Jumbling Back to Taipei, Taiwan
Red Bean Pancakes (again)
Today is my final day in the village. Tying up loose ends. Saying goodbye to people and places I may never see again. Who knows.
I apologize if I am repeating myself, but this red bean shop really has taken my heart. Only open two days a week, the red bean truck comes in silently and disappears without a trace. I go to the truck when the FamilyMart sign replaces the sunlight as evening sets. A thin strip of LED light traces the truck. By this point, the man and woman know my order, squishing red beans into dough as I speak. All they ask for is the quantity. It’s always one pancake for me, but it could be 2-4 more depending on how many hostel friends follow the scent line to the truck.
One of my new friends is an inspired photo artist. With both of our cameras, the red bean pancake becomes our muse. With street photography and delays in post processing, many subjects never see the photos of themselves. Honoring how this truck has inspired my work, filled my tummy, and delighted my tongue, I especially wanted to present the photos of them to the owners.
Of course procrastination gets the best of me, and it is 5:35pm, 25 minutes before the truck closes. I hop towards the truck, realizing I haven’t printed the photos. I rush back and link my friend into the mission, now running together to 7-11 (photos can be printed here). We run to the truck. The lady waves to us. I present the photos, and I believe she likes them. With speaking Chinese and wearing a mask, I cannot truly detect her thoughts. She tucked them beneath her clipboard and gave me my last red bean pancake free of charge. I guess that means she liked it?
Leaving the Village
Okay scratch the thoughtful descriptions for a hot second. Today has been absolutely wonderful from every possible angle.
To begin, I have officially left the village. Silent tears creep down my cheek as the village really did become a home. One that was mine. The Taiwanese woman next door knew my order as I entered the door. The bubble tea mom and son no longer rushed to hand me the English menu. It was always oolong, just with varying amounts of added sugar. I became a node to the hostel’s workings. Saying goodbye to a place is one thing, but saying goodbye to genuine friendships where there is no certainty that we will be in the same place again is very different.
Yes, I have been living abroad for over four years, but with a university cohort to cushion me, I rarely did make friendships outside of this circle. I had my local contacts— mentors, staff, and whatnot, but little peer to peer connection.
Leaving today, my dear friend handed me a postcard. But instead of being a photograph or print of some destination, it was a painting of me— loosely lounging on a red chair with my computer dangerously spilling over the edge of the coffee table and a pen in mouth. She even captured the two anklets on my right foot: one from Ben, and one a promise to myself. On the backside of the postcard are messages from her and two other staff members I have grown to know over the past weeks. And, another doodle— me siting on a red bean pancake with a calico cat and monkey behind my shoulders. To be seen and captured with her heart and pen is a true gift.
I lifted up my 45L backpack, erhu, computer bag, and fortune cookie grocer bag from San Francisco. I took my cardboard sign (that the aforementioned friend also drew for me <3) and said my goodbyes. To the surf shop owners and daughter who gave me a home and vibrated a town that would otherwise be inconspicuous. To my fellow staff members who kept me grounded, laughing, and inspired. To the restaurant owners who took care of me with their noodles, dumplings, and boba. To the ocean for teaching me to dive beneath the waves and hold my breath with patience as the punches pass. To the more-than-human life— the geckos, monkeys, eels, fishies, and calico cats for joining me in this ecosystem. To Dulan for taking care of me. Hopefully I also took care of you.
Holding my sign up high, I put up my thumb. And then I was off.
Free Ride
I have never really hitchhiked before. At most, I held up my thumb to get myself a couple of blocks forward because I may have claimed too many wildlife textbooks from a secondhand library at Seven Sisters in the UK. While hitchhiking as a term can be connotatively risky or adventurous, it felt like the necessary means to leave Dulan. I can’t explain it precisely, but asking a stranger with a tinted windshield if they will give me, a stranger, a free ride seemed the obvious choice. Otherwise, I would have to take an infrequent bus in the opposite direction of my end destination to then take an expensive(ish) train back in the right direction. Given that the east side of Taiwan has basically two main roads that both go north and south (one coastal and one mountainous route), hitchhiking is pretty straightforward and most people will be heading in the ideal way for at least some kilometers.
Yet, putting up the physical sign and facing the oncoming traffic did evoke a historic shyness. Each car that passed felt like a rejection. Was I not smiling enough? Did I look foolish standing here with so much baggage? For a few minutes, there weren’t any cars at all. How long was this journey really going to take? It’s a three hour car ride, but if no one picks me up… My friends from the hostel were huddled 10 meters away to support my first leg of the hitchhiking journey. When cars passed, I turned back to them unsure, but they reminded me of my keyword for the year: patience. So I kept standing.
A black van does a U-turn. Pauses. Comes froward and pulls towards me. The windshield and all windows were tinted black. A window rolls dow, and an old grandpa with a baseball cap smiles with slightly rotting teeth for me to come in. Although imperfect teeth, his smile was trusting. The back door of the van opens and 3 more grandpas smoosh over to make room for me. In total, 5 grandpas helped me load my stuff into the van. With a wave goodbye, I was off.
