Rambling around my ancestral Hainan

Page 343 – 370


Chapter 11
West Coast - From Ledong To Dongfang


When the hot-water system fails on Monday morning, I am compelled to mix the hot boiling water from the kettle and cold tap water in the washbasin for a quick refreshing shower before leaving at ten-thirty for the bus station.  After early lunch at a cafe near the station, I face a few cabbies vending their services.  I select one, a youthful-looking and decent bloke, who agrees to take me to Jianfengling Forest Reserve and Yinggehai Salt Fields in Ledong County (乐东黎族自治县) for 500 RMB.  

At almost four hundred and fifty square kilometres, Jianfengling Forest Reserve is the largest tropical rainforest reserve in China.  Established in 1992, it is rich in flora and fauna.  It hosts two hundred and fifteen species of birds, sixty-eight species of mammals (including Cloud Leopards), three hundred species of plants and trees, and two thousand two hundred species of insects (including more than four hundred species of butterflies).  I am hoping to see some birds there.  

Being about one hundred and fifteen kilometres - or two hours by taxi - northwest of Sanya, the forest reserve is fairly accessible to eco-tourists.  On the map, it is about eighty kilometres west of Wuzhishan.  By road, the distance is more than fifty kilometres longer because we need to travel first to Maoyang town (which is twenty kilometres north of Wuzhishan central) and from there we will travel southwest via Ledong to Jianfeng town (another one hundred and thirty kilometres).  I include Yinggehai Salt Fields because it is twenty kilometres southwest of Jianfeng town, a slight detour.  

We set off at eleven-thirty in Cui Ya Yong’s (崔亚勇) new five-seater tourist van.  He is thirty-six but he looks like a young man in his late twenties.  Well-groomed and neatly-dressed, this handsome chap has two children, aged thirteen and nine.  As his wife also works, their children are being looked after by their grandparents.  The eldest child in his family, he has a younger brother and sister.  Originally from Wanning, he has been operating in Wuzhishan for seven years.  Previously, he was working in Indonesia but for only half a year.

Cui is Hainanese.  He flicks on his radio.  The compere is narrating a story in Hainanese, and I can understand his Wenchang accent, although not many words.  I can also understand why Cui and other Hainanese are able to pinpoint my Wenchang ancestry the moment I utter my first few Hainanese words.  Cui reveals he is able to earn sufficient income also to meet the purchase instalments of his van.  His good months occur during the school and public holidays.

Shortly after leaving downtown, we climb and travel along the higher slopes of mountain ranges.

At Maoyang, we join 313 Provincial Road, a two-lane road.  Half an hour later we pass through the town of Wanchong.  During the hour-long journey, I am stunned again by the spectacular sceneries – the gentle ridges, the verdant green groves, the flowering shrubs on the slopes, the clear blue sky, the occasional fields, and the sparsely-populated villages.

After Wanchong, our van rolls along lower ground.  The road is still wadded with trees and light in traffic.  And I see a beautiful river.  When I check my map, I discover that it is the Changhua River, which runs parallel to 313 Provincial Road from Maoyang to Ledong town.  

313 Provincial Road intersects G98 Hainan West Line Expressway at the Jiusuo (literally, Ninth Place) Motorway Interchange, one hundred and twenty-seven kilometres from Wuzhishan.  We reach this interchange at two in the afternoon.

The section of 313 National Road before the Jiusuo Motorway Interchange is beautiful and straight, where bordering Oleanders show off their multi-coloured flowers.  Interestingly, seven trucks loaded with stems of green bananas overtake us.  The rural village along the way is small - only one road of houses and crowded shops.

 
Yinggehai, the salt fields

(莺歌海盐场)
 

To reach the salt field earlier, we turn right to join the wider expressway, instead of driving straight on along 313 Provincial Road and 225 National Road.  The distance by both routes is more or less the same - about forty kilometres.  The Hainan West Line Expressway is the western section of the 612.8-kilometre Hainan Ring Road Expressway, which connects the major coastal cities around the island.  Along the east coast, the Haikou-to-Sanya line is named the Hainan East Line Expressway.

Half an hour later, we turn off at the Huangliu Motorway Interchange.  We are very close to the salt field of Yinggehai.  Near Foluo town, the road becomes dusty and bumpy at times.  The carriage on the railway track is stationary.  With no one on board, it is probably carrying cargoes.  After the town, the road narrows.  We hurtle past a vegetable farm, which has been recently harvested.  Hanging from the wooden trellises are the superfluous, now desiccated creepers.  I hazard a guess: these are shrivelled vines of small melons or gourds.  As the farmer clears the scorched trailers, four cows lazily feed on carpets of overgrown grass between the stakes.

Yinggehai Salt Field is located about ninety kilometres west of Sanya at the southwestern end of Hainan Island.  Exposed to the sun throughout the year, the large salt pans here constitute China’s major salt producer, offering coarse salt, crude salt, pulverised cleaned salt, fine solarised salt, high-grade solarised salt, and bromine.  For livelihood, residents rely however on fishing and agriculture.

Cui parks the van by the edge of a very narrow country road about five hundred metres from the salt field.  A small river flows before us.  I am satisfied with this vision.  I have no desire to move any closer because I want to reach Jianfengling before evening.  I count about fifty mounts of salt.  As I stand by the river bank to photograph the scene, a small Ledong Lianhe Middle School bus, capable of transporting about twelve seated students, squeezes through.  Three young kids stick their heads out of their windows and wave enthusiastically.  They are friendly.  

On our way out, we see school students walking home.  All are dressed casually, and not in school uniform.  Unlike their urban counterparts, village schools are not strict on uniform requirement.  Merrily talking under their umbrellas, which shelter their fair skin from the harsh sunlight, four girls are wearing different styles of rubber sandals, not school shoes.  Some children are carrying backpacks; some, only a pile of books.  Two kids of about eight or nine years of age are bearing backpacks while cycling.  One young kid is standing on his mother’s scooter.  I briefly ponder over the future of this motley crowd of young Hainanese.

After joining the West Line Expressway, we face a large green road sign, stating:  
 
“Jianfeng      8 Km
 Dongfang    58 Km
 Haikou     244 Km”
 
At last, we are approaching my destination.  Five minutes later, another sign informs us:
 
“Jianfeng       3 Km
 Basuo        53 Km
 Changjiang    98 Km”

 
Dongfang town is the new name for Basuo while Changjiang is the new name for Shilu.  Basuo and Shilu are names familiar to Australian prisoners of war in Hainan Island during the Second World War.  They were taken there by their Japanese captors.
 

Jianfeng Nature Reserve(尖峰岭国家森林公园)

and Tianchi Lake (天池)

 
Jianfeng town is eight kilometres east of Jianfeng Motorway Interchange.  Tall and slender trees on both sides of 782 County Road hide solitary wooden dwellings and farms, imparting an impression of a liveless place.  A kilometre or so before the town are some new five-storey apartment blocks on our left, and the Jianfeng Gas Station (尖峰加浊站; Jianfeng Jiazhuozhan) on our right.  The units are ready for occupancy.  782 County Road is the only street in the small town, where the houses, crowd, and heavy traffic, especially the trishaws, reduce the width of the two-lane road.

