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"You must see the sunrise in
Alisan!" Right out of the train depot, a lady hawker immediately approached us to offer a great deal up to
the mountain by van. The 2 hour ride drizzled and at times poured. We got to sit in the front to take in
the splendor of the misty mountains and canyons, so much like being inside a Chinese landscape painting.
Atop the mountain near the Alisan station, there was a shopping square with a Starbucks and a visitor information center.
As it was drizzling and off season, there were few people. The square was just a few raggedy eateries and hodgepodge
souvenir shops that mainly sold tea. Shopkeepers offered tea at every turn, but what held our steps was the scent
of high mountain oolong. We inhaled, we drank, and we bought some for home. It rained all night,
so we slept through the 4am plan to see the sunrise. If I say that the Alisan sunrise is a myth, then
someone would tell me someone did see it and it was beautiful.
We arrived in Kenting the previous
afternoon and settled in at the A-Gong Resort Hotel for NT$1500 a night, just NT$300 more than the homestays on the same main
strip, but much nicer. The strip came alive after dark. We strolled past food stands, trinket booths, dancing girls in front
of pubs; there was a Seven-Eleven, an array of international eateries and beach souvenir shops; and there were also bicycle
rental, scuba diving tour companies and no shortage of homestay apartments. At the farthest end were two swanky hotels, but
where was the beach? And who was playing the bluesy songs? We walked down some wooden steps, and suddenly there it was!
The breathtaking beach, clean and calm. The waves, soothingly rhythmic. At the landing, too, was the world’s most
well-placed bar! Sunlight was settling, and then the beach was fading to darkness. Jeanette and I exchanged some stories,
but mostly we sat in silence, smoking and sipping wine or beer. Four school girls were at the beach taking photos and hanging
around for several hours. It got totally dark and quiet when I looked for them again, but I could make out only two couples
left on the beach; one couple had lit cigarettes all night long. We moved our drinking down to the beach to see how it was
by the waves. The smoking couple greeted us--the guy had just met the girl sitting there alone. For the rest of this special
night, from strangers to strangers, we shared each other's painful experiences of love and life. (The photo was taken the
next evening. When visiting Kenting, you must stop by to say "hello" to i-Mark and have a few drinks at his mobile bar.)
We got lucky on the second night
in Hualien when there was vacancy at the Sunrise Inn; I had carried the magazine ad of this brand new hotel for days. The night before we were intercepted at the train station by Mrs. Kuo of the Simplicity
Sojourn homestay, who followed us into the tourist office. She assured us that
her homestay was fabulous, legally registered, and in the heart of downtown. She
also drove a taxi that could take us there—that was the deciding point as we were clueless with only the Lonely Planet
book. Downtown Hualien was a typical active Taiwanese town. We went to a gold jeweler to exchange more money. We had each
already spent the US$800 exchanged upon arrival in Taipei,
and we each needed another US$500. That evening we saw tribal dancing at a shopping
square, where every shop sold similar gem and rock pendants. The colored string
necklaces were hand knotted, which took skill and work for the measly starting price of NT$150. Mrs. Kuo also sold us next day’s Tarako trip. For NT$2000, we toured Tarako in a private taxi. At the end of the sightseeing, our kind chauffeur/escort dropped us off at the Sunrise
Inn. At the balcony, we were lost in our own thoughts just gazing at the
vast Pacific Ocean
from this side of the globe!
It was surreal the amount of comfort and bliss NT$200 (US$6) could buy in Taiwan. This thought came to mind
while I was soaking in a hot-spring in Chiben. The locals came; especially seniors, they brought snacks and tea to spent the
day. It was amazing to watch an old guy withstood a pool where the temperature was high enough to skin a dog; his face was
certainly dangerously red. This hot-spring left over from the Japanese era was not much to look at anymore, but the Taiwanese
sure kept it up with technology to serve a higher purpose. It was equipped with a host of the most powerful and intelligent
jet massagers that beat the head, neck, shoulders, body, legs and under-feet to a fluffy pulp. I could live here, I thought,
or at least come back every year. (The photo, however, was taken in Beitou, Taipei. It was a brook by the road where folks
could soak their feet in nice hot mineral water.)
A can for handouts and a sign advertising his work were on display, but the old man at the train depot was
not in want of money, I thought. They were only props, since he was not hired to play, the public may not understand about
performing for the sake of performance. The old man played “Amazing Grace,” not well at all, but enough to prompt
me to sing along. We did more songs; I remember also “Jesus Loves Me Yes I know” and “Choto Mate Kudasai.”
Rock on, Old Man!
When Jeanette
said she would like to join me on this trip, I told her that Taiwan is nowhere listed on the “One Thousand Places You
Must Go Before You Die” book. She said that’s why we have to go there. She said “Come on, let’s go; I can’t be here (home, Los Angeles)
for my birthday.” That sentiment struck a nerve, since our birthdays were
just a few days apart in April. Jeanette is a world traveler—has been to
all seven continents, she is easy going and kind, she drinks and smokes in good spirit, and her sister is an artist. On the other hand she is becoming vegetarian, and she is a member of PETA. So neither of us is perfect; we could get along. Jeanette
knew of Taiwan as a wharfinger at the Port of L.A.; she knew especially the container ships and shippers from Keelung and
Kaohsiung. All was well on the road, but nowhere else in Taiwan did Jeanette
look more calm and content as when she was by the water at the ports. She lighted
a few cigarettes and lingered, paying homage to familiar vessels that had been where she was.
The swooping and cries of seagulls looked and sounded just like those at home. Jeanette looked into the horizon from the Port of Keelung, where in a few days, she will look back, from
the Port of L.A.
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