Lonely Planet's top 10 spots for medical adventure

Want it modified, enhanced, drilled out, implanted or just plain alleviated? Would you rather channel most of your hard-earned cash into a holiday? Find an excuse to embark on an exotic adventure with a medicinal tweak from these ten destinations.
1. India
Although the very visible poverty and social ills might scare some off, getting your eyes fixed in this country just might make sense. Eye surgery is just one of the advanced treatments offered in India, where top doctors commandeer the latest technologies and speak faultless English. Aravind's Eye Hospitals (http://www.aravind.org/), headquartered in Madurai but with locations around India, hasa remarkable program originally designed to minimise unnecessary blindness; in addition to foreigners, it has helped more than 2.4 million Indians to see in the past 30 years. They treat everything from glaucoma to cataracts and even perform eye replacements. Patients relax in private suites costing $20 per day.
2. Bangkok, Thailand
Back in 1984, British pop singer Murray Head noted that "one night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble". Oh, but Bangkok makes a hard man so much more than that. Welcome to Thailand, the sex-change capital of the world. Whether you want to re-emerge from the operating room as he or she, Bangkok's specialist surgeons can perform the task of "gender reassignment" with a few deft scalpel slices. If your medical concerns spring from something other than gender confusion, Thailand is also famous for heart surgery, eye surgery and more. State-of-the-art Bumrungrad International Hospital (http://www.bumrungrad.com/) is a major destination for overseas patients.
3. Beijing, China
Somehow, experiencing acupuncture in its home setting just feels right - especially when you get the balms, oils and smelly unguents of traditional Chinese medicine. In fact, since 1975 Beijing has been home to the International Acupuncture Training Centre, a university for foreign doctors who want to have a stab at it. There are many treatment centres around the city. And, along with this ancient Chinese wisdom, the People's Republic is pioneering stem cell treatments, offering patients with the gravest conditions a chance to try new treatments banned (usually for political reasons) by their home governments. If you want to be the prick-ee rather than the prick-er, book yourself a treatment at Dongzhimen Hospital (www.dzmhospital.com/en).
4. Colombia
North Americans and others head to Colombia for complex treatments performed by crack doctors at bargain rates. Cities such as Bogotá, Colombia's capital, offer a wide variety of medical treatments and operations. Specialities in Colombia include joint surgeries, and getting a hip replaced or "resurfaced" costs one-fifth of the cost of US hospitals, while the prosthetics used are of high international quality. Many Colombian doctors are foreign trained as well. Colombia is also often visited for procedures that range from dentistry and cosmetic surgery to open-heart surgery. December to March is Bogotá's dry season; the city is perched 2,600m above sea level, so be sure to allow a couple of days to acclimatise when you arrive.
5. Nuuk, Greenland
If you happen to be in Greenland and, say, a polar bear bites your arm off, do not just leave it there! Dronning Ingrids Hospital, in the southwestern capital of Nuuk , is the main hospital on this frigid maritime landmass, and is specially distinguished for performing special operations requiring very low temperatures (such as reattaching severed limbs). Built in 1954, the Dronning Ingrids does not need air-conditioning, and the heating system prevents any contaminated airflow. You will quickly feel good as new when recovering on this sparsely populated island stuck unpromisingly between Canada and Iceland. The air is clean and, er, invigorating, and the seafood is excellent. Charter a boat with an English-speaking skipper - see the city from a different angle before sailing over the deserted horizon.
6. Tehran, Iran
How does Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad keep up such a fierce stare? We are not implying anything, but plastic surgery in Tehran is indeed big business these days. Nose jobs are seen as especially important, interestingly enough. For Muslim women in the Islamic Republic, a nose is often one of the few body parts to be visible; however, Iranian men too think that improvising off a classic Persian nose can make them somehow more seductive. Iranian plastic surgeons do lifts, chin implants, tummy tucks and almost everything else tha is done in the West, but for less. Make sure you check the latest visa situation (http://www.iranianvisa.com/).
7. Cuba
If you arrive on a Communist-run island and have your passport and money confiscated by the authorities, one might say it just comes with the territory - or, you might actually be at Cuba's addiction rehabilitation clinics, where it is often standard procedure. Frequented by ordinary folks and famous figures too (Argentine soccer star Diego Maradona was one such client), Cuba's rehab villas are renowned for their professional service and effectiveness - along with a price around half of that in the US. Rehab here mixes balmy island living with no-nonsense regimes for keeping you stone-cold sober in seclusion, with the assistance of trained psychologists, doctors, sociologists and - of course - Caribbean breezes from the beach. If you want to follow in Maradona's footsteps you can book a stint of private rehab through an operator such as Grupo Cubanacan.
8. Skopje, Macedonia
For a decade, UN and NATO employees in the Balkans, as well as expats, have hit the Macedonian capital for affordable, high-quality dental work. Macedonian dentists are generally well trained, and many speak English. Some even have webcams, so you can get the added excitement of watching your mouth being drilled too. Everything from check-ups and fillings to implant work and cosmetic dentistry is available, and at prices significantly less than in Western Europe or North America. Skopje's conveniently situated en route for travellers passing through Southeastern Europe, and offers a mix of history and nightlife. Flash your new smile in one of Skopje's numerous cafes, where the in-crowd love to be seen.
9. Israel
Some of the world's best medical treatment is found in Israel, and the country's state-of-the-art facilities have made it the destination of choice for many medical tourists. Although it is generally not a bargain, the services are wide and the skill level very high. Everything from IVF fertilisation to advanced cancer therapy is done here. Plus, the salt and unique nutrients in Israel's Dead Sea make this a much-visited place for those with various skin problems, as well as rheumatologic and lung conditions - and floating effortlessly on this super-saline body of water, amazingly situated below sea level, is a therapeutic experience in itself. For the ultimate therapeutic treatment, slap on some Dead Sea gunk, available at many of the area's hotels, and give yourself an invigorating mud pack.
10. Malaysia
Mix procedures with pleasures in Malaysia, another leading destination for medical travellers. Places like the beach resort town of Penang, on the country's northwestern coast, are popular for breast-enhancement surgery, and package-tour companies even offer such trips. It is good that a recuperative beach vacation is included, since doctors warn that long plane journeys after surgery can cause thrombosis. The dynamic capital, Kuala Lumpur, home to the Petronas Towers - some 451.9m high - is where more complex procedures (such as brain surgery for epilepsy) are performed. Some medical procedures at the Petronas Towers might help with epilepsy, but they will do nothing for vertigo sufferers who choose to access the 41st-floor skybridge.

