"20-HKD Ferry Ticket to Tap Mun Island: Stepping into a Miyazaki Summer"

When boarding the ferry to Tap Mun Island, I thought the 20-HKD ticket was like an admission pass to a fairy tale—but it wasn't until I stepped onto the pier that I realized no words could fully capture how "worth every penny" this trip truly was. The island is charmingly rustic, with local houses scattered along the coastline, their tiled roofs damp with sea breeze, and fishing nets drying at doorsteps, still carrying the briny scent of the ocean. Turning left from the pier, a winding path leads to the "Rock Stack"—a trail of crushed stones mixed with fine sand that crunches underfoot. Just a few steps in, the view suddenly opens up—a vast expanse of sea crashes into sight, so blue it feels like the sky itself has been shattered and spread across the ground. The Rock Stack stands crookedly by the shore, as if piled haphazardly by a giant, while at its feet stretches the endless horizon. The real gem is that lone bench facing the sea. Perched on the edge of the grass, its paint chipped by the salty wind, it exudes a stubborn kind of tenderness. Sitting there, the sea breeze sneaks under your collar, crisp with the scent of saltwater, while distant waves crash against the rocks with a muffled rhythm, like someone humming softly. Taking a live photo here requires no filter—the sky is a piercing blue, the sea a gradient of turquoise, the grass impossibly fresh green, and even the clouds drift lazily overhead, every frame a masterpiece of nature’s palette. Time moves differently here. The vast meadow at noon feels plucked straight from a Miyazaki film—herds of cows lazily swish their tails, some napping under trees, unfazed by passersby, their lashes still dusted with grass. The field is so soft under bare feet, like stepping on velvet, where the distant sea meets the grass in a seamless blend. When the wind blows, the waves of grass and ocean sway together, making you feel like you’ve stumbled into the summer of *My Neighbor Totoro*. I’ve chased countless sunsets in Shenzhen—from skyscraper rooftops to coastal highways—but Tap Mun’s sunset steals your breath. As evening falls, the sky melts from orange to pink-purple, then fades into pale blue. The sea glitters like scattered gold, the glare off the waves almost blinding, even the cows pause to watch, their shadows stretching long against the Rock Stack and that solitary bench, all framed in this living painting. When the last light dips below the horizon, I’m left speechless—a sunset this raw, this unfiltered, makes you want to applaud. This place is the ultimate antidote to urban burnout. No pushy vendors, no crowds, even phone signals come and go. When tired, just perch on a rock and watch fishing boats glide across the horizon, or listen to local kids chasing waves along the shore. The stress of KPIs, commutes, and meetings softens in the sea’s embrace, slowly unraveling. For the best route, take the ferry from Ma Liu Shui Pier. Exit at University Station (Exit B), walk ten minutes to the pier, passing students cycling by, the air sweet with bubble tea. The one-hour ride offers window seats with views of tiny islets and fishing boats bobbing like white birds. On weekdays, ferries run twice: 8:30 (return 11:10) and 15:00 (return 17:00). Weekends add a noon trip (12:30 out, 13:45 back)—go early to soak in a full afternoon on the island. Leaving, I glance back at the meadow—the cows still grazing, the bench empty, the last sunlight creeping up the Rock Stack. Suddenly it hits me: this wasn’t just a "worthwhile" trip. It was stolen time, a day so perfect even the hours seemed to linger.