Those Friday nights in Hong Kong

Friday afternoon in the office at Ocean Centre... it’s nearly 5. My colleagues will probably stay until 8 PM, but not me. I’m clock-watching; I’ve done all I can today. I’ve got Minesweeper minimised on my desktop, just killing time now. My American boss is away in Japan, but I know my colleagues will tell him if I leave a minute before 5—they hate it that I leave at 5 anyway.

"We stay until 9 PM, James."
"Do you? Ok... well, that’s wonderful..."
BOOM... 5 PM, I’m out of here. I grab my wallet and keys.
Out the door, down the hallway, into the lift, and I hit the G with ferocity, doors closing.

Out into the hustle and bustle of Canton Rd, past the people waiting to get into Planet Hollywood, I’m a man (or a boy playing at being a man) on a mission. Pavements packed, I’m weaving in and out, and I need to get home. Why?
It’s Friday night on Lamma—I lived for it.

I grab a cookie from Millie’s and board the Star Ferry—upstairs, port side, salty spray on my face, sunlight dances on the water, skyscrapers glisten as the heat of the day says farewell, but it’s still warm enough for short sleeves, with the lightest breeze.
I survey the Central scene from the ferry like a tourist seeing it for the first time. It’s a journey that excites me, especially going this way across the harbour. The clatter of the gangway as it hits the pier—we stream off like scurrying ants.

A short walk to the Lamma ferry.
Familiar faces—and happy ones, at that. Beer, noodles, friends, laughter, and relief that the working week is over. Top deck at the back. Beer bottles click, and we "cheers!" and kick back, ready for the two days of bliss ahead.

We’re underway and heading home. A hydrofoil to Macau passes by, and there goes the Disco Bay ferry—sleeker, faster, but for me, the place has no soul. Lamma was where it was at. A chilled vibe, where people seemed more interested in who you were, not what you had or what you did. No one on Lamma asked about money or job titles, at least not the crowd I hung out with. I knew people in the newspaper world who lived the high life in Mid Levels, and those who opted for Discovery Bay - but nothing came close to Lamma for me.

The ferry turns to port and the skyline is out of sight.
Once we spot the power station chimneys, we know we’re nearly there.
A million miles from Ocean Centre and yet just a short ride—we’re off the ferry, and you can sense the happiness in the air. The chatter and clatter from the restaurants, the kids on their bikes weaving in and out, the laughter, the warmth, the smells. There’s Nick the bookman, chatting away to someone, as random dogs play and chase. The slapping sound of flip-flops, the Cantonese, English, and Filipina conversations.

"Quick pint at Deli?" Always.
Ah, the Deli Lamma, our local bar and weekend breakfast haunt, "where everybody knows your name, and you’re always glad you came..." A decent slice of my salary went here, and I loved it.

And that night? Tai Peng village, friends, a barbecue on a rooftop, some grilled chicken, beers, music, and good times; as the stars put on a show for free. This is what it meant to be alive on those wonderful days back on Lamma in 1997.