I stand in awe of my body, this matter to which I am bound has become so strange to me. I fear not spirits, ghosts, of which I am one, – that my body might, – but I fear bodies, I tremble to meet them. What is this Titan that has possession of me? Talk of mysteries! Think of our life in nature, – daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it, – rock, trees, wind on our cheeks! The solid earth! The actual world! The common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? Where are we?

Henry David Thoreau, “Ktaadn”

Every leg of my trip has gotten a trilogy, and now, it is time for Taiwan’s.

In part 1, I…

• Visit more disappointing art museums
• Go on disastrous dates that confront me with my physical and emotional defects
• Reach a conclusion about the contract between love and pain
• Visit a salt mountain and salt fields
• Realize how much my attitude toward people has changed over the past year
• Bid Tainan a delicious and temporary farewell
• Explore snoozy Kaohsiung and pictureqsue Cijin Island
• Find someone who actually misses me and cries over my absence
• Reach a conclusion about my dating life

28 February 2024

• Tainan art museum 1 (20m)
• Tainan art museum 2 (1h)
• Local specialties for lunch @ Guohua road
• A temporary return to dating

Tainan Art Museums 1 and 2

Today was a Memorial Day for the 228 Massacre. With the next attractions on our list closed, the Tainan local who’d been showing me around had given me the day off. Finally, some alone time.

Tainan art museum 1 was originally a police station built in Art Deco yellow bricks. Inside, I found yet another museum in Taiwan focused on porcelain and pottery.

I grouched as I strode through the galleries. Perhaps art in Taiwan wasn’t for me.

At least the final gallery featured some nice landscape art.

Tainan art museum 2 was bigger and busier. Masterpieces on loan from the National Palace Museum included a miniature flower basket carved from a walnut shell; a miniature makeup case inlaid with gems; a yellow chalcedony tri-seal set; a Buddhist conch; and a miniature statue of a Lohan scratching his back.

Everything was so minute and abundantly decorated, that a magnifying glass ought to be employed to appreciate all the details. Case in question: the famous Jadeite Cabbage, the Imperial concubine’s dowry, so intricate and glossy and rich-looking for such a mundane subject matter.

The upper floors of the museum included sketches of aboriginals by Yen Shui-long, the Father of Taiwanese Crafts; colorful temple paintings by Chang Ping-tang; and photography about pollution, circus, African tribes, etc.

Every single art museum in Taiwan so far had let me down. My only disappointment from this island.

Guohua Road, Section 3

At 13:30, I returned to Guohua Road, Section 3 for lunch. Expectedly bustling today, with lines everywhere, this was the place to try more local specialties: Spanish mackerel stew (fish fried in tempura with thin noodles in a viscous sauce that reminded me of stir-fried eel noodles); squid noodles; and a tofu pudding with various toppings.

My companion for these earthly delights was a 32-year-old local wearing a dress shirt and khaki pants, as if today wasn’t a national holiday.

His Japanese was better than his English. He was an otaku who watched anime on a daily basis and had visited Japan twenty times, once every few months. Always Sapporo, Nagoya, and Osaka. Last month, for example, he’d returned to the former simply for the food – a trip I would emulate in a heartbeat – and dined at the same restaurants that I had.

His clothes, bashfulness, and geekiness reminded me of Heron; while his stature and hairstyle, of Eres. His glasses were dark and rectangular – a style I’d sported in school.

On paper, this had all the potential to have me smitten. But he lacked the unstoppable enthusiasm in Heron’s speech, or the deep, slow emotion in Eres’s. The conversation felt a bit forced and shallow. Déjà vu to Japan. At 17:00, he left, after expressing a polite desire to meet again.

My Worst Date in Taiwan

I returned to my hostel wondering if I would encounter a new person who would sweep me off my feet. Who would materialize? What spells would they cast? And how would vanish?

All those who had come before had left. What would I like about a potential successor? Why did I like some, but felt nothing toward others? And how would the next connection break? Would they ghost me, lie about staying in touch, or tell me how glad they were I was no longer in their life?

