Rambling around my ancestral Hainan

Ningji Temple, oldest Lady Xian Temple in Hainan

 

Ningji Temple is a kilometre off.  With the car twirling around the bends of the narrow and crowded streets in Zhonghe town, I soon lose my sense of direction and position.  Two-storey buildings whelm the sides.  Because of the tall trees and their arching branches and foliage, the street is slightly dark.  Make-shift stalls and waiting trishaws impede the traffic flow.  A big truck stops temporarily, worsening the congestion.  As we pause, I gaze out of the window.  The front verandahs of some houses are neatly stacked with short, cut branches, the economical but ecologically-detrimental firewood in village kitchens.  Our vehicle finally squeezes its way through.  As we approach the temple, the street is narrower and dusty.  

Even though his wife grew up here, Fu has not been to the temple.  He stops to seek direction.  On the second occasion, he spots his father-in-law, who is walking along the constricted unpaved lane that is wide enough for a truck to pass only when other vehicles have moved aside.  Reinforced with cobblestones of varying shapes and harden sand, the ground is uneven.  Fu parks his taxi by one side.

Without any layer of paint, the disintegrating plasterworks of external walls have exposed the bricks of some homes to atmospheric discoloration.  Six kids are goofing while one sits on a cobberstone in front of her house, holding a bowl of food.  A handsome cockerel and two dull-looking hens are milling, poising for scraps to spill.  Further down the lane, an elderly woman is walking towards us, hunched and dressed in dark-blue or black.  

Standing out from those surrounding aged-looking residences is the high, faded maroon wall and traditional green-tiled roof of the temple that I have come to see.  Its exterior suggests a home of an ordinary rich family within.  The compound measures about twenty metres by fifty metres.  Its entrance is guarded by two grey granite lion statues, their necks garlanded with red cords holding a tassel or peony bouquet.  Their fierce look is sufficient to repel any unfriendly goblin. 

Above the entrance doors is the name of the temple in traditional Chinese: 寧濟廟 (Ning Ji Miao; Ningji Temple), a new name conferred by Gaozong, the first Southern Song emperor. 

On the broad and solid entrance is a small guard room with its green-tiled roof and its pale-red balcony.  Four characters - 國史列傳 (Guoshi liezhuan; National historical biography) - are painted on the supporting beam of the roof.  I cannot help but speculate the need for a new coat of red paint.  Incidentally, red is an auspicious colour to Chinese; for it symbolizes blood, the summer of life.  Red dresses are worn during marriage ceremonies and banquets.  

Of the fifty or more temples in Hainan dedicated to the worship of Lady Xian, Ningji is the oldest.  It is more than a thousand years old because it was visited by Su Dongpo during his Hainan exile.  It was constructed probably as early as during the Tang dynasty, which began in 618 A.D. and ended in 907.  But the Ningji Temple that we are entering is in a sense not the “same” one that Dongpo had visited because the extant temple was, according to the Gazette of Danzhou in the Wanli period (Wanli Danzhou zhi, 1618), relocated to its present location in 1523.  

Awed by Xian Furen’s heroism, Dongpo wrote the following commemorative poem, lauding Mrs Feng Bao.   

 

冯冼古烈妇，翁媪国于兹。 策勋梁武后，开府隋文时。 三世更险易，一心无磷缁。 锦伞平积乱，犀渠破余疑。 庙貌空复存，碑版漫无辞。 我欲作铭志，慰此父老思。 遗民不可问，偻句莫予欺。 犦牲菌鸡卜，我当一访之。 铜鼓葫卢笙，歌此送迎诗。

 

Feng Xian gulie fu, weng’aoguo yu zi. 

Ce xun Liang Wu hou, kai fu Sui Wen shi.

Sanshi geng xian yi, yixin wu lin zi.  

Jin san ping ji luan, xi qu po yu yi. 

Miao mao kong fu cun, bei ban man wu ci. 

Wo yu zuo ming zhi, wei ci fulao si. 

Yimin buke wen, lou ju mo yu qi. 

Bo sheng jun ji bo, wo dang yi fang zhi. 

Tonggu hulu sheng, ge ci songying shi.

 

Briefly, Su Dongpo made the following points: Mrs Feng-Xian, an indomitable lady of antiquity, was brave and loyal to the Liang, Chen, and Sui dynasties she served.  Through these three dynasties, she met dangers extinguishing rebellions and was thus highly honoured.  Though her temple now barely survived, he wished to sing in her praise this poem that he had just composed as he looked forward to observe the local elders offering sacrifices, reading the future from chicken entrails, and playing bronze drums and gourd pipes.

Two round red lanterns hang in front of the open door under the balcony of the overhead guard room.  From the entrance I spy a colourful square mural on the maroon wall ahead.  I enter the compound.  To my left is a small office; to my right is a moon gate to a courtyard, wherein stands a large golden statue of Lady Xian riding a horse.  The moon gate’s grille security fence is locked.

A quick glance tells me that this temple was not custom-built.  Like the temple at the northern edge of Songtao Reservoir, Ningji Temple occupies the compounds of two houses, which were, I believe, once residential homes.  The dividing wall of the two houses is intact.  But two gates in the wall, one being the moon gate, connect the two compounds.  The first compound is undivided by walls but the second is subdivided into two sections by a wall.  Although it is larger in area than the Songtao temple, this temple is smaller than that at Xinpo.    

