Teacups vs. Plate Tectonics

All of us two weeks ago, on the Buluowan Suspension Bridge, which probably no longer exists

Like just about everyone in Taiwan last week, my Wednesday morning started with a massive shake-up. I sat on the couch drinking my morning coffee with a hefty dollop of doomscrolling and thinking about an upcoming workday which, at 7:57am, was about one minute away from not being a workday at all. 

When the alert hit my phone, my half-caffeinated brain took about two seconds to register that it was not only telling me in English to a coming quake and the need to take cover, but also in Mandarin that it was "significant", with "strong" shaking. I don't know how common it is for alerts to state so clearly the expectation of a major seismic event, but it did give me about three seconds to dive under my dining table and hold on. 

I don't have a particularly interesting story to tell: in fact, the most notable thing about my big earthquake experience is how little I was affected. My clients asked to postpone that day as we were all pretty stunned, and a few cracks appeared in my walls. That's about it. I continued with my plans to go camping the next day, after the organizers of the group confirmed the safety of the site and the tricky road to get there.

Even my teacups survived, and they were adhered to their curio shelf with nothing more than tiny globs of Blue-Tack. This was a particular surprise: one of my thoughts as I crouched under that table afraid for my life had been oh man, those teacups are goners!

Not everyone was so lucky; though no one I know was injured, many others were, and for the rest of the day I watched pictures of my friends' trashed apartments roll across my feed.

And yet, I spent the rest of the day -- now suddenly free to let my mind wander -- in low-grade freakout mode. 

Of course I was worried for Hualien, but this went beyond concern for the welfare of a nearby city. It was something personal; it came from the core. 

These teacups survived the 2024 earthquake

While I crouched under the dining table, my husband (wisely) stayed right where he was in bed, seeing as the frame is too low for either of us to fit underneath it. It was indeed scary to be in two different rooms, able to communicate but not see or help one another. Both of our cats bolted to their favorite inaccessible hiding places; in a truly life-threatening emergency, I would not have been able to grab them. 

Was this the source of my slow-rolling panic attack? Was I spooked that I'd be separated from my core family in Taiwan if the roof literally or figuratively caved in?

That surely played a part, but my gut knew that wasn't the whole of it. 

In Taipei the quake felt like it could have been a real emergency, but in the end it wasn't one. Countless articles have already been written on the surprising resilience of Taiwan, when other countries hit by seismic disasters of similar magnitudes have been devastated. Turkey comes to mind: the Antakya earthquake killed many more. (This strikes a nerve with me as my ancestry weaves through Antakya. I'd been hoping to return).

Or perhaps it's not so surprising: Taiwan also impressed the world with its COVID response, and has built a successful, developed nation despite the world's lack of recognition and the unceasing threat from China.

A death toll that stands at 13 -- though I think it's likely to go up in coming days -- is indeed impressive: like Taiwan's COVID response, it shows that when the country goes through a humanitarian disaster, whether the 1999 earthquake or 2003 SARS epidemic, it learns from it and does better next time. 

Knowing this doesn't seem to have improved my mental state, however.

Perhaps my inability to calm down and face the day stemmed from a trip we'd taken two weeks previously. We took visiting family on a 環島, or 'round the island' journey by train and car -- starting in Hualien. 14 days before the earthquake, almost to the hour, we were in Taroko National Park, navigating the cliff overhangs on the Shakadang Trail. You know, the one where some hikers were killed. We walked on the suspension bridge that appears to no longer exist. We drove over the bit of Suhua Highway that collapsed. Our driver for the day dropped us off at Dongdaemun Night Market to kill time between our day at Taroko Gorge and our dinner reservations; she waited for us across the street from the Uranus Building. 

Was it that? Having been in the exact location of all of these calamities so recently that I hadn't even shared pictures with my in-laws yet? Realizing that I saw Taroko Gorge just two weeks prior to its indefinite closure?

That certainly had something to do with it. It is unnerving to look at a bit of landslid trail or collapsed infrastructure and realize you were just there. But no, that was an insufficient explanation and deep down, I knew it. After all, those who were actually there when the quake happened either didn't survive, or had it immeasurably worse.

Unable to comprehend my own reaction, I sat on my couch, drank tea and stared at my teacups. Almost all of them were Taiwan-made, either by local artisans or a Taiwanese company. Two have a floral pattern commonly associated with Hakka culture (although I'm not sure how accurate the connection is). A few are Japanese and one came from an import store in New York. They're all very delicate, but they've survived up there for longer than anyone could reasonably expect them to. Any number of earthquakes should have brought them crashing to the floor by now. 

I stared at them and dreamed up an alternative reality, or a possible future, where I sit on that same couch drinking that same kind of tea, hearing an alert pop up on my phone as air raid sirens start a horrifying crescendo. I conjured fictitious (for now) Chinese missiles landing nearby. They create more cracks in my walls. My husband is somewhere else; I can't reach him. The cats flee to their secret spots. The cement crumbles, the furniture shakes, and the first teacup is forced free from the sticky tack holding it in place. Then another, and another. 

In this other world, they all eventually tumble and shatter. There is nothing I can do about it. 

It's not quite the same as an earthquake. The missiles are man-made; they're not the result of a natural process. They're not entirely random, and they're not inevitable. Tectonic plates move because that's just what they do. For them to behave differently, Earth would have to be a fundamentally different planet. These missiles I imagined were decided by someone. Earth didn't decide to kill 13 people this past week; it moved because it moves, and 13 people died. But missiles don't just fall on a city; someone fires them. A leader orders them. They are part of a chain of events in which some people choose to kill others.

And yet it is sort of the same as an earthquake, too. In Taiwan, a Chinese attack, like an earthquake, is an ever-present danger. There is little I will be able to do if it happens except dive under my table and hang on. If my husband isn't with me there will be no way to change that.

There's also nothing I can do to stop it from happening in the first place. Sure, someone decides to make bombs fall, but in that moment, what will matter to my life is that, like the earth shaking, bombs are falling.

