Traveling Taiwan, Day 2- Hualien, Jiqi Beach- 花蓮, 磯崎海濱遊憩區

I wake up with that disorientated feeling you get from sleeping in a bed that's not yours, light streaming in where it's not supposed to.  The glare of the rising sun brings fresh pain to a head that seems two sizes too small.  How much did I drink last night?

Holding my head, I recount last night's festivities.  Upon returning from Taroko Gorge, we ran into Toby, a young Austrian traveling SE Asia.  Much to my surprise (I hate most people) I found him instantly likable; no empty boasting, no disdain.  Just a down-to-earth guy telling it how it was, and for him it was amazing.  Toby had been couch-surfing across SE Asia for a year, starting in India and moving through Malaysia, Thailand, Australia, and all the islands in between.  His stories were amazing, especially about getting lost in the jungles of Malaysia, where he'd been taught to hunt and survive by a local tribe.  Listening to him really made me reconsider what exactly I'm doing in Taiwan, and what I'm trying to get out of my time here.  If, despite all my study in Chinese, I can't find happiness here, maybe there are other countries to explore, and other languages to acquire.  Maybe I shouldn't be a slave to my educational background.

We hang out and drink a bit in the hostel before the front desk girls suggest we hang out with them at a local bar.  Unfamiliar with the nightlife in Hualien, we all agree.  Brian requires further persuasion.

Brian: "I'm going to pass."
Us: "C'mon dude."
Brian: "Nah, I don't feel like drinking tonight."
Me: "Just come.  Don't be a pussy."
Brian: "Ok."

That was...easy.  We hop in a cab and not five minutes later we're stepping into a spacious bar, complete with karaoke stage.  Unfortunately, no one's taking advantage of the stage, or for that matter, the bartenders.  There are a grand total of four people sitting at the bar, and three of them are from the hostel.  As in they work at the hostel.  We look at the prices, and wonder why we're not making use of the perfectly good bar across the street.

Drunken foreigners always welcome!

Ah, every foreigner's favorite bar in Taiwan.  They may not know your name, but they sell a cheap Taiwan Beer.  As we walk out with our purchases, one of the girls from the hostel comes running up to us with an interesting proposal.  The owner of Tidal says we just need to pay the 7-11 prices for beer at the bar, he'll cover the rest.  He wants to make some foreign friends, money's not an issue.  Interesting.  At this point we really can't refuse, so we head back in, myself feeling a little sheepish.  TK, the owner, enthusiastically calls for shots of Jager to celebrate our return.  Toby shakes his head as he throws it back.  "I hate this German shit."  I'm not too fond of it either, but it's as popular and distinguished as Redbull with the Taiwanese, so I swallow my words along with the sugary, anise-flavored digestif.  We ask TK about his surfing experience, since his hostel is also a surfing school of sorts.  Brian asks him how high the waves get in Taiwan:

TK: 10-20 feet.
Brian (trying very hard to keep a straight face): Where?
TK: Here.
Brian: During what season?
TK: Typhoon.

Uh, yeah that doesn't quite count there buddy.  We try to raise the mood with some dice games, but it's Sunday in rustic Hualien, and the atmosphere just feels tepid.  Some more shots of Jager, a couple of karaoke songs, and everyone's ready to head back.  Foolishly, I go to bed without any food in my stomach.  I pay for this transgression later.

The morning sees me driving Toby on my scooter to the rental place, where he'll pick up his own.  A careless taxi forces me to slam on my brakes, or rather, my front-wheel brake.  You ever biked down a hill as a kid and just used your front brakes?  The back-end of my scooter launches upward, and Toby's stout frame, along with his large backpack tilts forward rudely and crushes me against my handlebars.  I feel the air literally squeezed from my lungs, yet I'm so hungover and out of it that I kind of take it in stride.  With another day paid for, we head back to our hostel, grab our swimwear, and buy some snacks before cruising towards Jiqi Beach, supposedly the best beach in the area.  Or that is, we try to buy some snacks.

You see, in the West we're spoiled with some wonderful snack options: trail mix, beef jerky, energy bars, and other actual foods, all at reasonable prices.  Though 7-11 might make a wonderful pre-game stop, in the food department they're sorely lacking; you have chips for days, and a bevy of instant noodles to choose from, but beyond the quasi-food department you're paying inflated prices for meager packages of dried fruit and shitty Taiwanese-style jerky.  Brian was equally frustrated:

Brian: "I've never been more confused in my life.  I have no idea what to get.  There is literally nothing good to eat in here."