I walk towards the square mural that I have seen from the entrance.  About one and a half metre in length, the relief in light-blue background depicts a mythical qilin, a horse-like animal with a dragon’s head.  Unfortunately, the paints of the multi-coloured fierce-looking creature are flaking off under the daily elements over the centuries.

On the sides of the mural is a couplet: 寿超千岁外；名列四虚中.  What the words say is mysterious to me.  Below the mural is a long, raised bed of flowering roses.  

To the left of the mural is a well, covered with safety netting.  Its name is announced in red on a black tablet placed against the wall: 太婆井 (Taipo Jing; literally, Great-grandmother’s Well).  Grey in colour, another tablet narrates an interesting legend, if not history.  This well, it avers, was built by Lady Xian when she first came to Hainan in the year 541 A.D. to quell a rebellion.  (Altogether, she made five trips to Hainan, the last just before her death.)

At Gaopo (High Slope, now Zhonghe), where she stationed her troops, she noticed the inhabitants suffering with symptoms of yellow faces and bloated stomachs, the result of drinking ditch water.  She searched and found a water spring, and rallied the people to build a well here.  Its clean and clear water supply is endless.

Except for a tall tree near the well and two rooms, the courtyard is neat but empty.  Its purpose is, I suppose, to serve as a reception hall for large numbers of visitors during festive occasions.  As I peer into the well, I can see its still water mirroring the branch and leaves above my head.  A couple of ancient bricks from its interior wall have dislodged and are lying in the watery depth. 

On the short wall to my left is a round mural looking like a giant plate.  Placed between two scrolls of calligraphy, it displays in relief two colourful phoenixes chasing after each other in a circle.  Did the mural artist intend to convey the Buddhist notion of unity in duality through a “ring” of phoenixes?  Perceptively, the couplet poet succinctly lectured: 風調雨順; 國泰民安 (Fengtiaoyushun; Guotaimin’an; Good weather; Peace and prosperity).

Stepping into the other compound of the temple through the second gate in the dividing wall, I find myself in the hall of a small caretaker’s house, and I can see the Lady Xian altar at the end of the small courtyard.  Hanging on the lateral wooden beams of the covered corridor are two red globe lanterns, a bright-yellow plaque with a commemoration written by Gaozong in black, and a red scroll with the characters “巾幗英雄” (Jinguo yingxiong).  “Jinguo Heroine” is an ancient title ascribed to an outstanding heroine like Lady Xian and Hua Mulan.  Beneath the red scroll is an incense table with three censers, all of which have burning incenses and joss sticks.   

In the small hall behind the incense table is an altar table and a small statue of a seated Lady Xian, dressed in a colourful costume.  I am not permitted to photograph it.  It is considered sacred.  Perhaps too many people have photographed it to the extent of disrespect.  On the altar table are a small painted portrait of Lady Xian and another small statue of her.  I ask the caretaker about the artist.  He explains but his explanation is lost on me.  Lady Xian is depicted with her horse.  The lower halves of their bodies are not painted.  The background is light-green.  Both are in black-and-white since the color has faded.  The only other color is the red bouquet on the chest of the horse. 

Unlocking a side gate, the caretaker leads me into the other half of the second compound, where the life-size statue of the horse carrying Lady Xian stands on a short, white rectangular pedestal.  It is fenced by a low railing and shaded from the hot sun by an acrylic awning.  Painted in gold, it looks new.  I drop the custodian a question on its composition and manufacturer.  The copper statue was made in Guangxi, he replies.  

This statue has similar features with the Xinpo statue: the two horses pose with their front left hooves raised, and both Lady Xians in their late thirties or early forties are attired in battle uniform, in armor and helmet.  The differences may not be obvious unless the spectator places both beside each other (in photographs at least) and compares them.  In the Xinpo statue, Lady Xian’s right hand holds an official insignia close to her face; here, her straight right hand holds a spear pointing downwards and towards her right.  In the Xinpo statue, her gaunt face manifests a serious expression; here, her round plump face is smiling.

Nine large stone panels upheld on low pedestals by the wall to Lady Xian’s left list her achievements and tributes to her while at the base of the wall to her right is a long stone slab supporting nine small statues of tribal leaders.  These basalt figures are archaeological relics, shifted from the “original” Ningji Temple.  They represent the nine tribal chiefs who submitted to Lady Xian’s authority during her official tours of Hainan, which was under her jurisdiction.  She faces them as they pay obeisance to her.  Eight are of equal size while the one in the middle is larger.  Displaying a defiant look, the largest native, the chief of the most populous and powerful tribe, is kneeling with his hands tied behind his back.  On his left and right, four are also kneeling but with their hands clasped in greeting.  The others are seated, also clasping their hands in greeting.   Their facial features are different; there was no artistic intention in sculpting identical faces. 

Another antique in the courtyard is the large granite trough used by Lady Xian’s horse, according to the adjacent stone tablet.  I look into it; it has no water.  Located near the Lady Xian statue is another ancient well into which I almost fall.  It has no safety cover.  Perhaps it is a functioning well, its water drawn daily by the custodian.  He has been very patient with me, knowing that I will remain ignorant, despite his explanations.  He points to the remnant of an ancient decorative panel on the dividing wall.  It has been darken with age but still showing reliefs of leaves and flowers.

