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I woke early and stared out of the floor to ceiling glass window. Victoria Harbour lay below, and the Star Ferry chugged across to Kowloon. I’ve been fortunate enough to take in this vista several times before, but today, something was different. As the morning went on, the descending clouds seemed to wrap ever more tightly around the Kowloon skyline. The distant green peaks disappeared, the sky darkened, and heavy drops of rain began to fall. A sombre mood had fallen on this city. I set off and walked to Central in the late afternoon. Eight years earlier I’d arrived in Hong Kong for my first-ever visit, and I’d been struck by the juxtaposition of life here. High-end shopping malls opened onto hawker markets, and at lunchtime suited financiers flooded narrow sides streets, sitting on small plastic chairs, chopsticks in hand, to slurp noodles or dine on Dim Sum. Come early evening the Mid-Levels escalator was overloaded, transporting workers to packed bars, eateries, and the Hong Kong nightlife. This was a city that worked hard but played harder. I was no longer in the same city. After months of political turmoil, weekends filled with protests, a divided Hong Kong had emerged. And now, it was a city gripped by fear. Coronavirus had emerged in mainland China a few weeks earlier. Hubei province was in lock-down and mounting pressure had led the Hong Kong government to shut all but two border crossings with the mainland. Quarantine sanctions had been imposed for those arriving from China, and the world was waiting to see if Covid-19 could be contained. The streets of Hong Kong were empty. Those that did venture out wore face masks. Restaurants, cafes, and bars were shut, or looked forlorn, abandoned as workers stayed at home and tourists kept away. Taxis snaked around every major meeting point, drivers looking hopeful that they might at least get one hire today. Back at my hotel, I ventured to the gym. Before entering my temperature was taken, and once satisfied that I didn’t have a fever, attendants let me proceed. I was only grateful the process wasn’t repeated as I left. It happened to be Valentine’s Day. That evening a few intrepid young couples headed out. Some walked hand-in-hand whilst many shied away from any physical contact, even with their loved ones. Most clutched a single rose or a fragrant bouquet of Spring flowers. A welcome sign of hope and optimism in this city that seemed wounded by recent events. Waiting staff greeted couples warmly, delighted to see tables filling. This was a Friday evening and ordinarily one of the most lucrative nights of the year. Sought after spaces over-looking the Hong Kong skyline, that previously I’d jostled for even a standing space in, were virtually deserted. I could only begin to imagine the economic impact that the outbreak of Coronavirus, and months of civic unrest, were having on this global mega-hub of a city. For me, Valentine’s Day was to conclude at the airport. In-town check-in was deserted, the Airline Express train eerily quiet with only a handful of passengers per carriage. My scheduled flight became a victim of the global downturn in airline passenger numbers. It joined the scores of red lines on the departures board signalling cancelled flights. I was fortunate and was soon rebooked, with only a minor delay. One of Asia’s busiest airports had become soulless this Friday evening. Just a few open security counters dealt efficiently with the trickle of travellers that continued on their way. I sat in the departures lounge, missing the company of my husband, as a member of staff circulated handing out foil-wrapped, heart-shaped chocolates. At least I was heading home to friends and family. Who knows when travellers and tourists will return to Hong Kong.