Sun Moon Lake

We rolled into the valley containing Sun moon Lake with a the sound of drawn breath as we caught our first glimpse of the incandescently blue waters of the lake we'd heard so much about. The bus could not have gotten us to the hotel fast enough. We were filled with nervous energy from the excitement of the possibilities ahead of us.

Right off the bat, the group of 16 sheared off into two distinct groups. The first containing Roz, Becky, Mahan, Matt, Matt's friend from England, Glen, Tom, Mahan, and Jillian. The second containing Amelie, James, Mark, Joy, Fergal, Caleb and I. Traveling around as a single force would have been too much for the sensitivity of the serene environment and we quickly set off in different directions to find our own adventures.

With the help of our Taiwanese friend Joy, we were able to procure five mighty hogs with which we were able to cruise around the lake at our leisure and check out the many sights. 125cc's of pure power under our asses, we thundered down the road in a pack and felt, in a small way, what it must be like to be a part of a rumbling pack of Harleys on a cross-country trip through the American west.

Our first stop was the grandiose, triple decked, temple known as Wenwu. Standing sentry on either side of the entrance to the temple are thirty foot high crimson statues of a a mythical animal which combines the mane of a lion, the mouth of a bullfrog, the teeth of a dragon and the stocky frame of a bulldog. That's the best way I can think to describe these amalgamations, which can be found throughout all the temples I've been able to visit, despite efforts to track down the name of these beasts. We toured the grounds and I shook hands with a man posing as a clay soldier and felt very touristy as hordes of Taiwanese people took my photo.

I have to say, the temples are starting to lose their charm for me. Sure each one is gorgeously and meticulously decorated and are treasure troves of historical artistry but they all blend together into an incredibly complicated tapestry of carvings, colors and shrines after a while, so we left after about twenty minutes.

Our next stop on the winding asphalt strip around the lake provided us with expansive views of the shimmering blue-green waters beneath our feet. We found a path down to the shore and set off in search of a place to hop into the forbidden waters. I say forbidden because it is against the rules of the lake to go swimming, for some goddamn reason I'll never understand, which leaves throngs of people to gather at docks awaiting the most popular way to get out and enjoy the lake: obnoxious thirty foot yachts which zig-zag around to all the best sights. I can only imagine what all that exhaust and fuel is going to do to the beautiful hue of the lake in the next few decades. A true pity.

We arrived at the dock where hundreds of people were gathering to board one of these gilded white monsters and saw a four foot high fence with a sign that said "do not enter" which led down to the water's edge. We hopped over it quickly and easily, despite the slack jawed stares of the locals who gawked at our imprudence. We rushed down to the muddy shore and stripped down into our boxers to hop into the wonderfully refreshing water. Amelie and James were wearing bathing suits but Caleb, Fergal and I were perfectly comfortable in our underwear.

We paddled around and enjoyed a moment of Sistine chapel-esque beauty as Fergal reached out like the hand of God to pass a beer to James in the choppy waves of a passing tourist boat.

The mosquitoes on the edge of the shore were relentless and I found myself spotted along my whole back in penny sized lumps of itching madness. It was well worth the bites for our little act of rebellion however and we couldn't help but laugh as we hopped back over the fence and into the crowed with soaked clothing and wet heads.

From this point, we made a mad dash around the last third of the lake in a high-speed sprint through gorgeous valleys and scenic bluffs. Upon locating the rest of our group it was only a matter of a quick rendezvous before we were able to sit down to a fabulous aboriginal inspired meal at a lakeside restaurant which came with it's own live flute player busting out all the ancient Chinese jams. Fergal was able to proposition him for a request and we sang happy birthday to our friend Roz with the accompaniment of the smiling man on a beautifully carved woodwind. She was visibly embarrassed but we kept on through the second and even part of a third round as the flutist kept on with his charge.

Caleb and I had made up our minds earlier that we were going to get up early to catch the sunrise and attempted an early night in after a midnight blast along a few straightaways with our crew on the hogs.

The next morning, despite the party which raged on until four, I was awoken to find Joy peeking into our room to ask if we were up at 4:45am. I was surprised and elated that Caleb and I weren't going to be the only ones up for an early start with a beautiful view.

