If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.

Oscar Wilde, “The Importance of Being Earnest”

In this chapter, I…

• Shop, eat, and rest in Sun Moon Lake
• Find my favorite temples in Taiwan
• Recreate my streak of successful dates in Taichung
• Visit a rainbow village, a wetland, a huge mountain monastery, and a horror temple
• Join a pilgrimage, marvel at the boundless nature of Taiwanese hospitality, and get interviewed for the news
• Reunite with a friend from Japan in her obscure hometown, where I discover my favorite snack in Taiwan
• Find romantic interests who are willing to wait for me, and those willing to forget

14 March 2024

• Breakfast @ Tataka visitor center
• 13:40-15:40 Tataka to Sun Moon Lake bus number 6739
• Strolling around Shuishe pier
• Dinner @ Shuishe pier

Sun Moon Lake

The morning after hiking Yushan. I checked out of Dongpu lodge at 8:30 with the Tunisian guy, the only other guest left. He taught a lesson on his laptop on a table outside the lodge while I waited for him, shivering in the foggy cold. Then he drove me on his scooter uphill to Tataka visitor center, the only place in this area where I could find food and stay warm. It was raining nonstop.

I ate rice and soup inside the vacant restaurant and wrote. The bus to Sun Moon Lake departed at 13:30 once a day. It dropped me off at Shuishe pier, the most convenient place around the lake to base oneself.

Sun Moon Lake was the biggest in Taiwan. A pretty resort area with hotels, restaurants, and shops. Not much to do here but relax, stroll, cycle, or take a boat. With my entire body still sore, this was just what I needed.

I watched the sunset from the pier. An endless range of misty mountains loomed in the background. The temperature was a pleasant 16 degrees.

Dinner was at a restaurant recommended to me by my hostel: cold, spiced, dried tofu, and braised pork rice. A cheap and delicious eatery. To my relief, I was alone in my dorm. A hot, long shower, and some quiet.

Today’s highlights: sunset at Shuishe pier; braised pork rice for dinner.

15 March 2024

• Breakfast @ Shuishe pier
• 11:50-12:10 Sun Moon Lake to Ita Thao bus number 6669
• Ita Thao (1.5h)
• Cab to Wenwu temple (10m)
• Wenwu temple (1h)
• 15:15-15:20 Wenwu Temple to Sun Moon Lake bus number 6669
• Lunch @ Shuishe pier
• 16:10-18:30 Sun Moon Lake to Taichung station bus number 6670A

Ita Thao

I checked out at 11:00, ate stir-fried noodles for breakfast (tiny yet costing as much as yesterday’s large dinner), and took the bus to Ita Thao, the local shopping district.

Sun Moon Lake was often explored on a bike or a boat. The latter surpassed my budget, whereas the former, my level of energy. An infrequent bus circled the lake instead.

The view from Ita Thao pier was even better than in Shuishe, with quirky frog statues and the ropeway station in the background, surrounded by cherry blossom trees. The aquamarine water looked so pristine, that I understood why swimming was prohibited here. Food stalls and shops lined narrow streets.

It was my first encounter of traditional clothing in Taiwan. I’d been on a mission to secure such an article of clothing since landing here. Yet the aboriginal tribes had been banished from the cities, while the Han Chinese hadn’t brought traditional costumes with them. Now, I finally arrived at a place known for its aboriginal community.

The Thao people were the smallest of the sixteen tribes, with a population of 800. Most of them worked in tourism around the lake. Their style was known for its geometric patterns.

Once I found their shop, I wanted everything. Quirky, gypsy-like owl bags, bracelets, necklaces, keychains, shirts with tribal prints, jackets heavy with handmade embroidery… I settled on a cheap vest and bracelet. Then I drank red ruby black tea, the local specialty, known for its borderline minty flavor.

Wenwu Temple

I missed the bus by a minute. Walking for an hour and a half was faster than waiting for the next bus.

After half an hour on a road without shoulders, I took a taxi. Damn the countryside.