Hearing my literary ambition, he presents me with a slender booklet of short articles in Chinese on Lady Xian and the history of Ningji Temple.  I learn that it was the first Southern Song emperor who elevated Lady Xian (Xian Furen) to the status of an official deity with the noble title 显应夫人 (Xian Ying Furen; Lady not invoked in vain), which was - I suspect - a homophonic word-play on her maiden name “Xian Ying” (冼英).

Gaozong was well aware that she was not to be trifled with even in death, especially when anecdotes resounded of Li raiders from the central highland supplicating to her and then thanking her for their rich booties from Danzhou Han settlers!  Ironically, in his commemoration, the young emperor referred to the lady’s elimination of pirates from Hainan Island and the surrounding waters.  “Ning Ji”, which literally means “peaceful” and “crossing the river”, is an appropriate name for the temple dedicated to the venerated Lady of Danzhou (Dan’er Furen).    

A slow ten-minute drive through a narrow track brings us to Su Dongpo Well, located in a remote part of the town.  But for the stone tablet by its side, I would not be cognisant of its historical heritage.  Indeed, without a guide, a visitor would not even be able to locate it.  About a metre in diameter, this famous well was, of course, well constructed, each circular layer (or level) consisting, if my memory is accurate, of six bricks.  Because it is a circular well like all ancient Chinese wells, each brick, probably carved from local basalt rocks, is slightly convex (or concave, depending on one’s perspective) in shape. 

About a metre below the ground surface, the water is clear but strewn with dry brown leaves blown from the tall bush hedge that almost surround the well.  I cannot see its depth, which I assume to be three or four metres.  Around the well is a low wall of about a metre in height to prevent people or stray animal from falling into it.  By the sides of its narrow entrance are two short pillars on which are pasted a couplet written on red rice paper.  

Seven young children - three girls and four boys - from the nearby houses are curious.  They are very friendly and happy.  They range in age from four to eight or nine.  Some are attending schools, they reply.  The boys sport tracksuit shorts and T-shirts, two girls wear one-piece dresses, and the oldest girl is in a tracksuit pant and a jumper.  They are neither living in poverty nor basking in wealth.  Their parents are probably farmers or stall owners in Zhonghe.

In contrast to Ningji Temple is a newly-renovated temple, a five-minute drive off.  It is only a hundred metres northwest of Ningji Temple as the crow flies.  We drop by only when Fu Si Ba casually asks if I wish to see it. 

First built during the ninth Ming emperor’s reign five centuries ago, the temple honours Guan Yu, the brave general of Shu state during the Three Kingdom Period from 220 to 280 A.D.   He is one of the favourite heroes for Chinese enthralled by Luo Guanzhong’s fourteenth-century Romance of the Three Kingdoms.  Admired for his strict sense of justice, loyalty, and righteousness, Guan Yu was deified as early as the Sui dynasty.  

Guan Gong (Lord Guan) or Guandi (Emperor Guan) Temple now stands in the middle of a large flat compound measuring about one hundred and fifty metres in length and fifty metres in width.  The empty foreground is a car park for pilgrims seeking favours or offering thanks to the God of War.  The rectangular entrance archway has the traditional green-glazed tiled roof, below which is a painting on a wooden beam of two green dragons floating on clouds.  Leaving our car, we walk towards the miniature three-metre high funerary pagoda, the repository for flaming joss papers.  

Guarding the temple precinct is a huge dark Guan Yu swaddled in armoured uniform on a pedestal in the hall.  Behind the hall, the ground has been developed into a landscaped park.  Everything here is new.  The two rows of palms and trimmed fir shrubs are evidence of intelligent planning.  A gazebo and a group of life-size unblemished marble statues of Taoist gods are recent inclusions.  

Antiquity lures me.  We leave and drive on.  Three minutes later, we are near the two surviving gates of Zhonghe’s ancient city wall; the other two had, unfortunately, been destroyed over the centuries by wars and land reclamation.  The two extant gates are located close to each other because the Tang-period city walls, built in 622 A.D., covered an irregular-square area with a parameter of one thousand and six hundred metres.  In short, each wall averages four hundred metres long, a sharp contrast to the rectangular 9.6-by-8 kilometre Chang’an capital.  The city within the Zhonghe walls was small.  Today, the streets remain narrow, and we have to walk. 

My dreams of an idyllic rustic lifestyle take a tumble as I gingerly avoid the watery excrements splattered on the uneven cobblestone pavements by uninhibited buffaloes.  Can I live in one of these houses here, especially with its bedroom windows facing the lane?  Perhaps that buffalo tied under the first ancient arch is responsible for these agricultural treasures?  

On its overhead panel is its name painted in black: 武定门 (Wuding Men; Wuding Gate).  This is the north gate of the city fort.  A lonely hen stares nonchalantly at us as we walk by.  She will live blissfully through another day.  The defensive wall of the gate is so thick that hundreds of thousands of bricks must have been used in its construction.  A brown buffalo appears at the other end of the arch, pulling a wooden cart.  Sitting in front of the cart, the fat lady’s left hand pulls the rope that steers the animal.  It is inching but her sacks of goods will be delivered.  I stand aside as the beast advances.

Outside the city gate is undulating ground which does not lend itself to farming and is overrun by shrubs and weeds.  Two grey buffaloes are tied close to the wall. 

Near the north gate is the west Zhenhai Gate (镇海门).  Shrubs and trees with invasive roots are gradually damaging the structures of these two gates.  The government is aware, and is embarking on a protection and upgrading program to preserve these historical and cultural relics as well as other relics in Hainan.  

