Chapter 9: East Coast - From Wanning To Lingshui
The cab lady’s quotation of 10 RMB to Qionghai Train Station is fair since it covers a distance of two kilometres or so. As I wind down the window to snatch a breath of fresh air, our vehicle passes some workers who are struggling to cap a burst pipe. A light spray of clean water splashes onto my face, which brings laughter to the motorcycle pillion passenger near us. I smile at her. Amazingly, her hands are clutching her large suitcase that balances precariously on the little seat space behind her. I would not attempt that dangerous stunt to reach the station. The older rider is probably her sister.
I barely manage to catch the 11.14 am Haikou-to-Sanya train, which stops at Bo’ao after five minutes and at Wanning within twenty-two minutes. The fare to Wanning is only 17 RMB ($3.40). The distance from Qionghai central to Wanning central is about sixty kilometres. Initially travelling at one hundred and seventy-five kilometres per hour, the train accelerates to two hundred and thirty kilometres per hour, entertaining its patrons with a kaleidoscope of green meadows, low undulating brown hills, and seemingly unpopulated village houses with grey roofs.
At Bo’ao Station is a scenic lake. A farm with hothouses flies by. I turn my head. These hothouses are small tunnel-like tents built close to one another. Their long metal frames are covered with white plastic sheets to retain heat and moisture for germinating seeds as well as protect the seeds and saplings from predatory birds. According to the internal digital screen on the train wall, the exterior temperature is thirty-four, and at times thirty-five degrees Celsius. With air-conditioning, the interior is, however, cooler and comfortable. Few seats are unoccupied.
Sitting near the exit but diagonally opposite to me on the other side of the aisle is a young lady in blue demin short, matching short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of high heels. She smiles at me, and I reciprocate. In addition to her backpack and a yellow plastic bag, she has in front of her legs a white bulging gunny sack filled perhaps with clothing. My mind wanders. Is she able to carry her cumbersome load? Should I offer to help her? On second thought, I have my own luggage and two backpacks. Furthermore, I am in my sixties, no longer young and muscular. My magnanimous intention melts away. She should be okay; she has been so far. The train rolls on. Soon I will be in unfamiliar territory.
As I grapple with my belongings down the flight of stairs to the Wanning station exit, a young staff member in uniform kindly assists me. She cheerfully carries my suitcase down, there being no escalator. Am I that old? She has gone beyond her call of duty. After going through the turnstile, the young lady heaves her heavy sack onto her left shoulder and squat to retrieve her backpack and plastic bag. Helpless, I can only smile and say to her in my pidgin Mandarin: “Hen li hai. Ni you hen duo li.” (“Very great. You have great strength.”) She smiles and slowly trots across the one hundred-metre courtyard to the waiting buses and cars.
Wanning Train Station
万宁火车站
The design of the courtyard is similar to the courtyard designs in other stations, except for the landscaped patches of flowers and trees. That the trees have only been recently transplanted from the nursery is evident in the loose coconut husk-fibre layers wrapped around their lower trunks to protect them during transportation.
Near the exit is a small colour-bond shed housing the Hainan Wanning Tourist Information Center. Inside, an extrovert Hainanese lady gives me some pamphlets and a map of the city. The shed is only a provisional office, she says. In reply to my query, she recommends Wanning Hotel. Its name in Mandarin is Wanning Da Jiu Dian. “Big” (“Da”) is not in the English name of the hotel. Waiting near the roadside stalls, a motorized trishaw driver quotes 6 RMB for the trip to the hotel. I offer 4 RMB, which he rejects.
A girl in her late twenties offers to take me for 5 RMB. Reaching Wanning Hotel, I ask if she is willing to wait to take me to another hotel if that one is too expensive. She is willing. However, I check into the hotel because the daily rate is 160 RMB, which is not too far off from the 128 RMB in the three preceding cities. Giving her a 1-RMB tip (20 cents), I enquire if she is willing to drive me around the city for an hour for 30 RMB. She is willing. I quickly deposit my belongings. She proves to be a good guide, telling me the names of the various features and stopping for me to take photographs.
Wanning Hotel & February-Flower Grand Hotel on Wanzhou Avenue
万宁大酒店和二月花大酒店在万州大道
People’s Park is 1.2 km north of Wanning Hotel. A further six hundred metres is Xuri Hotel. In its nearby suburbs are new attractive condominiums, some occupied while some almost ready for occupancy. Built close to one another, they are surrounded by a common boundary fence that precludes unwanted guests. Their clean facades with modern designs are a sharp contrast to the older jaded monotonous buildings within the small town precinct, which consists of a few main roads heavy with traffic and people. Who are the wealthy owners of these posh flats? Their cost would be prohibitive. An hour later, the girl drops me off at my hotel.
