Quanzhou Flower Adorning: Wearing a Bouquet of Blossoms in the Ancient Maritime Silk Port

Stepping out of Quanzhou Station, the humid sea breeze, tinged with the faint fragrance of jasmine, greeted me at once. This ancient city—recognized by UNESCO as the “World Maritime Trade Center”—welcomed my arrival with the gentlest breath. What I longed for most on this trip was a “flower-adornment appointment” in Xunpu Village. The vivid blossoms that Minnan women wear by their temples had already taken root in my imagination long before I came.

The bus ride to Xunpu gradually shed the clamor of the city. Swallow-tail ridges of red-brick houses pierced the sky, while the exquisite “brick-stone interlacing” craftsmanship on the walls looked like a giant puzzle. Now and then, I caught sight of grandmothers fanning themselves by the wall, with tiny flowers tucked by their temples, making me even more eager for what awaited me. At the village entrance, the archway carved with “Xunpu” stood proudly. In the nearby tidal flats, fishing boats lay tilted on the sand, nets glistening in the sunlight like stars scattered on the shore.

Following the map, I found a well-regarded flower shop. Pushing open the wooden door with a creak, I was instantly enveloped in floral fragrance. Baskets brimmed with blooms—pure white jasmine, soft yellow night jasmine, flaming red bougainvillea, and little wildflowers still beaded with morning dew, as though ready to burst into song. “Here to adorn your hair with flowers? Come sit!” Auntie Lin, the shopkeeper, greeted me with a smile. Silver bangles clinked lightly on her wrist as she spoke.

She first took up a wooden comb to smooth my hair. Her hands, rough yet warm, bore the calluses of a lifetime of work, but her touch was gentle as the comb glided through. “For us Xunpu women, hair must be tied in the ‘conch bun’—see, it’s like the sea snail from the ocean.” With practiced skill, she twisted and coiled my hair into a bun, fastening it with a red cord. Then she selected flowers from the basket—wrapping night jasmine around the bun, tucking jasmine and bougainvillea in clusters on either side. “In the past, fisherwomen wore flowers to pray for safety at sea. Now, we wear them for joy, to keep life as lively as flowers.”

When she handed me the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. My long hair was crowned with blossoms—white jasmine at my ear, scarlet bougainvillea brushing my shoulder. The sea breeze stirred the petals, lending me a touch of the Minnan women’s grace. Auntie tied a blue kerchief around my neck: “Now you look just like a Xunpu woman!”

Walking the stone paths of the village with flowers in my hair, I became the brightest “scenery.” Passing a food stall, the owner called out, “Such pretty flowers! Want to try some oyster omelet? Just harvested this morning—fresh as the sea!” One bite revealed oysters sweet with brine, wrapped in egg, dipped in sweet chili sauce—a taste of the ocean itself. She told me that every woman in the village adorns flowers, from young girls of seven to grandmothers of seventy, even just for a trip to the market. “It’s our tradition, passed down for generations—we cannot let it fade.”

Down by a small lane, I came upon women mending fishing nets, blossoms swaying by their temples as their fingers danced nimbly with the hemp string. The scene—flowers, nets, red-brick homes—was a living painting of folk life. One woman smiled at me: “Back then, men went fishing while we stayed home, fixing nets and adorning ourselves with flowers. Now the children have gone to the city, but we still wear them. Flowers are our roots, our heritage.”

By the time I reached the seaside, the sun was setting, painting the waves in gold and crimson. I sat on a reef, watching fishing boats return home, the sea breeze mingling jasmine’s sweetness with the salt of the tide. My thoughts wandered to the twin towers of Kaiyuan Temple, the domes of the Qingjing Mosque, the old street snacks of West Street—this city, steeped in Maritime Silk Road history, is as vibrant as it is ancient. And in that vibrancy, the flower-adornment tradition of Xunpu shines most brightly.

As I left the village, I guarded the flowers by my temple with care. Auntie had said they would last two or three days. I wanted to take this romance of Quanzhou home with me, to remind myself that in this ancient port, I once met the gentlest encounter—with the blossoms of mountains and sea. Quanzhou’s story, like these flowers, continues to bloom quietly in my heart, lingering long after I’ve gone.