In the Greater Bay Area, One Island Will Surely Capture Your Heart
After returning from a self-driving campervan trip in New Zealand's South Island in February 2020, I hadn't set foot outside the country for two years. Not long ago, I was stuck at home for over a month, and my travels came to a halt. Amid the days without travel, there was happy news: my new book, *No Work, Only Islands: A Blue Romance in the Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macao Greater Bay Area*, was published. My undergraduate major was law, my graduate major was procedural law, and I taught at a university for a few years before switching to television. My mentor jokingly called me a disciple who "neglects proper work." Then I became obsessed with travel and photography, truly embracing a life of "neglecting proper work." Long ago, I participated in writing two legal books, even contributing three chapters to a national legal self-study textbook, but that was my job and profession, not my passion.
While traveling around the world, I wrote many travel guides and accounts for travel magazines, took countless photos, and even contributed to writing chapters for travel books and provided travel photos. But this is my first travel book entirely written and photographed by myself. Several editors from publishing houses had approached me to submit manuscripts, encouraging me to publish a book, but I was reluctant—I cherished the simplicity and joy of being on the road and didn't want to suffer through writing at home, always finding excuses to delay. It wasn't until I became a restless caged animal that an editor from Guangdong Travel & Tourism Press approached me. I was still hesitant and uncertain. Fortunately, they were planning the "Charming Greater Bay Area Series" and assigned me the theme of island travel, which was exactly my cup of tea. So I resolved to complete the task. I felt that the title *No Work, Only Islands* reflected my lifestyle, but my family disagreed. They saw me constantly shooting during trips and constantly typing away at home, and they thought it was actually work—unpaid work at that. But because I loved it, I didn't care at all, and I didn't even feel like it was work.
Shooting the RAW photos for *No Work, Only Islands* numbered in the tens of thousands, and I had to go take them myself, sometimes repeatedly. In August 2019, during summer, I went to Dong'ao Island for the second time to take photos. The sun was scorching, the temperature on the island was extremely high. I wore long-sleeved sun-protective clothing and pants, a hat and face covering, and carried my camera and water, hiking solo around the island for 20 kilometers. Suddenly, the cap of a soda bottle in my backpack burst from the heat, leaving a sticky mess all over my back. I quickly put down the backpack, dumped out the camera, batteries, sunscreen, and other things soaked in liquid, and started cleaning and drying them one by one—a real mess. Facing the boundless ocean, with no one around, I sat by the roadside and wrote the preface of the book: "Every time I pack my bags, leave home, exit the city, and board an island, it feels like entering another world..."
Island travel is a joy, but traveling with a mission isn't easy—sometimes it's even extremely tough. In the summer of 2020, while photographing Shangchuan Island and Xiachuan Island, my sneakers came unglued from the scorching ground. I could only limp and drag myself along the beach. At a small shop on Shangchuan Island, I bought a tube of 502 glue to stick the sole back on, but it didn't last long. When I went to Hebao Island to take photos, the glued sole came off again. I had to throw away the shoes and go home in flip-flops. The wind and sun along the way cost me not just sweat but also permanent damage: severe solar dermatitis and rapidly graying hair.
During island photography, there were occasional annoyances, but more often there was joy. In June 2013, I went camping on Miaowan Beach. My teammate Mumu and I "shared a tent"—two grown men squeezed into a small tent, quite uncomfortable. The wind blew sand all over the tent mat, and when I shook the sand out, my glasses fell into it. When I found them, the lenses and frames were scratched and unusable. But that night we had a great time. Among our teammates was a couple. The man suddenly proposed to the girl on the beach. The ceremony was a bit tricky because of the strong wind—every time they lit a candle, it blew out. So everyone dug a pit in the sand, arranged the candles in a heart shape inside, and lit them. The girl was moved to tears. The next day at noon, under a blazing sun, everyone else retreated. Mumu and I stood halfway up the mountain, drenched in sweat, and captured the photos of Miaowan that rival the Maldives in the book.
During island shoots, I least wanted to photograph people—afraid they might not want to be photographed—and most loved to photograph small animals, which also avoids portrait rights issues. I took many photos of seabirds and dogs on the islands. During a camping trip to Jixin Island, a teammate's Shiba Inu was very smart and alert. On the speedboat to the island, it sat in front of me, its paws gripping its owner's arm, curiously looking at the sea—the same curious expression I have when visiting new places. Once on the island, its owner took it for walks and even had it stand on rocks as a model for me. But it was as excited as a child exploring, running around everywhere. When it was time to sleep, it obediently lay by its owner's tent, never causing any trouble. Another thing that left me in awe was the seabirds on Yanzhou Island—more than you can imagine. At first glance, the mangroves in the sea looked lush and green. But when I zoomed in with my telephoto lens, I saw every tree covered with resting white seabirds, like blossoming cotton on green trees.
