Chao Jing Park

It's been seven years since I last visited Chaojing Park. The last time was with my mother and my son, who had just started high school. Back then, the park was still under construction; the only access from the parking lot was a large platform and a few art installations, and it was unbearably hot. But the sea was so blue that day, and the clouds looked like thick cotton wool piled in the distance. I remember telling myself: once it's finished, I must come back. Now, the small rice noodle stall by the parking lot is hastily constructed, made of corrugated iron and wooden planks, like a makeshift arrangement. Looking up, the exposed concrete buildings seem to hang in the air, with trendy cafes and tea rooms nestled inside. But the purpose of several of the sculpted buildings in front is unclear, and further on, there's an incongruous little red temple. The whole landscape is like misplaced building blocks, each seemingly talking its own story. Stepping into the cafe, the air conditioning mingled with the smell of food and dampness. The sea view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was clearly vast, but inside it was crowded and noisy. The tea room next door was quiet; the prices on the menu made me quietly retreat. It was much more comfortable outside—a cloudy day with a gentle breeze, and the sea unfolding before my eyes. I wanted to find a chair to sit on, but found that several benches were surrounded by muddy, damp puddles, and I wondered how long they'd been there. Suddenly, I felt that perhaps some places shouldn't be in such a rush to be "built." Seven years ago, that empty platform at least had room for a stretch of sea, a breeze, and memories of a family sunburnt red. Now, with so much more space, there are fewer places to sit.

Chaojing Park, nestled against the mountains and facing the sea, offers a panoramic view and is an excellent spot for gazing at the azure Pacific Ocean.