According to statistics, the town has a population of around ten thousand.  Another ten thousand live in nearby villages.  Seventy percent of the population belongs to the Li ethnic community.

A hotel is conveniently located on the main road in town.  But I am evading the madding crowd for the tranquil beauty of unspoilt forest.  I decide to move on, as darkening clouds threaten a downpour.  Then, suddenly, it starts to drizzle.  Cui solicits another 100 RMB for the journey from Jianfeng town on the edge of the nature reserve to a hotel high up on the mountain range.  Given that I am prepared to give him a bonus of 50 RMB, the extra 100 RMB is not too far off the mark.  Because Jianfengling Forest Reserve is a park, an admission fee of 50 RMB per adult is collected at the gate about two kilometres after the town, even though I will be staying in a guesthouse there.  

As the crow flies, the distance from the gate to the nearest hotel is six or seven kilometres.  Because the road is on the winding contours of the steep slope, the distance extends to about ten kilometres.  It is still drizzling when we arrive at the resort by the bank of a beautiful lake at four-thirty.  Tianchi Taoyuan Hotel (天池桃园酒店; literally: Heaven’s Pool Peach Garden Hotel) looks posh and expensive.  And it is.  The nightly rate is 500 RMB, says the receptionist.  Upon my appeal, the charge is reduced to 916 RMB for two nights of accommodation.  It is the most expensive hotel I have stayed in Hainan.  I am resigned to a brief life of wanton luxury.  Only later will I learn of the existence of other nearby hotels.  I bid farewell to Cui.

With the light rain and chill, the area slowly becomes shrouded with mist as Meng Qing Ling (孟庆玲) and her assistant accompany me to Room 407 in Chalet D on an islet in the small lake.  It is a fantastic but surreal experience, walking across the swinging rope-and-board bridge over the lake within the milky cloud.  The surrounding mountain range, the residences, and the trees have vanished as if into thin air.

Sadly, the magic lasts only fifteen minutes.  By the time, Qing Ling and her assistant deposit my luggage and bag in my room on the second floor, the mist has lifted.  I deeply regret the lost opportunity of capturing the unique moment for everlasting remembrance.    

Dinner time is an hour away, and the rain has ceased.  It is still bright.  I quickly explore the tiny picturesque artificial islet to see the waterfront and compare the eight chalets.  If my chalet is typical, then each has six rooms.  Two young couples from Hubei occupy one of the chalets; they are tourists.  Birds are singing but I cannot see any - until I return to my chalet to freshen up for dinner.  As I stand near the bridge to admire the forlorn duck floating aimlessly in the lake, a chirp comes from a bird perched somewhere among the branches of a thinly-leaved tree opposite my chalet entrance.

Slowly, I creep towards that tree twice my height, not wishing to frighten off the songster.  The branches and twigs are numerous but the leaves are sparsely distributed.  Sprouting mainly near the tips of twigs, the leaves are thin and yellowish-green, thus permitting me to have a quick glance at the bird before it flies off on the click of my camera.  It is small, mainly brownish and white in colour, with a flash of yellow.  Professor Liang Wei identified it as a Yellow-vented Bulbul, which is a fairly common bird in Singapore.

Come six in the evening, Qing Ling shows me the restaurant on the second floor, the floor above the reception.  This pretty lass of twenty-six hails from Harbin, Heilongjiang.  She has worked here for only six months.  She has studied English.  Although not fluent, she explains the menu in English and, when words fail her, reverts to Mandarin.  I settle for a 48-RMB plate of fried noodle.  When it arrives, I am apprehensive.  The dish has no balance: the chicken pieces are few and the noodle is too much for a single person.  The meat does not taste fresh and the noodle, bland.  I have no heart to tell her this when I see her after dinner.  She has been kind enough to offer more information about the place the following morning.

My room is very large, overlooking the lake.  It is indeed luxurious: the Queen-sized soft bed, plasma television, computer with free internet connection, big shower room, separate laundry room, and high ceiling.  There is, however, no fan or air-conditioning.  The day and evening are cool enough.  Throughout the night, the noise of the excavator on the nearby slope irritates me.  Work is continuing non-stop; the rush is on to complete eighteen more chalets by the end of the year.

After dinner, I blunder: I should have clicked into the internet for more facts about Mingfeng Rainforest Park.  If I have done so, I would see the need for an early start the next morning to enjoy the rich bird life - in fact, one hundred and fifty species - that is right in front of my chalet and in the surrounding woodland.  I would also learn that the park is only three kilometres away.  Instead, I spend the evening belatedly absorbing the results of the May 7 Singapore General Elections, in which popular Foreign Minister George Yeo Yong Boon lost his seat due to the change in voter sentiment in response to the government’s policies and to the new and inexperienced members of his five-person team contesting in the enlarged Aljunied Group Representation Constituency (GRC).

Nine other patrons are in the dining room for the buffet breakfast on Tuesday morning.  The buffet is not really a buffet.  We are each being served a bowl of plain porridge with crunchy bits of prickles, a plate of boiled kailan (a Chinese vegetable), two whole boiled yams, two “mantous” (plain buns), two pieces of deep-fried chicken wings, and two hard-boiled eggs.  The meal is more than enough for me.

Waitress Qiu Zhi (邱芝) is talking to three persons, one of whom is a lady, at the adjacent table.  Eavesdropping, I learn of her home in Danzhou.  Excited, I motion to her when she has finished her conversation.

“I hear you mentioning Danzhou as your family home.  Is that correct?”
“Yes”
“Do you know the location of Xian Furen’s temple?”
“Yes.”

Immediately I whip out my laptop to display a map of Hainan Island and zoom in on Danzhou City.  Her finger indicates Nanfeng town on the northern edge of Songtao Reservoir, ten kilometres south of Danzhou capital.  That distance is calculated very much later.  I thank her profusely for the information.  Hearing my wish to visit her town, she recommends tasting its noted Songtao fish dish.  

After breakfast, I speak to Qing Ling.  As we walk towards the bridge, she explains the various features.  Tianchi (天池; Heaven’s Pool) Lake is an artificial lake, built by the resort owner from Henan.  It is six hundred square metres in size and between twenty and thirty metres deep.  Opened only in early 2011, Tianchi resort has eighty employees.  The partially completed boardwalk around the lake will be ready by the end of the year, if not sooner.  Safety railings will be erected to prevent guests from falling into the lake, and paddleboats will be available for hire.


* Jian feng ling - 尖峰岭 - sharp peak ridge *


Jianfengling is the highest mountain on this range but its peak - one thousand four hundred and twelve metres high - cannot be seen from here because it is about fifteen kilometres southeast.  The resort is, however, situated at eight hundred and twenty-two metres above sea level.  The average winter temperature is 19 degrees Celsius while the average summer temperature is 24.5 degrees Celsius.  