Intriguingly, the seventh century fort city was preceded by another a few decades earlier, a smaller one nearby which was apparently inadequate for military defence.  Zhao Rugua (Wade-Giles: Chau Ju-kua), a custom inspector in Quanzhou, who wrote about the Chinese and Arab trade in his Zhufan Zhi (literally: Description of the Barbarous People) around 1225, devoted a short and interesting chapter on Hainan Island.

Historical records, he said, indicated that the Lady of Dan’er (Dan’er Furen), another appellation of Lady Xian, built the city of Dan’er within a city wall that was fourteen feet high and two hundred and twenty paces (bu), or about three hundred and thirty metres, in perimeter. 

Lady Xian visited Zhonghe, the ancient capital of Dan’er, four times.  She died during the reign of the first Sui emperor, a decade before the crumble of the dynasty under its second.

 

Yangpu Port, ancient salt fields, and Baimajing

 

On the map, Yangpu Port is fifteen kilometres west of Zhonghe.  By road, the distance is longer – at least twenty-five kilometres.  Located on the northwestern coast of Hainan Island, Yangpu has a natural deep water harbour, ideal for the development of a modern port.  This potential was recognized even by Sun Yat-sen.

But internal and external chaos during the first half of the last century impeded its growth.  After national stabilisation, the pragmatic central leadership swiftly endorsed the transformation of the locale into a major port of Hainan.  The award of port development and seventy-year land lease to Kumagai Gumi was dogged by controversy, but fears of sovereignty loss were eventually allayed.

Occupying an area of thirty-one square kilometres, the Yangpu Free Trade Zone was launched in September 1993 with a projected resident population of two hundred and fifty thousand upon completion of the plan, and an anticipation of its rapid evolution into the largest power industrial base of Hainan and the largest oil and gas chemicals base of the South China Sea. 

As we enter Yangpu town, I am excited, eager to see this newly industrialising region of Hainan.  Yangpu is a hundred and forty kilometres west of Haikou, and three hundred kilometres east of Hai Phong, the port of Vietnamese capital Hanoi.  With gradual industrialization of Vietnam and Hainan, trade between the two will increase.  And Yangpu is positioned to be the main port for this trade in Hainan.  If a canal is harrowed across Isthmus of Kra in Thailand, Yangpu Port and ultimately Hainan will boom exponentially with radiating intra-regional trade within Southeast Asia.  

That canal notion, which has engrossed the minds of many Thai futurists, also captivates my deliberation as we stop at a local stall, where we select our dishes for lunch.  It is quiet.  A young couple occupies one table while we occupy another.  The bill comes to 44 RMB, 28 RMB being the price of my large dish of beef pieces stir-fried with leek.  Fu’s shellfish soup cost only 10 RMB.  

Although four-lane wide, Gangwan Street is unmarked because the traffic is not heavy.  Sitting in our stationary car as Fu searches for something in his glove compartment, I see only two trucks, two vans, and one private car parked by the kerb to my left.  In motion are a trishaw and two or three motorists.  On my side of the road, a truck parked directly in front of us blocks my view of the vehicles in front of it.  I counted nine persons altogether. 

This is surprising because I expect a busy thoroughfare, especially one that is located next to a port.  The boom time has obviously not materialised yet.  Coconut trees have been paced at regular intervals along both kerbs.  The two or three eight-storey residential blocks are new; their light-blue paint is fresh and unspotted.  With balconies facing the road, the higher units offer their dwellers opportunities to witness the bustling port activities below.  

Yangpu Seaview Garden Hotel is at the end of the road.  It sits on a promontory that faces Baimajing, the nearest town across the bay.  Its two-storey administration building is clean and modern.  On both sides of its entrance, the large green fronds of tall palms and colourful flags on poles blend with its white front wall.  The guest rooms are in a five-storey building on its side.  Its courtyard is tiled and spacious.  Only a few cars are parked here.  Perhaps the others are hidden in the basement beneath the courtyard.  In front of the hotel porch, two private cars are waiting for their owners; their chauffeurs are standing by the door, one talking on his hand phone.  Walking across the courtyard are two men.  

Directly above the reception is the restaurant, where three men are seated partaking their lunch around one of the dining tables on its balcony.  I walk into the reception and enquire their daily rate.  It is 298 RMB.  Not expensive, I say to myself.  I walk out to the safety railing of the courtyard.  Below me is a garden since the hotel is built on undulating land.  Before me is Baimajing, which is less than a kilometre southeast of Yangpu.  These two towns will be linked by a bridge in the near future, according to the poster on a huge billboard. 

Four academics from Hunan University Wind Engineering Research Center have been studying the model of the proposed bridge.  It is a cable-stayed bridge with a main span of 460 metres long and an adjacent continuous span of 180 metres in length on each side.  With a 31.4-metre width, its central six lanes will be flanked by a narrow pedestrian lane.  This short bridge will naturally cut by several-fold the travelling distance and time, which is currently about thirty-five kilometres and thirty minutes respectively.  

Two huge concrete foundations for the bridge have been emplaced in the seabed, each close to the land mass near the ends of the bridge.  The one just a hundred metres ahead obstructs a small temple’s view of the bay.  Probably dedicated to goddess Mazu, this temple - almost in front of me - has a longer history in this area, its preservation hints to its historical heritage and significance.  For hundreds of years, fishermen, sailors, and merchants from passing ships would have stopped here and prayed for their safe voyages. 

