After lunch with the lovely ladies at the Helena May I decided that, as the Biblical deluge had stopped for the moment, I’d take advantage of the Peak Tram.

I bought a ticket (deftly dodging the Hello Kitty-swathed teens intent on selling me a  photo of myself in front of the Peak Tram sign).

This is one of those experiences where the journey is meant to be as important as the destination, like riding the E&O from Singapore to Bangkok (definitely Top 10 on my to do list). So I was excited.



I climbed into the old boxy car and made my way forward over a surprisingly wavy floor – I’m guessing there are some sort of giant cogs beneath that make this so, but it’s only a guess because the ‘museum’ portion of the tour is at the base after the turnstiles, in sight of the tram itself. And since no self-respecting city-dweller will dawdle when the train is on the platform, I ignored the thoughtful historical displays in favour of catching the tram before it left. Note to self: Seize the moment. There will always be another train.

As you’d expect of a tram that hauls passengers up the side of the mountain, it’s steep. I sat with my back pressed into the old wooden bench, watching the verdant landscape and moss-covered escarpments slowly pass.

We stopped a few times along the way, each time causing the car to bounce as if on an elastic band. In the old days before the escalators, this was the least arduous route from Central/Admiralty to the top of the mountain.

And then we got to the top. What a view.



Obviously I’ll go back this weekend.