This hike is mostly gentle and easy. Walking time: 3-4 hours of a full-day excursion.

Your ferry departs from a pier at Ma Liu Shui, which is 15 minutes’ walk from Exit B of University station on the East Rail. It only runs on Saturdays, Sundays and public holidays. It leaves at 9am, and it’s the only departure of the day, so arrive early if you can to make sure you get a seat. Turn right as you leave the subway under the Tolo Highway; tickets are sold from a makeshift desk under a sun shelter near the landing steps. The fare is HK$90 per person for the round trip. Call 2555 9269 for enquiries.

The boat sails the length of Tolo Harbour and then out through the narrow channel into the open sea of Mirs Bay, and a tour guide gives a running commentary on the islands, beaches and rock formations you pass along the way. (This area is part of the Hong Kong Unesco Geopark due to its unusual geology, and one of the islands you pass is where dinosaur fossils were recently found in Hong Kong for the first time). The guide gives a talk in Cantonese but will also answer any questions in English.

Passing between Double Island and Crescent Island, you sail through the protected waters of the Double Haven marine park before arriving at Kat O pier at about 10.45am. Stay on board, because the boat quickly departs again to make the short crossing to Ap Chau. Disembark here.

Also known as Robinson Island, Ap Chau is the smallest inhabited island in Hong Kong. There’s a tiny fishing village, and you walk through it to reach the island’s famous feature, a sea arch called the Duck’s Eye.

Ap Chau is made of an ochre-coloured sedimentary rock called breccia, and it is eroded by wave action to create a wonderland of shell-encrusted rock pools. Children will enjoy looking for crabs and shellfish. Looking west, the green coastline opposite is part of Hong Kong’s Plover Cove country park, but looking north, the built-up shore is part of Shenzhen in Guangdong province.

You have time to explore the rock pools – or make a clockwise circuit of the wave-cut platform that surrounds the little island – before coming back to the village. The Ap Chau Story Room in the former village school contains a historical exhibition. Hundreds of people once lived on the island but only a handful live here permanently now. You won’t find any temple on the island: unlike other fishing villages, where the deities Tin Hau and Hung Shing are usually worshipped, Ap Chau has long been a Christian community.

The ferry leaves again at 12.30. It crosses back over to Kat O, and this time you should alight. Kat O’s English name is Crooked Island, thanks to its strange shape: mountainous peninsulas extend east, southeast and southwest from the main village.

You can take any number of paths to explore, but one suggested route is this: turn right from the ferry pier, then left to follow the signs for Ko Pang Teng. Steps uphill lead you to a viewing point over the beautiful deserted beach of Tung O Wan, and then a further climb brings you to a spot overlooking the jungle-fringed bay of O Pui Tong. It’s a lovely sight.

Following the path downhill brings you to the sandy shore, and you can then bear right to walk south – maybe taking a detour to a picturesque abandoned village – until you loop back to the southern end of the harbour village.

Here is the colourfully painted house of Dominique Chan, an artist from France who has married a Kat O woman and now lives here. He is happy to show you his work. Next you come to the village’s renovated Tin Hau temple, and then you are back amid the old-style houses near the pier. Stalls sell locally made drinks, dumplings and red bean desserts, and an open-air restaurant under a banyan tree serves food.

The ferry departs at 3.30pm for your return journey to Ma Liu Shui. Don’t miss it, because there isn’t another one today!

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This hike is not signposted at all, and it has some tricky slopes to negotiate on the way down. It should only be attempted by people with a reasonable level of fitness and good directional skills. Take a map and wear shoes with good grip. Time required: 5 hours.

Take the East Rail all the way up to Sheung Shui, and walk the short distance to the bus station underneath Landmark North. Board bus 77K. This double-decker swiftly leaves Sheung Shui for the rural Fan Kam Road, and the greens of the Fanling golfcourse extend on both sides. Sit upstairs for a view, and hope a flying golf ball doesn’t strike your window.

Soon the golfers are left behind and you are driving through a valley of farming villages. Alight at Kiu Tau, just before the bus goes over a narrow bridge. Walk back in the direction you have come from for a minute or two, and then cross the road to find steps which lead down to a wide stream. A bridge leads across to a farmhouse on the far side, and steps then lead immediately up the hillside. Your hike has started.

