Romance in Xiapu: What’s It Like to Eat Food That Looks Like Roundworms and Maggots?

Bidding farewell to Zhejiang, I crossed the sea from Shacheng. Fishing villages on both banks drifted away with the waves, a small boat adrift in the vast horizon. When I arrived at Long’an Ferry, it was already getting dark. For safety, I abandoned the coastline and changed course to Qinyu Town—Li Bai’s poem "Dreaming of Mount Tianmu and Parting with Friends" made Mount Tianmu famous throughout the world, and Mount Taimu also got some of the glory. Unfortunately, Li Bai never set foot on either mountain. According to the ghostly recollection of Xue Lingzhi, a tutor to the crown prince, it was he, a "man from Yue," who first spoke of "Mount Tianmu." As the first Fujianese to pass the imperial examinations, the young rascal Li Bai was inspired by him to produce that masterpiece. Therefore, Mount Taimu is the true inspiration for the poem. The local government got the message and promptly renamed Qinyu Town to Taimushan Town.

Li Xiaomao didn't care about any of that. Whether Mount Tianmu or Mount Taimu, as long as there was food, she didn't give a damn. Besides Mount Taimu, Qinyu had a thriving night market with a dazzling variety of foods—not only beautiful but also cheap and delicious.

Sliced star fruit: plump and sweet, like Patrick Star just released from the anti-pornography office.

Fried crabs: crispy on the outside, tender on the inside.

Guava: not at all enjoyable, the texture was tough.

Wax apple: soaking in water, tempting and beautiful, but the taste...

Qinyu is a large town. By day, it should have been a scene of mountains and sea together, but in the night, only the city lights remained. In principle, Mount Taimu was worth a visit, but the Linzhi flower season waits for no one, so I had to hurry on. Moreover, Yushan Island, one of China's top ten most beautiful islands, was nearby, and missing it was an even greater pity. Reluctant to leave, I followed Li Xiaomao in aimless eating, wearing a face I wouldn't want to meet even in a dream, and checked into Guangming Inn.

February 22, cloudy turning clear then rain

Qinyu Town → County Road 973 → Dongcheng Village → Doumentou Bridge → Xiamen Township → County Road 973 → Yacheng Town → Rongfeng Park → Qinglong Tunnel → Yangjiaxi Tunnels 1, 2, 3 → Jiulixi Lake Village → Fupin Chixi Village → Drifting Warehouse for camping [Total 45.3 km]

Lunch 23 yuan, mineral water 7.5 yuan, dinner 20 yuan [Total 50.5 yuan]

Leaving Qinyu, I got onto County Road 973 and spent the whole day traveling through desolate mountains and wilderness. Passing through Xiamen She Ethnic Township, there was no gate to be seen, and the She people had become Hanized. What remained was only for tourism, mostly one-time business. Pushing the bike uphill, coasting downhill, dense forests and tall bamboos, ancient bridges and wild streams—what is there in the mountains? Ridges full of white clouds.

In the afternoon, I arrived at Yacheng Town and headed straight for Yangjiaxi. Someone brought firewood and made a smoky fire, then the model appeared, wearing a bamboo hat and a straw raincoat, carrying a hoe and leading an ox under the banyan trees. When sunlight pierced through the treetops, the long-prepared "big guns" (cameras) fired away, creating the so-called "Morning Sun Ox-Herding Picture." Needless to say, it was breathtaking. Photographers made their reputations this way, the ox-leader made a fortune, and the scenic area attracted tourists—a win-win-win. I was one of the attracted tourists, having planned for a long time and made a special detour to come. When I asked about the ticket: "Eighty yuan!" My captured soul stopped being captured, my surging adrenaline stopped surging, and my palms stopped sweating. Eighty yuan just to see a few banyan trees? And it was cloudy, with no performance either? Forget it. I spread out my ground pad, opened my tent, rested my head against a camphor tree outside Rongfeng Park for a yellow-liang dream, then got up and headed to Jiulixi.

Jiulixi was in the off-season, with shallow water and many pebbles—not even a single egg (slang for nothing). In the evening, the sky was overcast, thin mist rose on both banks of the stream, and winter reeds dreamed of spring. The deeper I went, the more desolate it became. Just as the White-Bone Demon seemed ready to start work, I looked up and saw a village standing on the opposite bank, claiming to be "China's First Poverty-Alleviation Village." After hesitating, I entered the village to seek lodging. But, as is often the case in China, things went too far. The "poverty-alleviation village" had a living standard even higher than mine; everywhere I asked for fifty-yuan accommodation, I was met with disdain. We had become the objects of poverty. After spending twenty yuan on sixteen noodles, I left the village to camp—I had already spotted a drifting warehouse at the village entrance; the door was unlocked, perfect for setting up the tent. I entered and propped the door shut. Outside, heavy rain; inside, light drizzle. Mice scurried over the tent and even urinated on it, leaving no trace of spring dreams.

