2012 National Day Golden Week – Guangdong, Hong Kong, and Macau

Time flies, it's National Day Golden Week again. Crowds everywhere have become the norm—retreating from Mount Heng the year before last, waiting on top of Mount Wudang last year, and this year things aren't looking any better. Even the highways are offering free passage to add to the congestion. If you don't want to be part of the crush, you need to choose your destination wisely. Long ago, an old man drew a circle in the south, so we decided to go and have a look there. Chaozhou. Guangdong has more airports than you can count. After some research, we chose Chaozhou as our first stop, to experience a different side of Guangdong cuisine and see the much-admired Guangji Bridge. We arrived in Chaozhou the day before Golden Week started; there were hardly any people. The flow of passengers from Jieyang Airport dispersed to surrounding cities like Shantou and Meizhou. The airport bus took just a handful of us to Chaozhou, and in under an hour we were in the city center. Along the way, the road was lined with bathroom ads—turns out this is also a ceramics hub, which struck a chord with us since we're renovating our home. A tricycle took us to our hotel. After dropping our bags and freshening up, we set off. The hotel was right in the old town, and a ten-minute walk through its streets brought us to Kaiyuan Temple. There are many Kaiyuan Temples across the country; I'd been to the one in Quanzhou before—spacious and comfortable, with its twin pagodas as national treasures. This one struggles to match its former glory. Entering through the side gate, the first thing we saw was the newly built Dabei Hall, housing a statue of Guanyin. The construction was neat but unremarkable. Passing through another side gate, we saw the old temple area, its colors understated and without the sheen of the Dabei Hall, yet full of character. Peeking through the construction fence at the stone sutra pillar, then stepping into the courtyard with its balustrades and railings before the main hall, we found ourselves in front of the Mahavira Hall. We paid our respects to the Buddha, watched monks strolling in the yard, and searched for the inconspicuous bronze cloud plaque. There was no tour guide, so we explored on our own. Local devotees and lay Buddhists find spiritual solace here, and we could say we'd been there and seen it. Leaving Kaiyuan Temple, we continued along the winding old-town lanes. Passing Paifang Street, we saw a stall selling tangcong bing and once again experienced something worthy of A Bite of China—truly delicious. The traditional Chaozhou braised meats were so tempting we couldn't walk past; we bought some and sat at a roadside stall, ordering a few small dishes. We got a bit carried away and ended up with four fried dishes on the table. Unable to finish, we packed up the leftovers. Feeling full, we strolled on through the old town, past the ruins of the ancient city wall, and through the Water Gate. Right across the road lay the Han River. Guangji Bridge stretched across the mighty Han River just outside Chaozhou's east gate. The river was wider than I'd imagined, flowing straight to the sea, no less impressive than Shanghai's Huangpu River. China has many Guangji Bridges, but this one is the most famous. Chaozhou's Guangji Bridge, commonly known as Xiangzi Bridge, lies outside the east gate of Chaozhou and was once a vital route between Fujian and Guangdong. Along with Zhaozhou Bridge, Luoyang Bridge, and Lugou Bridge, it is counted among the "Four Great Ancient Bridges of China"—and it's the first ever pontoon bridge that can open and close. With over 800 years of history, I've visited the other ancient bridges, none of which claim such a title. Only here do they list the four great stone bridges, perhaps knowing they can't really compare to the others. From a distance, I could see pavilions spaced out along the bridge; it looked fairly new. In fact, the bridge had been restored with donations from people like Li Ka-shing, the new deck raised several meters. The old structure beneath was faintly visible, the original bridge surface once very close to the water—now only a rough outline. The opening section in the middle consisted of a string of small boats forming a floating bridge, designed to open at set times—clever indeed. It's said that during the Song Dynasty it was entirely a floating bridge, gradually improved over the centuries. The renowned bridge engineer Mao Yisheng praised it as "the world's earliest opening-and-closing bridge." The quality of this ancient bridge is impeccable; enough said about modern construction. Once there, we had to walk across. The entrance fee was pricey—I think 50 yuan—but there were very few tourists. On the bridge, the river breeze was gentle, and every section offered lovely views. No wonder a local folk song goes: "How charming is Chaozhou's Xiang Bridge, with eighteen shuttle boats and twenty-four isles, twenty-four towers in twenty-four styles, and two oxen with one always slipping away." We strolled back and forth, and when we got tired halfway, we found a pavilion to rest and nap for a bit—sheer bliss! After leaving Guangji Bridge, we returned to the old town on the opposite bank. The winding lanes had a flavor reminiscent