At the top of the steps, the path bends to the left, and then soon afterwards you must take care not to miss an important turning: when the path is about to cease its climb and start a descent, turn immediately right onto a track which heads into the trees. This turning is marked with orange and red ribbons, and you will know you have missed it if you start descending.

The path doesn’t stay amid trees for long. Soon you are climbing the open hillside, and you can see the trail extending over slopes ahead of you. Behind and below, you can see the village where you got off the bus, and the foothills of Tai To Yan above it.

More views await. As you reach a rise, suddenly you can see everything to the north: a plain of villages and fields, the towers of Fanling and Sheung Shui, a further line of hills, and then the megalopolis of Shenzhen behind them.

As you climb, your panorama of far-off hills and valleys is made even nicer by tall, slender grasses which wave in the wind and catch the sunlight. It’s quite easy to follow the path, as it sticks closely to the ridgeline most of the time. To the south, you have views of the Pat Heung plain, and the peak of Tai Mo Shan overlooks it. As you approach the 585-metre summit of Kai Kung Leng, your view opens up to the west too, and you can see the placid waters of Deep Bay and the fishponds which still extend up to the border.

A little further on, you reach a trig point which is the second-highest point on the ridge. Carry on westwards. At the following fork in the trail – a clump of large rocks – you have a choice: carry on straight ahead and finish near Yuen Long, or turn left and finish near Kam Tin. We choose the latter, so we turn left and follow the trail down the hillside.

Keep an eye on your route ahead: it keeps to the line of the ridge which stretches to the southwest all the way. This descent is rather steep and has plenty of loose earth and pebbles, so take care as you walk. (This is not a hike to attempt in wet weather).

When you reach the valley, you meet a complex network of footpaths and village roads, but if you bear generally left or straight ahead, you will eventually find your way to Kam Tin, where there are restaurants; or you will cross the path of a green minibus which will help you along. Buses from Kam Tin go to Tsuen Wan, Tai Po or to the Kam Sheung Road West Rail station.

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Once you are there, this walk is short and rather easy, and you can take your time on the uphill sections. Walking time: 1.5 hours.

To start, you must get to Pak Tam Chung in the Sai Kung Country Park. Here there is an informative visitor centre, a snack shop and a road barrier preventing unauthorised vehicles from entering the country park. You can get here by bus 94 from Sai Kung town or bus 96R (Sundays only) from Diamond Hill MTR in Kowloon. Both of these buses go further than this point, so be sure to alight here. You can also take a green taxi to this point from Sai Kung town.

To get from here to the dam, you have three choices: walk along Stage 1 of the Maclehose Trail, which will take about three hours; board a green taxi, which will take 20 minutes; or, if it’s a weekend or public holiday, take green minibus 9A. This route commenced a few years ago as a way to improve access to the Hong Kong Unesco Geopark, which is a scattered collection of ancient landforms mostly found along the coasts of the east and northeast New Territories. The 9A departs every 20 minutes from 9.30am to 6.40pm.

Whichever transport you choose, you will skirt the south side of the vast High Island Reservoir, crossing its West Dam first and having glimpses of the waters and islands of Port Shelter. The minibus terminates at the near end of the East Dam; if coming by taxi, ask the driver to drop you off here too. Here a blue-painted dolos (a giant concrete block of a complicated shape) stands as a monument to five workers who lost their lives during the reservoir’s construction. We will see more of these dolosse later.

Set off north across the dam. You can now follow the High Island Geo Trail, named for the Geopark. On your left, the reservoir occupies what was once a sea channel between mainland and islands, but was dammed at both ends and then filled with fresh water. The massive project took 10 years to complete, and it opened in 1978. To your right, a lower dam protects against the ravages of the sea. You can see the vertical nature of the rocks that form the cliff edges all around; these are hexagonal basalt columns formed by volcanic action 140 million years ago.

