A short story-part 1

  Liang Kui sat in front of his hut, breathing in the cool autumn.  Fishing around in his threadbare robe, he produced a long bamboo pipe, and a pouch of seasoned tobacco, one of the few luxuries he allowed himself in his old age.  Deftly, he lit the pipe, letting his thoughts drift back as he took a long pull.  Exhaling, he watched the smoke drift lazily away through the mist choked bluffs.
  The past few years had been good to him, far from the stilted ceremony of the grand court.  Liang Kui was, much father's regret, dismissive of the intricate rituals and ceremony that bound together Chiatze society, dismissive indeed of the gods themselves.
  He still remembered the exact moment he had renounced the various ancestor spirits and deities, that moment of seething illumination.  Lady Gu had come to him, then a raw physician of some twenty-three seasons, claiming to have heard stories of his skill.  The Gu Household, once fabulously wealthy, was now nearly bankrupt, its wealth gambled away by the scion whose treatment Lady Gu was now seeking.  Liang Kui knew that his skills were all they could afford.  Disappointingly, he learned just how much they were worth, accepting the few taels she handed over while inwardly fuming.  The false flattery had almost been too much to bear, but this?  The cost of treatment would far exceed his meager compensation, but she knew it would be churlish of him to point this out.  And yet, her arrogance compelled him to work all the harder to save her worthless son.
  He spent many sleepless nights by Gu Dan's bedside, fighting a bout of consumption brought on by reckless living and frequent whoring.  He tried various concoctions with varying degrees of success, spending a small fortune on exotics: ground rhino horn, and iridescent algae harvested close to the springs around Mt. Karunat to the north.  And when he had brought Gu Dan back from the cusp of death, Lady Gu, no longer ingratiating smiles and honeyed words, had strutted in, thrown him a trinket worth no more than a few taels, and had her son, despite his reasoned protest, carried out in a palanquin.  The speed of his treatment had not been to her liking, but even the great Lord Bao himself could not have brought about instant recovery in such an advanced case.  He later heard that due to his non-existent pedigree, she had sacrificed at the local physician god's altar, hedging her bets with an expensive family heirloom.  The next day, her soon was going about his daily business, gambling away what little wealth they had left, and whoring as if the barbarian hordes were at the family threshold.  It had been a miracle, Lady Gu proclaimed, and the standing of the local physician deity, a recently deified man still in living memory, improved drastically.  The god's rank was promoted to imperial status, and his descendants became recipients of a sizable stipend, part of which found its way to the Gu Family coffers.
  Liang Kui swore at the memory, then let out a long puff, willing his anger away in the thin, curling smoke.  Life had served him well in the end, much better than Lady Gu anyway.  It was then that he noticed a sharp knock at the door.  His mood already soured, he flicked ash from his pipe and set it down, annoyed by the disturbance.

Not the Hall of the First Emperor- 冒貨牌的皇帝殿

After finishing Hangover 3 at 2am, Brian and I head back to his apartment.  Brian's tired of the pussy-ass trails we've done, and while the quantity and convenience are attractive, I'm forced to agree.  He starts looking up real hikes, the kind that make you pass out as soon as you sit down...anywhere.  So far, the only trails I've hiked here are the ones that leave me wide-awake, faced with no option on the train but to play my shitty cellphone games.  Snake Xenzia and Sudoku (ugh) take top honors, though if I'm feeling particularly masochistic, I'll bust out Beach Rally.  By the way, who fuck comes up with a cellphone game that doesn't feature some sort of continue function?  What's at the end of your pixelated piece of shit game that justifies forcing me to play it non-stop, because I can assure you, it's not the rousing gameplay or the cutting-edge graphics.  What is it that forces me to ignore all incoming phone calls and frantically dodge squares of blue, squares vaguely recognizable as other cars?

