My adventure on Lantau Island began early, fuelled by a comforting breakfast of pumpkin congee and a nutty walnut bao at my hotel. The subtle sweetness of the congee paired perfectly with the rich bao, providing just the right start for a day of exploration. Before setting out, I stopped by The Bakehouse in Causeway Bay to pick up treats for a picnic lunch—especially their famous egg tarts, which countless glowing reviews had made irresistible.
With my picnic in hand, I boarded the MTR to Hong Kong Station – a sprawling hub that can take up to 20 minutes to cross on foot (allowing extra time for journeys is definitely worth it). Despite the size of the station, clear signage made navigating easy, and I soon found myself on the orange line toward Tung Chung. If you want a more relaxed commute, try to travel outside rush hours, when the trains are less crowded.
The 50-minute train ride, part of it above ground, traced the beaches of Lantau Island and offered sweeping sea views. I recommend sitting on the right-hand side for the most picturesque views. Arriving at the last stop, I was pleased to find the Ngong Ping 360 cable car terminal directly opposite the station—impossibly convenient (we all know my terrible sense of direction).
Booking my cable car ticket online with GetYourGuide meant I skipped the long ticket queues—a tip that saves time during peak tourist seasons. Standard cabins cost about HKD 235, and you can buy tickets in advance or at the counter. For the clearest views and smallest crowds, aim for an early morning visit. I went in October, when the weather was crisp and perfect for outdoor adventures.
My photographer, worried about possible long waits—standing for extended periods can be tough with an injury. But thanks to arriving at 9:30am, as travel blogs suggested, we avoided any queue. Sharing a cabin with a Chinese family, we still had plenty of space.
The 25-minute journey soared above Hong Kong airport, tiny islands, turquoise coves, and mangroves where white cranes hid among the branches. As the cable car glided above Lantau Island, a salty breeze drifted through the windows, mingling with the rhythmic hum of the cable and the distant calls of white cranes hidden in mangroves below. I longed to hike the hills or search for white dolphins, but my photographer’s injury meant our pace was gentler. Fortunately, the cable car is roomy, and most of Ngong Ping Village and its main attractions are accessible via ramps and elevators, making the experience welcoming for travellers with mobility challenges.
At the summit, Ngong Ping Village greeted us with its classic black-and-white architecture. Crossing a bridge lined with ceremonial drums, I wandered past cafes and shops along the gentle hillside. The gateway to the 12 Divine Generals—each one a zodiac guardian—marked the start of the road toward the towering Buddha. At the roundabout, I took a quieter path to the staircase of 268 steps leading up to Tian Tan Buddha. For visitors unable to climb, monks offer blessings at the base, and a ramp (though only for authorised vehicles) allows access to the lower viewing platform behind the statue.
The 268 steps—known as the Altar of Heaven—invite both prayer and the inevitable tourist selfie. As I climbed, a monk reminded a visitor, “Each step is a meditation, a pause to reconnect with peace inside.” Despite the effort, my photographer pressed on, and the reward at the top was a panoramic view of Lantau Island, the village, and distant islets.
The Tian Tan Buddha looms enormous above the landscape—majestic, but perhaps most beautiful from afar. Installed atop Mount Muk Yue since October 13, 1989 (a Friday, but not unlucky here), it’s the world’s second-largest seated Buddha, surpassed only by Taiwan’s Guanyin. Six devas encircle the statue, offering flowers and incense as the Buddha sits in Abhaya Mudra, the gesture of peace and fearlessness.
Standing at the base, a sudden gust from a low-flying plane swept by, filling me with awe at the Buddha’s unshakable calm amid the chaos. I always imagine the statue as brave, unmoved by these daily disturbances. I even ducked a few times, thinking a plane might land on me. Inside, an exhibit of ancient paintings and a graceful spiral staircase awaited—no photographs allowed, but the memory lingers.
Descending the hill, I wandered through a garden alive with lotus flowers and dragonflies en route to Po Lin Monastery. The monastery’s vibrant details stood out, though only certain halls were open, since it’s still active. Amid crowds, lighting incense, I sought a quiet courtyard perfumed by drifting incense. My photographer rested there, while I explored further—each temple was unique, gilded in gold, and sparkling in the autumn sun. I visited the Hall of Nobita first, then the Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas. Some buildings required stairs or ramps, but their mountainside setting added to the charm.
I skipped the vegetarian restaurant—advance meal tickets required—and instead enjoyed a picnic lunch in the piazza: Bakehouse treats and Starbucks coffee. The egg tart riding in the box promised to exceed my expectations, with a perfectly crisp, buttery crust, crumbling delicately with each bite. The custard was silky smooth, with just the right amount of sweetness and a hint of vanilla that lingered pleasantly on my palate. The combination of texture and flavour made it stand out and left a memorable impression that lingered throughout my day. The autumn air was ideal for dining outdoors, and though the village cafes tempted me, I was glad for my relaxed picnic. After lunch, I browsed the shops before catching the cable car and MTR back, giving my photographer a well-earned rest.
As the cable car descended, I found myself reflecting: what truly lingered from this day? The Buddha’s steady presence—peaceful and fearless—echoed in my mind. Even with the crowds, the calm surrounding the statue and monastery was a quiet invitation to find stillness within. I’m usually the type to pack every day with activity, but travelling at a slower pace with my photographer meant savouring each moment rather than chasing the next. Sometimes, the most meaningful journeys are those that leave room for reflection. I wonder: what will linger for you, the next time you travel?
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