Introduction
Gulangyu. When I first heard the name of this small island, my heart stirred at the story of how it earned its name from the drum-like sound waves make when they crash against its rocks. Located just two kilometers off the coast of Xiamen in Fujian Province, this island once flourished as an international concession and still preserves an extraordinary collection of colonial architecture that speaks of its cosmopolitan past.
Spanning merely 1.87 square kilometers, the island prohibits motor vehicles, creating a sanctuary where cobblestone paths wind between colonial mansions, traditional red-brick Chinese buildings, and elegant Western-style villas. From the mid-19th to early 20th century, consulates from Britain, America, France, Germany, and Japan established their presence here, creating a unique crossroads where Eastern and Western cultures intermingled.
The island is particularly renowned for its musical heritage—it boasts the highest ratio of pianos to residents in all of China. Walk through its streets at dusk, and piano melodies drift from open windows like gentle ghosts of a more refined era. Drawn by these enchanting qualities of Gulangyu, I decided to embark on a small journey—two nights and three days of imagined wandering through this island of music and memories.
Day One: Welcomed by the Sound of Waves
The small ferry from Xiamen International Ferry Terminal took about twenty minutes to reach Gulangyu’s Sanqiutian Pier, arriving just after 10 AM. The moment I stepped off the boat, I was enveloped by the salt-tinged air and a distinctive quietude. The absence of engine noise struck my city-accustomed ears as refreshingly novel, replaced instead by the rhythm of waves, birdsong, and the distant tinkle of piano keys floating through the morning air.
My accommodation, the Haiyun Inn, was a small guesthouse near Longtou Road in the island’s heart. Housed in a renovated Western mansion over a century old, the building spoke of bygone elegance through its arched windows and decorative columns. After checking into my second-floor room with its sea view, I gazed out at the blue waters and Xiamen’s distant skyline stretching across the strait.
I began the morning with island exploration. The cobblestone paths proved more intricate than expected, and even with map in hand, I often found myself emerging at unexpected locations—which became part of the walk’s charm. Longtou Road, the island’s main thoroughfare extending from the port, bustled with souvenir shops, cafés, and small restaurants. At Gulangyu Cake Shop, I sampled the local specialty, mung bean cake, its refined sweetness dissolving on my tongue.
As noon approached, I began the ascent to Sunlight Rock, the island’s highest peak. Though standing at only 92.7 meters, the steep stone steps demanded effort. After fifteen minutes of climbing, I was rewarded with a 360-degree panorama. Below spread a dense cluster of red-tiled Western mansions, beyond which stretched the blue sea. The contrast with Xiamen’s distant high-rises was striking, emphasizing Gulangyu’s sense of existing outside ordinary time.
Lunch was at “Old Friends,” a small eatery at Sunlight Rock’s base, where I ordered shacha noodles, a Xiamen specialty. The noodles, tossed in a sweet and spicy sauce rich with shrimp and dried fish flavors, provided perfect comfort after the morning’s exertions. The proprietress, Ms. Chen, was a gentle woman in her sixties who shared island stories in halting Mandarin. “This island has four seasons,” she said lovingly. “Spring brings flowers, summer greenery, autumn fruit, and winter silence. Each season shows a different face.” Her affectionate words left a lasting impression.
The afternoon brought me to Shuzhuang Garden, built in 1913 by Taiwanese magnate Lin Erjia. This masterpiece seamlessly blended Chinese classical garden aesthetics with Western architectural techniques. Its design brilliantly incorporated the sea as borrowed scenery—from every angle within the garden, beautiful ocean vistas were visible. The undulating “Forty-Four Bridge” offered particularly spectacular views, creating the illusion that sea and garden flowed together as one.
Evening found me at Guanhai Garden on the island’s western side, famous for its sunsets. Seated on a bench, I watched the sky and sea turn orange while Xiamen’s skyline became silhouettes against the fading light. Few tourists were present, and local elderly residents practicing tai chi created charming tableaux of daily island life.
Dinner was at “Sea Breeze Pavilion” on Longtou Road, renowned for fresh seafood. I ordered steamed fish, stir-fried water spinach, and tushun dong—a Xiamen specialty resembling savory jelly. Though simple in appearance, the tushun dong concentrated oceanic flavors beautifully, pairing perfectly with local shaoxing wine.