As I study my map after lunch, an elderly Hainanese pauses and probes. He is helpful, telling me to catch a bus at the “new bus station” (xin che zhan). He then indicates the direction. Since the map does not show the existence of a station, the information is puzzling. Fortunately, a trishaw approaches, and he instructs the driver. On reaching, I re-check my map: it is about two and a half kilometres north of Wanning downtown at the corner of 223 National Road and 432 County Road. After a ten-minute wait at the corner with no bus stop, I wave at the advancing bus. To my relief, it stops. The cost is 4 RMB.
Wuchang, the nearest accessible coastal village, is twelve kilometres east of downtown. The journey takes half an hour. I arrive at three in the afternoon. By the side of the road, the large sign “Wuchang” cannot be missed unless one is sleeping. The visible village consists of about a hundred houses on both sides of the road. Only a handful of inhabitants are around, and they barely notice me. The food stall operating from a wooden house has no customer. A bottle of soft drink costs 4 RMB. Village life here seems sedate.
Wuchang coastal village, 12 km east of Wanning downtown.
乌场沿海村庄位于万宁镇以东12公里处
Between some houses are short paths that lead to the bay, where seven or eight fairly large fishing trawlers are anchored about one hundred metres off the shore and near a jetty. The sea is obviously deep. In the middle of the bay is a group of exposed rocks. On one is a house, its owner perhaps a fishing family.
Much of the five kilometres of beach that is observable by me is covered with tall bushy trees, propagated to break the strong force of gales blowing from the sea. Household debris and flotsam are strewn along the shore closest to the houses. To my chagrin, I later hear that the bays and beaches slightly further from Wuchang are spectacular. They are less populated, and hence less contaminated with manufactured junks. Only five kilometres north of Wuchang, Yingwenhai (英文海; literally, Superior Gentle Sea) Beach is on the peninsula facing the South China Sea. Bai’an Island, a scenic islet, is four kilometres off its shore. If only I have prior knowledge, I would have taken a bus ride there instead.
Weighing more than a hundred kilograms, a pregnant sow is slowly scavenging among the debris. The upper half of its body is covered with black hairs while its lower half, bereft of hair, is pink. Its breast and four pairs of nipples, sagging from its swollen belly and almost touching the sand, are unusual. As it advances, I prudently step out of its way, afraid - needlessly - that she might squash me with her heavy weight.
Crustaceans are abundant. A few crabs, each about three centimetres from side to side, are scurrying across the sand and into their holes. With a sadistic streak, I manage to grab hold of one to give it a fright and then let it spring off my hand.
Wuchang seashore, marine life
乌场海滨，海洋生物
Two teenagers of about fifteen or sixteen are fishing while a young girl, presumably the girlfriend of one, is watching. Inquisitive, I approach to inspect their catch. Together, they have filled their bucket with many small trumpeters and breams the size of about ten centimetres, one every few minutes. The shallow water is rich with fish, although small ones. These are occasionally sun-dried as salted fish. On a table beside a house, one family has left many dehydrated pieces on a square-metre of wire mesh for further airing. Cured fish, cuttlefish, duck egg, vegetable, and so forth are loved by Chinese.
In their shorts and hats, two young men of about twenty-eight arrive on their motorcycles and wade into the waist-deep section. Unfurling their short seine nets, one shortly hauls his, showing nothing. Uninhibited, he proudly flexes his arm muscles, and cheerfully urges me to photograph him. Perhaps he thinks that I am a blogger, who will bring him instant internet fame. He is chewing betel nut and his teeth are stained.
Wuchang, local Hainanese
万宁区乌场，本地海南人
Leaving at five in the late afternoon, I encounter more people. Adults and children are returning from work and schools. I do not have to wait very long for the bus. Reaching the “new bus station” at five-thirty, I slowly walk back and discover a laundry diagonally across the road from my hotel. The cost for washing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt is 10 RMB. Individually, the cost for a pair of jeans is 6 RMB while that of the T-shirt is 5 RMB. It is reasonable. The owner, a young girl in her mid-twenties, is enterprising, giving a discount for bringing the two items together.
Dongshanling and the mutton dish
Entrusting my clothing to her laundry at nine-thirty on Wednesday morning, I then catch a motorized trishaw to Dongshanling (Eastern Mountain Ridge), located three kilometres east of Wanning town. The fare is 7 RMB. I give her 10 RMB because, at my behest, she stops twice along the way for me to photograph the surroundings.
Near the mountain, the scenery is beautiful. The flat plain is green with vegetable farms and pockets of trees. In their communal field, about nine tiny figures in groups of two and three are bending, doing something different. Are they ridding out the weeds and weak seedlings? The road is wide for two cars but not heavy with traffic. Every five minutes, a car, truck, motorcycle, or trishaw passes from the opposite direction.
