Rambling around my ancestral Hainan

Page 161 - 222

Chapter 5
South Coast - From Sunny Sanya To Exotic Baoting

 

Uncle Dian is accompanying your mum to the airport in a cab at two in the afternoon, Cai Hong relays through the receptionist’s phone.  I am relieved.  My mobile phone is displaying an annoying “No SIM card” message.  I do not know until I return to Sydney that my phone is faulty.

Outside the hotel, the few passing cabs are occupied.  A motorized trishaw appears.  The fare to the railway station is 10 RMB, which we gladly pay.  We queue behind three persons at the ticket office.  I softly ask the young lady if she knows Hainanese.  Though her microphone, she instructs me, to my embarrassment, to speak in Mandarin.  I jump aside.  Jo moves in, with the questions.  The 1.17 pm train to Sanya is fully booked, the reply goes.  The next is at 2.57 pm; the following one is at 5 pm.  We retreat to consider our options.  We resign ourselves to a two-hour wait.  

“It could have been worse,” we console each other.

A staff officer is standing by the ticketing machine, aiding some locals.  While I guard our bags and luggage, Jo appeals for assistance.  He is very obliging.  The cost of a ticket is 68 RMB (around $14), which is inexpensive to us for a distance of about one hundred and eighty kilometres.  The journey will take about fifty minutes.

 Security is overriding even for internal rail travel.  The X-ray machine shows “a large knife” in one of our bags.  While I unpack our bulky haversacks, many passengers surround me, inquisitive.  Jo surrenders a small pair of general-purpose scissor.  A pocket knife for cutting fruits passes the inspection.  The large knife seems elusive.  In retrospection, I suspect the foldable umbrella as the culprit deceiving the scanner.  I sign the register, which records the confiscated item.  

Promptly, the train screeches beside the platform, which is deserted except for those boarding passengers.  We step aside for the few disembarkers from our assigned carriage before rushing in.  A gentleman in his mid-thirties is occupying my seat.  I plop into an empty seat in another row.  At the next stop, a young man boards the carriage.  Peering at his ticket, he moves towards me, perplexed.  I am occupying his seat.  I nod at the gentleman in my seat.  He stands, and vanishes into the next coach.  I subsequently learn from Cai Hong that some thrifty passengers book non-seating tickets.  A young engineer working in Shanghai and I engage in a casual conversation.

Sanya Railway Station at four-twenty on a Friday afternoon amazes us with the crowd surging out of its turnkeys.  Many passengers are re-united with their waiting families, relatives, or friends.  The few taxis that enter the driveway are instantaneously flagged down by the knowledgeable visitors or residents.  Many others head for the bus stop.  I turn on my hand phone again.  It reveals the same message.  Are we out of the phone’s reception range?  We are frustrated because we cannot call Guoxi Hotel to make enquiries.
 
A Hainanese private van operator approaches, quoting 40 RMB as fare.  When we reject his offer, he reduces it by 10 RMB.  As we later discover, the actual cost by taxi is only 20 RMB.  Along the way, he alleges - falsely - that Guoxi Hotel is not a good hotel, a claim that we foolishly believe.  Four-star Golden Phoenix Seaview Hotel is better, he insists.  He offers to bring us to another hotel if we should find it unsuitable.  However, that would cost us a further 30 RMB, he adds.  He then attempts to hire himself to us for the following day.  We turn him down, saying that we need a rest from the tiring journey.  

Golden Phoenix Seaview Hotel is a very good hotel, conveniently located at the corner of Sanya Bay Road and Yingbin Road just across the famous Sanya beach.  Naturally, the daily charge is a relatively staggering 700 RMB ($140), although it does include breakfast for two.  It is shocking when we are accustomed to paying less than 200 RMB ($40).  But when compared with the cost (A$100) of a night’s accommodation in an Australian suburban budget motel, the equivalent A$115 per night is however tolerable.

We decide on a night’s accommodation.  Restively, the driver sits on the long lounge sofa, eyeing Jo as she finalizes the booking at the reception desk.  His hope of further milking us has just been dashed.

Jo’s filling has detached itself during lunch in Wenchang.  Wary that she may accidentally bite on something hard with the chipped tooth, she seeks the receptionists’ assistance for direction to the nearest dental clinic.  Given our inadequate Mandarin comprehension, the instruction mystifies us.  We are told to go to “425”.  Kindly pointing the direction, the concierge at the entrance says that it is about five hundred metres away.

Walking northwards along Sanya Bay Road, we watch in vain for the number “425” on the buildings.  Near a bus stand, we are shocked.  Those waiting at the stand are too, I am sure.  A tanned young man in his late twenties is walking towards us.  He is totally naked.  No sandals even.  He calmly walks past.  Is he insane?  Or is he an outlandish performance artist, bent on shocking his involuntary audience’s moral sensibility?  Unlike a “performing arts” ballerina or kabuki actor, a typical avant-garde “performance” artist presents a one-off non-repeatable exhibition that tests or stretches community social or moral limits.

After five hundred metres, we turn right into Youyi Road.  We stop a passerby, who points to the block of shops a hundred metres ahead.  We are astonished: we face the 425th Division of the Peoples’ Liberation Army Clinic.  The receptionist is extremely helpful, bringing us to the dental department where the dentists are preparing to close for the night.  After Jo has explained her problem, the senior dentist goes beyond the call of duty to treat her.  The repair of the chipped tooth cost only 200 RMB.  Jo is very pleased with the result.  The crowning would cost 1000 RMB and the crown would take ten days to be made in Guangzhou.  We have no time for that final treatment.  

Listening to the dentist and his assistants during the hour, I constantly hear “Ya”.  “Ya” is Mandarin for tooth.  Has the name “Sanya” any relation to tooth?  In spoken Mandarin, “Sanya” sounds like “three teeth”.  On my tourist map, the peninsulas cradling Dadong Bay and Yalong Bay look like three teeth.  I resolve to trace the origin of the name when we return to our hotel room.
 
Bought in Haikou for 6.80 RMB, the paperback A Pocket Chinese-English Dictionary is useful.  “San” (三) means “three” while “ya” (亚) may mean “second” or “inferior”.  Literally, the name “Three inferior”, or “Thrice inferior”, is not an uplifting name for a world-famous city.  This name choice puzzles me until I rummage the tourism pamphlets.  Its original ancient name is “Yazhou” (崖州), in which “ya” refers to “cliff” or “valley” and the name means “cliff state”.  Thus, “Sanya” literally means “three cliffs” or “three valleys”, which is better descriptively, although more complex for memorization.  The simplified character is easier to remember, consisting of only six strokes.

Sanya City is a municipality, which lies forty kilometres south of Wuzhishan’s highest peak.  This prefecture-level city covers an area of about one thousand nine hundred square kilometres, or ninety-two kilometres from east to west and fifty-seven kilometres from north to south.  Within that area lives approximately six hundred and eighty-five thousand people (in 2010) from more than twenty nationalities, including Han, Li, Miao, and Hui.

With a density of three hundred and sixty people per square kilometre, which is higher than the provincial average of two hundred and forty, Sanya offers a more favourable environment for a less stressful lifestyle than Haikou, which has a higher density of nine hundred and ten people per square kilometre.  However, the Sanya City population, the third largest in Hainan after Haikou and Danzhou City, is projected to increase rapidly in the future, considering that the addition in population from 2000 was two hundred thousand.  

In terms of air quality, Sanya ranked first in Asia and second internationally, according to a United Nations study of one hundred and forty-eight cities in forty-five countries during the period 1998-2003.  Here, flowers blossom throughout the year.  Two rivers flow sedately through the town, behind which are two hills.  Because of its island environment, pristine forest, and slow and light industrialization, Sanya is increasingly becoming a favourite tourist destination for people from the global community.

Once upon a time, Yazhou Prefecture was a region feared by many.  Zhao Ding, as we will recall, was banished here, dying in despair from a slow death.  We, however, do not dread; we are here to inhale its quality air, albeit for only a few days.

Although buffet breakfast starts at eight and ends at ten on Saturday morning, we enter the dining room at nine to an irresistible spread.  Rebuffing the spousal warning of high-cholesterol risk, I gluttonly seize a bundle of fried bacon strips.  Your cholesterol level will shoot up, she repeatedly moans as I heartedly dig into the aromatic delight.  

Satiated after an hour of gorging, we photograph the facilities of the hotel and the activities around it before taking a brief walk along the beach.

Bougainvillea is the official Sanya City flower.  At the front porch of our hotel entrance are two beds of them.  Trimmed to prevent unruly and thorny vines from scrapping the skins off visitors, the tall healthy bushes are blooming, their small and distinctive bright-purple flowers outnumbering the green leaves.  Together, their hues harmonize very well with the joyful light yellowish-brown hotel exterior.  A few coconut trees, two small Pandanus fascicularis plants, six tall Traveller’s Palms (Ravenala madagascariensis), a small Bird of Paradise fan (Strelitzia reginae), and some bushes and ornamental palms of unknown identity to me comprise the diversity of hardy vegetation in the courtyard.

 Standing twenty metres from the front entrance of our hotel, I lift up my head; I become deeply galvanized by its aesthetic design and tincture.  The nine-storey building tapers off as the number of rooms on each floor decreases in proportion to the hotel height.  With the octagonal house on top, it takes on the shape of a dome when perceived from afar.  Like a person with open arms to embrace another, the front facade is slightly concave, the light yellowish-brown tone of the walls evoking the warmth earth of Sanya.

We cross the road for a quick impression of the famous beach before we rush back to our room to arrange the move to Sanya Huiyuan Henghe Hotel, which lies a kilometre up the road near the corner of Yingbin and Jiefang Road.  The taxi fare is 6 RMB.  Happily, I tip the cabbie a 1-RMB, which is only twenty cents.  Situated along Jiefang Road, the hotel is just a couple of doors from Guoxi Hotel.  (As I discover during my third trip, the latter, an up-class hotel, offers a pleasant room costing only about 400 RMB and comes with a simple complimentary Chinese buffet breakfast for two.)  Once settled in the room, I hastily familiarize myself with the pronunciation of the relevant road names on our map so that we can voice the correct directions to cab drivers.  I learn that “Yingbin” means “Welcome Visitor”; “Jiefang” means “Liberation”; and “Jixiang” means “Auspicious Felicity”.

Since Luhuitou (“Deer Turning Its Head”) Park is only about six kilometres south of our hotel, we agree to visit it first.  Fortunately, a coming cab stops.  The driver is from Jiangxi; he is friendly.  He drops us off at the entrance, at the foot of the grassy hill on the western part of Luhuitou Peninsula.  The fare is 16.50 RMB, and I gladly pay him 18.  An admission fee is imposed, and visitors have a choice: they can walk up to the elevation of about two hundred and eighty-five metres, or they can opt for an easier way.  We settle for the latter.  The fare is inexpensive.  The small green-coloured resort cart with ten comfortable passenger seats is the size of a minivan without doors or windows for easy access from the sides.  Powered by an electric battery, it smoothly brings us three-quarter of the way.

Along the narrow path to the summit we breathlessly trudge, pausing frequently to catch glimpses of Sanya city centre through the trunks and foliage of flourishing trees on the hillside.  Three stalls are selling trinkets, and some visitors are perusing.

At Sea-View Platform, a flock of doves is vigilant because an enterprising middle-aged lady is selling packages of seeds for 5, 10, 20, or 30 RMB.  An Eastern European lady purchases a bag and, as though on cue, more than eighty doves take off from the ground and tree branches.  Simultaneously, they land on her head and shoulders, impatiently fidgeting and screaming to be fed.  She poses with her outstretched hands, overflowing with goodies, and her husband snaps a few memorable photographs of the feeding frenzy that follows.   Satisfied, he pays 3 RMB for the privilege.  

Seamlessly cemented together, twelve layers of skilfully carved sandstones formed the huge sculpture that inspires the park’s name.  Its creation demanded four years of meticulousness and perspicuity from its famous creator.  At an imposing height of nine metres, the deer, flanked by a young native couple, stands on a three-metre high platform, which consists of five layers of sandstone blocks.  Its length is about nine metres, and width is about 4.6 metres.  On both sides of the platform, several visitors mingle, elevating their heads to appreciate the wondrous symbol of Sanya.  

Momentarily dazed, I stand there too, still and silent, musing over the rustic beauty of the smiling bare-footed Li girl in simple village dress.  With both elbows close to the sides of her body, her right arm is raised vertically such that the palm of her hand, which is under her chin, faces downwards while her left arm is also raised vertically except that her palm, by the side of her left cheek, faces the sky as if offering a plate of delicacies to the gods.  The doe gently turns her head towards the softness and innocence of the lady.  I slowly move to the other side, a contrasting epic, a strong, muscular bare-chested Li warrior resting his back against the doe, his right hand on her front leg, and his left hand clutching a bow, which is stringed behind his shoulder.

 Locals chant a legend, a handsome young hunter from Wuzhishan pursuing a beautiful Spotted Deer across ninety-nine mountains and ninety-nine rivers for nine days and nine nights until she came to Sanya seashore.  When he adjusted his bow to shoot, the doe turned her head and magically metamorphosed into a pretty lady.  They fell in love, married, and raised their family.  Their blissful life was, however, struck by a tragedy.  A wild boar stole the moon, causing an eclipse and suffering to the Li people.  To eradicate the menace, the young maiden sacrificed her life, smearing her blood on her husband’s arrow.  The monster was slayed, the people saved, and the lady changed into this mountain peak.  

A plaque at the tail-end of the deer icon tells us that it “was designed and built by Mr. Lin Shuhao in 1987, who drew inspiration from the legend.”  Confusingly, the plaques below the feet of the Li couple state “SCULPTED BY LIN YU HAO”.  Is the sculptor “Shu Hao”?  Or is he “Yu Hao”?

Perched on the platform, and under Hunter Li’s protective gaze, I can vividly see Dadonghai, the tranquil bay on the southeastern side of Luhuitou Peninsula.  Then shifting to Miss Li’s side, I am stunned by the shocking pace of modernisation in Sanya centre.

Here is a city that is in a methodical rush to join the First World.  More than seventy or eighty percent of downtown seems dotted with new high-rise buildings, buildings that are evidently less than thirty years old.  Very unique and outstanding are, on my left, the five tall buildings on Phoenix Islet.

The vitality of the district and lives of its residents is reflected in the numerous ships and boats plying the waters in Sanya Bay.  Its harbour has now become an important port for deluxe passenger ships and foreign trade.  

Mass transformation of their once remote rural village would disconcert the happy Li couple, I suspect.  None the less, Jo and I are enjoying the soothing sights from this plateau; so too are several visitors.  They pose, sometimes in ridiculously funny postures, before the cameras of their friends and relatives.  Some, however, sit meditatively on the broad steps under Miss Li’s lengthening shadow.

Five metres behind the gigantic deer’s tail are five bougainvillea shrubs, pruned into huge balls.  Is the landscaper implying that these are the deer’s colourful droppings?  Years of precise trimming have recast a plant in the courtyard into a giant bonsai, a tree with bent trunk and two side branches.  Aesthetically placed at the edges of this courtyard are five large pots of the plant.  Here too lies a small statue of the smiling God of Happiness.  Close to the five bushy balls are three Nolina recurvata Lem.-Agavaceae about thirty metres in height, in the middle of which is a small black granite rock about a metre in length.  Rocks feature prominently in many wealthy family homes since ancient times.  

Ten metres in front of the deer statue are two stalls, the one on the left selling trinkets like fridge magnets, hats, lady dresses and handbags, and necklaces while the one on the right selling drinks.  A crowd gathers near a tree.  Curious, we investigate.  They are trying to communicate with a macaque shyly hiding behind the narrow trunk and eating a piece of coconut kernel.  With a green banana, a boy is tempting it to come down.  It fails.  Behind the drink stall is its family of three.  On the roof of the trinket stall is a family member too.  They are endearing animals.  But when they expose their rows of teeth, they scare me off.
Three-thirty in the warm afternoon seems a felicitous time to leave and return to town.  Many of the trees on the way down are tagged.  At the Friendship Store is a tamarind tree, Tamarindus Indica Linn (Caesalpiniaceae), which is one of the two official trees in Sanya City, the other being the Royal Poinciana (better known as the Flame of the Forest).  This is the first time I am touching a tamarind tree, although I have tasted its seed pulps in the tangy sweet-and-sour fish dish occasionally cooked by Mum.  This tree can grow up to eighteen metres in height.  With even pinnate leaves, it reminds me of the acacia shrubs commonly found in Australia.  I later check: the two species belong to the same family, the Fabaceae.  


