A Harbour's Duality

#hellohalloween #historicallandmarks #localguides #familytrip The Water Parade, Hong Kong’s vibrant celebration of maritime culture and prosperity, was meant to be a spectacle of light and motion upon the iconic Victoria Harbour. For a while, it was. The sleek vessels, adorned with shimmering decorations, processed between the towering skylines of Central and Tsim Sha Tsui, a moving tapestry against the urban canyon. Then came the Lububu flood, a surge of such sudden and ferocious intensity that it transformed the parade ground into a theatre of chaos. The harbour, usually a controlled mirror of the city’s grandeur, became a churning, coffee-coloured expanse, its waters breaching barriers with a primal indifference. The festive flotilla was thrown into disarray, with smaller boats tossed like bathtub toys and larger ones straining at their moorings, their celebratory bunting now appearing as desperate distress signals. This was not merely a weather event; it was a profound clash of narratives. The meticulously engineered waterfront, a symbol of humanity’s triumph over nature, was momentarily subsumed by it. The floodwaters lapped at the foundations of glass-and-steel titans, a murky, invasive inkblot spreading across the postcard-perfect image of the city. In its wake, the Lububu flood left a sobering message written on the waves: that our most brilliant parades are temporary, and the ancient, powerful dialogue between land and sea can drown out even the most confident celebrations. The harbour, once a stage for human achievement, had, for a terrifying interval, reclaimed its role as an untamed and dominant force.