Hong Kong was the first East Asian city I ever visited, and in many ways it felt like arriving in a real city for the first time. It was vibrant and unapologetically modern, operating at a scale I had never experienced — even coming from London. The density, the energy, the press of people and neon all pulsed together, a vision of what the word city is truly meant to describe.

Its transport network was a quiet revelation, exposing just how tired and compromised London’s system has become. And at night, Hong Kong came alive in a way that genuinely thrilled me — from crowded night markets to watching the skyline perform its light show across Victoria Harbour. I could not get enough of it.

Step slightly beyond the core, and the city revealed vast vertical expansion — towers stacked upon towers, rising relentlessly into the hills. It was urban growth turned skyward, on a scale that a hollowed-out, austerity-bound Britain could scarcely imagine. It felt like a glimpse of what lies further beyond the border — the scale of ambition plainly visible, even from here.