A trip to Hong Kong is more than just a mega shopping spree. Christl Dabu finds a more inspiring side of the city beyond the futuristic skyscrapers and opulent malls.

You could say Hong Kong made me a convert. Sensational round-the-clock sales of brand-name goods, the nicest clothes and cool gadgets sans sales tax found in gleaming, futuristic malls and shops were too tantalizing to resist, even for someone as clueless about fashion as I am. Hong Kong's alluring sales had an almost sinister hold on me that I vowed that upon my return to Beijing, I would cut my credit card.

My best friend from Indonesia, upon a four-day visit to the city purely just for shopping, even noticed how I had transformed into a "shopaholic." She just had to get a picture of me, weighed down with two handfuls of shopping bags accumulated in a mere hour my own personal record.

But even in what arguably is the uber-capital of commercialism, I pleasantly found a more inspiring side to the city. A startling paradox to the monstrous towers of Central and the daily march of the zombie-like "shopaholics," Hong Kong is actually nearly three quarters pristine, undeveloped terrain.

It was once a string of fishing villages. After the Qing Empire lost the First Opium War (1840-42), the Qing government and Britain signed the Treaty of Nanjing in 1842 when the British started its official occupation of Hong Kong.

In modern-day Hong Kong, I found myself strangely moving interchangeably between two contrasting worlds.

In the same day on weekends, I could hike the scenic trails along the sea or soak up some rays at the beach while later jumping on a ferry, bus or subway to do another kind of hiking trawling the streets and malls for the latest sales at Causeway Bay or Tsim Sha Tsui.

Part of Hong Kong's charm is the Star Ferry crossing the harbor and the HK$2-fare "ding dings" (century-old trams that are a classic Hong Kong icon), the cute little shops sprinkled in slim sloping streets, and manicured little parks wedged between buildings.

Still, I was eager to head for nature's trails. Normally (and shamefully) a couch potato back in North America the land of shopping, fast food and celebrity obsessions I had shockingly become a convert in another way after living abroad. I had discovered I loved what lies beyond my neighborhood mall and movie theatre.

Lillian, a fellow nature lover originally from the Chinese mainland and now working in Hong Kong, agreed we had to get away from the march of the "shopaholics," at least for a day.

"Especially in Hong Kong, I want to escape from a very commercial place, and Hong Kong is just so hopelessly commercial," Lillian lamented, confessing she only shops when she needs something unlike typical Hong Kong girls.

So we boarded a ferry from Pier No 5 in Central to Cheung Chau, one of the territory's 260 outlying islands and a thriving fishing village named after Cheung Po Tsai, a notorious pirate from the early 19th century.

There are whispers of his treasure buried in many parts of the island, including the famous Cheung Po Tsai cave, but most come to the island lusting for its mouthwatering seafood rather than the elusive treasure. After a ride that lasted about 40 minutes, we began our much-awaited date with nature this particularly warm February day.

Nowhere to be found were cars and people with glazed, hypnotized eyes clutching the ubiquitous shopping bag. We ventured on the promenade beyond the ferry pier, passing by the harbor full of colourful sampans and fishing boats, outdoor restaurants, and shops along the waterfront, to follow an uphill trail.

'Mother Nature's great work'

It was not a particularly challenging walk, classified as one out of five in difficulty by "Hong Kong Hikes: The Twenty Best Walks in the Territory" (South China Morning Post). The hike itself was therapeutic as we left the noisy crowds of families, couples and young people at the waterfront. We walked by barefooted men fishing on the edge of boulders, as well as bicyclists and pedicabs, even overhearing one driver recounting the bitter squabbling among his in-laws to his passengers.

Enjoying the warm, sunshine-soaked February weather, we gazed at the stunning views of the sea, beaches, a mini jungle of banana trees and mountains.

"It's very good exercise for us, both physically and spiritually a workout for the soul," Lillian said. "I feel overwhelmed by the beauty of Mother Nature's great work. I feel myself so small and Mother Nature so great, almighty, that my worries are so unnecessary and somehow, I feel like I have an open heart surgery, and spiritually, I feel quite relaxed."

We made our way down a narrow path leading down to the sea, unintentionally disturbing young lovers locked in an embrace. The beach was almost secluded, but a few bold travelers had chucked their socks and rolled up their pants to take a dip in the waters.

We continued on, climbing the trail thick with banana trees and foliage.

We then passed by the residences of locals, and popped in for a look at the small but strikingly colorful Pak Tai Temple, the island's oldest temple holding historical relics and the main site for the Cheung Chau Bun Festival usually held in April.

The islanders celebrate this thanksgiving festival in honor of Pak Tai, the Taoist God of the Sea, featuring a street procession with children in costumes and bun-covered towers. Tin Hau temples are common in Hong Kong's coastal communities. A protector of fishermen, Tin Hau, the Goddess of Heaven, was known to rescue many people from danger at sea.

