Travelog
Most travelers think they know Shenzhen: glass towers, sprawling tech campuses, the relentless buzz of a city that never really switches off. But this fast-moving metropolis has another face – one that has little to do with high-rises or economic milestones, and everything to do with sea air, old stone, and a slower rhythm.
Just a few hours away by road from Macau, a different side of the city waits: ancient alleyways, turquoise bays, and dramatic cliffs. It’s a coastline that feels a world away from the gleaming towers most visitors come to see – and one that reveals a quieter, wilder soul of this extraordinary city.
The journey begins on the water. A ferry from the Taipa Ferry Terminal carries me across the Pearl River Delta to Shekou Port, where Shenzhen’s metro network waits to carry me farther east. Watching the urban landscape gradually give way to rolling green hills and open ocean is an adventure in itself.
By late morning, I was walking through the 600-year-old gate of Dapeng Fortress. The air smelled different here – salt and earth instead of concrete and exhaust. The cobblestone streets were quiet, lined with traditional courtyard houses, ancestral halls, and small temples. I wander for hours with no real plan, touching weathered stone walls that have stood since the Ming dynasty. Dapeng doesn’t feel like a curated museum; it feels like a lived-in neighborhood where time – somehow – didn’t fully leave.
A short walk from the fortress leads to Jiaochangwei, a relaxed beach village where pastel guesthouses and gentle string lights set the mood. The bay is calm, the sand soft, and the whole place seems designed for lingering. As the sun begins to drop, I settle into a beachfront café and watch the light shift from gold to pink. Dinner is straightforward and perfect: seafood at its freshest – garlic prawns sizzling in butter, a whole steamed fish dressed simply with ginger and scallions. Every bite tastes like the ocean brought itself to the table.
The next day starts quietly, accompanied by the distant cries of seabirds. From there, a short taxi ride takes me to Yangmeikeng, where I rent an e-bike and set out along the coast.
A narrow coastal road traces the shoreline for several kilometers, with crystal-clear turquoise water stretching endlessly on one side and lush green hills rising on the other. I ride slowly, stopping every few minutes just to stare. The locals have a name for it: the “glass sea.” Once you see it, the name makes immediate sense.
At the road’s end, I parked my bike and hiked up to Luzui Cliff. This is where Stephen Chow chose to shoot key scenes for his 2016 blockbuster “The Mermaid” – and it’s not difficult to see why. The view is pure cinematic drama: sheer cliffs dropping into churning blue water, a solitary lighthouse standing sentinel on a rocky outcrop, while waves crash against the shore far below.
By late afternoon, I’m back on the ferry to Macau – sunburned, tired, and smiling.
Shenzhen has a secret. Beneath the headlines and economic figures, beneath the image of a city built from steel and glass, there’s still an edge that feels wild, old, and achingly beautiful. And it’s waiting, just a ferry ride away. GY/MDT
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