Shamian Island: outpost of the West
Separated from central Guangzhou by the still waters of a canal, and cut off on two sides by an elevated six-lane highway, Shamian Island is an anomaly in the chaos of China’s third-largest city. Read more
May 21
Separated from central Guangzhou by the still waters of a canal, and cut off on two sides by an elevated six-lane highway, Shamian Island is an anomaly in the chaos of China’s third-largest city. Read more
May 17
Ringed by seven lanes of traffic, the East Gate of Taipei stands alone, a small, ceremonial structure under the watchful gaze of a pink monolith dotted with tinted green windows, the former headquarters of the Kuomintang. A band of red columns support palace eaves seemingly too large for the humble stone base, giving the gate a non-defensive, almost gaudy appearance. Mounted on the crenellations, a decorative plaque proclaims its name as Jingfumen, ‘Gate of the view of good fortune’. Read more
“So you want to buy a canoe?” The shopkeeper smiled and looked at us thoughtfully. “Wait a moment; I think I know just the place.”
Bama and I had parked our scooter at the edge of Langdao village, heading indoors to take shelter from the howling winds that were buffeting the north shore of the island. Shaokang, the young proprietor of our homestay, had pointed us to this handicrafts centre and workshop. “It’s good for souvenirs… if you’re looking for something traditional made by the locals.” By the end of that first day, we knew that we both wanted a miniature canoe as a memento of Orchid Island. Read more
Apr 19
The island is by the sea, and the sea by the island
Our island is a tiny, motionless ship
– On the Island (based on Tao myths), Chen Li
Ducking into the Dornier 228, a 19-seater plane with low ceilings and no overhead compartments, we squeezed down the narrow aisle and edged into our front row seats. I sat just ahead of the portside propeller, watching intently as it spun into motion with a rattling crescendo that sent the smell of aviation fuel through the cabin. The two pilots were almost within arm’s reach, scanning a checklist and preparing their manual instruments for takeoff. Read more
Apr 15
“Get on, get on!” The stern-faced ticket inspector growled at us with no small hint of annoyance. Three minutes before departure, we had suddenly realised the worn, rusting train waiting at the far end of the platform – with no label above the conductor’s cabin – was the Tze-Chiang Express. Read more
Apr 12
“What kind of filling do you want? Lean pork, half-lean half-fat, or all fat?”
We stand at the head of a queue in a narrow street near Gongguan Station, lit by a barrage of neon signs hard against the silhouette of cables strung across a darkening sky. I haven’t seen Nelson in the three years since I left England, and now reunited on his home turf, my old friend is taking us for a “light dinner” of gua bao. Read more
Mar 24
It’s been more than ten years since I last set foot in the Japanese islands, but they continue to occupy a special place in my mind as the setting for some of my fondest travel memories. I’ll never forget learning to ski in the soft powder of Hokkaido, making snow angels when we fell, laughing, into a deep white cushion. Christmas Eve in Sapporo meant a bowl of steaming, spicy ramen in a tiny restaurant down a back street as the snowflakes drifted silently outside. Read more
Mar 12
Across a startling orange bridge the two-storey pavilion was clad in gold leaf that glowed, mirror-like in the midday heat. At its crown an umbrella-shaped canopy, frozen in gilded timber, dripped with miniature bells that dangled and chimed in quiet unison. Rows of manicured bonsai beckoned down the winding path, its sun-bleached bricks laid carefully in herringbone patterns. I stopped, basking in the sound of wind chimes tinkering softly in the breeze, and the melodious tones of a guzheng plucked by expert fingers – its source a hidden loudspeaker in the bushes. Read more
Feb 24
Founded by Cantonese settlers on a tributary of the Saigon River, Cholon is the symbolic heartland of the Hoa, the Sino-Vietnamese community. Ethnic Chinese residents know her as Tai-Ngon, named for the embankments that buttress the town. On my final day in Saigon I had come here in search of a personal connection. “No need for Vietnamese,” I was told. “Maybe you can talk to people in Cantonese or Mandarin.”