Prior to her current job as desk manager, Meng Qing Ling was working for two years in Wangfujing Grand Hotel, Beijing.  She graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in Animal Science from Heilongjiang August First Land Reclamation University.  She has a twenty-eight year old brother.  Her fifty-two year old father is a farmer.    

When she points to the direction of the highest mountain in this range, I wrongly believe that, since Tianchi Taoyuan Hotel is on the lower reach of the Jianfeng Range, Jianfengling Nature Reserve is on its upper reaches.  In other words, Cui has brought me to the wrong place when he took the left turn instead of the right at the park entrance.

Unknown to me, I am actually at the right place, well suited to see the birds I have intended, because the largest nature reserve in Hainan covers a very wide expanse, including the Tianchi Lake resort.  

Nature reserves are created by the government to ensure the survival of Hainan flora and fauna because of the diminution of the virgin forest covering the island a millennium ago.  In 1956, almost twenty-eight percent (862,470 hectares) of the island was still occupied by forest.

But by 1978, the size was reduced to slightly more than seven percent (240,000 hectares).  Including agricultural plantations, the wooded area is only about fifteen percent.  Human habitation, agricultural cultivation, and hunting over the past centuries have taken a heavy toll, extinguishing many bird species.  And many of the remaining two hundred and ninety-one bird species are on the verge of extinction.  Of these species, several are only wintering on the island.  

Rare birds like Hainan Leaf-Warbler, Yellow-billed Nuthatch, Rufus-cheeked Laughingthrush, Grey “Hainan” Peacock-Pheasant, and Hainan Wood-Partridge can only be seen in nature reserves.  Among the endemic bird species, the Hainan Partridge (Aborophilia ardens) is listed as endangered and the Hainan Leaf-Warbler (Phylloscopus hainanus) as vulnerable.  Other birds like the Ratchet-tailed Treepie (Temnurus temnurus) and White-eared Night Heron (Gorsachius manificus) are listed as critically endangered while the Pale-capped Pigeon (Columba punicea) and Blyth’s Kingfisher (Alcedo Hercules) are listed as vulnerable.

Fortunately, the South China Institute of Endangered Animals commenced a captive-breeding program in 1991.

Hainan Partridge is a shy bird, feeding on insects, seeds, and snails among the forest floor in the highlands like Jianfengling, Bawangling, and Nanweiling Nature Reserves, and Wuzhishan.  It grows to about twenty-eight centimetres in length.  The female lays about two or three eggs between February and May.  Since it is a rare and protected bird, I dismiss any hope of seeing it even by chance during my brief stay.

When I mention seeing three ducks diving for fish in the morning, Qing Ling reports that four ducks are resident in the lake.  There were more, released there by the management.   But they have been missing, probably being poached for some families’ dinner.  There are big fishes too.  She indicates the length, from her hand to her elbow.  At that, my restrained desire explodes.

“Can I fish here?  Can I fish here?”
“Yes.”
“How much does it cost?”
“The normal rental is 100 RMB but free of charge for you.”

She fetches a fishing rod and a bag of pellets.  I return to my room to mix the pellets with water to a consistency for firmly moulding a small quantity around the two small hooks on the line.  A little fish immediately strikes at the mushy bait but sneakily escapes being caught.  The next hour is a fruitless waiting game.

A worker appears.  He is taking a break from constructing the wooden platform that skirts around the lake’s edge.  Yes, some of his fellow workers have caught big fishes, the length of half a metre and weighing between three and four kilograms, he confirms, although he has not fished here.  When I show him my bag of pellets, he laughs with derision.  

“You need prawns,” he advises.  

After another few minutes of trying, I discard the smelly mixture in frustration and return the rod.

From eleven in the morning, the weather becomes warm and sunny.  Swathing the bridge and mountains, the early dawn mist has lifted.  Only a thin layer still floats on the upper ridge.  Alone, I feel lost.  I spend the remaining morning investigating the surrounding flora from the boardwalk constructed around a third of the lake’s parameter.  About half of the projected length has been completed.  A section of wooden safety railing has been erected and two pavilions will appeal to tired tourist.

At midway of the boardwalk, I hear cicadas.  But I cannot see them.  Expert in camouflage, their species will persist.  Some short trees bear small fruits that resemble unripe green apricots or plums.  I am tempted to pluck one to taste.  But that does not seem honest.  I pass some workers: six are sitting on the boardwalk talking, two are sleeping, and three are doing something outside a nearby house that is occupied by a lady.  A stop-gap shoddy toilet is nearby; it emits the familiar foul smell.  I look intensely; some decayed deposits are on the bank.

Only after lunch do I discover that, if I had been more adventurous, I could have seen more.  That morning, Qing Ling had offered a car to take me to Mingfeng (Phoenix) Valley.  I declined, saying that I would like to go there in the afternoon.  I do not realise its significance.  In fact, at the road kerb about two hundred metres from the hotel is a direction signboard and a sketch map of Mingfeng Valley, which Cui and I had missed during the previous day’s drizzle.  The unimposing two-metre brown timber-pole signboard lists the directions and distances to the interesting places nearby.

Looking at the signboard now, I observe that to my left are: Tianchi Mountain Resort (2.8 km) and the National Forest and monkey-watching area of Mingfeng Valley (2.8 km).  To my right - on the road leading to my hotel - are: Conference Center and TianChi holiday resort (300 m), Tianchi Peach Garden Hotel (1.5 km), and Rainforest Valley Tourist Resort and Chinese Sturgeon Park (11 km).

On the sketch map are two pictures, that of a civet cat and a monkey.  Catalogued too are these fascinating features: Spinulose Tree Fern Ravine, Old tree with buttress root, Single-tree forest, Three sisters, Banana Woods, Moon Bridge, Pinquan Spring, Airsky Garden, Intermediate Stage of Plant strangling, Ancestor Cave, Phoenix Bridge, Root curtain, Early primary stage of strangling, and Millennial old tree.  

Along the road from my hotel to the direction pole are some houses and small orchards.  Living in a house nearby, a man is standing close to his car.  I ask him if he is willing to drive me to Mingfeng Valley and back.  He wants 200 RMB, which is far too steep for what I believe is only a return distance of about six kilometres.  I decline his offer.

Again, I am under the misconception – from the sketch map - that we can drive through the forest of Mingfeng Valley and back.  The actual distance is about eight or nine kilometres, which includes the six kilometres of drive to and fro the entrance of Mingfeng Valley forest and the 2.8 km forest walking trail.

In my - mistaken - estimation, a distance of six kilometres of flat road through the forest could be easily traversed within three hours.  If I had done adequate research, I could have started soon after lunch and return before six in the evening.  But it is now three in the afternoon.  I can still make it.  I walk along that stretch of road by the southern edge of the lake.  It soon becomes deserted.  After half an hour, I decide that it is tempting fate to proceed further.