We leave our midday meal to the fate of the gods and walk out of the 7-11 carrying only water.

A great roar came up,  "The sea!  The sea!"

Amusement park near the Hualien Visitor Center

Toby meets us back at the hostel and we cruise off.  Half-way into our trip we crest a hill and see the ocean laid out before us, bright azure alive with the fire of the midday sun.  Despite my aching head and empty belly my spirits lighten, and I can't wait to get to Jiqi Beach and slip into the cool water.  Nothing eventful really happens until we arrive at said beach, where we find out there's an admission fee.  To use the beach.  Damn it, I thought I already went through this crap.  Paying for beaches offends our Western sensibilities, so we decide to hop a fence and take the optional free entrance.  The water is surprisingly cold, reminiscent of the lakes back home rather than a tropical beach.  The sun, glaringly so boldly off the water during the ride over, decides to take a midday siesta behind the clouds, no doubt the reason why the water feels colder than usual.  Still, it's a relaxing day, and just about the best cure for the previous night's drinking.

Great Core Workouts #6: body surfing while hungover

A distant view of Jiqi Beach.  Notice the distinct lack of sun, in stark contrast to the earlier pictures.

Not much else to say about the day.  We get back, buy our train tickets, turn in our scooters (our train tomorrow leaves earlier than the rental place opens) and make the exhausting walk back to our hostel.  On the way I manage to buy a new battery, and I'm feeling pretty jazzed.  Everything seems to be going smoothly.  By the time we get back to the hostel I'm ready for a shower, though try as I might the sand isn't ready to leave, especially the grains tucked away in my ears.  Brian tries talking to a Taiwanese girl who's just gotten in with a group of friends:

Brian: "Hey, what's up?"
Girl 1: "Yes."
Brian: "Um, no, I mean 'how are you?'"
Girl 1: "Oh, thank you."
Brian (to me): "I'm confused."

SERIOUSLY?!  You just graduated college and you can't understand 'how are you'?  Either you're the worst student ever, or you're just avoiding conversation.  I start to learn towards the latter conclusion when I try and engage another member of the party:

Me: "Hey, how's it going?"
Girl 2: "..."
Me: "What's your name?"
Girl 2: "..."
Me: "You're awesome."
Girl 2: *continues to pretend I don't exist*

You stuck up little tart.

Toby drops by and we ride three to one over to some teppanyaki, where we inquire about his travel plans.  We tell him he needn't linger in Taiwan for too long- though it's a laid-back country to live, to someone who's been to the coral beaches of the Maldives, or the beautiful rugged landscape of Australia, everything is quainter in Taiwan.  He agrees.

Pulling back up in front of the hostel we're met with booming electronica, which might make getting up at 5:30 am tomorrow difficult.  We wish Toby good luck (though it's not the last time we'll see him; we hung out for hookah just last night before his flight to the Philippines) and turn in.  More annoying than the booming bass below is the cackling laughter of one of the Taiwanese girls.  They're young, with that casual disregard for others that comes so naturally to young twenty-somethings.  Eventually, the music dies down, and the girls first drag their friend for that very special coming-of-age ritual, throwing up in the toilet.  Three others, getting into our neighboring bunks, mange without shame to continue carrying on at full-volume.  I have something to say about this:

Girls: "Blah blah blah unimportant bullshit."
Me (in Chinese): "How long are you going to keep this up, huh?  I'm trying to sleep, could you guys stop talking?"
Girls: *shamed into immediately shutting up*

You don't get to hold your heads above us and pretend we don't exist, then prattle on while we're trying to sleep.  I know some people act like that when they're really shy, but the world doesn't accommodate that sort of bullshit behavior.  Other basic knowledge you're supposed to learn in college, or preferably, beforehand.  I notice how evenly I delivered the above message, no shouting, no quivering edge to my voice.  There is no pride in controlling my temper.  Rather, a trace of regret that I'm mellowing with age.

Go ahead and roll your eyes.

Traveling Taiwan, Day 1- Hualien, Taroko Gorge- 花蓮, 太魯閣國家公園

I don't know when the last time I wrote was, but today marks the triumphant return of Jaded in Taiwan.  I've been traveling around for a week, so you better believe I have a lot to write about.  I'd originally intended to take notes, but our days were so long and carefree that I only had eyes for my bunk when we got home.  We'll see if my memory is as solid as it was in college.