Tamarind tree
罗望子树

 The other trees on the hillside include the following:
1. Buchanania Iatifolia Roxb., Anacerdiaceae
2. Phylianthus embalica Linn., Euphorbiaceae
3. Terminalia nigrovenulosa Pierre exLaness., Combretaceae
4. Barringtonia racemosa (Linn.) Spreng, Lecythidaceae
5. Lannea coromandelica (houtt.) Merr., Anacerdiaceae
6. Cordia dichotomy Forst.f., Boraginaceae
7. Wedelia chienensis (Osbeck) Merr., Compositae

To be sure, on Luhuitou are deers.  At the Deer House, about twenty Sika or Spotted Deers are kept in the walk-in cage, where visitors feed them with grass sold by the keeper.  These deers are very tame, eagerly accepting food from the excited hands.  We mingle and exchange pleasantries with those seven or eight visitors, who are interacting merrily with these docile animals and observing them at close range.  Since they generally lose their spot during winter, I can barely make out the spots on a couple of them.  Deers are gentle creatures; they are regarded as a lucky mascot for lovers.  Perhaps like deer, lovers flock, frolicking in courtship.

Reaching the resort-passenger cart terminus, we decide to walk down to the entrance.  Slowly savouring the changing scenery, we are at the exit by five in the late afternoon, and fortunate enough to hail a cab, which takes us back to Sanya Bay Road.  Dropping at the bridge to Phoenix Island, we have our dinner at a nearby Chinese restaurant.  Though the price is reasonable, the food is not striking.  

Strolling along the coastal walkway towards our first hotel, we are overwhelmed by the number of tourists, especially the elderlies in their sixties or even seventies, leisurely enjoying their evening constitution in the cool fresh marine breeze, some walking their fanciful toy dogs like the Yorkshire terrier and Bichon Frisé.

At the coastal park opposite the hotel, separate groups of visitors are participating in Chinese chess, dancing, karaoke, mah-jong, and card games around portable tables.  Taiji exercises are the favourite of some middle-aged ladies.  Their grace and supple bones belie their age.  Exercise is important to them, especially when they, and not the state, bear their healthcare cost.


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Sanya Bay beach activities
三亚湾海滩活动
Sānyà wān hǎitān huódòng

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Betel Nut Park and Yanoda, indigenous culture


Near the intersection of Jiefang Road and Jixiang Street is a Uighur café, two hundred metres from our hotel.  Partitioned by a wall, this no-frill eating-house allocates one half of its space to patrons and the other half to chefs for preparation and cooking.  On the back wall of the customers’ section is a poster of Arabic words protected within a glass frame half a metre in length and a third of a metre in width.  As we are the first customers at eleven on a Sunday morning, we are uncertain of the food quality since our general rule is: if the food is good, the restaurant will be crowded.

None the less, not inclined to dally, we pragmatically install ourselves around a vacant table.  The Uighur youth of about nineteen or twenty is prompt.  He fetches a well-used menu, and leaves us to make our choices.  Unable to read the names or descriptions of the dishes, we compare the illustrations in our table menu with the pictures on its magnified copy mounted on the dividing wall, and then place our order: two plates of fried noodles at 10 RMB each.  The portion of noodle and vegetables is substantial, although the thin strands - not slices - of mutton are few.  This immediately indicates to us that the regular customers are simple, ordinary folks, who are not fastidious consumers.

“Are you the owner?”  I pry, as the young waiter hovers around our table in anticipation of adverse or complimentary comments on the quality of his food.
“No, I am not.  I am only the cook.”
“Is he the owner?”  I point to the teenager of about sixteen with a light-reddish face that is round, fair, and Turkish in complexion.
“No.  The owner is not here.”
“Why do you come to Hainan since it is so far from Xinjiang?”
“To look for a job.”

He came to Sanya only a few years ago, the polite young lad adds.  His remark conjures in my mind a sad tale of a young teenager tearfully tearing himself from his family living on the fringe of the desolate Taklamakan Desert.  He is thin and has a non-Han face.


 
********************************

Uyghur Chinese from Xinjiang travelled 3,000 kms

to Sanya to live and work
来自新疆的维吾尔族人到三亚旅行了3000公里，生活和工作

 ********************************


Learning that we hailed from Singapore, he excitedly mentions hearing of many mainland Chinese doing very well there.  He asks if we could be his job sponsor.  He is down-hearted when we tell him of our inability: sponsorship is done through companies or employers, and we are not even working there.  With such courage to jilt the security of his home and initiative to travel three thousand kilometres in search of a job in Hainan, he will no doubt do well in future.  We thank him and wish him well.

Stopping a cab, we show the driver a pamphlet on our intended destination.  Known to him as “Binlanggu” (“The Areca Nut Valley”), it is listed on our Sanya Map as “Hainan Aboriginal Cultural Tourism Zone (Areca Valley) at Ganshiling”.  His quote of 200 RMB for the return journey is reasonable.  This theme park is better known as “Betel Nut Park” in some tourist brochures.

Strictly speaking, the term “Betel Nut” is a misnomer.  The “nut” is not a nut but a fruit, and it is not “betel” but “Areca”.  Areca nuts are seeds of the Areca catechu palm.  These palms are native to the island.  With their shallow roots and tall but slender upright trunk, they resemble coconut palms (which also belong to the Arecaceae family), except for the clusters of small green fruits which would turn golden when ripened.  Oval in shape, each fruit is about the size made by joining the tips of my thumb and middle finger.  Areca seeds were used as medicine, and given as tributes as early as the seventh century to the Tang and Song emperors.

 
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Areca nuts are seeds of the Areca catechu palm
槟榔是槟榔树的种子
 
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Located northeast of Sanya central, the theme park is about thirty kilometres by road and just after Sannong Reservoir.  We travel via Yingbin Road and 223 National Road.  After passing close to Hainan University Sanya College, we turn left into Yuya Avenue which split into 224 National Road on the left and the E-Line Expressway on the right.  We take the exit to National Road.

Along the way, Driver tells us of another place not far off.  For an extra 100 RMB, he will take us there.  We accept his offer since we do not have the time to return here another day.  Both theme parks are in Baoting County.  The journey to the first park takes about forty-five minutes.  

Six metres apart, two native wooden houses are the ticketing offices.  Their structures and roofs facing the car park were constructed to form the two pairs of open “legs” of two huge wooden totemic figures, which have heads wearing headgears and outstretched hands.  The right hand of one figure and the left hand of the other hold a huge signboard, thus forming an arch, the entrance.  Resting above the signboard is a huge wooden stylish representation of a pair of buffalo horns.

Painted in black with a golden rim, the overhead signboard displays three characters in gold: 槟榔谷.  Also in gold, their pinyin translation below states “Bing Lang Gu”.  Is there a spelling error in the pinyin name?  “Areca nut” (槟榔) should be written as “binlang”.  But there is a “g” after “Bin”.  The error might be intentional; it would not be a wise advertisement to call the park a “Bin”.


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Hainan Aboriginal Cultural Tourism Zone (Areca Valley) at Ganshiling
甘什岭(槟榔谷) 海南原生态黎苗文化旅游区
 
****************


Although the entry fee of 165 RMB ($33) for an adult is hefty, the cultural attraction is crowded with tour coaches and taxis filling its car park.  Being a senior, I am given a concession rate without hesitation.  As we slowly wander in and out of the many thatched huts, we are enthusiastically greeted with choruses of “Ho Ha” by Li men and women sharing their specific craft and skill.  After a couple of times, we grasp the import and reciprocate.  We recall our visit to Fiji four years earlier.  At our resort, we responded with the same “Bula” at every staff we met.  “Bula” and “Ho Ha” sound identical.  Fijian Polynesians may be related to the Li and Miao.  

These Hainanese minorities live a spartan life.  In large extended-family huts, their small rooms are doorless.  Beds, benches, and tables are wooden, save their covers – a layer of matted coconut leaves on the beds and split bamboos glued onto the table tops or bed sides as decoration.  Their earthy-brown colours best reflect the sombre mood of the people.  A large cross-section of a fallen tree trunk functions as a “chair”.  Conditioned to soft mattress and sofa, my pampered back and butt would find no solace sleeping or sitting on them.

 In the work huts, bottles of spirit made from millet and local cakes freshly baked by a young maiden are available for purchase.  A round fruit with its thin, smooth, and orange skin catches my eyes.  I have not seen it before.  I pay 10 RMB for three, thinking they are native mango.  When I later cut it in my hotel room, I encounter an orange-yellow pulp.  Although it tastes slightly like mango, it is sappy.  I have difficulty washing off the remnant sap from my tiny tin spoon, which I have used to scoop out the flesh.  The seed is brown, big, and hard.  I later learn that it is called Yolk Fruit, a member of the Sapotaceae family.

Because they are showcasing their cultural traditions, some ladies sit on raised concrete platforms under the shelter of tall “umbrellas” in the shape of a conical hat by the side of the pathway.  A slim lady in her sixties positions herself behind a small home-made mechanism held in place with the aid of her back and legs.  Her face is tattooed with straight and curved lines, similar to the intricate designs on the faces of Hawaiian natives and New Zealand Maoris.  Could there be an ancient genealogical connection between the Li and Miao communities on the one hand and the Hawaiians and Maoris on the other?  Continually smiling, the lady weaves a small piece of cloth made of intermingling dark-blue and vermillion threads, pausing to pose with tourists for lasting memories.

On a brown varnished board is written:
“The Ganza Village of the Li Minority Ethnic Group is composed of

the Upper Village and the Lower Village, with a long history of

more than 200 years and a population of a bit more than 400,

who speak Sai (one of the five dialects spoken by the Li Ethnic Minority Groups). 

In the past, there were towering old trees and numerous grotesque rocks

around this village.  Beasts of prey, vipers, leeches, mosquitoes and other pests

were found in great numbers and malaria was a constant threat. 

However, since 1998 this area has gradually been developed and

built into the present place now called the

Areca Valley Tourist Resort of Hainan Ganza Ridge Primitive Culture.”
 
A group of about twenty young and old ladies performs some traditional song-and-dance items like the husking-rice dance on a platform before a seated crowd of appreciative audience.  The older ladies are clad in solemn black blouses and short skirts but the younger ladies are radiant, their skirts of multiple-coloured threads knitted into checked patterns.  Red is the overshadowing spark of the square and rectangular checks.  Accentuating the black upper halves of their blouses are the white strips along the edges of their collars and around the ends of sleeves, the lower halves being also as vibrant as their skirts.

 
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The traditional dances of the Li and Miao, vibrant and colourful
黎和苗的传统舞蹈, 活泼和愉快

 ****************


Their headdresses are beautifully coloured too.  Plaited from light-brown dried coconut leaves, big round baskets and large floor mats are some of their eye-catching props.  As they swirl round and round, and sway from left to right, to the beat of traditional drums I ponder: did Lady Xian, the Li heroine in Guangdong, execute these same movements in these same pretty outfits?

Seven or eight spectators are mobbing a native youth in his early twenties.  We are inquisitive, which is fortunate; for we are treated to an amazing feat, his agility in climbing without any mechanical aid to the top of a tall Areca palm within a minute to pluck a bunch of green fruits.  His quick slide down the thin tree truck evokes our soft expressions of disbelief: “Ooh” and “Wow”.  He distributes his fruits to the gratified visitors as mementoes.  He slices one for all to taste.  I reluctantly chew a slice, afraid that it might arouse an allergic reaction.  The flesh is firm like unripe pear and tastes like it too – not sweet, not acidic.

 Also known as Pinang nuts, Areca nuts play a dominant role in native culture.  Long before chewing gum became a habit in modern societies, Areca nut chewing was the pastime of indigenous locals.  It is a tradition akin to tea drinking among the Chinese or English.  According to historical record, these nuts were used by hosts to entertain guests even as early as the third century of the Common Era.  Eleventh-century Su Dongpo wrote of a Li girl chewing Areca nuts while adorning jasmine flowers on her flowing hair.

Areca nuts were offered as gifts and dowries.  Presented as a proposal dowry to a prospective bride’s parents, their acceptance signified approval of the marriage.  At the wedding celebration, nuts were distributed to guests.  Today, these nuts remain a necessary item during festivals.    

Smeared with lime (pulverised oyster shells), each Betel leaf is wrapped around a thin slice of the nut and then munched for a period of time before being spat out.  For extra flavour, Southeast Asians sometimes add clove.  The high level of psychoactive alkaloids in the nuts produces a mildly euphoric state, and the addiction travelled to as far as Hunan as a preventive medicine some four hundred years ago.  Betel leaves come from a perennial vine belonging to the Piperaceae family, of which pepper is a member.  Thus, they have a peppery taste.  The vine originated from South and Southeast Asia.

To maintain an alert mind during their monotonous repetitive journeys, some bus drivers develop the habit.  For 1 RMB (less than twenty Australian cents), a customer can secure a morsel from a roadside vendor.  To entice patrons, young enterprising women in Taiwan towns dress in scanty bikinis to promote their Areca nuts and cigarettes from glass booths.

I am not brave enough to try this aspect of native culture.  An upset stomach would ruin my remaining holiday.  I am told that it is bitter at first and mildly narcotic.  Consuming too much can make one tipsy, which is the reason for its ban in some countries.  According to some studies, the Areca nuts from each tree yield more than 150 RMB ($30) in annual income to its owner.

Planners of this Li and Miao cultural park merit an award of excellence.  A set of five life-size grey stone statues of goats in various postures like standing grandly on small boulders, or feeding intently on grasses on the ground, inevitably imprints a vivid notion in our minds of the bountiful livestock in rural households.  The miniature waterfall, with water dripping into a small stream, and the fish pond are simply picturesque.  We ascend the meandering path to lap up the fresh air and stillness of the cool rainforest.  Crossing one of the few rope-and-plank bridges swinging between two low hills, we look down with great joy at the wide expanse of a verdant valley.  Much is green, except for some habitations amply spread.  The undulating distant low ridge is forested.

Two hours and a half are insufficient for us to roam this park of about a quarter of a square kilometre (24.6 hectares) in area.  We rush because we have another destination.  Should we take the easy way down?  Many anxious patrons are queuing at the cable harness station for the slide of their life.  A waiting person is strapped around his legs and waist with a leather harness.  When it is safe to slide down, the rope-cum-hook end of his harness is attached by the attendants to the metallic sliding mechanism balancing on two supporting steel cables.  As he clings onto the rope, the daredevil is pushed off the platform to begin his horrifying ride to the ground station.  We watch as three intrepid middle-aged ladies rise to the challenge.  But Jo is afraid of height; so am I.  We cowardly walk down the hillside path instead.  

 At the exit, all guests take home as souvenir a dried Areca fruit dangling from a red thread.  The smell is sweet, fragrant, and aromatic.  It is three-thirty in the afternoon.  The taxi driver unsuccessfully attempts to steer us to Yalong Bay, claiming that Yanoda is closed.  When we decline the offer, he makes a call on his mobile phone.  Saying that it will close shortly at four, we are on our way.  This second theme park is only ten kilometres off.  Just after Chitian Reservior and near to Sandao town, it is about forty kilometres northeast of Sanya downtown by road.

Entry to Yanoda cost 170 RMB per adult.  Because we have little time left to explore at our own pace, we engage an English-speaking guide.  Lu Lei Lei (陆蕾蕾) is a friendly young girl of around twenty years of age.  Her fee is 100 RMB.  Informing her of our limited time and our preference of not taking the resort passenger vehicle, we are pleased with her professionalism: she immediately shows us her planned route on the printed park map.  We agree.

The first stop is the two-metre upright boulder on which the name “Yanoda” and its Chinese characters 呀诺达 have been cursively carved and painted in different colours.  The name, Lei Lei explains, is created from the Hainanese sound of the numerals “One”, “Two”, and “Three”.  Being a Hainanese, I appreciate the choice of name, which is close to the Hainanese pronunciation.  Even closer, my inelegant transliteration would be: “Jar-no-tar”.

 
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Hainan Yanoda Rainforest Cultural Tourism Zone
海南呀诺达雨林文化旅游区

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Perplexed I am when I later attempt to unravel the actual meaning of the Chinese name.  The first character “Ya” denotes an exclamation of surprise.  Surprised, visitors will certainly be: this park is spacious, clean, and refreshing.  “No” is the contraction of the pinyin “nuo” because there is no “No” in pinyin.  The Chinese character means “to promise” or “to agree”.  “Da” has a few meanings: “pass through”, “reach”, “realise”, and “influential”.  Google Translate offers this tantalising translation of the name: “Yeah promise up”.       