Nighttime Gulangyu revealed yet another character. Walking the lamplit cobblestone paths, piano melodies drifted from old mansion windows—familiar pieces like “Moon River” and “Jasmine Flower” carried on evening breezes, making the entire island feel like one enormous concert hall. On my way back to the inn, I stopped at a small bar for Xiamen beer, reflecting on the day while listening to the waves. My first night on the island passed peacefully, wrapped in a silence that made the city’s clamor feel like a distant memory.
Day Two: Embraced by History and Music
The second morning began with birdsong and distant piano melodies drifting through my window. Opening it, cool sea breezes caressed my face. Breakfast in the inn’s ground floor dining room consisted of congee with pickled vegetables and bobing, Xiamen’s specialty thin crepes filled with julienned vegetables and sweet-savory sauce—simple yet deeply satisfying.
The morning was devoted to understanding Gulangyu’s history through visits to significant historical buildings. First stop was the “Bagua Building,” a 1907 red-brick structure now serving as a branch of Xiamen Museum. Its distinctive circular dome housed excellent exhibits on island history and culture. Most impressive were photographs from the consulate era and period household items, illustrating how international this small island once was.
Next came the Organ Museum, symbolizing Gulangyu’s musical heritage through displays of antique organs and pianos from around the world. Staff occasionally performed demonstrations, and I was treated to the beautiful tones of a 19th-century European organ. Among the exhibits was a 1928 American organ whose intricate decoration and rich sound proved captivating.
After noon, I visited Haoyue Garden in the island’s northeast, a park commemorating Ming Dynasty hero Zheng Chenggong. A massive 15.7-meter statue of Zheng gazes out to sea, surrounded by beautifully landscaped grounds perfect for sea-breeze strolls. From the park, Jinmen Island was visible in the distance, evoking historical dramas once played out in these waters.
Lunch came at “Grandma’s Rice Dumplings,” a tiny shop near Haoyue Garden. Meat dumplings (bak chang) represent quintessential Xiamen home cooking—glutinous rice wrapped with pork, mushrooms, and chestnuts, steamed in bamboo leaves. Each handmade dumpling offered chewy texture and complex flavors. The shop’s octogenarian proprietress worked with remarkable skill, her movements reflecting a craftsperson’s pride.
The afternoon took me through the island’s southwestern residential areas, where tourist crowds thinned and local daily life breathed quietly. Here I discovered laundry fluttering in narrow alleys, small markets, and courtyards echoing with children’s laughter—Gulangyu’s face beyond the tourist veneer. Most memorable was meeting an elderly woodcarver in a converted mansion workshop.
Mr. Lin, a craftsman in his seventies, had been carving on the island for over fifty years. “Our island’s woodcarving blends Nanyang techniques with Chinese traditions,” he explained while expertly shaping a Guanyin statue. His workshop shelves displayed intricate dragon figurines, Buddhist statues, and small reliefs depicting Gulangyu scenes. Each piece radiated the craftsman’s soul, and I purchased a small Guanyin as a keepsake.
Evening brought me to a concert befitting the musical island. Daily at 6 PM, local music enthusiasts gathered in a small hall for performances. This evening featured high school students in a piano-violin duet, playing Chopin’s “Nocturne” and arrangements of Chinese folk songs. Though not professionally polished, their pure love of music shone through, earning warm applause from the appreciative audience.
Dinner was in “Gulangyu Old Street,” an uncommercialized local food quarter offering authentic Xiamen cuisine. At “Ah Hui Seafood,” a small establishment, I ordered blanched shrimp, clam soup, and dongpo pork. Each dish emphasized natural flavors through simple preparation, with the clear clam broth proving especially exquisite.
After dinner came night wandering. Gulangyu’s evening arrives early—most shops close after 9 PM, returning the island to its inherent tranquility. Walking the lamplit cobblestones, I listened to piano melodies floating from various homes: Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,” Debussy’s “Clair de Lune,” and the Chinese piece “Colorful Clouds Chasing the Moon” carried on night breezes, making the entire island resonate like one great instrument. Before returning to the inn, I sat on a seaside bench, savoring this special night unique to Gulangyu, enveloped by waves and piano music.
