found that the view was beautiful — but not as overwhelming as I had imagined.
On the way back, I kept wondering: which city had raised my standard for night views? Tokyo? New York? Shanghai?
Maybe it was because mainland Chinese cities had developed so quickly over the years that sparkling skylines no longer felt as rare as they once did. Maybe it was because I had traveled to many more places and seen a bigger world. Or maybe this is simply one of the prices of growing up: the things you once looked up to with excitement may one day become something you can look at eye to eye.
It does not mean they are no longer beautiful. It means your world has become wider.
Wrap-up: Hong Kong, Memory, and Growing Up
To be honest, Hong Kong has not had a quiet or simple journey over the past many years. Many things have happened. The relationship between Hong Kong and the mainland has carried affection, tension, closeness, distance, misunderstanding, and longing all at once. As someone from mainland China, my feelings toward Hong Kong are complicated.
When I was young, I loved Hong Kong in a very simple way. I thought it was advanced, international, stylish, and full of things I had never seen before. I looked up to it. I even once imagined going to university there, although that plan never happened. Hong Kong was my first travel destination, and because of that, it holds a special place in my heart.
Later, the tensions between Hong Kong and the mainland also made me feel guarded and disappointed. I could understand some of the feelings behind them — often, these things are less about who is right or wrong, and more about where people stand, what they have experienced, and what they fear losing. Still, as a visitor, it is painful to feel unwelcome in a place you once loved.
In recent years, returning to Hong Kong for work and travel has softened my feelings again.
On one hand, I still sincerely admire this “Pearl of the Orient”: its culture, art, architecture, skyline, professional standards, and unique urban texture. On the other hand, a quiet sadness sometimes rises in me. Hong Kong has become easier, safer, and more convenient for me as a Mandarin-speaking mainland visitor, but at the same time, some of the old “Hong Kong flavor” I remembered seems to have faded. And as mainland China has developed so rapidly, Hong Kong’s old economic and urban advantages no longer feel as unreachable as they once did.
It is like looking up to an adult all your life, and then one day realizing you have grown tall enough to see the grey hair on their head.
Hong Kong has changed. And so have I.
But perhaps that is exactly why this city still matters to me. It is not frozen in the bright, distant image I had as a child. It is real, layered, aging, adapting, and still moving forward. Backed by the Greater Bay Area, connected to a deep hinterland, and shaped by generations of talent, trade, culture, and resilience, Hong Kong will continue to have its own place in the world and in history.
And for me, it will always remain the first city that made me want to see more of the world.
I wish Hong Kong well.