of Beihai's old quarter. Walking along Paifang Street, archway after archway stretched into the distance, some shops shut—business seemed slow. Buddha's hand citron (foshou laoxianghuang) was everywhere, though I had no clue what it was. Ducking into a small shop, the owner gave us a detailed explanation: basically, it could cure illnesses if you were sick and boost your health if you weren't—a Buddha's hand citron soaked in Chinese herbs for eight years. The price seemed fair, so we took a little with us. We threaded our way under the arches; the surrounding buildings and archways, though newly built, all seemed to have donor plaques, suggesting a strong overseas Chinese community with deep pockets—no need for the government to worry much. After a short walk, snacking on street food and armed with a free old-town map, we soon reached Jia Di Lane. It's said to be where officials, merchants, and prominent families of ancient Chaozhou once lived, and the Ming-Qing street layout and many old residences are still preserved. Yet the lane felt somewhat dilapidated. A small museum displayed local Chaozhou embroidery and wood carvings, which were impressive but seemed less delicate and exquisite than similar crafts from the Central Plains. As we later discovered, Chaozhou wood carving kept popping up in our travels, a symbol of the grand Lingnan households. The old town was commercial enough but not noisy—quite pleasant. After crossing Jia Di Lane, we felt like eating again. We headed back to the hotel and asked about local seafood. A tricycle took us straight to Yanji Dai Pai Dong at the Yuechao Market, a real local eating spot. We picked our seafood—prices were reasonable, the food was excellent, and the tea was actually brewed from foshou laoxianghuang—what a treat! A crab and a fish, and we ate happily. Strolling around, we learned about a local tea—Fenghuang Dancong, found only here. Hailing a random tricycle, we weaved back to the Han River, found a teahouse, and brewed a pot. The taste was pretty good, closer to Fujian tea. Thinking about it, Chaozhou is really part of the Fujian cultural sphere, quite different from the Cantonese culture of Guangzhou—more Hakka people, with a language we couldn't understand. China is too vast. After tea, we walked along the Han River and back into the old town, only to be stunned. At night, Paifang Street and Kaiyuan Road were packed with people, the street stalls stretching out of sight—what a scene! We hailed a tricycle and beeped our way back to the hotel. We only spent one day in Chaozhou, but we saw everything we wanted. A lovely city. Danxia Mountain. The weather next morning was fine. The airport bus at the Chaozhou Hotel ran on a schedule, so we got to the airport early. Not many people were there; China Southern Airlines is quite good in Guangdong. On the plane they handed out mooncakes—today was Mid-Autumn Festival. We flew to Guangzhou by noon, just a transit point; our goal was to reach Shaoguan—Danxia Mountain today. The morning news was scary: massive highway jams due to free tolls, and the 12306 website showed zero train tickets available—National Day plus Mid-Autumn. A bit anxious, we asked about a taxi from the airport, and even the hope of chartering a car vanished—the Jingzhu Expressway was completely jammed. Gloomily, we decided to try the South Railway Station. I really can't figure out Guangzhou's urban planning. The Wuhan–Guangzhou High-Speed Railway mainly runs north, but the station is in Panyu, south of Guangzhou city center. Shaoguan is only about 200 km from Baiyun Airport, yet we'd have to head dozens of kilometers south first to the high-speed train station. In the ticket hall, notices kept flashing "No tickets for Wuhan–Guangzhou high-speed trains." We queued up with a sliver of hope, but at the counter, still no tickets. Watching the guy in front of us snag the last two to Changsha—oh, the envy! We ended up booking sleeper tickets for the next day from Guangzhou East, not wanting to trek all the way back to this far-flung station. We adjusted our itinerary, booked a hotel, and then as the crowd at the counter thinned and we were about to leave, inspiration struck: queue again and try for canceled tickets. When a bunch of people ahead of us walked away with long faces, I timidly asked the ticket clerk: "Any tickets to Shaoguan today?" "None." "Can you check for any returned tickets?" "Hehe! Let's see your luck." It felt like buying a lottery ticket, watching the screen refresh. Refresh! Refresh! Refresh! "Two business-class seats for 19:00, want 'em?" Damn! It was fate! Of course we did. Behind me, a ticket-buying guy was stomping his feet in frustration—I guessed he'd be refreshing again. We immediately readjusted our plans: canceled the next day's tickets, changed hotels—everything went incredibly smoothly. The tragic South Station, in the remote Panyu area: the information desk clerk couldn't even name a nearby place to eat. Here we were in Guangzhou, without good food—what irony. The station wasn't as terrifying as expected; we had pork ribs and rice in the waiting hall and surfed the net in the lounge. Quite the adventure. We boarded on time; the carriage wasn't as packed as during Spring Festival. The shortage of Wuhan–Guangzhou high-speed tickets turned out