“Ignoring severe meteorological warnings” is my middle name

During both of our stays in Taipei, we were aware that people weren’t fussed about seeing the rest of the island. They would possibly take the high-speed rail to one other city but then would come back to the unwavering allures of the capital. In the lead-up to the trip, we had planned on going to China. However, working so hard that I was sweating spinal fluid navigating the mercurial seas of the visa process, I began to question my dedication to the cause. The sheer number of bureaucratic hoops we were being forced to jump through, like an overworked spaniel at Crufts, meant that I was losing my enthusiasm (and my mind), so we finally decided against it. Being the two work-shy layabouts that we are, we chose the easiest alternative, Taiwan. Feeling happy in our choice (especially after hearing Taiwan is just a cleaner China, with equally amazing food and friendlier people), we left the main train station in central Taipei to explore the island properly. We took the cheapest train we could find and got into Hualien four seatless hours later. 

Taroko Gorge National Park

This was the only reason we had come to Hualien at all. The national park is enormous and we had arrived hoping to walk the Zhuilu Old Trail which is a vertigo inducing 1.5m wide trail (widened from 30cm), cut into vertical cliffs. If you fell, it’d be further to fall to the valley floor than if you jumped off the top of Taipei 101. However, because we are spontaneous adventurers/chronically unprepared idiots, we had no idea you needed a permit. So, instead we got ourselves a bus pass for the day and aimed to walk as many of the other trails as possible. After a pleasant journey, we said our fair wells to the very strange American/German family from the bus. The father was a kind, nerdy American who enjoyed practising his Chinese, the mother was a German who had a scowl that would clear a room and the children had haircuts presumably done by a person lacking in both sight and fine motor skills.

Having been pointed the way, we got to a long tunnel of a few 100m that started the Baiyang trail. We made our way through the sub-mountain darkness and emerged to find a very wide and easy trail full of people. The path followed the turquoise blue river at a considerable height, tracing the verdant mountainside but occasionally burrowing through it. Eventually, we reached the end and the main reason why people do this trail, the waterfall cave. The “water curtain” is the result of some tunnelling that hit ground water and caused it to gush from the roof in sheets. The walkway along the side of the tunnel is very narrow and the Chinese tourists don’t: wait for you, smile at you, say thank you to you or care if you live or die. Nevertheless, the very slippery, drenching walk through the tunnel was still a fun experience. After walking back to the town, we waited an age for the bus and headed off to trail number 2. 

The Tunnel of Nine Turns is a feat of engineering. The pedestrian only road cuts deep into the side of an unfathomably deep part of the canyon, following the Liwu River as it carves deeper and deeper into the marble mountains. At times, the rock walls are so high that you struggle to see the sky or the water from the path. We spent a long time on this short path (less than a kilometre long) because of the sheer scale of the gorge. As an added bonus, the wind gets funnelled through the narrow valley and it cooled us down beautifully. After turning back, we waited patiently for the bus and soon realised that we had missed it while nattering. Not particularly excited to spend an uncomfortable night in the gorge and unable to see another trail, we made sure we took the next and final bus home.

The gorge’s lasting impression on me was mixed. The natural beauty of the place is undeniable and on a scale I’d never seen before. However, the restrictions on where you could go and what you could explore, dampened the spirits of this once moustached explorer of the Fann mountains. All I wanted to do was ignore the warnings and the perfectly constructed motorways of human sightseeing, jump over a barrier and get right up next to the raging river. But alas, we weren’t in Central Asia anymore and people’s safety was for some reason the concern of the state. Increasing life expectancy one barrier at a time, but with the same sweep of the hand, obstructing the need inside everyone just be an unequivocal lunatic sometimes. There you go, there’s my advice for the day, go and do something dangerous every now and again. It’s important. 

Long legs, small bike

With our stay in the city extended, due to a worry that the typhoon would affect the rail network and our planned ferry trip, we decided to hire bikes and have a cycle. Brendan was unseasoned on the saddle, taking to the pedals for the third time in his life, so we started slowly. Our aim was to reach Liyu lake via a paddle in the river, but first we had to get out of town. As soon as the monotony of the inner city was behind us, we emerged onto the empty narrow roads that crisscrossed between the fields and expensive houses. Crossing the Mugua river, we joined a cycleway which we followed as we traversed a steep hill and cruised through scenic villages.