Seven big ships are anchored in the bay to my left, blocking my vision of smaller ones behind them.  On the long wharf to my right are several huge dull-red inactive cranes.  Their expected loads are perhaps still snugged in foreign ports.  In their midst is a grain silo, which looks like several inverted rockets fused together, about two hundred metres from where I stand.  (In April 2014, the Hainan Yangpu Bridge was opened to traffic.  Its northern end runs between this hotel and wharf.)  Trampling around the region that will emerge as the major port of Hainan in the coming years staggers me.

At two-thirty in the afternoon, Fu and I drive for about eight kilometres to the entrance of “Ancient Saltern”, which we have earlier passed.  Although it is listed on the map as the location of the ancient Salt Fields (Yantian) Village, the sentry informs us that the site is now a golf course, closed to the public.  We can, however, still see ancient salt fields close to where we have just departed from, namely, a kilometre and a half north of the hotel.  I later learn that the golf course was designed also by Graham Marsh.  This Australian has certainly made his mark on Hainan Island!  We reverse and return to Yangpu town, to the corner of 308 Provincial Road and Yangpu Ninth Road.  

Covering seven hundred and fifty acres of coastline in this district, salt fields were established one thousand two hundred years ago during the Tang dynasty by salt workers dispatched from Fujian Province.  When they disembarked, they patiently collected local volcanic boulders larger than half a metre in diameter, which they then saw into halves.  With their flat surfaces facing skywards, low cement rims were carefully crafted around the edges, transfiguring them into shallow miniature ponds. 

More than a thousand of these cut boulders were then shattered near the tidal zones where, over the centuries, the residents toiled, pouring into these rock pans saltwater collected during high tides.  When the water had evaporated under the hot sun, salt crystals were formed, which they scraped for storage and sale.  Today, only about thirty families continue this tradition, extracting the very basic preservative of food at no cost from nature.

Our drive to Baimajing town takes a long detour along the road that passes through Zhonghe, because a short initial section of 315 Provincial Road has been cordoned off for upgrading.  A motorcyclist, however, uses the narrow and slippy, muddy side track to continue his journey.

From that experience, I realize that an efficient itinerary requires a start from Yangpu and finish at Baimajing, or vice versa.  Being in-between, Zhonghe should be second on the list, not first. 

Baimajing sprung from Ma Yuan’s garrison protecting the well (jing) built upon the spring discovered by his white horse (bai ma) during his mission here in 41 A.D.  Born in 14 B.C., the famous general lived through the brief Xin (New) dynasty (9-23 A.D.) of usurper Wang Mang, the former Western Han regent, whose socio-economic reforms like land redistribution created intense resentment among aristocrats and whose diplomatic gaffes created territorial enemies.  During his turbulent rule, internal dissidents and warlords revolted while outlying tributaries like the Xiongnu and the northern Vietnamese seceded.

After the usurper’s death in a battle in 23 A.D., Ma Yuan’s military career, dedicated to restoring the Han dynasty, saw him fighting against native rebels and secessionists in Annam (now northern Vietnam), Hainan, Guizhou, and Hunan.  He died in 49 A.D. from plague contracted during an expedition in Hunan.  His ten-year old youngest daughter would become second Western Han emperor Ming’s empress.  

Two thousand years later, Baimajing was selected as a military landing site again, this time for the Communist battalions.  By the end of 1949, they had control of the mainland but not Hainan.

In early 1950, more than two thousand junks and one hundred thousand troops assembled at Leizhou Peninsula, ready for action, while the fifteen thousand local communists harassed and distracted the KMT troops.  In March, the first wave of thirteen junks conveying eight hundred troops sailed to two destinations, one of which was Baimajing and the other on the east coast.  However, many misjudged their location, landing at the KMT stronghold and were destroyed.

Mistakenly believing that the landed beach was the intended site for the main attacking force, the KMT quickly reinforced that position with nearby forces.  The second wave of ships with larger forces safely reached their scheduled destinations, including one about three kilometres south of Baimajing.  With the coordinated movements of these forces and local communists, the main body captured Hainan a month later.  

A few kilometres before the historic town, the shoulders of the alternative road are intermittently littered with bricks of demolished homes.  New houses or blocks of flats will rise in their place, distinguishing them from the pre- or post-war houses whose owners are too poor to rebuild or renovate.  In the town, the houses are generally aged; they are dull and unpainted.  Fewer people are walking in the narrow streets, hinting to a population of less than a hundred thousand.  But that will change in the coming decades with improved infrastructure and industrialisation of Yangpu. 

For his notable achievements, Ma Yuan was deified in many temples in Guangdong and Hainan.  In the outskirt of Baimajing town is one, named after his official title 伏波古廟 (Fubo Gu Miao; Suppressing-Waves Ancient Temple).  Composed of hard sand, the lane to this temple is spacious for two cars, and the pre-war homes are single-storey while the post-war buildings are generally two-storey with the ground floors functioning as shops and the higher floors as residence. 

On the sidewalk outside the temple entrance are two men practising and coordinating their beats on large and heavy drums.  One, in his thirties, is wearing a shirt, yellow track-shorts, and slippers; the other, in his twenties, is wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and shoes.  Looking intensely at them are four children ranging in age from four to nine.  Fortunately, the temple door is open, permitting us to enter.