to be because their trains are shorter—no 16-car sets like Beijing–Shanghai. Fortunately we were aboard, and 50 minutes later we arrived in Shaoguan. Business class even gave us mooncakes from Guangzhou Restaurant, reminding us again that it was Mid-Autumn. Shaoguan Station was confusing. I'd always thought Shaoguan Station would be the old city-center terminal, and only those with suffixes like "East," "South," "West" would be out in the boonies. I was wrong. Shaoguan, an important city on the Beijing–Guangzhou line, actually has its downtown station called Shaoguan East. The station we arrived at was over ten kilometers away. Buses to Danxia Mountain depart from Shaoguan East—another tragedy. We figured we'd miss the last bus. Exiting the high-speed station, we took a 50-yuan taxi to Shaoguan East. The brightly lit square was swarming with people; the last bus to Danxia Mountain was already dangerously overloaded. But at least we'd made it to Shaoguan. The taxi driver picked up two locals and charged us 150 yuan to take us directly to Danxia Mountain—fair enough. Driving along the Beijiang River straight to the Danxia Mountain scenic area in Renhua County, the two locals told their miserable story of leaving Guangzhou at 10 a.m. and only now arriving in Shaoguan. The Jingzhu Expressway jam made us feel a bit lucky. No traffic jams, no human tides; we arrived smoothly at a hot-spring hotel in Danxia Mountain. We settled in, dropped our bags, then went out to buy tickets and eat at the scenic-area entrance, getting ready for the next day's climb. The entrance tickets were discounted, dining was quiet, prices fair and not inflated—except the hotel, where the usual 100-plus yuan room rate had jumped to over 400. You really couldn't taste the Golden Week vibe here; I had no idea where all those crowds at Shaoguan East Square had gone. Gazing at the Mid-Autumn moon, we slept soundly. Enjoying breakfast at the scenic-area gate was cozy. Not many people were there; we went straight in. A world geopark and world natural heritage site. Legend has it that the human ancestor Nüwa fetched water here to create humans, gathered five-colored stones from the Jin River to mend the sky, then lay down by the riverbank and turned to stone. Emperor Shun during his southern tour climbed Danxia Mountain to play music and named 36 stones. Since then, literati and monks through the ages have flocked here, and incense has burned vigorously. From the Sui and Tang dynasties onward, it became a renowned scenic and Buddhist mountain in Lingnan, leaving behind countless poems, travelogues, inscriptions, and cliff carvings. Dozens of natural caves across the mountain were turned into Buddhist sites, and the restored Stone Grotto Temple at Jinshi Cliff and Biechuan Zen Temple still draw throngs of pilgrims and visitors today. The shuttle bus inside the scenic area was free; we hopped on and relaxed as it passed through the Yangyuan Stone area, arriving at the cableway station. It was still early, and after a ten-minute queue we took the cable car straight up to Baozhu Peak. The cable cars here are relatively small—they wouldn't handle crowds like Emei Mountain during Spring Festival, but luckily the mountain wasn't too tall, just a few hundred meters. From the summit, we gazed at scenic spots all around, walked past the thrilling Rudder Stone, and admired the water and mountains, as exquisite as a bonsai landscape. In the distance, Zhanglao Peak was in sight, but the route looked arduous. We resolutely opted for a leisurely and healthy path, bypassing Shaoyin Pavilion, crossing the scaly rock formations, passing an unmarked ancient tomb, and climbing a few small knolls. Winding along, enjoying the scenery, we eventually returned to the cableway station, descended, and saw the crowds starting to build—the queue for the cable car up would likely take quite a while. The shuttle bus conveniently took us to the main gate at the foot of Zhanglao Peak, where we headed to a key site: Yin Yuan Stone. Taking a boat on Xianglong Lake was a great way to get there; the boat glided slowly across the water, the scenery no less beautiful than Wuyi Mountain. Disembarking, we hiked with Zhanglao Peak overhead. Visitors might skip climbing it, but no one skips Yin Yuan Stone. Nature's uncanny craftsmanship—bow down! Indescribable; you have to see the pictures. Returning the same way along Xianglong Lake, looking up at Zhanglao Peak, it was still quite gorgeous. We weren't tired; the area wasn't large, and the visit was enjoyable. Again the shuttle bus took us back to the Yangyuan Stone gate. The parking lot was filling up, mostly with family cars from nearby areas. The stone bridge leading to the scenic spot had a steady flow of people, with clear water and beautiful tree shadows underneath. The Jin River's "Water Danxia" also made a fine scene. Danxia Mountain is dubbed a museum of sexual nature, and the Yangyuan Stone here is the ultimate specimen. Primordial human reproductive worship was sacred, and this stone is astonishingly lifelike, said to have existed for 300,000 years. At the best photo spot below, men, women, young, and old were all having a blast; quite a few were even burning incense and praying on the viewing platform—pure joy of humanity! Again, just look at