And, more importantly… would I hurt them? Unknowingly, without intending to, what if I also became the bad guy. I wondered how many people considered me that.

With more questions than answers, I realized love was the bravery in baring your soul to others and letting them do as they wished. Even if you trusted them, entrusting a part of yourself in someone else’s hands made it impossible to predict what they would do with it. This act might grant you joy. It also turned you susceptible to sorrow.

I weighed these options over pineapple cake in the common area of my hostel. A 32-year-old Taiwanese guy, who had relocated to Australia ten years ago and flown here for a visit, struck up a conversation with me.

He had cropped hair, a sharp, diamond-shaped bone structure, monolids, and sun spots on either side of his nose. I had a date to get ready for that I kept postponing. He was smiling and beaming, chatting in such a friendly manner, that I wanted to stay with him.

A drab American woman in her thirties joined us at some point. Her air felt as lifeless as her disheveled appearance. The guy nonetheless continued chatting with a grin.

I left the hostel against my will, not wanting to cancel at the last minute. That was a mistake.

By now, whenever meeting someone new, I could tell from the first moment – before they even opened their mouth – if I would enjoy their company or suffer.

He was a short and slightly odd 20-year-old. I knew the conversation would be awkward. But then he started making a fuss about the way I looked, touching my head as if probing a patient, and examining my skin for blemishes. Burns from Yanshui beehive fireworks festival; fresh mosquito bites; old bug bites. He traced my body like a dermatologist, on the hunt to find flaws.

I left at once. It was my worst encounter in Taiwan.

Today’s highlights: more amazing local specilaties in Tainan; pineapple cake; evening in the hostel.

Stray observations:

• None of the Japanese people I see in Tainan seem Japanese to me. They dress and behave and talk differently from the average person in Japan.
• Koreans are the same, though. Very easy to spot. Especially by behavior.

29 February 2024

• 10:12-10:18 Tainan station to Baoan station local train
• Chimei museum (2h)
• 12:41-12:47 Baoan station to Tainan station local train
• 30m ride to Cigu mountain
• Cigu mountain (30m)
• 30m ride to Jingzaijiao Tile-paved Salt Fields
• Jingzaijiao Tile-paved Salt Fields (30m)
• 1h ride back to Tainan
• Dinner @ a fried chicken restaurant

Chimei Museum

Today the Tainan man and I visited Chimei museum, a gigantic, neoclassical complex with a marble replica of a fountain in Versailles. A simulacrum of Europe.

It opened with a sculpture hall like London’s V&A museum. Celebration by Frederick Hart, in a feat of sculpting, depicted a woman attached to a man in two delicate points. The man was not really holding her; he was just pretending.

The exhibition continued with taxidermized animals; arms and armour from all over the world – Japan, Europe, Philippines, China, Nepal, Indonesia, New Zealand – including chainmail, cannons, swords, and samurai helmets; plates painted by Picasso; replices of sculptures by Rodin; and medieval art of the Madonna and Child.  

Only The Sacrifice of Jepthah by Paul Gustave Dore (1865) took my breath away. An enormous sunset landscape in nature, it struck me as a rare choice for a biblical scene. The tear of the right woman glistened in the dim light. Even though it was a small detail in the side of the painting, it was the first thing I noticed.

Among Taiwan’s art museums, Chimei was an improvement.

Back in Tainan, we ate danzai noodles – light, savoury, garlicky, another simple yet delectable local specialty – and a giant, decadent, refreshing bowl of shaved ice with glazed strawberry. The latter was my first time waiting for twenty minutes for food in Taiwan, a land of quick and easy street vendors. This seasonal winter dish was so popular, that it quickly sold out.

Mt Cigu

In the afternoon, he drove us in his car to the northern countryside of Tainan prefecture, known for its former production of salt. Cigu mountain was once the largest salt field in Taiwan; now it was decorated with Hello Kitty salt sculptures. Importing from cheaper countries had replaced mining of Cigu for more salt.

