The Peace Correspondent (16 page)

At another intersection, as we struggle once more with the map, trying to make sense of the mysterious Chinese characters, a hiker coming down a path to the right says, “Chihsing Park. There,” pointing back the way he came. The sign indicates it is just a few hundred yards away, so we follow the path. A few minutes later we break out of the woods to an open hanging valley with a panoramic view of the city spread around the Tamsui River more than 3,000 feet below. Families gather in groups, sitting on the benches, playing, reading papers and barbecuing
chicken wings around Chinese-style pagodas and gazebos with upturned tiled roofs.

We pause awhile in the afternoon sun, nibbling biscuits and enjoying the expansive view. The lichee juice we bought earlier is delicious, thick, sweet and pulpy, like eating a succulent fruit dessert.

A turnoff from the park leads down to a small mountain lake, a fumarole we can see steaming in the distance, and a highway back to Taipei. But it is still early, so we continue up to the peak. The path becomes very steep, and it is hard going, straight up stairways of stone. You should be moderately fit to climb to Mt. Chihsing, but we've allowed plenty of time, so stop on the way to enjoy the views and catch our breath. Here above the tree line, it seems as though we can see all of Isla Formosa.

The last stiff section is like climbing a staircase, a steady slog up that finally takes us to the top of 3,739-foot Mt. Chihsing (the park's highest peak). Weather is unpredictable up here, with rain, wind and clouds common, so a weatherproof jacket is useful. But our luck holds. The sky, which has been changing all day, clears now, and from the top of this volcanic cone we have magnificent views of Taipei to the south, the mountains all around, the sea coast and Taiwan Strait to the north.

It is all downhill from here, the path zigzagging a long way down, through pine trees, pampas grass and dense thickets of young bamboo. Soon we start to catch the distinctive smell of sulfur, like fizzling matches. Further down, we walk on paving stones through fumaroles, great patches of parched, blackened earth belching and billowing steam, like agitated tea kettles. Some steaming fumaroles have the telltale yellow sulfur coloring around the charred area, others unnatural green crystals, like a color created in a scientific experiment gone wrong. Further down, the side of the mountain looks as though it has just been bombed, and we can feel the heat of the volcano under our soles.

Finally, the path leads to the visitor's center, where families
with babes in arms, young women in mini skirts and high heels, and young men in trendy city duds walk the few meters from the parking lot to admire the giant stinking and steaming Hsiaoyukeng fumarole.

The water here is apparently hot enough to boil an egg. There is no need for that, though. After our brisk hike, we head back to Taipei, with its big-city action and the world's best Chinese food, just a half-hour taxi ride away.

Great Gorge

Far below us, jade-green waters froth over smooth marble rocks like lime juice poured over opaque ice cubes. The sheer walls of Taroko Gorge rise steep and high on either side, while the road clings to the cliff and punches through the solid marble in a series of tunnels. For sheer physical drama, this massive chunk of jagged marble, a deep split in the earth's surface, rates right up with the world's great natural wonders.

The Taroko Gorge in central Taiwan is one of this scenic island's major tourist attractions. Yet until this summer, it had been a one-day excursion for most foreigners, who flew into Hualien on the east coast, toured the nearby gorge by car, then flew back the same evening. With the opening in mid-1997 of the Grand Formosa Taroko Gorge, the first international-standard hotel in Taroko National Park, longer visits are now easily arranged.

So, at 8:20 one morning, we board an express train at Taipei's cavernous railway station and rattle through the city. We are the only Westerners on board. Beyond the urban sprawl, we are treated to scenes of age-old China. Scalloped Chinese graves are cut into the hillsides, brown rivers flow down from the green hills through rice paddies where brightly colored rectangular flags snap and flutter in the breeze. Fantastic, orange-roofed temples with ornate, dragon-shaped ridges and overwrought, Sino-psychedelic embellishments glitter in the sun. An hour out, we reach the coast and run alongside the Pacific Ocean, with ancient, bare wooden boats hauled up on stony beaches.

