As we approached touchdown, the heat haze thickened to a brown pall hanging over the city. The shuttle train to Central Station was clean, fast, smooth and quiet. It carried us across reclaimed land, past tree- and shrub-covered hills and suburbs of tall concrete. Thus, in half an hour, Hong Kong established itself as a city of glaring incongruities.

The name means “Fragrant Harbour,” and probably derives from the scents of trees and flowers that once adorned the hills and shores. The flowers are probably still there on the hills, but their scents are now swamped by the fumes of traffic, the seductive smells of cooking and the somewhat repellent odors of live poultry and raw meats in the open markets, all compounded beneath the umbrella of commerce in this most densely populated city on the planet. The incessant noise even penetrated the double windows of our 18th-floor hotel room.

While hazy, the view from Victoria Peak encompasses the sprawling city.

Our window looked out over the marina of the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club and across the water to Kowloon. Though the water was about 160 feet (50 m) away, we found it impossible to reach. This part of the city made few concessions to the pedestrian. Only in streets too narrow for a car to pass could we walk in some comfort.

Hong Kong is a congested maze of high-rise canyons. Shiny, glass-walled banks and multi-storey hotels mingle promiscuously with concrete residential blocks, from which the paint and stucco peels and drying clothes hang from balconies. Bamboo scaffolding clings to walls. Narrow passageways are closed into tunnels by jutting air-conditioning units.

Trees along the streets, overhung by shop signs and balconies, seem to survive against the odds. Direct sunlight never reaches the bottoms of these canyons, which are illuminated only by diffuse scatterings of reflected light. And the traffic is intense. Cars, buses and taxis jostle for position on the streets.

Pavements are packed with people in a hurry. And amid it all, the occasional old lady or gentleman in peasant garb shambles past, pushing a loaded wheelbarrow along the roadside, oblivious of the traffic, and looking ancient enough to say, “This is my home, and I was here long before you.”

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We took a tram to the ferry terminal. The tram was as congested as the city. Passengers entered at the rear and slowly drifted toward the front, dropping the standard HK $2 fare into a receptacle beside the driver, before exiting. If one accepts the crush, then this is a quick, efficient and very cheap way to travel between Causeway Bay and Hong Kong Central.