The man with the baseball cap turned around speaking whatever few words he could of English.
Hualien?
Hualien.
Taipei?
No Taipei. Hualien.
We are going all the way to Taipei.
I go to Taipei in 2 days.
Today?
No, Taipei after two days.
me and the boys
Say what?! I just secured a one way ticket to Hualien. No driver switches required. Heck, if I was really feeling up for it I could go all the way back to Taipei now. Hah. But why would I want to do that?
The car ride continues. We stop for gas, a stretch break, and then a view break. I did my photoshoot with each grandpa and then asked them to join a group selfie. We exchanged few words, one man burped a lot along the ride, but we were temporarily connected through space and smiles alone.
I finished my book on the drive, too. Yay!
So yeah, I guess this is me saying that I am now in Hualien, Taiwan. A short stop, but hopefully a fun one nonetheless.
Some small delights in Hualien so far:
bubble tea shop with oat milk (finally got my milk tea!)
Vegetarian restaurant with the heartiest soup and sweet and sour tofu (American style—WOAH)
A grocery store that has a full aisle dedicated to different varieties of oats and toppings for oats. I highly recommend sesame powder.
Meeting up with a friend that I met in the village. She is biking around the island over 10 days. Tomorrow we will go on an adventure.
Obama and the meowing cat at the hostel. (Obama is a fluffy wiener dog)
Also the grandpas are so cool. They were in southeastern Taiwan for a bike race
THe Children yearn for the Mines
I return to you not from a random grandpa’s van, but an organized and trusted train. Back to Taipei, that means. My time in Hualien was brief, under explored, but meaningful nonetheless. Hualien is the biggest city (kid of the only city) on the east coast of Taiwan. There are no YouBikes (the public city bikes) which is a shame, but there are many boba shops. At least three on every corner. No joke.
Currently we are on the tail end of a typhoon which means the sky is moody with temperaments swaying between bright sunshine, wind gusts that merit widespread phone alerts, and drizzling rain—luckily nothing too heavy.
Yesterday morning was bright and toasty. Alongside a friend I met in the previous village, who I reunited with in Hualien, we headed to the river (darya). With obscure coordinates pinned to my maps, we took a bus that departs only twice a day, to a town outside of Hualien.
The pins mark the spot. The spot of JADE.
Jade is huge in Hualien. I could research why and tell you, but I am decently whelmed with work that with any more side quests, would lead to my combustion. Point is, jade is huge in Hualien.
With so much jade comes deposits of the mineral on the bed of one particular river. Hence the obscure coordinates. I walked mid-calf deep up a riverbed, head anchored down. I believe that finding jade is less of a skill and more of an instinct. So many pebbles caught the sun’s touch, but I knew before picking these stones up, that it wasn’t what I was looking for. I cannot describe the innate lure that jade has. All I know is that I was confident every time; it was always jade. I must add, though, that the lure does not make it easy to find. Millions of stones cover the bed. Patience is a necessary virtue. One must remind themselves not to crave the jade like Gollum or Californian gold rush miners. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.
It was meant to be, hehe.
With our newly acquired stones we put our thumb up to head to a jade workshop. The jade workshop is even further outside of town, standing with no buildings touching it, a rigid contrast to the soft rolling mountains behind. Of course a lovely Taiwanese man picks us up. Of course the jade workshop is closed on Tuesdays.
He takes us to the next train station, further up. He recommends a spot for lunch before we head back to Hualien. Black pepper noodles and black tea soy milk. Mickey and Minnie plushies watch us as we eat. So special.
TODAY:
The mission reactivates and we take a train with a 30 minute walk to the jade workshop again. Here, we are taught how to smooth and polish our jade. First with intense scraper thingie and water, then to softer sandpaper.
Polishing the jade is awakening a new beauty but also destroying something that, I believe, was already perfect. Jade stones have so much character in their roughness. The layers that tell stories of mountain ranges they were once shaved from. Polishing the jade diminishes the raw, but if done modestly can accentuate a path. One that I pass my lips over for sensory comfort as I sit on the bus or study. The imperfections are reduced, and the jade becomes foggy glass revealing clouds further set in the stone. To compromise on Earth’s creations and man’s reimagining, I polished one side of my jade and left the history on the other side.
The whole experiences garners exception respect for anyone who processes gem stones. It also took me back to childhood visiting the zoo and sifting through sand to find fake gemstones at one of the educational booths. I still won’t buy gemstones unless I know exactly how they are collected. Foraged from the river is more okay than, say, chopping up a mountain face for the sake of something we grant arbitrary value to.
Final Thoughts:
I’m really starting to miss certain people. I hope some focus in cafes and less acquaintance-like conversations will rejuvenate me for the next few months of being away.
Quick gems:
I have acquired the Lapras plushie of dreams. No man required. Just chance, opportunity, and love.
Went to the Falafel King. Memories from last time I visit flood. Spirits have changed. I wish there was someone particular sitting across from me again.