Since it was my first time seeing a salt mountain, I tasted a pinch. It was salty.

Jingzaijiao Salt Fields

Further up north, Jingzaijiao Tile-paved Salt Fields were the oldest in Taiwan still in operation. Tiny pyramids of salt backdropped by the sun setting over the sea explained why this was a popular evening spot. A gorgeous new sight for me.

In summer, right before typhoons, converging clouds painted the scene blue during twilight.

As we marveled at this view, I recalled one of my worst, and most important, days on this trip.

I dragged my suitcase through the alleyways of Tabata to Komagoma station and cursed every moment. How could one become both livid and sad? The heart felt pale and tiny when hurt, yet a ball of fire when mad. At this moment, mine felt like those sparks at the end of a fire: moribund and barely aflame.

Two days ago, I’d returned to Tokyo after summiting Fuji-san and wondering what was the point of it all. I hadn’t deemed it possible, but now, having reached my highest altitude, my mood was at a new low.

Just like triumphing Seoraksan in July and all the misery that had ensued in Seoul.

I thought about the increasingly deep emotional pits I’d been finding myself in on this trip.

March 15, temple stay in Koya-san, and a nocturnal tour of Okuno-in cemetery. This was the night I’d made up my mind. Someday, I would forswear my anguish.

March 20, the pitch-black Nachi mountaintop cabin, after completing the 4-day Kumano Kodo pilgrimage; my first hiking experience. I’d felt alive. This had made me even more morose.

March 23, a near-death experience in Shodoshima forcing me to realize: I’d rather worry about my present than my future.

Ah, well, the list could go on. April 1, failing to camp alone in nature, in Japan’s most secluded valley; a terrifying, lonesome night. April 4, my first day in Kyoto being the day when I’d vowed to never let anyone hurt me again.

April 9, crying in a street in Kyoto at 2 AM with the Ukrainian girl, who had rightfully pointed out that I’d never be able to actualize my idealistic values in reality. April 29, the end of my hectic 10-day partying and clubbing during Tokyo Pride, with a police ambush and a rock-bottom self-esteem…

Too many moments of longing and rejection in Korea, between June and August…

The last ten days of the Korean leg of my trip, full of premature tears…

My recent failure to reunite with the one person who had insisted on seeing me again…

I could fill pages upon pages by continuing this list. And I hadn’t even mentioned all the good. Perhaps every high was chained to a low. Perhaps every success cleared the way for more failure. Only this would explain why every ascent was followed by a longer fall.

The thing was… the dives were growing deeper. September 5 felt like the worst… so had August 29. What would come that would dethrone today?

Who else would enter my life, lie to me, play games with me, and disappear altogether. 

If people didn’t see you on a regular basis because you shared the same circumstances – in class, for example, or work – they needed to put an effort into seeing you. To initiate it on their own. They could no longer rely on sharing the same time and space with you and letting these dimensions do the work.

Once this happened – well, as the Dutch girl from Round One had put it, only those who wanted you in their life made this effort. Traveling, as the Russian guy from Korea had put it, showed you who did that.

If they didn’t bother, why did I?

Why, when someday I would go away, be done with this world, and breathe my last breath?

If this was what mortal, human existence amounted to… if someday I would find myself on my deathbed, having achieved nothing greater than this… with more and more disappointments encompassing me like an Egyptian mummy and gold…

Why was I trying? What force was I to blame for my stupidity? And why was I going through all these tribulations? They weren’t teaching me any valuable lessons. They weren’t aching for a reason, or rather, a good one at that.

I could fathom neither cause, nor justification. Either I was too jejune to discern one, or it never existed to begin with… only blackness, nothingness, absence… not cruelty, but indifference… lack of thought.

I felt as small as a speck of dust inside the train south of Tokyo. If I didn’t exert influence over anyone – if my presence in their once-in-a-lifetime existence was as ephemeral as a leaf in winter – why did they pose such an impact on me?