February 23, continuous drizzle

Chixi Warehouse → Jiulixi → Yangjiaxi Tunnels 1, 2, 3 → Qinglong Tunnel → Rongfeng Park → Zhixi Village → County Road 973 → Dayang Village → Banling → Shuimen Township → Junction of County Roads 973 and 981 → County Road 981 → Dongshan Village → Xiaohao Village → Sansha Town Yongfa Inn [Total 52 km]

Lunch 20 yuan, accommodation 40 yuan, dinner 38 yuan, cake 8 yuan, sesame cake 3 yuan, peanuts 3 yuan, soap 3 yuan [Total 115 yuan]

In the early morning, I was woken by mouse urine. A light, intermittent drizzle fell, and I hit the road covered in the smell of pee. Spring comes early in Fujian; the drunken wind and wanton rain travel together.

Passing Rongfeng Park, several old trees peered out over the wall. When I stretched my neck to look, the ticket seller glared at me. The spring rain grew impatient, urging me on my way. I crossed the greening terraces of Zhixi Village, where apple snails laid pink eggs on water plants. Yesterday, the 62-kilometer marker on County Road 973; today, the 70-kilometer marker. Those eight kilometers in between were apparently just for finding a campsite.

The spring rain pattered, the silence broken only by my own breathing. Pushing the bike up the mountain road felt like it would last forever. At least there wasn't a single ghost. Of course, even if there were, I couldn't see them—the fog was too thick.

In the desolate mountain valley, only loneliness accompanied me. In a daze, a three-legged dog sprang out from somewhere, physically challenged but strong-willed, hopping uphill on its limp. It passed us, glanced disdainfully, and strode away, leaving Li Xiaomao and me feeling ashamed of our own weakness.

The result of traveling through wind and rain was being soaked to the bone. The rain kept falling; the musty smell and sweat mingled together, shivering endlessly, my whole body stinking from sweat and sourness. Rain soaked me, water squeezed from my gloves; enduring the stench, I suspected I had body odor. Anyway, I was already drenched like a dog, so I decided to let it all go, shook off the dog hair, and pressed on regardless of weather. At Banling, a bucket of manure that had been knocked over blocked the road. The road was slippery with rain and manure, so I didn't dare risk it. After much hesitation, I turned from County Road 973 to County Road 981. The slope was so steep it felt like the brakes had failed. Trembling, I coasted all the way down; before me, a white expanse—finally, I saw the sea. On the sea, fishing boats were shrouded in thick fog; on the beach, the sand was empty of people.

Like a drowned rat, I wobbled into Sansha Town, reassembled my broken body into something resembling a person, and checked into Yongfa Inn. By the window, listening to the rain, watching the sea through the mist, washing and scrubbing, borrowing the inn's dryer to dry my clothes, I no longer had to wonder if I had body odor. In the evening, I accompanied Li Xiaomao on a stroll. We casually entered an old shop, ate fish ball soup, and had Minnan paste. Sweet potato starch was cooked into a paste, with shrimp, cuttlefish, lean meat, mushrooms, diced bamboo shoots, and diced celery added; chopped scallions were sprinkled on top. It was served as two bowls of dark green substance that looked like vomited bile. I risked a sip—the taste was not bad. This dish is authentic only in this one place in the country, said to be a specialty of Sansha. In the freezer, there was also sandworm jelly made from sandworms—like roundworms or maggots crawling into jelly, cut in half. I didn't have the courage to try it, but the locals loved it. In the old streets and alleys, the narrow spaces were bustling with people. Tables, chairs, streets, markets, and even a trash can on the roadside all exuded the laziness of black-and-white photos. Sansha is a seaside town suitable for seclusion, with everything you need for daily life, and prices not too outrageous.

February 24, overcast and rainy

Stranded in Sansha Town [Total 0 km]

Accommodation 40 yuan, lunch 30 yuan, bananas and hawthorn 11 yuan, steamed buns 4 yuan, cucumbers 4 yuan, apples and oranges 6 yuan, tissues 4 yuan [Total 99 yuan]

February 25, overcast and rainy

Stranded in Sansha Town [Total 0 km]

Accommodation 40 yuan, lunch 20 yuan, stuffed buns 4 yuan, sunflower seeds 3 yuan, pineapple 10 yuan, dinner 8 yuan [Total 85 yuan]

My clothes wouldn't dry, and I didn't have the courage to go naked. Due to the rain, I was stranded in Sansha for two days. During those two days, I was suddenly struck by stomach cramps—listless, no appetite, just the lingering gloom after anxiety evaporated. Li Xiaomao accompanied me on my wandering journeys. By the cliff, a red flower bloomed, rain-soaked and delicate, like the love flower in the Valley of the Condemned, full of resentment.

Strolling aimlessly, when I went to Dongbi to see the sea, I could only let my imagination soar, because there was nothing but fog. When I climbed Huazhu Mountain, all I saw was half a slope of wild grass, because there was nothing but wind. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of the sea—sketchy, like a pencil drawing done carelessly.

Day after day of continuous rain, thick fog that wouldn't dissipate. Before I came to Xiapu, I had yearned for it. But when the dream came true, it was nothing more than this. That's probably how all expectations in the world are. All my enthusiasm was in vain; I endured two days of sea breeze for nothing.