the pictures. After visiting the main sights, we headed back. The farmhouse restaurant served so-so food at fair prices. The shuttle bus at the scenic-area bus station was almost empty, with frequent departures; we got on smoothly and returned safely to Shaoguan East. Since we'd previously booked sleeper train tickets on 12306, but arrived over two hours early, the ticket-change and refund queues were packed. We had to buy new tickets to get back to Guangzhou earlier. Unwilling to waste our original tickets, we managed to persuade the guy in front of us to let us refund ours first, and we caught the train just in time—thanks to the hardworking folks at the ticket counter. Shaoguan East Station was the station of our imagination: passenger and freight trains lined up on various platforms, grimy platforms, a slow pace. People waiting on the platform early were carrying big and small bags, without the tension of bullet trains or high-speed rail. Our train came from Xi'an and was headed to Haikou; the sleeper cars were empty, the hard seats even emptier. I couldn't understand why everyone rushed to the high-speed trains when this one took only a bit over an hour longer to reach Guangzhou, comfortable and cheap. Danxia Mountain in Shaoguan was well worth it—no regrets. It lacked the National Day hubbub, very relaxed; all the congestion was on the road. Thanks also to the railway authorities for keeping us safe! In Guangzhou, comfortable sleepers and the centrally located Guangzhou Station; a minor hotel hiccup didn't stop us from staying at Shangxiajiu. We were back in Guangzhou. The next day brought another fine weather. Our first stop was Guangzhou Restaurant. Sitting down, we ordered tea first, then savored dim sum with tea—so satisfying. Across from us, a local old uncle was having tea with his son, reading the newspaper, and chatting casually. Looking at the restaurant menu, we decided to come back for dinner. Guangzhou's metro was convenient; we rode directly to Yuzhu and took a ferry to the old site of the Whampoa Military Academy, a free attraction with not many visitors. In July this year we'd been to the Yunnan Military Academy, and today we were seeing the more famous Whampoa. The ferry at Yuzhu Pier was like the old ferries on the Huangpu River—a small iron boat to Changzhou Island. The academy itself didn't have a ton to see; we brushed up on some KMT–CPC history, saw a host of luminaries, and counted it as a visit. Ferry plus metro brought us back downtown, and we went to Yuexiu Park to see the Five Rams statue. In the twilight, the Five Rams had a certain charm; being born in the Year of the Goat, I took a photo—six goats. Old sculptures are far better than today's so-called abstract whatever... Across from the park exit was the Museum of the Nanyue King's Mausoleum; we'd been there last year. Crossing the road, there were many famous restaurants outside Liuhua Park. The Canton Fair used to revolve around this area—how glorious it must have been back then. The sight of the restaurants made our feet heavy; we hailed a cab straight to Guangzhou Restaurant. Inside, it was bustling; a tycoon was getting married with a 40-table banquet, suckling pig and lobster included—our mouths watered. After a short queue, we sat down and ordered tea as usual. It was late, the rich wedding guests had eaten well, leaving several dishes we wanted unavailable. We had to settle for second choices, but they didn't disappoint. A sea bass and ham satisfied us, making us yearn even more for the restaurant's signature Wenchang chicken—it seemed we'd have to come back tomorrow. Leaving the restaurant, we peered into the neighboring Huangshanghuang and picked up some sausages and cured meats—just delightful! Throughout this trip, the weather had been great. Waking up early the next morning, we still needed to eat. Taotao Ju was packed; across the street, Lianxiang Lou was a good alternative. The morning tea was comfortable, and the durian pastries were so fragrant we could barely walk away—"Eating in Guangzhou" truly deserves its reputation. Taxis downtown were cheap and convenient. Our first stop was Chen Clan Academy. On National Day, it wasn't too crowded; we queued for tickets for 15 minutes. Wanting a guide, we were touched to find a student volunteer from Guangzhou University who gave us a free, thorough tour. The Chen Clan Academy, also known as "Chen's School," was built from the 14th year of the Guangxu reign (1888) and completed in the 20th year (1894). It was jointly built by the Chen clans of 72 counties in Guangdong Province during the late Qing Dynasty, a renowned ancestral hall in Guangdong. Its architectural layout features three axes and three tiers, covering 8,000 square meters. This embodies the quintessential grand Lingnan household, decorated with wood, stone, and brick carvings, clay and pottery sculptures, iron casting, and more, adorning the eaves, halls, courtyards, and corridors inside and out. There are large-scale works as well as delicate miniatures, the styles ranging from bold and vigorous to exquisite and intricate—each with its own character. However, I found the ornate decorations a bit cluttered, lacking the serene beauty of ancient architecture from the Central Plains. Renovated in 1958, it became the Guangdong