Yanoda Rainforest Cultural Tourism Zone was opened only in 2008.  As we continue our walking tour, I am struck by its vast space.  An hour or two is again inadequate to appreciate the mysterious flora of this parkland, and we are not giving it the attention it deserves.  The reason soon becomes apparent: the park will occupy more than forty-five square kilometres of land when it is fully developed by 2014, and it is also surrounded by one hundred and twenty square kilometres of lush virgin rainforest, making even a short stay here the most rejuvenating experience for any tourist.

Here in this parkland is a variety of plant species, some as old as a millennium.  According to a plaque, the “Thousand-year root-wrapping stone” is one of the six wonders of rainforest.  

“This huge umbrella shaped banyan tree with a height of over 40 m.

is over a thousand years old. 

Its huge root system wrapped the huge stone.”

Areca palms are plentiful; so too are the Giant Taro or Elephant Ear Taro plants (Alocasia macrorrhiza (Linn.) Schott).  Other palms also thrive such as the native Hainan Fan Palm (Chuniophoenix hainanensis) and Sugar Palm (Arenga pinnata (Wurmb.) Merr.).  Sugar Palm is a very valuable plant because practically every part is useful.  Each tree produces more than sixty kilograms of starch.  Sucrose constitutes a high portion - eighty-four percent - of its sap.  Sugar palms are found throughout Southeast Asia.

Besides bamboos and ferns like Alsophila spinulosa (Hook.) Tryon, the numerous species of trees and plants include the following: Ficus variegata Bl. var. chlorocarpa (Benth.); Bischofia polycarpa; Litsea monopetala; Lycopodium complanatum L.; Wendlandia uvariifolia; and Delonix regia (or Flame Tree).  

If Lei Lei has not pointed it out, we would have missed the most deadly tree in Hainan.  Set into the ground in front of the tree, a varnished plaque made from a thin slice of some tree trunk tells us its name: Antiaris toxicaria Lesch.  Its narrow trunk is not distinctive, and will not otherwise catch our attention.  Although its fruit is edible, its sap is so poisonous that a person who is infected with it, though a cut or wound, would take not more than nine steps before he expires.  I examine my hand and fingers.  There are no scratches.  I cautiously touch the tree.  I can now valiantly boast that I emerge unscathed from an encounter with the “Poison Arrow Tree” (“Jian du mu”), its common name in China.

Majestic stalks of Dendrobium orchids with flower petals that are mauve on the outside and white on the inside remind me of the Dendrobiums I once lovingly tended in my balcony pots in Singapore.  The cool climate here is perfect for these adorable orchids.  Unfortunately, I have not encountered a dainty Dendrobium sinense, which is a native orchid of Hainan.

As we cross some miniature bridges over small streams to a higher elevation, we gain a better view of the valley.  A huge pond sustains luxuriant lotuses, reflecting their characteristic pinkish flowers.  A few clumps of bougainvillea vines punctuate the green scenery with their light-purple flowers.  There is something magical about this rainforest.  

Lei Lei informs us that we can even camp at designated lots.  She ushers us there.  She lists the fees.  They are inexpensive.  The tents and other necessary equipments too are for hire.  Sleeping near natural waterfalls, hearing their cascading waters, viewing the spectacular valley from suspended bridges spanning across gorges, and walking under giant ferns and trees beside a clear brook are compelling inducements to me.  The average temperature here is also a refreshing twenty-three degrees Celsius.  My spirit is willing.  But time is not on our side.

"Ya! No! Da!"  The lady interrupts in greeting.  
"Ya! No! Da!"  We fervently respond.

She is parading two parrots, one of which is a White Cockatoo while the other is a Green-winged Macaw (Ara chloropterus).  Both are petite and lovable.  As its name implies, the former is snow-white, except for its black eyes, while the beak of the latter is white, its breast and long tail are brilliantly red, and its wings are light-green and blue.  Both birds are not native to Hainan.  The macaw is an inhabitant of the forest and lowlands of Central America while the cockatoo is from Halmahera, the largest of the Indonesian Maluku Islands.  Because of their pleasant disposition, they have been captured for sales as pets.   

For 10 RMB, the lady places White Cockatoo on Jo’s outstretched left hand and red-and-green Macaw on her right hand.  Obedient White Cockatoo stays still for my camera while cheeky Macaw does the crab crawl, making her way to Jo’s shoulder.  Leaning her head on Jo’s right ear, she then playfully but gently grabs a bundle of Jo’s long hair with her pair of beak.  Finally unfurling her wings, she squawks at me as if saying, “This is a good pose.”  Thanks to her cooperation, I shoot enthusiastically.  For an amateur, the photographs turn out very well!

An eatery advertises “Rainforest Health Nourishing Buffett”.  But it is late.  Two hours have almost elapsed.  And Cab Driver has joined us, implicitly hinting that the park is closing soon.  Regretfully, we inform Lei Lei that we must leave.  We thank her profusely for showing us the important features.

Two short tours to the replicated living environment of the Li and Miao ethnic minorities within a day pack too much excitement.  Little do I realise that the land of my birth holds so many wonders.  If my maternal niece had not made her fateful trip to Singapore, I would have remained ignorant of the interesting history and culture of Hainan.  For a thousand years, these minorities have gradually moved inland to this mountainous zone to live a simple and carefree life.  They have something to teach us.

 
Nanshan Buddhist culture and Hui Hui Village
 

We seek direction to Nanshan Guanyin Park from the receptionist before we head for an early lunch at eleven on Monday morning.  Swiftly downing our meal, we wait in vain for half an hour to catch an unoccupied taxi.  A passing trishaw approaches us.  Disappointed, the rider advises us on an early start, an advice which turns out to be correct.  

Built in 1988 to commemorate the two-thousand year history of Buddhism in China, the Nanshan Cultural Tourist Zone is forty kilometres from Sanya city centre and occupies an area of some forty square kilometres, which implies a long travelling time and long-distance walking, perhaps at least five or six kilometres.

Forsaking the cabs, we hop onto a No. 16 bus at a stand opposite our Huiyuan Henghe Hotel at twelve-fifteen mid-day.  The small privately-operated bus, which is fairly crowded, has spent some good years along the country road.  Its exterior is smudged with a fine patina of dust; its interior suggests an age of ten years or so.  We pay the 8 RMB requested by the twenty-four year old conductor.  We stand, oscillating as it bends around street corners on its way west along the Jiefang Road, which is renamed 225 National Road after passing Sanya Phoenix (Fenghuang) International Airport.
 
Not long after leaving downtown, some passengers alight, surrendering their seats.  As we assume their places, our attention is diverted to a commotion in front.  On the steps guarding the only doorway, the conductor is shouting, “Bu keyi, bu keyi” (“Cannot, cannot”).  It takes a few seconds for us to comprehend the gravity of the problem: he is not permitting the old lady to board because she is ferrying a live cockerel by its tethered legs.  Obviously, she has just bought it from the market and is returning home.  When she attempts to argue her case, he again shouts angrily at her.

“Wo shuo bu keyi, shi bu keyi.”  (Literally, it translates as: “When I say you cannot [board], you cannot.”)

She pleads with him.  But in vain.  He remains unmoved, barring the entrance with his puny body.  The bus moves off.  The boy continues counting his collection.  Later, a lady gets off, carefully holding a white polyester bag.  Its captive stirs slightly and makes a cracking noise, the whisper of an ill-fated hen.  Jo and I turn to each other and smile.  What a sensation!  The first lady should have concealed her prospective dinner in a similar bag to prevent its watery dungs from fouling the floor or, worse, the seats.

Some buildings with Islamic calligraphy on their signboards and a Hui mosque slowly flash by.  This mosque is probably the meeting place of the relatives of a former political leader of Malaysia.  Abdullah Ahmad Badawi was anointed as Prime Minister in October 2003.  Two months later, Hainan shot into regional prominence after news media in Singapore and Malaysia reported on the presence of his maternal relatives in Sanya.  While his paternal grandfather was an Arab, Badawi’s maternal grandfather was a Hui.  The six thousand or so Muslims living in Hui Hui village are descendants of merchants who had sailed from Persia, Saudi Arabia, and Vietnam more than three hundred years ago.

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Sanya Muslim Square;  the small Hui community

lives in Hui Hui Village, Fenghuang Town
三亚穆斯林广场 (Sanya Musilin Guangchang); 

小回族社区居住在凤凰镇回村

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Hassan Salleh (Hah Su Chiang) and two of his three brothers migrated to Malaya during the mid-nineteenth century.  Hassan Salleh had three wives and thirteen children.  His daughter Kailan Hassan, from his third wife with whom he had six children, married Ahmad Badawi, the father of the future politician.  Sanya’s interesting tie to Malaysia was discovered by an American researcher during the nineteen-eighties.  Her informants on the Muslim community in Hainan were the grandsons of Hussin (Ha Hun San), the brother who remained in Hainan.

Madam Kailan’s seventy-eighth birthday celebration in December 2003 coincided with the Hari Raya festivity, which saw a joyful gathering of six hundred relatives of Hassan Salleh’s descendants.  Also present were the Prime Minister’s two cousins - Hussin’s grandsons, who were pleasantly surprised to learn that their cousin is the government leader.  One of them is also named Abdullah.  Abdullah Badawi voluntarily relinquished power in April 2009.


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Former Malaysian Prime Minister Abdullah Badawi’s
maternal grandfather is a Hainan Hui
前马来西亚总理阿卜杜拉•巴达维的外公祖父是海南回族

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As we drive past the local villages, my mind ponders: will Sanya, or Hainan, ever make a similar or greater direct or indirect contribution to the political life of another foreign country?  

After a distance of about twenty-five kilometres, the bus turns into the car park of Tianya Haijiao.  By now, all passengers, except the two of us, have dropped off.  Astoundingly, the conductor notifies the termination of the service and refunds us 3 RMB each.  We are flabbergasted.  Hey, this is no way to treat a customer, I silently protest.  What a strange experience – being booted out!  He tells us to catch another bus from the sheltered stand facing the Tianya entrance.  Not enough passengers are going to Nanshan Park near Yacheng town, another fifteen kilometres west.
 
Upon our enquiry, a middle-aged couple kindly instructs us to flag a specific bus, the fare of which is 5 RMB each.  While talking to us, they overlook their on-coming bus.  We apologise profusely for causing them to miss their transport.  They are very indulgent with us.  “Bu yao jin” (“Not important” or “Never mind”), they graciously reply.

Waiting listlessly at an improvised resting shed behind the bus stop for their pre-arranged Tianya Haijiao or Nanshan visitors, some taxi drivers approach us, offering to take us to our destination for 100 RMB.  We refuse.  We wait.  After fifteen minutes or so, one driver steps up and offers to take us for only 10 RMB.  We are suspicious.  Is he setting us up for a scam?  

“10 RMB?  Earlier, some of you quoted 100 RMB.”  I query incredulously.   

Yes, 10 RMB, he reassures us.  He is going there to pick up his prepaid passengers.  We are lucky!  We thank the waiting couple for their earlier assistance.  We travel the rest of the journey in comfort and in quick time.

Nanshan (Southern Mountain) is a place special to Buddhists.  Since Guanyin Buddha’s second oath is to live permanently in the South Sea to evangelise the East, renowned Jiangsu-born Master Jianzhen (Ganjin to the Japanese, 689-763), who entered the monastery at the age of fourteen, religiously endeavoured to land in Japan after fervent requests from two Japanese monks.  His first four sea trips were aborted:  initially from internal dissension over piracy along the Chinese mainland coast, twice from shipwrecked by stormy sea, and then from a concerned disciple’s misguided action.

During his fifth attempt in 748, his boat from Yangzhou was blown far off-course by a typhoon.  After sailing for about four weeks with two or three brief stops on the Hainan east coast, they finally landed in Zhenzhou (now Yacheng).

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 Jianzhen (Japanese: Ganjin; 689-763 A.D.)
in Dongtian Park, 6 km NW of Nanshan
和尚大师鉴真 (日语: Ganjin; 公元 689-763) 雕象
在洞天公园近南山公园

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The four merchants, whom they had coincidentally met at one of the stops, had informed the Zhen Prefecture authorities about the encounter.  Administrative Aide Feng Chongzhai (冯崇债) allotted four hundred soldiers to escort the pilgrims safely to town and lodged them in the Dayun Temple.  The famous monk stayed at Nanshan for a year, rebuilding the collapsed main hall of the temple and preaching to the few thousand living in the district.

Later, the aide arranged more than eight hundred soldiers to escort the religious entourage on a forty-day trek to Wan’an Prefecture (now Wanning and Lingshui).  As the crow flies, the distance is about a hundred kilometres, a journey which would take only two or three hours by bus today.  But those were the days of unmapped slippy jungle tracks and hostile natives.

Feng Ruofang (冯若芳), the Wan’an Grand Staff Supervisor (大首領; Da Shouling; literally, Great Chieftain), entertained them for three days.  The references to the two Fengs arouse my curiosity: are they related to Feng Ang?  Are they related to me?  My journey to Nanshan deepens my interest in Hainanese history.  These two names were preserved in the record of Jianzhen’s fascinating maritime adventures composed first by his Chinese disciple in three volumes (jun).  Unfortunately, over time they were lost.  Fortunately, however, an abbreviation by Jianzhen’s Japanese disciple survived.

Later perusing the family-tree chart in Wang Xing-rui’s 1984 book 冼夫人与冯氏家族 (Xian Furen yu Feng shi jia zu; Lady Xian and the Feng clan), I discover that Feng Ruofang and Feng Chongzhai are descendants of Feng Ang.  Both brothers are possibly his great-grandsons through one of his three unnamed sons.  In the helpful guide, five other sons are named.  According to the New Tang History (新唐书; Xin Tang Shu; literally, New Tang Book), Feng Ang has thirty sons.

Interestingly, another of Feng Ang’s great-grandson is Feng Yuanyi, better known as imperial eunuch Gao Lishi, who died in his seventies in 762.  Feng Ang’s three well-known descendants were thus contemporaries, two in Hainan while the other in Chang’an and Luoyang, the Tang co-capitals.


                          ****************                                

Feng Ruofang and Feng Chongzhai (8th C Hainan officials)
and Gao Lishi (Feng Yuanyi)
were Tang general Feng Ang’s descendants
冯若芳, 冯崇债, 和 高力士 (本名: 冯元一)
是唐总冯盎的后代

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To his consternation, Jianzhen saw that Supervisor Feng had enriched himself by plundering two or three Persian merchant ships annually and making slaves of their crew.  If the pirate is related to me, then I might have some Feng swashbuckling genes!  The heisted sapanwoods were piled up behind his backyard like a small mountain, the pious monk grieved.  When entertaining guests, he added, Feng would burn more than one hundred catties of frankincense to release their fragrance.

Feng’s territory took five days to walk from east to west and three days from north to south.  His villages were filled with his slaves.  Jianzhen and his groups were safely escorted to the next prefecture, and they finally sailed to Leizhou for their overland journey home.  

On his sixth attempt, the sixty-six year old monk, now blind after the improper treatment of an eye infection during the fifth voyage, succeeded in setting foot in Kyushu with many disciples, craftsmen, Buddhist scriptures, and statues of Guanyin.  Moving to the capital Nara, he established the Toshodaiji temple in 759.  

Like Jianzhen, Japanese monk Kukai (Chinese: Konghai, 774-835) also landed temporarily at Nanshan - according to local tradition - when his ship was similarly blown off-course on his way to China in 804.  After studying in China, he returned and became the founder of the Shingon school of Buddhism.

At the entrance to Nanshan Tourism Zone is a huge crowd, which we do not expect on a Monday.  But it should not be surprising because within the Nanshan Tourism Zone are three theme parks: the Buddhist Cultural Centre, the Cultural Park, and the Felicity and Longevity Culture Park.  Their focus on the Buddhist culture, multi-culture of Hainan people, and culture of peace and longevity attempts to satisfy the curiosity and inclinations of all pilgrims and tourists.  Indeed, many Europeans are here.  Other theme parks within this huge zone are under planning, which should attract even more people when completed.  Devoted to publicising the cultural life in Hainan, the park boasts a gigantic Guanyin goddess.  

Although slightly expensive, the 150-RMB entry fee and 20-RMB ride on the resort passenger cart is priceless in value, as no effort was spared by the provincial government in making this park one of most beautiful places in China to leave an indelible impression on visitors.

The ground in front of the entrance is spacious, large enough to accommodate hundreds of them.  In the centre is a circular bed of dark-red flowers.  Between this bed and the entrance is a tall green hedge that runs around a huge boulder darkened with age.  Engraved on the slightly round rock is the name of the park.  Lining the sides of the litter-free ground are many coconut trees, ornamental palms, and Chinese stone garden lanterns.