I remember watching a roommate in college playing some racing game, think it was Gran Turismo...something.  5?  I don't care.  One of the cars you could win was a Dolorean.  I thought, why else would you make this an unlockable model if not to include awesome time traveling tracks like the chariot races of the Colosseum, or the Tour de France in 1903?  Oh man, that last one would be awesome.  Anyway, I sit there excitedly as he revs up the engine and punches the gas, accelerating to 88 mph.  86, 87...88!  And nothing.

You put a Dolorean in the game AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN ENABLE A TIME TRAVEL FUNCTION?! SERIOUSLY?!?!? WHAT THE FUCK?!

I've never trusted racing games ever since.  Shame on you assholes.

Oh sorry, this is a blog about Taiwan.  Out of three choices, Brian and I select a trail called Huangdi Dian (皇帝殿), literally 'Emperor's Hall', mainly because the weather forecast shows stable conditions (this proves hilarious in hindsight).  It's a helluva ways out, but the pictures we see, of dangling metal ladders and narrow ridges, make it seem worth the journey.

We have to ride the MRT from Furen University all the way out to Muzha, one stop away from the southern terminal point on the brown line.  This is one of the longest possible routes on the MRT, numbering twenty-one stops, two transfers, and probably close to one hour.  From there the trip's not over, we have to take Bus 666 to Shiding, a former mining town, and a trip of about another half-hour.  The first 666 bus we take fails us, and we get deposited at the next stop, informed by the bus driver that the next bus will definitely take us to Huangdi Dian.  We're in no position to do anything but blindly trust him, although I did see him on the phone with what I hope was one of the other bus drivers.  True to form, the next bus takes us where we want to go...maybe?  There's no actual clear stop; the bus driver just pulls off to the side of the bus and let's us out in the middle of nowhere.  Cool...?

We see a sign towards Huangdi Temple and we start heading in that direction, where we're accosted by a friendly black pup.  This is not the last time a black dog starts following us, and considering our experience at Jinguashi, I begin to suspect we possess mystical powers.  These shaman-like powers would manifest later that day, but at that moment, I would've traded any sort of animal affinity to figure out where the fuck we were supposed to go.  We dead end underneath an elevated freeway, before I happen to spot five metal ladders climbing up.  Sweet!  No doubt this is the way!

Little doggy boner

Where are we...?

Haha, found the trail, so long fuckers!

Nope.

We climb back down, taking our time to scout around in case we missed any trail markers (you never know, in Taiwan).  At the foot of the stairs, I go on a little farther past one of the support pillars for the overpass.  Oh, the trail continues.

Slicked up like a hog

Not really though.  The concrete steps leading up soon vanish, and we're hoofing it up a steep, dirt trail, the only visible markers being highlighter-green ribbons periodically tied around tree trunks.  I've been on more gently-sloped trails that had hand ropes and neatly-spaced steps, so we wonder where the hell this trail leads and who made it in the first place.  It feels like we're bushwacking through the Amazon: vegetation clings to us, bugs nip at our exposed flesh, and I've eaten about a dozen spiderwebs.  Can't really complain, as this is exactly what we were looking for, even if it isn't the exact trail we were expecting.  I ask Brian:

Me: "At what point do we consider turning back down?"
Brian: "When we've reached the top."
Me: "Fair."

The trail threads its way through dense bamboo jungles, up and around boulders, and through broad-leafed plants and massive spiderwebs.  We lose sight of the trail a few times and have to do some scouting around before we're able to find it again.

First real open area on the trail since we get on it.

Where we came from

As it is with any long hike, our conversation rambles over many random topics.  We start spinning wild theories as to the origin of this trail.  I suspect this to be the Ancestor's Path, a mythical trail with a temple at the top.  Monks have stood vigilant at this temple for centuries, observing the tenants of their faith and waiting for the Ancestor's Chosen to climb this precipitous trail, a trail hidden to the ordinary eye.  Legend claims that whoever reaches the top will find great honor.

Brian: "Yeah, honor like fine bitches."
Me: "I'd even settle for medium bitches that could cook up something for us."