We left Saturday afternoon, waiting around for the flakiest Taiwanese in existence, Ethan.  Ethan's co-worker was supposed to drive us down to Hualien, but with Ethan ignoring every text and call, we lacked the requisite guanxi to call in a favor from her.  On our way to the train station Ethan finally texts us back, telling us he had a rough night.  He wants us to hold off on the trip until tomorrow and hang out tonight.  So not only do we wait around for his flaky ass wondering where the hell he is, but when he finally responds he wants to accommodate his lack of judgement?  I laugh and then realize he's serious.  Brian tells Ethan what a great friend he is for missing his birthday.  Did I mention Ethan's kind of self-absorbed too?  He must be pretty hungover because when we tell him there will be no waiting he gives up without much of a fight.  We grab a couple of beers each for the four-hour ride down to Hualien.  The tickets aren't cheap, almost $500 NT, but we've got seats, coastal views, and all the time in the world.  Good thing too, because the express train in Taiwan might as well be the local.

The ride is long and uneventful, our beers disappearing all too quickly.  The AC, at first a pleasant change from the stuffy interior of the Taipei Metro, quickly becomes unbearably cold, and I'm forced to fish around for my long underwear, which I had brought in case we climbed a mountain.  I find it ridiculous that I should feel cold at any time during summer on a tropical island.  Brian tells me the Spartans didn't complain about being cold.  He also tells me they didn't shit until they were allowed to.

We drift in and out of sleep and wake up about an hour before we pull into Hualien station.  Night has fallen by now, so we'll have to wait until tomorrow to get a proper look at our surroundings.  A taxi takes us to our hostel in short order, located on the outskirts.  We check in, drop off our bulging backpacks (Brian and I rightly surmise we've packed too much) and walk back towards downtown.  Freshly blended fruit juice helps stave off the monotony of standing in line for xiaolongbao.  I will never buy xiaolongbao at Din Tai Fung ever again; everybody raves about the succulent little morsels you get there, but the thick doughy buns we got cost us $5 NT each.  I'd rather pay $2 US then $11 (Ding Tai Fung dumplings cost more than $1/dumpling...ridiculous) for something that tastes better anyway.  After our meal we wander towards the beach, enjoying the rush of water through our toes before returning, barefoot, to our beds.  Sleep is interrupted by clumsy footfalls and sudden brightness, but all is to be expected; our beds are open bunks, and hostels are not known for their restive qualities.  Sleep is long in coming again.

Interesting paint choice

The next day we take a taxi to the train station and go about the business of renting scooters.  Too late, I realize I've left my driver's license at the apartment, and Brian has nothing but an expired state license, the hole-punch staring back at us accusingly.  None of this matters, because my ARC does the trick, and perhaps mollified by my Chinese (or more likely eager for business), the owner doesn't ask too many questions.  We sign some papers, and a copy of my credit card is kept for their records.  Ah.

Outside, we're shown to our bikes, beautiful 125 cc scooters at $400 NT/day (this is the weekend price, weekdays it's $350).  Then the moment of truth, actually driving them.  I've never so much as ridden a moped, so I fumble around with the controls.  Knowing it looks bad, I ask the attendant how to turn on my scooter.  He shows me, and then I look at him and start giggling, a mix of anticipation and embarrassment.  He laughs awkwardly, probably worried about what the bike's going to look like when I get back.  With a minimum of stutter-stopping on my part we head back to the dorms.  I realize that riding a scooter isn't much different from riding a really fast bike, and having ridden a bike through the crowded streets of Danshui, I feel comfortable enough with the traffic around me.  We get our backpacks and head to Taroko Gorge forty minutes north, shirts off and shades on.

On the way to Taroko

Cruising the way cruising was meant to be

Great Core-Workout #1- riding a scooter

At the entrance of Taroko looking back...

...and looking ahead

The ride to Taroko is thrilling enough, but it's not until we get to the entrance that we see how awesome this day is going to be.  The road winds (sometimes literally) through towering cliffs, lush green dotting the bottom of the mottled marble walls.  We choose the right route first, but quickly head back when we see the visitor center.  Fine men such as ourselves require no maps, and no guidance; this vacation has no itinerary, and any path we take will bring fresh discoveries, intentional or not.  We turn around and ride underneath the first tunnel, our day truly starting.

On a bridge overlooking the river we'll be tracing down

Eternal Spring Shrine.  We declined to walk the cliff side path to the left of it.