High and symmetrical, the entrance facade is imposing.  Standing afar, I perceive a brown saddle.  Or, on second thought, is it a barren ridge that has two peaks?  Contributing to this ambiguity are ten tall “towers” of varying heights, five on each side of the entrance.  Above the entrance is an overhead “bridge”, which forms the “valley” between the two peaks.  The “bridge” and “towers” have traditional straight-inclined tiled roofs of dark-brown colour.

On the “bridge” is painted the inscription 二不 (er bu).  Read from right to left, “bu er” baffles me.  Is it “Not Two” or “Not Second”?  Does it advise “Consistency” and the goal of becoming the Number One?  Since the pamphlet calls this gateway the Dharma-Door of Non-Duality, it becomes apparent to the non-Buddhists as well that the phrase means “Not Two”, in other words, “Non-duality”, non-division.  This is verified by the characters 實一 (shi yi) on the other side of the pailou.  “One-ness” (yi) or “unity” of all living beings is “reality” (shi).

In Buddhist teaching, our journey in life passes through many doors, each bringing us closer to nirvana, or enlightenment.  The Dharma-Door is the last.  Going through brings us there, it is said.  Conveying the same message are two huge drawings on the tallest tower walls flanking the entrance.  Each rectangular light-blue wall depicts a hand displaying its palm with the upright thumb and the middle finger horizontally holding the stalk of a light-purple lotus.  Its ring finger is parallel to the middle finger while the index and last fingers are also upright, pointing to the sky.  This is the “Lion gesture”, symbolic of the final juncture of enlightenment.  Purity and spirituality is again reflected by the light-purple lotus petals and their white background.  

Behind the entrance, people are milling around small shops along the mall, sifting through the trinkets on offer.  These shops are shaded by the evergreen pinnate fronds of coconut trees.  We are in pursuit of spirituality, not materialism!  Our attention is, however, directed at a six-metre high bush, aesthetically pruned into a peacock proudly exhibiting his bright-green fan-tail.  Surrounded by a low hedge, he plays among several stunted palms and is a favourite mascot for photographers composing pictures of their families.  The care the designers took in incorporating this simple arborist trick foreshadows the exciting architecture that awaits us further inside.

“Huge” is not an exaggeration.  Trishaw Operator from downtown is right.  We need to start early.  Our walk from the entrance to the plinth of the one hundred and eight metre-high bronze Guanyin deity is a distance of about a kilometre.  Fortunately, many Buddhistic and non-Buddhistic features along the walkway divert our attention from our physical infirmity.


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The Nanshan Cultural Park is huge;
tall pillars or stambhas bearing Buddhistic teachings
南山文化公园是巨大的;  佛教在高柱子刻记

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Placed between two small bright-red buildings is a row of six white statues in the motion of hoisting flags up the three flag poles.  Of varying heights from one metre to two metres, they attract us with their delightful postures and under-size bodies.  Pulling the rope of the middle pole are two monks standing while one of the two side pairs is standing and the other is kneeing.  With big rotund faces of adult monks, their child-like contracted bodies are comical caricatures, which evoke broad smiles from us.

Beside them is a white stone platform of about nine square metres.  On each corner stands a white stone pillar four metres high with bas relief of a swirling white dragon.  Firmly securing the pillars upright, the four white slender horizontal bars binding their tops are carved with wavy leaves and flowers.  In the centre of the platform is a giant tortoise bearing a lotus flower on her shell.  Around her are her twelve baby tortoises in various stages of development.  One is emerging from its egg.  In Buddhism, the lotus symbolises purity while the tortoise symbolises longevity.  All statues are painted in white, suggestive of purity.  Drawn towards them, a little girl goes to sit on one.

 In front of a red building, a copper statue stands on a square stone pedestal.  We approach.  The robe of the life-size bald young man, who is holding a long pilgrim staff in his right hand and a string of prayer beads in his left, is showing signs of ageing.  A green patina, the result of oxidation, protects the underlying copper structure.  The holy man is smiling but his eyes are shut.  His ears are long, a Buddhist symbol of wisdom.  On the plaque is his name: 弘法大師 空海和尚 (Hongfa dashi Konghai heshang; The Grand Master Propagating Buddhism, Monk Konghai).  So this is the Japanese monk in search of Buddhism in China.  The signboard on the memorial building behind him says: 密法歸華堂 (Mifa Gui Hua Tang).  Literally, it means “Secret Law Returning to China Hall”.  Kukai taught an esoteric strand of Buddhism.


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Inscription:
“The Grand Master Propagating Buddhism, Monk Konghai”
题词：“弘法大師 空海和尚”
(Hongfa dashi Konghai heshang)

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Bridges over a running creek, cosy yellow-roofed pavilions for tired tourists along the long cream-tiled path, shops discretely behind the pavilions, and manicured beds of blooming flowers, palms, and trees are arresting welcomed interruptions to our long walk.  In front of us, more than a hundred people are heading in the same direction - towards the white Guanyin, which seems to be standing on a huge open palm.  As we close in, we detect a distance between Guanyin and the sky-facing palm of compassion.  The artistic park planners have successfully tricked us with an educational illusion: what we perceive may not be real.

Illusion?  Reality?  Guanyin is a female bodhisattva, an enlightened being who has delayed her own nirvana in order to ameliorate human suffering.  She is the “Bodhisattva of Great Compassion”.  But in Tibetan and Indian Mahayana Buddhism, the bodhisattva of compassion is Avalokiteshvara, a male.  So is the bodhisattva of compassion a male or female?  Which is the reality?  My mind is giddy.  Including its thirty-metre high pedestal, this second tallest statue in China, and fourth tallest in the world, is fifteen metres taller than the ninety-three metre Statue of Liberty and is situated on a small artificial island connected with a causeway two hundred and eighty metres in length.

With a golden halo behind her head, Sanya Guanyin looks down, her eyes meeting ours.  She smiles.  She is young, in her late thirties or early forties.  Oval and slightly plump, her face has a flawless complexion.  Her white gown, clinging and flowing with the contours of her slim body, transmutes her into an oriental Virgin Mary.  Without her accessories, she could be mistaken for the latter.  On her headdress is a small icon of the sitting Buddha.  Gently cradling a golden sutra like a baby in her left hand, the goddess shows the Vitarka Mudra (“gesture of discussion”) with her right.  The tips of her thumb and index finger are joined to form a circle and her other fingers are straightened.  The palm of her hand, placed in front of her sternum, is facing us as if saying: three (or is it thirty?) things you must remember from this sutra that I am holding.


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108-metre high Guanyin Bodhisattva
is one of the tallest statues in the world
108米高观音菩萨雕象是其中一个最高的雕象在世界上

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Constituted of a strong white alloy that can resist typhoons with wind force of about one hundred and sixty kilometres per hour, goddess Guanyin stands on three tiers of budding lotus flowers.  From our position, we can only see their open brown sepals, made apparently of bronze.  On each sepal are some Chinese characters, which are barely legible.  Supporting these tiers of flowers and Guanyin is the pedestal, which - on closer inspection - houses a huge hall.  On its front external facade are four Buddhistic bas-reliefs.  The doors into the hall are shut.

Above the entrance hangs a long orange-coloured cloth banner on which are embroidered some pink and red lotus flowers in open bloom and four Chinese characters in yellow.  Before the entrance is a long altar table covered with a plain yellow cloth.  Two small Guanyin replicas stand, one in front of the other, with bordering bronze receptacles of lotus flowers in full bloom.  The altar table is a barricade; for a small admission fee is charged to access Guanyin’s closer aura.

 To our amazement, a European lady, a Russian, in her forties stands before Guanyin, closes her eyes, and bows her head.  Wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of faded-blue jeans, she then reverentially holds a yellow Buddhist sash with her two raised outspread hands.  She is whispering, expressing her supplication or thanksgiving to the silent goddess.  The silk band, which she has just bought from the stalls, has some Chinese characters and name-seal marks.  Its border is printed with tiny right-facing swastikas, the ancient Hindu and Buddhist symbol signifying eternity.  Some Chinese smile in amusement; some are puzzled.

“Can a European be Buddhist?”  They seem to be asking.

Behind the sacrosanct icon’s resplendent facet which gazes inland are two similar others, hidden from those of us standing on the causeway.  Looking towards the sea and its horizon, they are visible to leisure-seekers in a boat or from the beach.  The second facet depicts her with her hands crossing in front of her body, her left hand gently placed on top of her right which is holding a long string of prayer beads that meets the helm of her gown.  The third depicts her holding a lotus in her right hand while her left hand makes a Vitarka Mudra gesture.  We have no time to see them.

Neither do we have time to taste the vegetarian buffet at the restaurant.  We have sampled vegetarian dishes in the Kong Ming Shan temple in Singapore.  Despite their disavowal of meat consumption, some Buddhists could not suppress their craving!  Tofu is processed to shapes and colours like pork.  Vegetarian “char-siew” (barbeque pork)!  At a stall near the Guanyin statue, a Hainanese youth is taking care of the gong-striking (at 100 RMB per strike).  We converse in Hainanese.  Thrilled to find a fellow Hainanese from overseas, he offers me a complimentary VCD which presents a brief history of Nanshan as well as some dance performances.

Nanshan Temple (南山寺; Nanshan Si) takes its name from the Buddhist expression: 福如东海, 寿比南山 (Fu ru Dong Hai, shou bi Nan Shan).  It means: “May you have happiness as vast as the East Sea; and may you live as long as the Southern Mountain”.  Sure, we will live a long life after our long walk - a kilometre - from the Dharma-door entrance to goddess Guanyin.

Waiting near goddess Guanyin for the resort passenger cart, camouflaged as a train, to take them to Thirty-three Guanyin Hall (三十三觀音堂; San shi san Guanyin Tang), the winding queue of people deters us from joining in.  Little do we realise that the walking distance is a kilometre or so!

When we reach the hall, I am so exhausted that my feeble legs refuse to mount its flight of stairs to appreciate the thirty-three Guanyin statues displayed within.  The centrepiece is the 4.3-metre “Chenglong Guanyin”.  The other surrounding pieces average about half its height.

From the beach near the hall, we clearly discern the second facet of magnificent Guanyin.  With me incapable of enduring further physical exertion, we begin retracing the long route to the Dharma-door gateway.  Another agonising kilometre!

On the large black panel above the front door of Gold and Jade Guanyin Pavilion is a stylish rendition of the golden jade statue’s name in traditional Chinese: 金玉觀世音 (Jin yu Guanshiyin).  “Guanshiyin” (literally, “Observing the cry of the world”) is the actual epithet of the Bodhisattva.  But it has been commonly abbreviated to the familiar name.

This pavilion is unusual; several bronze Tibetan prayer wheels are on the courtyard verandah, which is decorated with long strips of attractive bright-yellow cloth.  As its name implies, the pavilion exhibits a very precious statue of Guanyin.  At a height of 3.8 metres, the goddess is manufactured from one hundred kilograms of gold and one hundred kilograms of jade, and is liberally studded with gemstones like diamond, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, turquoise, and pearls.  Not only is it worth at least 192 million RMB; it also contains an invaluable “sarira” or relic of Buddha Sakyamuni.

Dragon-Phoenix Ink-stone (龙砚) is the largest ink-stone in the world.  Measuring ten metres long and one and a half metres high, this slab of rock, resting precariously on a pile of boulders in the middle of a small pool, weighs thirty-six tonnes.  Purplish-brown in colour, its border is flanked with the intertwining bodies of dragons.  An ink-stone is one of the “Four Treasures of the Study” of an artist or writer, the other three being the brush, paper, and ink.

Traditionally made from slate, the typically small hand-size paraphernalia, usually in rectangular or circular shape, has a depression at one end to hold water for moistening an ink-stick, a solidified piece of ink, which is then grinded on the slightly rough surface of the ink-stone to produce ink.  The best ink-stones are reportedly made from the slates of Duanxi in Guangdong and Shexian in Anhui.  Etched on many are exquisite reliefs like birds, dragons, flowers, phoenixes, and trees to inspire creativity.
Throughout the park, we are entertained with sculptures of tortoises, elephants in various postures, a pipa player, and monks.  A gaunt elderly Great Master Hui Guo (惠果大师; Hui Guo dashi) is sitting by the side of the pool.  Just before his death in late 805, the fifty-nine year old teacher briefly met Kukai and transmitted the Supreme Law to the thirty-one year old disciple after the latter’s intensive initiation.  The master’s hands are clasped together, fingers interlocking.  Behind him is a young attendant.  This is what Kukai reported:


“As soon as he saw me, the abbot [Hui Guo] smiled, and said with delight, ‘Since learning of your arrival, I have waited anxiously.  How excellent, how excellent that we have met at last!  My life is ending soon, and yet I have no more disciples to transmit the Dharma.  Prepare without the offerings of incense and flowers for your entry into the abhiseka mandalas [Womb and Diamond Realms].’”

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Great Buddhist Master Hui Guo
惠果大师

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Despite the short period of less than four hours, we have gone to several interesting sights.  A full day is ideal.  But we are contented.  Although the gate closes at eight in the evening, we decide to leave early.  As we walk out, I recollect the popularity of Buddhism during its early history in ancient China.  In the south alone, one thousand seven hundred monasteries were flourishing by the end of the fifth century, their expanding wealth and portfolio of properties largely bequeathed by devout followers.

Resentments, accumulated over the centuries, finally led to an imperial decree in 845 commanding the destruction of forty thousand temples and the defrocking of 260,500 monks and nuns.  

Some buses are waiting for passengers.  We are fortunate.  The one to Sanya downtown is full.  It is perhaps the last departing bus.  The fare is 8 RMB each.  Jo gets a seat while I am sitting on the flat platform near the driver.  Those boarding later are standing.  Along the route, the conductress shouts the destination to passengers at bus stops.  She is trying to squeeze more people; some board.  Fortunately, the man on the front seat gets off at a hotel along the Coconut Corridor, leaving me his seat.

After an hour’s journey, we are just in time for dinner at six in downtown.


Yalong’s international beach and nuclear submarines
 

Yalong Bay is fifteen kilometres east of Sanya city centre as the crow flies but the travelling distance is about twenty-five kilometres.  Since it is not very far off, we have an unhasty early lunch before commencing our journey.  We are lucky this time; a taxi halts at our signal.   Leaving downtown, it has a smooth flow of traffic to Yalong Bay Central Plaza, making the ride enjoyable.  Along the way, the driver offers a suggestion.

 “The Sea Shell Museum is not as interesting as the Butterfly Valley nearby.  I can bring you to the latter.”

Jo and I hold a brief discussion.  The Butterfly Park has a huge flight cage where visitors can interact with the fluttering variegated butterflies as well as more than two thousand rigor mortis specimens in its exhibition hall.  But it is slightly out of our way, an additional four kilometres from Central Plaza and an hour or two of sight-seeing time.  Since a slow stroll along the seven-kilometre beach with its deep sea captivates us more, we decide in favour of the nearer museum, sadly sacrificing a visit to the other.

“Yes, we are interested in seeing the beautiful butterflies of Hainan.  But we do not have much time.”  We thus politely decline.

Jo pays the admission fee of 33 RMB while I stand at the next window, the window for concession fees for, among others, senior citizens.  The lady accepts the credential of my Australian driving licence.  Handing over 18 RMB, I thank her.

Despite its name, the elevated Central Square is not “square” but circular, having a diameter of at least a hundred metres.  On a tourist pamphlet, it is named as a “Plaza” but this “plaza” has no shopping centre, except for a café and a few stalls selling drinks, fruits, and trinkets.

In the centre of the Plaza is an impressive structure, a huge square totem pole twenty-seven metre in height.  It sits on a mound about two metres high.  On the incline of this mound are stone blocks with chiselled reliefs.  The core of the architectural pole is an aluminium pipe, which enabled its creator to align the decorative granite blocks that enclose it.  The identity of some sunk-reliefs on the granite blocks is easily discernible.  I can pick out only three: the fish, phoenix, and dragon.  But the others perplex me.  What is the creature below the fish?  Is it a local insect?

I walk to the plaque, and record this description: “The carvings on the Totem Pole include the Sun God, the Gods of Nature, the Dragon, the Phoenix, the Unicorn and the fish, 16 totem designs in total.”

Spaciously laid out in concentric circles around the pole are twelve single sculptures and twelve sets of carved granite blocks.  The blocks are flat and uniform in height, about half a metre.  The blocks of each set are cemented together to form a glyph.  The single polished sculptures, some looking like phallic symbols, range from half a metre to a metre in height.  They are placed beside the granite reliefs.  A small plaque at the foot of each sculpture offers a hint of its significance.

“Arrival of Autumn 立秋,” says one.  Engraved on its sculpture is a dragon fly.  