At Hualien, there is a mass rush off the train and on to waiting tour buses. (Outside of Taipei, there is little English spoken, so it is best to have everything pre-arranged.) A driver in a Grand Formosa hotel vest waits in front of a van with a large, handprinted sign saying “Harchant” in the window.

The stretch of rural land between mountain and sea that we now drive through appears to have two major crops: vegetables and stone. Roadside stalls display piles of produce such as sweet potatoes, potatoes, squash, corn and jumbo-sized yellow bananas. Others sell locally quarried and hand-crafted polished boulders and stones, marbleware and dark green Taiwan jade.

A half-hour after leaving the station, we reach a long lineup of ponderous double-decker tour buses at the park entrance. Our driver blithely sails past, waving his ID card at the park officer, and we beat the crowd into the gorge. Soon afterwards, we pass the Eternal Spring Shrine, with a waterfall pouring out the front like a tongue lapping out of a red and white mask. A trail winds up the steep mountain face to a small Zen monastery, Kuanyin Cave (for the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy), a jade tower and a bell tower.

For 12 miles, the road clings to the cliffside and burrows through a series of tunnels cut into the solid white marble. With the jagged rocks and tunnels with huge round windows cut out of the walls to provide light and ventilation, it is like driving through immense chunks of Swiss cheese. Some cliff walls are bare, with swirly marble cake patterns, others blanketed with vegetation.

Double-decker buses squeeze through impossibly narrow spaces of the Tunnel of Nine Turns, and the canyon closes in so much in places it seems like the opposite walls are almost close enough to touch. At the Swallow Grotto, we stop to walk along and peer though the rock “windows” down the heart-stopping sheer drop of the crevice of jagged marble and granite. Far below, the Liwu River cascades over boulders on the river bottom like variegated blobs of melted wax. It is as though Salvador Dali
designed Taroko. Further on, marble lions guard the entrance to the Bridge of Motherly Devotion with, of course, white marble railings. Atop a rocky outcrop here, a green-tile-roofed gazebo built for contemplating the wonders of nature is now a photo prop for tourists.

Tienhsiang, at the end of the gorge, is a mini hamlet of a few snack shops selling ominous-looking bubbling stews, a cubbyhole of a bus station office, some homes and several churches with hostel accommodation. A half-dozen souvenir stores display mainly tasteless marble lamp stands, paper weights, bookends, vases, tableware and chessboards, as well as plastic toys, Chinese back-scratchers and other garish souvenirs.

The spanking new hotel Grand Formosa Taroko Gorge is tastefully set next to the Liwu River, not far from the hillside Hsiang-Te Buddhist Temple. Just three stories, the hotel blends harmoniously into the background. Rooms are comfortable, with the best overlooking the river. Desk clerks speak little English here, but with prebooking this presents no real problem.

Of seven hikes in the Taroko Gorge National Park, to natural wonders or to isolated aboriginal villages, the most accessible from the hotel is the 1.3-mile walk to Paiyang Falls. It is already late afternoon, so we set off up the main road where, about 300 yards away, a tunnel cuts straight through the big mountain. It is long and dark, except for the light at the end, but paved and easy walking. On the other side, we enter what seems a new, unexplored world. A broad path leads across a bridge, a sensational but easy, walk high above a rushing river and through a series of dark, twisting tunnels (one nearly 1,250 feet long) where a small flashlight proves useful. After about 20 minutes, we can hear the roar of falls ahead, like the distant rumble of ocean surf.

Finally, exiting a last long tunnel, we see it - a long silver stream running through lush foliage down the opposite mountainside. Crossing a small suspension bridge over the roaring rapids to a viewing platform is like walking on a long and particularly bouncy trampoline. Two young Chinese girls from Toronto
studying Chinese in Taipei, ask us take to take their pictures as they stick their heads through the struts of the suspension bridge. When they leave, we have the entire river valley to ourselves. After savoring the solitude and the views, we walk back to the hotel, making it easily before dark.