How to rent a Tuscan villa, or something like it

For some, it seems the impossible dream. A distant playground for rich snobs, (successful) travel writers, Merchant & Ivory film settings, and your lucky Uncle Todd who once had a Florentine girlfriend.
It is a villa in Tuscany.
But, really, you can have one for a week or so - and settling into the rolling hills of rural Tuscan life for a bit may change how you travel for some time to come. Here is how to start the dream:
Book in advance
Obvious, but it has to be said. Villas get booked out in advance, particularly in Tuscany in summer. Many agents have dozens of mouth-watering options on websites. Start your search at Cuendet (www.cuendet.com), Invitation to Tuscany (www.invitationtotuscany.com) or Traditional Tuscany (www.traditionaltuscany.co.uk).
Think spring and autumn, not July or August
In summer peak season, availability is trickier and prices predictably higher. Still, you can find nice villas, often with pools, that sleep six from $3,050 per week - or about $70 per person per night. But that same villa is often half price from mid-April to mid-May or October to mid-December.
Book by the week, not by the day
You will look silly trying to get one for two days. Prices are set by the week.
If not Tuscany, Umbria
Slower-going than Tuscany, Umbria has fewer visitors and many villa rental choices too, and its hill towns make great back-up daytrip fodder, like at St Francis of Assisi's birthplace with mile-long walks to sanctuaries between olive trees, or the cliff-side Orvieto and its wondrous 13th-century Romanesque cathedral (and some great Italian wines).
If not Umbria, Le Marche
Jessica Spiegel of www.Italylogue.com says, "Umbria's becoming increasingly popular as people spill over from Tuscany - if you're really trying to get away from that, keep going east to Le Marche." It is a great area, with mountains and hill towns like the lively little Urbino, a World Heritage site. (There is the Adriatic coastline too, though much of it is lined with unflattering high-rise hotels.)
If not a villa, agroturismo
Snatching a rural base on a working farm is a nice back-up to a villa - some are simple, rustic affairs, other more luxurious. Also, information centres can help track down these last minute. One farm that comes with high recommendations is Urbino's Locanda della Valle Nuov, in Le Marche: a working organic farm with six rooms, home-grown truffles and horse rides. Count us in.

Cultural encounters in Istanbul

As Europe's capital of culture for 2010, Istanbul has put on a year of exhibits,displays and shows. But there is more than one side to the city's culture and it can be explored at any time on any visit.



High Culture

Once it was only for Christians; then, just Muslims - now it is a place for all. No longer a site of worship, Aya Sofya still provokes a hushed awe that would do any deity justice. The building, now a museum, has always been Istanbul's greatest architectural masterpiece. It is a rare visitor who crosses its threshold without an intake of breath, a widening of eyes, a stop to stand and stare. Built in 532-537 AD, the structure is a mass of soaring archways, at their crest a vast, gold mosaic dome that glints in the half-light of countless stained glass windows.