The morning crew consisted of Joy, Becky (who wins my vote for VIP of the trip for her ability to party with the best of them until late in the evening and still manage to wake up with us to catch the sunrise and the rest of our morning adventure), Amelie, Caleb, Mark, James and me. We hurried up to the highest point within range and snapped photos as the sun began to peak out between the clouds, sending shafts of light out into the lake which lit up the surface like a pewter dish filled with tiny silver marbles. The mountains propelled the clouds into dizzying designs as they fought to get around the peaks and towards their destination in the north as the sun popped in and out of the fray. It was a beautiful way to start the day and we headed back down into town to find some food with the light of the morning in our smiles.

We filled up on food and fuel before making another mad dash to the opposite side of the island to reach the spectacular pagoda which had been teasing my eye the entire trip. The 175-foot Cien pagoda was requisitioned by General Chiang-Kai-Shek in honor of his mother and stands majestically erect over a jutting portion of land at the crest of a medium size rise providing astounding 360-degree panoramic views of the lake and surrounding mountains. We climbed to the top despite yellow caution tape hanging across the entrance which warned that the structure was unfit for entry due to destabilization caused by an earthquake.

I would like to interject for a moment, if I may, to mention that the Taiwanese standard for "safe" is about as well adjusted as a fourteen year old meth-addict who hates his father for running out on the family when he was just a child, leaving him in the care of a syphilitic alcoholic who couldn't raise a bean stalk, much less a child. The lake is unsafe to swim in, the pagoda is unsafe to climb, the ocean is unsafe to swim in and one shouldn't step out into the sun without an umbrella. But an entire family of four and a dog can zip around the city on a scooter the size of a St. Bernard without the slightest consideration of a seat belt or even a helmet.

Anyway.

We drank up the views provided from the unmatched vantage point of the pagoda until sated and climbed back down to "safety." At this point it began to sprinkle and we thought it best to make our way over to the Syuanzang temple for a cup of freshly brewed tea dutifully served by Buddhist monks in traditional gray wraps. The moment we set foot under the awning covering our tea tables, the rain sprang from a gentle pitter patter to hammering onslaught. We turned to each other to laugh at our uncanny luck and wagered guesses at how long the passing storm would keep up. Twenty minutes, thirty at best, but we could wait it out.

Forty-five minutes later the storm hadn't let up an inch and we grudgingly made our way to our scooters to make it back to the hotel before checkout time at 11:00. The ride from the temple to our hotel only takes twenty minutes in ideal weather, but with a full downpour and some light traffic it was a thirty to forty minute hell-ride with rain drops smashing into our faces like bullets and clothing that stuck to our skin like shrink wrap. It was an interesting conundrum to pull back on the throttle and turn up the speed because you wanted to be out of the shower as soon as possible, but the faster you go the more the tiny bullets begin to sting.

Like soggy dogs we entered the hotel to climb the five floors to our rooms where we could peel off our clothing and hang it to dry while we tried to find some comfort in the form of a wall mounted hair dryer blasting our skin. This happened to be the exact same time that the rest of our friends decided to get up and they chided us for having gotten up early to get soaking wet while they slept in peacefully and comfortable dry. Little did they know that the weather we enjoyed for our first four hours of the morning was the only respite from the downpour that we would see all day.

Caleb, James, Mark and I enjoyed a quick thirty minute lie-down as the others headed over to the breakfast shop to fill up before catching a shuttle to the gondola's on the opposite side of the lake. We checked out on time and met the others for our second breakfast.

The weather was becoming quite inconvenient and it was decided that all of us would purchase plastic ponchos to fight off the rain. We ambled along the edge of the street in a pack like a gaggle of yellow condoms to buy tickets at the bus station for the shuttle to the gondola. Unfortunately, when we got there the line was three stories long and the possibility of milling about in a crowd of hundreds just to ride in a little metal car to the top of a peak which would be surrounded by gray clouds rendering the views inconsequential seemed foolish. Caleb, Amelie and I split off from the pack, who were determined to get their chance at the cable cars, and searched around until we found an opportunistic trail head near the entrance to an elementary school stuck in the side of a mountain.

The hike found us surrounded by bamboo forest, overgrown ferns from the late Jurassic period and the kind of rain that frogs and toads are at home in. We started up at a flight of stairs which begged the question, "how long did that take?" It stretched, one three foot wide stone at a time, towards the top of the mountain and laid out before us like the fossilized spinal column of an extinct giant, with a troublesome case of multiple sclerosis.

