Chapter 10:  Heart of Hainan, Wuzhishan

 

Defined as landforms with heights of more than two thousand feet (which is six hundred and ten metres) above their surrounding environment, mountains cover 25.4% of the land area of Hainan Island; and, defined as landforms with heights between one thousand feet (three hundred metres) and two thousand feet, hills cover 13.3%.  Next, terraces cover 32.6% while coastal plain surrounds the remnant 28.7%.  In brief, Hainan Island is generally hilly. 

With a coastal plain ranging in width of between one and nine kilometres, the island’s outline is about one thousand five hundred kilometres in length, some sections curving as the fifty or so indented bays.  More than half of the coastline consists of sandy beaches with gentle gradients.

The mountains are found in the centre and south.  Eighty-one peaks along the central mountain range are higher than nine hundred metres above sea level and six are more than one thousand three hundred and fifty metres (1.35 kilometres) in height.  Compared to the highest mountains in mainland China, these are dwarfs.  The highest is, of course, Mount Everest in Tibet with a height of 8.84 kilometres above sea level.  On the border of Qinghai and Xinjiang, Kunlun Mountain stands at 6.86 kilometres high.  In Yunnan, Meili Snow Mountain is 6.74 kilometres.  Even Mount Taibai in Shaanxi towers at 3.76 kilometres.  

   
Pulsating soul of central mountains and forests
 

Until recently, Wuzhishan City was called Tongshi or Tongzha District.  In the centre of the lower half of Hainan, this mountainous region of one thousand one hundred and sixty-eight square kilometres is the “lung” of the island.  The annual rainfall of between 1800 and 2200 millimetres, average temperature of twenty-two degrees Celsius, and radiating river systems ensure that thick forests blanket eighty percent of the region.  The air quality is rated as one of the best in the world.  

Rich in biodiversity, the territory is also home to the Li and Miao ethnic minorities, who retreated when Han migrants flooded into the northern districts from the mainland, especially after the fall of the Song dynasty.  The ethnic minorities were not the only one who sought solace here. 

When the 1912 Chinese republic collapsed, the lack of a strong central government saw a loose control over Hainan.  Local warlords began exploiting their compatriots.  Inspired by the communist movement on the mainland, local victims organised themselves into similar groups, which later clashed with the KMT troops.  By June 1928, just one hundred and thirty of the three thousand indigenous Communists survived.  They too escaped to the central mountains. 

After ten months of hardship and further clashes, only twenty-six were left, becoming the nucleus of new recruits, who later confronted the invading Japanese army that slaughtered a substantial section of the population.  With the aid of the Li people, the local Communists, some three hundred of them, resorted to guerrilla warfare.  Their achievements were depicted in The Red Detachment of Woman.  One of the eight films approved by Madam Mao (Jiang Qing) during the Cultural Revolution, it was, together with the Red Lantern, shown in January 1971. 

Following the Japanese surrender in September 1945 to China, then under the KMT’s tenuous control, Hainan Island struggled through a renewed civil war.  By May 1950, Feng Baiju and his band of local guerrillas and mainland Communists had captured Hainan, and the island was placed under the administration of Guangdong Province.  While many liberators returned home, some remained, marrying local residents.  Because of the U.S. economic embargo on China for its aid to North Korea during the 1950-53 Korean War, these former soldiers were employed in rubber plantations, helping to dramatically uplift the rubber production from almost two hundred tons in 1950 to seven hundred and fifty tons in 1957.  

Wuzhishan is the highest mountain in Hainan.  Located in the central highlands about one hundred and forty kilometres southwest of Haikou, it is aptly named because its five peaks resemble the five upright fingers of an open hand.  The highest peak is one thousand eight hundred and seventy-six metres above sea level.  The main town nearby is Chongshan, the capital of Wuzhishan City.  It lies about twenty kilometres southwest of Wuzhishan’s peak.  This mountain is sacred to the Li people.  The mist enveloping the mountain tops, frequently shown on tourist brochures, amazes tourists and local alike.  I must climb the mountain, Hainan’s soul, and feel the pulsating heart of gliding mists and swaying primeval forests, I remind myself.

Breezing into the Lingshui bus terminal, I just miss the Saturday 9.50 am bus to Wuzhishan downtown.  I scramble up the next bus, which departs at eleven, thus wasting an hour.  It is a light-green bus with dashes of navy-blue colours and words of its company.  The fare is 18 RMB.  There are nineteen seats: six rows with two seats, one back row with five seats, and a seat each beside and behind the driver.  Buses here bound for destinations like Haikou, Wanning, and Qionghai. 

Seventeen passengers, one of whom is a boy, are in the bus, which has no air-conditioning facility.  It is warm, and my heavy backpack is on my lap.  My luggage is tucked behind the driver’s seat, among some passengers’ bags and boxes. 