For Ibrahim Yerli, a tour guide at Aya Sofya, the impact of its beauty never diminishes. "Whenever I come here, I see it for the first time," he says, taking off his baseball cap and gazing at the ceiling. But Ibrahim and Aya Sofya are old friends, and he knows her secrets - from the marble cistern said to bring pregnant women twins if touched, to the 9th-century graffiti etched by a Viking into the wall.



We pause in front of a restored mosaic of a six-winged biblical angel, Seraphim, thought to date from the 14th Century. Until recently her face was hidden under a mask of plaster, applied by the Ottoman Turks after they conquered the city - then called Constantinople - in 1453 and made Aya Sofya a mosque. Ibrahim, too, has left his mark on the place - seven years ago he was granted permission to plant a tree in the temple grounds. "I am fond of nature," he says, taking a fistful of the squat pine's needles in his hand. "And I am proud to have this here, in the shadow of such greatness."



Just around the corner is another example of Istanbul's magnificence - Topkapı, palace of the Ottoman sultans from 1465 to 1853. From the acres of manicured gardens - once lit by tortoises carrying candles on their backs - to the centuries of bling kept in the dimly lit cabinets of the Treasury, this royal residence is a monument to excess. There is barely a surface without a covering of gold-leafed wooden fretwork or jewel-coloured tiles.



Most impressive of all Topkapı's buildings is the Harem, a palace within a palace made up of more than 400 rooms. Not quite the den of iniquity that its title implies, the Harem was home not only to the wives and concubines of successive sultans, but to the ruler's extended family. A team of up to 200 black eunuchs maintained the privacy of this space.



The rooms' complexity is labyrinthine. A sun-dappled courtyard gives way to stern dormitories, shadowy corridors and a bathroom with huge gold taps. The cavernous Imperial Hall, carpeted and edged with low divan seats, has the faded glamour and scent of an ageing stately home. Beyond are more mysterious spaces: the Courtyard of the Favourites - an outside terrace reserved for the sultan's chosen ones - and kafes: small, cell-like rooms where the unwanted brothers or sons of the sultan were imprisoned. This is a maze with no centre; a puzzle that made sense only to those who called it home.

Shopping ala Parisienne

Paris’s reputation as a shopper’s paradise is not exaggerated. Its endless and endlessly diverse retail opportunities live up to the hype.



Quelque chose de special...?

Bien sûr, there is no shortage of international chains, but what sets the city apart is its incredible array of specialist shops. Instead of stocking up at a supermarket, Parisians will buy their bread at a boulangerie, cheese at a fromagerie, meat at a charcuterie, and fruit and vegetables at the street-market stalls. It takes longer, but the food is better and fresher, and the social interaction between shopkeepers and regulars forms part of the city's village atmosphere. The website www.paris.fr lists every market in Paris, including opening hours, by arrondissement. The same site also has details of Paris' speciality markets, which include bird markets, a stamp market, craft markets, and flower markets filled with buckets of blooms.



But it is not only food shops that are specialised. There are shops that sell just hats, others that sell just umbrellas. Even Parisian dogs are in on the act, with shops selling nothing but dog outfits and accessories.



So Frenchy, so chic

Fashion shopping is Paris' forte. Numerous luxury labels that originated here are anchored by flagship stores, particularly in the 8e arrondissement, Triangle d'Or (Golden Triangle), bordered by avs Georges V, Champs-Élysées and Montaigne. Discount designer outlets are found along rue Alésia. Edgier, experimental designers are also a fashion force. Rue Étienne Marcel in the 2e, the emerging "haut Marais", and Canal St-Martin are all fertile ground for up-and-coming talent. Unless you are splashing out on made-to-measure haute couture, it pays to try before you buy, as size conversions are complex. Happy browsing? Feel free to tell any over-enthusiastic sales staff: "Je regarde"- "I'm just looking,"



Vintage and new clothes, along with accessories, antiques and all sorts of bric-a-brac, are laid out at Paris' flea markets, which are always buzzing with activity. They are also buzzing with pickpockets - so stay alert. Cash is your best bet for haggling, and there are some genuine bargains to be had.



Undercover wonders

Paris' covered arcades are treasure chests of small, exquisite boutiques. These marble-floored, glass-roofed shopping passages, streaming with natural light, were the elegant forerunners to department stores and malls. The grande dame department stores - Le Bon Marché, Galeries Lafayette and Le Printemps, as well as La Samaritaine (closed for structural renovations until around 2011) - are filled with specialist sections, and are beautiful to wander around. If you are watching your centimes, Monoprix has branches located all around town selling well-made clothes and gourmet goods at affordable prices.



What is somewhat ironic for a city so dedicated to shopping is that Paris does not have a consumer culture as such. Shopping here is about style and quality, rather than status or acquisition. While a few shops are open "7 jours sur 7" (sometimes written 7j/7; seven days out of seven), most close at least one or two days a week, ensuring that shopping itself stays a luxury.