Before long we see a suspension bridge above us, and decide to take the uphill route to a nearby temple after turning back from a viewpoint crammed with buses.  We see two Dutch girls getting off their shared scooter and chat with them for a bit.  One is gorgeous, all honeyed curls and cornflower blue eyes.  The other one...has a nice smile.  I fumble around for our bike lock, remembering that the rental place has my credit card number.  Brian laughs off my concern:

Brian: "Who's going to steal someone's bike in front of a temple?  Bad karma."
Me: "I guess you're right."
(after walking several minutes)
Brian: "You took your key with you, right?"
Me: "No."
Brian: "You're an idiot."

I'm half-way across the bridge, taking pictures of the beautiful boulder-studded river before us, but just like that I'm running back to the bike, laughing at my serious lack of street-smarts, passing by the bemused Dutch pair.  Snatching my key I hurry back across the bridge and up a stairway leading up along the cliff-side.

We reach a bell tower, and climb up the steps to get a better look at our surroundings.  As high up as we are, looking over the railing immediately makes my knees go weak.  We're barely twenty minutes into the park and I know we're going to keep climbing, so I think today might be a convenient time to conquer my fear of heights.  This proves prophetic.  Brian decides to give the bell a few rings and a Taiwanese couple nearby echoes him as we continue on.  I'd like to get a view of the waterfall we saw, but unfortunately the trail doesn't quite cooperate.  I content myself with a snap of Brian's golden falls, but he surprises me with this maneuver.

Great Core Workout #2: laughing my ass off

Great Core Workout #3: getting pummeled with water

You can see Brian at the very right-hand part of the photo.

Satisfied with this diversion, we set about soaking in the river below us.  Even from the suspension bridge I could appreciate the vivid blue of the water, and a refreshing dip should wash away all the sweat from climbing around.  I reach into my backpack and pull out what should be my swimsuit.  I don't remember my Speedo being quite this small.  Then I see the brand name on the wasitband: ExOfficio.  Ah, my ripoff traveling underwear, supposedly odor-resistant and fast-drying.  I put them on and look like a proper European heading to the beach.  Brian is already wading downstream, so I follow him, pointing out my improvised swimsuit.  The water is crisp and perfectly cold, and we make use of the various pools and rivulets as we head further downstream.  At the bottom we find a group of Taiwanese relaxing and jumping into the bluest pool yet.  The water is deep here, and the surrounding boulders make great springboards.

It's funny, we had ample opportunities to river trace when we had our cabin up near Goldbar, but as a video-game obsessed brat, I only did it a couple of times with my dad and brother.  Despite my best efforts I enjoyed myself, though I don't think I admitted it with much enthusiasm.  You know what they say, "Youth is wasted on the youthful."  Or at least that's what Dad says.

Properly refreshed, we climb back onto our bikes and head off.  Before getting on, I joke that since it looks like I'm wearing a Speedo I should just scooter around as is.  This joke merits further consideration.  When we take off back down the hill I am wearing nothing but underwear, socks, and shoes, giggling like a schoolgirl (unfortunately Brian took no pictures of this).  Mom always hated the fact that I'd walk out in my boxers to collect the mail, so she'll be reading this with no small amount of chagrin.  I get plenty of stares from people, especially after we pull up to a construction checkpoint.  These checkpoints were scattered around the park, always visible by the long line of cars that preceded them.  They opened bi-hourly, so we headed back and checked out a small spring and accompanying shrine to while away the time.  Fooled or not, plenty of people are staring.  My amusement is tempered by the chaffing from the sand on my scooter seat, so my shorts came back on before heading down to the shrine proper.

Add caption

We head back to the checkpoint, where we wait with the other scooters.  It's like a scene from Mario Kart right before we're given the green light, only less organized and real.  The scooters zip ahead of the cars and we're humming past an enormous bleached white cliff.  The construction tractors kill the mood, and I wonder what they're doing here.  There's no way they can be ripping apart the beautiful rock above, so are they trying to set up some protective netting or other safety precautions?  I have no time for answers, and if I did, I'd have used it to snap a picture.

We continue along.  I mistake Swallow Grotto for the Tunnel of Nine Turns (which we later find out is under construction), so we park our bikes and follow the other tourists through the tunnel, high above a wide, muddy river.  It seems like the canyon is at its narrowest and deepest here, and the sunlight glinting off the marble swirls gives them a metallic sheen.  Every time I glance over the railing I hold to the murky waters below just a few beats longer than I'm comfortable with.  Fear is not an option in such a lovely place.

What my dad had to say of this: "Standard Asian tourist photo, taken by and of Americans."