Folk Arts Museum. Looking at fans, Chaozhou embroidery, and so on was quite relaxing. The compound was sizable, the crowds manageable; we took photos, learned a bit, and enjoyed its convenient downtown location. After the academy, we hopped on the metro again, first heading to the provincial bus station to buy long-distance tickets to Kaiping for the next day. It was ridiculously easy, worlds apart from the Wuhan–Guangzhou high-speed rail experience; we got seats No. 1 and 2—seemed like the bus would be empty! Satisfied, we headed to the Guangdong Provincial Museum. Emerging from the Zhujiang New Town metro station was like stepping into Shanghai's Lujiazui: skyscrapers galore—the Canton Tower, IFC, the Asian Games opening venue—modern and bustling. From afar we spotted the new provincial museum building, but the queue for free tickets was painfully long. We simply bought 30-yuan special exhibition tickets and walked right in. Honestly, though billed as Guangdong's largest museum, its architectural quality was mediocre, and the collections even more so. It mixed natural history with everything else, a bit messy. The Nanyue King's Mausoleum museum, though much smaller, could easily surpass this one in content quality. The highlight was the Duan inkstones; even the modern artworks made me itch to get a huge Duan stone slab to pave a shower floor. We breezed through, admiring the ornate Chaozhou wood carvings, colorful Guangzhou porcelain, and the mysterious Nanhai No. 1 shipwreck, mainly to understand authentic Guangfu culture. Several models caught our interest—Guangxiao Temple and the Sacred Heart Cathedral both looked appealing. With time to spare, we skipped the deep-sea special exhibition and decided to visit the Buddhist holy site, Guangxiao Temple. Leaving the museum, we tried the APM rapid transit, then metro and walking to Guangxiao Temple. Despite National Day, the temple was still serene. The dignified main gate was so pleasing. This was originally the residence of Zhao Jiande, the Nanyue King. Guangzhou is also called the City of Rams, giving rise to the saying, "Guangxiao came before the City of Rams." During Emperor Taizong's Zhenguan era, the temple expanded, becoming a major Buddhist center in Lingnan. In the first year of Emperor Gaozong's Yifeng era, the Zen master Huineng discussed the relationship between wind and flag here, later leading to the construction of the Wind-Flag Hall and the Hair-Burying Stupa. During the Five Dynasties, two iron pagodas, each seven stories, were built east and west. The East Pagoda had a cast lotus base, and the West Pagoda was a Thousand-Buddha pagoda, about two zhang tall, exquisitely wrought and highly detailed. But the West Iron Pagoda collapsed, leaving only its base. In Chinese Buddhist history, Guangxiao Temple holds significant importance. The Indian monk Gunabhadra, revered as a patriarch by the Northern school, called it "He Lin." The Chan patriarch Bodhidharma once stayed here, and the Sixth Patriarch Huineng lived incognito at the temple for years. The Pen-Soaring Pavilion and Ink-Washing Pool today are relics from that time—proof of the deep cultural exchange between China and India. We found the Hair-Burying Stupa and the West Iron Pagoda, but the East Iron Pagoda was shut inside a building, not open to the public—a minor regret not seeing China's earliest iron pagoda. Leaving Guangxiao Temple, it was still early, and our minds wandered to Wenchang chicken again. We hailed another taxi and returned to Guangzhou Restaurant. Three meals at the same restaurant in two days, in one city—only this place could draw us. Founded in 1939, Guangzhou Restaurant is famed as "the foremost restaurant in Guangzhou." At the entrance, the security guard was watching videos on his phone; afternoon tea had just ended, and we'd have to wait over half an hour—but we were devout. Finally, he waved us in! Up to the second floor, we brewed tea again. The calm waiter said not to rush ordering, but we feared the Wenchang chicken would be gone again. With patience and piety, it arrived—indescribable, we absolutely loved it. Eating and drinking, Guangzhou was bliss. Kaiping. Early next morning, there was one last unfinished wish: morning tea at Taotao Ju. It was a short walk, and because it was early, there was no queue. We ate what we'd craved, though it didn't feel necessarily better than Lianxiang Lou across the street—each had its own flair! Next time we'll try Guangzhou Restaurant's morning tea. The long-distance bus from the provincial station had few passengers; it departed even though not full. The driver was proper—no hustling for extra fees to take the highway, no picking up or dropping off passengers at will. We left Guangzhou, and just over two hours later, we reached Kaiping. Let the bullets fly for a while. I'd long wanted to see the diaolou, not because of Let the Bullets Fly or the rapeseed flowers, but because it's a World Heritage site. Online research had shown that Kaiping's diaolou are scattered far and wide, requiring a chartered car. But we decided to wing it. We first stored our luggage; the station staff kindly flagged down a departing local minibus and got us directly to Li Garden. The road was smooth, with diaolou standing here and there in the fields. We got off at