This week, my Hainan Island adventure continues. My stay in Ellen’s hometown of Qionghai (pronounced Chong High) was a lovely and peaceful introduction to several facets of life in this tropical paradise. Truly, I was getting a view of Hainan that few tourists ever saw. As I wrote earlier, “With this type of invitation, you get the whole package. It means that you are literally treated like family. You live with the family, eat with them, and are given tours, introductions, and personal histories so you really get to know them. You see their schools, their jobs, their relatives, their friends, their favorite restaurants, their gardens, their neighbors, their pets … everything.”
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The next morning began on a peaceful note. Always the early riser, I paused for quiet reflection while others remained abed. From my third floor bedroom window in the rear of the house, I looked out on a scene of tranquil beauty. Even though I woke up in the middle of a city of 450,000 people, there was much more open space and lush greenery than I had become accustomed to in Zhengzhou. To be sure, everything is relative. Qionghai’s population density was lower only when compared with tightly packed Zhengzhou; by Rolla standards, it was a crowded metropolis. Still, Qionghai unquestionably had much more open space for living greenery than Zhengzhou. I could see banana trees, small gardens, brightly colored flowers, clinging vines, and sprawling tropical growth filling every unoccupied space.
Another difference was that, with fewer people on Hainan Island, this relative lack of competition meant that the prices of houses and apartments were accordingly cheaper and, furthermore, that it was possible for some people to own their own house - that is, to actually live in a single-family dwelling instead of a condominium. In Zhengzhou, I didn’t know a single person who owned such a house. There, everyone lived in apartments or condominiums. In Qionghai, such a freestanding house was possible. Even in Qionghai, however, apartment complexes and long rows of houses connected to form one continuous unit were far more common.
After a leisurely breakfast, we left for a driving tour of the area. Ellen’s family did not own a car, relying on a motorcycle and electric scooter for their transportation needs, but her father prevailed upon a friend to loan him a small pickup truck for the day. The three of us left the city and drove southward for a few miles on the modern highway down the island’s eastern coast to the famous resort town of Boao, pronounced “Bo like in slow, Oa like in ouch”, home of the annual Boao Forum For Asia, which attracts economists and officials from around the world.
Boao, located directly on the seashore, is a completely new resort community which was built on the site previously occupied by a small fishing village. It features a beautiful convention center with a world-class hotel and condominiums. I was told that Boao also offers wonderful golfing and natural hot spring spas. In recent years, Boao has become a retreat for the rich. With its tropical climate, golden beaches, and an uncrowded view of the ocean, it offers an inviting albeit expensive retreat. It is far removed from the busy, noisy cities, yet it offers every modern convenience and luxury that the newly wealthy Chinese from the mainland might desire. Indeed, Boao has become so popular and successful that the residents who had occupied the small fishing village can no longer afford to live there. The local government has provided them with new housing in the form of large apartment complexes a few miles away. Many of them are still employed in Boao …but now they have to commute to their work.
Leaving Boao, Ellen’s father drove a few more miles to show me an entirely different aspect of Hainan Island. Leaving the modern highway, he drove down a series of smaller and smaller local roads, finally ending up on a rutted dirt road meandering through large fields cleared from the jungle. We were now in a farming area and I got to indulge in a lifelong dream of seeing a pineapple still growing in the earth. (It wasn’t seeing the pineapples growing that was my dream; I just wanted to see where they grew.) The smell drifting through the open windows - of growing pineapples, lush jungle vegetation, and wet soil - was indescribable but wonderful. We drove by large, unfenced rolling fields which were covered with countless thousands of pineapples popping up through the red earth.
Back in Qionghai, in the outdoor markets there, I had already seen a wide variety of colorful tropical fruits. Pineapples, papayas, coconuts, bananas, and many other fruits - including many that I had never seen before - were brought to the markets fresh every day. Sampling them, their flavor was tartly sweet in a way that no modern refrigeration and rapid transportation system can quite maintain.
In those outdoor markets, one of the unknown fruits became an instant favorite of mine. Ellen told me that this was bo luo mi, which I promptly gave the phonetic name “follow me”. Ellen said that it was also known as honey pineapple. This large fruit, growing not in the earth like the true pineapples, but on vines in the trees, did taste like an extremely sweet pineapple. Indeed, it was so sweet that Ellen told me that many Hainanese people ate it only sparingly. Looking like wedges of pineapple after it was prepared for the table, the “follow me” was a marvelous taste sensation but I too could only eat a small amount of it before the flavor became cloying. The bo luo mi and many of the other fruits often grew wild on Hainan Island. Even the pineapples and coconuts which we purchased in the markets were incredibly cheap. Freshly picked, the sellers in the marketplace or in the small shops then deftly wielded large butcher knives to quickly prepare them for customers.
