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by Rick Green

Plover Cove gravesMy stomach tightened. Something seemed wrong. Half-expecting to come across the scene of a horrible crime, maybe even the perpetrator in the act, I was nervous. My rational side said I was being silly, subdued the emotion, and pushed me on.

Looking back, I realize that having grown accustomed to a continuous cacophony of chattering jackhammers, thumping pile drivers, angry car horns, and the multitude of other sounds emanating from the perpetual frenetic din of Hong Kong, solitude was no longer a normal state for me.

Hearing the breeze rustle through the trees, smelling the verdant vegetation, and finding myself completely alone was unusual. But more than an antidote to sensory overload, that first foray into Plover Cove Country Park in the northeastern New Territories was a discovery of the other side of Hong Kong, a side few visitors—and even residents themselves—experience.

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