One aspects of Taiwan that surprised me the most is how
quickly the land transitions from city to nature. You can be in the largest
metropolitan area in the country, with a population of over 7 million people,
and then travel less than 30 minutes and be in a wide open, nearly completely
undeveloped green space. By contrast, in Minnesota, you can drive an hour
outside of Minneapolis and still be in the suburbs. Last week, I had a free day
in Taipei, so I took a bus out of the city to Yanmingshan National Forest Park 陽明山國家公園,
for what I thought would be a day of sightseeing and light walking in this beautiful
natural environment.
After the short bus ride, I arrived at the park’s visitor
center late morning. The park attendant suggested I take the shuttle up to the
beginning of the trail that led up and down the highest peak in the park. He
described the hike as very scenic and very possible, so I thought why not and
boarded the shuttle.
It’s not an overstatement to say that the shuttle ride was
one of the most unpleasant experiences of my life. The bus was so packed I had
to press against the other standing passengers just so the door could open at
each stop. Several of the passengers had already been hiking and the cramped
quarters smelled like it. The woman next to me spent the entire shaky, jerky
ride hunched over, clutching her boyfriend’s arm. Thankfully, she didn’t vomit
until immediately after we got off the bus.
As soon as the bus dropped us off, I smelled the familiar
rotten egg scent of sulfur. To my right, gas erupted off the side of the
mountain and floated down into the valley. Mt. Qixing 七星山 (in English, Seven Star
Mountain) is Taiwan’s largest dormant volcano. This creates the hot springs and
fumaroles that pop up along the stone steps leading to the top of the mountain.
The trail snaked through tall Chinese silvergrass and Usawa cane, running over
several peaks until it reached the highest one. The air at that elevation was
clear with a slight chill. I began my ascent.
It turned out what on the map was only 1.6 kilometers to the
peak was in reality a constant steep incline. At some points, my legs were bent
into 90-degree angles climbing up the side of the mountain. Nearly every time I
took a deep breath, I swallowed the pungent odor of sulfur. Dressed in jeans
and sneakers and running on a few hours of restless hotel sleep, I was
completely unprepared. But I had endured that hellish bus ride all the way up
there, so I was going to make it to the top.
After about two hours, I did in fact make it. Standing on
the peak, I could look out on the rolling green mountains of the park. On one
side stretched the ocean and Taiwan’s northern coast, pointing towards China.
On the other, I gazed down the valley to Taipei, the silhouette of Taipei 101
standing out among the skyscrapers. Beyond Taipei, the mountains spread on and
on until they faded into the deep blue sky. Standing at 1,120 meters above sea
level, I understood why the view was worth the climb.
I’ll try not to get obnoxiously metaphorical here, ala Miley
Cyrus’s “The Climb.” But I will say that while living abroad, there are the
mountains you expect, the ones you fret over the night before and meticulously prepare
to climb, and there are the mountains you don’t realize you’re climbing until
you’ve already begun. And by then, you’ve already came all this way, so you really
have no choice but to keep going until you reach the top. The view from the top
isn’t what you expected it to be, but it is vast and open and beautiful, and
you are happy for the random combination of luck and effort that brought you
there.
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