I love Hong Kong’s audacious verticality, its full-on frenetic fuss, the double-decker buses, pedestrian overpasses and crowded shopping malls. It’s a big, noisy, vibrant city.
But after a few days, I’m buzzed out and wish for something slower and quieter.
Cheung Chau, an outlying island, is the perfect place to explore Hong Kong’s quiet side. The ferry from Central takes just half an hour and I step into a different world.
The island is shaped like a dumbbell and formed by two large, hilly, jungle-covered outcrops, linked by a slim, sandy isthmus that creates two perfect horseshoe bays. One is home to a fishing fleet, where families live and work in wooden boats that look like traditional junks, with wide bellies and turned up sterns and bows. These water people often sail away for weeks to fish the South China Sea, but always return here to their home port.
As I wander down the lane, there are no cars or motorbikes on the island, and the lack of noise and city hum allows other softer sounds to hang on the air. There is the chatter of people in the many restaurants along the waterfront, the clatter
of mah jong keys and the singing of birds in cages.
Bicycles are the most popular form of transport. Metal baskets with wheels are in vogue, and when a small plastic stool is placed inside, they double as pushchairs for toddlers. Sacks of rice and blocks of ice are delivered on trolleys pushed by wiry men with well-defined shoulders.
Bicycles are the preferred form of transport in Cheung Chau (above), while fishing families live and work on the boats in the harbour.
Pak Tai Temple, dedicated to the Taoist god of the sea, has been at the end of the bay since 1783 – here the Supreme Emperor of Dark Heavens is protector of the water people. Pak Tai’s gold, Buddha-like image shimmers mysteriously in a dark temple recess, with fantastical images of snakes, dragons and tigers coiled in mortal combat carved into the supporting granite poles.
Pak Tai is a powerful being. The temple custodian tells of a time, in 1777, when the island was devastated by plague and infiltrated by pirates, so the fisher folk brought Pak Tai to the village to save them. The island has been healthy, prosperous and peaceful ever since.
Incense is an important part of the islanders’ daily lives as its wispy smoke conveys messages to the gods.
The town is only three streets wide, so I walk back down the middle avenue, where modern stores selling trendy beach gear squeeze next to shops little changed in centuries. The physician at number 32 treats ailments with a combination of herbal medicine, dietary advice, acupuncture and exercises. He explains that herbs act in unison, “Not like a tennis game where one fights to win, but like a football team where all work together.”
A pungent pong creeps out of the shrimp paste shop, but this is soon overpowered by the sweet, smoky perfume emanating from the incense shop two doors down.
It’s just 200 metres across the waist of the island to the east-facing beach with fine golden sand, perky little waves and brisk sea breezes. There are not many people swimming, but the south of the beach is covered with wind and kitesurfing equipment.
Back in fishing boat bay, I relax into a chair at a pavement teashop and take my time with a pot of green tea and steamed sticky rice. I watch Cheung Chau’s little world pass by. Old ladies with thin white hair coiled into buns, dark Chinese jackets and baggy black pants hunch over as they walk to the temple. Small children trail behind mother’s hand and retired men wearing trousers with elasticised waists pulled up above their round tummies stroll along in silent, companionable twosomes.
Ever so slowly I prepare myself for the ferry ride back to high-revving Hong Kong.
Liz Light
Related stories
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
