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When memory fades and blurs the boundary between reality and fantasy， larger-than-life characters may emerge. Han Guangle is one of them. In his late 60s—he doesn’t even know his real age—Han is the epitome of eccentricity， a modernday Beau Brummel who cuts a striking fi gure in his antique shop amid the midday hustle and bustle of Kulangsu’s commercial alleyways. His life took some strange twists and turns， with Kulangsu as the backdrop.
Kulangsu’s foreign face
Han is allegedly the grandson of a Jewish merchant who settled down in Kulangsu during the fi rst decade of the 20th century and married a local woman. His father was fi rst a dentist and then became a minister. In the 1940s， their family went to Hong Kong， where Han was born. The family moved back to Kulangsu later.
Han’s fi rst job was in a factory， which the freewheeling young man， who had been accustomed to wide open spaces， utterly disliked.
His first break happened in the 1970s， when books from Hong Kong began to reach the mainland. Han had a passion for wuxia novels—Chinese traditional cloak-and-dagger tales—and a talent for telling stories. He took this talent to Xiamen’s squares and that was the breakthrough he was looking for.
“Han was making very little money at the factory， but as a brilliant raconteur， he drew large crowds and could make more in a day than in a year at the factory，”said Wu Yongqi， an expert on Kulangsu’s culture and history， who seems to know everyone in this close-knit island community.
But this drew negative attention at the factory and he eventually quit. For the young man， the world was his oyster. At that time， China’s reform and opening up was just beginning. He went his own sweet way.
Jack of all trades
Han was always on the lookout for novels and interesting stories. “In the beginning of the 1980s， landlords slowly realized they had left buildings unattended on Kulangsu. Some people came back. They would renovate the villas， clear out the rooms and throw away what they considered rubbish and old junk，” said Wu.
Han found his true vocation as an antique dealer and opened a miniature boutique. In the following years， he got married and had a son. Now， around 35 years later， he is still presiding over his bronze clocks and silver cutlery.
“Business was booming 20 years ago as landlords rented their villas and got rid of old furniture and stuff. They would simply throw away old books and magazines， posters and clothes， and sell jewelry， clocks and furniture for scrap，” Han recalled. “In the 1980s， the Chinese wanted modern things. Then some people began to look for antiques to decorate their house or their business.” “One day， he got into trouble with the police because he was selling a rifl e，” added Wu. “It was an old rusty rifl e， probably a 19th-century one. Han displayed the gun in front of his boutique and didn’t even think it would be illegal. To him， it was just a piece of old junk！”
In the last decade， business has been slow. “Antiques are getting hard to come by nowadays，” Han sighed. “There’s nothing left on Kulangsu and what people bring me is either fake or of no value.” The end of an era for this improvising antique dealer.
Never look back
Han has long adopted the posture of a dandy and has become an icon in Kulangsu. As he stands upright at the doorstep of his boutique in the crowded commercial district， impeccably dressed， hair dyed， with huge fl ashy novelty rings and oversized sunglasses， tourists stop to take photographs， without even looking at his wares. His wife is busy with a client， not even noticing her husband’s antics as he poses sporting the V-sign for a selfi e with a tourist.
Han doesn’t look back. The golden days of selling antiques are gone， but he still gets by selling knick-knacks for tourists. Copies of Mao Zedong’s Little Red Book in all sizes and shapes are piled outside next to 1980s comic strips and some of Louis Cha’s famous wuxia novels. Inside the boutique， vying for space， a bronze statue of a Greek hero stands proudly next to a wobbly chandelier while a porcelain figurine of Chairman Mao greets the fierce statue of a Chinese warrior.
There is no price tag attached.“Personally I don’t want to haggle over the price. I can’t guarantee that the antiques or the handicrafts on sale here are genuine. If you like it， you just buy it， whatever the price. It’s that simple，” said Han.
Han has always lived on Kulangsu and has witnessed the advent of mass tourism in the last two decades. It doesn’t seem to affect him. “Everything has changed on Kulangsu， from stem to stern. There is nothing we can do，” he said slowly in the midst of his antiques. “I have been through a rough patch for some time， so I keep my distance. I have always been an independent， romantic person， but at the same time， I am a realist， not a dreamer.”