There's not much Taiwan can do about it either. Diplomacy doesn't work when the other side doesn't keep promises and won't even come to the table unless their counterpart renounces their sovereignty, as China is insisting Taiwan do. Dialogue doesn't work when China isn't interested in hearing Taiwan's utter lack of interest in unification. Assurances don't work when the only assurance China wants -- that unification is possible -- isn't one that Taiwan can sincerely or reasonably offer. 

China will attack Taiwan when it thinks it can win, and no amount of playing nice will change their calculus. Only making the odds of winning less favorable will stop it, and there's only so much Taiwan can do in that regard. 

Like an earthquake, you can prepare, and analyze, and improve the nation's resiliency. A Chinese invasion is not inevitable simply because China could choose not to invade, but sitting here in Taipei, does it matter? It doesn't feel like Taiwan can truly stop China, just as it can't stop an earthquake. If China is determined to start a war because Taiwan can't give it the only thing it wants, there isn't much Taiwan can do to avert it. As with earthquakes, it can only make itself and its public institutions much harder to topple. 

I didn't do anything wrong on Wednesday morning: I dropped, covered and held on when it seemed like it really mattered. Sure, I repeatedly shouted "fucksnacks!" through the whole thing, but that's an understandable reaction. When the shaking stopped, I forced myself to get up, check on my husband, locate my cats' hiding places, survey the apartment to make sure there was no obvious major damage, and start messaging people that we were okay. 

The fear and anxiety didn't subside, though, and I wasn't particularly proud of the fact that all I really wanted was to cower under that table for awhile longer. I didn't want to get up, dust off, check for damage and start communications; I wanted to curl up and hide. That desire amplified the anxiety. Then I started to feel anxious specifically about the anxiety, which made the original anxiety worse. That deterioration led to more anxiety, which accelerated the spiral, and so on.

That's really what drove it: I experienced an almost-emergency over which I had no control. This was as close a taste as I'm likely to get of what it would feel like if China attacked Taiwan without warning. And I did everything right, but I still had a panic attack, and then I had a panic attack about my initial panic attack.

My insistence that I'm going to stay and fight suddenly felt like a hollow gasconade. That I did everything right didn't feel like proof that I have steel nerves, because it was necessary to force myself to accomplish any of it. What if I'm a liability rather than a help because I can't get it together?

That helplessness is utterly terrifying, and it does not matter whether it's a severe earthquake in progress or bombs from some brutal genocidal regime that might kill you.

Like most people who live in Taiwan, I'm always aware of the threats faced by the country I call home. I don't usually let them get to me; a life lived in fear is not really a life. At some point you have to get up, dust off, and go to work. Pay your bills, see your friends, do your chores, do your job, drink your drinks, cook your food, take your trips, read your books, call your parents, feed your cats. 

The Commentariat sometimes fires up this weird narrative that Taiwanese people don't care enough about the threat from China, that they're complacent or ignorant, and thus unprepared. While Taiwan could probably be spending more time and effort on this, the notion that its citizens are blissfully unaware of the looming threat isn't just nonsense, it's a funhouse-mirror distortion of reality. 

People living in Taiwan are aware of the threat pretty much all the time, as they are for earthquakes. But it's not healthy to live in a constant state of heightened anxiety -- that leads to real mental health problems, and I would know. It's also not possible to maintain, and not helpful. 

Living with it for just a day affected my mental state all weekend. Imagine living it every day in a war zone. Some people are living it now, and someone, somewhere, has lived it every single day any one of us has been alive.

Now imagine that, but you're not even in a war zone. You're at the supermarket, or in a cubicle, or in class, hyper aware at all moments that your big bully neighbor could start raining death on everything you love. 

It's no way to live. 

Nobody expects people in an earthquake zone to live in constant fear; they know it pickles the brain. Yet they express surprise that Taiwanese people don't do so as a response to the threat from China. Why?

Taiwan has survived for longer than many thought it would, showing the world the benefits of learning from mistakes and having a plan, as well as taking practical steps so that when disaster strikes and the plan must be executed, it actually works -- Democratic norms, public institutions and civil society must all be robust and well-maintained. Budgets approved, regulations promulgated and double-checked.

These norms and institutions so often seem like abstractions, and the realpolitik crowd would like you to believe they are fragile, easily broken, no real defense against the inevitability of a subjugationist strongman. Yet at least in Taiwan, they appear to be both fragile and surprisingly resilient, at the same time. Teacups can survive an earthquake, if they're well-anchored. Porcelain can stand up to plate tectonics, and win.

I don't know if it's enough, but I suppose it has to be -- for everyone living here including myself.

As beautiful as the ringworm on her body: a review of Sorceress Diguwan

Sorceress Diguwan by Badai

I'm a blockhead.

I don't do stream of consciousness, and I'm not a fan of I like novels with intentionally beguiling names like Autumn of the Sixteenth Nephrologist. Novels that your white mom would read in her book club that the gals winkingly called "Prosé" because they meet to discuss books and drink rosé. I like novels that are creative, but also follow a novel structure predictable enough that when it's subverted, you go "oh so like Arundhati Roy did that one time." 

I'm also sucker for a surprising line. I don't mean those postmodern writerly affectations where being out of place or saying something shocking just makes you sound like all the other writers who've already done that. 

A novel doesn't actually have to be perfectly paced or structured or even particularly surprising, if it's different enough to keep my attention. Give me enough of an undercurrent and I'll happily float down even the longest roman fleuves.

So, did I like Badai's Sorceress Diguwan? I did. 

It was not a perfectly constructed novel. It begins with an intriguing premise; in 1917, the wife of the youngest son of a Hoklo family living on Puyuma Indigenous land commits suicide, and the sorceresses of Damalagaw springs into action to ensure her choice doesn't bring evil spirits to the tribe. The most powerful among these sorceresses is the playful Diguwan, who happens to be drunk on homemade wine when we first meet her.

As the villagers deal with the patriarch of the family, Japanese authorities in nearby Taitung grow suspicious and vow to keep an eye on their activities. 

Then there's a middle section describing a long training excursion for young Indigenous men. I didn't really see how this was connected to the previous plot: was it simply describing the events of one year without concern for whether they were connected or not? I never did figure this out. Many of the same characters are featured, but they're not doing anything that seems particularly related to everything that had just transpired.