Brian's picture in the same area.  Yeah his is better.

Despite the majestic beauty of Taroko, I'm forced to admit it starts to look the same after a while.  Sure there are vertiginous cliffs that shear the sky into a thin strand, distant spidery waterfalls, and every green you've ever imagined, but my photo-taking finger grows weary.  I stop by a railing for what I tell myself is the last picture and whip out my camera.

Except for this.  This did not look the same.  These cliffs felt impossibly high.  Cliffs of Insanity high.

Now those who are close to me know that despite my athleticism I am a very clumsy person.  Waiting and bartending helped to some degree, but I'll always be prone to dropping things and tripping over curbs.  Why do I bring this up?

The camera goes flying out of my butterfingers, bounces once on the pavement and goes over the edge.  I stop for a moment, reality not quite sinking in yet.  Slowly, I look over the edge.  Nothing.

Shit.  SHIT.

NO. NO NO NO.  Why do I always manage to lose something whenever I go anywhere?  I've now lost my phone and wallet in Taiwan...not my camera.  It's just a shitty compact Sony held together with scotch tape, but it deserves a better end than this.  Brian comes over and asks me what the holdup is.  I tell him and he shakes his head.  "How do you drop your camera over the edge?"  My capacity to botch is legendary.

I look over the railing, swallow my fear, and climb over.  There's two narrow outcroppings where the camera might be...unless it bounced hard and dropped down hundreds of feet below.  I grab onto a black cord as I search, lest I'm the next thing to go over.  Ironically, Brian, who has trouble deciphering large writing at thirty feet, spots my camera, resting against the dinkiest shrub ever.  It's a fluke that my camera, skipping over the edge and falling a good six feet down, manages to be stopped by shrub barely larger than my outstretched hand.  As I'm reaching forward for it, one hand firmly clasped to a plastic cord, I feel my body shift forward.  My footing is less than sturdy, and I'm staring straight down a jagged marble ravine.  At this point, an older Taiwanese couple rush over and beg me to abandon my quest:

Wife: "Please just forget about it.  It's too dangerous!"
Brian: "It's ok, he's done this before."

Great Core Workout #5: clinging on for dear life as you search for your camera

Ever so slowly, I stretch out my fingers, knowing that I'm fully capable of knocking it over.  Again.  My hands curl around the cord, and gingerly, I pull it up.  Seems like some higher force wanted me to stop taking pictures too, because the battery popped out on the way down.  The Taiwanese couple eventually wander off when they see their well-intentioned pleas have no effect.  Searching for the battery is useless, though I surprise myself by dropping down to the next narrow outcropping to look around.  Nothing.  Until I replace it, I have no way to check if the lens is damaged, or if the camera even functions properly.

Wish I would've had Brian take a picture, just to show you how colossally stupid I was for climbing down over the edge.  But looking back down for one last check, part of me was proud that I had conquered my fear, even momentarily.  Stephen Hopkins doesn't abandon his companions, even when those companions are, uh, inanimate objects that kind of suck at their job.

Edit: He did take a picture.

With my camera recovered, it doesn't take long before I'm in high spirits once more.  We go speeding through multiple tunnels as the road continues to wind up.  Without the ability to take any pictures I soak in m surroundings, trying to commit these vistas to memory.  We keep cruising, Brian not really wanting to stop, and I unable to record my exploits for posterity.  Eventually, the steadily cooler elevation and dimming sky convince us to turn back.  Here's a quick summary of what we did for the rest of our Taroko trip:

-Walked fifteen minutes through a pitch-black tunnel on the way to Baiyang Waterfall, only to find out it was an hour hike each way.  On the list for next visit.
-Sampled some excellent peaches and were served mediocre, watery ones.  Fruit vendors in Taiwan ALWAYS pull this bait and switch bullshit.
-Talked to a man in Tianxiang about all the maimed dogs walking around.  Apparently, they get caught in the traps aboriginals set for wild boars.  One three-legged guy, his front right leg cleanly amputated, was a spry sucker, bounding around with little concern for his impairment.
-Did some diamond push-ups after admiring the view from 900 meters up.
-Went 104 km/hour on a straightaway in one of the tunnels heading back.
-Killed dozens of insects with my face on the way back home.

Driving around for hours and I estimate we didn't even cover half of what there is to see in Taroko Gorge.  Maybe not even a third. You better believe I'll be here again, hopefully with some friends back home.

I don't actually know where we ended turning around.  The above is my best guess.  Note the arrow indicating Hualien to the south.