Day Three: Farewell Melodies
On my final morning, I rose early to appreciate the island’s dawn character. At 6:30 AM, walking the still-dim coastal paths, I encountered elderly people practicing tai chi and young joggers. Morning Gulangyu shed its tourist face, returning to being simply home to its residents.
I climbed Sunlight Rock again for sunrise. Unlike yesterday’s midday ascent, the morning air was crisp and clear, with birdsong more distinct. Reaching the summit just as the sun emerged from the horizon, I watched orange light illuminate the sea surface, bathing the entire island in gold. Having this beautiful moment to myself felt luxuriously private.
Breakfast was at “Good Morning Gulangyu,” a small eatery near the port beloved by locals. I enjoyed soy milk with fried dough sticks and chive dumplings—simple fare that seemed infused with islanders’ warmth. Chatting briefly with an elderly man at the neighboring table, his words resonated: “This island doesn’t hurry. Time flows slowly here, so hearts become peaceful too.”
My remaining morning hours were spent exploring small alleys absent from maps. Wandering a narrow path, I suddenly emerged into a tiny courtyard—apparently a communal space where laundry dried and elderly women prepared vegetables while chatting. Noticing me, everyone smiled and waved warmly. Though language barriers existed, their friendliness communicated perfectly.
Another discovery was a small used bookstore called “Scholarly Nook,” crammed with Chinese classics and music books. The young female proprietor had moved from Beijing, explaining: “I grew tired of city life and felt drawn to this island’s tranquility. Now I’m an islander myself, hoping to create a small cultural outpost.” Her eyes shone with purpose. I purchased a book about Gulangyu’s history as a travel memento.
Near noon, packing time arrived. While organizing my belongings, I impressed these three days’ memories onto my heart. The Haiyun Inn’s proprietress presented me with homemade mung bean cakes at checkout. “Please return again,” she said. “This island will always wait for you.” Her words touched me deeply.
My final lunch returned me to “Old Friends” from the first day. Seeing Ms. Chen again felt like meeting an old friend. “Three days have made you quite comfortable with the island,” she observed. “Your expression has softened.” I could indeed feel my heart had grown lighter. Savoring the shacha noodles, I committed their taste to memory.
Though my 2 PM ferry to Xiamen awaited, I wanted one last visit to Shuzhuang Garden. The afternoon light revealed different beauty from yesterday’s visit. Standing on the Forty-Four Bridge, overlooking sea and garden, I reflected on my Gulangyu experience. The people I’d met, flavors I’d tasted, music I’d heard, and silence I’d felt—everything remained deeply embedded within.
Walking toward the ferry terminal, I consciously felt the cobblestone texture beneath my feet one final time. On this quiet island without car noise, only my footsteps echoed—a special silence impossible to experience in city life.
Waiting at Sanqiutian Pier, the afternoon sun revealed Gulangyu’s complete panorama: red-tiled Western mansions, lush greenery, and blue sea. Burning this scene into memory, I pledged to return someday.
As the ferry began pulling away from the island, piano melodies drifted across the distance—sounding like farewell music and promises of future reunions simultaneously. Gulangyu had definitely become part of my heart. Standing on the ferry deck amid sea spray, I waved small goodbye toward the island. My two nights and three days on the musical island of Gulangyu thus drew to a close.
Final Reflections
Looking back, this journey to Gulangyu, though born of imagination, was genuinely experienced within my heart. The sound of footsteps on cobblestones, wave music, piano melodies, warm encounters with local people, and the island’s unique silence and temporal rhythm—all remain vivid as actual memories.
Travel need not always involve physical movement; landscapes and encounters drawn in our hearts can be equally valuable experiences. This imaginary journey to beautiful Gulangyu, born from longing, both motivates actual travel and enriches the soul when real journeys prove impossible.
Gulangyu, the musical island. Someday I hope to truly walk those cobblestones with my own feet and hear real waves and piano melodies with my own ears. With such hopes in my heart, I close this record of an imagined journey.