a junction and followed the signs, walking 15 minutes to Li Garden. We got discounted tickets online; guides were in short supply, but we managed to snag one at the garden gate who had just finished a tour. Li Garden is a mansion owned by a local tycoon, not part of the World Heritage site, but worth a look. Inside, it's mostly Western-style buildings, with only two diaolou, both quite beautiful. We especially admired the floor tiles and glass partitions—anything to do with interior design excited us. Kaiping Li Garden was built by Mr. Xie Weili, an overseas Chinese from Tangkou Town who returned in the 1920s and spent a decade on its initial construction. Before liberation, the garden suffered repeated misfortunes: vandalized by Japanese invaders, its 30-mm-thick iron window bars violently bent, and looted, it fell into neglect. On October 10, 1999, the owner's wife, Madam Xie Yuyao-Qiong, gladly signed an agreement with the Kaiping People's Government in the United States, entrusting it to the government for 50 years to open it to visitors and boost tourism. The garden is vast, with a villa area, a large garden, a small garden, the owner's birdsong-and-flower room, Tiger Hill across the canal, the whips to fend off tigers at the entrance, and residences for various wives—distinctive and worth seeing. After Li Garden, we returned to the junction and hopped on the same minibus, this time heading straight to Zili Village, a cluster of diaolou and a World Heritage site where the movie villain Huang Silang was filmed. We got off at the junction and walked 20 minutes, accompanied by red banners, into the scenic area. The rise of Kaiping's diaolou is closely tied to the region's geography and past social order. Kaiping is low-lying with a dense river network; poor water management meant frequent flooding during typhoons and storms. Located at the remote junction of Xinhui, Taishan, Enping, and Xinxing counties, it was historically known as a "no-man's land" where order was lax. Thus, as early as the early Qing Dynasty, villagers built diaolou for flood and bandit defense. After the Opium Wars, the Qing government weakened further, and Kaiping people, driven by poverty, began emigrating overseas en masse, leading to a large diaspora—now some 680,000 locals and 750,000 overseas Chinese. According to guides, banditry grew rampant in the Republican era, and with overseas Chinese relatively prosperous, bandits focused their crimes in Kaiping, causing countless tragedies. They even overran the county seat, Cangcheng, three times, abducting the county magistrate Zhu Jianzhang. The movie plot wasn't fictional—it showed how essential diaolou were back then. Kaiping's diaolou display a stunning variety of architectural styles and decorative arts, from Chinese traditional to various European periods. We looked at their exteriors, climbed some, and learned the difference between lou and lu. The surrounding rice fields were quite scenic; no wonder so many people say to come in March for the rapeseed flowers, making the diaolou almost an afterthought. Tired from wandering, we sat down for eel rice. There really weren't many people, mostly family self-drivers. The farm-style dishes were fairly priced, without the rip-offs common at tourist hotspots. The diaolou lacked the grandeur of Fujian's tulou, but they made up for it with charm and a Western touch. After comfortably exploring Zili Village, we returned to the junction, checked the time, and decided to head straight back to the bus station. On the minibus, the driver messed up and took us to the Yici Station in the north; we needed the Changsha Station in the south because our luggage was there. The city was small, and after some complaints, we retrieved our bags and rebooked our bus tickets. Sure enough, the long-distance bus later pulled into Yici Station. The bus manager came to address our complaints, assuring us, "If there's any problem, I guarantee we'll get you to Zhuhai"—we were somewhat satisfied. The bus had few passengers, no tourists; we were off to Zhuhai. The driver, wary of traffic, took a section of national highway to bypass the jammed area before getting on the expressway; everyone agreed. Smoothly, we arrived in Zhuhai at dusk. Navigation plus a walk, the hotel was decent but a bit pricey. Another fresh city, night food stalls, seafood, no crowds—tomorrow, Macau. We set aside one day for Macau. The Gongbei checkpoint in the morning was a sea of people—like the World Expo all over again. Touts with dual Guangdong–Macau plates offered 100-yuan fast-track passage; we didn't bite, queued up obediently, and it actually moved quickly. We cleared Macau immigration in under 40 minutes. A local guy said it was a light day, just normal volume—lucky! Past the Macau barrier, we arrived. It still felt a bit unfamiliar being in a "one country, two systems" region. The plaza outside was packed with free shuttle buses from all the casinos. We took one straight to Grand Lisboa, which offered free luggage storage and was close to the old city. Everything went smoothly: we stored our bags, admired the opulence of Grand Lisboa, got a local map from the front desk, withdrew Macau patacas from the Bank of China opposite, and took some photos. After strolling to Wynn, we hailed a cab to A-Ma