Driving along the rutted dirt road through the jungle, it felt as if we were getting further and further away from civilization. We encountered worsening road conditions and fewer signs of people. The recent rains had made the roads a muddy mess but they had also brought clean, glistening leaves and fresh air. Coconut trees and bananas, along with a wide variety of tropical plants and flowers, shaded our weaving dirt track. Occasionally, Ellen would point out a “follow me” growing in the trees. Continuing down the muddy lanes, only a few small houses in widely separated clearings proved that any people lived in this area. We finally reached a very tiny village of perhaps a half dozen buildings in this remote jungle setting. We stopped and got out of the pickup.
Ellen told me that this was her father’s boyhood home and that they still had relatives living in the area. Standing in the midst of the old buildings, smelling the soil still damp and rank from the recent rains, and inhaling the aroma of wet greenery and tropical flowers, I looked around me at the wild jungle growth. I was a long, long way from Rolla, Missouri.
It was almost a sensual experience to relax and smile, to realize that I was standing in the middle of the jungle. No traffic sounds and no human-created hustle and bustle marred this tranquil scene. I could hear only the sounds of birds and insects, and tree branches rustling in the wind. I wondered what it was like to wake up every morning and look out your window on such quiet, natural beauty.
We were here to visit Ellen’s grandfather. Ellen explained to me that her grandfather had died two years previously and had been cremated. A small urn of his ashes was brought back to this house which was now occupied by Ellen’s uncle and his family, although they were away this morning so I would not get to meet them. Entering the building, they showed me where this urn was now standing in a corner shrine in the main room. Ellen and her father lit incense and bowed silently to the urn. I stayed only briefly before quietly leaving to go back outdoors and offer them some privacy. They remained in the quiet house for only a few minutes before rejoining me outside. Later, Ellen told me she had come here to tell her grandfather that she was home from college. This was not a religious ceremony as much as a customary sign of respect. Indeed, there was no feeling of mysticism or ritual; it was just a required visit of the returning college student to see her grandfather… only, in this case, her grandfather happened to be dead. Ellen said that, after the third anniversary of his death, the urn would be moved to an upper shelf to join the other members of the family who had preceded him.
Dinner that night was another homecooked masterpiece prepared by Ellen’s mother, assisted by Angeline, A Po, Ellen, Li Jun, and numerous other relatives and neighbors who came and went continuously on this hospitable island. We enjoyed water buffalo, crabs, fish soup, fresh vegetables from their garden plot outside the kitchen building, plus a number of fruits, along with cold local beer. The fine weather and our day’s activities made the simple food even more delectable.
Dining was a leisurely process in Hainan. Joining us at the table for any meal might be neighbors, relatives, and business associates of Ellen’s father. They sometimes brought their small children who would be awestruck by my pale skin, foreign appearance, and Tilley hat. It was a constant source of amazement when I took off my sunglasses and they saw my green eyes. There was much chatter and laughter while the meals were being prepared and everything was simple and casually efficient in their nearby kitchen across the alley. This kitchen might lack the many devices and conveniences of a typical American kitchen but the food that issued from it was fresh, natural, and delicious. From grandmother A Po down to the youngest child, everyone seemed relaxed and happy to welcome the foreigner into their home. Language was no problem. With Ellen and Angeline translating, we got along easily. Indeed, after two days of living with them, this already felt like my home.
I stayed with Ellen’s family in Qionghai for three days. When we did not eat at their home, we went to one or another of the nearby restaurants, many of which featured both indoor and outdoor dining. Whenever it was not raining, I always requested the outdoor tables where I could enjoy the scenery and the soft tropical breezes.
One of these restaurants was the setting for my introduction to Hainan Island coffee. Just as Hawaii is famous for its Kona coffee, Hainan is becoming renowned for its own locally produced coffee. That morning, Ellen had taken me to a small neighborhood restaurant for breakfast. Seated outdoors on this sunny, peaceful morning she ordered hot green tea for herself and Hainan coffee for me. (It seemed as if every Hainan Island morning was sunny and peaceful – except those that were rainy and peaceful.) I learned that the coffee beans had been roasted to espresso bitterness before grinding. In the restaurant that morning, the strong, rich coffee was brewed and brought to our table. It was served black in a small glass instead of a cup and was accompanied by thick, sweetened condensed milk which I stirred into the coffee to soften the sharp tang. The coffee-and-milk mixture was lovely to look at but I had to be careful not to burn my fingers on the hot side of the glass.
Relaxing while I waited for the coffee to cool, I looked around me. Everywhere I gazed, I saw swaying palms and white wisps of clouds overhead, clouds that promised yet another afternoon tropical shower. It felt like the epitome of gracious living to be sitting outdoors at a wrought iron table in the pleasant morning breeze, relaxing and shaded by the coconut palms while unhurriedly sipping sweet, hot Hainan Island coffee.
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Tune in next week for further leisurely adventures and observations. This was just the beginning of my time in Qionghai. And now for my weekly plea…
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