Lonely Planet's top 10 glamorous A-list destinations

For celeb spotters, glamourpusses or rich-list wannabes, here is our pick of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous holiday haunts.



1. Telluride, US

Could Telluride be the new Aspen? Megacelebs such as TomKat and Oprah have residences here, and they can afford to live anywhere. So why Telluride? It has been a Native American hunting ground, a rough-and-ready mining mecca and a ghost town, but nowadays people are flocking to the easy (both on the eyes and in attitude) mountain village for the fabulous festivals and endless outdoor adventure. Winter is ski time, so get busy on the slopes and the après-ski scene; September sees the annual film festival and the spotting of celeb locals in their natural habitat. Telluride sounds obscure but is well served by flights to Telluride Regional Airport, or drive from Denver (530km), Salt Lake City (590km) or Phoenix (765km).



2. Gstaad, Switzerland

Synonymous with the international jet set, this Swiss wintertime resort appears smaller than its lionised reputation. Renowned as a haunt of Bond actors, Euro royalty, heirs and various hangers-on, Gstaad is a picturesque but tiny village crouched beneath the hilltop turrets of its pre-eminent hotel, the undeniably palatial Gstaad Palace. The actual skiing here is disappointing - far better are the après-ski activities such as seeing and being seen, partying in A-list establishments, and window shopping at the chi-chi boutiques lining the main street. Gstaad is famous for fondue (it is a stylish kitsch thing) and the best is at Saagi Stübli, in the basement of Hotel Gstaaderhof.



3. South Beach, Miami, US

Dare to bare in the people-watching paradise that is South Beach (sorry, SoBe), where models, rappers, yuppies, starlets, celeb chefs, pop stars and "regular folk" unite. Miami is a simmering, sultry melting pot, and a place in which to see and be seen. South Beach has no shortage of beautiful bods sunning themselves on the sand, while behind them the world's hottest designers have sexed up art-deco masterpieces and turned them into hipper-than-thou hotels. This is where the jet set comes to play and be pampered (and photographed by the paparazzi), basking in the reflected glow of their bling, mojito in hand, accompanied by a soundtrack of Latino beats. You would be crazy not to join the party. You are nobody in Miami without the right wheels - join the glitterati with a head-turning motor from Bling Bling Exotic Car Rental.



4. St Barts, Caribbean

When it comes to the islands of the Caribbean, the label "playground of the rich and famous" gets quite a workout. Clearly, then, this is no average playground. It is, in fact, one giant theme park for the glitterati. It is no surprise that Saint-Barthélemy (St Barts to its friends) is the preferred retreat of the pampered and poised - this beachy bombshell fulfils every fantasy of a vacation in paradise. Perfectly positioned bays are backdrops for fancy-pants restaurants, rolling hills demand rambling villas, and the Gustavia harbour is simply perfect for all the yachts. And the celebs who have holidayed in St Barts? Well, it is probably easier to list who has not, dahling. Celebrities have stressful lives, hence their requirement for constant pampering - follow suit at exclusive Guanahani Hotel & Spa (closed until December), which offers indulgent week-long treatments.



5. Wakaya, Fiji

Any wannabe celeb worth their salt has dreamed of owning their own island. But what to build on it once you have made the big purchase? If you are Canadian entrepreneur David Gilmour, the answer is obvious - one of the world's most luxurious and exclusive resorts. Gilmour purchased the 8sq-km Fijian island of Wakaya in 1973 and kindly lets the little people enjoy his stunning tropical hideaway. Well, little people who think nothing of blowing from $2,000 per night on a bure (traditional house) or up to $7,600 per night on the Vale O Villa (Wakaya's 1,100sq-metre royal suite). And who might be sitting on a nearby sun lounge? Maybe returning guests Bill Gates, Keith Richards, Nicole Kidman or Russell Crowe. If those prices mean you are more Ow!-List list than A-List, sneak a peak at Wakaya from the sky; Island Hoppers offers flights from 99 Fiji dollars.



6. GoldenEye Resort, Jamaica

If you have a spy novel just itching to be written, head to GoldenEye (reopening 12 Nov.) for inspiration. This is where author Ian Fleming wrote his James Bond novels in the 1950s and '60s (while entertaining literary and silver screen greats from the era). What was once Fleming's holiday estate, divinely positioned in the crystal clear Caribbean, has been bought and expanded by Island Records' founder Chris Blackwell, and there are now a handful of smaller villas to rent alongside Fleming's original three-bedroom pad. Share your martini at the resort bar with a present-day guest list that has included Johnny Depp, Sting, Scarlett Johansson, Bono and Kate Moss. Would anyone mind if we packed Daniel Craig too...? Suave old James is a dab hand at leaving a phone receiver dangling while edging his latest love slowly bedwards - practice it yourself at Goldeneye Hotel.



