A Walk to Remember

A large part of why I'm enjoying Hong Kong so much more this time around is because I've had the opportunity to do things I like doing. I've spurned the shopping scene for more sightseeing, reading, writing, and best of all--hiking!

I made it quite clear to my dad that I wanted to go hiking when I went to Hong Kong for my 3-week stay, and wondrously, he still has good friends from primary and middle school who hike regularly and were willing to bring us along. We've gone three times, and although the mountains are not spectacularly high, it's been awfully nice to be in the woods again.

It's only been in the past few weeks that I found out my dad loves to hike. He hiked a lot as a student in Hong Kong, with the friends who still hike, but he is too lazy to travel far for hiking in Canada. It's interesting to learn that my hiking heritage doesn't only come from my aunt.

My aunt in Canada is the one I usually think of when I think of hiking. I always experience a burst of pride when I tell people she's climbed the Himalayas. When I was younger, I hated walking. Quite embarrassingly, even when I was seven, my parents would still push me around in the stroller, or if I got tired walking, I would turn around and ask them to pick me up. Yet when I was 16 years old and was given the opportunity to participate on an Outward Bound trip, my aunt insisted that I choose mountaineering, even though I really wanted to canoe and portage.

It was on that mountaineering trip in British Columbia that I fell in love with walking and hiking. I loved being able to propel myself up mountains, scree down hills, and scale rock faces with my hands and feet. I realized that limits could be pushed: I experienced a colder cold (being awoken by the cold at 2am on top of a summit, opening my eyes, and seeing stars upon stars in the Milky Way Galaxy) and expanded my definition of tired (hiking 6-8 km daily with a 50lbs pack, and then having to set up the tents and cook dinner, for 2 weeks straight--I never appreciated sleep so much).

Today was another of those definition expansions. My dad's primary school friend brought us to Sai Gong. On the bus ride to the starting point, I felt physically horrible--most probably due to the strong Milk Tea I had drank at a famous milk tea place in Central. My stomach quaked, my heart beat funny, and my head spun. But I really wanted to hike.

Once we reached the starting point, I vomited on the side of the road. Part of me wanted to go back to our place in Causeway Bay and sleep it off, but something inside me told me that the hike would cure me.

And it did.

Unfortunately, about half an hour into the hike, it began to rain. We pulled out our ponchos, and as the rain got worse, we stood to the side to wait for it to pass. By then, the rain was seeping into my shoes and the bottom of my pants were soaked. Even so, a group of hikers passed us, drenched by the rain. After 10 minutes of standing, we had to make a critical decision: do we continue in the rain or do we head back down to the bus?

We decided to continue. The hardest point was the next step. It meant that I would have to leave my safe haven (i.e., standing on a small rock that prevented my feet from smooshing into the mud). Watching my dad go first, I followed suit: stepping firmly into the mud, rain water splashing onto my pants, and water flooding my shoe through the upper mesh. As we tromped through the mud, thoughts of feeling sick flew out of my mind. I learned to enjoy the experience of sloshing through the muddy path and feeling the water squeeze between my toes.

This hike was probably the most uncomfortable hike I've ever been on, but it was certainly memorable. My definition of discomfort has been pushed, and God has shown me mercy in the process.