The boat glides through the relatively calm waters of Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbour at a constant speed heading to the west. Screens onboard are playing videos to keep passengers entertained, or at least that’s what I think I see. I’m not paying attention to any of them, nor am I talking to James who’s sitting next to me, fixated on his phone trying to confirm the locations of the places he wants to take me at our destination. Instead, I am just trying to look out to the horizon while listening to my body, anticipating even the slightest signs of seasickness. As a person who was born and raised in the world’s largest archipelagic nation, I’m ironically prone to disgorging whatever is in my stomach whenever I’m on a sea voyage. So much for someone whose ancestors supposedly roamed the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, discovering new islands along the way.
Fortunately, this boat ride to Peng Chau only takes about half an hour, and as soon as we set foot on the island, a gentle and calm atmosphere welcomes us. Some people might see this small part of the 263 islands that make up Hong Kong as an antidote to the urban area itself, which happens to be one of the most developed in the world. But the way I see it is they complement each other: city dwellers can take a quick escape to Peng Chau to wind down and reconnect with nature, while the island’s residents can access the downtown area with relative ease should they need to. And speaking of the people who live on Peng Chau, there are only around 6,000 of them, a number that in other parts of the world is probably too low to justify frequent boat services.
We take an easy stroll from the pier to the main square on the island. Easy because there are no motor vehicles to watch out for, just a few locals and visitors ambling around or riding their bicycles at a leisurely pace. James, who has been to Peng Chau before, leads the way. He walks down one of the many alleys and takes a staircase up on a small hill to get us to a stretch of road that immediately makes me think of a typical village in Java. There are banana, papaya, jackfruit, and sugar apple trees planted on both sides of the street, with the occasional appearance of spotted doves. The chilly temperatures, however, remind me that we are still in Hong Kong.
As we keep walking, we see small boats casually stored in front of houses or next to a public space, a sign that the sea is an inseparable part of life here. Peng Chau’s total area, which is only around 1 km2 (0.38 sq mi), means there’s really no other way of living than to embrace the open water, and that’s why we’re heading out to the beach. Not to swim though, since it’s too cold to do that in December. Instead, we walk along the beachside promenade with the views of gentle waves lapping onto the shore and idle boats moored in the bay. In the distance is Stonecutters Bridge, one of the world’s longest cable-stayed bridges that serves as an alternative route between Kowloon and Lantau Island. This modern engineering marvel provides a stark contrast to the low-rise houses directly behind us.
Peng Chau’s main public square
A street filled with trees bearing tropical fruits
The beach at Tung Wan on the eastern side of Peng Chau
It is not hard to see why some people find Peng Chau’s calm ambiance appealing. It’s even more laid back and tranquil than Cheung Chau, a slightly bigger island to the south that I went to on my last trip to Hong Kong right before the pandemic. If you wander around the town, you will see that this seemingly sleepy place has a surprisingly wide variety of dining options with an international flair (including a local bakery run by a Thai woman), also an independent bookshop with a well-curated selection of reading materials (my favorite is a section focusing on small islands around the world), an interesting-looking pottery shop, and even a feline-themed retailer where two of its resident cats doze by the window when we pass it. James actually knows two people who live on this small island: one is an Aussie-Hong Konger who commutes to Hong Kong Island to get to his office at a multinational insurance company, while the other is a seasoned travel writer from New York who has been calling Peng Chau home for many years.
For lunch, we opt for rice with unagi (Japanese-style grilled eel) and a cup of hojicha latte from a small restaurant right behind the island’s municipal services building. While waiting for our food, I observe how patrons who come to this establishment are not only tourists like us, but also locals who exchange jovial banter with the owner and staff members. To me, it is warm interactions like this that add to the charm of a place.
While it may sound odd at first, living on such a small, quiet island like Peng Chau does have its perks. And I only understand it after exploring parts of it on foot. With our stomachs full, we decide to hike to the tallest point on the entire island, the meagre 95-meter Finger Hill. The reasonably easy walk through a forested area to the southeast of the main residential district takes us to a pavilion which affords a sweeping view of the western coast of Hong Kong Island, a reminder that those dizzyingly tall skyscrapers and glitzy malls, among other things, are within reach of this tranquil outpost. But maybe that’s one of the reasons why Hong Kong is such a livable city. The great outdoors is just around the corner from one of the greatest metropolises on the planet. As valid proof, in little more than an hour after departing Peng Chau, we already find ourselves walking underneath the behemoth that is M+ within the West Kowloon Cultural District.
The main town of Peng Chau as viewed from the island’s highest point