By the time we are ready for dinner, the dining room is closed, so we settle in the lobby lounge, overlooking the interior courtyard with its ornamental pool, fountains and flowers. In this new hotel, the service is cheerful, friendly and strikingly inefficient, but the lounge is the only action in town. The electronically operated, computer-programmed piano goes through a cycle of Moon River, Baby Elephant Walk, the theme from the Sting, Lara's Theme from Dr. Zhivago and Tie a Yellow Ribbon.

But don't shoot the player piano. It is the only entertainment here, outside of watching satellite TV in your room or sitting out on your private balcony listening to the soothing sound of the river running through the gorge.

Short Hops, Subway Stops

The spring, 1997, opening of a MRT new subway line to the north brought a number of intriguing getaways to within easy reach of Taipei.

Gates of Hell: The Japanese, great connoisseurs of hot springs and medicinal waters, built resorts around Peitou, eight miles north of central Taipei, during their occupation until the end of World War II. Japanese military officers and businessmen once used the resorts to entertain temporary lady friends. Now, public sulfur pools such as Hell's Valley are more family-oriented, with locals gathering to observe the huge, steaming pools, and boil eggs in the 200-degree Fahrenheit sulfurous waters.

Taipei has swallowed up Peitou, which is on the newest subway line, but the area retains an air of a Japanese holiday resort with public saunas, hotels and inns, some dating back to the occupation.

The best of these, the In-Son-Ger (the Whispering Pine Inn),
is an authentic rural Japanese-style inn, although high buildings now tower over it. Entrance to the low, unobtrusive tile-roof building is past pools of golden carp, splashing waterfalls, stone lanterns and bonsai trees. Simple, traditional rooms with wood paneling, shoji (rice paper) screens and tatami (woven mat) floors are made more comfortable with Western beds and chairs with backs. The inn has its own steaming, sulfuric sunken pool for soaking away all your cares.

Old China

When Hollywood wanted a typical Chinese seaside setting for Steve McQueen's The Sand Pebbles (1966), they used Tamsui, a fishing village on the north coast of Taiwan. The village is now the last stop on the new MRT subway line, just over a half-hour from Taipei.

This authentic Chinese port, with its busy narrow streets and all signs in Chinese script is more functional than merely recreational. A riverside promenade lined with ancient broad-beamed wooden boats with the traditional good luck eyes painted on the prows leads to a ferry pier, with its carnival atmosphere. Food stalls sell snacks such as grilled octopus and candied plum tomatoes. A trio of shiny tomatoes, like snooker balls skewered on a bamboo stick, is less than $1. The coating tastes remarkably like a North American county-fair candy apple. However, the fruit is not quite to Western tastes.

The town's historical attractions include a kind of Anglo-English college campus, with red-brick buildings and students in school uniforms. Nearby, the Spanish-built Fort Santo Domingo (Fort of the Red-haired Barbarians to the locals), built in 1629, recalls the glory days when Tamsui was the main link between Taiwan and the West.

Queen Nefertiti for a Day

Bizarre lava and sandstone shapes sprouting from the beach form a kind of natural sculpture exhibition at Yehliu (Wild Willows),
near the northern harbor city of Keelung. A long hawker alley selling every imaginable kind of pressed, diced, cubed, sliced, shredded, raw, salted and preserved fish and seaweed leads to the weird geological formations.

Time and tides, and wind and rain, have shaped the formations into Mushroom Rock, Cinderella's Shoe, Beehive Rock and, the most famous, Queen's Rock, a natural bust of the ancient Egyptian monarch Nefertiti.

Few visitors venture beyond the beach. They miss the best part, a flat stone path leading through sea grasses and windswept trees to the end of the promontory, with expansive views of the ocean and freighters lying at anchor waiting to get into Keelung harbor.

From a pagoda there, you can see the sun go down like thunder over the Republic of China ‘cross the bay.