Traveling Taiwan Day 4- Kenting, multi-tiered heaven (not the Mormon kind)- 墾丁, 無限多層的天堂

While sitting in a B&B dubbed Miami, Brian and I contemplate today's activities.  We have no desire to go anywhere touristy, but we're also a little beached out.  Brian checked out some lesser traveled gems in Kenting on his smartphone earlier this morning, and we decide on Qikong Waterfalls, a set of tiered waterfalls that you can hike up.

This guy liked bobbing heads with me.  My brother would've loved the pug tied up in front.

Getting to the place is trickier than we had planned, mainly because of the directions listed on the blog.  Plenty of unimportant bullshit is carefully laid out, but little relevant information.  For example, it would've been nice to know that we simply turn left at the light, since traffic lights were pointed landmarks in the rural towns of Kenting.  But no, we get useless bullshit about going up a narrow lane 4km down the road.

NEWSFLASH GENIUS, ALL THE SIDE ROADS IN RURAL KENTING ARE NARROW LANES.

 After backtracking a couple of times I decide to pull off and ask a betel nut lady.  She points us further east, but not before a lizard the size of my forearm drops down from the ceiling and scampers off.  Lady doesn't even register it.  I thank her, and within minutes we find ourselves bouncing up a rock-studded country road.  Finding ourselves at a fork we discuss our options:

Me: "Man, the left path seems more likely to take us somewhere, but my gut's always wrong-"
Brian: "Then we go left.  Always trust your gut.  It's there for a reason."

Trust your gut.

You're supposed to ride scooters with your feet like this, right?  Great Core Workout #7: riding a scooter like a clown  

In a few minutes we round a corner and see the retired toll bridge up ahead, prices still visible.  Brian grins at me and for the first time in a while I feel confident in my abilities to navigate.  The country road deposits us in a parking lot behind a mini-reservoir.  $40 NT goes to parking, and as we walk towards a man-made river the old man who collected our money shouts at us, "Watch out for the mosquitoes!"  People repeat this mantra, and I laugh now to think the only time I had problems with mosquitoes in Kenting was in the hostel.

From the bottom, the waterfall doesn't seem like much, just a few rivulets running down into the trickle of a river.  Grabbing a rope heavy with moisture, I give it a firm tug and start climbing up, my bare feet gripping the slick rock.  Half-way up I see a natural bath carved into the rock-face, with three miniature falls pouring in.  The effect is poetic, but I decline getting into the water just yet.  There's plenty above us yet undiscovered.

See that pool in the center?

Yeah, that pool.

I give'a you pizza this a big!

We cross over to the actual trail and pass a family, waving in earnest American fashion.  I wonder how we must look to them, forgoing footwear, dressed only in shorts.  Small rocks dig into the bottom of my soles, but I know we'll be back in the water soon enough; though my leather sandals have taken a beating, I'm not about to consign them to the rigors of underwater travel.

Brian's shorts help him blend into the shitty resolution of this photo.

Personal paradise

Little guy sits there completely motionless until an ant starts climbing up his leg.  Looks down and regards it stoically, then gobbles it right up.  Looks back at me.

After climbing up someways we start tracing the river upward.  Not sure how far up the falls go, and with nothing to prove we head back down, finding a nice hollowed out pool to relax in.  We swing a rope over one face and clamor down, checking to see if one tier of the waterfall might serve as a makeshift water slide.  To our disappointment, the slide is far too jagged, the pool below far too shallow.  Brian says he still wants to do it, and was actually considering going in face-first.  To give you an idea of this colossal idiocy, the angle of the falls in front of us is close to 70 degrees.  I tell him his skin will be ripped to shit.  Brian blithely agrees.  We climb back up and content ourselves with jumping in from the trail side.

We stay at Qikong for another hour or so, but we're determined to make one last push to find a worthy beach.  I gather my sandals, and scout around for Brian's.

Finding one, I look around, confused.  Did the other one fall into the river below?  I search every corner of the area, refusing to believe that a random Taiwanese person stole one sandal.  Nobody in Taiwan steals...anything.

Right?

Scavenging around in the immediate area yields a right-foot sandal of flimsy make.  It will serve.  We scooter around on Highway 200 to the east, coming to a stop at Jialeshui, a beach that's a sort of haven to Kenting surfers.  Indeed, the waves are higher here.  There are no crowds and (the best part) no lifeguards.  The sandstone boulders to our left add a rugged beauty that is missing from the other beaches we've seen, and we follow them around a bend, hoping to find some way of sneaking into the recreational area.  The beach stretches on further then we thought, and we return to the ocean, perhaps the only flaw to Jialeshui: bits of sea debris and splintered wood suffuse the water here, and make swimming a little more unpleasant than it should be.  I suggest we pay to get into the recreational area down the road, noticing signs of cool rock formations not unlike Yehliu.  Passing the toll both, I have a bad feeling about the gift shops and restaurants at the entrance.  Indeed, we find out bikes are not allowed within the premises of the park, though we can wait 20 minutes to take an optional tour bus along the coast.  So much for avoiding the touristy places.  This proves too much for Brian, and we part ways, deciding to meet up later at the hostel.  A bit of alone time can do no harm, and I can tell we need a break from the mutual Traveler's Fatigue.