Wenwu was the largest temple around. Two men in a tribal outfit were singing folk songs in front of its gate. They wore overalls with red, black, and golden patterned stripes; a hat with a colorful, intricate design; and a crown made of bones and feathers, laughingly completed by red converse shoes.

Past the gate stood the biggest guardian lions I’d beheld, rusty red and resting on a white ball (not inside their mouths, for once). The temple was a huge complex, with red and gold wishing paper hanging from trees, like in Busan’s Haedong Yonggung-sa temple, and statues of turtles to rub for luck.

An electric-blue Medicine Buddha, shining like a bioluminescent being; the elaborate, stone-gray Merit Monument; marble pillars, dragon-carved columns, an orchid garden; colorfully patterned pavilions; and a sweeping view of the lake and mountains from atop the hill. Wenwu instantly became my favorite temple in Taiwan.

I finished this refreshing Taoist visit at the Matchmaker god palace, nicknamed the Venus of the East, where I prayed to the bearded and merry Yue Lao like I had in Taipei.

Back in Shuishe Pier, I recreated last night’s dinner for lunch. Sun Moon Lake was one of those places I could re-visit simply to enjoy the cuisine and atmosphere. It was also one of those places I’d love to re-visit with a heavier pocket. In merely one street, I found so many beautiful and unique pieces. Lake Akan in Japan and Jeon-ju in Korea immediately came to mind.

I took the bus to Taichung, checked into my hostel by the main station, and spent the evening writing in bed.

Today’s highlights: Sun Moon Lake’s aquamarine and pink scenery; Ita Thao; red ruby black tea; Wenwu temple.

16 March 2024

• 12:30-12:35 Minquan-Jiguang intersection to Wuquan-Zili intersection bus number 11 (left loop)
• National Taiwan museum of fine arts (20m)
• 13:20-13:30 Cultural center (Yingcai road) to Minquan-Jiguang intersection bus number 51
• Futile visit to the mall
• Taichung Park
• Dinner @ Yizhong night market

National Taiwan Museum of Fine Arts

Taichung was a horrendous city to sightsee. The meager attractions were spread out in various isolated locations, inaccessible by train, reachable by infrequent buses that didn’t bring you close enough. The one subway line didn’t pass through the center, serving instead the distant HSR station.

This discovery began with the National Taiwan museum of fine arts, probably my worst museum visit so far. It was big, but featured only one temporary exhibition: digital prints for the year of the dragon.

That was the last straw. No more art museums in Taiwan. The worst things about this country were art, traffic, and ugly façades.

Taichung Park

I returned to Taichung station, where I met Raven, an 18-year-old aboriginal guy from the Bunun tribe, in the mountains in Nantou.

My first thought was: he doesn’t like Taiwanese. Then it hit me. He was the definition of Taiwanese. He had fine, razor-sharp bangs that covered his eyebrows; large eyes that seemed more Caucasian than Asian; a wide nose, a wider grin, freckles; and a complexion darker than Han Chinese. He seemed more Southeast Asian than Far Eastern – which, on second thought, he was. He didn’t even have an English name.

We walked to the abandoned Qianyue Building. A creepy, half-ravaged mall at the heart of the city, with graffiti and broken windows. Raven seemed a bit scared. He wore a hoodie, crocs, baggy jeans, a tribal side bag, and a cross necklace (Taiwanese aboriginals were Christians). To my disappointment, the interior was no longer accessible.

So we walked instead to Taichung Park. Raven’s English was good enough for us to talk at ease.

“When I first saw you, I thought it would be so awkward,” he said.

“That’s why I always leave judgment to real life,” I said. “You never know what someone is like until you meet them.”

He played volleyball and dreamed of moving to Spain. Growing up in an aboriginal village on a mountain, life didn’t sound eventful. His dad shot game once a month with a rifle at night.

“Do you think I’ll be popular in Spain?” he asked, keen on befriending foreigners.

“Of course,” I answered in earnest. At the same time, I warned him that the West could be racist.

We sat at the park for hours, chatting while children were playing ball next to us, a toddler was collecting sticks, and adults were shooting TikTok reels.

He inquired about my dating life.