Returning to the signboard, I look again, now closely at the two-metre boulder and decrypting the meaning of the carved characters 法天 (Fa Tian) in red.  Gradually I understand: Tianchi Lake and its surrounding is a model (fa) of Heaven (tian) or Heaven itself.  In Xinjiang is also a Tianchi Lake.  Located 1.9 kilometres above sea level, it is larger - at about 4.9 square kilometres.

At Hainan’s Heaven, I meet a trishaw man who is in “heaven”, delightfully flirting with the local lady.  He barely shifts his eyes away from her, losing a client who wishes to visit Mingfeng.

At one of the houses near the signboard, six or seven people are on their knees, sorting out the small fruits spread on a large groundsheet for eventual sales possibly at the market in town.  They look like those that I have seen earlier on the trees around the lake.

“What are these?”  I ask.
“Lizi,” a middle-aged lady responds, as she hands me a slightly ripe one to taste.

It is crunchy and mildly sweet.  “Lizi” (李子), as I later discover from my dictionary, is “plum”.  It should not be confused with “lizi” (梨子), which is pear; “lizi” (栗子), which is chestnut; and “lizhi” (荔枝), which is lychee or litchi.  They all sound the same to me.

In Hainan, fruits are also important export commodities.  The export includes bananas (xiangjiao), breadfruit (mianbao guo), jackfruit (boluomi), lemons (ningmeng), lychees, mangoes (mangguo), oranges (chengzi), pineapples (shanzhu), and quinces (po).  An interesting fact I learn is a breadfruit tree can provide sufficient food for one person for a year.  Since many fruits are readily perishable, they are produced only in quantities for local consumption.  Mangosteen, wampi, dragon fruit, rose or wax apple, and star fruit are examples.  A wampi looks like a grape or a longan.  It has a thin skin, within which is the white flesh surrounding a large green seed.  It can be sweet or sourish.  The ones that I have tasted were sourish.

Having experienced the unpalatable dinner the previous night, I am looking forward to fresh food.  Since eggs could be easily sourced from local farmers, I decide on scrambled eggs.  The bill for a bowl of rice, a plate of boiled lettuce, and six scrambled eggs fried with garlic shoots is expensive: 66 RMB.  Fortunately, I choose only two dishes.  I dread to think of the cost if I have ordered more.  At times like this, the meal which included half a roast duck and cost only 25 RMB from the Wuzhishan lady with the charming photogenic daughter seemed “heavenly”.


Mingfeng (Phoenix) Valley(鸣凤谷),

beautiful flora and fauna

 
As I prepare to travel to Dongfang, I take up Qing Ling’s offer.  Since she is off-duty in the early morning, I ask hotel manager Guang Xin if he can arrange for someone to drive me “through” Mingfeng Rainforest Park.  He kindly does so.  A slim and short teenage waiter in his beige uniform soon shows up on his light motorbike.    

On the winding lane wide enough for only one car from the signpost to our destination, we smoothly cruise, surrounded by tall grasses and trees on both edges.  As I have anticipated the previous day, no houses are located along the route.  Manoeuvring around a slightly ascending bend, the lad’s slim motorbike slows down under our combined weight.  

To my surprise, after about two kilometres, he stops at a car park where the entrance and exit of the forest trail are located, instead of going through the forest along a cement lane as I have imagined.  At the exit is a thatched food stall-cum-shelter.  Obviously for sale, a heap of green coconuts lies on the ground.  A small van with its opened hatch is parked beside the shelter.  Waiting to board it are some tourists sitting under the shelter, drinking or munching titbits.  They have just finished their early morning excursion.  I quickly study the information on the wooden signboard.

Jianfeng tropical rainforest was chosen by the Chinese National Geography magazine in 2005 as “one of the ten most beautiful forests in China”.  When I read this piece of news, I want to kick myself.  

The next bit of information puzzles me: “The whole 1.96 km tour line will take about 90-120 minutes.”  Is the trail only 1.96 kilometres as indicated here, or 2.8 kilometres as stated on the earlier signboard map? Intriguingly, the information continues:
 
“Mingfeng Valley is famous for peacock pheasant, crested eagle, egret, jungle fowls

and many other birds.  There are many beautiful landscapes, such as large buttress,

strangling phenomenon, stem-flower, sky garden, drip leaf tip,

Happy Bridge, Ting Quan, Mingfeng stones, Bird Forest, Cave and other wonders. 

It is also an ideal place for a forest bathing.”
 
Forest bathing?  Not me!  Not when monkeys and civet cats are prowling around.  They may scoot off with my clothes.

The entrance to the reserve is a flight of stairs.  I ask the waiter if he could guide me on the trail.  He rings his manager for permission.  He is given fifteen minutes.  Although it is brief, I am happy to have the opportunity to feel the unique ecology, an opportunity which I could have lost.  I hurry up the stairs after him, knowing with certainty that this trail is not for vehicles of any sort.

A visitor has to walk up and down wooden stairs over undulating ground in this thickly forested preserve, where the rainforest trees are entangled with creepers and vines.  Even the last steps prior to the final descent are guarded by centuries-old sentinels that rise high up into the sky, their leaves appearing to my squinting eyes as faint shadows against the bright blue sky.

I rapidly record the names of these trees:  Castanopsis carlesii (Fragaceae), Neolitsea pulchella (Lauraceae), Acronychia oligophlebia (Rutaceae), Nephelium topengii (Sapindaceae), Cyclobalanopsis blakei (Fagaceae), Erycibe obtusifolia (Convolvulaceae), Schima superb (Theaceae), Acmena acuminatissima (Myrtaceae), and Endospermum Chinense (Euphorbiaceae).  The Nephelium topengii, a variety of Nephelium lappaceum, is also known as Hainan Rambutan.  Its fruit, however, is smaller than the edible rambutan fruit of the Nephelium lappaceum, which is native to Southeast Asian countries and also cultivated in Hainan.  Useful for its timber, it is an evergreen tree growing up to twenty metres in height.  According to a sixteenth-century herbal classic, Nephelium topengii may be identical to lung-li, which has hallucinogenic properties.

I deeply regret a late start in my exploration.  Had I been there earlier, I would have completed the whole trail, and might have seen a monkey or civet cat.  Perhaps I might have encountered a frightened pheasant.  Perhaps I might even have witnessed beautiful Hainanese damsels “forest bathing”.

Checking out of the hotel at eleven-thirty, I wait at the lobby for a cab or trishaw.  Unfortunately, no one has travelled up here in a cab this morning.  Knowing my plight, the hotel management books a trishaw from town at the standard fare of 75 RMB for the journey to a stand along the main road for buses en route to Dongfang town.

Half an hour later, it arrives.  In his late forties, the driver from Hebei confirms his fare.  The ride down on his slow motorized trishaw takes ages, although frequent glimpses of the distant peaks afford me great satisfaction.  The thrills of this region will attract more tourists in the years ahead.  A private car overtakes us.  