At the far end of the dam, there is a rest pavilion. On our visit, taxi drivers were filling tubs of water for members of the herd of wild cattle which roam this area. Turn left and follow the signs up to the Biu Tsim Kok viewing point. This is well worth your while, as it gives you beautiful views of sandy Long Ke Wan, the next bay north. The path leads you in a loop around the hilltop, offering lovely views of sea and reservoir in each direction.

Back at the pavilion, carry on downhill to the smaller dam, which is a long line of giant dolosse. There are more than 7,000 of them, and each one weighs 25 tonnes. These blocks are designed to reflect and diffuse the impact of ocean waves, and thereby protect the structure behind them. Anyone who has lived through a severe typhoon in Hong Kong knows the awesome destructive power the sea can exert.

If you bear right and walk around the lagoon, you can visit a sea cave which has been marooned between the two dams. Wave erosion over thousands of years whittled it out of these columns of volcanic rock. There are many of these caves along the shores of this region.

If you are intending to take minibus 9A back to Pak Tam Chung, the last departure from the dam is at 7pm; if you want to double-check, you can call the hotline on 2792 6433.

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This walk does rise from sea level to a height of 284 metres, but it is a steady climb and reasonably easy. Walking time: 2 hours.

Take the new South Island MTR line to Wong Chuk Hang station, and descend to street level by way of Exit B. You need to bear left, uphill on Nam Long Shan Road, past the cooked food market. Take the third right turn, which is still Nam Long Shan Road, and walk up past the Singapore International School.

This is a quiet road, and through gaps in the buildings you get glimpses of boats moored in Aberdeen Harbour. Pass the Wong Chuk Hang Service Reservoir Rest Garden and carry on until you reach a roadside shrine with dozens of ceramic gods and goddesses sharing a shelter. The road narrows a little further on, and then your steps uphill appear on the left, marked with a sign saying “WP 12”.

As soon as you reach the garden at the top of the steps, you can hear fairgoers at Ocean Park shouting and screaming as they ride the rollercoaster, even though it is a fair distance away across the hillside. From here you can also see the southern end of Lamma Island, and if the weather is clear, the Lema Islands of Guangdong Province on the horizon.

Carry on uphill, past another morning walkers’ garden full of figurines and flowers, to the next rest pavilion. You have views of Mount Kellett and the Peak. From here on up, the steps give way to a stony path. It reaches a rubbly plateau where gardeners have also been at work, and then arrives at a paved helipad with sudden views over Deepwater Bay, Repulse Bay and across to Stanley. You can watch pleasure boats speed through the water far below.

The last section to the peak is once again on a set of stairs. After this, retrace your steps to finish the hike. On our way back down, we found a vantage point overlooking Aberdeen Harbour was busy with a crowd of photographers waiting for the “golden hour” before dusk.

When you get back to Wong Chuk Hang, the cooked food market is a possible destination for dinner. It serves Thai as well as Chinese dishes.

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The host, Aga Skoczypiec, interviews Pete Spurrier, the author of an exceptional series of guidebooks to Hong Kong. Pete takes us on a tour through Hong Kong’s colonial past, and tells us how the city has changed since he moved to Hong Kong in the early 90s.

She also talks to Jowett Yu, the Executive Chef of Ho Lee Fook – a popular contemporary Chinese restaurant in Hong Kong. Jowett shares his thoughts on Cantonese cuisine and the gastronomic scene in the city.

Finally, a trip to Hong Kong would not be complete without experiencing its many islands – over 250 to be exact. We visit the vibrant island of Cheung Chau to hear how an unexpected discovery led to Hong Kong’s first and last Olympic gold medal.

You can listen here or find links to the podcast on Spotify and other platforms: https://www.travelzoompodcast.com/1571713/7820062-1-hong-kong

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We set off at a brisk pace, climbing up steep steps and through undergrowth until we pierce the first cloud. Colorful jacket collars bob up ahead as, gasping with unwonted exertion, we learn their owners’ biographies. There’s a French businessman who’s brought along some chocolate bars to keep his energy up, an Irish missionary and a Filipina housekeeper, who has taken a day off. Many come for the company, to escape the loneliness of city life. Others are here for the scenery, for the view that is blurred by some last swathes of mist. Or is it smog? Above the clouds is also above the smog.