“Will you meet someone in Taipei?” he asked. “Once you do, you’ll forget about me.”

I wasn’t sure if I’d reunite with anyone I’d dated in Taipei. We’d lost touch. And even if I did…

“You’ll remember me?” he asked.

I recalled two days in Korea.

The weather was cool and breezy, the city of Seoul almost quiet […] the French guy taught me swear words in his language and moves in Taekwondo.

“Do the shouting,” I said, referring to the yells Taekwondo players often emitted.

“No,” he said. “I am too shy.”

Yet by this point, after two whole days together, we were running jokes left and right, doing Taekwondo moves on each other, and revealing more aspects of ourselves. A gradual connection, after a weeks-long string of instant ones: it felt no less gratifying, because in the end we teased each other and acted like friends.

[the next day]

“Someday, I hope to live in Japan,” I said. “Even if you go there years from now, you can come over to my place.”

He gave me that bashful smile.

“You will remember me?” he asked.

“I will remember.”

“Enough for You” (21-22 May 2023)

“I never forget,” I said.

Raven pouted. My words didn’t seem much of a consolation.

“I won’t meet someone like you,” he said. “It’s so hard to meet a nice foreigner in Taiwan.”

I didn’t know why my mind was harkening back so much to Korea.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

It took me a while to respond. I was looking away, looking at him, looking away again as I was blinking back tears. Wondering if I should say what was on my lips.

“I really like you.”

I explained that I wasn’t used to meeting someone who stood out as he had. Who made it feel out of the ordinary.

“You can say it’s extraordinary,” he said.

“You don’t have to use ‘it,’” I said. “You can say ‘me.’”

Silence. My tears were soft and quiet. They were many, yet slow and subdued.

“It’s a good thing we both leave in August,” he said. “No one will be sad and alone.”

I almost replied that I would.

Because he hadn’t said “I like you” back. I hoped that he was simply holding himself back, out of the fear he’d mentioned. A few days after I would leave Korea, he would fly back to the States, and transfer from Columbia to Cornell. His life was there now.

“Well, maybe we’ll meet again someday,” he said, “and by then you’ll have fifty more guys, and you’ll be married –”

I scoffed. What an absurd thought.

“New Lows” (24 July 2024)

“You’ll meet someone, don’t worry,” I said. The Korean guy was now in a relationship. And Raven had already told me about a nice foreigner he’d met.

He brought up the subject of relationships. Long distance was challenging, we agreed, better when kept open. Then he asked my opinion about our age gap.

“We’re in different places in life,” I said.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Like, I’m a student and you’re a worker?”

I didn’t want to become a groomer.

“I like you,” he said.

I bit my tongue. If I didn’t, I would disappoint him. If I did but couldn’t meet him again, I would disappoint him.

“I like you too,” I said. It was unusual for me to exchange it upon the first meeting.

“I already miss you,” he said.

That dreaded possibility was already real.

We sat in the park in silence. He started to hum “We Can’t be Friends (Wait for Your Love)” by Ariana Grande from her new album.

“We can’t be friends, but I’d like to just pretend,” I sang under my breath. He joined me. “You cling to your papers and pens; wait until you like me again…”

I thought about my inability to move on and let the love stories in my head die. Perhaps I’d been lingering on certain memories the way writers hoarded paper.

At the bus terminal, I hugged him tightly. He sat by the window. We exchanged smiles and heart poses. I tried to imagine this encounter from his perspective, and wondered if it carried more weight at his age. When I was 19, my best friend was 32. It hadn’t felt weird.

Yizhong Night Market

After chewing over this in bed at my hostel, I walked at night back to the park, now lit atmospherically – a quiet and handsome stroll around pavilions and bridges – for the adjacent Yizhong night market. I couldn’t even move on that long stretch of road, because it was so busy. After some difficulty, I managed to snag takoyaki, stinky tofu, and fried potato balls.

I met a Taiwanese guy with wavy bangs and large eyes, colored by contacts like an iceberg. His heavily tattooed skin was tanned almost to the same complexion as Raven’s. To my surprise, he had Israeli friends, possibly even exes, who were planning to relocate here.