The events from the beginning of the novel do come back around to affect the third act. By then, however, I was struggling to remember who some of the characters were. Certainly the Japanese officials had not been mentioned for so long that I couldn't really remember who was whom. When one of them appeared in the village, I had to flip back to the beginning to figure out why it was relevant. It didn't help that most of the characters were underdeveloped; I had nothing specific to remember them by.  All the middle section did (for me) was illustrate that Diguwan had powers most sorceresses did not. I don't know that this point required one-third of a novel to make.

The last part of the novel centered around Indigenous-Japanese and inter-tribal conflicts regarding homemade guns. Those final scenes were indeed riveting, and I was glad I pushed through the novel to get there. The Hoklo family showed up again too, but the suicide -- a key event in the beginning -- seemed to play no significant role. After some discussion in the beginning of how the women of Damalagaw were treated better by the men than Hoklo women were treated in their society, I still felt that sexism was an accepted norm. There was even a young, beautiful female character who was having trouble finding love because she was considered too 'smart, intelligent, capable and somehow powerful'! (I'm spoiling it a bit, but it was hinted that she did, in fact, find a mate, but at least for me, it's left unclear. The story simply moves on). 

Other plot threads are left hanging; the main inter-village conflict is settled, but another one looms with Naibeluk, which is deeper in the mountains. That never quite comes to fruition.

The translation is littered with mistakes and oddities; it was edited, but even accounting for the notion that an award-winning manuscript should retain as much of the author's voice as possible in translation, it needed another run-through. 

But then the titular sorceress is said to appreciate the marks on a tree that were "as beautiful as the ringworm on her body." 

That ringworm lives rent-free in my head...

...wait, that sounds wrong. Anyway. I love a great line. It was weird, it was unexpected, and -- I suppose rather like a parasitic worm -- I was hooked. 

So far, I've made it sound like I came to appreciate a deeply flawed novel. I suppose that's true. After all, it is flawed, and I appreciate it. Frankly, I appreciate that it's a novel at all. There is a fair amount of Indigenous Taiwanese writing available in English translation. Not enough, but perhaps more than you'd expect if you didn't go looking for it. Most of it is not in novel form. There are many short stories available, and at least one book that's purely stream-of-consciousness. I chose not to purchase that one at eslite when I read that it was praised for having essentially no punctuation. Like, two periods in the whole thing. 

Innovation is great and all, but I like punctuation, and I like novels. I'm a blockhead, remember? Perhaps that's a me problem, but it doesn't make it any less true. 

There's more to like about Sorceress Diguwan than some fun prose and the fact that it exists, though. If you want insight into what Taitung-area Indigenous life was like in the Japanese colonial era, you probably can't do better. Badai was born in the 1960s and so isn't writing an eyewitness account, but the story is drawn from interviews with tribal elders. 

Badai presents a world that is certainly culturally different to the West, but also quite different from Hoklo and Hakka settler society. It's not just that the story is about Puyuma people living in Puyuma villages. Everything from the treatment of women to the use of sorcery to methods of conflict resolution and pathways to adulthood are different. The ways in which Indigenous villages selectively adopted ideas from other groups -- from farming techniques to straw shoes -- was fascinating in its intentionality, at least as described in the novel. 

Some of it did challenge my Western sensibilities. There's a scene where Mawneb, the gun manufacturer, insists that the person suspected of stealing his favorite gun should prove their innocence, rather than insist Mawneb must prove them guilty (as the latter is impossible to do...or so it seems). I'm not sure if that's how society in those villages truly functioned, or just a conceit of Mawneb, but I'll admit I'm still a fan of innocent until proven guilty. 

The scene along the trail, however, was excellent reading. I might be annoyed that the initial catalyst -- the suicide of the abused Hoklo woman -- ceased to play an important role in the story so early on. But ringworm and all, Sorceress Diguwan is worth reading.

Eating The Valley (The Southern Bits)

As I've said before, when I do travel posts I try to focus on some specific thing of interest rather than just publish an itinerary. Most recently, I focused simply on how much the KMT sucks in relation to a trip to Green Island. That's relevant to this post: that trip was the second half of this one.

This time, I want to talk a little bit about food. 

I noticed when looking for places to eat in the East Rift Valley that some of my friends knew a lot of great spots, and others none at all except perhaps that famous railway bento at Chihshang -- which I've still never tried. Most food recommendations seem to be for the northern end of the valley, closer to Hualien, not the southern bits.

The Hualien side also seems to be where most of the well-known Indigenous cuisine is. As you head south, the Hakka cultural influence becomes stronger, which is reflected in the large number of Hakka restaurants. (The other side of the mountains, where the coastal road runs, seems to have been overrun from Donghe to Dulan with foreigners, so that's where you should head if you want Western food). 

So, I thought it would be useful to talk about our driving trip through the southern reaches of the valley mostly through the lens of places to eat. Sadly, I did not actually take any food photos so you'll just have to settle for scenery. 

The view from our hotel room at the Luminous

We started our trip at Taitung Station, which is fronted by pretty good ice cream and tea shops selling locally-inspired products such as red oolong and hibiscus teas and custard apple ice cream. We used Avis/Budget through the KKDay app to book a rental car and drove to Luye (鹿野), about 30 minutes to the north.

In theory most of this trip -- minus Liushidan Mountain -- would be doable without a car. There's a train line running through the valley with local stops all the way up, it's a popular cycling route (and some of the more tourist-oriented towns offer bicycle rental) and there are public buses, though they don't seem very frequent. You'd have to be prepared to walk a lot. I recommend a car, but you don't need one unless you want to go up into the hills. Even the Luye Highlands are accessible by bus and tourist shuttle.

We'd been to the famous highlands of Luye before and didn't feel a need to return, but I'd booked us a few nights at the Luminous Hot Spring Resort & Spa. The hotel itself was nice -- I appreciated the balcony and in-room hot spring bath with mountain views -- though parts of the architecture were reminiscent of a public school. If you intend to forgo a rental car and just take the shuttle there and back, you'll be stuck paying resort prices for everything. We picked up breakfast for the next day at Family Mart, but we were fine with paying for one dinner at the extensive buffet. I was surprised with the quality of the sashimi; Brendan spoke highly of the braised pork rice. 

