PENG CHAU ISLAND, HONG KONG — An old man stands hunched over his crooked wooden cane watching me search for directions to Finger Hill. It’s the place visitors like to start their tour of this most fascinating of Hong Kong’s 263 outer islands because its elevation offers fabulous panoramic views.
After a few minutes, the elderly islander taps his walking stick on the sidewalk. As I turn, he points to a sign hidden behind some low-hanging branches with “Finger Hill” written on it. I nod my head enthusiastically. He, in turn, waves at me to follow him up a steep, winding street that runs off the harbour.

Above: A friendly old man, left, offers to act as a guide on an island filled with many elderly inhabitants.

No words are exchanged between Peng Chau’s one man welcoming committee and I. As we meander up the sloping street near the ferry terminal, I can tell he’s made this journey many times before. Probably at a much faster pace in his younger years.
Along our short walk, we pass a group of well-kept homes near the harbour where the air is perfumed with the pungent smell of fish drying on a line in the mid-day sun.
Bicycles — the only form of transportation allowed on this island where motor vehicles are banned —whiz past  and their riders all seem to know the man.
When we reach a fork at the top of the street, my unofficial guide sticks out his cane like it’s a signpost and points it at a spot on the horizon where (I presume) Finger Hill is located.
Before I can say m goi (thank you) in my clumsy Cantonese, the old man has vanished over the hill.
I press on alone and after passing one of the seven small temples that grace this enchanted island, I arrive at a viewing area atop Finger Hill, 95m above the island’s ferry terminal where I arrived.

Above: Peng Chau's tranquil harbour was once a bustling port.

As promised, I get spectacular views of Hong Kong’s modern skyline off in the distance and see a fleet of huge container ships, their decks neatly stacked, sailing out into the South China Sea and far-off ports.
I scan the waters below and see a number of other islands, including Lantau, Hong Kong’s largest out-island that’s home to two major tourist attractions, the landmark Tian Tan (Big) Buddha and the legendary old fishing village Tai O.
Unlike neighbouring Lantau, though, Peng Chau is off the tourist grid. The only visitors it attracts are local Hong Kongers seeking a respite from their city's traffic-clogged streets and relentless noise. They find solace here on Peng Chau’s secluded small beaches and along the peaceful trails that snake through this 1 sq-km spit of land that juts out like a finger into the sea 8km west of downtown Hong Kong.

Above: There's some interesting art to be found in Peng Chau's artist lane.

From my lofty vantage point, I see there’s little activity in the harbour. The ferry to Hong Kong and a few smaller inter-island ferries jockey for position. Some tiny fishing boats bob in the gentle surf, their single occupants  hoping for a tug on their rods.
Peng Chau’s slow pace of life certainly has a calming influence. However, that wasn’t always the case here. In fact, in the 1960s, Peng Chau’s port was one of the busiest in the South China Sea. Cargo ships filled the harbour waiting to load goods produced at one of the island’s 100 factories.
Those factories, which made goods for 30 different industries, and the workers who filled them are almost all gone now. Just 6,300 people are left living on Peng Chau and many of them are forced to travel to Hong Kong each day for work.
Signs of Peng Chau’s heydays remain, though. The narrow streets here are lined with handsome, jellybean coloured homes that reflect past prosperity.

Above: Many Hong Kongers travel to Peng Chau to feast on the dim sum and seafood dishes.

In the labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys that make up the downtown core, I find an abundance of dim sum and seafood restaurants, all offering dishes at a much lower price than is demanded in bustling Hong Kong.
The produce stands running off the harbour are piled high with fresh fruits and vegetables and the island’s lively fish market features a variety of daily catches plucked that morning from the local waters.  
I even find evidence of the leather industry that once thrived here when I enter what’s now known as Artist Alley. One of the old, crumbling factories has been turned into a gallery by a local artist named Sherry. Her abstract works, created from junk discarded by former residents, line both sides of the narrow lane. It’s a fascinating open-air gallery and the unique works are especially popular with the Instagram set.
Walking past the fish market, I’m offered some dim sum dishes at the Ho King outdoor restaurant. It’s here that local fisherman like to eat after returning from the sea each morning.
Ho King is just one of several eateries on the island that have become famous with foodie fans. Another is Fai Che, a Cantonese room that is run by the legendary husband-wife team of Mr. And Mrs. Kan. Local diners bring their own seafood to the restaurant and Mrs. Kan prepares it in her cramped kitchen. There’s also a menu for the tourists that is filled with Mrs. Kan’s special recipes.
The nearby Kee Sam coffee shop has become well known for its shrimp toast — one of my favourite Cantonese dishes — and on weekends the line stretches well down the street.
A small café opposite Pen Chau’s old elementary school evokes memories of the island’s past. The building dates back to the 1930s and the café’s turmeric cake is legendary. The saffron-coloured spice apparently grows wild on Peng Chau.
There’s also several antique Chinese porcelain and pottery shops gathered near the harbour. My hopes of finding a long-lost Ming Dynasty vase at the To Tsui Kok antique shop are not realized, so I settle on some new creations and hope they will skyrocket in value one day.
As I walk back to the ferry terminal, the sound of a jumbo jet taking off from Hong Kong’s international airport — it lies just over the mountains on neighbouring Lantau — interrupts the calm of Peng Chau.
This island, which is far removed from the hustle and bustle of modern life, is a place we hope will stay lost in time.