Photographer Fabian Weiss took the above photo of the famous “Suicide Cliff” on Kowloon Peak. Read their story here.

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From Tai Po Market railway station, board bus 275R (Sundays and public holidays only) and ride it all the way to its terminus on Bride’s Pool Road. This is a quiet road that runs beside the vast Plover Cove reservoir. (You can also get to this point by green New Territories taxi, or green minibus 20R which passes the bus terminus on its way to Wu Kau Tang village, a bit deeper in the country park).

From the bus stop, walk ahead a short distance, passing the Lions Club pavilion, and then pass through the archway to start on the trail. Very quickly, your path crosses a wide, rocky, fast-flowing stream. Away out of sight to your right, the stream cascades over a ledge and falls steeply into a plunge pool. This is the setting for a tragic local legend. Many years in the past, a bride was being carried in a sedan chair to her wedding in a neighbouring village. The stones were slippery, and the sedan chair bearers lost their footing, pitching the chair and the woman to a watery end far below. The locale has been known as Bride’s Pool ever since.

Cross the bridge and turn right, heading downhill on a beautifully natural path of large stones. The half-inch gaps between them allowed rainwater to flow through and not cover the path; a more enlightened system than the government’s current mania for cement steps. The path, and the bridges across the streams, would have been used by farmers to get from Wu Kau Tang to Chung Mei, but the latter village has been submerged beneath the waters of the Plover Cove reservoir since the 1970s.

At an information board which describes a large camphor tree, turn right and make a 10-minute detour through mossy forest to the banks of the stream. Here, you can get an up-close sight of the gushing waters as they flow across boulders and cascade from pool to pool. Good views can be had if you cross the stream here, though you shouldn’t try to do so unless you are properly equipped for it.

Back at the main path, turn right again to carry on downhill. Soon you come to another stone-slab bridge which was built in 1906. An engraved tablet here commemorates it. The clear, shallow waters of the stream stretch wide here, creating a soothing, peaceful scene.

Walk through the barbecue site to another picturesque crossing where many rivulets of water meet. From here, steps lead back up to the bus stop. (And if you didn’t get a view of the waterfall from the stream’s banks earlier, go to the furthest end of the top barbecue terrace to get a nice view of it from a distance). The last bus back to Tai Po leaves at 6.45pm.

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The sea is bubbling off the pebbly southern shore of Kos, and a small but noisy crowd of people are bathing in a patch of shallow water marked out by stones. What’s going on?

We didn’t expect to find thermal springs at the end of our hike across the island. As we join the crowd and lower ourselves into the strangely warm seawater, laughing as hot currents mingle with cold, one of the bathers tells us that this coast is volcanic, and warm waters spill forth at temperatures of up to 60 degrees.

An idea is planted. Days later, we are boarding a morning ferry for the two-hour crossing to Nisyros, a tiny island to the south which is a sleeping volcano.

As part of the Dodecanese islands, Nisyros has been controlled by the Ottomans, the Italians and the Knights of St John, but its character is undeniably Greek. As our boat pulls into Mandraki, the main town (population 600), we check off the icons of Aegean island life: a domed church, waterfront cafés with wooden chairs and moustachioed patrons, blue-and-white flags, fishing boats, a whitewashed monastery on the hillside behind.

With no airport, Nisyros is not visited by package tourists. We call in at the first hotel we find on the promenade – it’s a family-run place that includes a breakfast of coffee, fruit and yoghurt, and we get a room with a wrought-iron balcony overlooking the water.

On a little beach opposite, we watch a gaggle of white ducks go for a paddle in the sea. The island has little fresh water, and every resident must adapt. When we walk past again an hour later, the sun is stronger and the ducks are taking shade together under a beach umbrella.

We’ve come here for the thermal baths, and we make our way there in the afternoon. The hot springs have been used since ancient times. An inscription found in Roman ruins nearby says “Happy shall be the man who shall be cured in this way as soon as he passes by the olive-gate of the baths of Hippocrates”. A later visitor, a monk from Florence, wrote: “In the nearby coast, there is a cave visited by all those suffering from pains in order to be healed and after spending there some period of time they leave having regained their health”.

