on the beat.
The east end of Tap Mun is gentle and scenic, ideal for easy hiking. Paths cross open, grassy slopes providing scenic views of small beaches, the open sea with passing yachts, fishing boats and freighters, and other small islands.
The west end of the island is more rugged, with paths penetrating thick bush, overgrown in places. It is like walking through a living green tunnel of vines, palms, grasses, cacti, creepers and crawlers. Sharp, prickly leaves, like pineapple stems, scratch and claw at our clothes. Finally, the path opens up, leading to an easy climb up to Wintz Hill (Mau Ping Shan) and the white pillar of the surveyorâs cairn. From here there is a great, unobstructed 360-degree view of the surrounding sea and the pyramid shape of Sharp Peak (Nam She Tsim) on the mainland.
In Tap Mun village, fish wrapped tightly in paper and ribbons like mummies dry on fences and clotheslines, while others the size of tiny minnows glitter like silver coins in woven baskets. Tanka and Hoklo women wearing broad, woven hats pound dried shrimp into a powder.
Tap Munâs two-century-old Tin Hau Temple, the last one that fishermen and seamen can visit before heading out to the open sea, is one of the most popular in Hong Kong. The green-tiled temple to Taoismâs Goddess of the Sea is equipped with traditional trappings of a huge bell, drum and portable altar for carrying the goddess. We are admiring the main temple when the sudden explosive crackle of firecrackers from the altar next door shatters our silent reveries, and the acrid scent of black powder mingles with the sweeter aroma of temple incense.
The fishing villageâs only real restaurant, the New Hong Ke, serves Chinese-style seafood and other dishes. The English menu lists steamed medium-sized prawns, fried prawns with chili, fried clams in ginger and spring onion sauce, and stir-fried garoupa, all at market price. Dishes are about HK$60 each, cheap by Hong Kong standards. Curiously, although it is bright and airy, the restaurant is enclosed, taking no advantage of its scenicseaside setting. One wall is covered with colored prints of people who have dined there, including two former governors David Wilson and the peripatetic Patten, a well-known Sino-trencherman and island-hopper, who visited twice.
Ping Chau
Only determined island lovers venture out to Ping Chau, the farthest outlying island from Hong Kong and the hardest to reach (about an hour by MTR, subway and commuter train from Central, and an hour and 45 minutes by ferry). Police boats looking for illegal immigrants regularly stop ferries to the island in Hong Kongâs remote northeast, the closest one to mainland China. Daya Bay, with its nuclear plant, is just 12 kilometers from Ping Chau.
Like all of the ferries to the more remote islands, the boat is a beat up old craft, smelling of oil and old ropes. Once heavily populated, Ping Chau is now almost abandoned, except on summer weekends, when inhabitants return to run small restaurants and shops selling drinks and snacks to day-trippers, thousands of teenage campers and picnickers.
From the ferry, China is clearly visible a short distance away, and with binoculars I can pick out the new buildings sprouting along the Chinese coastline. A walking trail loops around the island, passing traditional stone houses and pleasant beaches washed by perhaps the clearest water in Hong Kong. Few hikers go beyond the barbecue pits, campsites and picnic facilities, so after a short walk, we leave the masses behind. At the southern end of the island stand two rocky outcrops, the Ping Chau âWatchtowers.â
The eastern coast of the island must be one of the most peaceful spots in all of Hong Kong. Along this coast, unusual bedded sedimentary mudstones and siltstones are tilted, tiered slabs, like lopsided layers of earthenware plates. After circumnavigating the island, we return to a broad, sandy beach, and the crowds of weekenders.
It is
The east end of Tap Mun is gentle and scenic, ideal for easy hiking. Paths cross open, grassy slopes providing scenic views of small beaches, the open sea with passing yachts, fishing boats and freighters, and other small islands.
The west end of the island is more rugged, with paths penetrating thick bush, overgrown in places. It is like walking through a living green tunnel of vines, palms, grasses, cacti, creepers and crawlers. Sharp, prickly leaves, like pineapple stems, scratch and claw at our clothes. Finally, the path opens up, leading to an easy climb up to Wintz Hill (Mau Ping Shan) and the white pillar of the surveyorâs cairn. From here there is a great, unobstructed 360-degree view of the surrounding sea and the pyramid shape of Sharp Peak (Nam She Tsim) on the mainland.
In Tap Mun village, fish wrapped tightly in paper and ribbons like mummies dry on fences and clotheslines, while others the size of tiny minnows glitter like silver coins in woven baskets. Tanka and Hoklo women wearing broad, woven hats pound dried shrimp into a powder.
Tap Munâs two-century-old Tin Hau Temple, the last one that fishermen and seamen can visit before heading out to the open sea, is one of the most popular in Hong Kong. The green-tiled temple to Taoismâs Goddess of the Sea is equipped with traditional trappings of a huge bell, drum and portable altar for carrying the goddess. We are admiring the main temple when the sudden explosive crackle of firecrackers from the altar next door shatters our silent reveries, and the acrid scent of black powder mingles with the sweeter aroma of temple incense.
The fishing villageâs only real restaurant, the New Hong Ke, serves Chinese-style seafood and other dishes. The English menu lists steamed medium-sized prawns, fried prawns with chili, fried clams in ginger and spring onion sauce, and stir-fried garoupa, all at market price. Dishes are about HK$60 each, cheap by Hong Kong standards. Curiously, although it is bright and airy, the restaurant is enclosed, taking no advantage of its scenicseaside setting. One wall is covered with colored prints of people who have dined there, including two former governors David Wilson and the peripatetic Patten, a well-known Sino-trencherman and island-hopper, who visited twice.
Ping Chau
Only determined island lovers venture out to Ping Chau, the farthest outlying island from Hong Kong and the hardest to reach (about an hour by MTR, subway and commuter train from Central, and an hour and 45 minutes by ferry). Police boats looking for illegal immigrants regularly stop ferries to the island in Hong Kongâs remote northeast, the closest one to mainland China. Daya Bay, with its nuclear plant, is just 12 kilometers from Ping Chau.
Like all of the ferries to the more remote islands, the boat is a beat up old craft, smelling of oil and old ropes. Once heavily populated, Ping Chau is now almost abandoned, except on summer weekends, when inhabitants return to run small restaurants and shops selling drinks and snacks to day-trippers, thousands of teenage campers and picnickers.
From the ferry, China is clearly visible a short distance away, and with binoculars I can pick out the new buildings sprouting along the Chinese coastline. A walking trail loops around the island, passing traditional stone houses and pleasant beaches washed by perhaps the clearest water in Hong Kong. Few hikers go beyond the barbecue pits, campsites and picnic facilities, so after a short walk, we leave the masses behind. At the southern end of the island stand two rocky outcrops, the Ping Chau âWatchtowers.â
The eastern coast of the island must be one of the most peaceful spots in all of Hong Kong. Along this coast, unusual bedded sedimentary mudstones and siltstones are tilted, tiered slabs, like lopsided layers of earthenware plates. After circumnavigating the island, we return to a broad, sandy beach, and the crowds of weekenders.
It is
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