A couple times we emerge into clearings right under some transmission towers.  I climb up the steel lattice to get above the treeline, allowing for an unhindered look at the vista before us.  Mountains surround the area, though in the distance we manage a glimpse of Taipei 101, bathed in a fiery red glow.  From what, we don't know, as it's barely 3pm.  My fear of heights doesn't allow me to climb much higher than the first level, and even that's a trial for my nerves.

The vegetation changes as we climb further up, and we realize we're very nearly higher than every other surrounding peak.  Surely, the top has to be within reach?

The Chinese reads, "Not the Hall of the First Emperor" and below that, "Don't believe bus drivers who just want to get rid of you."

Finally.  At the top!  Of...Qizijiao Mountain?  Well, the random clubs and associations that bothered to tie their banners up here obviously know what this place is.  We decide to post a little something else for future lost hiking expeditions:

Yes, that's a summer edition Hess t-shirt, with our names proudly written in pink highlighter.

We start heading down the mountain and take the branch likeliest to circle around.  It dead-ends at a transmission tower, and looking at the ominous sky in the West, we know a storm is heading our way.  On the double, we run back taking the remaining branch and hurtle down the mountain, over jutting roots and slippery rocks.  I manage to avoid falling until we see an ugly, concrete building, our first glimpse of habitation since we started up the trail.  Here our path ends and I slip scrambling over some loose rocks, sustaining no real injury.  I hello the house and after a moment an older woman slowly makes her way down the stairs.  She's clueless about the Huangdi Dian trail, so clearly we're in the completely wrong area.  She does point us down the road and we start moving quickly, apprehensive of the storm that should be gusting in shortly.

Ah, yah, so uh...who tol u bout thunderstorms?  Rain gear's prty nice, but I wouldn't take it.

So, uh, how's it going?

The transition between scattered droplets and torrential downpour is violently sudden, and we seek shelter with an old teddy bear, whiling away his dotage in a hammock.  An old man laughs at us, and why shouldn't he?  A couple of bare-chested foreigners trapped in a remote mountain hut, hardly a daily occurrence.  I try to talk to him, but he is the first man I encounter in Taiwan who either can't or chooses not to speak Mandarin.  I catch something that sounds like, "I don't want to talk to you," but I can't be sure, and he starts waving emphatically down the road.  We continue, the rain letting up somewhat, but are forced once more to seek shelter when the skies, capricious as always, really open up.  This time we find ourselves under the roof of a lonely shrine.  We make ourselves comfortable, knowing we might be here a while.  Rivulets of water from the slope above us start running down towards our backpacks.  Shit, it really is coming down hard.  Between the two of us, we have one small thermos of water, and a pack of raisins, if it comes down to spending the night.  Go us.  Thunder booms ever closer, and a strobe-light flash of lightning erupts above us.  Brian notes that smoke is now blooming from an area of forest not a mile distant.  I note that the roof above us is composed entirely of metal, as are the chairs we're sitting on.

To take our mind off things, we start rummaging around in the cabinets around the shrine, for food offerings or anything interesting.  We find nothing but incense and ritual paper.  Brian suggests a fire, since there'a lighter inside the shrine.  I gather up some paper, wondering where the gods draw the line between comfort and sacrilege.  Our first attempts fail, as the paper is damp, so Brian starts chanting, waving his hands around, making good on our latent shaman powers.  Fire springs up magically and I add my talents to his.  With our combined invocation, the rain dies down and we continue at a lope down the mountain, thanking the rain gods.

Not having much luck with the fire.

Brian tries his hand.

Invoking the gods

Aftermath of the ritual

Note: I'm not actually a shaman you fucktards.  If anything, I'm a 3rd lvl rogue.