The municipal baths were opened in the 19th century and occupy a building on the shore which looks like a Victorian hotel. At reception, a cheerful woman gives us towels and directs us into separate tiled chambers where hot sulphurous water flows into and out of individual baths. “Twenty minutes!” she says, tapping her wrist, and is gone.

Soon she is back knocking on the door, and that is fine for me: I could only take ten minutes in the steaming waters, but I feel invigorated. Back in the lobby, I gesture to pay, but there’s no charge – the baths are free.

To cool down, we take a breezy table outside the baths and order lemonade. “Vasilios! Vasilios!” the waitress calls out, banging a food bowl for the café’s three-legged cat. But the patient animal has been waiting at her feet the whole time.

In Mandraki that evening, we eat grilled octopus at a restaurant in a square sheltered by fig trees. Afterwards we are given glasses of soumada, an almond-based drink which is made by the islanders.

The second day, and an ancient German bus – the only public transport on Nisyros – carries us up to the hilltop village of Nikia. From this high point we get our first view of the caldera, the still-smoking crater of the volcano.

A stocky man in his fifties drags a suitcase out of the bus behind us, and half a dozen people cry out and run to meet him. We must look too inquisitive, because he breaks away from the group to tell us that he was born here and is visiting his old home from Australia.

The timetable said that the island’s bus would call in later in the day beside the crater. Relying on this, we follow a stone-slab path down from the village, picking our way between almond and olive trees. We see no people for the next three hours; goats seem to be the only inhabitants of the interior.

We’re wearing hiking boots, so when we reach the edge of the crater we decide to scramble down into it. We step into a yellow-stained, moonlike landscape where nothing grows. Bursts of pungent gas escape from the earth. The volcano has not erupted since 1887, but we don’t hang around.

*

“Kalimera!” a woman calls out from her bicycle as we walk the promenade on the third morning – it’s the lady from the municipal baths. We feel like we’ve lived here for ever.

There’s time to explore the castle above Mandraki before our ferry departs. Built by the medieval Knights of St John, it’s a maze of stairways, halls and passages, and each turn reveals a different view of the town or the sun-reflective sea.

A shop near the ferry pier proves that we are not the only visitors to be entranced by Nisyros. I ask the shopkeeper what music is playing, and it turns out to be a CD of folk songs written about the island by a French/German couple who came and liked it. We buy a copy to take home – though I have a feeling we won’t need any help remembering Nisyros.

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The text is below, minus the villager interviews which were conducted by Elaine Yau but plus some description of the villages, and with a few pictures different from those published in the magazine.

The rain was incessant, the skies a greenish grey, and my Sunday hike across the northeast New Territories was taking far longer than I thought it would. It was now late afternoon and getting dark, and yet I was still walking an exposed hillside miles away from the nearest road. I wouldn’t be able to make it back to town before night fell.

It was time to make other plans. My sodden paper map showed a village called So Lo Pun in the valley below. I would get down there, knock on a door and ask if I could sleep on someone’s floor.

The descent was quick, but only because the steep path was a rivulet of slippery clay. And when I reached the forest at the bottom, I was knee-deep in water. It was dark already. Where was the village? I couldn’t even see any lights.

I suddenly realised that I had arrived. The tall trees of the forest were growing up through the dark windows and broken rafters of what had been a terrace of single-storey houses. Nobody had lived here for decades.

It was my introduction to the abandoned villages of Hong Kong.

Philip Kenny, a blogger who explores and writes about the hidden parts of the region, says many of the remote villages of the New Territories were thriving places until the 1950s. “Then people started drifting to the urban areas where better-paid work was available,” he says. “Many went overseas to work in the Chinese restaurant business.”

The 1960s saw an increasing movement of villagers away from their rural homes and traditional lifestyles as farming and fishing became less viable.

“People either moved closer to the city or took advantage of Hong Kong ties to the UK and went overseas,” says Kenny. “Britain encouraged immigration at the time. The old people who were left behind gradually passed away and the villages have slowly crumbled.”