On our other night in Luye, we went to Ai Jiao Yi Dim Sum 愛嬌姨茶餐廳, which isn't actually dim sum at all. This friendly local restaurant serves tea-infused dishes (usually as part of a set menu but there's an affordable option for two people). I loved everything from the simple mountain greens braised in tea to the fried tofu with tea-infused dipping sauce. 

On the Monday evening when we ate there it wasn't crowded, but I do recommend calling ahead on weekends or during the high season. 

Ai Jiao Yi also grows their own tea, and you'll likely be invited to sit and try a few kinds if they're not busy. We came away with a packet of honey-scented oolong (蜜香烏龍). 

Our plan gave us one day in the East Rift Valley, and having driven around that area before, we weren't sure what precisely we wanted to do. After a leisurely coffee-drinking session our balcony, I suggested we check out the Japanese shrine in the lower part of town and then pick a spot for lunch that would require us to take a scenic drive. The shrine, by the way, is lovely -- it was built for the residents of what was at one point a Japanese village and has been restored -- and the fields surrounding it are pleasant to walk around. There isn't a lot of traffic on these village roads on a Tuesday morning in May.

The Japanese shrine in Luye

I had to move to Taiwan to figure out that's how pineapples grow. I"m not joking. 

I considered trying to eat at Mipu Hakka 米舖客家小館, a Hakka restaurant we'd tried years ago in Guanshan. It was truly excellent and they make their own kumquat sauce. However, they're really set up for larger groups, and were gracious the last time we stopped there with just three diners, despite not really having a menu for such a small number. Tongxin Dumplings 同心餃子館 was also recommended by friends.

Instead, we ended up at G九屋特製私房菜 in Dongli, which I suppose could be translated as G9 House Special Private Kitchen (?) in Fuli. This brought us into the southern reaches of Hualien County on the valley side, but still a bit south of Ruisui, whose scenic roads I've been meaning to get back to for a nice drive-around. 

One lovely part of getting up here were the opportunities to turn off Highway 9, which runs through the valley (and is barely a highway in some parts) and just meander through the countryside. A lot of people are nervous about driving on those tiny roads between fields as many don't seem like they can handle two-way traffic, but this is one of my favorite things to do. I'm scared of urban driving; even the dinkiest, most overgrown rural road is cake.  

G9 is another truly excellent find. They too have set meals, there's no real menu. We were served cold crab and vegetable spring rolls in rice skin, an absolutely delicious dish of local greens with black tree ear mushroom and bacon, a unique dish of fish slices in steamed tofu served in a bright green sauce made from local vegetables, Thai-style fried chicken, and a simple but tasty soup. The rice comes with pork oil so you can make a Hakka-style 豬油拌飯. 

Although it was still just a bit too far north for us, Our Cafe 我的咖啡館 in Guangfu (a bit north of Ruisui) comes highly recommended as well. 

After our meal at G9, we finished off our tea and discussed what to do next. We weren't far from Chihshang, which offers both scenery of the East Rift Valley itself, but also a highway that crosses the mountains and drops you off at Donghe on the coastal side. It's famous for both scenery and having a troupe of Formosan macaques.

We did both on our last trip, however, and decided to beat the usual tourist crowds by driving up Liushidan Mountain 六十旦山 instead. This area is packed with sightseers when the famous tiger lilies are in bloom across the hillsides in August and September (a similar tiger lily mountain can be found near Taimali). In early May, just a few buds were beginning to show, but the scenery was still gorgeous and there was hardly another soul around. In my opinion, the perfect time to go. 

The drive up to Liushidan Mountain from Dongli is somewhat terrifying, with more switchbacks than the drive down the other side at Dongzhu, but that's the sort of driving I'm actually good at and there was no traffic whatsoever, so I didn't mind. We stopped at as many beautiful lookout points as we could, watching low clouds and patches of sun wind their way down the valley below. In most cases, we were the only people there. The drive down was just as lovely, and we took our time as there was no one around.

(Downside: all the shops that seem like they're usually open in the tourist season and would typically have restrooms were shuttered, so I had to pee behind a bush.)









When we felt ready to head back into the valley, I suggested we look for a cafe with nice views to relax and recharge before heading back to the hotel. We found the perfect destination in No. 9 Gourmet Coffee 池上鄉九號咖啡館 in Chihshang. The massive windows offer a lovely vista of the fields and mountains, and the coffee, which comes with a small pudding-based dessert,  is good too. 

There's no parking to speak of, but in this part of Taiwan you can just sort of pull over. 

The view from No. 9 Gourmet Coffee

My goal had been to take the scenic (as in, farms and fields) route back to the Luminous, but we lingered so long at No.9 that dusk began to set in and rain was coming, so we just drove directly back along the highway.

The next day we dropped off the car at Taitung Station and had a few hours before our flight to Green Island...or thought we did. With much of Taitung City's culinary scene closed during the exact post-lunch hours we needed to kill or off on Wednesdays, I searched for places that would welcome two people killing time (like a cafe) but also served food (like a restaurant) and found Taimali Culture and Creative Cafe 太麻里文創咖啡館.

Don't let the name fool you -- it's in downtown Taitung, not Taimali. The food is at the higher end of typical cafe fare, but it's in a restored wooden Japanese building with a beautiful inside-outside feel, and they have cats! 

Of course, something had to go awry. Our flight to Green Island was canceled due to a sudden rainstorm and we had to spend the night in Taitung (we took the boat the next morning). I was in the mood for something in the general category of yakitori, so we ended up at Kasugabe Japanese Home Cooking 春日部日本家庭料理, in a lane which also boasts an interesting-looking Italian restaurant, a highly-rated super-modern Thai place, and a funky cafe that I would have happily checked out if we hadn't wanted to be in bed early. 

