(Macau)....Macau, or Macao, depending on your choice of spelling, is a curious place. I was traveling in China, in the small city of Zhaoqing in Guangdong province. I cannot speak any of the Chinese languages, so for most of the time I was ignorant of what I was seeing written around me. One thing I could make sense of, though, was the writing on a coach that every morning was parked beneath my hotel, as the name of the bus company was written in Portuguese. I knew that it could only be going to Macau, and it did, reaching this special administrative region (SAR) in about three hours, or the time it takes for two violent Hong Kong movies to air. Portuguese still is one of the official languages of Macau, but I did not hear anyone speaking it. 
There is some pride here of Portuguese involvement, dating as it does from 1553. Hong Kong also has much Portuguese history; the Brits only took over in the mid-19th century. Macau street addresses and tourist information is in Portuguese, so getting around is not a problem. It consists of three main islands. The first also is called Macau. It is the original settlement and is completely built over.
At its southern tip there are transportation hubs, hotels and restaurants and government offices; in the middle is the colonial area, including the famous façade of its ruined cathedral; while its north is more of a residential area, with a couple of quiet, off-the-beaten-path parks. It was in one of these during a rainstorm that I watched a game of mah-jong that I was none the wiser as how it was played when I left ninety minutes later. 
I also discovered an indoor ice rink and a former residence of Sun Yat Sen, the revolutionary Chinese leader who fled to Taiwan. The second island is Taipa, which is sinking beneath the weight of gaming. I took a bus through there on the way to the most southerly of the three islands, Coloane, and I could see huge fences wrapped around sites earmarked for casino development. Most of Taipa will be destroyed, it looks like; the other parts of this central island have been “reclaimed” from the sea. For example, the international airport here sits on what used to be water 20 years ago.
It depends what one is looking for in Macau as to what will be your favourite of the three islands (mine is Coloane). Macau, like most Chinese settlements, has a wealth of interesting alleys, markets, shrines, nooks and crannies to keep anyone interested for days; Taipa has a small colonial section ending at an old spa bordering a marsh (in danger of disappearing to construction crews) in which I saw herons and ibises, while Coloane is the closest to what one might imagine the entire peninsula to have, perhaps not too long ago, looked like. Coloane village was quiet, peaceful and relaxed. A small market did not create any of the noise usually associated with Chinese shopping; and it was in this village that I discovered the best coffee of that trip, at a bakery called Lord Stow’s (www.lordstow.com). 
It is on Rua da Tassara, and while there one must have several of its egg tarts, which are slightly burnt on their skin and absolutely delicious. Munching away, I watched three men build scaffolding using bamboo (this practice is used on two-storey houses as it is for 200-storey skyscrapers. No safety equipment is used, and death from falling is not unusual). I wandered around to the bottom tip of Coloane. Serenity quickly takes over. Little trails go through woods, and at the bottom is a now-seldom-visited spa and sports complex previously frequented by colonials. A plaque stating that this was the home of the Macao Swimming Association almost has faded away to nothing (see photo).
In an oceanfront bar were two men smoking cigarettes and speaking French. After dropping down past an understated Westin hotel and a small cemetery, woods begin again that soon rise very steeply on a trail of wooden steps to an electrical substation. The path falls away to the A-Ma Monastery, which is the largest and oldest in Macau. A large statue of A-Ma rising above the trees is to be seeked out if you lose direction. The monastery is impressive and colourful, and there I bought its sect’s flag, a triangular yellow affair with a pink border and red and pink stitching. On one side is a god being fanned by two priests; on the other, a dragon trying to paw a sun. There is a little silver bell at the top. The man who sold it to me took 15 minutes to package it for me, so as it stood no chance of getting damaged.