Outside, we heard the young people's delighted shouts and the dribbling at the basketball court. Back at the waterfront, we couldn't leave without sampling the island's famous fresh seafood at Hing Lok Restaurant's patio, enjoying the succulent shrimp, rice and white scallops and broccoli as the sun set. Lillian said she finds it baffling that most visitors to the island never venture beyond the promenade to explore the tiny island's scenic surprises.

Trekking in Tai O

During the Spring Festival holidays, I explored another famous hiking spot in Lantau island. Virtually everything is shrouded with fog this day, giving my two travel companions and I the feeling that we are in the midst of a horror movie. But it's far from a nightmarish scene. After a must-see stop to climb the 260 steps up Tian Tan Buddha, the world's largest outdoor seated Buddha statue, we hopped on a bus to the western part of the island.

At quaint Tai O Fishing Village, supposedly more than 300 years old and home to the Tanka people, descendants of Hong Kong's first settlers, we were greeted with grey clouds and a slight drizzle.

We watched as a few villagers took their motor boats to and from their stilt homes built along the murky green water. We then crossed a rainbow-arched bridge draped with bright-red lanterns which led us to the tiny shops selling the village's famous dried seafood and even two full-sized dried sharks, jaws open, which were hanging in one of the shops. We followed the path past the market, passing by tiny stilt homes along the sea.

Sometimes we peered inside homes with their doors cracked open, the tinkling laughter and clinks of families and friends playing mah-jong or setting the dinner table emanating from within. We even saw the fresh seafood dishes being prepared. I smiled as we spotted a couple stepping into each other's feet as they were learning how to dance.

In the intimate atmosphere of this small-town community, a bonsai artisan, a man who looked to be in his 50s, invited us to take a look at his blooming gardens at the back of his home. He then took us on a little tour even with him barely knowing English and our limited Chinese-speaking ability showing us his whimsical creations.

One of his bizarre-shaped bonsais, he pointed out excitedly, looked like a monkey. Squinting hard to picture the monkey, we think his bonsai is gorgeous, but you may need a little imagination to see the animal.

Back in our hike, one of our final sights in Tai O was of two men bundled in yellow raincoats in their boats still fishing in the unsteady waters, as the winds got stronger and night edged closer.

Another must-see hiking spot for amateur hikers is Lamma island, closest to Hong Kong Island. This spot is rated two out of five in difficulty by the "Hong Kong Hikes" guidebook. From my workplace in Aberdeen, I took a half-hour ferry with two colleagues and fellow nature lovers one bright Saturday afternoon.

The family-friendly island is famous for seafood restaurants and a popular residence for expats. We grabbed a snack of bananas and followed the trail that led us to caves from World War II. It was said the "Kamikaze Caves" (or "Shinyo," meaning "shaking the ocean") stored suicide motor boats built by the Japanese during World War II, but they were never used.

Though a Beijinger friend recounted seeing black snakes at the island, we thankfully miss the pleasure of encountering the slithery creatures in the colder weather. The Hung Shing Yeh Beach is a picture-perfect scene except for the Lamma Power Station eyesore.

We cap off our hike with a pre-dinner snack next to the bay, admiring the azure canopy of marshmallow-like clouds, a sunset like a watercolour painting, and homes wedged on the hills reminding me of Nice.

Breathtaking Shek O

I didn't regret getting sand in my new shoes for my last hiking adventure. That morning, I just couldn't resist the 70 per cent off sale of pretty jewel-encrusted shoes at Admiralty's upscale Pacific Place mall. I later joined Lillian and a Hong Kong friend for cheap but tasty dim sum at a hole in the wall near Central.

Lillian suggested a quick trip to Shek O just before my night shift, though our stylish, pretty and petite Hong Kong friend declined our invitation. "I don't like hiking," she cringed. She went off to get her hair permed while we set off for a spontaneous hike, with Lillian in her flower-printed skirt and me wearing my new pearls and pink pumps. "I would love to live here," Lillian told me, gasping in awe as the bus weaved higher and higher up the mountainous path overlooking the sea.

Less than an hour later, the bus dropped us off at the lovely white-sand beach. We kicked off our shoes and waded in the clean shores as surfers rode the waves behind us and children played catch with their dog, flew kites, and built sandcastles.

Out of the beaches I've seen in Hong Kong, Shek O is the most breathtaking. Stanley beach near the famous seaside market, however, has gorgeous aqua blue waters of various shades, and Repulse Bay is the larger and more famous beach spot. In the near distance, paragliders jumped off the mountain above us as the sun started to make its exit. A quick stroll through the bright sherbet-hued residences of the village, where we met an elderly man and his friendly dog and cat lounging side by side on the porch, eventually led us back to the sea.

At the end of the trail, we came across another pretty scene: From a sky-blue bridge, we stood silently transfixed at the strong waves crashing against the boulders.

On my second last day in Hong Kong, Lillian asked me if Hong Kong changed me. I told her it did. It made me see how even in the robotic routines of city life, we can find hidden scenic surprises that can inspire us. And in Hong Kong I may have transformed into a "shopaholic convert," but back in Beijing, I have since been cured of that inescapable Hong Kong urge to shop till you drop.

(China Daily April 1, 2006)