Kasugabe was far better than its mediocre Google ranking. I was pleased with everything, though the spicy mentaiko cheese potato sticks in my memory as particularly great. I commented that they seemed to have laced it with pure unadulterated crack, and Brendan commented that it was probably just all the butter. 

Although it's a little far away, Seasonal 漁采時令料理 is another friend-approved, highly-recommended Japanese restaurant, but it was a bit too far from our hotel and we had already turned in the car. 

The bad weather had cleared by next morning we were finally able to head to Green Island, so that was the end of our East Rift Valley adventure! 

Please enjoy some more photos: 

Culture x Water

My last paper of the term is done, and I took the Tomb Sweeping holiday to travel around in southern Taiwan simply enjoying time with Brendan and meeting up with some friends. I read Crystal Boys (review coming soon), didn't write anything, generally relaxed and re-learned what it was like to be able to take a nice short trip without academia weighing on my mind.

I sent in that final paper at 6pm on Wednesday. The next morning, we hopped on the HSR to Zuoying, arranging a pickup from the HSR station to the ferry terminal in Donggang (NT600 for the trip - not bad). Little Liuqiu (小琉球), where we spent two nights and, on account of my being thoroughly exhausted from the previous day's push to get my paper in, still didn't manage to see everything. After this we spent the final two days of the long weekend in Kaohsiung and Tainan.




I enjoyed the island's rural sights and did not feel the crowds visiting them were overwhelming. Baishawei, the island's main town, was a different story. I suspect Baishawei is a fine little town to relax in on a non-holiday weekday; over the long weekend, though, it was horrible. Really horrible! I understand getting on a scooter to go out of town - there is a bus that circles the island and you can ride it fairly easily to get anywhere you might want to go - but to get on a scooter to go around Baishawei, whose streets are narrow and made for pedestrians, and the sights within walking distance of it? Come on. I get that it will be crowded, but if people realized that and used their scooters more judiciously, it wouldn't be so bad.

Beyond that, a thought struck me while navigating around Baishawei, which I shared over drinks with a friend who happened to also be on the island - a thought about water, and our orientation to it, and what that means for Taiwanese identity.

People explain away Taiwan's less-than-ideal beach infrastructure and general lack of well-maintained beaches, and the fact that many Taiwanese don't know how to swim despite living on an island, by pointing out that Chinese culture isn't a water-oriented one (leaving aside the fact that historically, Chinese fishermen, explorers, traders, pirates and seafarers have absolutely been an integral part of Chinese culture.) They point out that China doesn't have great beaches - I've been to the one in Qingdao and yeah...not great, and I haven't heard great things about Hainan. Or they mention that Chinese cities tend to be built "with their back to the sea", or generally thinking of the sea as the end of China and not an integral part of their lives. As that same friend pointed out, for a large portion of not-too-distant Chinese history, access to the coastlines was banned (which of course didn't work at all as intended).





You can see that in Taiwan - for a long time, despite being an island, the coastal waters were off-limits and people "were living more like residents of a landlocked country." In terms of specific beaches, Wai'ao could be a really nice destination, except it's just off a strip of noisy road, backed by ugly buildings and an entertainment complex that is both uninviting and behind a parking area, not actually on the beach. Kenting...I don't like Kenting, let me count the ways. Baishawan allows 10,000 people to churn the water in approximately half a square meter of a long, gorgeous beach. Fulong has that hideous bridge (yes, it needs a bridge, but couldn't it be nicer?) and ugly hotel and is flanked by a lagoon to one side that smells, as one friend who worked in health care put it, "like my sick elderly patients' pee." And that's just to name a few. (Some of the outlying islands fare better.) Taiwan doesn't have a lot of gorgeous, sandy beaches, but what it does have could be better than they are.

I mean, in Taipei we live an MRT ride from the ocean and hardly ever go, because the infrastructure needed to make the beaches really nice places to swim and relax just isn't there. Taiwan's cities do indeed feel as though they are built with their backs to the sea.

But, in Little Liuqiu, I got the sense that it could be different. More kids in the younger generation are learning to swim, Taiwanese Millenials go to the beach and hang out in a way that feels distinctly familiar to me as a coastal American. On Little Liuqiu, I dare say that, while not a "great beach" (too many rocks and coral to cut your feet) Baishawei's beach was a pleasant place to hang out, and other rocky beaches have good snorkeling - and people were taking advantage of that. People were going in the water and enjoying themselves in ways I just didn't see in China (though I haven't been to Hainan).

Note how all of the cultural attitudes towards the sea that I mentioned above are in relation to Chinese culture. But Taiwan is not China - it doesn't have to be this way. Taiwanese history is rooted in Austronesian indigenous culture, and who are seafarers if not Austronesians? Taiwan's deepest history is tied to the sea. It doesn't need to hold to Chinese notions of how the sea fits into their lives, and in fact such an attitude doesn't suit it. Taiwan isn't like China, not least in terms of geography. So why have a Chinese attitude to the ocean?





Taiwan can - and I'd argue should - grow its existing beach/sea/ocean culture as a way to not only acknowledge that it is not only a subtropical/tropical set of islands and it makes sense for warm-water island nations to be sea-oriented, but also as a way to differentiate Taiwanese culture from Chinese culture. China can turn its back to the sea - we can turn to face it. It can be a barrier for them, the "end of civilization". On our beautiful ball of mud, we can do things differently.

Taiwan doesn't need to be defined by ideas central to Chinese culture. It has its own culture and can define itself accordingly. Just because something is culturally Chinese doesn't mean it needs to be applied to Taiwan.

And that will be one small, but notable, nail in the coffin of this "Taiwanese and Chinese culture are exactly the same! They have the same history and think and act in the same way!" nonsense bandied about by people who don't know what they're talking about. It's not true, but it's hard to see that if you're just passing through (or are just some Internet bloviator). We need it to be more demonstrably untrue, and a country where the beaches are both lovely and popular would help in its own small way.

This isn't a crazy outsider idea. I'm not trying to push my foreigner thoughts on a local culture - Taiwan is already going down this path and already has more of a historical and current orientation to the ocean than China. So there is no reason why Taiwan can't [continue to] cultivate a sea-facing, sea-loving, ocean-integrated culture that is well-suited to its geography and actual non-Chinese history. Improvements need to be made, but it would be unfair to say we're not on our way.