7. Sveti Stefan, Montenegro

Early-adopter celebs take note: Montenegro became independent in 2006, and its sparkling coastline (think Croatia without the hype) is no longer a state secret. The tiny and impossibly picturesque Sveti Stefan island provides its biggest "wow" moment. For centuries it was a simple fishing community, until someone had the idea to buy the whole thing and turn it into a luxury hotel. It became a hit with Hollywood and European royalty (guests have included Sofia Loren and Queen Elizabeth II) but its appeal faded in the 1990s. Over the last few years tradespeople have replaced screen goddesses on its exclusive cobbled streets, and the resort reopened this summer, more glamorous than ever. Sveti Stefan is on the Budva Riviera, the heart of Montenegro's beach culture. The Mediterranean climate makes it a happening destination from March to September.



8. Ibiza

Ibiza is shorthand for clubbing - it is the island that gave the world the rave, and its famed megaclubs and bars (including Space, Pascha and Café del Mar) attract an international brand of hedonist. From June to September, this is a not a destination for those who like an early night. Fittingly, it is the young(ish), sun-seeking, party-hardy crowd that flocks here, from Leonardo DiCaprio to P Diddy, Kate Moss, Kylie Minogue, big-name DJs (natch) and European footballers and fashionistas. Still, despite its massive after-dark reputation, there is some striking scenery and deserted beaches, perfect for the postclub come-down or sunset drinks. Celebs do not slum it in Ibiza's hotels, oh no - the swankiest properties rent for more than 30,000 euros per week; see www.ibizasolutions.net.



9. Côte d'Azur, France

Where to start? With towns such as Saint-Tropez, Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo? Destinations so beautiful they inspired artists like Renoir, Picasso and Matisse? Or a roll-call of names from stage and screen, literary and art-world luminaries, socialites and aristocrats who have been drawn here since the 19th Century? Hire a yacht as the de rigueur mode of transport, lounge on a private beach, hit the blackjack tables, and dine and shop in style almost everywhere along the coast. Access to this lifestyle is why we envy the A-list.



10. The Hamptons, US

It was once widely held that if you had to make an appearance in the office on Monday, you were not rich enough to be in the Hamptons. The who's who of New York old money have used the southern fork of Long Island as their summer playground for aeons, but lately they have been joined by "new money", from NY designers and stockbrokers to LA movie stars. Mega-estates owned by the likes of Ralph Lauren, Steven Spielberg, Jerry Seinfeld, Martha Stewart and Billy Joel dot the coast, interspersed with tony townships. East Hampton is the reigning monarch of Hamptons 'burbs, where celeb spotting (or simply house ogling) is a cinch. For years the moneyed set has hung out at Nick & Toni's, chomping away on treats from the wood-fired stove.

Where worlds collide

During the final minutes before light, the harbour is shrouded and all its sounds muffled. Waiting for the Star Ferry I see the winking lights of tug boats as they fuss around a cruise ship. I can hear fog horns and grumbling engines and then countless lesser sounds: anchor chains grinding, a Chinese military helicopter heading for the New Territories, small waves slapping at the sides of fishing boats. At this hour, the city smells of the night’s dead heat mingled with oily water.



I feel a pulse of joy to be back. Hard to think that this was a city I first came to in a state approaching despair. Switching roles from BBC Southern Africa correspondent to cover Asia, I found myself longing for the open spaces of the continent I'd left behind. And then, in the last year of British imperial rule, my first child was born here. I had an intimate connection with the place. I made Chinese friends and learned that it wasn't a question of there being two Hong Kongs - one brash and commercial, the other Confucian and Cantonese. There were many Hong Kongs, all intertwined, a place where the traveller could be confounded by difference and cosseted by the familiar all in the same day.



Now I feel a childish enthusiasm crossing Victoria Harbour on the Star Ferry. Tubby and unlovely, with hard wooden seats, the ferry boats have plied these waters since the late 19th century. An Indian, Dorabjee Nowrajee, who made his fortune selling opium into China, set up the Kowloon Ferry Company in 1888. But the old drug dealer was not immune to the romance of the Hong Kong waters. A lover of poetry, he named his new ferry service after some lines of Tennyson, from Crossing the Bar, which contemplate the afterlife:



Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea...



The long departed Mr Nowrajee understood that while Hong Kong might gain its vitality from the ruthless pursuit of profit, it was also a place of spiritual questing and romantic longing.



Within minutes of disembarking on the "Hong Kong side", I plunge into Wan Chai market, where plastic packets of dried seafood - some with medicinal qualities - are sold alongside knock-off Calvin Klein underwear. A little over £1 will see you happily munching starfish while draped in the finest pants a mainland sweatshop can produce.



On Bowrington Road, one of the small streets that bisect the area, there is a row of fish stalls where the produce flips, wriggles and claws in large tanks. The eternally elastic vowels of the Cantonese language bounce around the lanes as the traders harangue suppliers, and shoppers demand only the fattest fish and are told in return that they will have to pay more. The local Cantonese are perhaps the most enthusiastic consumers of fish anywhere in the world.