These twenty-four pieces of artwork depict the twenty-four climatic periods in the Chinese solar calendar, which was calibrated to the lunar phases as early as four thousand years ago and used to determine crop cultivation.  We do not have time to examine all the sculptures.  The signboard provides this list of periods:

“Arrival of Spring, Rainfall, Insect Awakening, Spring Equinox, Ching Ming,

Cereal Rain, Arrival of Summer, Small Harvest, Sowing, Summer Solstice,

Mild Heat, Heat of Summer, Arrival of Autumn, End of Heat, White Dew,

Autumn Equinox, Cold Dew, Frost Fall, Arrival of Winter,

Mild Snowfall, Snowstorm, Winter Solstice, Mild Cold, Extreme Cold”.

Some totemic deity, animal, or natural element are associated with these sculptures or periods:
“Gray Dragon, White Tiger, Pink Bird, Black Armour, Opening Up the Heaven

and Creating the Earth by Pan Gu, Mending the Sky by Nu Wo,

Ascending of Chang Er to the Moon, Wielding the Bludgeon and Shield

by Xing Tian, Harnessing the Flood by Da Yu, Cowboy and the Weaving Girl,

Shooting the Suns by Hau Yee, Kua Fu Running for the Sun,

Celestial Phenomena (Sun and Moon, Mountains and Rivers, Celestial Stars),

Animal, Human Characters, Plant, Ancient Gods of Gate (Shen Tu),

Ancient Gods of Gate (Yu Lei), God of the Mountain  (God of Mount Kunlun),

God of Wind, God of Thunder, God of Agriculture (Shen Long, Emperor Yan),

God of Fishery and Hunting (Fu Xi), God of Words (Cang He)”

 Our visit to the square is instructive.  I am now aware of the several agricultural periods and festivals associated with the Chinese calendar.  Earlier, I knew of only three: spring, Qing-ming, and mid-autumn.  The Chinese New Year celebration around February is a herald to spring, the joyful beginning of a warm year after a cold winter.  The young and unmarried receive “hong bao” (red packets containing money to splurge).  Then early April brings a solemn festival, the Qing-ming (literally, Clear Bright).  When grasses have sprout luxuriantly, families visit and tidy the surroundings of their departed members’ graves.  This “Grave-sweeping Day” is the Chinese equivalent of the Christian “All Souls’ Day”.  Finally, around the end of September, on the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month, when the moon is at its brightest, signalling the end of summer harvest, the mid-autumn festival is held and mooncakes are fondly baked and consumed in memory of goddess Chang’e, who remains marooned on the moon with her pet rabbit.

Beneath Central Square is the Shell Museum.  We walk down a flight of stairs to a hall, which is fairly crowded.  We are amazed.  The built-in cabinets in the walls are filled with countless quirky maritime homes.  Among the species from foreign shores and waters are four exceedingly remarkable pieces that captivate me.  Their colours are magnificent and their shapes, weird.

As its name aptly implies, the white “Angel Wing” (Cyrtopleura Costata Linnaeus) is strikingly like a pair of angel’s wings commonly illustrated in paintings.  In contrast is a pair of brilliant-yellow shells called “Austral Scallop” (Chlamys Australis Sowerby).  Both of these cap-shaped pairs have flat shells.  South African Turban (Turbo Sarmaticus Turbinidae), however, has a snail-like shell with colours running riot on its surface.  Reminiscent of a Mongolian tent is Taylor’s Star Shell (Bolma Tayloriana), whose top-shaped white shell has vertical brown stripes of various tones.

Nature dazzles us with its diversity and wonders.  The apex or tail of the elongate-conic Martin’s Tibia conch (Tibia Martini Marrat) is pointed.  At its aperture or mouth is a long sharp spike.  This mollusc poses as a dangerous creature; when it slowly advances, its “spear” will pierce any fish or prawn that obstructs its path.  Pitiful is the person who accidentally steps on its spike.  My sympathy also goes to the feet that land on the spikes of the small irregular-shaped Murex Cornutus (Bolinus Brandaris Linnaeus), about seven centimetres in length.

   While many shellfish are edible, the small Ivory Cone (Conus Eburneus Hwass) is poisonous.  Its surface has a fascinating dark-brown pattern like the skin of a snake or python.  

Some shells are large or long.  The Pink Conch (Stombus Gigas Linnaeus) and Australian Trumpet (Syrinx Aruanus Linnaeus) are about thirty centimetres in length, or a foot in imperial measurement.  The former has shades of white, brown, and pink while the latter is light-brown.  The Giant Worm Shell (Siliquaria Ponderosa) is a long tube measuring about one metre.  White in colour, it may be mistaken for an artificial white concrete tube, placed there to amuse spectators.

In one showcase, the Nautilus pompilius is listed as one of the “four most famous shells of Hainan”.  With brown strips across its smooth back, this shell, reminding me of the stripes of a zebra, is the home of a living fossil found in the cool seas of Hainan Province.

What are the names of the other three famous shells in the same cabinet?  I think the museum curator wants to put us through a test.  I peek again into some of the showcases.  In the next is a fossilized Nautilus, which revealed identical whorls and spirals as its modern descendants.  It is dated at more than three hundred thousand years old.  Then - eureka! - I establish the name of the second “famous shell”: Bull’s Mouth Helmet (Cypraecassis Rufa Linnaeus).  Easily, I find the rest: Horned Helmet (Cassis Cornuta Linnaeus) and Trumpet Triton (Charonia Titonis Linnaeus).  I grin with satisfaction.  The assortment of shells offered at the museum shop is tempting.  But we have a long way to travel to be weighed down.

Exiting the Shell Museum, we are surprised that no barricade has been erected to prevent beach visitors from gate-crashing.  The level of trust and honesty among the locals and visitors is reassuring.  From the higher step on the museum foreground, we quickly survey the beach below us.  This section is crowded, but not excessively crowded to instil a sense of demophobia or agoraphobia in me.  Within the periphery of my front vision, I mentally estimate the presence of one hundred beachcombers or more.  About forty persons are swimming within or near the roped-off swimming area.  The majority are merely spectators.  

Although they have booked for a “beach holiday”, many tourists relish neither to swim nor to sunbathe; instead, they prefer to hide under the protective shade of a beach umbrella and relax.  Occasionally, they may be hypnotised by the rhythmic waves to wade in the shallow tide.  But they will avoid wetting their shorts or skirts.  Beach culture is absent among local Hainanese too.  They are blasé towards the constantly lapping sea; daily sight has inured them to its eternal glory.  Traditionally, they strive to keep their skin fair and untanned, being also shy to expose their unmuscular bodies.  But swimming and surfing are exercises that are fast increasing in popularity among the young.

 Some islets dot the bay.  Close to one another on our left, three are very large and noticeable while one on our right is smaller and less so.  Later, we learn the names of three islets from the map on the signboard.  The largest, which is nearest to us, is Yezhu Islet (野猪; Wild Pig Islet).  From my estimate, its elevation is between one and two hundred metres.  The two smallest ones on our right are: Dongpai Islet and Xipai Islet (东排 and 西排; East and West Reefs respectively).  Beyond the limit of the signboard map are the two islets located behind Wild Pig Islet.  I later learn from satellite maps the names of these two islets: Dongzhou and Xizhou (东洲 and 西洲).  Strangely, Wild Pig Islet, the largest of the five islets, is not even shown on the satellite maps.

We step onto the beach.  I bend down and grasp a handful of white sand to feel its texture.  It is very fine and as good as the sand of Bondi Beach.  I walk to the edge of the receding tide and feel the water.  It is cool, even though the sun is bright and shining.  I look further; the shallow water is clean and transparent.  Still further on, the sea is deep blue.

Slightly concave, Yalong (Crescent Dragon) Beach has more than fifteen kilometres of malleable sands that caress the feet.  In the middle are the Central Square and Shell Museum.  Unfortunately for visitors, a stretch of only about seven kilometres is accessible, the extreme eastern side being occupied by the Chinese navy.  Even then, the public zone is twice the length of Papohaku Beach in Hawaii’s Molokai Island.  Sanya is endowed with an unspoilt coastline of about two hundred kilometres, and Yalong Bay is only a small part of it.  Yalong and Dadonghai are two of the six most famous bays in Sanya, which has nineteen harbours.

On the extreme eastern side of Yalong’s public beach is Holiday Inn Resort, about two kilometres from the Shell Museum and Central Plaza.  To the west of Central Plaza are nine other international hotels like Crown Plaza Sanya, Gloria Resort, Resort Golden Palm, Yalong Bay Universal Resort, and Yalong Bay Mangrove Tree Resort.  Sheraton Sanya Resort is on the extreme left.  We walk towards the east.  The beach section closer to Central Plaza has fewer beach goers because the nearest hotel is about four hundred metres away.  Deck chairs are placed at regular intervals.  We sit on one and pose for photographs.  A gentleman appears, enquiring if we wish to hire one.  When we politely decline, he is not offended.

So mesmerising are the lisping waves and carefree pleasure boats flashing by that I now understand why Hainan is widely acclaimed as the “Hawaii of the East”.  If we have time, we would like to lie down on the sixty-metre foreshore and enjoy the sight of the calm water and solitary clouds drifting across the lightly tinted sky.  The residents are truly lucky; they have a natural beauty to be proud of.  Hawaii and Hainan share some common features.  Both are islands situated on the same latitude; both have sandy beaches; both have tropical weather; both have indigenous people; both are attractive tourist destinations.  One difference is, however, immediately evident.  Hawaii's beaches are often crowded while Hainan's are fairly empty.  This will soon change when outsiders learn more about the charm and beauty of this unobtrusive paradise.


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The beautiful beach of Yalong Bay
亚龙湾美丽的海滩

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As we move closer to the jetty, the beach becomes crowded.  More than a thousand people may be here.  Hotel guests are sunbathing on deck chairs in the hotel zone behind a single rope barricade.  Other visitors, dropped off earlier by coaches at the nearby shopping centre and car park, are resting on their beach towels, swimming or wading in the waters, playing beach volleyball, shopping at the roadside trinket stalls, or just strolling along the water edge.  At the cost of 100 RMB each, three adventurous visitors have hired a four-seater speedboat for a short cruise.  The operator will only proceed when three participants have signed up.  

Marine tours and cruises radiate from the jetty, which is closed to non-participants.  We are hoping to walk to its end to capture the beautiful shore on our cameras as well as peer down into the deep sea.  But it is not to be.  According to a brochure, the water at Yalong is visible to a depth of ten metres, which is superb for scuba diving.  Some amateurs in their rented diving suit and gears are waddling towards their arriving cruise boat.  A few minutes later, it discharges some divers onto the jetty.  The latter can now boast to their friends about their new maritime adventure.  We investigate the amenities and changing rooms; they are clean.

 Pristine coral reefs in the tropical waters of Sanya’s bays are sanctuaries to a rich variety of fish, ranging from the small to the large.  Six kilometres southwest from downtown Sanya, at West Island (Ximaozhou), is a huge underwater rock formation, the breeding ground for bream, elephant fish, green wrasse, Golden-thread fish, parrot fish, and other species.  Cone-shaped and about two kilometres in length and a kilometre in width at its widest, West Island is the largest of Sanya’s ten islets.  With resort facilities, it is a favourite destination for many beach-lovers.  The fish catch is apparently good.

Three kilometres southeast of West Island is the smaller East Island (Dongmaozhou), which also rewards fishing enthusiasts.  The average depth of the seas around these two islets is about twelve metres.  Just east of Sanya Bay is Yulin Bay, where the coral reefs near Dadonghai Beach and Xiaodonghai Beach are state-protected.

About fifteen kilometres northeast from Yalong is Haitang Bay.  At its southern end is Wuzhizhou Island, a small triangular islet of about 1.48 square kilometres.  The thriving coral reefs embracing the hill and its coastal strip of white sand are popular with scuba divers and sports fishermen.

Here in Yalong Bay, a Hawksbill turtle and a lionfish may be hiding in reef crevices under the fan-shaped Cockleshell Horny Coral (海扇角珊瑚; Haishan Jiaoshanhu) while a Princess Crown fish sits among her protective anemone host.  

Fastened to a white pier about a kilometre and a half away is a huge light-grey warship, which fascinates me.  Is it a frigate or a destroyer?  I silent ask myself.  Its bow points to the shore.  Its numbers “170”, painted boldly on the port side near the bow, later identifies it to me as Chinese destroyer Lanzhou, which is part of the Chinese South Fleet.  A Chinese type 052 C destroyer class (or Luyang II class under NATO codename), this destroyer was launched in April 2003, and commissioned in July 2004.  At one hundred and fifty-four metres in length, it can travel at the speed of thirty knots.  Its most potent weapons are its forty-eight long-range surface-to-air missiles and eight anti-ship/land attack cruise missiles.  It has the capacity to carry one helicopter.  The Chinese Navy has twenty-five destroyers.  Anchored in the bay is also the maritime police ship with the identification number and name: “46041” and “China Coast Guard”.

 
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Yalong Naval Base  亚龙海军基地
Yalong Submarine Base  亚龙潜艇基地
 
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Behind the visible pier is another, the existence of which I later ascertain from a satellite image.  Each of these two piers is a kilometre long.  Theoretically, at least sixteen destroyers can be tied simultaneously to the four sides for maintenance.  This should not be surprising; Yalong Bay is the surface fleet base for the 9th Destroyer Flotilla of the South Sea Fleet.  These piers are capable of berthing even aircraft carriers.  In November 2013, China’s experimental aircraft carrier “Liaoning” and four escorting missile destroyers and frigates docked here during a South China Sea naval exercise.

Prior to the late nineteen-nineties, Yulin Bay was the naval base for the PLA Southern Military Region Navy’s South Sea Fleet patrol vessels and conventional submarine flotilla.  The bay is to the immediate west of Yalong Bay, and the naval base on its eastern shore also housed KMT naval maintenance facilities in 1946.  Nine years later, it was given its current name, Yulin Naval Base.  

Yalong Bay recently received international attention when foreign military analysts revealed the existence of a nuclear submarine base (officially known as 2nd Submarine Base) in the man-made cavern beneath Cape Yalong.  This cavern is capable of hiding up to twenty submarines.  Standing near the cruise jetty, I slowly shift my eyes from Destroyer 170 to the right, to the flat peninsula at the foot of the hill ridge.  Eight huge metallic Chinese characters, with their “backs” facing me, pose a warning, which I later decipher as: 管控水域 严禁靠近.  “Guankong shuiyu Yanjin kaojin” means “Controlled waters; strictly forbidden nearby”.  Naturally, no visitors are allowed in the proximity.  No one should be foolish to attempt a sneak photo shoot of this sector; espionage will logically be the charge.

Obscured from prying eyes, including mine, are three piers for berthing Jin-class SSBNs (nuclear-powered missile submarines), a sixteen-metre wide submarine cave entrance to the underground facilities, and a demagnetization facility at Dongzhou Islet (which is connected to Cape Yalong by a 3.2-kilometre breakwater).  The demagnetization facility removes residual magnetic fields from the metal of seagoing submarines to prevent their detection by enemy aircrafts and maritime vessels and mines.  Since it is absent in Jianggezhuang Submarine Base, this facility is a new cutting-edge capability of the Chinese navy.  Interestingly, two other moles almost connect Dongzhou with Xizhou, and Xizhou with Wild Pig, the narrow gaps in the middle allowing for monitored naval passage.

Southeast of Yalong Naval Base lies Xisha (Paracel) and Nansha (Spratly) Islets, about three hundred kilometres and a thousand kilometres off respectively in the South China Sea.  In March 2009, 282-foot American surveillance ship USNS Impeccable was spotted about one hundred and twenty kilometres southeast of Yalong Bay, towing a sonar apparatus – apparently hunting for Jin-class submarines within China’s exclusive economic zone.  Over a few days, it was shadowed and surrounded by three Chinese patrol boats and two trawlers.  Both governments issued complaints against each other.

Aung San Suu Kyi tells an interesting story: her father’s military training in Sanya.  Born in 1915, the Burmese patriot entered Rangoon University in 1932, where he became a student activist.  Under his leadership, the student movement deposed Ba Maw’s government in 1938.  Their next aim was the removal of the British colonialists, their masters since 1885.  With a comrade, Aung San sailed to Xiamen in August 1940 to consult the Chinese communists, who had by now retreated to Chongqing.  After roving aimlessly, they encountered a Japanese agent and were flown in November to Japan where they met the Japan-Burma Society secretary, a Japanese colonel.  An offer was made.