Anyway, enjoy a few more shots of Little Liuqiu:

If you are wondering whether my feet are dirty or just dyed by my sandals, the answer is...they were really cheap sandals.

Taiwan is more than Taipei

"Wang Ye" in full makeup at the opening of the Donggang King Boat Festival

Like some other bloggers I know, I am getting tired of stories about Taiwan or Taiwan travel listicles that were written by someone who either flew in, spent three days in Taipei and had a Sun Moon Lake overnight, or who lives in Taipei but doesn't care that much about the rest of Taiwan. (I once read an blog post by, I dunno, somebody, saying that Taipei expats never seem to leave Taipei. I was annoyed by that - I leave Taipei all the time! - but I can see where one might get the impression that the Taipei expat community isn't interested in exploring the rest of the country).

Anyway, why does it always have to be hot springs, a few Taipei hot spots, maybe Sun Moon Lake and Taroko if you're lucky, and "theme restaurants"? Maybe these days Kenting will figure in on these "itineraries". I'm sick of it too. While I could recommend a few great hot springs and I've even been to that toilet restaurant (verdict: mediocre. Were you surprised?), I feel like one could do a much better job talking about great places in Taiwan than "Taipei 101 and this lake I hear about in the mountains". Not Taipei, Taiwan. 

So, in no particular order and with no particular rhyme or reason, here are some of my favorite places in Taiwan. With links, mostly to my blog, because I'm nothing if not self-promoting.

Southeast Pingdong County and East of Kending

This has to have been one of my favorite trips in Taiwan that was not an outlying island. The area around Gangzai and south toward the east end of Kending is gorgeous. There are people who go to Gangzai, a little strip of a town along the thin road down the coast that peters out a few kilometers to the south, just to enjoy a Taiwan without convenience stores. I actually like convenience stores, but I also appreciate the quiet rural peace of towns like this.

From here, if you have a car, you can drive around sand dunes (or just walk on the beach), drive up to some grasslands with great views of the mountains and sea, listen to waves make rain sounds on a pebble beach to the north, hike to the ruins of an aboriginal village, hike along the coast to a shipweck and be within a short drive of some of Kending's best coastal scenery and beaches. Plus, it means you can see the beauty of Kending without ever going to Kending town. Win-win, because Kending town sucks butt. Loud, crowded, dirty tourist trap with a crappy crowded beach and literally nothing to recommend it.

As a confirmed driving-hater, I can say that the driving isn't even that hard, I was okay with it.

Tainan

Downtown Tainan

I'll wait on a link in the heading until I blog my latest Tainan adventures,  as recently I managed to visit Tainan not once, but twice in the span of a few months. However, I'd been there several times before, though not with as good photographic results.

Tainan is the city of my heart. It's where Brendan and I decided to start dating and was one of my first (successful) forays outside of Taipei when I was still fresh off the plane in 2006-2007. If I could do my job there - I can't - and it had better public transportation, or really any public transportation, I would move there.

I love it not only for the huge variety of temples of all sizes, backgrounds and ages, but also for it's laid-back urban vibe. It's a city, but not a frenetic one (I'd say "like Taipei" but I actually think Taipei is pretty laid-back too). I love it for the many varieties of ice cream and shaved ice available to cool yourself in the tropical heat, I love its "we're as hip as Taipei, or maybe even hipper" cafes and its nascent young, artsy vibe. I love eating fresh fruit ice cream in a melon at Taicheng Fruit Store and drinking coffee at Narrow Door and Taikoo. I love Tainan shrimp roll rice. I love Tainan's pro-independence politics.

I could chill in Tainan forever. 

Yunlin County

I don't have links yet as I haven't blogged our Yunlin trip, so here are some from my friend over at Synapticism. You won't find a more traditional-yet-almost-completely-uncommercialized place than Yunlin County and its assorted towns. If you want to see where your Taiwanese friends' grandparents all come from, check it out.

Yunlin is another good place to chill, without any major must-sees except, perhaps, Beigang's Chaotian temple. I liked the old-school flavor of Beigang, enjoyed the unique "old street" buildings in Xiluo, whose old street hasn't become too commercialized yet, and finding (more than one!) funky cafe in Douliu as well as a temple to both a Daoist god (I think Guan Di) and Confucius and a truly uncommercialized old street. We didn't get to stay in Huwei but I would be interested to go back - the downtown area looks bustling, with some interesting old architecture, and there's a puppet museum. You could spend about half a day in any given town - more if you are content to explore for half a day and spend the rest of it in a cafe chilling out until dinner, which I generally am - and although there may be a long wait for a bus, transit between the towns is otherwise fairly quick and easy. Downtowns are pretty compact, you only need independent transport if you want to get way out into the countryside, which is a plus.

Anyway, watch this space - I'll be doing a longer post on this very soon.

Lishan (and the Central Cross-Island drive from Hehuan Mountain)

The abandoned church in Lishan

This is one of my favorite places in Taiwan. There is not that much to do in Lishan itself - though exploring the abandoned church and the old Lishan Hotel (which I understand may have been finally renovated and reopened?) will give you a reason to get out and just enjoy the views. Or, you could just walk around and enjoy the views! This is a trip you will want a car for, or some way of obtaining independent transportation. With it, you can visit Fushoushan and Wuling farms during the day, and then drink tea outside back in Lishan town as the sun sets (if you get a good honestay or hotel, that is). If you can score a ride to Fushoushan, after exploring up there it's not hard to hike back down to town and, again, the views are breathtaking. It's a fantastic place to go to just relax, with clean air and some of the most stunning mountain scenery in the country. If you're thinking "I want to hang out in the mountains, but still be able to walk to a few restaurants and places to buy essentials", Lishan is for you.