“Wait, you have Israeli eyes,” he remarked after learning about my nationality. “The shape, the way the light reflects –”

“I hate to disappoint you, but there is no such thing as Israeli eyes,” I said. “Jewish people come from various ethnicities.”

We had a nice chat. I couldn’t gauge his age, which seemed twice than Raven’s. He mentioned keeping in touch with his exes, such as his ex-fiancé: they acted like a couple during their annual visits, despite no longer being in a relationship.

I marveled at this dynamic. Was it possible to stay in touch with old flames? Not just in touch – on good terms?

It was interesting (and enviable) to hear about him. With my lasting hiking fatigue, however, a few sips of champagne sealed the deal. I apologized and went to sleep.

Today’s highlights: Taichung Park during the day with Raven and during the night.

17 March 2024

• Cycling to Rainbow Village (30m)
• Rainbow Village (30m)
• 12:30-13:30 Rainbow Village (Lingdong road) to Taichung station bus number 56
• Ice cream @ Fourth Credit Union

Rainbow Village

Today I rented a YouBike and cycled to Rainbow Village on the western outskirts of Taichung. Squeezing between cars and motorcycles for half an hour under the blazing sun, this was preferable to taking two long buses.

The village was as colorful as it was tiny. A nice, tribal-eqsue spot for picture-taking. Not good on a Sunday morning.

Miyahara

At midday, I took an hour-long bus back to central Taichung. People were sitting on the floor of shaded sidewalks, smoking and drinking. Miyahara, the most famous ice cream shop in town, had an hour-long queue; it was famous for its lavish ice creams and art deco interior. A local friend had advised me to walk to a nearby branch of the same brand, which featured seats and a shorter line.

I received a sundae waffle filled with a Tieh Kwan Ying and osmanthus ice cream, very tea-like in flavor; a rose and mint ice cream, herbal and refreshing; a salted caramel ice cream with a caramel sauce; topped with strawberries, sweet and sour pineapple cakes, and a butterfly waffle.

The rest of the day was spent writing in bed.

A Tearful Video Call

At midnight, Raven and I video called. He lamented our distance. When would we meet again? Would too much time pass?

“It’s so sad,” he kept saying. “I want you to be mine. And I’ll be yours. And we can have a family… why do I have a feeling I won’t see you again?”

I didn’t know the answer to that. But I tried to explain to him why his sadness made me happy.

“It shows that you care,” I said.

“What if by the time we meet again you’ll have a boyfriend?” he asked, repeating his fear of being forgotten.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” I said.

“What if I have a boyfriend?”

I could easily see that happening.

“I don’t think I can wait for someone for a long time,” he said. “Sorry if I forget you.”

I already knew he would. It wouldn’t be the first time on this trip.

He was lying in bed in his dormitory, when he broke into tears.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” he said.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay to cry.”

“Seems like I’m stupid.”

I waited for him to relax. Another person crying over me? I hadn’t deemed it possible. Perhaps I’d become that guy who hurt others.

“Will you cry too?” he asked.

“If you cry, I’ll cry.”

He chuckled.

“You’re a baby.”

“I won’t cry now,” I scoffed. “But I might when I leave this country.”

He was worried it would take me too long to come back.

“Just focus on the present,” I said.

“You’ll find someone better than me.”

“Better?” I asked. “In what way?”

“In every way.”

“It’s not about someone better, it’s about someone different.”

“Someone more suitable for you,” he said.

With our age gap in mind, too much time would actually be of benefit.

Today’s highlights: Rainbow Village; Miyahara ice cream.

18 March 2024

• 12:37-13:00 Taichung station to Changhua station local train, 13:20-13:27 Changhua station (Sanmin road) to country council bus number 3
• Baguashan temple (30m)
• Nantian temple (30m)
• 15:27-15:44 Changhua station to Taichung station local train
• Dinner @ conveyor belt sushi

Bagua-shan Temple

After yesterday’s late-night conversation, I started my day late with a visit to Baguashan. Like Fo Guang Shan, this was another monastery atop a mountain, this time overlooking ugly Taichung. A colossal bronze Buddha was meditating on a lotus flower. Inside this sculpture, I found a small altar and scenes from the Buddha’s life.

