Xiamen

Nestled against the verdant slopes of Wulao Peak and gazing out over the shimmering strait, Nanputuo Temple is a sanctuary where the scent of sandalwood mingles with the salty breath of the South China Sea. Founded in the Tang dynasty and rebuilt through the ages, its grand halls — Mahavira, Heavenly Kings, and the towering Guanyin Pavilion — unfold along a precise north–south axis, each roof crowned with glazed tiles that catch the tropical light. Pilgrims and travelers alike pause beneath ancient banyan trees to tie red ribbons for wishes, while the vegetarian restaurant behind the complex serves some of Xiamen’s most refined plant‑based cuisine. The temple’s true magic, however, reveals itself on the stone stairway that climbs behind the main halls: a half‑hour ascent rewards you with a panoramic terrace where the city’s red‑tiled roofs, the curve of the university campus, and the distant sails of Gulangyu Island compose a living scroll.

Just a short ferry ride from the bustling harbor of Xiamen, Gulangyu Island is a sanctuary of tranquility dubbed the ‘Piano Island’ for its romantic, old-world musical heritage. Stepping onto its shores instantly silences the modern world, as a strict ‘no-car’ policy leaves only the rustle of banyan leaves, the crash of waves against craggy reefs, and the echoing strains of classical piano drifting from surnamed villas. Wandering the labyrinthine alleyways is a feast for architectural aficionados, where crumbling Sino-European colonial mansions (consulates, missionary houses, and wealthy merchants’ residences) are draped in scarlet bougainvillea. At the island’s core looms the iconic Sunlitang (Rock Incited by Hand), a natural monolith offering sweeping views of the Taiwan Strait. By night, the community swells with tide pools and street food hawkers selling fish balls, oyster omelets, and sweet peanut soups, giving Gulangyu a charming ‘sleepy fishing village’ feel alongside its cosmopolitan past.

Perched on Xiamen’s southern headland, Hulishan Fortress is a concrete-and-steel sentinel born of Qing Dynasty desperation and German Krupp ingenuity. Built in 1896 to guard the strategic Xiamen Harbor, its centerpiece is a pair of 280mm coastal guns — each 13 meters long, weighing 50 tons, and capable of hurling a 215-kg shell 16 kilometers. The barrels, cast in Essen and shipped halfway across the world, still sit on their original hydraulic carriages, their breeches etched with the Krupp family motto. Beyond the gun emplacements, the fortress unfurls as a labyrinth of underground magazines, barracks, and observation tunnels carved into the granite cliff, their walls bearing the soot of long-extinguished oil lamps. A small museum displays a spectacular “world’s smallest cannon” collection — over 50 pieces from a fingernail-sized replica to a Ming-era bronze dragon — while the clifftop ramparts frame a cinematic panorama of the Taiwan Strait, where cargo ships trace the same lanes once patrolled by Qing junks and Japanese destroyers.

On a peninsula north of Xiamen, the visionary overseas-Chinese leader Tan Kah Kee (Chen Jiageng) built an educational utopia — Jimei School Village — where academia, architecture, and philanthropy converge. Spread across 100 hectares, the campus blends Minnan red-brick arcades, Fujianese swallow-tail ridges, and Western colonial verandas into a harmonious ensemble of libraries, science halls, a maritime college, and a teachers’ college. Dragon-boat ponds reflect the silhouette of the iconic Retreat & Reflection Garden’s moon gate; bronze statues of Tan and his mother watch over tree-lined boulevards where students still cycle between classes. The village remains a functioning educational hub — over 20,000 pupils — yet feels like an open-air museum of early 20th-century modernist idealism. Tan’s mausoleum, a solemn stone torii framed by banyan roots, anchors the northern hill, reminding visitors that one man’s fortune can seed generations of minds.