Temple; this trip to Macau was all about its old city. The "Historic Centre of Macau" is a historic quarter centered on Macau's old town, linked by adjoining squares and streets. It includes eight public squares: Largo do Pagode da Barra, Largo do Lilau, Largo de Santo Agostinho, Largo do Senado, Largo da Sé, Largo de São Domingos, Praça da Companhia de Jesus, and Praça de Luís de Camões. It also encompasses 22 historic buildings: A-Ma Temple, Moorish Barracks, Mandarin's House, St. Lawrence's Church, St. Joseph's Seminary and Church, Dom Pedro V Theatre, Sir Robert Ho Tung Library, St. Augustine's Church, Leal Senado Building, Sam Kai Vui Kun (Kuan Tai Temple), Holy House of Mercy, the Cathedral (Sé), Lou Kau Mansion, St. Dominic's Church, the Ruins of St. Paul's, Na Tcha Temple, the Section of the Old City Walls, Mount Fortress, St. Anthony's Church, the Casa Garden, the Protestant Cemetery, and Guia Fortress (including Guia Lighthouse and Chapel of Our Lady of the Snows). Among them are China's first Western-style university (St. Paul's College), its first Western-style theatre, its first modern coastal lighthouse, as well as Lingnan-style temples and late-Qing merchant mansions. Detailed introductions are all over Baidu and Google, so I won't elaborate here. We started our Macau World Heritage tour at A-Ma Temple. Although the old city is a World Heritage site, there are no entrance fees; it still serves the modern community. No towering walls—just closeness. Signposts and free maps are everywhere, letting you wander freely through the complex lanes of old Macau. Occasionally, you'd spot small shrines to the earth god tucked in door corners—seems the whole world believes in bodhisattvas! Those beautiful, brightly colored Western-style buildings might well be part of the heritage; we strolled, paused, and looked. There were churches with all sorts of European names—Macau certainly has plenty—and the theatre was full of character. Driving in the old city was a challenge: ups and downs, steep slopes, sharp bends. Fortunately, people followed the rules, and non-motor vehicles were few—probably because cycling is impossible. Walking from A-Ma Slope towards Largo do Senado, the crowds grew thicker and busier, shops transforming from quiet to impossibly packed, 99% mainland tourists—amazing! Near the Ruins of St. Paul's, it was absolutely teeming, though said to be much less crowded than a few days before, still tolerable. We took photos, bought snacks from Koi Kei, climbed the fortress, and unexpectedly found the Macau Museum, which gave us a concise overview of Macau. With plenty of time, except for skipping the distant lighthouse, we walked through the entire old town and finally sat down at Yee Shun Milk Company, savoring double-skin milk and a pork chop bun, wrapping up our old city tour in total comfort. Overall, Macau's approach to heritage conservation differs from the mainland's, relying more on private and community efforts, serving the people better. Grand Lisboa was right there; we wandered the casino, tried our luck on a slot machine—haha—and got a free ticket to the Macau–Hong Kong ferry pier from the concierge. Our luck was mediocre, and we weren't in the mood for the casino anyway. Soon a shuttle bus took us to the pier, a key hub where casino buses suffice; public transit isn't needed. The pier is right next to the former F1 racing circuit. Ferry tickets came easily; not many people, and an hour later we arrived at the Hong Kong–Macau Ferry Terminal in Sheung Wan, with impressively efficient immigration—comfy. Victoria Harbour's night was dimmed by the Lamma Island accident; after a long day, we had a casual meal at a cha chaan teng and turned in early. Hong Kong. It was my (LG's) first time in Hong Kong, with LP as my guide. Growing up, Hong Kong movies shaped our impressions, etching many place names in memory. A short history and colonial background turned it into a bustling international metropolis, a major financial, service, and shipping hub, and of course, LP's favorite—"shopping paradise." Staying in Sheung Wan was convenient, close to the ferry pier. The next day was another fine day, our last two days in Hong Kong. First thing in the morning, I wanted to go to the Peak. Hong Kong's MTR keeps up with the times, not enforcing "walk left, stand right," instead urging everyone to "stand firm" for safety. We took the MTR to Central, walked to see the Bank of China Tower and Cheung Kong Centre, then the Legislative Council building and the World War II memorial. Some private uphill roads looked mysterious. We hiked to Government House to see if the sharp corner of the Bank of China Tower really pointed straight at it. Taking in the historical layers, we reached the Peak Tram station. The tram looked like a train; later I realized it was called a tram because it's pulled by steel cables to the Peak. The Peak Tram is Hong Kong's earliest mechanized public transport, running between Garden Road in Central and Victoria Peak. Like the ding-ding trams on the streets, it's steeped in history and doesn't feel dated—quite the opposite, you fall in love with it. Hong Kong preserves its historical flavor well; Shanghai really lags behind in this. The Peak was leisurely, free from Golden Week's noise. LP, familiar with the