Hearing my mission of jetting around Hainan, Mr Hebei launches into a mini-lecture on some of the prominent features of the mountain slope.  Unfortunately, my linguistic incompetence does him no justice.  He voluntarily stops at vantage points, including the Jianfeng Scenic Lookout, where the view is unimpeded for me to photograph the breathtaking scenes - the highest peak of this range and the countless dragonflies hovering around me.  I am bewildered.  Is this their breeding season?

Driver quizzes me about my means of transport to Tianchi Resort Hotel.  Hearing my answer, he explains that the admission fee would have been waived if I had engaged a local trishaw or cab.  Thank you, I will bear that in mind, I reply.  The food-and-drink stall owner at the nearest bus stop along 782 County Road kindly tells us that I have just missed the bus and that the next bus is due two hours later.  

For an extra small sum, Mr Hebei brings me to the intersection of 782 County Road and Hainan West Ring Line.  There are more intercity buses and coaches plying this road to Basuo, he says.  Basuo (literally, Eighth Place) is the common name for Dongfang town.  Repeatedly advising me to take care of myself, he then patiently waits with me for about fifteen minutes to wave down the bus.  It has no number, only the name of its origination and destination.  The fare is, if my memory is correct, only 22 RMB.  Except for the vision - midway - of a farmer directing his flock of thirty or forty goats along the road as well as some ladies displaying for sale their pineapples and yellow melons on the groundsheets near a town with a dusty main road, the journey is otherwise uneventful.


Dongfang (东方),

where Australian prisoners of war garrisoned

 
Two hours later, the bus ends its journey at Dongfang terminus on the corner of Donghai and Dongfu Road.  It is four in the afternoon.  The station is, as I later discover, right in the heart of Dongfang downtown.  For 6 RMB, a middle-aged lady takes me in her motorized trishaw along Donghai Road, turning left into Donggang Road and then right into Binhai Road.  Fudao Haiwan Hotel is located beside the beach and its nightly rate is 280 RMB ($56), twice the amount I am prepared to spend.

For an additional fee, she brings me to Shubao Hotel and Yuntian Hotel, both a stone throw from each other.  The latter is at 4 Donghai Road, on the corner of Donghai and Donggang Road.  Its nightly rate is cheaper: 158 RMB.  I promptly deposit my bags in my room because Trishaw Lady has agreed to conduct me on an hour urban tour for the price of 50 RMB.

Steering our way through the streets in her steady vehicle, I notice the potpourri of old and new buildings expected of a city that is undergoing rapid socio-economic transformation.  Roads on the outskirt of town are new, wide, and clean.  Although it is five-thirty on a Wednesday evening, at a time when I expect buses, cars, and people, the traffic is surprisingly not heavy.  Is the government anticipating increasing usage by their construction of wide roads?

Overtaking us, a lady skilfully controls her motor scooter on which four school kids balance.  Aged around ten, two boys and a girl are sitting, cramped on the pillion meant for one.  A boy of about five or six is standing on the floorboard in front of his mother.  What dexterity: five persons travelling on a scooter!  The children smile as I snap a picture of them.  In time, they will attend the nearby Dongfang No. 2 Middle School, the name on its surrounding wall.  

Advancing along the new road, we soon reach a large glass-making factory that is located below a flyover and near the mouth of Luodai River.  The dimension of the factory compound is about sixty metres wide and two hundred and fifty metres long.  Piles of a white substance, presumably washed sand, are laid out on the open ground, ready to be transmuted into glass in the workshop.

A kilometre from the flyover is Shugang Road, which runs parallel to the beach.  We join this road.  Broad and clean, it crosses over the Luodai River mouth.  We stop temporarily by the side of the flat and short road-cum-bridge that has no safety railing.

In front of me is a steel archway spanning over the road, its huge signboard announcing the location: 海南省东方工业园区 (Hainan Sheng Dongfang Gongye Yuan Qu).  Hainan Province Dongfang Industrial Park District is four kilometres south of downtown.  The background of the board shows the industries sited here.  A smaller signboard on the right side of the arch states: “China BlueChemical Ltd”.  Another signboard on the left side says “cnooc”, which is the abbreviation for China National Offshore Oil Corporation, a major government-owned company.  

If the permanent short stakes, some with folded fishing nets, are reliable indicators, the river is teeming with fish.  The river mouth is a kilometre off, and the rising and ebbing tides should channel many predatory fish to their doom.  To my right, two youths in swimming trunk are sitting on the river bank close to the water.  Their friend is swimming in front of them.  To my left on the other bank are two boys or men fully clothed, squatting or sitting and looking at the smooth flowing water.

No crocodiles are lurking in the river, although they have been recently introduced into Nantai Lake in Chengmai and bred in farms in Sanya.  Crocodiles once roamed the coastal regions of southern China from Guangxi to Fujian, including Hainan Island.  But they became extinct centuries before.  

We lumber southwards along Shugang Road until its dead end, where China BlueChemical Ltd and a large public park are.  Under his bell-shape sun hat, a farmer herds a family of four cattle across the road to the field.  Obediently, they slowly plod.  As soon as they reach the park, they gallop and scatter to ravenously devour the luxuriant green grass.  They are like children eagerly rushing to seize the rich chocolate cakes spread on the table.  I smile at the rare comical scene.  Another man too is amused.  Here, the agrarian and the industrial lifestyles blend so harmoniously.  Satisfied with my general perception of Dongfang town, I request Trishaw Lady to bring me back to the hotel.  Along the way, she points out the location of a laundry.  

After a three-minute walk along Dongfu Road, off the main Donghai Road, the following morning, a Thursday, I reach the Dongfang People’s Government building to seek direction to the location of the camp that sheltered two hundred and sixty-three Australian prisoners of war (POWs) during the early nineteen-forties.  These POWs were among the approximately twenty-two thousand Australians captured during the Japanese invasion of Asia.  The majority - fourteen thousand nine hundred and seventy-two - of the POWs were seized in Singapore.  All were dispersed to camps in Southeast and East Asia, with Singapore and Malaya holding five thousand five hundred and forty-nine and Burma and Thailand holding four thousand eight hundred and thirty.   

After a rough and windy eleven-day voyage from Ambon Island on a Japanese freighter, where a holed wooden platform suspended from the vessel’s stern was latrine to the brave and strong, the Australian soldiers from Gull Force touched Sanya Bay in November 1942.  After vaccination, they sailed northwestwards, reaching Bakli (Beili) Bay within a day.  They disembarked and trudged almost three kilometres inland from Basuo to their desolate fate.  They did not know it then; their comrades in Burma would suffer far worst cruelties and sustain an even higher casualty rate, building the notorious railway under Japanese military supervisors.

