Sanya Bay

I walked the Sanya Bay promenade on my second evening in the city, after two days in the Yalong Bay resort corridor had left me feeling sealed off from everything real. The sun was dropping behind the headland and the light on the water had gone amber, thick and warm, and old men were setting their birdcages on the railings along the seafront, the way you see in parks across southern China. The birds sang into the orange air. Children ate ice cream in extravagant combinations. Someone was frying something with garlic that made my mouth start working before I even saw the stall.

The night market that unfolds along the bay’s inland edge is the kind of eating situation I had been looking for since landing. Stalls with small plastic stools, laminated picture menus that do not correspond to what is actually available, the negotiation of pointing and smiling and eventually receiving something excellent. I had Hainanese beef hotpot at a narrow counter — a communal boil of beef tendon and tripe and things I could not identify, served with a dipping sauce of fermented bean curd and fresh chilli and something vinegary that cut through the fat perfectly. I ate until it became impolite to order more and then ordered one more bowl of broth. The proprietor found this funny. She refilled my tea.

What I appreciate about Sanya Bay, over the big resort beaches to the east, is precisely its indifference to foreign tourists. Nobody is performing for you. The boulevard exists because locals want an evening walk by the water, not because a hotel group decided to build a promenade. The coconut palms are older, less symmetrical. The beach itself is not the finest on the island — it is wide and flat and the water clarity does not match Yalong Bay — but that is almost beside the point. You are here to feel the city, not to optimize your swim.

The morning version of the promenade is worth setting an alarm for. Tai chi practitioners in loose clothes move through their forms as the sky goes pink over the headland. The early coffee vendors are already out — a small cup of Hainanese robusta with condensed milk, drunk standing at a wooden counter, for a sum that barely registers as money. The beach fills slowly after eight, with the kind of holidaymakers who carry their own picnic rather than ordering from a resort cabana. Old women do aqua aerobics in the shallows with cheerful, unselfconscious abandon. The whole thing has the feeling of a city genuinely at ease with itself.

When to go: Sanya Bay is at its most comfortable between November and March, when the humidity drops and the evenings are genuinely pleasant for walking. The night market runs year-round but peaks in December and January, when half of northern China descends on Sanya seeking warmth and the promenade takes on a festival atmosphere that is entirely unintentional.