I’d kept waiting for people to change and apologize. They hadn’t even thought of me.

I no longer wished to trust them. To open up. I did not find it rewarding.

Easier said than done, though. My pathetic faith in the potential of humanity to do good – to be good –

In this sense, I’d never matured into an adult, even at 28 years old. I was still a child impatient for tomorrow to improve.

Maturity was admitting the inherent fallacy of the world and one’s inability to repair it. Coming on terms with this distorted reality, and learning how to inhabit it… the Ukrainian girl had urged me to accept this. I’d told her on April 9 that I’d never be able to.

Since then, nothing had changed.

And so, if people didn’t change, and neither did my faith in them –

Either I learned to treat them the way they’d been treating me, or I would be doomed to let them hurt me.

It had come down to one choice. If someone didn’t make an effort to stay on good terms with me, I would make an effort to stay on no terms with them.

It would’ve been easier to have lived alone in nature.

I wrote all this during my one-hour metro ride to my host’s for tonight, and realized: I was still learning. Whether this was a step in the right direction, I couldn’t tell.

When I was in uni, I’d learned about life. Now that I was living it, I was learning about humans. Neither experience had convinced me that I would ever graduate. On the contrary: I felt more clueless than ever.

It made no sense for empathic beings to behave this way.

But what did I know? Perhaps I sounded ridiculous in confessing all this. Perhaps I’d been knocking on locked doors… perhaps I was the only one in the dark, while everyone else was chitchatting over wine in a brightly-lit balcony. Perhaps I was missing something that was clear to those who were normal.

I’d been viewing the world using different lens ever since I could remember. Seeking friendship, intimacy, fulfilment – the actualization of my desires, my dreams, my passions – identifying with a person who understood me – perhaps these were aspirations too grand to foster.

Either I spent the rest of my life seeking them anew, or quit altogether. But I would never settle on a comfortable spot in the middle.

This probably explained more than anything why I was too much for people to stick around. There was never an in-between when it came to me. I either gave my all, or nothing.

By 18:00, journaling for an hour on the pavement outside Musashi-nitta station, my friends not answering my calls… recalling those sparks at the end of a fire… I felt that the final spark inside me was extinguished.

“The Final Spark” (5 September 2023)

I no longer considered myself “doomed” to let others cause me anguish. On the contrary: trusting people no longer seemed pointless. I’d continued my pursuit in a new island country, now with the actual goal of getting heartbroken. This way, I could also get my heart warmed.

Dinner in Tainan was a noodle soup, fried chicken that I detested, and black milk tea that I adored. Then the Tainan man dropped me off near my hostel.

“So… good luck,” he said, and turned to the engine of his scooter.

“Thank you so much for an amazing few days,” I managed to interject before he drove.

“It’s ok,” he muttered dismissively without looking at me. He’d reacted like this whenever I’d thanked him.

After five full days together, after creating elaborate itineraries for us and possibly taking vacation from work, he left without any concluding remarks or sentiments. I gave him my helmet from Yanshui, which I didn’t need anymore.

Today’s highlights: Chimei museum; Cigu mountain; sunset over Jingzaijiao salt fields; black milk tea.

1 March 2024

• 11:20-12:20 Tainan station to Kaohsiung Museum of Fine Arts station local train (Chaozhou bound)
• Kaohsiung museum of fine arts (1h)
• Kaohsiung Hakka Cultural Museum (20m)
• Ruifeng night market
• Love Lookout @ Shou-shan Mountain (30m)
• Quick look at the Dome of Light
• Liuhe night market

Kaohsiung Museum of Fine Arts

I left Tainan this morning for Kaohsiung. I would return here without fail next week, simply to eat more local specialties.

Kaohsiung museum of fine arts was another disappointment. I should have known by now. Mostly contemporary art. The standout was Shihtiping by Tien-yu Hung (2017), a masterwork of color and impasto-esque brushstrokes that simulated the gushing of sea foam.