It is striking how many of the stalls are run by people who in the west would be dismissed as too old to work. An elderly woman pushes through the crowds hauling behind her a cart filled with vegetables. Dressed in the ageless garb of the Hong Kong grandmother - a dark, work-worn smock and trousers - she disperses all comers with a loud cry. A group of the elderly are taking a short break on the corner of Spring Garden Lane, gossiping raucously and resembling not an image of old age but of boisterous teenagers, determined to give no ground to the crowds thronging around them.



Noodles for breakfast

There is a noodle shop nearby where I try to have breakfast whenever I visit Hong Kong. Dickie Kwong's place always feels like a heightened version of the tumult outside. The diners are packed into a small room facing onto the street. Posters of the house specialities adorn the walls. Noodles with fish balls, noodles with pork, noodles with chicken etc. There is a delicate choreography of elbows and chopsticks as diners take care not to encroach on their neighbours' territory. In the corner Dickie and his cooks are enveloped in steam rising from vats of boiling water and broth. Every few seconds a heap of ivory white noodles is scooped into a bowl and dispatched to a diner.



Dickie offers good food at a price recession-hit Hong Kongers can afford. Like many of his customers, he grew up on stories of hard times. His parents fled the Communist takeover of China in the 1940s. When 1997 and the handover to China came around, he was one of those who felt trepidation about the future. Would the Communists kill the city's enterprise and his own dreams of prosperity with it? It didn't happen and these days he is a happier man. "Business is good. Booming, yes," he says. There was bungling by the new administration in the early days but massive demonstrations saw off an attempt to bring in draconian security laws. This success boosted local confidence. "Now we feel there is a good future," Dickie tells me. "I don't worry for this recession. Hong Kong always comes back."



One of the best places to reflect on the city's changing fortunes is just across the road from the race course at the Happy Valley cemetery. Here, the colonial graves testify to the endurance that has sustained Hong Kong. The roots of ageing West Indies mahogany trees circle the graves of sailors, soldiers and missionaries. All died in the service of the most improbable of all imperial adventures: the making of a great city on a barren rock in the South China Sea.



Walking across the graveyard I hear the city's traffic dwindle to a low hum. A local woman is cleaning the graves with all their carved pieties and lingering whispers of empire. I come across the grave of Henrietta Hall Shuck, the first American woman missionary to China, who died in Hong Kong in 1844, aged 27, broken by overwork and the climate. A nearby monument recalls the British and American sailors of the ships USS Powhatan and HMS Rattler who died fighting pirates off the coast of Hong Kong in the 1850s; another marks the graves of the 95th regiment, swept by fever in 1848: Nine Sergeants, Eight corporals, Four drummers, 67 privates, Four women, Four children.



So much of British and Chinese history is recorded here. For this is not only the resting place of dead colonials - on many of the stones are traced the details of China's tormented relationship with the West. It is all here: opium and exploitation, bravery, brutality and sacrifice.



Temples, and fortunes told

It puts the traveller into a properly reflective state of mind for a visit to Man Mo temple above Central business district. To reach Man Mo you first pass through the world of Gucci, Rolex and Starbucks, where wealth shimmers on the glass walls of the skyscrapers. I used to be repelled by the relentless materialism of this area until I started to see it as the extraordinary result of colliding historical impulses: the imperial urge to trade, the native river people's culture of barter, and the powerful desire to succeed of the refugee Chinese who fled here from the trials of civil war.



There is an escalator which climbs towards the temple from just above Central, gliding through the streets of Mid Levels past numerous new restaurants and bars where expatriate businessman, shirt-sleeved and tie-less in the afternoon heat, brag of deals and speculations.



At the corner of Ladder Street a small crowd has gathered at the entrance to Man Mo. Some are offering imitation money to be burned in the temple furnace in supplication to their ancestors; others place offerings of fruit, fast food, drinks and flowers inside the door. Coils of incense hung from the roof fill the crimson and gold rooms with a cloying smoke.



There is a small shop attached to the temple and in the corner a lugubrious figure sits reading his newspaper. Mr Ng is the temple fortune-teller. He seems very bored but not so pressed by tedium that he finds the prospect of my company a joy. He is polite but there is a discernible hum of irritation. Perhaps he has had to deal with too many lumbering westerners.



"What do you want to know?" he asks.



I am momentarily flummoxed. I had thought he would simply read my palms and recite a glorious future.



"You must have some thought!" he snaps.



"Er, I would like to know if my son will be happy in his life," I say.



"What do you mean happy? Happy in work or in love? In what happy?" he shoots back. I settle for an area that is always fertile ground in education-obsessed Hong Kong. "Happy in his studies," I reply.