Totally unfl appable in the constant din as hordes of tourists pass by， Han takes a look outside the boutique. That’s enough to catch the attention of a handful of smartphonewielding youths. “He is his own master，” said Wu. “He is part and parcel of Kulangsu’s culture and history.”
Kulangsu’s foreign face
Han is allegedly the grandson of a Jewish merchant who settled down in Kulangsu during the fi rst decade of the 20th century and married a local woman. His father was fi rst a dentist and then became a minister. In the 1940s， their family went to Hong Kong， where Han was born. The family moved back to Kulangsu later.
Han’s fi rst job was in a factory， which the freewheeling young man， who had been accustomed to wide open spaces， utterly disliked.
His first break happened in the 1970s， when books from Hong Kong began to reach the mainland. Han had a passion for wuxia novels—Chinese traditional cloak-and-dagger tales—and a talent for telling stories. He took this talent to Xiamen’s squares and that was the breakthrough he was looking for.
“Han was making very little money at the factory， but as a brilliant raconteur， he drew large crowds and could make more in a day than in a year at the factory，”said Wu Yongqi， an expert on Kulangsu’s culture and history， who seems to know everyone in this close-knit island community.
But this drew negative attention at the factory and he eventually quit. For the young man， the world was his oyster. At that time， China’s reform and opening up was just beginning. He went his own sweet way.
Jack of all trades
Han was always on the lookout for novels and interesting stories. “In the beginning of the 1980s， landlords slowly realized they had left buildings unattended on Kulangsu. Some people came back. They would renovate the villas， clear out the rooms and throw away what they considered rubbish and old junk，” said Wu.
Han found his true vocation as an antique dealer and opened a miniature boutique. In the following years， he got married and had a son. Now， around 35 years later， he is still presiding over his bronze clocks and silver cutlery.
“Business was booming 20 years ago as landlords rented their villas and got rid of old furniture and stuff. They would simply throw away old books and magazines， posters and clothes， and sell jewelry， clocks and furniture for scrap，” Han recalled. “In the 1980s， the Chinese wanted modern things. Then some people began to look for antiques to decorate their house or their business.” “One day， he got into trouble with the police because he was selling a rifl e，” added Wu. “It was an old rusty rifl e， probably a 19th-century one. Han displayed the gun in front of his boutique and didn’t even think it would be illegal. To him， it was just a piece of old junk！”
In the last decade， business has been slow. “Antiques are getting hard to come by nowadays，” Han sighed. “There’s nothing left on Kulangsu and what people bring me is either fake or of no value.” The end of an era for this improvising antique dealer.
Never look back
Han has long adopted the posture of a dandy and has become an icon in Kulangsu. As he stands upright at the doorstep of his boutique in the crowded commercial district， impeccably dressed， hair dyed， with huge fl ashy novelty rings and oversized sunglasses， tourists stop to take photographs， without even looking at his wares. His wife is busy with a client， not even noticing her husband’s antics as he poses sporting the V-sign for a selfi e with a tourist.
Han doesn’t look back. The golden days of selling antiques are gone， but he still gets by selling knick-knacks for tourists. Copies of Mao Zedong’s Little Red Book in all sizes and shapes are piled outside next to 1980s comic strips and some of Louis Cha’s famous wuxia novels. Inside the boutique， vying for space， a bronze statue of a Greek hero stands proudly next to a wobbly chandelier while a porcelain figurine of Chairman Mao greets the fierce statue of a Chinese warrior.
There is no price tag attached.“Personally I don’t want to haggle over the price. I can’t guarantee that the antiques or the handicrafts on sale here are genuine. If you like it， you just buy it， whatever the price. It’s that simple，” said Han.
Han has always lived on Kulangsu and has witnessed the advent of mass tourism in the last two decades. It doesn’t seem to affect him. “Everything has changed on Kulangsu， from stem to stern. There is nothing we can do，” he said slowly in the midst of his antiques. “I have been through a rough patch for some time， so I keep my distance. I have always been an independent， romantic person， but at the same time， I am a realist， not a dreamer.”
Totally unfl appable in the constant din as hordes of tourists pass by， Han takes a look outside the boutique. That’s enough to catch the attention of a handful of smartphonewielding youths. “He is his own master，” said Wu. “He is part and parcel of Kulangsu’s culture and history.”