Nine months in Japan hadn’t prompted me to visit Kamakura, owing to my complete lack of interest in big Buddhas. What a waste of time.

Nantian Temple

I continued to my actual reason for coming to Changhua: a horror temple. Featuring statues of demons wielding weapons and humans bulging their eyes in fear. Parents brought their children here to scare them. I heard the latter crying hysterically upstairs.

Giddy, I climbed the stairs and arrived at a desolate temple interior, vacant apart for a dusty sofa. A demon’s mouth led into a recreation of hell, full of animatronic demons and scenes of humans being tortured to death. They were dimly lit by a blood-red light. I could not stop laughing.

The uppermost floor was even darker and scarier. A narrow, pitch-black corridor twisted frightfully like a in maze, full of scenes flashing into life. My heart was racing as I fled.

What a unique temple. As a child, I might have believed that hell was real, and that I ought to be a good worshipper. It immediately tied Wenwu as my favorite temple on this island.

A Date with My Taiwanese Counterpart

In the evening, I met Jake, a 28-year-old local, at Park 2 Caowu Plaza. It was a quiet and more affluent district of the city, devoid of tourists or many people for that matter. He had a heart-shaped face, a soft voice, and a reserved disposition.

To my utter amazement, his sister-in-law was Israeli – with half-Israeli, half-Taiwanese kids – who he frequently visited in Tel Aviv. We’d even dined at the same restaurants.

In fall 2019, he’d moved to London for a one-year MA in fashion and merchandising. On winter break, he’d visited Israel, got stuck there during lockdown, and finished his degree remotely.

In fall 2019, I’d moved to Norwich for a one-year MA in creative writing, visited London before Christmas and Israel after, got stuck in Norwich during lockdown, and finished my degree remotely.

It was a wonder we’d never met.

We went to a conveyor belt sushi restaurant inside a nearby mall. He didn’t seem to sit upright or smile at all. instead, his brows often knotted and rose in concern. I found myself carrying the weight of the conversation. We had so much in common, however, that I didn’t care.

He hadn’t found his footing in the local dating scene, akin to Israel and me. I wondered if his resignation stemmed from bad history. A part of me felt like he was holding himself back. We’d been talking for almost two months, since my first week in Taiwan, so I doubted he lacked interest.

I relished a cheese unagi sashimi while listening to his impressions of Israel.

“It’s intense,” he said. “Even the men – they’re so toxic, it’s very intense.”

His word choice sounded perfect. Every aspect of life in Israel was extreme. A militant, combative society. Israeli people sounded angry even when they tried to act friendly.

He mentioned severe childhood trauma that had pushed him to study healing techniques. He was quite spiritual in the way he discussed aura and energy. Sometimes he meditated or massaged the head in key points, for example. I realized this had subdued him to a point where it could be mistaken for a lackadaisical lack of energy.

We strolled around afterwards. A cool night, vacant streets, hipster bars, and old-school Japanese restaurants. I exulted in this calm atmosphere.

At 22:30, we said goodnight. Since buses in Taichung were so cumbersome, I cycled back to my hostel on a YouBike. I did so extra slowly, to enjoy the silence and breeze.

Today’s highlights: Nantian temple; conveyor belt sushi for dinner with Jake.

19 March 2024

• 11:25-12:00 Taichung station to Shalu station local train
• Baishatun Mazu pilgrimage (6.5h)
• 19:05-19:15 Zhuifen station to Xinwuri station local train, 19:20-19:40 HSR Taichung station to City Hall MRT (green line)
• Maple avenue
• 22:45-23:05 Maple Avenue to Changhua bank (Taiwan Blvd) bus number 304

Baishatun Mazu Pilgrimage

With more free time in Taichung than expected and the discovery of a famous pilgrimage crossing the city today, I rushed to the train soon after waking, without charging my phone or eating. At Shalu station, a western district by the coast, hundreds of people wearing neon orange caps were walking south. I’d come to the right place.