Mr Ng nods and produces several coins, which he proceeds to shake. He then makes some calculations in Chinese. "Your son must not have a closed mind. This is what you need to work against," he says firmly. And that is the end of that. I am relieved of £8 and dispatched with the ghost of a smile.



Across the road from Man Mo, the antique dealers and bric-à-brac sellers of Cat Street are doing a modest trade. There is a handful of mainland Chinese browsing here, noticeably better dressed than in the old days when their badly cut hair and cheap suits ignited sniggers from the locals.



Here you find a vast array of Maoist memorabilia for sale. There are Chairman Mao watches, copies of the Little Red Book in every size, statues of Mao and Mao badges. Mr Ming is tending a stall so Maoist, it looks like a mini-museum of the Cultural Revolution.



"Who buys this stuff?" I ask.



"Only the foreigners, only the tourists. Not the Chinese," he tells me.



"But he killed millions and yet people still buy it?" I ask.



At this, Mr Ming laughs. It is a long laugh as if I have entirely missed the point. Business, after all, is business.



At some point in Hong Kong, no matter how careful you are to keep to quiet streets, the density of the city will start to close in. There are more than 6,000 people to every square kilometre and there can be days when it sounds as if every one of them is talking at the same time. So when the claustrophobia strikes, I head for the islands. There are 262 outlying islands and several are served by regular ferries. For me the pick of them all is one of the smallest and most remote.



To reach Kat O, up near the border of the Chinese mainland, you need to take a taxi to the pier at Wong Shek, about an hour's journey from Hong Kong. Riding down the hill towards the harbour with my friend and translator, Choi Li Hung, we pass cattle grazing by the roadside. There are no high-rises out here and the roads are narrow and winding with glimpses of the South China Sea at every other turn.



The day is gloriously sunny with a warm wind blowing across the Pearl River delta. To make the final stage of our trip to Kat O, Hung has arranged a speedboat taxi. There are several speedboat owners who will take a small group to Kat O and wait to bring you back for around £80.



Of course there are cheaper and easier islands to visit. A round trip to Lamma Island, much nearer but also far busier at weekends, is roughly £2, while the island of Cheung Chau with its numerous seafood restaurants and hiking trails can be reached in 30 minutes for a similar price. So why travel further and spend more?



Quite simply because Kat O is one of the world's most spiritually refreshing places. From the moment we head out of the harbour I feel a growing lightness. It is partly to do with the joy of emptiness after so much crush, but also the certainty that out on the pastoral edges of Hong Kong, I am beyond the reach of all vexation. As we pass the stilt houses of the fish farmers, I let my hand fall into the water. It is warm and clear and shoals of tiny fish flicker back and forth beneath the boat.



Retreat to the island

Kat O covers an area of just 2.3 sq km and was named Crooked Island by the British because of its twisting coastline. It once had a population of several hundred; now there are about 50 people living here. The young have gone to Hong Kong or to the cities of Britain. What remains is a small society of Hakka and Tanka fishing clans, eking a living along the coves and inlets, their villages dotted with abandoned houses into the recesses of which the jungle steadily creeps. The village stretches out along either side of a short pier. At the head of the pier is a shop cum restaurant belonging to Wing Gei and his wife Aida. A sign tells visitors that if the owners are away they can take a drink and leave the money.



Gei is drinking tea with a friend when Hung and I approach. He smiles, jumps to his feet and offers us seats. Cups of steaming tea appear. Gei has lived here for most of his life, apart from a brief period trying to do business in Hong Kong. "I am a quiet man," he explains. "I am not aggressive and I am trusting. It's very aggressive out there, you know." He waves a hand towards the coast. Gei tried a few different businesses but could not make them work, so he came home to the island. "I like it here because it is quiet. I don't even lock my door at night. I know everybody. Can you understand that living in a place becomes part of your nature?"



I nod. At that moment the village policeman appears. He smiles and goes off in the direction of some boats. "What does he do?" I ask. There is no crime on the island, Gei explains. I wonder if his presence is intended to deter the people-smugglers across the border in China. So called "snakehead" gangs have been responsible for smuggling thousands of illegal migrants out of China into Hong Kong every year. Mr Gei's friend chips in, "In the old days, lots of people used to try to get to Hong Kong from China by swimming across here. Not all of them made it of course: we used to see the bodies. But if they did make it across, the families here used to feed and help them."



Further along we meet an old couple who are roasting cashew nuts in an outdoor oven. The man's name is Woo Tan and he is 73 years old. He sells me a bag of nuts for a pittance and refuses to accept a tip. Woo has one of those marvellously austere Chinese faces, a countenance forged by hard work and pride. Do I know that the Hakka people have been on this island for more than 300 years, he asks. His people can trace their presence here back to the Qing dynasty. The Hakka are renowned for their resolute determination to preserve their traditions and their ability to survive in the least promising of environments. Migrating from the north to the coastal regions of South China, they established a thriving fishing and farming culture.



