The Beauty of Cheung Chau Island

I had a rare holiday and thought of finding a quiet place to clear my mind. A friend suggested I visit Cheung Chau Island, so I traveled south to Shenzhen and then headed straight to Hong Kong. I had been to Hong Kong many times before, but my previous trips were mainly about sightseeing the bustling city and shopping. Perhaps like many others, I had visited Hong Kong many times but never set foot on this fishing village island.

Cheung Chau Island is located in the southwest of Hong Kong. Because the island is long and narrow, with both ends wide and the middle narrow, it is called Cheung Chau (meaning "long island"). Some people think it looks like a dumbbell and call it Dumbbell Island. It covers an area of only 2.4 square kilometers and has a population of about 30,000, making it the most densely populated island in the Outlying Islands.

I crossed the border at Shenzhen's Futian Port, took the MTR twice to reach Central Pier, waited about 20 minutes at Pier 5, bought a ticket, and boarded the ferry. The ferry was not very large, with two decks. Since it was not the peak season, there were not many passengers. The boat sailed across the calm Victoria Harbour, allowing me to enjoy the views on both sides. After about an hour, we finally docked at Cheung Chau Island. It was the fishing moratorium period, so many fishing boats were moored at the pier, making the whole pier lively and bustling. As soon as I stepped ashore, the long street was filled with a commercial atmosphere: vendors selling dried goods, fruits, clothing, jewelry, and even more seafood stalls and tea restaurants. It was a typical fishing island scene. Hearing that the island was not large, I didn't bother to browse the street views or look for accommodation first; instead, I started walking around the island.

The streets on the island were clean and wide, but there were no vehicles at all. The main mode of transportation was bicycles. Along the way, I saw many young Europeans wearing helmets, cycling around the island for exercise. Passing through the crowded commercial street to the back of the island, I saw an endless sea and light yellow sandy beaches. Since it was not swimming season, the natural beach was exceptionally quiet. Strolling along the beach, looking at the blue sea and the soaring seagulls, I couldn't help feeling relaxed. Just having put aside an intense "career struggle," I returned to nature, took a deep breath of the sea-scented air, and sighed—this is the essence of life! I lingered on the beach for two hours, walking, taking photos, or simply zoning out. When the sky began to darken, I remembered I needed to find accommodation.

There was only one hotel on the island; the rest were resorts run by fishermen. Haha, I had never seen such a method of accommodation. At the pier, there were many stalls with signs displaying photos of various rooms. You choose one, pay, get the key, and the boss gives you a map and a room number. You find the place yourself, and the next morning you return to the same spot to check out and settle the bill. I chose a location close to the sea: one bedroom, one kitchen, one bathroom, for 250 Hong Kong dollars per night—really cheap. Following the map, I found it in 10 minutes. When I opened the door, it felt strange, as if I were opening the door of a fisherman's house. The room was quite clean, with hot water for showering, but no toiletries provided. Luckily, I have the habit of bringing my own towel and toothbrush. Lying on the bed, I could hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore—it was wonderful. At that moment, my stomach started growling, so I locked the door and went out onto the street. On the island, having seafood is a must. I ordered steamed fish, some kind of shellfish, clams, and vegetables, all for 198 Hong Kong dollars. I ate until I was full—haha, I didn't treat myself poorly. There wasn't much entertainment on the island. As soon as it got dark, I bought some fruit and went back to my room. That night, listening to the waves, I slept soundly. When I woke up, it was already past 6 o'clock. I quickly ran to the beach to watch the sunrise, but unfortunately, the weather didn't cooperate—it was overcast, with no rising sun. I sat by the sea and suddenly thought of Gorky's "The Petrel": "Over the grayish plain of the sea, the wind gathers the storm clouds, and between the clouds and the sea, the petrel soars proudly, like a black lightning..." Perhaps the great writer once encountered the same scene and feeling as I did now. The east turned pale. Thinking it might be too early for dim sum, I strolled to the pier. To my surprise, the tea houses were already packed with people eating breakfast. Haha, all were elderly locals, dressed neatly with slicked-back hair, but oddly enough, they were barefoot in slippers—maybe a habit formed over the years. Such leisurely old people: a pot of tea, a newspaper, a few dim sum, chatting away—what a good life. Unfortunately, I couldn't understand Cantonese, so I couldn't join them. The dim sum here was excellent, with dozens of varieties, both savory and sweet. I ordered three dim sum dishes and a pot of tea, sitting for two hours—a kind of folk culture immersion.

When I boarded the ferry again, I couldn't help feeling attached to this island. I must come again in summer if I have the chance. Such a quiet and beautiful bay, fishing village, and small island are rare.