A gentleman sits on my right, his large round iron plate, the base of some heavy equipment, on the aisle by his side.  Nodding off, his head constantly dips and crushes my uncomfortable shoulder.  Frustrated, I conjure ways of rousing him, including shifting my sitting position, jerking my arm, and sliding the backpack strap down my shoulder.  

After an hour and twenty minutes, the bus briefly stops at Baoting bus station for passengers.  The station is evidently old; for the ground is stained grey from petrol spillage and tyre track marks.  Parked in the shelters are three red buses, a green bus, and a white bus, all with their backs towards me.  Their destinations are printed on their back windows.  The red buses are going to Sanya; the white bus is going to Haikou.  I cannot, however, figure the characters on the green bus.  The luggage door of the Haikou bus is open.

The journey of about fifty kilometres is long and tiring, although warding off the nodding and inclining man, together with the laughter and chatter ten minutes earlier of a large gathering of about a hundred people enjoying their Saturday lunch, distracts my mind from boredom.  The open-air “restaurant” at the edge of a field consists of about fifteen portable tables around which are cheap plastic chairs without arm or back rests.  Coming mainly on their motorbikes, which are parked close by, the patrons sat under the shade of multi-coloured nylon sheets tied to poles.

Five or ten minutes after leaving the bus station, we pass through a modern part of Baoting town.  On the strip of beautiful park between the pathway and the canal on our left stands a long brown Chinese-style pavilion.  On one end of its inclined roof sits a big brown bottle gourd statue, a metre or so in height, an ineffaceable reminder of the agrarian and Chinese influence of this county.  This quaint structure interrupts the monotony of my ride.  The canal is almost dry.  Much effort has been expended in beautifying its banks.  On the gentle slope of green grass are dark Mandarin characters - or slogans - spelled out by short flowering plants selectively laid out in their beds.  

Even the street lights are creative works of art.  Painted with alternating strips of purple and white, lamp posts along the bank are camouflaged as lotus stalks.  On their tops are artificial large purple lotus flowers and green leaves.  The short concrete pillars clasping the stiff safety railings are covered with indigenous geometric designs of bird, boat, fish, kite, and man. 

 On the opposite river bank, the seven or eight-storey apartments are obviously new.  Their external walls are coated with different colours.  The walls on the top floor are light-blue, the walls on the next two floors below it are light-grey, and the walls on the three floors below are light-brown.  I cannot see the colour of the walls on the lower floor because they are blocked by outflowing palm fronds.  

Half an hour later, the bus ascends a winding road around the slope of the intervening mountain range.  With every turn, I momentarily perceive the majestic mist hovering around the peaks of the distant range.  The sky is dark, threatening the advent of heavy rain.  It does drizzle slightly but then stops.  Fortunately, it does not pour.  

After a journey of thirty-five kilometres from Baoting, the bus finally reaches the outskirt of Wuzhishan downtown.  Some modern condominiums have just been completed, which are very attractive in design and colours.  Their balconies curve outward.  Four colours blend harmoniously: the dull-green of the tainted windows and balcony glass doors, the white of the window frames and external floor wall, the beige of the walls, and the dark-brown of the dividing walls.  I would confer an award on the consulting architect.  A few minutes later, my bus terminates near the corner of Haiyu North Road and Haiyu South Road.  

Chongshan town is founded on the banks of the upper tributaries of Changhua (Flourishing Transforming) River.  Two hundred and thirty kilometres in length, this second longest river in Hainan flows west from its source in the central range.  Its mouth at Changhua Harbour lies twenty kilometres north of Dongfang town on the west coast.

For 4 RMB, the trishaw takes me across a bridge to Wuzhishan Hotel, a kilometre southwest.  At its car park, I notice the Cantonese version of its name - “Ng Chi Shan Hotel” - on both the flagpole pedestal and roof of the lobby entrance.  The owner is probably from Hong Kong.  This clean-looking hotel is situated at the T-junction of Aimin Road and Guoxing Road, fifty metres from Wuzhishan People’s Government Building.  The cost per night is about 160 RMB.  It is not crowded.

As it is far too late to travel to Shuimanxiang, the base village-town of Hainan’s highest peak, I decide to explore the small downtown.  By way of comparison, Wuzhishan City itself has a population of only slightly more than a hundred thousand in 2010.

Facing the hotel entrance is a small park that is about one hundred metres in length and eighty metres in breadth.  It is an ordinary park without any imposing statue or gazebo.  Although it is Saturday afternoon, the park is relatively quiet.  A few people are sitting on the benches, talking, while some small children are playing.  Walking along the short Guoxing Road, I soon reach the main Haiyu South Road.  At the left corner is a laundry, located opposite a school.  After the proprietress has enumerated her fees, I swiftly return to the hotel to fetch my clothing for washing, and then continue my excursion.  