Although the temple has a long history, its three single-storey buildings are new.  They are placed one behind the other.  The first two are houses, which probably accommodate the caretaker and his family, while the last is the altar hall.  Because the middle building has no front or back door but only moon gates, a visitor standing at the temple entrance can see the altar building at the rear.  

The first house forms part of the front wall of the temple compound.  Its front door is the front door of the temple; its hall is the entrance of the temple.  The brown bricks of the external front wall are clean, without any smudges or vestiges of weathering.  In the hall are two square tables, around which eight people are seated, busy in the game of mah-jong.  Three or four spectators are standing behind some of them, peering at their standing rows of plastic mah-jong tiles.  We courteously greet them, which they reciprocate.

Forming the rear wall of the compound, the altar building is empty except for the altar of the statues, some wooden sofa for tired supplicants, and some small religious paraphernalia.  The offerings in front of the two divines are outlandish.  They include two traditional Chinese junks made of metal but painted in gold.  They must be precious because they are wrapped with transparent plastic sheets.  I cannot believe my eyes: the smaller god is wearing a pair of spectacles.  Someone is mischievous.  I point this out to Fu; he laughs. 

The famed White Horse Well is kept within a locked section of the compound.  Because the ground around the well had been raised into a concrete platform of half a metre in height for ritual convenience, a square well of a metre in depth was constructed on top of the ancient round well for safety reason.  The water is still clear but littered with some empty plastic drink bottles left by inconsiderate visitors.  In front of the well are a small altar and censer for praying pilgrims to insert their burning incense sticks.

Much of Baimajing town sits on a small triangular cape, which “points” to Yangpu Seaview Garden Hotel across the bay.  From Fubo Temple to the wharf on the eastern side of the cape’s tip is a distance of half a kilometre, requiring only a few minutes’ drive.  The large acreage on the western side is inaccessible, I am told, the old godowns and residences being in the process of clearance to receive the southern end of the bridge.  When this piece of infrastructure is completed, the life in both towns on Danzhou Bay will be transformed. 

An excavator is at work on the dilapidated godowns on the eastern side.  The operator’s motor scooter is parked beside it.  Soil has been dug and piled up; broken bricks are scattered here and there.  The land is uneven.  After hearing my purpose, the security officer at the fenced work site kindly permits me to enter to record the harbour activities. 

Carefully, I make my way to the edge of the Baimajing wharf.  Here, despite the mist and some intervening ships, I can still clearly see the shoreline of Yangpu town.  I readily spot Seaview Garden Hotel and several new twelve-storey residential blocks.  A Chinese patrol boat “789” is parked at the Yangpu wharf.  On my far left, three men are boarding their floating pontoon measuring about three metres in length and half a metre in width.  One is standing to give directions while the other is paddling to reach their small fishing trawlers.  One hops onto a boat anchored a short distance off while another climbs onto a boat anchored about twenty metres in front of me.  The paddler returns, ties his light wooden board to a stake close to the wharf, and jumps onto the wharf.  It is an ingenious way of getting to one’s boat.  

Located on the northwestern coast of Hainan, the Baimajing harbour is sheltered from the eastern typhoons from July to October.  The port is one of China’s five important fishing centres.  Qinglan on the east and Sanya on the south are among the five.  Fishing is becoming an increasingly important industry, which has only just been emerging from a predominantly agricultural base.  The opportunity for expansion is tremendous because Hainan is the only Chinese province with administration over two million square kilometres of sea area, and a fishing ground of some three hundred and forty-five square kilometres around the island. 

At present, the annual catches total approximately one hundred thousand tons, which is half of the potential from the deep water ranging in depth from a hundred to two hundred metres.  Groupers, hairtails, pomfret, Spanish mackerel, tuna, abalone, lobsters, turtles, sea cucumber, and sea horses are among the major species hauled.  Besides fish, local fishermen also pull up prawns and shellfish.  

Aquaculture is a profitable industry.  The seawater temperature of about twenty-one degrees Celsius is conducive to fish breeding while the nutrients in the five to ten metres depth of immediate surrounding clean seawater provide building blocks for baits, the food for large predators.  From mid-May until the end of July, the annual summer ban is enforced on commercial fishing in South China Sea.  While providing time for fish to spawn and mature, it also offers respite for coastal villagers to repair their boats, nets, and gears and prepare for the coming fishing season.  This ban partly explains the congregations of fishermen and also farmers in local teahouses, killing their free time through gossiping and gaming.  

Fishing villages dot every habitable shore.  The Lin’gao coast is no exception.  Lin’gao is the adjoining county east of Danzhou.  Its port at Houshui Bay is forty kilometres northeast of Baimajing.  Huanglong Port is scheduled by the government for development into the best and largest fishing port on the island.  It will have three parts – front, centre, and back – with a total sea of nine hundred and fifty thousand square metres.  Ranging in depth from six metres at the entrance, five metres at the front and middle sectors, and four metres at the rear, it will be the deepest port.  Its reconstruction would protect up to three thousand fishing vessels sheltering from the strongest typhoon with a 12-force.  Its front part will host facilities like cold storage, water supply, oil store dock, and marine products factories.  The new port is near the huge Beibu Bay fishing field.  

 

Lanyang hot springs and Lanyang Lotus Temple

 

From coastal Baimajing, we swing inland to Lanyang, about twelve kilometres southeast of Danzhou downtown.  Lanyang (Blue Ocean) is one of the seven hot spring tourist zones in Hainan.  The others are Guantang and Jiuqujiang in Qionghai, Xinglong in Wanning, Qixianling in Baoting, and Nantian and Fenghuang in Sanya.  The distribution of thirty-four hot springs throughout the island attests to the violent volcanic activities a few thousand years past.