Before long we're back on the main road.  A group of travelers are walking towards us on a riverside path, and we get our bearings straight.  I thank them for their directions, turn my head, and see the headless carcass of some dog or pig floating downstream.  Forgetting all sense of decorum, I swear loudly as the carcass washes up against a large boulder.  Brian and I try to get a closer look, but it's anybody's guess what the hell that animal was supposed to be, and who or what did this.

So, is this normal?

On the walk towards Shiding, another black dog, this once around one-year old (Brian discerns this from its sackage) follows us, and we constantly have to make sure it doesn't get run over while it accompanies us.  He keeps with us for some time, until we leave his domain, sitting on his haunches, ears deaf to our calls.  Making it back to Shiding, the sunlight no longer glinting off the beautiful rock formations around the river, we sit down to a lordly repast of half a chicken and sundry dishes, and then take the bus home.  We didn't make it to the Hall of the Emperor, but we plundered and conquered, and even worked a bit of magic, so I'd call the day a success.  Emperors may be mighty, but even they need to seek the aid of a shaman every now and then.  And when this emperor calls, I know a certain pair of shamans that'll be there.

This guy was pissed to be swimming around in squalor.

Outskirts of Shiding

Dear tourism bureau, if every town used to be a mining town none of them are special.

Town reminded me a lot of Wulai, especially right here.

Getting reacquainted with my sense of direction

When I first heard that I'd be avoiding work on Saturdays I was, needless to say, very pleased.  The problem is, when everyone else works Saturdays you find yourself wandering off doing stuff alone.  Nothing wrong with that, but it makes it even harder to get up early on a Saturday morning.  Ah, the checks and balances of social obligations.

I decide the night before to try hiking up Jinmianshan, mainly because part of the hike climbs over bare rock.  Luckily, all the hikes I've encountered in Taiwan are a pushover, and even if you start a hike after 1 or 2pm you're still good to get up and down before the sun even starts to set.

Or if you fail to find the trailhead after an hour of searching.

I kid you not, I spend forever reading the regional map, determined not to get lost, and what's the first thing I do?  I look squarely at the sign marked Jinmian Mountain and walk in the opposite direction.  I don't know what the hell is wrong with me.  It's like I'm dyslexic, but for directions.  I mean, even your most directionally-challenged person would figure to walk towards THE ONLY FUCKING MOUNTAINS WITHIN VIEW, but once I orient myself I ignore all common sense otherwise indicating where I should go.  Nothing else even becomes an option.

Luckily, nature has a way of compensating for shortcomings.  Blind people develop keener hearing, slower animals a means of camouflage; I've cultivated the infinitely useful talent of second-guessing myself, especially my navigational skills.  After twenty minutes of walking in one direction without anything even remotely resembling a mountain I walk into a 7-11, confirming my fears: I've been walking in the opposite direction.  No biggie, I'm out in an unfamiliar neighborhood, drinking in the subtle differences of the Xihu area.  It's Saturday, no rush.

Aside: there are no "subtle" differences between local areas in Taipei.  Everything looks the goddamned same: the same kinds of restaurants, the same configuration of liquor stores, real-estate agencies, banks and beauty salons...all mind-numbingly alike.  You find the same people sitting outside of lottery stores with their tickets fanned out before them, the same fruit vendors selling their awesome mangoes and shitty bananas, and 7-11's are spaced apart with a mathematical precision Starbuck's back home would envy.  That's why I'm fine with living in Xizhi, because it doesn't really matter where you live here.  Hell, as far as I'm concerned Xizhi isn't half bad, because of its proximity to the NE coast, and good hiking.

Sorry, don't want to distract from my quest.  Because a quest it has become.  I stop in front of the Xihu MRT station, look at the arrow on the Jinmianshan hiking path sign, and shake my head ruefully, optimistic that I'll be able to find my way now.  I seem to forget the cardinal rule about finding hiking paths in Taiwan.  Signs will appear two times: once at the beginning of your journey, and once upon arriving at your destination.

And nowhere in between.

