2025.04.30｜Guangzhou, China
On the last day of April, I made a trip to Guangzhou.
The following day would be May 1st, China’s national holiday — when millions take to the roads, and public transportation descends into chaos. So, I went a day early, aiming for a quiet birding trip before the storm hit.
My plan was to visit both Yuexiu Park and Liuhua Lake Park. The two are close neighbors and consistently rank among the top birding spots in Guangzhou on eBird.
Even so, the number of tourists had already started to swell. Maybe people were taking an early day off, or maybe these parks are simply that popular.
Right by the main entrance of Yuexiu Park, there was a lake where several exotic species roamed freely: Black Swans, Swan Geese, and even a pair of Indian Peafowl — a male and a female — living peacefully on a small island at the lake’s center.
The Black Swans were surprisingly outgoing. They paddled in wide circles and occasionally approached people, expecting food. Many visitors had come prepared, bringing bread as both a small offering and a leisurely ritual — something between a workout and a communion with nature.
The male Peacock gave me a generous welcome, unfurling his radiant tail feathers in full display. Sure, I knew he wasn’t doing it for me, but watching his shimmering train and those hypnotic eyespots still made the trip worthwhile.
Liuhua Lake Park, on the other hand, was almost entirely water — more than 80% of it covered by the lake. When I arrived around noon, the sun blazed overhead, casting everything in a bright, breathless glare.
Still, despite the heat, the birds were busy with spring.
On the water, an adult Little Grebe floated along with two fledglings riding on its back — like a natural aircraft carrier. A third chick paddled hard to climb aboard, but there simply wasn’t any room left.
In another corner of the lake, a metal chain stretched awkwardly between two poles near the shore — who knows why. There, three young Barn Swallows perched side by side, their delicate heads tracking every flick of their parents’ wings.
Each time a parent returned with a dragonfly, the chicks opened their beaks so wide it looked like they might swallow their mother whole. Their harsh, telegraphic chirps filled the air, demanding attention in a noisy, instinctive competition. And here you could watch the magic unfold — despite the chaos, the adult Barn Swallows always remembered exactly who was who. Even if they landed next to the wrong chick, food already in beak, they would pause, rethink, and re-route. With surgical precision, they pulled back and delivered the insect to the right beak.
Unlike humans, they don’t seem to harbor bias among their children. Which, I suppose, is just a mere glimpse of what the natural world quietly teaches.