Something about these consecutive six-day workweeks was getting to me. I went to bed last Friday feeling like hammered shit, a feeling that dogged me until the glare of dawn pierced through my all too sheer curtains. Staring sullenly at my alarm clock, it took all my willpower to roll out of bed with all the other poor Hess bastards.
1-day weekends: a truth of Taiwan I had somehow escaped for my first five months at Hess. A luxury so treasured I'd been bold enough to refuse my manager's request to tack on a Saturday morning Focus class, and which consequently earned me the dubious honor of double Saturday classes. And unlike my fellow trainees, the first five months of relative luxury had left me soft and untested.
On the walk over to the branch, I convinced myself that I'd be taking a one-way ticket back to Bedsville (population: me) after my four hours of classes, at least, if I didn't want to get sick again. Six stretched-out minutes later, and I swung into the branch, waving brightly to the staff, all the while my heart beating in time to the dull pounding in my head. Chewing mechanically on a Family Mart yam, its cloying sweetness like so much ash, I went through my morning routine- get my books, wait impatiently for the copier to turn on, photocopy pages, swear at the results: words cutoff mid-page. Rinse, repeat. Ah yah, sleep's pretty nice, but I wouldn't take it! My first student stepped in twenty minutes early, and I managed a few simple words with him while we both waited for the class we didn't want to attend. More kids filtered in, and then the dreaded time had nigh. That's when something happened, something that seems to happen every time I teach my Focus class.
It wasn't that bad.
"Happy, healthy, feel fantastic!
Boy, am I enthusiastic!"
And so class begins with a morning chant ripped straight from Mr. Starkey (best middle school teacher I ever had), though we skip the Ojibwe version. My kids are talkative and we share a bunch of laughs before the bell rings, all too soon I think. My headache has vanished. As clockwork as the changing of the guard, the next class marches in, and it's two more hours of the same thing, though instead of family we're talking about the environment. These kids are older too, and man, they know their shit. Near the end of class I'm yelling at one student with mock severity and everyone is erupting with laughter. Bringing it back to the focus of this unit, things become more somber before class ends. I ask my students if they're aware of the nuclear situation in Japan. Some of the older kids do, but others stare back blankly. I tell them their homework, in addition to their regular load, is to look up a news article about the Fukushima nuclear disaster. It can even be in Chinese, I just don't want them to remain ignorant about something potentially very relevant to Taiwan. At the same time, I tell them not to lose any sleep thinking about a nuclear holocaust. And with that, the bell rings and I'm free.
Far from dragging my feet, I feel infused with energy, enough to draw a line in my head. Enough bowing in the face of Saturday classes. Bitching about one-day weekends doesn't help me make the most of my time. I slip out of my uniform and into my hiking clothes, eager to make the ascent up the Hike of a Thousand Flights [of stairs]. Up at the top of Dajianshan I sunbathe snake-like on a sun-heated boulder before making the descent to Xiufeng Falls. From there, I trace the river downstream in my boxers, the only soul for miles in this wide expanse of wilderness.
That's a post for another time.
You see, there's a reason I'm talking about a hike in my homecity, hundreds of miles away from Wuliaojian, the TITLE OF THIS POST. That Saturday hike, tracing and all, really defines a shift in my attitude toward living here in Taiwan. Getting out and experiencing nature once more, after a month of weekends holed up studying Chinese and masturbating furiously, was just the sort of mental spring cleaning I needed. Every boulder I scrambled over was like taking a duster and attacking the cobwebs of ennui that had spread, insidiously, to the deepest recesses of my brain. And at the end, staring up at the falls spilling over the red heights above me, my mind clear and once more accommodating, I knew I wanted to be right out here in the embrace of nature once more. Only I wanted to do it with the people I'd been neglecting for too long.
This is where Wuliaojian comes in, as well as my coworkers. If you've paid any attention to this blog, you've noticed they really don't make an appearance. At all. I always had Brian to lean on if I wanted to go out and do shit. Don't get me wrong, going out with a funny guy who's never extra weight is the best kind of crutch. But it's still a crutch, and it's been almost two months since I've had it pulled out from under me. I find it ironic that I'd make the forty+ minute commute over to his place
every weekend when I had great people over at my end. I'd just done a good job of convincing myself I had nothing in common with any of them.
So with a heart made buoyant from sunbathing above the clamor of Taipei, made clean by bathing in the limpid pool below Xiufeng Falls, I sent a text to Jaryd asking him if he wanted to join me for a hike up Wuliaojian, reputedly one of the most challenging trails in the Greater Taipei area.
"Sorry man, I'm going to be spending the night in Jilong."
Fuck. Then that happens.
Before I go to sleep I get a message from him. Turns out he's back in Xizhi and he's down to come with. I ask him if Ash, one of the new English teachers, will be joining. Yes he will. Hell yes. I haven't gone to sleep on a Saturday with this much anticipation in a long time.
******
Any blog you find on the internet about Wuliaojian is a little spotty on getting there. They all recommend taking a taxi from Yongning (or as Tyler would say, 'Yongmin'), since there's no public transportation to the trailhead. That'll run you about $350 NT, which, when split between a few people, isn't so bad. I'm convinced there are other options.