We stopped by at a police station to ask for directions to the area we could swim in the river. The police officer’s face was that of disbelief. He strongly reiterated that a typhoon was on its way today and was baffled as to why we were out cycling, never mind wanting a swim. Telling us that no matter how willing we were risk life and limb, we couldn’t swim because of rock instability in the valley, we were sent on our way.

Untouched by the refreshing waters, we eventually rolled into the lakeside town as the wind picked up. Having a little peek at the lake we decided to quench our thirst before cycling all the way home. We settled on the only café that was open and walked into a dark, strangely empty Swiss cabin. It does sound like the beginning of a horror story but in fact we survived, I enjoyed some ice cream and we saddled up again. The way back was mercifully downhill but it wasn’t a leisurely cycle home. Turns out that typhoons get a little windy and so sand from the river valley was being whipped up into my eyes. My eyes attract any and all airborne objects, the more uncomfortable to have under my eyelid the better. Luckily, we didn’t experience a heaven-borne deluge, only a smattering of rain and Brendan improved tenfold on his back of hand tan from Kyrgyzstan. To celebrate our survival of the blustery cycle ride, we went to a bar to listen to live music, where the singer performed a song in English for the first time, just because of our illustrious presence. 

Emerald Valley

Having forgotten the high winds and rain of our frantic pedal home and fully embracing a Michael Fish approach to the incoming typhoon weather warning, we planned a wholesome day out. So, with hesitant directions from our hostel owner (who expected us to be out for an hour or two) we caught the bus to the Emerald Valley. 

We made our way to the start of the trail and followed the riff raff, worried that they were going to the part of the river we had been told about. Fortunately, they all turned off to visit a man-made river pool and waterfall area, while we continued through the forest. After hiking for another 10 minutes or so, we arrived at a turquoise pool. We dumped our stuff by the side of the river and swam across the pool, as it was the only way to see further up the valley. 

We spent hours hopping between rounded boulders and swimming in deep, narrow gullies of glassy water. Completely alone to climb what we wanted, swim where we pleased and sit peacefully taking in the buzz of the surrounding rainforest; we were happy. A few hours into our stay at this watery home for my soul, some guys from Hong Kong arrived. They had turned up in our domain kitted up in some water sports gear. It turned out they were going river tracing in the valley and were taking it very seriously. River tracing, if you didn’t know, is tracing the course of a river by walking, climbing and swimming (exactly what we had been doing barefoot and in swimming shorts). After a chat, they left us behind and powered off. The river had probably never borne witness to such a river tracing dichotomy, after seeing the casual/unprepared mooching around of these two Salisbury lads, the valley watched on in uncertain terror at the pounding of wetsuit boots and the whoops of neoprene-clad excitement. 

We spent a little more time in the water and then spotting the incoming dark clouds, we swam back across the pool to grab our stuff as it began to rain. We tore back through the forest to the bus stop, waiting for an hour or so while the big man in the sky turned on the hose. We made it back to the hostel and were greeted by the owner whose face indicated that she had thought we had died. 

Final thoughts

Hualien was a city that offered nothing in the way of sights or particularly memorable restaurants (braised pork rice was had on many occasions in lieu of proper meals), but it did have activities to keep us entertained. The gorge was magnificent if a little too developed, the Emerald Valley was an unexpected highlight of the trip and cycling 44km was fun mixed with mild leg discomfort.

Sorry, I really should explain Taiwan’s obsession with delicious mind-bending braised pork. Taiwanese people eat all the way through the day, often just having little dishes and this one is the classic. It’s like a rich pork based chilli con carne but lacking in 90% of the ingredients, swapping them out for more meat. Genius. Furthermore, the meat has been cooked in rich aromatic deliciousness, presumably for days. It’s 10x cheaper than chips, get three bowls of that melt in your mouth goodness and you’ll be happy as Larry.  Ha, you thought I had written another post without mentioning food. Come on, two in a row? Absolutely not.