Today, Nansheng (South Sacred) River, a Changhua tributary, is dry, with shallow pools of water trapped here and there among the large cakes of mud.  I stand on Haiyu South Road Bridge, which I have crossed earlier.  With only his bare hand, a man is stooping, trying to catch fishes hiding under the partly submerged rocks.  I move nearer, crossing the bridge.  The walkway sandwiched between the canal and Hebei Yanhe Road is not heavily used by people.  My view from here is better.  Unbelievably, the fisherman succeeds in seizing a small fish with his right hand, and quickly transfers it into his brown cloth bag.  Judging by the visible head and tail of the fish, I gauge its size at about twelve centimetres in length.  He repeats his performance, lifting up the light rocks.  Two well-dressed ladies are scouring the dry beds, looking for something which I cannot ascertain.  

Fruiting rose apple trees abound along the spacious walkway.  A few unripe fruits have fallen onto the pavement.  Crushed by infrequent footwear, their lingering scent instantly ignites vivid memories of those juicy fruits I once sampled as a thieving young schoolboy.  I am tempted to pluck one.  But I am too chicken to run afoul of the law here.  Imagine the international news headline: “Flew to climb Wuzhishan hill, foreigner crewed to Wuzhishan jail – for a rose apple.”

Across the road is a new hotel.  It will be ready for occupancy in three or four months, says a young female executive, who is having a tea break.  The nightly room rates will range from around 500 to 600 RMB.  Looking out of their balconies or windows, its guests will enjoy the view of the carefree rustic town and one of the longest rivers in Hainan.  The hotel is a stone-throw from the bus station.

As I wander around the uncrowded town, I strain to differentiate the Han from non-Han citizens.  In China, ninety-four percent of the population is of Han descent while fifty-five ethnic minorities comprise the remainder.  Despite the high percentage of Li in Hainan, the unusual situation is not evident to me.  Perhaps Han and non-Han people look similar because they all trace their ancestry to southern China centuries earlier.  Perhaps the overwhelming majority of Li and Miao people live in suburban villages and not in urbanized towns.  Or perhaps, as reported in the media, more of them are adopting Han beliefs and lifestyle.  Unfortunately, because of my tight schedule, I do not have the time to visit a native village.

Li people form an interesting ethnic community.  They worship ancestral and other spirits and the Thunder God, and their women adorn their faces and bodies with tattoos.  Lady Xian, who could possibly be my ancestor, is a Li; so I could have some Li-DNA in me.  While the men farm or hunt, the women weave intricate designs, working with their hands and feet on looms.  Their unique crafts and customs attract tourists, local and overseas.

On the third day of the third lunar month, the Li and Miao celebrate their traditional festival of love, expressing their admiration for one another and invocation for double harvest and good hunting.  It is a time of courtship for the young.  In Wuzhishan and Sanya, games and performances of dance and songs mark the occasion, their outpouring energy captivating their audience.  In private, they sit in circle, relishing their rice wine and preserved meat.  According to anecdotes, the Lis were once sexually permissive.  

Their version of tea is unusual, brewed first with a whole fish and then using the soup to prepare the tea.  Served in a small bowl with pieces of fish meat, it comes in three flavours: salty, sourish, and sweet.  Unfortunately, I miss out on this experience. 

Interestingly, the Li people use their nose, instead of their mouth, to blow their flute.  Made from a single bamboo node about a foot in length, the nose flute was apparently invented a thousand years ago.  It has three holes on the top for blowing notes on a range of seven scales and a hole at the bottom node for exhaled air.  I am impressed by their ingenuity and versatility. 

Admiring the river while walking along Jiefang Road, I meet a couple from Beijing enjoying their evening constitution.  A medical professor, the gentleman has recently retired from his university.  They are on vacation, staying in the nearby apartment owned by their friend who is operating a business in Wuzhishan.  I am too polite – and also too Mandarin illiterate – to probe into their friend’s speciality.  What sort of enterprise can the businessman be engaged in, here in this small town?  My mind wonders.  In my pidgin Mandarin, we exchange our brief life stories.  I explain my travel plan in Hainan. 

It is almost evening.  At a small cafe across the bus station at Haiyu North Road, I enquire the price of the remaining half duck that is lying on the proprietress’ shelf at the shop front.  Disconcertingly to me, she courteously directs me to take a seat while she fixes my dinner.  My anxiety level shoots up.  Will this be a case of price gouging?  What shall I do if she charges me 100 RMB after I have finished my meal? 

During the course of my dinner, I twice ask her assistant the price.  Each time, the reply is not reassuring.  

“Don’t worry.  She will tell you afterwards.”  

The boss is in the kitchen, cooking dishes for two other customers.  At the end, the bill for the meat, bowl of rice, and small plate of vegetables comes to 25 RMB, which is relatively cheap.  If only she has informed me earlier, I would have thoroughly enjoyed my dinner.

 

 

Copyright 2015

 

Photos

 

 

Edible fruit grown in Hainan

Chapter 10:  Page 327 - 333

  Rambling around my ancestral Hainan