Home for the Dongfang POWs over the subsequent three years was a high-security camp of wooden huts, some small and some large, with corrugated-iron roofs on ten acres of land surrounded by barbed-wire.  Their communal beds were two 3.6 metre-wide raised wooden platforms inside a huge hut.  A similar hut was shared by two hundred and sixty-seven Dutch prisoners.  Their mattress was a straw mat while their blankets were tattered and torn.   Because of the nearby swamp, a mosquito net was provided.  Their companions in bed were the ubiquitous ant, cockroaches, flies, lice, and rats.  Their shower was a spray of cold water from a long trough.

In his official report (on Ambon and Hainan) after the war, commander and fellow-prisoner Lieutenant-Colonel William John Rendell Scott wrote:

 “…the outlook was deplorable - a barren, sandy island with nothing but a little cactus here and there, a hot wind”.  
 
Among the other prisoners’ comments were: “the arse end of the earth”; “shocking, just wide open spaces and sand”; “bloody desolation”; and “heartbreaking”.  

Three years before the prisoners’ arrival, the Japanese had occupied Hainan to exploit its mineral and natural resources.  The transport infrastructure then was primitive.  The prisoners were immediately delegated to perform manual work, ten hours daily: building roads, airstrips, and a viaduct for unloading iron ore; pushing trucks of sands for defensive positions and harbour reclamation; preparing anti-aircraft batteries and anti-aircraft gun placements; and unloading cargoes at Basuo (Japanese: Hasho) harbour.

Though the labour itself was not particularly difficult, poor diet and medical negligence, despite appeals, caused not only grave hardship such as beri-beri, malaria, tinea, and roundworms to prisoners but also the death of many of them.  In December 1942, three Australians died from dysentery.  By July 1943, one hundred and forty-seven men had manifested serious beri-beri symptoms.  The following month, five men died and many were ill in their improvised hospital.   In September, ten more Australians died.  The deaths only stopped in December after the required medications were provided.

Prisoners were allowed to maintain a garden but the yield gradually decreased from lack of fertilizer.  Whatever little they had (such as watches and clothing), they sometimes traded for necessities like medicine and eggs with the few locals who loitered furtively near their workplaces or under the blanket of darkness.

Some Japanese commanders and guards were sadistic, striking the faces of prisoners who took breaks at work during malaria seizures and assaulting prisoners who slipped whilst lifting heavy sandbags up steep embankments.  In July 1943, one hundred and twenty Chinese prisoners were brought on trucks into the camp and then left, escorted by a truck of Japanese troops.  An hour later, the Japanese returned without them.  Some local women were tortured in public.  A six-month pregnant lady was knocked to the ground and stamped upon.  In 1944, twenty-three Australians died, eighteen of whom, however, from indiscriminate shooting by Chinese guerrillas ambushing the Japanese.

Prisoners often dreamt of escaping.  Some attempted to.  In 1943, six Dutch prisoners escaped but were shortly recaptured and executed.  In February 1945, some Dutch prisoners successfully escaped.  In April, six Australians escaped and stumbled into a Chinese village.  The villagers brought them to the Chinese Nationalist headquarter, after a one-and-a-half month trek.  There, they remained until the war terminated four months later.  They unsuccessfully implored for arms to retaliate against the Japanese.

By mid-1945, the Japanese war was concluding.  Although they were not tasked to any labour from March to August, the prisoners continued to endure a hard time.  Confined in camp with reduced food supplies, they even made mouse traps.  Such was their plight that, between January and August, twenty-six Australians and thirty-one Dutch died.  Only one hundred and eighty-one of the Australian POWs transferred from Ambon returned to Australia.  Thirty-one percent died in Hainan.

Born after the Second World War, the young officials at the Dongfang government office are unaware of the prison camp’s existence.  However, one of them remembers the presence of a monument in Yulinzhou (鱼鳞洲) Nature Reserve.  But, he adds, it is a monument commemorating Chinese workers who died or were killed during the Japanese occupation.  He kindly draws the location, which is about four kilometres west of their office.  Happy to receive a pointer, I walk out to the main road.  It is noon, twelve-thirty actually.  It is time for lunch.

At the corner of Dongfu and Jiefang Road is a KFC restaurant.  In there I meet a Caucasian gentleman.  Surprised, I approach and introduce myself.  I enquire his purpose in visiting Hainan, particularly Dongfang.  David (pseudonym) is representing a Hong Kong client, who wishes to purchase a parcel of land for a business venture.  He is searching for the government land sales department.  His assistant, who has just parked their car, is also an American.  Both immigrated to New York when they were young.  I offer to show them the way to the government office.

Along Dongfu Road, two Hainanese school girls of about fifteen years of age greet David in English.  They are studying English in school, and are taking the opportunity to practise their phrases.  I am heartened to hear that English is also being taught here.  These enthusiastic young girls are preparing themselves to take Hainan up a notch along its economic development and progress.  After some pleasant exchanges, we part.

At the government building, we are directed to the fourth floor, where the land approval office is located.  David’s assistant has, to my shame, a far better competence in the Chinese language.  As an officer is helping them, I leave for my lunch.


* Yulinzhou 鱼鳞洲 Nature Reserve *


As Yulinzhou Nature Reserve is at the end of the main Jiefang Road, I hop onto a trishaw for a reasonable fare of 7 RMB.  Along the way, the driver repeatedly asks if I have “lingqian”.  

“Ni you mei you lingqian?” (“Do you have small change?”)

Since I do not understand the meaning of “lingqian”, my suspicion instantly erupts.  “Is he demanding a tip?  That is terrible.  Has economic development brought corruption?”  I mutter angrily to myself.

“Shenme shi ‘lingqian’?”  (“What is ‘lingqian’?”)  I respond.

His reply is incomprehensible to me, which further arouses my indignation.  Rising my voice, I insist, “Wo bu zhidao ni shuo shenme.”  (“I don’t know what you are saying.”)

I then add rather curtly, “Ruoguo ni bu zhidao nar ge difang, wo keyi dai beide sanlunche.”  (“If you don’t know the place, I can take another trishaw.”)  

He must be exasperated by now.  But realising my poor grasp of the language, he rephrases his question, using the synonym “xiaoqian” (“small money”).  Only then do I grasp the drift of his question: he does not have the necessary change if I pay my fare with a 100-RMB note.  My fears are allayed; I am ashamed of my unjustified annoyance and suspicion.  He is not a crook or a corrupt trishaw driver.  

Near the end of Jiefang Road is a narrow cement lane, which I later learn from my map is Linzhou Road.  It is wide enough for only one car and a trishaw.  Fortunately, no car or truck overtakes or approaches us.  On both sides of Linzhou Road are shallow ponds, which have almost dried up.  The few buildings seem uninhabited.  Here and there, thick shrubs stand out.

After travelling for about four hundred metres, the driver drops me off.  I have seen no one here.  But I am relieved when I detect, on my left, the Dongfang Meteorological Bureau building, about a hundred metres away.  On my right is a long low wall.  Its gate is missing but its hinges are still embedded in the bricks.  