The same bloggers recommend buying the cheap cloth gloves at the convenience store near the trailhead too, to prevent blistered hands. One guy said his hands were bleeding at the end of the hike. Any man (and I hesitate to call him such) whose hands get ripped to shit by a few ropes and chains owes it to himself to forgo robing himself in silken shame. Hell, he should probably pour salt in his wounds too. As I write this, I look at my hands, hands far from rugged. Not a mark of ropeburn or blisters to be seen. Pussies.
Dropped off at the entrance by our taxi, we make a quick stop for food before climbing up the mercifully short stairs, ungloved. The stairs are quickly replaced by a natural dirt path, edged by a bungee cord handrail that seems to have capitulated in the face of multiple typhoons. Shortly, we've reached our first rope climb as the trail angles sharply up strewn boulders and exposed roots. After about a half hour we can look behind us, or rather below us, and see the river has shrunk to an azure ribbon.
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| Typhoons, or shitty engineering? |
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| Letting the light swallow me up. |
With Ash and Jaryd the words flow freely and nobody's dragging ass. We take frequent breaks to shoot the shit too, so nobody feels winded at any point. As we continue the climb I realize that this very well may be the best hike I've been on since getting to Taiwan. No bullshit concrete stairs to climb up, and oddly enough, not that many people crowding the path. The climb is challenging and steep, with varied and beautiful terrain. Even the signs are pretty easy to follow (when they're there; we lose sight of the path a few times), and getting here certainly was no problem. Yes, this was the correct way to spend a Sunday afternoon.
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| A moment's respite |
An hour or so and we're climbing around on the ridge, which proves less flat than the ridge at the top of Huangdidian. Eventually we make our way to the most notable section of Wuliaojian: a sixty foot descent down an exposed rock face. Reputedly the wait down can leave those without water and sunscreen suffering, but other than one retired army guy chilling at the top we had the whole face to ourselves. There's three ways to get down, the easier section we immediately pass by, the harder section we took down, and the hardest one without any rope. I couldn't tell if the guy was joking when he mentioned that last way. Speaking of which, what was he doing up there anyway? Guy didn't really seem to be in a hurry to get down. Anyway, near the top the angle seems intimidating, but again, ignoring the advice of various blog sites and looking down as I cling on with a death grip, I realize the climb's not so bad. At the very least, I won't die if my hands slip. Suffer grievous injury perhaps, but not death. Going down flat-footed also proves no problem, my sandals gripping firmly to the smooth stone surface. Near the bottom, out from the harsh sun, moss has a chance to grow on the rock, and I start relying more on my arms to make my way down as my feet scramble for purchase.
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| Interesting grotto that served no purpose |
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| Favorite picture out of the bunch |
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| Ash goes first. Clearly enjoying himself. |
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| I'm next... |
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| ...and Jaryd follows. |
After all this we wonder if the hike is over. Looking at a neighboring peak I point out a faint flutter of red at the top. Where there's a Taiwan flag there's always a hike to prove one's mettle. Roving down the side of the mountain, my eyes fall on a gash of exposed rock. The brightly colored hikers scrambling over the earthen-colored rock make me wonder how I ever missed the path up. We briefly discuss if we have enough time to finish the hike before meeting in Wende for board games. I figure if we haul ass it shouldn't be a problem, considering we've been taking so many breaks. Onward we go.
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| Looking back where the long rope climb down was. |
I'm huffing a little bit as we push upward, and I can feel the lactic build-up in my calves and hams. Presently, we emerge at the bottom of the scramble I saw from the bottom of the ridge. There's a bit of excitement as I realize I have to do a bit of free-climbing to get to the hand rope. Not much at all, but enough to push my heart a few inches closer to my throat.
A sign at the next fork is missing some crucial information. We stare at the number roughly scratched out to the left of 'km' along the route we want to take. Risking it, we later find out we saved a kilometer's journey. Not much when your country is ruled by the mile, but I'll take it. Playing leapfrog with another group, we make it to a giant tree, what makes for a natural gathering point. Stopping briefly for pictures, we follow the trail of hikers all the way up to the Taiwan flag, flapping gently in the soft breeze as it rises just above the treeline.
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| Hail to you victors. |
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| These start to look the same after a while. |
From here, the hike's a bit elementary, following what could almost be a creek bed down to the road. The rocks are certainly slick enough from moisture, and I slip numerous times on their mossy surfaces. This is when I realize my right sandal is fucked, one clasp grimly hanging on by a thread. Damn, guess I was a little rougher with them than I thought down in Kenting. Nothing a good shoe repair shop can't fix, but that doesn't help me at the moment.
As we make our way down we try to figure out how we'll get home, whether or not to call a taxi or just hitchhike. Ultimately, we settle on not worrying about it. And it works! While heading back up the road to the convenience store, our salvation comes in the form of a local bus heading back to Sanxia. Yeah, so much for no local transportation you assholes. I figure if we want to do this hike again, it'd be best to take the bus from Taipei to Sanxia and figure out things from there. If we have to take a taxi at least it'll be cheaper.
I won't bore you with the details of our board game night but I will say this: Taiwan has Red Dragon Inn. And my coworkers like playing it. Thank God for small miracles.
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| Pair this with a bunch of $10 NT coins and a lot of Taiwan Beer and you've got a fun night on your hands. |
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