When the Winds Come: Typhoon Season!

Every summer, Hong Kong waits for the storms that pause the city and reshape daily life. Ray Au takes a look

PHOTOS COURTESY OF Adobe Stock & Kay li Liebenberg

Typhoon season in Hong Kong does not arrive quietly. It announces itself in stages: first through heat thick enough to feel electrical, then through weather maps glowing red and orange on mobile apps, then finally through the peculiar collective vigilance that settles over the city whenever the Hong Kong Observatory begins issuing warnings.

For newcomers, typhoons, a type of tropical cyclone, can seem dramatic but abstract – distant spirals moving slowly across the South China Sea. Long-term Hong Kong residents understand them differently. Typhoons are not isolated weather events here; they are part of the rhythm of the city itself. They shape architecture, routines, transportation, work culture, even social behaviour. Every summer, usually between June and October, Hong Kong enters a period where daily life can suddenly pivot around wind signals and rain bands.

For residents of Discovery Bay, typhoon season can feel especially isolating. Ferries are suspended during higher storm signals, buses become limited, and the exposed waterfront location means winds often feel far stronger than in denser parts of Hong Kong, turning our usually tranquil seaside community into one of the city’s most dramatic vantage points for approaching storms.

Unlike in many places where severe weather feels exceptional, Hong Kong has turned typhoon season into something strangely organised. The city braces, adapts, pauses and resumes with remarkable speed.

There is a particular atmosphere before a typhoon hits. Supermarkets become crowded with panic buyers anticipating a two-day closure. Outdoor workers move quickly to secure bamboo scaffolding that climbs the sides of skyscrapers like temporary skeletons. Residents tape windows, charge battery packs, and secure outdoor items to prevent them from becoming airborne projectiles in gale-force winds. We check whether the Observatory will raise the T8 signal – the threshold that effectively shuts down much of the city.

Even after years in Hong Kong, many people still feel a small thrill when a T8 is announced.

Part of that thrill comes from rarity within routine. Hong Kong is one of the world’s most densely scheduled cities. Workdays are long and movement through the city is highly structured. A typhoon interrupts that machinery. Offices close. Schools suspend classes. Meetings disappear from calendars. Commuters stop rushing. The city becomes temporarily suspended.

For many of us, typhoon signals are tied to nostalgia. A T8 once meant waking early to watch television in the hope of school cancellation announcements scrolling across the screen. Today the alerts arrive instantly on phones, but the emotional pattern remains the same. Whole families wake repeatedly during stormy nights to check Observatory updates.

The Observatory itself occupies an unusually prominent role in public life. In many cities, weather forecasting operates quietly in the background. In Hong Kong, the Observatory’s warning system shapes collective behaviour in real time. Residents casually discuss T1, T3, T8, T9 and T10 signals with the fluency of traffic conditions, or stock prices.

Here’s what we know: a typhoon is a rapidly rotating storm system characterised by a low-pressure centre or ‘eye,’ surrounded by a ring of intense thunderstorms called the eyewall. They form over warm ocean waters (typically 26.5°C or warmer), bringing low pressure, strong winds and rain. A further spiralling arrangement of thunderstorms can extend for hundreds of miles.

T1 signal means a tropical cyclone is within 800km of Hong Kong and may affect the territory. T3 brings stronger winds and signals caution. But T8 changes everything: gale- or storm-force winds are expected within 12 hours. Public transport begins scaling back. Businesses close. Financial markets may suspend trading. Restaurants shut their doors early. Taxi demand spikes instantly. By T10 – the highest warning, indicating that the eye of a typhoon is very close – the city is effectively in lockdown against nature.

Hong Kong averages around five to seven tropical cyclones requiring warning signals each year. Storm winds usually last only a few hours unless the eye of the typhoon passes close by. In such cases, high winds may persist for about eight hours. Tropical cyclone names in the western North Pacific are assigned by the regional Typhoon Committee under the World Meteorological Organisation to facilitate communication and tracking. Unlike Atlantic hurricanes, western Pacific typhoon names do not alternate between male and female names. Instead, they are contributed by countries and territories across the region and often reference animals, flowers, mythological figures, places or cultural symbols.

Despite sitting in a region habitually af fected by typhoons, Hong Kong’s T10 hurricane signal — the highest tropical cyclone warning level — has been issued only 19 times since official post-war records began in 1946, making it relatively rare but culturally iconic. Between the 1980s and 2000s, Hong Kong experienced only two T10s (1983 and 1999). But since 2010, there have been several more (2012, 2017, 2018, 2023 and two in 2025).

Many storms have left a lasting mark on Hong Kong’s history. In 1962, Typhoon Wanda (T10) battered the city with peak gusts exceeding 260km/h. Decades later in 2018, Super Typhoon Mangkhut (T10) stunned the world with peak sustained winds near 285km/h over open waters, making it one of the strongest and most photographed storms ever to af fect Hong Kong. More recently in 2023, Typhoon Saola (T10) passed extraordinarily close to the city – roughly 40km south of the Observatory – while Typhoon Haikui (T8) brought record-breaking rainfall, dumping 641.1mm of rain on the city.

Meanwhile 2025 proved to be a record-breaking typhoon season for Hong Kong. While 14 tropical cyclones required warning signals – the highest annual number since records began in 1946 – Hong Kong also issued two T10s (for Typhoon Wipha and Super Typhoon Ragasa), tying the previous record set in 1964. At Ragasa’s peak intensity, maximum sustained winds near its eye reached 270km/h, making it the world’s most powerful Category 5-equivalent tropical cyclone of 2025.

During a typhoon, strong winds can cause structural damage, uproot trees and generate dangerous flying debris. Heavy rainfall can lead to flooding and landslides. Storm surge (a rise in sea level) can inundate coastal areas. But what makes typhoon season in Hong Kong fascinating is that life does not fully stop. It transforms.

Inside apartment towers, residents settle into rituals. Some cook elaborate comfort meals. Others stand at windows watching palm trees bend almost horizontally in the wind. Families gather around televisions while rain lashes against glass. Social media fills with photos of empty streets in Central, waves crashing over promenades in Stanley, and supermarket shelves stripped of produce.

The visual drama of typhoons is amplified by Hong Kong’s geography. Mountains rise directly behind dense clusters of skyscrapers. Narrow streets create wind tunnels. Victoria Harbour becomes steel-grey and turbulent. The city’s verticality makes storms feel theatrical. Clouds move low across peaks, while neon reflections shimmer through rain-slick streets.

For many, however, the defining memory of typhoon season is sound. Hong Kong during a major storm is extraordinarily loud. Windows rattle continuously. Wind whistles through tiny architectural gaps. Rain strikes buildings with astonishing force. In older apartments, air-conditioner units shake through the night. The city’s usual soundtrack – traffic, construction, crowds – is replaced by pure weather.