 
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Aung San (1915-1947), Premier of British Burma (1946-1947)
昂山 (1915-1947),  英国缅甸总理 (1946-1947)

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Thirty secretly-selected left-wing students were led by Aung San out of Burma.  Of these, one remained in Thailand for secret services, one died on the way to Japan, and one chose to do administration.  Their Japanese handler sent the rest to Sanya Naval Training Camp in 1941.  At the specially constructed training facility, the officer training course from April to October was so gruelling that some of the Burmese were disposed to rebel.  The lessons was conducted in pidgin English since most, if not all, of the trainees were ignorant of Japanese.

On completion, they returned via Thailand where they formed the Burmese Independence Army.  By the end of 1941, they were home and, with the Japanese Army’s aid, expelled the British.  But Aung San distrusted the Japanese.  He was right; they were not genuinely interested in helping Burma gain independence.  After their conquest of Southeast Asian countries like Malaya and Singapore, they invaded his country and had, by 1942, taken over its government.  They exploited the food supply and conscripted unwilling locals and prisoners-of-wars to construct the Burma-Thailand railway.  Tragically, many died from accidents and malnutrition.  Burmese students declared independence on 1 August 1943.  Ironically, with British assistance, they succeeded in overthrowing the Japanese in 1945.

Our day at Yalong Bay is enjoyable.  At five in the late afternoon, we reluctantly leave.  In spite of the crowd at Yalong Bay Universal Resort open-air car park and sheltered stalls, we patiently wait by the roadside for a taxi.  We are fortunate.  Stopping close to us, one drops off some passengers.  We frantically wave our hands and briskly walk towards it, ensuring no other tourists from some corner best us.

The road to downtown Sanya is not heavy with traffic.  Over the next thirty minutes, the ride is smooth, impeded only by the traffic lights.  I speak to the driver.  We say nothing memorable; just some small talk that I cannot even recall.


Phoenix Island, the new port and cruise hub
 

We alight at Sanya Bay Road, near the causeway linking the beach to Phoenix Island.  The fare is 56 RMB.  It is reasonable.  Since the island and causeway was the starting point for the 2008 Olympic Torch Relay, we intend to investigate the scenery on this man-made island.  But the sight of a sentry post and some guards at the start of the causeway immediately dampens our enthusiasm.

Before us is a group of three Taiwanese ladies and two gentlemen, all in their late forties or early fifties.  They approach the nearest guard.  We draw alongside them.  They speak and we anxiously eavesdrop.

In his twenties, the guard explains that permission to visit the island is needed from the real estate agent of the condominium development.  The Taiwanese ladies plead for special consideration.  I join in, adding that I have come a long way from Australia to inspect the apartments for sale.  That is true, except that I have no intention of buying.  I just want to snap some photographs of the rooms and the seascape from the height.  In an audacious attempt to validate the veracity of my long-journey claim, I extract my Australian passport from my backpack.

“See.  See.  He comes all the way from Australia to look at the units.”  One Taiwanese lady eagerly utters in Mandarin.

I am very pleased to receive her moral support.  Alas, the tiny blue booklet does not impress him, although he gives us the telephone number of the property agent, adding that she will be chaperoning some prospective clients to a display flat the following morning.  My meek entreaty for permission to tread to the middle of the bridge falls on deaf ear, painfully dashing my indulgent dream of an intimate view of the future economic bellwether islet.

As we all leave the place sulking, the Taiwanese lady is still muttering, “Why can’t he just let us in?”

The harassed guard is relieved.  He has heard it all, the same pleas, or variations, over the years.

Phoenix Island is a symbol of the central and local governments’ great expectation for Sanya City.  Over three billion RMB (or about US$0.5 billion) was committed to the project of constructing an artificial island featuring a port, convention centre, and residential blocks some four hundred metres off the downtown beach.  Began in 2007, the project was scheduled for completion by 2014.  Midway into the project, the island and a port had been built.  Seen on a high-resolution satellite photograph, the area of roughly three hundred and ninety-four thousand square metres takes the shape of a mouse’s body.  Its “tail” is the causeway linking the island to Sanya Bay Road and Guang Ming Street.  

At one thousand two hundred and fifty metres in length and three hundred and fifty metres in breadth, the island points to the direction of East Island and West Island between eight and ten kilometres off.  This is the new pride of the southern Hainan district, an everlasting testimony also to the emerging firm that had designed and implemented the visionary recreation of the once unknown bay.  MAD Architect is founded by Ma Yansong, a young architect from Beijing.  The authorities have great confidence in their selection, which I whole-heartedly endorse.  

Before us is the long, white causeway.  It is almost flat, except for the slight arch in the middle to ease the passage of small boats, which might otherwise have to sail around the islet to reach the other side of the beach.  Walking to the left, I count about thirty-six small fishing boats anchored close to one another.  All, but one, are empty.  Four or five floating platforms are visible under an arch.  Some enterprising entrepreneurs have kept their fish, crabs, or prawns alive in these net cages, ready to rush them to seafood restaurants within minutes upon receiving an order through their cell phones.  I move to the right.  Eight small fishing boats are also lying idle off the shore.

Jo is fervently snapping photographs.  Straining my eyes ahead, I stare at the four towers of apartments lined in a straight row, the first partially hiding the rest on the extremely prime land.   To their left is another similarly-shaped structure.  The presence of a giant crane alongside each tower indicates their current state of development.  From my position, they seem like giant cylindrical bullets resting on a flat plain.  But they are really elongated and also well-spaced.  (During my 2013 trip, I return to see the night scene of this islet and its residential blocks.  Their light-emitting diode (LED) lighting system has been switched on, and they appear as upright, giant bivalves with shells slightly ajar.)

Even at exorbitant prices ranging from 50,000 RMB to 100,000 RMB per square metre during the off-the-plan sales in early 2010, the high-rise units were well received, according to media reports.  These pocket-hitting prices were identical to those for similar properties in Beijing and Shanghai.  The sales brochure evokes envy in me: the balconies of some flats are fitted with built-in spas.  I can imagine myself being gently aqua-massaged in one of those tubs filled to the brim with invigorating warm spring water as well as simultaneously enjoying an aerial view of the ships slow sliding across the still sea below.  I can also imagine myself lying on my sun-chair, dozing off to the soporific echoes of surging waves stirred up occasionally by passing breeze.  With such symphony emanating freely from heaven, what more does one lack?

Although the new Sanya International Port is hidden from me, my earlier vision from the scenic lookout of Luhuitou Park confirms its readiness for operation in 2006.  A pier and a custom-and-immigration centre can be easily spotted.  The pier is about one hundred and twenty metres long while the centre is a white four-storey rectangular building about seventy metres long.  Near it are some lower and smaller buildings.  This side of Phoenix Island faces the Sanya Harbour and Luhuitou Park.  The blue sea is deep, and the port capable of berthing 100,000-ton international passenger ships.  Two more ports are scheduled for operation by 2014 to handle 60,000-ton ships and 250,000-ton ships, which should soon transform Phoenix Island into one of the top ten ports in the world.  

Equidistant between two international ports, Singapore and Hong Kong, Hainan is a handy stopover for international liners and cruise tourism.  To spur tourism, Sanya city unveiled its Sanya Tourism Development Master Plan for 2008-2020.  An international tourist duty-free port would be constructed, which would house an international cruise terminal and a centre for M.I.C.E. (Meetings, Incentives, Conventions, and Exhibition).  Four marine leisure bases were projected: the Winter Training Base of Olympic Water Sports, Specific Sports Base, Diving Experience Base, and Sea Fishing Base.  All these should make Hainan an international tourist island.

As part of the Sanya Phoenix Island International Cruise Terminal scheme, a cruise terminal with a 250,000-ton level berth was constructed in 2008.  By that year end, the foundation was laid for China's first seven-star hotel, a two-hundred metre skyscraper.  Not to be outdone, the Sanya Visun International Yacht Club built a super-five-star yacht hotel with a seventy-two berth marina so that yachts could transport guests even to the hotel lobby.

On both sides of the islet’s causeway terminus are piers, enough to berth between one hundred and fifty and three hundred private yachts.  Complimented with a supermarket to meet visitors’ daily needs and entertainment centres to occupy their time, these various facilities should enhance their relaxing and luxurious lifestyle.  

A fifty-metre sculpture stands in the middle of the park near the causeway.  The fire phoenix symbolises happiness and fortune, which will be the blessings for visitors.

Seeing a photograph of it makes me envious.  I want to be blessed too.  Like the Taiwanese lady, I am also murmuring, “Why can’t the guard just let us in!”

More mainlanders and foreigners are becoming increasingly aware of the beauty and attractions of Sanya, and property prices are escalating.  As we stand gazing at Phoenix Island, a sales agent in his mid-twenties thrusts into our hands a pamphlet about a project further up the road.  A unit with three bedrooms in the condominium bloc costs about one and a half million RMB.  I mentally calculate the equivalent in Singapore dollars.  It is $300,000.  That is cheap, I tell myself.

“How long is the lease?”  
“Thirty years.”

That is shocking.  It is not cheap for a mendicant like me, or for most Hainanese, when the comparative price for a unit with a ninety-year lease would hit four and a half million RMB ($900,000).  Our freehold townhouse in the eastern suburb of Sydney has a re-sale value of about $700,000.  Of course, being a kilometre from the beach, it offers none of the fantastic bird’s-eye view of the ocean.

Running parallel to Sanya Bay Road, the coastal walkway to Golden Phoenix Seaview Hotel is initially broad.  Since our hotel is only about a kilometre distant, Jo and I decide on a laid-back stroll.  It is evening, and the sky is grey.  Being smoothly tiled, the path is easy on our feet as we slowly admire the environment.

Something surprises us.  Too poor to afford even a small boat, a young man in his early thirties is sitting on a make-shift pontoon, a thin nylon net neatly packed with flat and buoyant white-polystyrene foams.  Struggling to paddle it, he stops periodically, carefully releasing each time into the shallow water one of the eight fishing nets neatly arranged on the edge behind him.  Each net unfolds like a long transparent tube and submerges.  He is trapping small fish or prawns.


The two-metre broad path tapers off as it nears Golden Phoenix Seaview Hotel, the beach front there preventing its expansion.  A narrow jetty of about twenty metres in length is under construction.  After welding some parts of the steel structure, the youth is taking a break.  He sits pensively on its edge, staring into the water.  His electrical equipments are beside him.  They are powered by a generator near a small tent, which stores his belongings.  We leave him to his thoughts.  I too am immersed in mine.

What strike me most in Sanya are the incessant building constructions.  Many hotels like the ones across the road have been built in anticipation of tourist influx.  Speaking in a 2008 interview, Sanya’s Deputy Mayor Li Boqing divulged that the 3.7 billion RMB committed to the twenty-six tourism infrastructure projects on the island that year would dwarf its international rivals.  Those projects would attract the higher end of the tourist market.  In 2007, Banyan Tree (Singapore), Mandarin Oriental, and Ritz-Carlton had welcomed their first guests.

Currently, room rates are still cheap by international standards; so also are the cuisine and souvenirs.  With its mild and warm weather, Sanya will invariably be a serious competitor to Bali and Phuket.  The Indonesian island is unsafe because of the overarching threat of terrorism while the Thai island is subject to travel vagaries such as the unscheduled Bangkok Airport closures as a result of pickets and sit-downs by zealots of the two main rival political parties, which left tourists stranded for days.


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Numerous tourists flock to Sanya  许多游客参观三亚

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At the beach across Golden Phoenix Seaview Hotel about twenty-five people are crowding around a gentleman, who is fashioning a sand castle.  Topless, his body is tanned and muscular, although slightly plump.  In his mid-forties, his face is round.  The lower legs of his pair of pants have been neatly folded up to his knees to prevent it from getting wet.  He wears a pair of Dutch-style clogs made from vulcanized rubber, which is in vogue among some middle-aged Chinese.  Spectators are effusive in their admiration.

“Waah, hen mei (Wow, very beautiful),” one exclaims.
“Shi (Yes).”  I concur.

His fort occupies about four square metres of the beach.  On top of the guard wall is a meticulously built four-level watchtower, which will crumble if it is not kept moist.  Along both edges of the wall are small equally vulnerable pillars made with a pinch of damp sands.  He rushes to the tide and scoop its water with a coconut husk.  He returns and slowly sprinkles water on the different sections to reinforce the compacted sand.  

In my pidgin Mandarin I speak to him.  Through Jo’s translation, I gather that he is a driver from Harbin.  For the last five years, he has been coming to Sanya to escape the winter.  Harbin is the capital of Heilongjiang, the northeastern province of China, where temperature in some parts can plunge to as low as minus thirty degrees Celsius.  Even in Harbin, the day temperature can be a freezing minus ten degrees.  I sympathize with the thirty-eight million Chinese, living in his province.  During his ten days here, he has been creating his fantasy castle every afternoon.  

He is very happy to share his joy with others, he explains.  He is very obliging, writing his name and address on my note book.  Two young girls standing beside me spontaneously ask to sign their names beside his.  We have a good laugh.  Sadly, the rolling waves are touching the edge of the castle, and water is filling the moat.  Soon the accomplished art will dissipate.  And all that the fortunate crowd will retain is a wonderful memory of the taxi driver from Harbin and his sacrificial effort.  Jo and I thank him.  We leave, looking for a café since it is fairly dark.

Lin Gong Xian (林功贤) is the owner of a small laundry at Chaoyang First Alley, the adjacent lane of our hotel.  Only in his mid-thirties, this Hainanese gentleman is supporting both his young family and his parents.  He is extremely overjoyed when I say that I regard him as my friend.  He even attempts to waive the 48-RMB laundry fees but I insist on paying him.  $10 may be a small sum to me but 48 RMB is a large sum for his family.  The trust and friendliness of the local Hainanese is reassuring to me.  Two years later, he would shift his business elsewhere when a laundry chain Zheng Zhuang Dry Cleaning Shop (正庄干洗店; Zheng zhuang ganxi dian) installs a branch along Jiefang West Road at the New Sea Garden Building, fifty metres from his shop.
 
A blogger’s photograph of the statue of Zhao Ding has always befuddled me.  Where in Sanya is it located?  I have quizzed some taxi drivers but they are unaware of its existence.  I have only one more day left.  Desperately, I turn to our hotel receptionists, the lady managing a travel agency, and finally the proprietress of a shop at the hotel entrance.  In the shop, a girl, discussing an item with her three friends, overhears my request.  She mentions seeing a statue of weaver Huang Daopo and some other statues at Tianya Haijiao.  But the name “Zhao Ding” eludes her.  I thank her.  

Walking over to Guoxi Hotel, I speak to a concierge waiting on the entrance steps for guests.  I finally turn to the driver of a coach parked in front.  He seems slightly drunk, reeking of alcohol.  Vigorously shaking my right hand, he does not release it but keeps repeating, “Ni hen lihai, ah!”   (“You are formidable, hey!”)

I smile; I do not know how to react to his exclamation.  Is it one of praise?  Or is it sarcasm?
“Mei guanxi.  Xie xie ni.”  (“It doesn’t matter.  Thank you.”)

Thanking him, I delicately extricate myself and move off.  I am resigned to missing out on a grandiose characterization of Zhao Ding.

 
Tianya Haijiao, the edge of the world

 
Two-yuan Chinese bank notes are a collector’s item.  First issued in 1987 as part of the fourth series of bank notes, they have been out of circulation for some time and are very rare.  I have not had the pleasure of seeing one.  But it is on sale in some specialist shops for more than US$20 each.  On the back of each note with a one-yuan denomination and above in the fourth series is a famous landscape.  For example, the one-yuan features the Great Wall of China, the five-yuan features Yangzi River, and the ten-yuan features Mount Everest.  In the case of the two-yuan, however, a rock is depicted breaking the waves of the sea.

A rock?  Yes, this is a special rock; it is engraved with the large Chinese characters: 南天一柱.  “Nantian Yizhu”, the “Pillar of Southern Heaven”.  This heavenly “pillar” is at Tianya Haijiao (天涯海角), the name of which literally means “Heaven’s edge, Sea’s corner”.  To the emperors and court officials of bygone eras, this part of Hainan was the edge, the end of the civilized world.


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Two-yuan Chinese bank notes are rare, they are a collector’s item
两元中国银行纸币很少见, 它们是收藏家的项目

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Visiting officials and resident exiles in Hainan were lovers of nature.  Many were Buddhist or Daoist, or eclectic Buddhist-Daoist.  Enormous boulders and freakish rock formations dotting the seashore awed and inspired them to incise appreciative poems to commemorate their stay in Sanya.  In a sense, they were ancient graffiti artists.  Rock appreciation is a dying art.  It is really on par with art – sorry for the pun – appreciation.  Just as one may derive great satisfaction from gawking at a coloured canvas, one may also attain a similar level of satisfaction from meditation upon a river-smoothened pebble.  Both natural and artificial works stimulate one’s sensory emotions, causing cerebral awareness and even spiritual enlightenment.  