*No Work, Only Islands* includes quite a few travel guides for Hong Kong, even covering uninhabited islands that maybe even locals haven't visited. For that, I have to thank my friend Sam. Sam is an experienced Hong Kong hiker; there seems to be no travel spot in Hong Kong he doesn't know. He always volunteers as a guide, taking us hiking, camping, diving, and photographing, helping us book yachts and buy food and drinks for the boat. He even drove his own car to take me to two very secluded places in Hong Kong. If there's one 'bad' thing about him, it's that he's just too fit—he walks so fast. I'm always stopping to take photos and lagging behind, having to jog to keep up.
Po Toi Island is the farthest island from the Hong Kong city center. From Shenzhen, going through customs and reaching the island takes over three hours one way. Sam helped us find a fisherman's home on the island where we squeezed into a small room to sleep for one night. That afternoon, we wanted to swim at a cleaner beach farther away. I changed into a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops to walk there, thinking I'd be swimming so I didn't bring my camera. It took a long time to reach the beach, and when I got close, the view was stunning, so I took a photo with my phone, thinking I'd come back later with my camera. But then the pandemic hit, and almost two years passed before I could go again—a great regret, but also a reason to go back. That scene in *No Work, Only Islands* is a photo taken with my phone, which surprisingly doesn't look out of place. I used to agonize over which camera and lenses to bring on trips, sometimes lying awake all night, but now that's all water under the bridge.
For a while, Macau reopened to mainland tourists, and there was no quarantine on return. I checked my Exit-Entry Permit for Travelling to and from Hong Kong and Macau and was overjoyed to find I still had a valid Macau endorsement. I immediately took a ferry from Shekou to Macau. At immigration, I noticed there were only about a dozen passengers on the whole boat. Tourist spots in Macau were deserted. The Macau Fisherman's Wharf, always a popular spot, had only a few visitors. At the usually bustling Rua do Cunha, there were more shop clerks shouting than tourists. The quiet Macau had its advantages—hotel prices were incredibly low, with good hotels everywhere for 100–200 yuan, and food was as cheap as in Shenzhen. So I stayed in Macau for a few days. During the day, I took photos for my book; in the evenings, I went shopping. Photography was extremely efficient—wherever I went, no matter how popular the photo spot used to be, I didn't have to wait and could shoot immediately.
Unless shooting street photography, I generally prefer islands and coasts with fewer people. The exception is Hong Kong, which is always packed. Once I went to Ha Pak Nai in Hong Kong to shoot the sunset. It was packed with people, everyone waiting from afternoon until dark. At sunset, with the oyster fields on the beach as foreground and the distant Shekou Port as background, the sky was filled with rosy clouds scattered across the sea—indescribably beautiful. However, trouble came on the way back. Because so many people were watching the sunset, there was only one minibus route, and it was always full. The queue stretched over two kilometers—it seemed hopeless to catch the last bus. Even getting a taxi meant waiting in a long line. In the end, after dark, I had to walk 6 kilometers to Lau Fau Shan in Hong Kong before I could catch a bus.
Someone asked me which island I like best. I think I like them all. If I had to pick one that left the deepest impression, it would be Tai Wan Shan Island. The first time, a classmate took me there. He is a sea fishing enthusiast and often goes fishing on the rocks near Tai Wan Shan with his fishing buddies. When we got to Tai Wan Shan, they rented a boat to go night fishing, and I stayed on the island alone to take photos. It was peak fishing season, and the few hotels on the island were fully booked with fishing enthusiasts. I was prepared to sleep on a stone bench in a seaside pavilion. While I was anxiously looking for a place, a kind local offered to let me stay at a relative's house. When I entered the room, the owners were a very friendly elderly couple. I stayed in their child's room, which faced the bay.
*No Work, Only Islands* features 36 routes. The most dangerous is Hong Pai Jiao in Shenzhen. It's part of the Dapeng National Geopark, with distinctive and beautiful geological features, but I don't recommend non-professionals to traverse it. Ordinary people only need to walk a part of the route before turning back. Because the last three sections require professional outdoor enthusiasts with ropes; some people find it hard to pass. The most dangerous part requires crossing a wide gully, then inching along while clinging to the rocks. One misstep could send you falling into the sea or crashing against the rocks, causing injury at best or endangering your life at worst. Therefore, security guards often stop hikers from going further.