Frustratingly, there was no museum in Taiwan that showcased art from its aboriginal tribes. I would’ve been keener on educating myself about that.

Kaohsiung Hakka Cultural Museum

So I decided to visit the miniscule Kaohsiung Hakka Cultural Museum. As the Han race with the broadest regional coverage, the Hakka tribe had been migrating for thousands of years. During the Qing Dynasty, they’d immigrated to Taiwan. They’d dwelled all over the country, until settling in Kaohsiung in the 20th century, due to its transportational potential.

On display were old farming clothes and tools. Their ancient career development model revolved around farming, attending public examination, and becoming a government official. They held traditional festivals and asked matchmakers for permission to marry. Their dialect featured at least eight accents.

I dragged my suitcase all over Kaoshiung until I reached my hostel near the main station. Sidewalks in Kaohsiung were like narrow obstacle courses. Motorcycles, chairs, garbage cans, and whatnot. It was easier to walk on the road.

Despite hundreds of motorcycles parked in every street, it seemed as though I was the only one out and about. What a snoozy city. I almost fell asleep in the afternoon, exhausted from nonstop sightseeing in Tainan, but had plans in the evening.

Mt Shou-shan

Teddy drove all the way from the countryside in northeast Tainan prefecture to meet me. Every day since Yanshui festival, he’d been texting me ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’, asking to see me again, and saying how much he’d missed me.

After a series of ghosting, it felt nice to be chased. After a string of futile efforts, it felt nice to be pampered. He spoiled me rotten: driving me around, treating me to food, and worrying about my well-being.

Dinner, for example, was an oyster omelette, a shrimp omelette, and a noodle soup at the labyrinthine Ruifeng Night Market. Dessert was my first taste of the famous Taiwanese papaya milk, the perfect aftermath to seafood, like a tropical paradise refined into liquid.

At night, we viewed the cityscape from the Love Lookout on Shoushan Mountain. It was windy, among the coldest nights of the year, and 85 Sky Tower rose above the glitters of buildings. The adjacent Martyr’s Shrine looked eerie in the dark.

Talking to Teddy was still a struggle. The language barrier was palpable. But sometimes we simply gazed at the landscape or exchanged simple words. Good, yes, no. He even knew a few in Japanese. This did not turn our conversations barren; it just prevented them from unfolding to begin with.

Liouhe Night Market

We continued to Formosa Boulevard Station. The Dome of Light installation – the largest glass artwork in the world – made this the most beautiful station in Taiwan. Panes of glass on the station hall’s ceiling, coloured like stained glass, depicted a rainbow cosmos.

Outside the station, even at midnight, Liouhe night market was teeming with diners. It was the most popular and touristy night market in the city, stretching over a wide road. We ate takoyaki and a watermelon milk smoothie. And old man wearing a Stitch-like beanie with ears that reached his chest was handing out pamphlets.

At the market’s parking lot, we got into his car. Teddy removed his spectacles to wipe his eyes.

I wouldn’t have noticed the tears welling in them if he hadn’t. His outburst was muted and momentary. The translation app explained that he didn’t want to be separated from me.

My heart stopped. I knew exactly what he felt. I always found myself in his shoes.

To witness someone react this way over me… I almost cried myself.

He wanted to spend more and more time together. I said yes.

Today’s highlights: seafood and papaya milk at Ruifeng; the night view from Shoushan; the Dome of Light; takoyaki and watermelon milk at Liouhe; the parking lot with Teddy.

2 March 2024

Malfuctions at a Date

A day off any activities. I rested in bed and got some work done. Then, in the evening, I returned to Liouhe for dinner. Takoyaki, a fried fish and noodles soup, plus my beloved oyster omelette and fried potato balls for dessert.

At night, I met a 24-year-old Kaohsiung native who had relocated to Australia as a high school student. Chubby and shorter than me, he had light-brown bangs, a tanned skin, and an Aussie accent.

