Make Journey Not War on Kinmen Island

In October 1949 the tiny Taiwanese island of Kinmen made the world's headlines as Republican soldiers drove communist forces back into the sea. A mere 1.8 km from mainland China and trapped between the jaws of two promontories, Kinmen proved difficult for the attackers to chew and swallow. For several decades the island and mainland remained only on shelling, then on yelling, terms. Bombardment continued intermittently until 1978, and vast p.a. systems broadcast propaganda each way across the narrow straight — truly a dialogue of the deaf.

Now visitors to Xiamen, the Chinese city across the water, can do more than stare at Taiwanese territory: they can sail over on organized tours. A two-day visit is a good bet for non-Chinese, too, but they'd be better off starting at Taipei's Song Shan airport, 260 km away. You would expect Kinmen to be a pockmarked moonscape — during 29 years of hostilities more than 940,000 shells were fired at the island — but as your plane descends you see the reassuring orderliness of small-scale agriculture among lush, tree-covered hills. Air-conditioned buses then take you down narrow, winding roads past fields of sorghum, which is fermented into fiery kaoliang, a clear spirit that is Kinmen's most prized export. The distillery is one of several essential shopping stops.

Inevitably, many of the other sights are military — rusting tanks, old emplacements. But there are some scenic splendors. Areas protected by mines and barbed wire have become accidental nature reserves, and while binoculars are used to scan the opposite coast for signs of trouble, they also spot herons, geese, and kingfishers.

But much of the fascination is in the rodent-like life of the island's defenders, who live underground in tunnels that riddle the granite hills. Everywhere partly obscured metal doors lead to steps down narrow, intermittently lit passages with an oddly clammy warmth. Some carefully managed routes surface beneath concrete emplacements prettily enshrouded in bougainvillea. Other tunnels meander for kilometers to hideouts set in cliff sides, where you can gaze through slits in the concrete across waters dotted by fishing boats at the not-so-distant shoreline where other tourists stare back.

Officially the main attraction is the Chukuang Lou, a palatial exhibition center dedicated to the Taiwanese view of the island's heroic history. Black-and-white photographs of gangsterish officials in fedoras and long black coats are included among the multimedia displays.

Before the 1982 return to civilian rule in Taiwan there was little destructive "progress," and many low brick and tile traditional houses have survived long after their mainland counterparts have been replaced with concrete boxes. The village of Shanhou was built at the end of the 19th century to house various branches of the Wong family, successful traders who had returned to the island. The elegant curves of the roof ridges end in the skyward pointing "swallow tails" once typical of southeast China. Some houses are filled with period furnishings and costumes, and the family shrine still represents the family's departed ancestors. A winding path up the island's highest point leads up to an ancient Taoist temple, giant golf ball-shaped radar units and superb seaviews.

Despite reminders of the tensions everywhere, the island is trying to move forward. At the shop of Chin Ho Li, shell casings originally containing propaganda are beaten and snipped into kitchen knives before your eyes — perfect souvenirs. Swords into ploughshares, anyone?