An eerie silence permeates the night.
As I walk down the muddy path from the edge of the forest where our cab left us, I look up into the clear sky and see stars. My awe is shortlived as suddenly, something dashes across our path into the bushes just to the left. I curse under my breathe and strain my eyes looking for the sign. Any sign. To be honest, at that time of the night, a sign of another human being would be a welcome sight.
If this sounds like a scene from Indiana Jones, I don’t blame you. I feel like one. I am at a God-forsaken village in the middle of nowhere in Sai Kung, where bus stops running and only cabs can reach. Street lights are far and few in between, and as the night deepens I am eager to reach my destination.
Where’s that, you ask? Why, a food place, of course. A seafood private kitchen, to be exact. Only that I am armed only with an address (in Chinese!) and Google Map isn’t of much help.
It is hard to believe that, half an hour after that dramatic scene, I am seated at a table for ten, sipping red wine and wishing the birthday boy the best of luck for the year ahead. The private kitchen we are at is quite elusive and known to a precious few.