The drive to Lishan from Hehuan Mountain

In fact, the North Cross-Island is pretty rad, too

I don't have a lot of photos from the first trip, as I was more concerned with making sure Emily (who was driving) knew where she was going. So, most of those pics are from our drive the next day down the east coast. My second trip concentrated on Lalashan and Shangbaling, not the whole highway. But, the drive is lovely and in many places, wild. You end up in the same place that the Central Cross-Island drops you off if you take the Yilan route (there is also a Hualien route, which I have not done). Some of the driving, along one-car-at-a-time roads clinging to mountainsides, can be a bit intense, but it's absolutely worth it. Daxi, Fuxing and Xiao Wulai, with its lovely little waterfall and - more interestingly, hike to the lovely little waterfall - are also good places to stop. Yes, I've been to Cihu - I took my in-laws there, which I think my history buff father-in-law enjoyed - but never blogged about it.

The point? Between Daxi, Cihu, Fuxing, Xiao Wulai, Shangbaling and, at the other end, Mingchih Forest Recreation Area, you'll be pleasantly surprised by all there is to see and do along the highway. Or, just drive along and enjoy the mountain views.

Puli

Poor Puli. First the earthquake, and now it just doesn't get that much love from international tourists. If people go there at all it's to catch a bus to Sun Moon Lake. But Puli saved my butt during a particularly horrid Chinese New Year camping trip: see link above, also, don't try to camp in the mountains of Taiwan on Chinese New Year. You can thank me later for that bit of advice. For that, I will always be grateful. The Shaoxing wine brewery is interesting enough, I liked making a little paper fan at the paper factory, I still have the tray I bought at the lacquer makers', and if you're not into that sort of tourist-trail 'handicrafts and local goods' stuff, rent a bike, get out of town and enjoy the views as the Central Mountain Range rises from the plain. Also, within a short drive is the "where is that?" town of Caotun. I can't say there's that much to do in Caotun, but there is one very cool temple that looks like a medicine gourd (慈德宫) perched on a hill out of town. It's way more interesting than the - in my opinion - creepy-seeming Zhongtai monastery. 

The medicine gourd temple in Caotun (草屯慈德宫)

The drive from Chihshang (East Rift Valley) to Taidong (the east coast)

This is actually an expat favorite, but still never makes it into those "Top Ten Things In Taipei That I Am Going To Pretend Are Representative of Taiwan" lists. Chihshang itself is lovely, if a bit full of local tourists because some famous commercials and movies were shot there. Nevermind, it's beautiful and worth a stop. It's in the heart of the East Rift Valley - which, gorgeous! - with views of bright green rice fields giving way to dark green mountains on both sides. Check it out, have a coffee at Lavazza - interesting, seeing as the town is famous for Lavazza competitor Mr. Brown's commercials, talk about a missed marketing opportunity - and head up over the eastern mountains to the coast.

After a soporific drive through bucolic tropical beauty, with a stop to see some Formosan macaques which may or may not take over your car, you'll be greeted with Hawaii-like views of the sea as you hit the coast at Donghe. Stop for a break at the cafe above Jinzun beach (and absolutely do take the stairs down to the near-deserted beach, though I'm not sure I'd recommend swimming) but otherwise enjoy the Hawaii-Five-O drive down to Taidong. There are a few other places you can stop at on the way, including the expat enclave of Dulan. We didn't stay long, but we did pick up some locally-brewed beer for later.

Hsinchu County

Children at Pasta'ai in Hsinchu county

I have a lot of links for Hsinchu, so have a look:

Pasta'ai in 2008 and 2010 (including a visit to the house of Zhang Xue-liang 張學良)

Beipu

Lion's Head Mountain

Hukou Old Street

Beipu has become something of a tourist stop, but Pasta'ai, if you can finagle the dates for the biennial Saisiyat aboriginal harvest festival, is still a very local thing. As long as you are respectful and friendly and willing to drink a crapton of millet wine, foreign guests are welcome. That said, it's not nearly as commercialized (or really commercialized at all) as its sister festival in Nanzhuang. Don't forget Zhang Xueliang's house and a worthwhile hike over Lion's Head Mountain. The temple on the Miaoli end gets all the press, but I actually liked the old Japanese baroque temple on the mountain itself.

Hukou is, well, an old street. But it's a quiet one, without the same-old-same-old souvenir shops that plague Sanxia, Jinshan, Shenkeng and Daxi. It's pretty far out of town and bus service is sporadic, so you will want to either drive or arrange taxis. Being folks who dislike driving, we did the latter. 

A Japanese-era temple on a creepy, foggy day on Lion's Head Mountain in Hsinchu

Hsinchu city is also worth your time, with some interesting historical sites, good food, a city god temple and the absolutely amazing - not really in a good way - temple to late mass murderer, brutal dictator and all around asshat Chiang Kai-shek, which has got to be one of the most mind-blowing historical things I've seen in Taiwan. Not because the temple itself is particularly special, but for what it represents.

Long and short of it? There's a lot to do in Hsinchu. 

Kaohsiung and Donggang

Brendan lookin' sexxxxxxy in the Batman room of a love hotel in Kaohsiung

The Dome of Light at Formosa Boulevard station

I cannot believe I've been to Kaohsiung city at least three times and yet never really blogged much about the city itself. (Edit: here you go!)

That said, enjoy this post about the Batman room at the Eden Exotic Love Hotel in Kaohsiung.

Anyway, I was there for a weekend last month so I'll be fixing that soon. Yes, there are all the things you've heard about: Pier 2, wandering around Hamasen, the British Consulate at Takao (I like to go for the views, that's about it really), Cijin Island, Chaishan and its monkeys, Lotus Lake, Love River, the sugar refinery (which is now a family-friendly tourist spot), Liuhe Night Market. With the exception of the night market, all of this stuff is fine - well, the sugar refinery was a bit bland - and I enjoy it too. By all means, go. Especially Cijin Island, which has great seafood and a fun ferry ride to get you there. I am also a fan of the Dome of Light in Formosa Boulevard station, and in a hallway just off of it, a man who makes sterling silver flower pendants, rings and other charms.