And just as one is willing to part with thousands of dollar for that piece of painting, others may also be willing to part with similar amount for that natural creation.  During his banishment in Guangdong in 1094, Su Dongpo experienced inexplicable pleasure in seeing a rock that was five feet in height according to his faithful follower (but only one foot according to his son Su Guo).  It was queer; it had nine peaks.  He was willing to buy it for one hundred pieces of gold from the owner, who had more than hundreds of rocks in his collection, but was unable to follow through with the purchase because of his exile to Hainan.  He even wrote about it in a poem entitled Nine Glories Mountain in a Jug (“Huzhong Jiuhua”).  Eight years later after his exile, he was aghast to learn that the fanciful rock was sold to another collector for eighty thousand cash.

Because the rocks in Tianya Haijiao were popular backdrops for photography, an amusement park of about a thousand hectares was constructed on that beachside locality, twenty-five kilometres northwest of downtown Sanya, with that emotive name.  Opened in 1988, it is where we are heading on our last sightseeing day.  We should qualify as privileged rock connoisseurs by the end of the evening.

Eagerly devouring our Uighur dishes, with additional meat, costing 15 RMB each, we pay with one-yuan and ten-yuan notes.  We do not have to wait long for the No. 16 bus to arrive at ten minutes past eleven in the morning.  It was fairly crowded.  Two inconsiderate middle-aged men are occupying three seats in the rear, making no effort to shift for others.  (On a later trip with my brother on a Saturday, a local girl in her mid-twenties readily offered me her seat near the entrance of the sardine-packed bus.)  At our destination, Jo and I are delighted.  It is not the end of the world; it is too nice.  Near the entrance, decorative strings of colourful triangular transparencies hang across the foreground, simulating a gayful atmosphere for photographers.  

Behind us is a forested mountain range.  On a peak are three spherical buildings, one bigger than the others.  Is it a communication centre?
 
Near the ticketing booth is an information office.  Its brochure-cum-map is helpful.  As my eyes focus on the names of the park’s features, I smile with great satisfaction.

“Zhao Ding”

But is it the bust that I am searching so desperately for?  Jo obtains the “Individual Ticket” costing 65 RMB while the ticketing officer permits me the “Favorable Ticket” costing 35 RMB.  To us, the admission fees are reasonable.  

Tianya Haijiao Scenic Park is small in comparison to Nanshan.  From the entrance, we can see the sea about four hundred metres beyond.  In the water is a group of rocks, which I later learn is “The Love Rocks”.  According to the map, the Zhao Ding statue is placed near the beach at the end of the central pathway.  Deeply curious, I elect to see it first, starting our short anticipatory walk in the park.

To our left is the Historical Figure Statue Garden.  The signboard informs us that eleven sculptures of historical figures are placed there.  The persons, it says, were pioneers developing the southern territory, banished high-ranking officials, and outstanding locals and patriots.  Near the pathway is the first, a two-metre high white marble sculpture of a nimble young lady.  Dancing on a pedestal half a metre in height, she swirls with her unfurling roll of cloth while looking skywards.  Since she is near the walkway, we draw closer to learn her identity.  A stone panel chronicles a story of stoicism.

Born in Songjiang towards the end of the Southern Song era, the teenage girl, sold by her poor family, ran away from her unhappy marriage to Sanya, where she stayed for more than thirty years.  After acquiring the spinning and weaving skills of the ethnic Li, weaver Huang Daopo returned to her Shanghai hometown.  Her improvement of the weaving technique boosted the indigenous industry, benefiting the lives of people there.

Fittingly, two young ethnic girls are represented in the splendour of their native costumes and headdresses on the reverse side of the statue.


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Runaway Huang Daopo (1245-1330 A.D.)
learnt weaving from the Hainan ethnic Li people
黄道婆（公元1245-1330）从海南民族李人学习编织
 
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At the end of the pathway is the celebrity I hope to see.  Slightly larger than life-size, the bronze statue shows Zhao Ding reposing firmly on a square pedestal that is waist-high, his majestic poise unmistakeable.  Clad in a long robe that ends at his feet, the statesman and renowned poet is seated inclined on a reddish-brown stone chair.  He has a short beard but long hair which flows backwards below his shoulder, which seems uncharacteristic of pre-Manchu bound-hair tradition.

His frowning face stares downwards towards his right knee.  His right arm rests gently on the “armrest” of his seat while his left is placed on his upper left thigh.  His legs are spread out, showing that he is at ease with himself.  But on his thigh is his tightly clenched left fist, and on the armrest are the fingers of his right hand, tense and apart.  The veins are bulging.  Intrigued, I examine his facial expression.  It is unforgettable.  He narrows his eyebrows.  He is angry; he is in deep contemplation.  Over what?  The future of Song China?  Or his suicide?

If I had not been acquainted with his tragedy, I would have thought that he was an imperial emperor.  His countenance reminds me of God’s face in Michelangelo’s famous interpretation The Creation of Sun and Moon on the ceiling of Sistine Chapel in Rome.

Admiring this great titan, I almost fall on my knee to kowtow, to render my humble homage to his courage and heroism during the downfall of the Northern Song and to his immeasurable dedication in regenerating a new Song from Nanjing.  The sculptor has executed an excellent and invaluable art piece.  A plaque on the pedestal beneath Zhao’s feet briefly narrates his achievements.

Bless his soul.  This park is an appropriate environment for the tribute to him.  He is surrounded by evergreen trees.  The attentively manicured grass and hedges amplify our esteem for the best chancellor of the Southern Song dynasty.

The lettering confirms his death from fasting in 1147 and his posthumous accolades such as Tai fu (太傅; Grand Tutor), Feng Guo Gong (丰国公; Feng State Duke), and Zhongjian (忠简; Faithful and Approachable).

Fifty metres away are two dramatic equestrian statues, the dynamic illustrations of the two “Fubo” (“Wave-Subduing”) generals commemorated non-pictorially in Wugong Temple.  At three-metre tall, each figure of a military leader mounted on his horse stands on a low, round rock podium one-metre high.  Placed on either side of the central pathway, these two imposing Han warriors are silently guarding the entrance to the Tianya Haijiao beach.

Once glowing in golden colour under broad daylight, the two men, cast in bronze, have darkened with age and weathering, patches of green copper stains surfacing.  I sneak through a gap in the surrounding hedge to peer at the inscription engraved on the granite base.  As I squat down and furiously record the several lines of information in my notebook, a little boy shouts politely in Mandarin.

“Uncle, you cannot step on the grass and flowers.”
I pretend not to hear.  The advice is repeated.  I am almost done…Done.  Standing up, I smile and acknowledge.
“Duibuqi!  Zhidao le.”  (“Sorry.  I understand.”)
Bearing the chastisement of the young civic-minded ecologist, I - in my humiliation - present these recorded (uncorrected) words for the benefit of potential visitors:  

“General Fu Bo by the name of Ma Yuan his other name was Wen Yuan

who was born in Mao Ling of the Fu Feng county during the Dong Han Dynasty. 

He was offered official post as Xia Xi marquis.  In the seventeenth year

of Jian Wu during Emperor Han Guang Wu (A.D. 41) he commanded

the country’s armed forces to put down rebellion in the south of China

and then county and city wall and moat were set up in Hainan Island.”

 Ma Yuan’s steed is glancing towards its left; its chest or body is protected with a steel vest.  Looking at his right, the general in helmet and armour is holding a long spear vertically.  In his mid or late thirties, the handsome man sports a short beard on his gaunt and broad face.  According to legend, his white horse discovered a spring of fresh water on the coast of Danzhou at a critical time during his campaign, thus saving his demoralised thirsty troops dehydrating from the heat and arduous battles.  He established a garrison there.  Baimajing (White Horse Well) town bears the name of the spring.  General Ma (B.C. 14-49 A.D.) was later deified in many temples in Guangdong and Hainan.


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Eastern Han General Ma Yuan (马援)
pacified Lingnan during 1st C A.D.
东汉总将马援在一世纪初安定岭南。

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Even though Concerned Ecologist has departed, the thick chest-high hedge encircling the second statue prevents me from getting close to its podium, on which are lines of information so tantalizingly close, yet unavailable.  Without a beard, the smiling general is portrayed as a young man in his twenties.  His right hand is grasping a long spear, its sharp head skewering some invisible fallen enemies.

Lu Bode was commander of one of the five battalions, totalling one hundred thousand combatants, dispatched by Han emperor Wudi in 112 B.C. to capture Nanyue immediately after its king’s assassination by its disgruntled prime minister.  The successful conquest extended the Han border to Guangdong and Guangxi provinces.  Lu Bode captured Hainan in 110 B.C. while Ma Yuan provided stability in the settlements.

During my 2012 visit, the surrounding hedges of the two statues have been temporarily removed for the central pathway renovation.  Now visible to spectators, the Lu Bode inscription reads:

“General Fu Bo by the name of Lu Bo De was born in Ping Zhou during the Xi Han Dynasty.  He was offered official post and left Hou (a county in Fu Jian province) for Pi (a county in Jiang Su province) for his military exploit.  

    In the sixth year of Yuan Ding of Emperor Han Wu during Han Dynasty (in 111 B.C.), he commanded the country’s armed forces to go on a punitive expedition in the south of China and announced victory and then Zhu Ya and Dan Er two regions were set up in Hainan Island.  Lin Zhen county of Zhu Ya a region is just Sanya region today.”


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Western Han General Lu Bode (路博德)
conquered Lingnan during 1st C B.C.
西汉总将路博德两千年前征服岭南

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My wife and I wander into the Historical Figures Garden.  Its space is ample for family or community picnics.  In the middle is a small meandering lake with some pavilions.  Few visitors are around because most have rushed to marvel at the famous rocks.  By the side of the lake are interesting plants.  From the branches of a two-metre high cactus (Euphorbia antiquorum), leaves are budding.  Well-spaced out around the pond are the eight statues.  Besides Madam Huang and Zhao Ding, the others are Li Deyu, Hu Quan, Lady Xian, Buddhist monk Jianzhen, and two local scholars.

Li Deyu, who had contributed so much to the later Tang dynasty, is represented here by a simple statue on the uncluttered field.  Consisting of about six huge chunks of granite blocks, this representation, the least impressive of the lot, shows only his rugged face and upper body.  Wearing his official cap, he sits, glancing pensively towards his left.

Not all dynastic officials were pusillanimous sycophants.  A contemporary of Zhao Ding, Hu Quan was only thirty-three when he was appointed as an editor or junior compiler in the Bureau of Military Affairs (Shumiyuan).  Bravely pushing in 1138 for the recovery of northern China and the public execution of Qin Hui and his conspirators, the thirty-six year old poet was first banished to Fujian, then to Guangdong in 1142, and finally to Jiyang County (Sanya) in 1148.  

A year before he left Guangdong, he painted Night Rain on Xiao Xiang (“Xiao Xiang yueyu tu”).  Inscribed on that painting, the last verse of his four-line poem vividly described his sufferings during his exile: “Widespread rains and deep mist, at night I fish the cold.”  The “clear and deep” Xiang (潇湘; Xiao Xiang) River region (in present Hunan) had left a deep impression on the Guangdong exile.  After a total of seventeen years in exile, he was recalled and delegated as vice-minister.  He finally resigned from the court as a highly respected Academician.  Chiselled from two huge granite blocks, his greyish two-metre high statue is fitting: his chest disproportionately inflated, he is standing with justifiable pride as his right hand rests on his right waist, his left hand holding a sword.

 
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Demanding Qin Hui’s public execution,
36-year old Hu Quan (胡铨; 1102-1180) was exiled
三十六岁的胡铨被流放; 他要求秦桧执行
 
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From his long pigtail that ends in front of his navel, we can be sure that Lin Xuantong lived during the Qing era.  His back leans against a waist-high dividing wall; his hands rest on it.  After China’s defeat in the 1894-5 war with Japan, this patriot participated in the failed 1898 Constitutional Reform and Modernization.  Returning to Hainan, he wrote books urging the development of the Xisha (Paracel Islands), three hundred and forty kilometres southeast of Sanya.

Today, his plans have been realised.  A harbour and an airport with a 2.4-kilometre runway facilitate provisions to the military garrison and tourists on Yongxing (or Woody Island), the largest of the twenty-two islets.

Under the shade of a small pavilion is another two-metre high white marble statue.  Seated comfortably and cross-legged on a chair, the elderly man with flowing beard is reading an open book held by his right hand as his left hand relaxes on the armrest.  He seems untroubled.  The information on the plaque tells me that he is Zhong Fang, a “famous writer and scholar of Sanya in the Ming Dynasty”.  Passing all the imperial examinations, he was selected into the Central Academy.  He subsequently served as a “high-ranking official in some provinces and ministries”, and achieved great fame for his contributions to literature and history.  He was finally honoured with the title “Confucian Scholar”.


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Lin Xuantong (林缵统; 1852-1922);
Sanya resident & high-ranking Ming official Zhong Fang (钟芳; 1476-1544)
三亚居民钟芳 (公元1476-1544) 是一位高级明官

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By far the largest statue is a composition of Lady Xian and her entourage.  Standing on a low circular platform of about fifteen metres in circumference, the magnificent three-dimensional statue is constructed from several blocks of granite.  Shaded under a paladin, she leads a procession of people from different ethnic groups.  The statue of her riding her horse is about four and a half metres in height.  The facet on her left features eight Han and non-Han warriors while the facet on her right features seven persons, males and females of varying ages.  The size of the monument underlines the importance placed on her role in Hainan’s and Chinese history.  Xian Furen’s husband Feng Bao seems to be missing.  Or is he the soldier standing on her left?  

Staring at the grand statue of Lady Xian, my mind slowly drifts back to the post-Han era, to the ancestors and descendants of her husband, who could be my very own ancestor.  The fall of the Han dynasty in 221 A.D. was followed by a three hundred and seventy year interval of instability and fragmentation.  Kingdoms emerged, expanded, and then fell.  Nomadic tribes like the Xiongnu took advantage, and invaded.  As war refugees sought safety and security in remote regions of China, the bulk of the population in the north gradually dispersed throughout the domain.  Millions made their homes in the more fertile southern regions like Fujian and Guangdong.


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Lingnan warrior-goddess Madame Xian (冼夫人; Mrs Feng Bao)
岭南战士女神冼夫人(冯宝的妻子)

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Established in 384, the Western Yan Empire, which controlled the regions of Henan, Shanxi, and Shaanxi, lasted only ten years.  Its capital was at Chang’an (Xi’an).  Serving as a general in its army was a Feng An (馮安).  His father Feng He (馮和) was, according to seventh-century Chinese historians, an ethnic Han, whose ancestral homeland was in southern Hebei.  The general’s career ended when his Xianbei emperor was executed in 394 by the latter’s distant relative, Murong Chui, who became the first emperor of the Later Yan dynasty.  Feng An and his family settled in Helong (modern Jinzhou, Liaoning Province).  He had four sons: Feng Ba (馮跋), Feng Sufu (馮素弗), and Feng Pi (馮丕) through his wife; and Feng Hong (馮弘) through his concubine.

Feng Ba, the eldest, was diligent and meticulous.  Joining the Later Yan army, he rose to the rank of General.  Murong Chui was succeeded by his son Murong Bao and then grandson Murong Sheng.  When the grandson died from a battle injury in 401 A.D., Murong Chui’s younger son Murong Xi became the fourth emperor.  Emperor Zhaowen’s cruelty led to a conspiracy among some generals.  When he left his fortress in 407 to bury his deceased wife, they closed the city gate.  Murong Bao’s adopted son was declared the new emperor.  The deposed emperor attempted to regain his throne but was captured and executed.

New emperor Murong Yun reverted to his original name Gao Yun, leading some later-day historians to regard him as the first “Northern Yan” emperor.  His rewards to the collaborators offer a hint to their role in his elevation.  General Feng Ba was made prime minister while Feng Sufu and their cousin Feng Wani (馮萬泥) were given high positions.  When Gao Yun was assassinated in 409, Feng Ba succeeded him.

Known posthumously as Emperor Wencheng of Northern Yan, Feng Ba styled himself as “Heavenly Prince” (“Tian Wang”).  He conferred honours on his kin: the prime ministership on his brother Feng Sufu; the crown princeship on his son Feng Yong (馮永); the titles of Princess Dowager and Princess on his mother and wife respectively; the Dukeship of Ji on his brother Feng Hong; the Dukeship of Guangchuan on his cousin Feng Wani; and the Dukeship of Shanggu on another cousin’s son Feng Ruchen (馮乳陳).  But assigned to duties in outlying cities, the last two were unhappy.  They staged a rebellion the following year but were crushed by Feng Hong, who executed them, despite their surrender.