place, led me to photo spots overlooking Victoria Harbour—we snapped touristy shots. Circling the Peak, there was everything: a wax museum, cha chaan tengs, fast food joints. I had a McFlurry while gazing at Lamma Island. Many Hong Kong volunteers were accompanying patients in activities on the Peak—quite touching. Luxury homes peeked mysteriously through the trees on the hillside. Taking the double-decker bus down the narrow mountain roads required serious driving skills; on some bends, the bus had to reverse. Descending to Wan Chai, a short walk brought us to the Convention Centre. In the square, we threw a few coins; across the water, citizens were fishing, and someone actually reeled in a big one. The Octopus card was so convenient—good for the MTR and McDonald's. We took the MTR back to Sheung Wan; a random cha chaan teng had decent food. On the street, someone had set up a bodhisattva statue with an offering table—an instant worship space. We strolled through streets lined with ginseng and dried seafood shops, soaking in the old-town bustle, just like in old movies. The famous Hollywood Road antiques street was nearby; back in the day, Ma Chengyuan would come here every time he visited Hong Kong. The legendary "Jin Hou Su Zhong" bell, prohibited from export, was discovered and bought by him here. Both sides of the road were packed with shops, small but crammed with items—countless Buddha heads and pagodas of uncertain authenticity. LP was skeptical, thinking that while there might have been genuine pieces in the past, now it's unlikely. These shops felt somewhat inaccessible; the casual street stalls felt more appealing. We wandered around, following the Central–Mid-Levels escalator, and did a loop of the bar street—full of foreigners having a good time. Walking along, we saw the old prison, the gas lamps, and passed by a restaurant where LP had dined three years ago. This neighborhood was really worth exploring. A walk to the public pier, a look at the weather-beaten Star Ferry, waiting for the boat to Lamma Island with the sea breeze—so comfy! LP arranged dinner at Rainbow Seafood on Lamma Island; the free ferry ride was great value. With the sea breeze, views of Tsim Sha Tsui, Central, Repulse Bay, and Ocean Park in the distance, we reached Lamma Island in an hour. The boat collision had cast a slight pall, but it wasn't too bad. The meal was LP's favorite—we ate until we couldn't move. Huge razor clams, mini lobsters, and special mantis shrimp were all incredibly tasty. The owner was honest, saying the ingredients were from Hainan; Hong Kong doesn't produce these. The flavors were excellent. At the next table, we encountered another volunteer group—Hong Kong's volunteer organizations are indeed impressive. After dinner, we took a night ferry to Tsim Sha Tsui, strolled along the Avenue of Stars, and wandered through the huge Harbour City mall, a bit crowded. The Victoria Harbour light show was still suspended, but no regrets. We bought a few boxes of chocolates and headed back to rest. The last day of the trip—how time flies. In the morning, we packed up and took the MTR directly to Luk Yu Tea House in Central for some nostalgic ambiance. Honestly, the food was not as good as in Guangzhou and expensive! Puzzlingly, they wouldn't let us sit on the first floor—does Tung Chee-hwa drink tea there? LP had been a few times, always on the second floor. After eating, we hopped on a ding-ding tram to explore Causeway Bay. The slow-moving tram was delightful. Times Square and Sogo felt more intimate than Harbour City, and the goods were genuinely worth it—I just treated them as sights! It was Saturday, the day off for Filipina domestic helpers, so large groups gathered in the streets, shopping, playing games—orderly yet noisy, quite a scene. Passing by Eslite Bookstore, we didn't go in; we preferred the small shops of Causeway Bay Books. Buying books, reading, their one-stop emigration service was full of humor. We bought a book casually, rounding off the trip. The Octopus card allowed overdrafts; we squeezed the remaining deposit. The MTR to Lo Wu wasn't crowded; we cleared immigration in what felt like one second. Our luggage seemed like flimsy clouds compared to the standard gear here: woven plastic bags, gunny sacks, huge suitcases... Our worries about food and books were unnecessary; they were just everyday items. Thinking about it, border residents cross daily to buy groceries; what were our few roast meats? Arriving in Shenzhen, it felt a bit different from Hong Kong—more familiar, perhaps. The airport bus gave us a glimpse of Shenzhen's streets, clean and wide—traces of reform. As LP and I had mused, if Hong Kong and Macau hadn't been colonized, they'd just be small fishing towns under Zhuhai or Shenzhen. History can't be assumed. Clearing immigration smoothly, we got to the airport early, about to head home. Tired but happy, the flight went well, and we arrived home along with the roast meats in our bags... Nine days of travel. It was just as LP said: at the right time, choose the right place. A joyful trip, a little thrill from the railway system... The World Heritage sites didn't disappoint... The circle we drew this time wasn't big, but it was still full of wonders. Looking forward to the next one, with thanks to LP.