But I didn’t know what was happening, where it was going, or why. Every single person around me was Taiwanese. Striding south, sleeping on the floor inside the station, or sitting on the pavement, wrapping bandages around their feet. With my stomach rumbling and phone battery about to perish, I began to follow the swarm.

We paced down a main road, bustling in every corner. Pilgrims on the edge of the road, on the pavements, on caravans and motorcycles. It was impossible to walk without bumping into someone. They advanced briskly, as if something awaited in the next block.

It was just the same road. I wondered if I should quit or wait to encounter something. Then I noticed pilgrims waiting in line to vans full of provisions, which people offered as free refreshments.

I wolfed down an omelet and continued down the road in search of food and answers. Soon enough, I discerned the side profile of a beard and tanned skin under the same neon cap.

Dominico was a 29-year-old child autism psychologist from Rome on a gap year. Brown hair, green eyes, a side bag and a backpack bursting with food and bottles. During two months of volunteering at a school in Namibia, he’d met a Taiwanese woman who had told him about this pilgrimage. He’d hopped on a plane four days into his bout in Thailand and come straight to this event.

“How did you find me?” he asked, incredulous. “250,000 people registered to participate, and I didn’t see anyone not Taiwanese. Finally, I’m not the only alien here.”

As it became clear, our presence caused quite the stir. Pilgrims were looking at us, smiling at us, sprinkling a few words in English, while bystanders were offering us free food and drinks. The latter was an aid extended to everyone walking, regardless of ethnicity. But then some pilgrims began to hurry toward us simply to give us souvenirs.

“Thank you for sharing our culture,” one saying after running toward us.

“Thank you for welcoming us,” Dominico replied.

“Thank god I’m starving,” I muttered while munching a purple bread.

People were snapping photos of us and asking for selfies. After half an hour together, a reporter interviewed us for the news while we ate noodles.

It was Dominico’s first time in Taiwan, and he was as lost about this country as I was about Baishatun. A middle-aged Taiwanese woman was accompanying him. They’d met at Gongtian temple in Baishatun, the starting point, where pilgrims had gotten the caps and departed at midnight.

Baishatun Mazu pilgrimage, as the woman explained, was an eight-days-on-average procession where Mazu was carried on a portable temple along the western coast of Taiwan to Chaotian temple in Beigang, three hundred kilometers to the south. As the goddess of sea, the procession always stuck to the coast.

Every day, through moon shards, Mazu communicated where the pilgrims should stop and spend the night. No one knew how much they’d walk each day, where they’d sleep (in a temple? In a station? At a park?), or how long the pilgrimage would take. All of these variables changed annually.

With such a flippant and demanding kilometrage, pilgrims set their own schedule, choosing how long to walk, sleep, and rest. This was the hardest pilgrimage in Taiwan. A bus was slowly following it with a perpetually open door. It was no wonder that some resorted to vehicles.

No, the real wonder of this procession was the bystanders, who equaled the pilgrims in number. The shoulders of the road were as populated by them as the road itself. Every meter, people stood next to their cars, the trunk teeming with drinks; next to vans with portable cooking stations; or next to tables they’d erected and filled with bento and tea. Fresh coffee, crepes, fresh fruit, waffles, rice crackers, sausages, vitamin powders, pickled olives, lunch boxes with rice and vegetables and chicken – they offered as much as possible to as many as possible, to nourish the pilgrims.

“Some people save money the whole year to prepare for this,” Dominico said. They’d practically opened free, makeshift restaurants, all from their personal pocket.

This also included bracelets, hats, tissues, trinkets, lucky charms, heat packs, towels, sleeping mats, keychains… Two months of the best hospitality in the world hadn’t prepared me for this. I devoured so much food, that after two horus of eating while walking (impossible in Japan), I nearly vomited.

It reached a point where I accepted gifts simply out of curiosity (my first encounter of so many dishes – rice steamed in leaves, some kind of a sweet tapioca soup, yellow watermelon, asparagus juice…), and out of guilt.