We trudged through the daunting downpour with the energy of the many thousands before us who saw this path and could see the adventure within reach before them, ducking under fern fronds which hung out over the trail sprawling all six of their feet towards the tops of our heads. Their impressive size did nothing to quell the drops which beat down upon them and they provided no comfort what-so-ever in the storm.

Soon rolling thunder spilled out through the valley like a drum score from heaven. Lightning splintered the sky and the wind kicked up to match the power of the storm. The rain beat down on us from every angle in drops the size of golf balls. A large thicket of bamboo to our right cracked in half and fell helplessly down the steep slope of it's base at the same time that a branch above our heads splintered off it's hold on the tree it called a home and came crashing down just next to us which sent me into an inexplicable fit of laughter.

At this point Caleb began to feel slightly anxious about the weather, for some strange reason.

We conferred momentarily on the state of the trip and decided that going down the mountain to catch a bus back to the hotel would be the most reasonable course of action at the present time. No sooner had we reached the base of the trail and stepped out into the courtyard of a small group of shack houses than a sound reached our ears which reminded me of the sound of a roughly hewn stone rolling through an empty marble corridor. We turned around to see whole sections of the forest rocking back and forth as a slab of the mountain sheared off and slid down towards the ground.

I shared a look with Caleb that said everything and spoke nothing. The landslide was on the exact same stretch of the face that we were moments ago hiking across.

Then we waited around in town for about half an hour in the pouring rain and caught a bus to the opposite side of the lake where the rest of our group was reconvening after an unsuccessful attempt at a gondola ride.

James was at the bus station we were just pulling into and we shared a hug and a handshake while exchanging promises to catch up again soon. He hopped on the next bus out to Tainan and we waved him off before heading over to the hotel to grab the rest of our gear and prepare for our own trip home. A few of us popped across the street to a little restaurant and indulged ourselves in a steaming bowl of spicy beef noodle soup which warmed our cores the way only soup can.

When we boarded our own bus and made our way out of town, the rain miraculously halted long enough for us to catch a few tree-free glimpses of the gray and placid lake from the road as we hit the highway back to our cement jungle of a city known as Taipei.

My New Favorite Long Time Favorite Activity

Wikipedia defines River Tracing as: "...a form of hiking or outdoor adventure activity, particularly popular in Hong Kong and Taiwan, and, in some ways, similar to canyoning or canyoneering . River trekking is a combination of trekking and climbing and sometimes swimming along the river. It involves particular techniques like rock climbing, climbing on wet surfaces, understanding the geographical features of river and valleys, knotting, [and] dealing with sudden bad weather..."

Our adventure began at a local trail that I discovered before work one afternoon while riding my bike around Sansia. I've come to internalize a few characters in Chinese and one of the most easily recognizable is the word for mountain, which is shan. It resembles the end of a fork with only three prongs and the middle prong slightly longer than the two on the side. It can be found splashed along the thousands of signs and store windows in Sansia.

I noticed a small alleyway leading into what looked like a jungle road which had a yellow sign containing this character and decided to see where it went. It took me on along a trickle of pavement just wide enough for a small truck to come barreling down the winding path and narrowly pass by my handlebars as it heads to town. After a kilometer or two a small dip in the road indicates a path that crosses the roadway which can be accessed through a hole in dilapidated barbed wire fence.

A few meters down the path and you are forced to cross a bubbling stream to reach the twelve foot waterfall which beckons across the way. Hanging down from this waterfall, from a tree no thicker than my calf is a tendril of rope with knots for handholds every few feet. When I came to the pool formed by the erosion of the surrounding rock that this waterfall slithers down and noticed the rope, I knew that I had to get to the top of that precipice. I used some tempered judgment and decided against climbing the slippery waterfall by myself, instead waiting until the weekend when Caleb and James could join me for the adventure.

They politely obliged.

So I find myself at the base of this waterfall once more, with the renewed confidence of my brother's in arms. We agreed that getting up the face of the slippery-wet rock would be easy, it was the possibility of descending the wall that scared us. After a few minutes of back and forth, we concluded that if all else failed, we could simply make a jump for the deepest point in the pool and, at worst, come away with a broken leg or less.

I grabbed hold of the rope and asked Caleb to toss me my shoes, which I'd removed to forge the pool in order to reach the base of the falls which I tied to my belt-loops and set to work finding a foothold with my toes. As we'd suspected, climbing the rock was incredibly easy, and within a few moments I was egging them on from the top.