*No Work, Only Islands* introduces many seafood dishes from various islands, the result of countless failed attempts and a summary of bittersweet experiences. Once, out of curiosity, I bought a "bread crab" that looked like a stone, as beautiful as baked bread, but besides its thick shell, there was nothing edible. There was also the so-called "seafood from hell"—dog-claw barnacles. They weren't bad, but eating them was really troublesome; you had to pick out the meat bit by bit, and most people lacked the patience to finish them. Better to have a simple plate of sea urchin fried rice or sea urchin rice noodle rolls—nutritious and delicious. Another time I ate "chubby squid" with roe. My lips and tongue turned black, but the taste was delicious. I ate greedily, and ended up with diarrhea that nearly knocked me out.
Traveling and photographing on islands gives you a stronger sense of human kindness than in the city. In June 2020, while shooting on Yanzhou Island, I happened upon some elderly villagers carrying offerings around the village for a prayer ritual, ending at the Yuxu Temple. After the ceremony, everyone rested. One villager ladled a bowl of something from a bucket and gave it to me, saying it would bring me good fortune. It was like a sweet soup with red and white glutinous rice balls, pointed at both ends, a bit like "you mian yu yu" (oat noodles shaped like fish). It was sweet and glutinous, like the rice wine dumplings I ate as a child. I asked what it was called, and they said in the local dialect "tuan ni." Seeing me finish it in one go, they gave me another bowl. It wasn't just that I loved eating it; I was genuinely tired and hungry. I had skipped breakfast to focus on taking photos, then had run along taking photos, so I unceremoniously finished the second bowl too.
During travel, I often experience mutual care among outdoor enthusiasts. While snorkeling and taking photos on Hong Kong's Wong Mo Chau, an uninhabited island with no trees or shade, the weather was extremely hot. Without shelter, you'd definitely get sunburned. Unfortunately, the canopy we brought was too small for the group. We wanted to leave the island, but it wasn't time for pickup. Several Hong Kong families with children were also there, and they set up a huge tarp that offered us shade too. They had a cooler with beer and drinks, and seeing us hot, they warmly offered us some. In return, we shared the cucumbers we had brought. It was truly a joyful atmosphere.
"A graceful lady with flowing hair, captured amidst splashing waves..." Some friends have received the book and said they love the photo of her walking along the beach in the waves. That time, "Xiaowangshu," a seasoned hiker from Mofang, organized a camping trip on Hebao Island in Zhuhai. Everyone went swimming on the beach. My teammate Yoyo was wearing a brightly colored swimsuit but shyly wrapped in a large scarf. I thought the swimsuit flattered her figure, so I told her to throw away the scarf and walk toward the sea. I snapped a few candid photos on the beach, and they turned out great. If there's one flaw, I forgot to tell her to drop the key fob and hair tie in her hands—so in the book, she's walking toward the sea with a green key fob in her left hand and a hair tie around her right wrist.
During the writing and photography of *No Work, Only Islands*, I received enthusiastic help from many people. One of my schoolmates' father had worked on Hebao Island and told me in detail about the history of the People's Commune era. When I rented a jeep on Xiachuan Island for a loop around the island, I returned it late after dark, but the rental fee was waived. Many inns and hotels upgraded my cheap room to a sea-view room, even though they didn't know I was there to write a book. On Yanzhou Island, an innkeeper called some friends to join me for tea, told me stories about the salt-drying in the past, and gave me some local sea salt. While hiking on Dong'ao Island to the top to photograph wind turbines, I was so exhausted on the way down that I couldn't walk, and a local gave me a ride to the ferry terminal. In Macau, on Coloane Island, I was photographing the sea view from the terrace of a dried seafood shop. At noon, the shop owner asked his son's noodle shop to bring me a bowl of premium seafood noodles and insisted on not charging me. And many outdoor friends who traveled with me willingly served as "models" but weren't featured in the book due to space or layout constraints.
The manuscript of about 60,000–70,000 characters and over 640 photos was sent to the publisher. The day I submitted it felt like liberation. I deeply understood Charlie Brooker's (Black Mirror writer) famous quote: "Don't talk about talent or luck—you need a deadline and someone who'll beat you to death if you don't deliver. Then you'll be amazed by your own talent." *No Work, Only Islands* introduces 36 islands and coastlines in the Greater Bay Area, each with its own scenery. Some are perfect for vacations, some for camping, some for hiking, some for self-driving on the island. Some offer solitude, some are great for group fun, some let you experience local culture, some let you explore nature. Within the Greater Bay Area, there is always an island that will capture your heart... I hope one day, truly without work, we can go to the islands together!