“Thank you, we’re full,” Dominico and I said. But the bystanders were begging us to take everything.

“Please,” they said in English, and once we did, they added an eager “thank you” for accepting their gift.

“It’s probably a blessing for them to offer this as much as it is for the pilgrims to walk this,” I said, utterly bemused. My stomach was bursting, my bag was bursting, my hands were full – I couldn’t carry or digest one more tea – but even this didn’t stop people from urging me to take more and more. How could I refuse?

“You’d think that walking for eight days from morning to night would make you lose weight,” I added, nauseous from overfeeding.

We actually passed a blood sugar test station, since pilgrims were consuming so many sweets. Then, portable toilet and shower stations. And, as if Mazu was granting all my wishes, a phone charging station.

I almost hadn’t come, after feeling too tired and hungry in the morning to do anything. Today was supposed to be spent in bed.

As we continued to walk – I kept postponing the hour when I’d leave – Dominico recounted to me how he’d slept at a temple with the pilgrimage. What a uniquely communal experience. I rejoiced at my coming here, yet lamented my inability to extend my participation. Time was the only deciding factor: one could walk for six to twelve days (depending on the year) without spending a single dime on food, accommodation, and drinks.

People opened their houses on the road to let anyone use the restroom. The first day, they’d even let Dominico sleep for a few hours, after walking from midnight. The last two days of Baishatun would have everyone retracing their distance back north. To squeeze three hundred kilometers into this timeframe, they would most likely jog for two days without sleeping.

As the sun began to set, temperatures grew chilly. We were lagging so far behind, that we decided to wait for the Mazu palanquin, carried at the tail of the procession.

“This is the cute animal section,” the Taiwanese woman said. Pilgrims kept staring at Dominico and me in wonder, beaming, greeting, taking pictures, and giving presents.

Then the palanquin arrived. So tiny and modest, that I wouldn’t have guessed it. I prostrated on the road and let the carriers pass the palanquin above me, to receive Mazu’s blessing.

At 18:30, after eighteen kilometers, I left begrudgingly. I wanted to sleep at a park in Changhua with everyone. But I’d promised Jake we would meet.

Baishatun was one of my most unique experiences on this trip. It posed yet another reason for returning to this country. I could’ve been well-fed for a week simply by collecting every offering after one day of walking. Or for a whole month, after completing the full journey.

Maple Garden

I took the train to Taichung (as teeming as after a Japanese festival) and met Jake at the Maple Garden. A beautiful and quiet pond, perfect for a nocturnal saunter.

We shared my loot and talked softly. I felt a bit disappointed by my departure from the pilgrims. But when he cracked a small and swift smile at me for the first time – it felt as triumphant as parading from morning to evening.

Today’s highlights: Baishatun Mazu pilgrimage; every single thing I ate there; the Maple Garden.

20 March 2024

• 11:15-11:35 Taichung station to Fengyuan station local train
• Taiwanese food for lunch
• Exploring north Taichung: 高鐵觀景臺, Old Mountain Line Dajia River Iron Bridge…
• 30m ride to Gaomei wetlands
• Gaomei wetlands (45m)
• 30m ride to Fengyuan
• Dinner @ Miaodong Night Market
• 20:30-20:50 Fengyuen station to Taichung station local train

Fengyuan

Today I met Uma, a Taiwanese friend in her early thirties, with a delicate bob, a heart-shaped face, a narrow smile, and prominent cheeks. We’d stayed at the same hostel in Himeji on December 6, chatted for half an hour before bed, and stayed in touch ever since.

She picked me up from Fengyuen station with her parents. This was her hometown, a locals-only obscure district in northeast Taichung.

We ate lunch at an outlet mall. I felt a bit awkward at first. Her parents spoke a select few words in Japanese, while she spoke Japanese, rather than English. I could’ve met Raven again on my last day in this city, but had already promised Uma today.

After lunch, we watched the bullet train from an observation deck so famous for it, that there was a bulletin board with train times; tasted outlandish wine at a winery (honey, cranberry, mulberry, onion, enzyme); and crossed a former railway bridge and tunnel.