After we'd reconvened at the head of the falls, we excitedly picked our way through the invisible traps of spider webs and under or over the many bamboo stalks criss-crossing the jungle stream. No more than fifty meters up the river we found ourselves faced with an even larger waterfall, with a sheer face that had few handholds and no rope. We marveled at the natural beauty of the slippery black stone and stood in the steamy silence of the verdant foliage around us. At this point, we could not hear a single bird call, animal grunt, mosquito buzz or car horn and the silence was somewhat off putting.

We hatched a plan to climb up the left bank of the small valley in which the stream resided and find an easier way over the second falls. This meant scrambling up an extremely muddy, completely inconsistent and ultimately conquerable incline where our ability to grasp onto any handhold or foothold meant the difference between failure and success. The raucous laughter we enjoyed during this bit of the fun was strikingly incongruous with the surroundings and I decided that the more noise we made the better, so as to scare off any potential predators which no doubt could stalk us easier than a pack of blind, deaf and dumb piglets.

We eventually found a path over the lip of the embankment and felt the chest swelling pride of real explorers as we made our way deeper into the jungle.

It would eventually take six waterfalls to bring us to our final destination. At one particularly inviting pool at the base of a trickling fall we decided it was time for a swim. We stripped down to our boxers and stepped tentatively into the surprisingly chilly water and squirmed as craw-dads (freshwater prawns) nibbled the dead skin from our feet. James was the first to make the plunge and stood ankle deep on the edge of the pool asking Caleb and I "Ok so, 3...2... what are we counting to?" "Um. One?" I offered helpfully. Caleb tossed me the waterproof camera and I set it to video-mode in order to capture the moment on film. "3...2...1!"

The water was only waist deep at the deepest end of the pool but James jumped with such excitement that he was submerged for a full second before surfacing again with a hoot and holler as he wiggled his feet away from the leaves and detritus that clung disconcertingly to this legs.

Caleb was next and finally it was my turn to make the plunge, which Caleb filmed.

Now. I did not know this at the time, but it turns out that after standing up out of the water after my dive, something personal to me was sticking out of the front of my boxers, revealed for the jungle and anyone in it to see. But like I say, I had no idea, and didn't until hours later when we were reminiscing about our day in a local bar and Caleb mentioned that my johnson was hanging out and that it might be on film.

But that's not important. Is it? Didn't think so.

We eventually found a small path no wider than two boots slapped together which lead us into the heart of the mountain where, finally, a cacophony of bird calls could be heard and it struck James that he had been waiting 24 years (It was his birthday on Saturday, the day of our adventure) for him to go from seeing this sort of thing on television to actually experiencing it in real life. He was a regular Tarzan out there too, he was shirtless the entire time despite the nagging insects and regular tumbles down muddy hillsides. A real warrior in my book.

After every conquered waterfall and each narrow victory over the landscape, we thought it wise to mention to each other that "coming back down this is going to be a bitch..." a thought that hung in our minds with every sucking step forward through the muck and the mire.

When it finally came time to turn around and head back to civilization, we did so with heavy hearts and less than assured nods of the head. None of us were eager to leave our hard earned territory in the wild and the thought of going back to a city full of the cloying sensory crush of smog, neon and various living material in various states of decay felt like a seriously deranged notion.

With a trudge we began our descent and were surprised to find that, though the trip in felt like it had taken hours to complete, our trip out took less than one. The waterfalls were no problem to tackle once we'd found their weaknesses and even the scary thought of standing backwards over a shallow pool atop a twelve foot high slab of moss slimed rock with nothing sturdier to hold onto than a rope the thickness of two shoe strings braided together turned out to be little more than a moments inconvenience.

We headed back down the winding mountain road with broad smiles, mud caked clothing and the slosh-sploosh sound of waterlogged boots thudding down the blacktop. Our heads held high, we knew that we'd just completed one of those adventures that would be worth telling about to our grandchildren, who would not care in the slightest about what their gray-haired slightly deranged grandpa had to tell them.

It was a good feeling. One of the reaffirming days that reminds me that what I'm doing is important, not necessarily world-changing, but for me it's exactly the kind of thing I'd like to be doing with my time. It gave me renewed vigor to head into the classroom on Monday and teach the hell out of those little kids, because if it weren't for their parents fervent belief in the strength of the English language and it's ability to provide opportunity for their tender little children, I wouldn't be allowed to enjoy this lifestyle.

Thanks kids!

(more pictures and possibly video to come when I get the images from Caleb's waterproof camera)