I spent last week in Hong Kong and Singapore, singing for my supper. It was just ahead of Chinese New Year — the Year of the Rabbit begins on January 22 — and, in the past, both cities would have been heaving. On this occasion, however, only Singapore was. Hong Kong was spookily quiet. On arrival on a fine Saturday afternoon, we taxied past sections of Hong Kong’s impressive airport terminal that had, in effect, been shut down. Many planes were hibernating, their engines sealed off and their wheels boxed in, waiting in hope for passengers to return.
Hong Kong has only very recently lifted its Covid quarantine rules. The city’s reopening, however, is small beer compared with what took place the day after my arrival.