No pedestrian is walking. The sky is bright-blue with some patches of moving white clouds. A flying small brown bird perches on the power line ahead of us for a minute or two and then flies off again, frightened by our looming presence.
An ornate technicoloured entrance archway that is topped with three simulated houses and their traditional Chinese bright-brown tiled curved roofs welcomes visitors to Dongshanling.
Dongshan Ridge decorated archway
万宁东山岭牌楼
In Hainan, a spirit of generosity is common among older folks. The entry fee is 25 RMB for seniors and 50 RMB for others. Hearing I am a foreigner, the middle-aged receptionist still offers me the seniors’ rate. I show her my Australian driving licence, which has my date of birth. The chairlift ride costs an additional 20 RMB, which is a uniform fare. Worth the price, the open-air two-seater chair brings me to the mountain top.
Dongshanling consists of three ridges, covering almost nine square kilometres. The highest point is one hundred and eighty-four metres above sea level. Some of the formations are like pencils when viewed from afar, hence receiving the sobriquet of “Penholder Hill”.
On the way up, I am blessed with an unobstructed view of Wanning town far behind me. Almost nearing the peak, I face a tall white statue of an elderly scholar with a beard reposing on one of the famous rocks on my left. His hands are placed behind his back and his hair is tied into a bun on his head. Blissfully, he presides over the sprawling town. Who is he? Is he Li Gang, the first Southern Song chancellor exiled by emperor Gaozong? Did he have the opportunity to climb and view the scene that is here before his surprising recall?
Gliding slowly over the canopies of shorter trees while taller trees are rushing by on both sides of my chair is so exhilarating a sensation that it blots the question from my mind. The rocks are interspersed with trees, shrubs, and wildlife. On the faces of some huge rocks are Chinese calligraphic characters, which were some of the two hundred poems and stone carvings left by scholars since the Tang dynasty.
Scenes from Dongshan Ridge
风景从万宁东山岭
Butterflies are fluttering around the peak. Some are floating from bush to bush to sniff out nectar from the early blossoming flowers. Some tourists are wandering, readying their cameras to capture a memorable picture. Much of the peak has been cordoned off as danger and conservation zones, leaving a small area for perhaps two or three hundred spectators at any one time. From a clearing among the trees, the extent of Wanning town becomes clearer. The open green space surrounding it offers fresh invigorating air to its inhabitants. They are lucky.
After filming some scenes, I ride the cable car down to the mid-point of the mountain, where a red Buddhist temple is located. Chaoyin Temple is one of the three temples, the other two being Dongling Temple and Natural Stone Temple, spread out on the ridges. In front of the main entrance is a courtyard from where I appreciate a clear view of the distant town. However, I cannot see the South China Sea, which is not too far off – about three kilometres in the opposite direction. Perhaps if I walk around the bend to the other side, I may catch a glimpse.
Some banyans with characteristic hanging roots, overarching branches, and large leaves provide ample shade to the few visitors sitting on the stone benches arranged around their trunks. A wooden sign states, also in English, the age of one: “100 years old Chinese Banyan”. The simple unembellished teahouse at one corner offers refreshment at reasonable prices. Hovering around the entrance of the small temple is a group of tourists, about sixteen of them, shepherded by their guide with a loudhailer.
Friendly local Hainanese students
友好的当地海南学生
Walking down the flights of concrete stairs, I run into two friendly girls from two different groups. Each asks me to take her photograph, without even enjoining me to send them a copy. Needless to say, I am flattered by the deference I muster! Leaving them, I take the left route at a fork. Weathering over the millennium has left many harder rocks standing on the mountain slopes. On them were craved some huge cursive characters in prominent red. Some of them are obviously poems and tributes. Unable to decipher their meaning, I can only stare in disbelief at the stylish calligraphy.
Part of the top of one huge cylindrical rock has a diagonal crack, giving the impression that it is on the verge of slipping off upon a gush of wind. The sign at its base has an English translation of its name: “Live Stone”. Unedited, it further volunteers:
“Live Stone, also called immortal stone, was the place where the King of the Sea enjoyed the cool. It is relatively huge, shakes with wind blows, stone can be shook by pushing it. It was famed that ‘Going upon the live stone would lengthen life to a hundred years’.”
No thanks. I will not be standing on that precarious stone. This is, however, not the rock that has been made famous in the novel The Dream of the Red Chamber. That gigantic rock of some ten metres in height rests on another hill top nearby. When the wind blows, it sways but does not topple off.
Live Rock, stepping on it will increase your lifespan by 100 years!
万宁东山岭活石, 踏上岩石将延长100年的寿命!