I'm going around looking for any other signs and wondering where the fuck I'm supposed to be going.  I decide to cut my losses and just hop on a bus to the stop indicated in my guidebook.  Even that fails, as the bus never comes.  I'm hopping mad right now at this series of delays so I just decide to say fuck everything and march towards the mountains I see in the distance.  I don't care what the hell they are, but something's getting climbed.  Something's getting conquered by Stephen Hopkins today.

This turns out to be the best decision I make, because in not fifteen minutes, I'm walking towards the path up Jinmianshan (金面山).  Damn me for a fool.  I'm so eager to make up for lost time that I start running up the mountain.  Bad idea in this heat.  Minutes later I'm catching my breath, my balls effortlessly buoyant in a Dead Sea of my own making.  I hop down concrete steps to a temple, and two old hikers point me back in the opposite direction.  Today is not my day.

Finally made it.

Around the curve...

...right down to a little temple where I had to turn around again.

Almost walk right into this little guy on the way back up.

Before long I'm confronted with a choice.  Head left at the fork up to some Qing-dynasty mining ruins, or right up some steps chiseled into the rock face.

Can you guess what decision I made?

The Qing dynasty isn't that old anyway.

Those kids are game.

Yeah, I opt to save the history lesson for next time, and start hauling myself up, pausing to take in the scenery below me.  Songshan Airport stretches out to my right, and Taipei 101, rises up in the distance, needle-big.  I stand to the side to let a family pass by and realize that the whole rock face is open for climbing, not just the area near the ropes.

Never get tired of taking pictures of the Taipei cityscape.  Funny, never thought to take pictures of Seattle back home, even though we've got some incredible city views too.

Flattening out before the final push.

Inspires confidence in you, right?

I scramble up, eventually reaching a flatter, more heavily wooded area, which climbs steadily to the peak Jiandaoshi Mountain (剪刀石山, literally 'scissors rock mountain').  The whole area is naked before the sky, and sports massive boulders.  I could not ask for a better playground, and I'm off bounding from one rock to the other.  Below me, to the north, the mountains trail away into a verdant depression, before rising up once more.  Choosing a likely spot, one massive boulder jutting out over a cliff, I force myself to sit on the edge and gaze out at the greenery.  Only after pausing to rest do I realize I stink like shit.  Failing to wash my backpack after many sweaty adventures in this heat has resulted in a sour smell wafting from it, not unlike spoiled milk.

The eponymous 'Scissors Rock'.  Yeah, I don't see it either.

Getting swept up in the selfie craze.  This is what a selfie would look like in the 1800's.

The trip back down the mountain is uneventful, though it does start to rain lightly.  Eventually I loop around and exit a fifteen minute walk further down from where I entered.  Despite trying to drape my ExOfficio shirt around the back of my pack to dry it out (ExOfficio is the biggest waste of money, don't believe their moisture-wicking, fast-drying bullshit.  All a bunch of loud, empty catch-phrases.  Yuppy assholes.), I feel like I'm jumped into a swimming pool when I put it back on. From now on, I decide shirts are coming off at the trail head.  I break down and buy a T-shirt at 7-11, which actually proves to be far better at keeping me cool than my bullshit brand-name 'hiking' shirt.

Nearly lost my shit here.

I thought I'd never see another spider to make me shit my pants.  This guy from head to tip of his abdomen was longer than my forefinger.  If I spread my fingers as far as they could stretch, that would approximately match his legspan.  I'm not even that close to him in this shot, did not dare approach him.

I make my way home on the train, keeping my backpack as far away from others as I possibly can.  I overhear people in Chinese wondering why foreigners carry their backpacks in hand and don't wear them as they're supposed to be worn.  Smell my backpack and find out then, if you want to.

A wax apple?  Yeah, I know the unripe ones taste like shit, next time pay better attention instead of wasting food, asshole.

Oh, there's a tree.  Huh, never thought to see a wax apple tree just growing in a neighborhood.

I can't say what this is supposed to be, but I see a guy back kicking something into oblivion.