Within this enclosed Yulinzhou Nature Reserve is a prominent brown monument.  Although I am disappointed to see no Christian cross, the presence of which would hint to the locale of the Australian POWs’ detention camp, I am glad that I have a historic site to begin my investigation.

I walk in.  The area is deserted, except for the two workers about two hundred metres in front of me.  Some construction is occurring.  The ground is almost flat, sandy, and dusty.  I expect a forest of trees in the reserve.  But they have been cleared.  A few solitary trees and some bushes are all that remain.

Three hundred metres beyond the lone tall column are seven or eight giant container cranes scattered along the long wharf of Dongfang Port.  They are not moving.  Indeed, I detect no human activity on the wharf.  The weather bureau building may be nearby; yet I become slightly fearful of being robbed.

Here is the haloed ground on which was spilt an unceasing rain of sweat and tears by captives also from America, Britain, and India working on the harbour facilities and railway line.  I tread the ground carefully to avoid trampling on sacred relics that might have been unwittingly dropped by them and subsequently buried under the shifting sand.  A small rectangular building that looks like a bomb shelter is about twenty metres to my right.

Cactuses are scattered amidst some local brilliant-red flowering plants about my height.  They remind me of the words of Commander Scott: “a little cactus here and there.”  Are these the descendants?  The trunks or stems of the two-metre flowering plants are thin.  Perhaps that is their nature and height.

Solemnly, I approach the slender stele, which rests on a large podium.  Including this waist-high pedestal, it is about ten metres in height.  I slowly climb up the steps.  For some minutes, I silently stand in military attention to the sacrifices of the thousands of Chinese labourers - in fact, twenty thousand - who died building the railway from Beili-Basuo to Yulin Port in Sanya, a distance of one hundred and seventy-nine kilometres.

Then I gently circle the monument, keeping it within my gaze.  The square column comprises large stone blocks.  Each side of the column is about a metre wide.  On one side is a long white marble panel, engraved with a string of large Chinese characters in red.  I stare at the characters, not knowing its sound and meaning.  I respectfully photograph the monument.  At the base of the pedestal is a plaque containing about twenty-eight vertical rows of characters.

日军侵琼八所死难劳工纪念碑: these are the memorial characters I later decipher.  In pinyin, they are: “Rijun Qinqiong Basuo Sinan Laogong Jinianbei”.  Literally translated, they state: “Japanese Invasion of Hainan - Basuo’s Deceased Workers’ Monument”.  More elegantly, they read as: “Monument to Workers who died at Hainan Basuo from Japanese Invasion”.  This solitary monument will be a constant reminder to the living port workers of their fallen compatriots’ tribulations.

About half a kilometre to the left of the wharf is a lighthouse built on a small knoll.  I walk towards it.  Although this area is named as a nature reserve, I immediately realise that it is undergoing development into a residential and tourist resort area.  On a huge billboard is an artist illustration of the final product – about thirty-two condominium blocks, perhaps residential and hotel, ranging from three to eight storeys with deep-blue tiled straight-inclined roofs by the idyllic beach lined with coconut palms and white sands.  I want to buy a property here, my heart cries out.  I now understand the desire of that American’s client to invest in Dongfang.

Puffing up the flight of steps to the lighthouse entrance, I discover a locked gate.  As I stand mid-way on the high ground to survey the surrounding area, I am overwhelmed with mixed emotion.  The nature reserve and its grove of trees have been cleared, which is a shame because this area is pregnant with history, with the sacrificed lives of thousands of locals and foreigners.  Their toils may be forgotten over time.  Below me is a three-storey square brick building, possibly the home of the lighthouse’s caretaker.  It is enclosed by walls.  Within the untidy compound are two wooden huts.  

As I scrutinise the scene around me again, I am impressed.  The beach is clean; the water is unpolluted.  The wharf and port are so close that I can stand here for hours to vicariously participate in their activities.  Between the lighthouse and the port are concrete remnants, which were probably slipways for small boats during the early nineteen-thirties or forties.

Walking down to the beach, I stoop to feel the water and the sand.  The grains are not tiny or fine; rather, they are bigger in size like two or three millimetre in diameter or even larger.  I examine the old slipways, and my mind reflects back to the war period.  Here on this very beach the prisoners daily toiled and stumbled.  

It was unfortunate that the Australian prisoners came to associate my ancestral Hainan with a place they detest.  Yes, their experiences were certainly not one of joy, but of bitterness.  However, the island they once knew has changed; it has much to offer to them now.

When I later return to Australia, I learn that a memorial plaque in honour of these prisoners was erected in Lao’ou Village (老欧村; Lao’ou Cun), about twelve kilometres southeast of Dongfang downtown.  I could have taken a cab there if I had known.  Alas, I am now more aware that diligent preparation and research is the key to better appreciation of one’s tour.

New roads are under construction at Yulinzhou Scenic Zone, its revised name.  Progress is in the air.  I suppose the locals want to move on, on to a brighter and more prosperous future.  I slowly stroll out of the changing zone.  At four in the late afternoon, a trishaw fortuitously appear at the lower end of Shugang Road.  I hail it to go to the curved sea wall at the end of Donggang Road.

That L-shaped mole is a kilometre in length, providing adequate shelter to the fishing boats during the stormy seasons.  About a hundred are anchored within, many bouncing against one another to the rhythm of gentler waves.  Most vessels are five or six metres in length.  But an identical pair is fifteen metres long each.  The tall metal frameworks of pulleys that hold large trawling nets and lines of light bulbs suggest that they are long-distance deep-sea vessels.

On the wharf, some thirty stalls have been temporarily set up to shelter their owners from the hot sun.  They are selling the fresh sea produce just unloaded by the tired fishermen.  Customers and spectators like me are poring over the unusual items like eels and shellfish of all shapes and sizes.  No seafood is as fresh as these.  Parked nearby are bicycles and motorbikes, the many locals’ means of transport.  

To the right of the L-shaped protector is another, similarly shaped but slightly longer.  Inquisitive, I walk along the first, straight for about three hundred metres and then left for six hundred metres.  Using a long stick with an attached iron hook at one end, an elderly lady of about seventy is retrieving plastic bottles caught between the loose rocks of the pier foundation.  She will sell them for half a yuan each.  Quickly finishing my flavoured drink, I hand over the empty bottle.  

“Xie xie (Thanks),” she acknowledges.

Mencius once observed that a person would instinctively experience a feeling of commiseration at the sight of a child falling into the well.  Looking at that granny quietly cleaning up the environment reminds me of my own granny.  Almost at once, I dig out a 5-RMB note from my pocket, and offer it to her.  Surprisingly, she adamantly refuses to accept it even as I persist.  She is however grateful.  “Xie xie,” she reiterates.  She is a lady with pride and dignity, despite her adversity.  When I gaze at her as she continues her chore, I cannot but help reminiscing on the hardship she had gone through during and after the Second World War.  Does she have any children to care for her?  Is her husband still alive?  Is she single?  My mind is unsettled.