According to geologists, a five-hundred metre well plunged into any spot on the island would provide an ample supply of hot water of at least forty degrees Celsius heated by fiery magma.

At Lanyang, the presence of these natural springs, over a dozen, in an area of about two square kilometres enhances the suburb as the largest hot spring playground of Hainan.  In response to booming tourist demand, the Lanyang Hot Spring Park (蓝洋温泉公园; Lanyang Wenquan Gongyuan) was established in 1999.  There, apparently, visitors can experience a strange phenomenon, encountered by others through the centuries: two springs a metre apart, one hot while the other cold.  The temperature of the hot spring can exceed ninety degrees Celsius while the cold spring is extremely cold.  The cold spring is, perhaps, located near the ground surface, thus avoiding deep subterranean scorching.  Although Fu and I give the park a miss because of time constraint, Xue Xin and I briefly explore it during my fourth trip in 2013.  But I cannot find the “cold and hot springs”. 

Miniature “wells” are constructed over hot spring outlets for park visitors to boil their eggs and cook their “hot pots” in the bubbling mineral water, which is rich in bromine, fluorine, lithium, silicate, strontium, zinc, and other trace elements.  Some of the “wells” are dry, indicating the natural change in water flow. 

Within the park is a group of life-size statues of seven slender ladies in different poses in a shallow pool near a slope with green shrubs and trees and even miniature cliff.  Three ladies are seated in the middle, playing musical instruments like the Chinese bamboo flute and guzheng.  Two are standing beside them.  The sixth is reclining at one end of the pool, listening to the silent music.  The last is sitting upright, bathing in nude.  

Averaging slightly above seventy-eight degrees Celsius, the spa water in Lanyang and other Hainan resorts is free of sulphurous odour, and is purportedly good for relieving rheumatoid joints, skin diseases, and cardiovascular system ailments.  In addition to the existing hotels, new constructions are evident for citizens to ride on the prosperity wave.  A zoo is in planning. 

Three kilometres south of this rural town is a Guanyin temple known as Lanyang Lotus Temple (蓝洋莲花寺; Lanyang Lianhua Si).  On our way, Fu Si Ba and I pass some oncoming cars and, upon reaching Lanyang Village on our left, we turn right into a short sandy track that ends at a foothill.

Clinched onto the levelled cliff of a small hill is a Buddhist temple, which has almost been completed.  The scaffolding is still there.  The area is deserted; the workers have probably left because it is past five in the late afternoon.  With two tiers of curved brown-tiled roof, the Guanyin temple is a small maroon temple of about five or six metres in height.  Stilts of various lengths, hammered into solid cliff rocks, buttress the outer edges of the religious edifice.  

Looking intensely, I sense a familiarity.  It then dawn upon me.  Yes, this is a replica of the famous Hanging Temple (悬空寺; Xuankong Si) at Hengshan in Shanxi Province.  Hengshan is one of the five sacred mountains for Daoists, who flock to its peak during their annual pilgrimage.  Replacing the temple destroyed in a flood, the extant building was constructed during the Qing era.

A wooden plank gangway erected on the hill slope directly leads to the right side of the precariously-perched Lanyang temple.  Probably a temporary gangway for the workers, it will be removed once the work has been completed.  I will not tempt fate walking on the unstable planks to get a closer view of the temple.  The normal entrance seems to be through a cave on the right side of the foothill.  I am standing on the narrow path that leads to this cave.  It is dark and I am too scared to enter and explore.

Obviously, the temple courtyard is very narrow, more like a balcony when the safety railing has been installed.  At eight or ten metres above ground level, it will overlook a three-metre deep pond, which is now a deep hole dug into the ground.  A puddle of rainwater collects at the deeper end.  Hovering over the water of this pond is a concrete bridge leading to the foothill on the left side of the temple.

Mid-way on the bridge stands a small, exquisite three-level pavilion with two tiers of sweeping brown-tiled roof for visitors to pause and admire the temple and the lotus pond.  When completed this temple will be a major attraction of Lanyang.  

(During my fourth trip, Cai Hong, Xue Xin, and I visit this temple during a drizzling morning.  The wooden walkway, about a metre and a half in width, has been replaced with a similar one made of cut bamboo stems tied with thin wires.  The gate at the cave is shut, leaving us with no choice but to slowly inch ourselves to the hall, holding onto the iron bar on our left for safety.  One slip, and we might find ourselves hurtling off the escarpment and down into the deep green pool.  At the altar, festooned with penitents’ offerings, is a golden statue about one metre and a half high of Guanyin sitting on a lotus petal.  Its pedestal is about waist-high.  Her right hand is slightly raised, her palm facing the front with her middle finger and her thumb making an “O” sign.  Resting on her crossed legs, her left hand holds a slender vase, a vase perpetually overflowing with blessings for the seekers.)

Rain trickles, and the track is becoming muddy.  I propose to Fu that we leave.  Danzhou offers other interesting features.  Twenty-five kilometres south of Lanyang town are some of the most scenic views of Hainan: the mountains, gullies, precipitous cliffs, rivers, waterfalls, and lakes.  Tourists can climb to the accessible summits and survey the surrounding valleys and green rainforests.  Many of the caves remain unexplored.  Unfortunately, I have no time.  It is almost seven in the evening when Fu and I reach Danzhou downtown.  