Hong Kong’s humidity, wet season and fast-growing foliage can consume a traditional village house remarkably quickly. First to go is usually the tiled roof, exposing wooden beams which then rot and fall inward. The side walls follow. Often the last part of a house left standing is the front doorway with its stone lintel.

Liverpool-based writer Po Wah Lam grew up in a village inside the closed frontier area, close up against the border with China. Like many others, his family upped sticks and moved to the UK in the 1970s. He recalls a vanished lifestyle.

“Somehow I remember when I was three,” he says. “It was night-time and I was running with our dog past rice fields. In front of me was grandmother and the only guiding light was the torch she held. My grandmother was very kind and often gave food to passing strangers, especially those from the north.

“I was a seven-year-old country boy when I left the village, yet somehow I never really left. For a long time I kept returning to it in dreams. These were very happy dreams and they were always the same: the field, the dog, all marching in to welcome me back. When finally I did return for real, as an adult, the feeling was cinematic. And yet the place felt and looked smaller than I remembered it, and also very empty.

“Our village, Heung Yuen, was similar in a way to the setting of The Seven Samurai, the film which is Akira Kurosawa’s greatest masterpiece. There were mountains wrapped around a cluster of houses, and small fields worked over by animals and people. And like the film, there was adventure. I remember fishing and exploring, the scent of rose myrtle and the wintergreen that grew around the hills. We used the wintergreen to make brooms. The school and the weddings, and the night-time cinema screenings that once took place inside our tiny village classroom, I remember them all, but with people who have now gone.”

My unexpected overnight stay in So Lo Pun took place 20 years after Lam’s family left their village life behind, but mobile phones were still not commonplace, so I had no way of calling for assistance. The rain didn’t let up, so I took shelter first under the slanted roof of the village shrine, and then inside a low, open-fronted shed which housed grimy bone jars. A heavy animal stomped unseen around my hiding place all night, kicking over stones. When dawn came, and with it an end to the downpour, I hiked around the coast – passing through another ghostly settlement of empty houses in a bay with a clear view of mainland China – until, in the early evening, I finally came to a phone box at an inhabited village called Kuk Po. I was quite keen to call the Wan Chai restaurant where I worked. I was 24 hours late for my shift, a personal record. Luckily my boss roared with laughter down the phone line.

If you have hiked in the hills of Hong Kong, you have probably come across similarly eerie villages, some overgrown but others apparently deserted just yesterday. It might seem odd that in a city where land is so valuable, so many beautifully sited residences are left empty. But location is everything. The following forsaken villages are some of the most intriguing.

Wang Shan Keuk

Planted deep in the forest of Pat Sin Leng Country Park, Wang Shan Keuk is perhaps the model of a spooky woodland village. It has been disintegrating for a long time, and the remaining walls and doorways are overgrown with creeping vines and sprigs of red berries. The location is so far from any market town, it’s hard to imagine how farming was ever viable here. Maybe the villagers transported their produce to market by sea, in which case their lives would have been transformed beyond recognition when the inlet was dammed in 1960 to create the giant Plover Cove reservoir.

Fan Lau

Fan Lau has twice been abandoned by its inhabitants. A Qing-dynasty fort on the cape here was evacuated by its soldiers before the British moved into Lantau Island in 1898, and the village which had a hundred residents just 30 years ago is now a ghost town of banana trees and locked-up houses. Despite its beautiful setting, on a tombolo between two sandy beaches, there’s a melancholy air to the place. The single-room school is open to the elements, desks and chairs simply left there after the teacher packed up and left. In the 1980s, a proposal to site a new power station on the peninsula led to some new blocks of flats being built on the edge of the village, but the proposal fell through. The flats still stand there, ruined by the weather, abandoned even before they could be lived in.

Sham Chung

Set on the quietly lapping shore of Tolo Harbour, Sham Chung is a wide, fertile valley crossed by a network of streams which lead to a bund. The old houses are larger in size than you will typically find in New Territories villages, suggesting a degree of wealth, but clearly not enough wealth to entice the population to stick around. Gates and windows were locked when the inhabitants left, and bamboo poles tied in doorways to prevent wild cattle pushing their way in, but most villagers never came back, and many doors now hang off their hinges. Step inside the houses and you will see family photographs still adorning the walls.