Within the breakwater, the sea is slightly stagnant, slowly accumulating gravitating debris on its surface.  Some king crabs are floating too.  Are they tired?  Or are they dead?  Is the movement of their claws the result of the imperceptible undercurrent?  I cannot determine whether they are dead or alive.  Schools of small fishes are, however, swimming just below the water surface.

Outside the pier, the sea is open to the incoming and ebbing tide.  The water is clean and clearer.  No one is fishing here though.  I am tempted.  But I have forgotten to bring my reel of line, and it is too late to return to my hotel room for it.

Facing inland from the pier I can see Fudao Haiwan Hotel eight hundred metres off on my left.  I spring into a waiting trishaw.

The hotel exterior is architecturally balanced and beautiful, with soft and attractive colour coordination.  Its reception section is five-storey high, topped with a small dome, while its wing is four-storey.  Painted white, it has light-purple borders demarcating each floor.  In the front of the building is a small park, which is neat and tidy.  Facing the reception lobby are two rows of coconut trees, complimented with showy palms of various heights.  

In their white wedding frock and suit, a couple is posing in different angles with the picturesque scenery as backdrop.  Their photographer is furiously clicking, occasionally shouting instructions for instant smiles.  His two young assistants are looking on, holding props such as two teddy bears.

I re-check my pocket calendar.  Today is a Thursday.  Perhaps this is not a wedding photography session.  Perhaps the pictures are commissioned for advertisement of the hotel facilities or even the photographer’s studio.  No best man or bridesmaid is there.  No parents or friends.   

Weddings in Hainan and elsewhere are occasions for drinks and splurging.  I have briefly witnessed a wedding banquet host by the families of a newly-married couple at Wenchang Longyuan Hotel.  At the hotel entrance, several guests offered generous red packets containing cash to the solicitous couple.  They were then ushered into the restaurant, where guests were seated around several tables.  At the appropriate time, a sumptuous Saturday lunch would be served, a series of specialty dishes brought out at regular intervals by the waiters or waitresses.  In contrast, a poor man’s celebration might be a small and inexpensive affair, in which his relatives and neighbours are invited to his village home to enjoy the food prepared by a local caterer.

Tidal erosion has damaged the beach in front of the park.  At low tide, only a thin sliver, barely one or two metres in width, welcomes the guests and tourists to sit or play.  At high tide, it submerges.  Many people are swimming or simply dipping in the shallow water.

I walk along the second L-shaped mole, which is wide enough for skilful motorcyclists to safely flaunt their riding talent.  A few bikes are parked near the bend of the L.  Their owners are fishing.  For twenty minutes, I stand and watch them cast their rods.  But I have not seen them pulling up any fish.  Luck is not with them.

My map shows another beach about two kilometres to the south of this pier.  A trishaw driver brings me along Binhai Road and finally weaves her way through a narrow lane that is helmed in by houses.  When we reach the park, I am disappointed.  Standing on a conical pedestal that overlooks the beach, the life-size white stone statue of a busty lady in a one-piece swimsuit is badly damaged.  Her arms are missing.

Monopolising part of the beach, which is littered with discarded plastic bags, is a slab of cement floor occupied by tables and chairs from the intrusive restaurant.  Mixed with large pebbles and fragmented seashells, the sand is rough and brown.  This beach lies beside the wharf where Australian, Chinese, and other POWs had loaded and unloaded cargoes for their Japanese captors.  Did they wash themselves on this very beach?  Is the railway track that runs up to the edge of this wharf the very same one built by them?  

Eight boys are playing in the water.  A woman and her two young children are picking shells near its edge.  Still in their school uniform, two boys and a girl are walking and talking.  I move towards a decrepit building, which is located off the beach and may have seen its better days as a floating seafood restaurant or even a rich man’s mansion.  Playing along the pathway is a class of students of about fifteen or sixteen years of age in uniform.  Perhaps they come from the nearby Dongfang Railway Middle School to relax after their daily school sessions.  

As I contemplate over the events and the several unanswered questions in my mind, I am thankful for the satisfaction of seeing so many places today, places where many ordinary Hainanese would not have the opportunity of visiting.  Dongfang and its residents will have a bright future.  The ample land space, clean water, clear sky, and rich flora and fauna are their assets, which I hope they will always treasure.  Sadly, I leave to catch a trishaw to town to have my dinner before I retire for the day.  

Across the road from my hotel is a small open park, where an imposing concrete statue stands.  Since I have sufficient time on Friday morning before I check out, I cross to admire it.  Approximately ten metres in height, this apparently Chinese version of the Statue of Liberty consists of a rectangular pillar of about eight metres high supporting a life-size statue of a young lady.  Perhaps originally in white but turning slightly grey through long exposure to the elements, the pillar symbolizes a tree trunk.

Around it, nine dragons curl their bodies in upward motion.  Eight of them are small, two on each side of the trunk, thus maintaining the symmetry of the sculpture.  The head of the largest dragon rests on top of the trunk.  With mouth wide-open, it looks upwards towards the heaven.

On its shoulder balances the bare right foot and straightened leg of the youthful athlete, whose smiling face similarly inclines towards the sky above the horizon.  Her similarly bare left leg is raised forward but bent, such that her heel lightly touches her right knee.  Her short skirt has been lifted by the wind, clearly revealing her naked buttock.

Her left hand reposes on the nose of the huge dragon, whose huge gaping mouth is just behind her left butt.  Her slightly bent right hand is holding a globe above her head.  Her thin vest accentuates her small busts.  Around her shoulder is a long flowing sash.  She is in her late twenties or early thirties.     

What a splendid piece of art!  The grace of the girl and the co-ordinated movements of the glorious dragons: they captivate me.  She is, upon my focus, actually exposing her posterior to anyone who glances upwards.  I am amused.  The radical liberalism sweeping Hainan is silently noticed here and elsewhere in China.

Besides me, four or five persons have walked by this morning.  They barely pause to look up.  Perhaps they have seen her too often.  An electrical cord strings the three “tongues of fire” around the globe.  When the electric power is switched on in the evening, these “tongues” will brighten and glorify Miss Freedom to the residents.






**********

Copyright 2015






In remembrance of the American, Australian, British,
Chinese, Dutch, and Indian prisoners-of-war
who were imprisoned by the Japanese
in Hainan Island
Dongfang (东方) Yulinzhou 鱼鳞洲




Keywords:

Ledong Li Autonomous County, Hainan Province  海南省乐东黎族自治县
Yinggehai Salt Fields  莺歌海盐场
Jianfengling National Forest Park 尖峰岭国家森林公园
Mingfeng Valley  (鸣凤谷; Phoenix Sound Valley)
Tianchi Taoyuan Hotel (天池桃园酒店; literally: Heaven’s Pool Peach Garden Hotel)
Tianchi (天池; Heaven’s Pool)
Dongfang (东方) Yulinzhou 鱼鳞洲