Gaomei Wetlands

In the afternoon, her parents returned home, while we drove to Gaomei wetlands, known for its picturesque mud, wind turbines, stream, and soil.

It was one of the windiest places I’d inhabited. The wooden platform that stretched into the wetland was so blustery, that my ears began to hurt. I almost fell to the wetland. The wind created ripples on the sand and narrow river. The view was pretty, with wind turbines revolving at full speed. Yet we couldn’t stay a moment longer there, let alone wait for sunset.

Miaodong Night Market

We grabbed a rice sausage and escaped in her car. Near her house, we dined at her local night market.

First, the best oyster omelet I’d had. Huge, full of vegetables, topped by a pink peanuts sauce. Oyster omelets were usually small, with a spicy red sauce.

Second, bawan – meat inside a sticky rice dumpling, as garlicky as a Middle-Eastern dish. I barely encountered garlicky dishes in the East.

Third, a tofu pudding with taro and sweet potato balls in a non-sweet soup. I missed Tainan, where everything was sweet.

With my stomach merry and brimming, Uma taught me how to say “I’m full” in Chinese, when we encountered a small stand selling fried water chestnut. A black, bat-shaped nut, deep fried in tempura. This was such an eye-popping treat, that while indulging on it, I immediately looked for other places in Taiwan that sold it.

“It’s a Fengyuen specialty,” Uma said.

“NO!” I exclaimed. “Why is all the good food in the south?”

I closed my eyes and savored each bite of chestnut.

“What’s in Taipei?” I grouched. “There’s nothing there.”

“I also think there’s nothing in Taipei,” Uma chuckled. “I go there just to meet friends.”

The capital of Taiwan didn’t boast any specialties. Almost like Tokyo (which did have monja to its favor). I couldn’t pass on a potentially last opportunity to wallow in this rare delicacy. So I bought another bag for tomorrow morning.

Fried water chestnuts dethroned fried potato balls as my favorite snack in Taiwan.

“I never expected to love this country this much,” I said with the aftertaste still gracing my tongue. “It has exceeded my imagination. I enjoyed life in the UK, but it felt ordinary. Since I was a child, I’d known Japan was the country for me. Now, I love Taiwan almost as much.”

Every day here was a blessing, whether from a sea goddess or the locals.

“Did you also have that experience in Korea?” Uma asked.

“No,” I muttered so fast, that she laughed. “I would love to visit again – to meet my friends – to eat the food – but…”

Taiwan offered a greater variety in culture, nature, and cuisine. More experiences and outlandish festivals. In Korea, I adored kimchi, bibimbap, hotteok, and tteokbokki, but everything else was too spicy for me. In Japan, I adored sushi, natto, and teishoku, but udon, soba, and ramen were more often than not boring. I could have a wonderful time simply eating and dating here, because I appreciated the local mentality.

“The streets are ugly, the hot springs are boisterous, the art museums are lackluster, the traffic is loud – but those are small things,” I said.

I knew I could never live here during the summer, with spiders as big as in Australia. As far as I was concerned, I’d come here at the best time: winter, New Year’s, more festivities than tourists.

Before I went to sleep, Teddy texted me.

“I’ve been thinking about you since you left me,” he said. “Miss you very much.”

“Me too,” I replied. “I’m sad that my visa will expire soon. But I will come back someday.”

“I will wait for you to come back.”

I found myself again biting my tongue. This would be too much of a request. Even though I’d been craving – and attempting – it from others throughout this trip.

“It will take a long time,” I said. “I want you to be happy.”

“No matter how long, I will wait for you,” he said. “I hope you won’t forget me.”

How could I, when he’d been so good to me?

“I won’t,” I said.

I went to bed knowing I would wait for my next time in this country. For flames both old and new to kindle. I would wait for a reply, a reunion, a disappointment, from friends and lovers, knowing I would get hurt again… if someday, they still liked me.

Today’s highlights: Gaomei wetlands; oyster omelet; bawan; fried water chestnuts.