But I like Kaohsiung for its great coffee and food scene, including some fantastic hangouts like Beast (try the sweet potato and cheese quesadillas and Cambridge Cucumber 'mojito'), Reve Coffee and Sojourner Cafe, great burgers at Zzyzx, Takao Beer, a particular cafe on Chaishan that I enjoy, and tons of great local food. I like that it has an MRT so I don't have to taxi everywhere, as I won't rent a car in such a large city. I like Ruifeng Night Market, crowded with locals but almost unknown to tourists. I like hanging out with my friend Sasha in Dashe and eating a whole chicken, gorgeously cooked before walking up Guanyin Mountain.

I'm including Donggang in here because it's a perfect day trip from Kaohsiung. I haven't been to the nearby aquarium, but I can heartily recommend dinner at the harbor (best seafood in Taiwan without going to the outlying islands), Donglong Temple and its magnificent golden gate, a quick walk down the old street, and - again if you can figure out the dates - its King Boat Festival, held every three years, which is worth visiting both at the beginning and the end. Quite possibly the best cultural festival in Taiwan. I wrote my first ever published nonfiction story about it, and you should definitely buy the anthology in which it appears.

Another good choice near Kaohsiung? Meinong. Pretty on-the-tourist-trail, but nice.

The burning of the King Boat in Donggang

Spirit Mediums in Donggang

The mountains above the Yilan coast

The Taoyuan Grasslands above the Yilan coastline

...including Yuemeikeng in Jiaoxi (I couldn't make this a favorite considering what happened the second time we went).

There are several hiking trails up here - Yuemeikeng, Caoling Old Trail, Wankengtou and the Taoyuan grasslands (accessible from Caoling Old Trail), and Paoma (Running Horse) Old Trail to name a few. The views? Spectacular. Ever wondered what it was like to walk along a ridge of seaside cliffs with rolling hills to one side and a sheer drop to the waves below at the other? Well, this is it. Probably my biggest "don't miss" set of hiking trails in the entire country.

Yuemeikeng waterfall in Yilan - tragically beautiful

Keelung

No, really, I love hanging out in Keelung. From Heping Island to Miaokou Night Market to the Fairy Cave Temple to Ghost Month, I always enjoy a reason to pass through this - to be honest - kinda grotty town. It's still got the old red light district "welcome sailors!" feeling, it's a bit rough around the edges (okay, at times very rough around the edges) and packed with pachinko parlors, but that's what makes it interesting.

Also, a great stopping-off point from trips to Jiufen and Jinguashi (which are nice, but packed with tourists - for good reason) and my favorite hot springs in Jinshan (in the old Japanese governor-general's hot spring getaway on the coast). Also, a good place to eat after a half day hike up Xiaotzukeng to Jiufen. 

Orchid Island

Goats on Orchid Island

A traditional boat on Orchid Island

I don't think I have to sell you on Orchid Island (Lanyu) but I'll try anyway. Lanyu is unlike anywhere else in Taiwan. The locals don't put much stock in a cash economy - in that I saw locals freely using the services of their neighbors' businesses without paying because it all comes back eventually - though as an outsider you'll have to pay. Where kids run around and are supervised by whomever happens to be nearby, including when they run into the ocean. Where people paint traditional fishing boats by the side of the road. The language sounds more like an offshoot of Tagalog than anything you'll hear on Taiwan's mainland. It's one of the few places in Taiwan where you can speak Chinese to locals, but it will feel most definitely like two non-native speakers communicating. It's a place where you can completely and utterly chill out, a tiny (but sadly beachless) Hawaii with good snorkeling and out-of-this-world seafood (try the flying fish barbecue with a pitcher of ice cold Taiwan Beer). It's easy to drive or scooter around as there is one road (two if you count the one that runs up the middle of the island and connects at two different ends of the circle road).

I don't mean to exoticize it that much, I just want to make really clear that Orchid Island is not only nothing like anything you'll find elsewhere, it's also nothing like you'll find in Taiwan proper. It is unique. Don't miss it. 

Matsu

Qinbi, an old stone village, now a nexus of homestay's, on Matsu's northern island of Beigan

Being hard to get to due to near-constant fog that tends to ground flights, and its relative distance from Taiwan, most tourists give Matsu a miss. This is a mistake. I don't know what I was doing with my life before I discovered lao jiu mian (thin noodles with seafood cooked in a broth flavored with aged local wine). "Juguang Hamburgers", a sort of sesame-covered bread filled with a seafood filling that appears to be mainly chopped oyster remains one of my favorite foods. The old stone villages and winding paths through granite cliffs and dry, but humid coastlines evokes the Greek Isles or Turkey (in fact the houses reminded me very strongly of older settlements in Turkey). We stayed in Taiwan and yet felt like we'd taken a foreign vacation. 

Kinmen

One of my fondest memories of traveling in Taiwan with Brendan was taking off in a car one morning from our homestay on the outskirts of Jincheng with a map that showed the location of every known Wind Lion God statue in Kinmen, and simply driving around to find them (while stopping to enjoy interesting sites we found on the way, which were numerous). Jincheng itself is a wonderful city to wander around, but you don't really get to know Kinmen until you hop in a car and explore its smaller towns, and get a sense of its history - as well as how the major events of history in Asia have shaped it. All the way from the ruined farmhouses, old towns and "foreign mansions" (洋樓) to the Battle of Guningtou to a sad statue of Chiang Kai-shek in a town traffic circle flanked on each side by election posters, at least one for the major opposition party. Mass Murderer, Late Dictator and All-Around Asshat Chiang would be rolling in his grave, and I am happy to know that.

I know I've listed three sets of outlying islands now, and I'd actually like to list Penghu too, but I went in my first year in Taiwan, didn't know much about traveling in Taiwan, and don't remember much either. I'll have to go back, see if I can do a better job of it, and perhaps add it to this list later.

And I know it's a tourist favorite, but I've gotta say I love Lugang. I really do. 

I love the old Ding family home (丁家老宅) with its coffee shop in a side hall. I love the old buildings on Zhongshan Road. I love the old street and its cafes in restored houses. I love the festivals at the Matsu temple. I love the old Longshan Temple at the other end of town. I love fried oysters. Hate me if you must, but I love Lugang and I am not afraid to admit it. 

A woman becomes a spirit medium in Lugang

At a cafe in Lugang