We say goodbye to the old man and climb to the top of the island where we watch black kites circling while a solitary fisherman steers his boat into the shallows. Across the water in China, a container port looms in the heat haze. An old woman with a huge and fierce-looking dog passes by. 'Don't worry,' she says, "the dogs here don't bite."



Hunger eventually brings us back to the pier and the welcoming smile of Wing Gei. A pot of soup is produced, thick with vegetables and ginger, followed by a plate of chickens' feet and, after that, the speciality of Kat O, cuttlefish balls. This combination of moulded pork fat and thick white cuttlefish takes some chewing but, served in a good broth of spring onions, is delicious. Our little group slurps and burps happily. And then the boatman drums his fingers on the table and smiles. Island time is running out. Gei says we are welcome to stay, but he knows we cannot and accepts our refusal with a sad shrug. "I promise you I will be back," I tell him. I will Mr Gei. I most definitely will.

The birthplace of modern dragons

Hong Kong has taken an ancient ceremony in China and turned it into one of the


world’s fastest growing sports. Modern dragonboat racing, with its mesmerising


blend of sport and tradition, is practised in more than 60 countries. But it is


best experienced in Hong Kong where you can still feel the passion that once drove


this city to share its culture with the world.



What are dragonboats?

Dragonboats are long slim boats with a dragon's head protruding from the bow and a


dragon's tail affixed to the stern. They are powered by two rows of paddlers, with


a helmsman in the back, and a drummer in the front or middle. Traditionally they


are made of wood - and wooden boats are still used in 90% of Hong Kong's races -


but the fibre-glass vessels used in the West are becoming common. They come in


three sizes: 22-crew vessels used in international races; small boats


accommodating 12 riders; and "big dragons", that interesting species.



Taboo

Traditionally, dragonboating is an all-male activity. Women, especially when


pregnant or menstruating, were forbidden to touch a dragon, the symbol of male


vigour. But now with more than 50 million people worldwide involved in the game,


mindsets have been changing. Since 1985, races in Hong Kong have included women's


and mixed events. That said, machismo is not dead. Try patting the dragon's head


on a big boat, and you will see. "Big dragons" carry 50 strapping fellows and can


fit up to 120. They are proudly paraded at races, jealously guarded off-season,


and oiled, repaired and fussed over - exclusively by men - before the racing


season.



History

Dragonboat racing originated more than 2,000 years ago in China as a ceremony for


worshipping deities of the sea. It is associated with the Tuen Ng Festival which


is celebrated in late spring when disease and flooding were once rampant.


Dragonboating was meant to dispel the "fog and filthy air" and to keep the gods


happy. But that is the researcher's version.



Ask any Chinese about the origin of dragonboat and they will mention Qu Yuan, a


loyal statesman who drowned himself in the river. Worried that fish would consume


their hero, the people unleashed their boats and threw rice dumplings (now a


festive delicacy) into the water to distract them. Since then races have been held


every year to honour the day of Qu's passing - on the fifth day of the fifth month


on the Lunar calendar (late-May to June). Though other figures have been


commemorated by the festival, Qu's patriotic story has prevailed.



Dragonboat spread all over China, in particular to the south, where it remained a


fisherman's game and ceremony for many years.



The modern era

Then in 1976, it all changed. Hong Kong held the world's first international


dragonboat races, and propelled the game into a new era. In the first year,


boaters from Japan competed with nine local fishermen's teams. In the next two,


representatives from Malaysia and Singapore joined the event. Soon competitions


were being organized in these countries as well as in Australia and Canada. In


1980, three dragonboats from Hong Kong made their debut on the River Thames. Today


dragonboat is a mainstream sport in Hong Kong. The city has the greatest number of


teams (about 400), all non-paid and voluntary, and the most races (more than 20 a


year) in the world per square metre. And the 10-boat wonder that started it all in


1976 is now a mega-event featuring 200 teams.



What is so fascinating about dragonboats? It is their pure heritage. Never used


for transport or war, unlike canoes and sailboats, they have hardly changed over


the centuries. Imagine then such a boat, blades plunging fast and furious,


hundreds of times over to the throb of a drum. It is the lure of the primordial,


something rare in modern-day sports.



Races

The most spectacular events during Hong Kong's racing season (March to October)


are the fishermen's races from late-April to May, especially the Tin Hau regatta


held on sleepy Po Toi Island (www.traway.com.hk). You will see fishing junks


moored in the harbour, decked out with flags, and people cheering, drinking and


casting paper offerings into the water. Overlooking this on a cliff is a bamboo


theatre where Cantonese opera is performed for the gods, and nearby is a temple


where fishermen go to pay their respects. At sundown, all is quiet again as the


junks leave with their dragons secured to their sides, the way they had for years


before the world knew about dragonboat racing.