During my third trip in 2012, Xue Xin and his friend Chen Ze Chi (陈泽赤) drive my younger brother Hee Hung and me to Danzhou.  Unsure of the location of Shihua Karst Cave (石花水洞; Shihua Shui Dong; literally, Stone Flower Water Cave), Xue Xin phones his friends in Nada for direction.  When we arrive in town, it is past noon.  Graciously, Wan Jun (万俊), a Danzhou City government official, and his colleague Zhang Jing Yuan (张静媛) welcome and lead us to the park located thirty kilometres west of Nada.

We have just enough time to explore part of the limestone cave on foot as well as take a ride in a small boat through the tunnel and out to the small lake, the ticketing officer reassures.  Illuminated by lights, the stalactites and stalagmites, well protected behind wire nettings, reflect spectacular colours, the results of their chemical stains.  The young female cave guide explains further features.  A patch of purple crystals that look like amethyst fascinates me.

Then with four of us sitting on the long bench on each side of a small boat, the boatman slowly nudges it through a narrow tunnel with a long pole, an indication of the shallow water, although we still don the safety floats as suggested.  Interestingly, weathering of this low-lying limestone region over the millennium has created unusual features, including a two-metre high rock formation that shapes like a penis!  We all depart from the park, in mirth.

Staying overnight at a local hotel, the four of us (Xue Xin, Ze Chi, Hee Hung, and I) leave the following morning for Songtao Reservoir, one of the ten largest in China.  We are early.  According to the signboard information, construction of this lake on the upper reaches of Nandu River began in 1958 and was completed a decade later.  Its regular storage capacity is almost 2.6 billion cubic metres, and the water that can be used is slightly more than two billion cubic metres (or two thousand billion litres).  The surface area of the reservoir is about fifty-eight square kilometres.  

Fish culture is legally permitted.  Two huge floating cages of the famous Songtao fish are anchored a hundred metres from the shore.  The ferry-ride across the lake does not commence until twelve-thirty noon.  Besides us, six other passengers embark the small ferry, which can seat between twenty and thirty people.  A young Mandarin-speaking guide is also on board. 

Our boat stops by the side of one floating cage and the two ferry operators jump onto its broad wooden frame.  About six metres in length, each square cage is made of wooden planks tied upon sealed empty drums, which keep them buoyant.  The wooden frame is subdivided with other planks, again tied on empty drums.  Each subdivision holds a deep net in which fish of a specific size are reared.  

Here the main fish species cultured are the Silver Carp (Hypophthalmichthys harmandi sauvage) that is indigenous to the lake and the Grass Carp (Ctenopharyngodon idella).  With the aid of the breeder who comes in a small sampan, they pull up the net of a small subdivision.  The breeder seizes two flapping Grass Carps, each time with his bare hands.  The operators assist by clubbing them on their heads with a wooden club.  They then leave them on the front deck; the two will be our lunch.  

Unlike the large cruise boat with an upper deck and cooking facilities for seventy or more passengers, ours is small and lunch will be prepared at the outdoor kitchen of a house located at a far end of the irregular-shaped reservoir.  The slow journey takes slightly more than an hour but compensates with beautiful scenes of undulating hills masked with evergreen trees, clear blue sky painted with some white swirling clouds, and clean and calm water.

Like me, the middle-aged couple from Fujian are interested in nature, frequently snapping pictures.  But in their mid-twenties, the three men and their female companion are focussed on their card game. 

More floating cages are ensconced close to the shore of our destination.  As soon as we land, the couple living there slice the carps into cutlets and dump them into the prepared soup that is flavoured with sea grass gathered from the reservoir.  This is the same grass consumed by the herbivorous Grass Carps.  Despite my reservation, the grass turns out to be delicious; so too are the fish cutlets.  The crunchy deep-fried Grass Carp fries, caught earlier by them, are also savoury; they are my favourite.  After lunch, the boat returns by the same route.

With still some daylight left, although less than two hours, Xue Xin takes us to the Tropical Botanical Garden (热带植物园; Redai Zhiwuyuan), which is located about five kilometres west of Nada.  It is along our way back to Haikou.  Because the park covers thirty-two hectares of land, a young female guide conducts us through the more interesting tropical trees like the fruit trees, medicinal trees, and rare trees.  This garden, established in 1958, was part of South China University of Tropical Agriculture (which was later restructured as the Danzhou Campus of Hainan University).  

Among the trees we admire are Dimocarpus longan, Liquidambar formosana, Erythrophleum fordii, Manglietia hainanensis, Euodia leptia, Radermachera hainanensis, Mimusops elengi, and the most deadly Antiaris toxicaria lesch (commonly known as the Poison Arrow Tree, which I have seen in Yanoda Rainforest Cultural Zone).

Before we leave, the girl shows us a small bush.  Its mysterious purplish grape-size fruit will create havoc with one’s taste buds when it is chewed: the sour lemon juice that one subsequently drinks will be very sweet!  I learn its botanical name: Synsepalum dulcificum.

 

Copyright 2015
Photos

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Ningji Temple,

Yangpu, Lanyang

2,000 years ago, “Dan’er” (儋耳; Drooping Ear) was

               the ancient name of Danzhou City 

                儋耳是儋州市的古代名字

                     Copyright 2015