We started talking. He seemed nice, but not intent on having a deep conversation. I was becoming sleepy, when I noticed his demeanour was tender and slow. The way he spoke, the way he acted. As if he had all the time in the world.

Three weeks ago, with Eres, such unhurriedness had felt emotional and profound. I’d wondered if it feigned lack of interest.

Then, another déjà vu to that night occurred.

The Kaoshiung native seemed detached. Politely indifferent, to the poinet where I wasn’t convinced he was invested. And, quite frankly, neither was I. I couldn’t lie and pretend, neither physically, nor emotionally. Instead, I began overthinking, forcing myself to concentrate, and apologizing for not being present.

A week ago, I’d told a friend that I no longer felt broken. Perhaps my body did.

It had started with Eres for the right reasons. In the following weeks, it recurred for the wrong reasons. Even when engrossed by my date, I kept harkening back to that night.

I returned to my hostel feeling embarrassed.

Today’s highlight: another dinner at Liouhe.

3 March 2024

• Sanfong temple (20m)
• Kaohsiung Museum of History (15m)
• Pier 2 art center (1h)
• 14:20-14:25 Gushan ferry pier to Cijin Island ferry
• Exploring Cijin Island – Cihou market, Rainbow Church, Cihou fort… (~2h)
• 18:20-18:25 ferry back, 18:50-19:00 Hamasen station to Gushan station light rail (number 1 clockwise), 19:15-19:20 local train to Kaohsiung station

Sanfong Temple

A solitary day of sightseeing. A return to form.

I started with Sanfong temple, a less-known attraction with a canopy of lanterns straight out of Seoul in May. Lavish turtle origami offerings. I’d reached a stage where I’d gotten the hang of Taoist temples, however, and knew what to expect. From now on, only unusual ones would engage me.

Then, the Museum of History – yet another tiny, foreigner-unfriendly museum. I learned that Kaohsiung had grown from a sleepy fishing village into a (sleepy) international port. The Japanese had modernized it during the Occupation, transforming the lagoon into a harbour, and building a railway and a military fort thanks to its strategic locations. In the 1970s, its port had thrived into the largest in Taiwan.

Pier 2 Art Center

The Pier 2 art center was decorated with quirky sculptures, graffiti, and installations. Bright and vibrant warehouses turned hipster cafés and shops. I liked this atmosphere. Too many rainbows, though.

Cijin Island

After crossing half of Kaohsiung by foot for these attractions, I took a five-minute ferry, which some passengers boarded with their scooters, to Cijin Island. I devoured a scallion pancake with egg and vegetables, a sweet potato pancake, and a boba tea like the perfect one in Ximen (for a third of the cost) at Cihou market. A couple of men were carrying cut tails of peacocks.

Once I continued past the market and escaped the crowds on this bustling Sunday, I quite enjoyed the island getaway vibe. Black sand, palm trees, cool beach bars, very calm and tropical.

I ambled south along the shore to Rainbow Church – not a church, just a rainbow arch – and rested in front of the sea. People were drinking juice out of coconuts. Many visitors had rented bicycles or golf carts. A group of volunteers, mostly grandmas, was collecting trash from the beach.

I journaled on a bench and tried to make sense of last night. What was happening to me? I couldn’t fathom my own body.

Such misconduct was probably inevitable. Lately, woes had exceeded my slumber.

Cihou fort commanded a view of the northern side of the market. Its rooms were sealed and abandoned. Yet the outlook it offered from atop the hill of the island and sea was beautiful. I watched the sunset from the beach, and took the ferry back to Kaoshiung.

Enough dating for a while, I resolved. I’d been thirsting for it so much, that it had become poison.

The next destinations on my itinerary – a temple stay, a multi-day hiking trip – felt timely. Like a drug addict and rehab, I would escape to the countryside, and be alone with my emotions. Korea’s Seoraksan in July came to mind. Or Japan’s Izu Peninsula in November.

Today’s highlights: strolling around Pier 2; Cihou market delicacies; journalling on Cijin Island.