Best meat buns in the area at this tea garden.

There's supposed to be a rainbow here, right in the middle of that big cloud.

Kenting's beautiful skyscape.

As we're walking around:
Me: "I've been looking below us in case I see any gold coins.
Brian: "How are you speaking my thoughts aloud?"

Brian's replacement sandal broke, so he abandoned his other.  Walking around barefoot on the boiling sandstone rocks must've been fun.

I'm forced to ride back to the park entrance to return Brian's ticket and subsequently miss the next bus, which arrives long before twenty minutes have passed.  The park attendant we've spoken to has, at best, a tenuous grasp on the English language.  I cannot fault him for this, but he absolutely refuses to speak to me in Chinese, even when I use it.  While waiting, I contemplate simply walking along the road, because I know exactly what our tour is going to consist of: a glorified bus driver pointing out random rocks that have a passing semblance to various animals.

Pass...

...except I have no idea how long the route is.  Mr. English tells me it's a half-hour, but his reliability has already been questioned once.  I decide to stick it out on the way over.  If it's short trek I can hop off and walk back.  If it's a loop tour then I can hang my head in shame when Brian calls me a tourist. 

True to form, as we chug along slowly the driver passes off amorphous blobs as various animals, delivering everything in a heavily-accented monotone voice.  Mandarin is obviously not his first language, but much to my surprise, I still understand most of what he's saying.  After the first five minutes I stop feigning interest.  After the first ten, I decide I should've walked.  Salvation comes when the bus stops at the end of the road, and I hop out, expecting to take a few pictures of a nearby waterfall, then begin the walk back.  What I see next, however, convinces me that coming to Jialeshui was not a waste at all:

Jackpot.

I take off across the pock-marked boulders, bounding over smooth surfaces and- stopping short before I hop down onto the coral-like structure below me.  I'll turn right back around before I destroy the hell out of this place like some wanton child.  Climbing down carefully, I test how fragile the finger-wide ridges between the holes are.  No amount of twisting seems to do anything to the stone, so I step on it and exert pressure.  Nothing.  I jump up and down.  The structure holds.  Satisfied, I set off once more at speed, basking in my own personal Yehliu.  Looking back, I see the other tourists have no interest in this uncharted realm, and those that do don't go far before seeking the relative safety (and mediocrity) of the road.

The cliff side above beckons, and I try for one scramble up, knowing elevation can achieve mighty things with vistas.  Alas, the sandstone below is absent, and I find myself slipping on shards of clay.  I abandon this foolishness and make for a distant battlement, the rocks forming natural merlons on a massive boulder jutting out over the water.  The holes everywhere make for excellent handholds, and climbing here is no problem.  A battlement canon of stone, sprouting to my right, beckons, and I find perched shinobi-like on an area just wide enough to stand.

Eventually, I make for the road, knowing from there it'll still be an hour to the entrance.  A Taiwanese man and his son are making their way across the rocks.  He waves and tells me, "It's no fun if you can't take your time."  Fine words, truly.

Before heading back I climb up the rocks below the waterfall, and find a cat meowing at me, petulant perhaps towards this uninvited guest.  I wonder briefly if it needs help getting down before it curls up comfortably atop one of the flatter boulders.

The walk back is peaceful; the family eventually drops back behind me and once again I am alone.  With so much of this vacation in the company of others, I savor the peaceful whisper of the tide, and my thoughts turn inward.  Why can't Taiwan just be like this all the time: one vacation leading into another.  Perhaps it can...perhaps I don't want it to be.  Despite thinking otherwise, I know that deep down I'm a creature of habit; having a steady job and a home to go back to are illusions I need to maintain for my own peace of mind.  But what if I didn't have these limitations?  What if, like Brian or Toby, I could go off to Thailand, scattering my cares and concerns to the four winds?  What works, great and terrible, might I accomplish?

The thoughts on the ride back are mostly contemplative, though I'm brought from my reverie by the unparalleled beauty of Kenting's sky.  I stop at the Irish cliff lookout and take it all in.  The sun behind me, sallying forth in one last blaze of glory, a father and his daughter running down a sandy hill, delighting in the feeling of the fine grains between their toes.  And of course, the cerulean expanse above me, mirroring the distant ocean.  I breathe in deeply, expelling the smog and worry of Taipei.  Despite my doubts, I'm grateful for this time in my life, for realization can not come without self-doubt, nor growth without hardship.

The father and daughter are walking to the parking lot now, and the wife has something to say about this, scolding them for their apparent tardiness, and the sand they'll be tracking in the car.  I roll my eyes.  She's obviously paid attention to the things that matter.  I flick on the engine, it's steady hum blocking out her droning, and wish the father could do the same.

Driving back, my face gets increasingly peppered by flies, whizzing around in the cool night air.  Even in these tiny hardships I take heart. If this is the toll on the road of growth, then I pay it gladly.