A seven-metre bronze-coloured statue of a sitting, smiling Buddha is on a clearing. With his robe sliding off, the plump Buddha exhibits his pot-belly and drooping breasts. His lips are painted red and his ear lodes are long, the latter a symbol of his wisdom and patience in listening to the constant stream of woes from sufferers. A young lady in T-shirt and a pair of jeans is lighting her incense sticks to embed them in a small censer by his side.
Before long I have reached the bottom of the mountain. It is easier to gravitate down the steps than climbing up. Since it is inexpensive, I decide to purchase another cable ride up to the mid-level to explore the right route at the fork. Descending that route, I see the “No. 1 Hill” and also another moving rock, the latter pointed out by the security guard upon my enquiry. This two-metre flat rock has apparently a solid foundation. Encouraged by him, I clamber up after him. He jumps, and it moves. I repeat the action. Perhaps my jump is more vigorous. The motion scares me. I quickly slide down.
“What are the chances of it being toppled over the mountain flank during a typhoon?”
“It is unlikely,” he replies. Still, I am not taking any risk.
I hear many birds, chirping and singing. But I do not see them. Neither do I meet any goat that may end up in the famous “Dongshan Mutton” dish. These sure-footed animals reportedly munch the wild tea leaves and greens growing in the vicinity. A famous tea, the zhegu tea (also known as lingzi cao), is brewed from these wild tea leaves but I have no idea of its taste or aroma.
Buddha
佛雕像
Except for the tourist coaches, no bus runs from the foot of Eastern Mountain Ridge to town. Seeing no trishaw, I decide to walk instead of waiting for one.
Unexpectedly, an empty pedicab arrives. The driver from Hubei wants 10 RMB for the ride to town. Along the way, he offers to take me to Xinglong Coffee Factory for a total of 60 RMB, which I foolishly accept; for when we reach Niulou Village at the intersection of 223 National Road and 304 Provincial Road, he drops me off, claiming he does not know the way to Xinglong Coffee Factory despite our agreement. When I hand him a 100-RMB note, which is a further mistake, he returns 30 RMB, claiming that the 60 RMB is the fare from Wanning town to Niulou Village. After my protest, he hands me another 5 RMB. Short of my destination, a fare of 65 RMB for an hour ride is far too exorbitant. He has cheated me.
Rouge drivers prey in almost every country, causing grief to travellers. A seventy-year old driver parked his taxi across the road from my lot, instead of in front of my lot, for a longer route to the airport. I would have rejected his service but for the fact that I had a plane to catch. He has been in Australia for more than fifty years, coming in his twenties after the war from Greece. His fare came to A$37 for a journey of less than ten kilometres. My return fare two months later was only A$26.
I should have taken a bus from downtown to Niulou. Its fare should be less than 10 RMB because the distance is only about fifteen or sixteen kilometres. At Niulou, I am greeted by a man standing beside his motorcycle. He cites a fee of 50 RMB for three different places, which is a reasonable rate. His bike is fitted with a large umbrella that shades both of us from the sun. Not accustomed to sitting on such a motorcycle, I am occasionally careless and the umbrella spokes lightly stab my forehead, and fortunately not my eyes.
My first visit is to Hainan Tianya Rainforest Museum. In her late twenties or early thirties, the receptionist has been rudely aroused from her nap by my call and she is in a foul mood. Because her dark office prevents me from clearly discerning her face, I compound my blunder when I politely, but mistakenly, address her as “Da Jie” (“Big Sister”). I further aggravate the problem by seeking the entry price for seniors and not understanding the meaning of “shenfenzheng” (identity card), which she demands.
“Shenme shi shenfenzheng?” (“What is ‘shenfenzheng’?”)
She must be thinking that I am trying to be funny. She repeats her request. “Let me see your shenfenzheng.” (“Gei wo kan ni de shenfenzheng.”)
I turn to Ah Zhong (阿忠), who digs into his pocket and shows me his identity card. When I show her my Australian driving licence, she screams. Her outburst is atypical and rare. Most service persons in Hainan are fairly polite.
“Concession fare is given only to Chinese citizens, not foreigners.”
That is fair enough. I wish that proviso is clearly stated somewhere. That would have saved us from some ugly exchange. 50 RMB is inexpensive for foreigners with stronger currency exchange. But for locals, the admission fee is expensive. Because time is short, I hastily walk around the garden. There are many trees and plants but, unfortunately, they are not accompanied by explanatory notes. The miniature museum is interesting; it holds some pieces of driftwood of different shapes. They have been vanished and given fanciful names.
Hainan Tianya Rainforest Museum
海南天涯雨林博物馆
Copyright 2015
More photos
Rambling around my ancestral Hainan
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