The night is yet tender, I retire into the cozy chaise and start to reck on the sojourn. I confide to myself, now a return to Kowloon is justifiable: the Peninsula.

The House Car arrives punctually and awaits as I descend the gleaming staircase of the Landmark, Mandarin Oriental. The dedicated, beaming senior valet in a crisp white shirt loads up my luggage while the entire Landmark concierge congregates at the driveway for the farewell. It is a short ride from Central to Admiralty. The Upper House leaves a sleek first impression in the prompt travel as I flip a copy of Monocle magazine.

On entering the arrival hall of the airport, a shower of warm greetings from a duo of valets stuns me with boards of the familiar fan logo in gold and platinum. Intuitively I speak to Richard, the golden, legendary Mandarin Oriental airport representative. And he presents me the gleeful colleague in a cheery, silver hue suit. “John from the Landmark Mandarin Oriental will look after you today, Dr. Wan. And we all welcome you back home to the Mandarin and the Landmark.”

March begins with unprecedented hectic errands, the outburst of workloads diverts my spinning thought to another weekend getaway for the soma and soul. The late night whim to sojourn in the famed Rosewood Hong Kong and dive in the gleaming marble vanity heaven is absolutely beyond a fancy. My travel agent services affluent clients for long and reads my craving, she settles the booking in a click. If I had lost the sense of balance, it could only be regained through the sense of place.