Tung Ping Chau

This remote island has the distinction of possessing Hong Kong’s only radiation shelter, thanks to its proximity to the nuclear power station at Daya Bay on the mainland; but it’s unlikely ever to be used because no one lives here. It was a busy place in the 1960s, when refugees swam to it from Guangdong to escape the Cultural Revolution, but now its half-dozen villages stand mostly silent. The island springs to some sort of life at weekends, when day trippers arrive to see its unusual rock formations and offshore coral, but if you seek solitude, Tung Ping Chau during the week is the place to be.

Sha Lo Tung

High up on a plateau, hidden from the world’s eyes by a ring of hills, you might think only holy men and hermits would live in such a place as Sha Lo Tung, but in fact two villages were built up here. It’s on a little-used hiking route, and one house sells drinks and tofu dessert to passing walkers, but the other buildings are gradually dissolving into their lush surroundings. It wouldn’t be the New Territories if there weren’t a hidden land struggle going on between developers, indigenous villagers and green groups, but Sha Lo Tung’s importance as a dragonfly habitat has kept it unspoilt until now.

Yim Tin Tsai

You can hire a sampan lady to take you out to Yim Tin Tsai, a small island off Sai Kung town which was once densely populated, mostly by Christians. Their restored church is still in good condition but the village itself is deserted. Wander into the houses and you can see the traditional layout of rural homes: one large room, with a wok station on one side, washing facilities on the other, and a raised sleeping platform at the back. Letters and postcards from family members working overseas can even be found left on bedside tables. It’s hard not to wonder: who were these people, what made them leave, and where did they go?

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This walk is completely flat so it is suitable for all. Time required: two hours.

Take the West Rail to Yuen Long station, and make for Exit A. North of the station, all the land you can see is occupied by half a dozen sprawling villages with many old-style houses. It’s a bit of a maze. Bear left to find Yuen Long Kau Hui Road, and follow it more or less straight ahead to Shan Pui village. A few signs, some painted and some hand-made, point you to Nam Sang Wai. If you don’t see them, just follow anyone who looks like a hiker or biker.

Here at Shan Pui village there’s a ramshackle wooden jetty. Pay HK$5 and a boatman will ferry you across to the wetland.

The name Shan Pui may ring a bell – it was in this river that “Pui Pui” the saltwater crocodile was found living in 2003. An Australian reptile hunter was flown in to catch the croc, and mainland experts also tried, but all failed. Finally she was caught by government staff. Pui Pui is now living in the Wetland Park at nearby Tin Shui Wai.

On the other side of the river, a gangplank leads you to a cafe where you can buy drinks. Here you’re at the edge of the wetland. Nam Sang Wai was originally a collection of farmed shrimp ponds and fish ponds which fell out of use and have become overgrown with tall reeds. Now it’s an important habitat for various types of birds including egrets, pintails, cormorants, ducks and rare spoonbills. Some of these birds stop off in Hong Kong as part of their annual migrations across East Asia. Otters have also been seen in the ponds.

Turn left and follow the track shaded by large paper-bark trees. You can make any kind of criss-crossing route through the wetland, since it is a network of narrow linking bunds between ponds. If the path you are following gets too narrow and seems to disappear, simply go back and make another turning. Eucalyptus and other trees have grown tall in the wetland, and as you walk through, sun shining through the waving reeds, you can almost believe you’re walking in the English countryside.

Two ruined houses in the wetland have been used as sets in Hong Kong movies, and you may see people doing their own fashion or wedding photo shoots there. One of them has a large kitchen with space for three woks – it may have been built as a police post in the 1960s to look out for immigrants swimming from across the river. It’s best to keep to the southern half of the wetland, and aim to make a circle back to the jetty.

Walking the single-track Nam Sang Wai Road is not really recommended as it is too long and a bit featureless, apart from the mangrove beds on its seaward side. However, if you are on a bike, it’s ideal because it sees little traffic. At its northern limit, there is a surprise view: the faraway towers of Shenzhen, seen across the shallow tidal waters of the bay. In the evening, flocks of birds are flying home to roost in the dark mangrove bushes.

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