The beach
ONE OF THE BASIC rules of creating a tourist attraction in modern China is not holding back due to a lack of obvious tourism touchstones: if there's no culture, invent it; if there are no historical attractions, build them; and in the case of the Sunshine Coast, in the mountains of Yunnan, import some sand and plonk it next to a lake. Hey presto, instant beach.
I’ve been visiting the Sunshine Coast, around 120km southeast of Kunming, regularly for a couple of years – less for the beach than for Solitude Island, or Gushan Dao (pictured above and which I will write more about later). But the beach, with its shop-front row of fish restaurants and outlets for floaties, gaily colored swimsuits and straw hats, has an old-school, folksy charm about it. If there were donkeys and Punch & Judy shows, it would be rather like being transported back to Weymouth or Brighton circa 1965 – except with far better weather. In fact, at around 2,000 meters above sea level, Fuxian Lake probably has a better year-round beach climate than the country's premier seaside destination, Hainan Island, or the so-called Hawaii of the East. And there are no Russians here ... yet.
So far, Fuxian has been spared the five-star invasion that ruined Hainan, but that can't be far away. A sprawling monstrosity called the Kowloon Scenic View is under construction about a kilometer from the beach and the Banyan Tree group have an Angsana Resort and Club up and running on the northwest corner of the lake. The nameless lodge that has been my home on every previous visit now has a name – Shuixiang Yuan, or something like Water Village Courtyard – wireless internet, refrigerated Snow Beer and a mahjong room. In other words, it's time to find another lodge – no doubt, in a mountain village that does not yet have a beach.
Theroux on travel
Paul Theroux, writing for the Financial Times (May 27), to promote his latest offering, The Tao of Travel (Hamish Hamilton), has penned a timely and thought-provoking riposte to a feeling I’m sure is shared by many contemporary travelers – that is, there is nothing new under the sun. Theroux’s subject is travel writing, not traveling itself, of course, but the notion that there is nothing new to write about is much the same as saying there is nothing new to see.
His suggestion, "try Mecca" – followed by the story of Arthur John Wavell, who "disguised himself as a Swahili-speaking Zanzibari, made the pilgrimage and wrote about it in A Modern Pilgrim in Mecca (1912)", a feat that Theroux claims has never been repeated – is perhaps overly ambitious for the average contemporary traveler. But his general observations on the many other destinations that are not on the map are a reminder that, despite our easy mobility and ubiquitous communications devices, the world is not quite as "explored" as we often pretend to ourselves.
Theroux signs off in his signature, irascible style with a list of exotic destinations that are anything but exotic should you have the misfortune of visiting them. But his inclusion of Kunming, described as "a huge, horrendous city", makes me wonder whether he has ever made the effort to explore the city. There is still a lot to love about China’s so-called Spring City – in my opinion, probably the only really livable large city left in China – and it is the perfect springboard for precisely the kind of travel that Theroux apparently would like to remind us is still possible – remote mountain villages and valleys, pristine lakes, many still untouristed. To be sure, they are not so easy to get to, but Theroux would have us recall that in the travail of travel all the best stories emerge. As VS Pritchett once said – and Theroux quotes him – "A large number of travel books fail because of the monotonous good luck of their authors."