In 414, the Northern Wei emperor sent his envoy to negotiate a peace treaty with Feng Ba.  The envoy was imperious and Feng detained him.  When Sufu died the following year, his depression transformed him into a temperamental king.  In 418, the Northern Wei ruler conducted a raid and seized about ten thousand households.  When the crown prince died in 426, another son was made heir apparent.  By 430 Feng Hong had become the prime minister.  The seriously ill emperor issued an edict transferring his authority to the crown prince.  But his concubine, ambitious for her own son to inherit the throne, conspired against the crown prince, preventing him and his other brothers from visiting their father.

Informed of her machination, Feng Hong invaded the palace and executed her and her son, and seized the throne after his ill brother had died from shock. Ruthlessly, the new emperor (formally known as Emperor Zhaocheng) killed his brother’s sons (exceeding a hundred as rumoured) to safeguard his power.  But he was susceptible to invasions by the Northern Wei dynasty.  His problem was similar to that of his half-brother: the avarice of the concubine.  By his wife, he had three sons:  Feng Chong (馮崇), Feng Lang (馮朗), and Feng Miao (馮邈).  But he made his son Feng Wangren (馮王仁) through his concubine his heir.

After Wei army raids, Feng Lang and Feng Miao fled to Liaoxi (modern Tangshan, Hebei) where Feng Chong was commanding a defence force.  The two successfully persuaded their brother to switch allegiance to the Wei.  When he was besieged by the emperor’s forces, the Wei ruler came to his aid.  In 434, Feng Hong proposed a peace with the Wei but was repulsed.  He turned to the Liu Song emperor, whose alliance did not pay off during the critical moment.

The following year, he appealed to the Guguryeo ruler for an alliance.  When his capital was again attacked by the Wei army, his new ally rescued him and settled him and his followers in Liaoning in 436.  Feng Hong now lost his kingdom.  Yet he badgered his long-suffering rescuer, demanding a royal treatment.  Finally, the Guguryeo leader had enough; he executed Feng Hong and his sons.  Thus, the Northern Yan dynasty ended.

 Before his demise, Feng Hong had sent Feng Ye (馮业) and three hundred followers to the safety of Liu Song’s southern China.  They settled in Xinhui District (modern Jiangmen City), which is on the west bank of the Pearl River Delta and about thirty kilometres south of Guangzhou (Canton). Feng Ye’s great-grandson is Feng Bao, the husband of Lady Xian.  What is the relationship between Feng Hong and Feng Ye?

In the New Book of the Tang (Xin Tang Shu), Feng Ye was recorded as Feng Hong’s son.  That book, commissioned by the fourth Northern Song emperor, was presented to him in 1060.  It was a revision of the Book of the Tang, commissioned by the founder of the Later Jin dynasty (936-947).

In Volume 111 of the New Book is a biography of Tang general Feng Ang.  Below is an extract.

冯盎，字明达，高州良德人，本北燕冯弘裔孙。弘不能以国下魏，亡奔高丽，遣子业以三百人浮海归晋。弘已灭，业留番禺，至孙融，事梁为罗州刺史。子宝，聘越大姓洗氏女为妻，遂为首领，授本郡太守，至盎三世矣。

In the first sentence, Feng Ang is described as an astute and moral-minded person of Gaozhou and a descendant (裔孙; yi sun) of Northern Yan (北燕; Bei Yan) emperor Feng Hong.

In the second, we are told that Feng Hong, unable to capture the State of Wei (魏), fled to Gaoli (高丽) and dispatched (遣; qian) his son (子; zi) Feng Ye with three hundred people by sea to Jin.

In the next statement, we learn that Feng Hong “vanished” (died) and Feng Ye remained in Panyu (番禺) until his grandson Feng Rong assisted the Liang dynasty as Luozhou’s (罗州) prefectural governor (刺史; ci shi).

In the final statement, we are told that his son Feng Bao was betrothed to a lady from an influential family with the surname “Xian”, whose assistance made him an effective leader and who instructed him until his third generation Feng Ang.

If Feng Bao is my ancestor, that would make emperor Feng Hong as my ancestor too.  A disconcerting thought flashes across my mind: my blood has been tainted with the latter’s murderous and temperamental genes!

Reiterating seventh-century Li Yanshou’s claim, Australian historian Jennifer Holmgren insisted: the imperial Fengs were not ethnic Chinese who had become barbarized through their initial service to non-Chinese kingdoms in northern China; instead, they were of Xianbei (鲜卑) origin, undergoing a gradual process of Sinicization.  If she is correct, and if I am their descendant, then ethnically I am a part-Xianbei and a part-Li (through Lady Xian).  Xianbeis are Mongolians living in Manchuria and Inner Mongolia.

Another fleeting thought temporarily paralyses me: I might be a descendant of a murderous temperamental emperor, who is a Mongolian.  Perhaps my elementary schoolmates were right after all, teasing me as “Kublai Khan”.  Great Kublai and I might be kin!

Perhaps I could seek comfort in the belief that Lady Xian and her Feng grandchildren have injected some redeeming traits into my ancestral bloodline.  Their loyalty to their emperors and rectitude in preventing unnecessary carnage may be inspirational to their descendants.  In deference to their captive Chen emperor’s advice, they welcomed the tenacious northern Sui troops into southern China, thus saving the country from a potentially disastrous civil war.  The monument in Tianya Haijiao Park is a truly fitting memorial to the Li ethnic woman who preserved Chinese unity as well as to her Feng spouse and her influential paternal Xian clan.

Anxious to romp around the rest of the park before sundown, my wife and I move on.  Near the Ma Yuan statue is a slightly greyish stone that is about a metre and a half in height.  It is oval in shape like an egg if viewed aerially; for its top is “rounded”, without sharp edges.  Its side is indented with reliefs, painted in black, of natives engaging in activities like farming, fishing, gathering, hunting, and religious rituals.  This is the sculpture of the “Sanya Man”, the ancient inhabitants whose relics, dating back some eleven thousand years, were found in the Luobidong Cave in Sanya in 1993.

 Even older than the Sanya Man is a small main-belt asteroid discovered in 1997 by astronomer Zhu Jin and his assistants Wang Jiali, Li Xiangyang, and Ma Chun Mei, working in the National Astronomical Observatory in Hebei.  This celestial object was later given the official serial number 9668 and the name “Tianya Haijiao”.

Something attracts Jo’s attention.  At the Rosy Sunlight Garden, giant bushes of bougainvillea have been pruned and wired into two huge greeting elephants, two smiling whales with flapping tails, a peacock with eyes that follow us, and a long dragon with a yellow ball in its mouth.  To deliver those effects, the gardeners have conscientiously not only trained the flexible branches but also trimmed off some of the mauve flowers, which are in full bloom.  Thus, we encounter green elephants whose trunks, heads, and ears are covered with contrasting purple “satin cloths”, purple-speckled green whales, a green peacock with purple fan-tail, and a green dragon with purple head and tail.  They are beautiful photographic backgrounds for many cheerful families.

Eager to see the Pillar of Southern Heaven, the famous outcrop on the two-yuan bill, we walk towards the shore to inspect the first sea sculpture in the famous series of rocks-cum-calligraphies.  It occurs to me that eons ago the waves had so eroded this coastal strip until the more resistant granite rock formations were left standing in shallow water, or even high and dry when the tides receded.  Since they assumed familiar manifestations when appreciated from vantage angles, they were given sobriquets like Love Stone, Stone Elephant, Marvellous Rock, Stone Bud, Pillar of the South Sky, Stone Tortoise, Tianya Rock (Safe Stone), Progressive Rock, and Haijiao Rock (Lucky Stone).

Fifty metres from the sandy shore at low tide is a pile of rocks on which two elongated rocks stand out because they form a “V”, just like a couple in embrace.  Naturally, they are named “Love Stone”.  Nine small boats, each carrying two or three persons, are circling it.  Judging from the size of these boats, I estimate the visible length of each rock at about eight metres.  Each has a Chinese character carved and painted in red - 月 (moon) or 日 (sun).  The one in front is the Moon Rock while the one behind is the Sun Rock.  This Sun-and-Moon Rock is the first rock feature clearly noticed by visitors when they present their admission ticket at the entrance gate.

 Standing on the beach, we easily recognize the five tall buildings of Phoenix Island in the distance on our left, even though they are sixteen kilometres away as the crow flies.  Similarly, the milky-white Nanshan Guanyin pinpoints the location of her host park, the same distance on our right.  The sand here is coarse and brown but the water is cool.  As we walk along the beach, we notice the many rocks that pop their heads out of the undulating waves.  Wind-surfing would be a dangerous sport here.  Perched on a small solitary rock, a gentleman is fishing.  It is equally perilous.

Clean and well-maintained, the coastal pathway is friendly to visitors in wheel-chairs and to those who dislike walking on loose unresisting sand.  A large viewing deck has been provided for their comfort.  Wednesday may be a working day; yet this section of the park is fairly crowded, with equal proportions of young and old.  Even in the vicinity of the boat-hire stall – a table and chair under a large beach umbrella – are about sixty visitors, some standing knee-high in the water, some playing among the rocks, some photographing, and some walking slowly but aimlessly.  Seventeen boats are beached, waiting to be hired from their lingering owners.
 
Stone Elephant is nothing like its name.  But the Marvellous Rock earns its stripe.  It is a rock that has its bottom eroded, thus leaving it with two or three “legs”.  It stands on another boulder.  According to a legend, it was left there by the gods.  Stone Bud is a rock that has been split into three parts of unequal heights by weathering over the centuries.  It too deserves its name; for it does resemble an open flower bud.  These natural sculptures are not huge; they are only about two or three metres in height.  The calligraphic inscription of Zhao Puchu is smooth; the characters curve and sway as if they were dancing.  The sculptors were highly skilled in their craft, working with heavy tools to insculp the subtle poetic words or lines conceived by celebrated artists.

A signboard in front of a group of large boulders relates that the inscription 海判南天 (Haipan Nantian) on the largest one is “the earliest stone inscription in Tianya-Haijiao Scenic Zone…. [and] was inscribed in 1714 during the Qing Dynasty by imperial commissioners Miao, Cao, and Tang when they made an inspection tour to Sanya….”  The translation “Southern Sea and Sky” given on the board does not fully capture the poetic sense of the inscription, which is “The Sea accompanies the Southern Sky”.

We are surprised: the tide has receded, exposing the even sand around the Pillar of the South Sky.  More than a hundred people are milling or posing in front of the feature immortalized in the two-yuan note.  With much excitement, we move closer to lovingly pat it.  About five metres tall, the egg-shaped boulder is a solitary rock and not part of a larger landmark as printed on the rare banknote.  During low tides, it lies on the beach, and not far out in the deep sea.  The neighbouring rocks too are separate rocks, which appear, when slightly submerged during high tide, to be parts of a huge formation.  Fortunately, these grandeurs had not been carted off by ancient rock aesthetes for their private gardens.

When seen from the beach, a boulder in a reef of rocks does convey the outline of a tortoise emerging from the water.  Thus, it is aptly dubbed “Stone Tortoise”.  Nearby is the Tianya Rock, which has two red etched characters 天涯 (The End of the World).  About six metres in height, it looks like a huge birthday cake.  The fissures, two at least, if not more, give the illusion of a cut-birthday cake.  On one face of the Tianya Rock is a poem.  With minimal editing on my part, the English information on a wooden board tells us:

 ‘The most famous stone is the Safe Stone.  It is stable and square in shape, and stands on the seashore of the South Sea.  Zhuang Zi, a great philosopher of China, called the South Sea “the Heaven Pond”.  Chen Zhe, an official of Yazhou County during the years of Emperor Yongzheng in the Qing Dynasty, inscribed the characters “Tian Ya” on a large rock at the “Heaven Pond”.

    Safe Stone is also called “Tianya Stone”.  Touching it will bring safety and happiness to you.’

 After touching its companion Haijiao Rock, known too as Lucky Stone, we turn back.  By the walkway are many interesting plants.  The “Unyielding Tree” sprouts under the weight of an extremely heavy boulder, and works its way through a crevice, breaking the boulder as it strengthens.  Visitors “are always moved by its spirit of strong determination”, says the sign.  This unyielding “thorn tung tree” yields useful oil through its crushed seeds.  From the family of Euphorbiaceae, Aluerites fordii is native to China, which is one of the major producers of “tung” oil (or China Wood Oil) used mainly for varnishing and beautifying wooden furniture.  If mixed with gasoline, this oil can be used as motor fuel.  Alone, it can cause gumming of the engine, the result when the Chinese used it as fuel during the Second World War.

Jiang Zemin revisited this park and planted a tree in December 2000.  It was named the “Millennium Tree”.  No further information is provided on its common or botanical name.  We pass by a palm.  Is it an Areca palm?  I record its name: Archantophoenix alexandrae (F. Muell) H.Wendl.et D., which, I later learn, also belongs to the Arecaceae family.  Native to Australia, Alexandra Palms are grown for ornamental purposes, attaining lofty heights of thirty metres.  Their small ovoid fruits are each about a centimetre long and bright-red in colour.  They are hardy palms.

A private bus is waiting at the exit for passengers heading to town; we are fortunate.  The fare is 5 RMB each.  It is crowded but the conductress directs me to sit on the square hump between the driver and the passenger occupying the seat to his right.  Without a back rest, it is not an ideal seat; yet it offers me a good front view.  Jo is sandwiched between two ladies on the same hump, facing the passengers.  Along the way, the bus stops occasionally, the conductress shouting the destination.  At a bus stand, two persons rush to board.

Although it is six in the evening, the town is still bright, and we decide to visit one last place before we depart from Sanya the following morning.  We consult the map; the Beauty Crown Culture Center is on the No. 10 bus route.  We hop onto the approaching bus.  Instead of navigating by the shortest route, it goes by the longest, including crossing Sanya Bridge and then turning left into Fenghuang (Phoenix) Road.

Located at the corner of Fenghuang and Xinfeng Road on Sanya River bank, the stunning Beauty Crown Grand Theatre symbolises a huge white Mongolian tent, or a single-storey pagoda, with a crown against the darkening evening sky.  In front of it is a fountain with jets of water.  Brightly illuminating the white roof, the white light emitted imperceptibly from the small unobtrusive floodlights that are attached to the tips of the multi-facet sloping roof blends very well with the soft brownish-orange hues from the incandescent lights under the theatre eaves and around the courtyard.

In smart attire, some couples are entering the theatre to enjoy the “Las Vegas Grand Dance Show”, the bevy of bikini-clad dancers in various seductive poses advertised on the five huge billboards by one side of the courtyard.


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Miss World 2007 Zhang Zilin (世界小姐 2007 张梓琳)
Beauty Crown Grand Theatre  (美丽之冠大剧院)

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Given permission by the kind sentry at the barrier-gate to photograph the theatre’s external facade, we hurriedly enter the courtyard and capture the unique structure that hosts the Miss World beauty pageant five times: 2003, 2004, 2005, 2007, and 2010.  The organizers just could not get enough of the place.  It was here that Miss China fortuitously won the Miss World title in 2007.  Zhang Zilin was only twenty-three years old but her smile was sweet and sincere.  She did China proud.  And she deserved it.  I must confess that I was totally charmed by her elegance.

Known also as Cultural Convention-and-Exhibition Centre, the theatre has a floor area of about thirteen thousand square metres, which can accommodate more than four thousand guests.  It is equipped with state-of-the-art technologies like communication and sound system.  I would like to enter Sheraton Sanya Resort, which host the beauty contestants in its five hundred and eleven suites.  But time is short.  Sheraton Sanya Resort is one of the many world-class international hotels in and around Sanya.

Finishing our photography, we cross the nearby bridge over the Sanya River.  It is a wide river, which excites us as we survey the rows of new buildings.  Sanya is a modern city, not a run-down town.  On a whim, we decide to celebrate our last night in Sanya with a seafood dinner.  At one of the streets, the tables are filled with patrons.  We sit around an empty table after selecting a grouper from one of the tanks and some side dishes.

Two young girls in their early twenties are moving from table to table, busking.  Armed with a loudspeaker on a trolley, they are enterprising.  We decline their service but we enjoy freeloading, listening to their songs which are being paid for by the customers at the other tables.  We enjoy our dinner; the price is reasonable.  However, the aftermath is almost fatal.  I always have a weak gut for lightly-cooked prawns, and the evening meal of seafood will leave me in bed during my last four days in Haikou and Hainan while Jo goes sightseeing on her own.

 

 

 

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