First trips, second homes

Do you remember, three years ago, when every conversation would come around to “what will your first trip be, when we can travel again?” Do you remember what you said? Was it some bucket list adventure, some at- long-last exploration of an unfamiliar continent?

All this time later, we’re back in the skies. For many I know – and perhaps for you – our first trips aren’t those epic, once-in-a-lifetime adventures. Instead, they’re a different kind of travel. They’re journeys to the places that we already know and love. I’ve been thinking of them as second homes.

Think Tokyo, Bangkok, Phuket, Singapore: places that, as Hongkongers, we know like the backs of our hands. We know the contours of the landscape. We know the landmarks, the neighbourhoods. We know how to get around. We’ve been to all the major sights. We have our favourite hidden gems. And above all, we have memories.

My own first trip after the pandemic was to Hoi An, in Central Vietnam – one of my favourite places in the world for a quick getaway, somewhere I’ve been many times before. There was a rush of familiarity at every stage: in the airport, in the queue for immigration, in the car to the hotel – especially then, as I noted familiar landmarks, street corners and cafés which had remained unchanged. There was a rush of terror, too – like a muscle gone to waste, I’d forgotten the distinctly different approach to road safety in South East Asia after many years away.

It was curious. Because we knew Hoi An already, there was no need to sprint out every day to tick off the sights. There was so much that was familiar – incredible food, lanterns glowing in yellow and orange and red and blue above the streets, and the memories that they conjured up of past adventures. But there was also the different. Disappointment that a favourite store had closed; delight in new discoveries. We let ourselves wander and be reminded that serendipity is the very greatest thing about travel.

I cannot wait to do it elsewhere, in other familiar but long-unvisited cities. To return to my favourite bar in Tokyo – perhaps the world – where the music is on vinyl, the cocktails are impeccable, and all photos are banned. To seek out hidden riverside views in Bangkok, followed by briny, smoky oyster omelettes. To wander to ancient Madrid tapas bars, then seek out the caipirinhas that blew my mind, on the first trip I ever took with the woman who’s now my wife.

And then, to find the new.

Memories, and change. The hallmark of the last few years. I intend to delight in the difference.

To explore how these second homes have grown without us, to reconnect and make new discoveries.

Yet before we even land, there’s one more connection we must make. Perhaps in the past, you – as I did – allowed routine to dull you to the wonder of flight. But remember, the very act of flying is an extraordinary thing. You are heading, I hope, to discover something amazing. But I hope also that for you, as it did for me, the light might glow through a window and flood the cabin with the orange of a dwindling sun, and as the lone and level clouds stretch far away, you might also think – yes.

Perhaps this, in the air. Perhaps this is the home I was looking for.