A few hours ago I was sitting in the front row of a movie theater in Framingham, watching Daniel Day Lewis' face encompass my entire neck-craning field of vision in "There Will Be Blood." The music in the film was incredible, with eerie string quartet glissandos and gradually coalescing drum cacophonies underscoring a generally unsettling feel to the whole movie. During one scene, I thought to myself, "This sounds just like a Jonny Greenwood piece from Bodysong."
A story:
At first light, the two of us drive from Puli City to He Huan Mountain, chatting in the car about Taiwanese culture and what my mom was like as a little girl. We also play a rousing game of “Do they have ____ in America?” (always a favorite). The view of misty mountaintops as we ascend is very pretty, though I doze off just as it’s getting good. I wake up to my ears popping as we continue to wind our way up a sometimes one-lane road cut out of the side a foggy mountain.
We arrive at base camp at about 11:00, check into the youth hostel, and Zhang Ayi takes off, advising me to find a group of young crazies like me to hike with, and warns me not to go out after dark. I basically have it in my head at this point to disobey both mandates. As soon as she’s gone I head out on a trail I believe will be a nice 3 hour there-and-back hike. I figure I can get to the top, chill out and read my book, then come back down in time for supper.
I hike quickly through bamboo thickets and muddy trail to the top of a windy grassy mountain peak, where the foggy ranges in the distance look amazing.
I made it there at a reasonable clip, and I feel good and strong as the trail then begins a steep descent down the other side of the mountain. I’m not positive where the real peak is, so I just keep trucking along. I pass a few hikers coming in the opposite direction, and they all seem impressed that I’m going it alone with just a jean jacket and a backpack. In contrast, they all have neato walking sticks, winter gear, and are lugging camping frame packs. When I reach the bottom of this trail, I encounter a family of three completely decked out in gortex, looking fully prepared for an arctic expedition.
I snicker internally at their over-preparedness and puff my chest in recognition of my American ruggedness. They tell me that the trail ahead they wanted to hike is blocked by ice, so they’re turning back. Although my Chinese is pretty good, I honestly get a little confused when people start using place names I’ve never heard, so I’m not positive where they’re referring to in respect to my vague Chinese map. To mark the trail I think I’m on, the map stuffed in my jeans shows a dotted line jumping off the side of the page into oblivion.
Turn around or keep going?
...not like I can read the signs anyway. One arrow probably reads, "Hot Liquid Death"
As I plow ahead, the father calls out to me from behind, asking if I intend on going all the way to the top. I tell him I’m not sure, but I just came back from Alaska so this is no sweat. Besides, I’ll probably turn around after I hit the first of the icy trails. He says ok, and mentions that they were worried I wouldn’t have enough supplies and food if I were to go on. I shrug him off with a smile and a wave, and keep moving. The trail at this point has become extremely steep, and it takes a lot of exertion to take each big step, forcing me to grip exposed roots and branches to help pull myself up.
More hikers going in the opposite direction, more warnings of impending doom. A pair of thirty-something guys tell me I should probably start thinking about timing my return trip, not to go out too far if I’m going to make it back today, and to remember to wear a hat when I get up there. Maybe it’s that they’re speaking in Chinese, maybe it’s the general attitude everyone has towards each other in Taiwan, but they sound just like my mom. In fact, everyone here sounds just like my mom. The population of Taiwan is a giant collective My Mom, telling me I should wear a hat, worrying about my catching the right train, and making sure that I’ve eaten enough to explode three times a day. All of this is with this certain Chinese caring manner, where you can make little pathetic attempts to refuse their help, but ultimately wilt under persistent, unmitigated nurturing.
I put on my hat and give these guys a thumbs up as I sweat past them. Why am I so intent on ignoring all the signs that I’m about to get fucked? I’m not sure, self, but it’s probably something to do with the fact that most of these Taiwanese fools have never seen snow before, and they’re talking just like the woman you love to rebuke, and you’re a paradigm of reverse psychology? With each passing hiker’s comment about how I’m a little too li hai (ambitious/brave/proud/stupid) for going up by myself, the more I’m convinced that I have to conquer this peak or I risk eating all my self-aggrandizing words about being an American who’s used to some real winters and some real mountains.
I end up climbing another 2 hours through incredibly steep rocky “trail” (more like slanted rock face with accompanying rope) before I reach the secondary peak of the mountain. At this point, my quads are aching, reaching that trembly tipping point right before they spaz out and reduce these old legs to useless quivering cramps. The view is pretty majestic, though, and I stretch out on a rock overlooking blue peaks and valleys and snaking fog. The late afternoon sun is out, and I hang out with the frosted trees for about an hour, reading my book and feeling quite fine. The howling wind causes ice shards to rain down from the branches overhead. I brush them off my page and smile at how far away I am from anyone.
No need to try for the actual peak, I decide. My legs probably can’t take it, and the view from here is pretty spectacular as it is. The mountains aren’t like any I’ve ever seen. The peaks receding in the distance grow faint, as if straight from a Chinese watercolor painting. Gnarly pine trees jut out from rocky faces and the afternoon mist settles quietly in the valley below.
I start back on the trail only to realize that the motions involved with stepping down repeatedly are making my quads angry. They seize. Oooouuuwwwwch.
I look out across the valley and now it registers that I have to climb all the way back down to where I met the concerned gortex family, then back up another trek to the top of windswept yellow mountain, and only then would I be able to descend on youth hostel promised land.
3 hours later, I’ve managed to make my way down unnamed icy mountain, and up again to reach the top of unnamed grassy mountain. My legs are threatening to mutiny and cease working altogether. The evening has swept away all warmth in the mountains, and my nose is cold even though I’m sweating from the exertion of the climb.
I decide to lie down in the field of straw-like grass and let my legs recover. It’s freezing, and with all my clothing on and zipped, buttoned, and bundled, I’m fairly protected from the wind, except for my face. Ok, bookbag on the face. Problem solved. Mmm, this is actually kinda cozy. Maybe I’ll wait for the stars to come out.
Nap time…
I wake up to the icy Taiwanese wind threatening to take my skin off. My legs are frozen stiff and are periodically having fun little spasms. And I am so, so, so cold. “These Taiwanese fools who have never seen snow” Oh Bryan, you poor American idiot. I get up in the most awkward and painful manner possible, and take one step at a time into the darkness (thank the fucking lord I brought a headlamp).
One thought repeats as a step-by-step mantra:
Must… get… back… before… I… miss… free… dinner…
Despite the cold, despite the pain, despite the distance, I am so happy at this point. There is just enough moonlight to see the silhouettes of the trees against a star-filled sky. And I’m surrounded by mountains, glorious mountains. I am a million miles from home, a million miles from smog, and with each step on this ledge wedged between rocks and vastness, I feel like my little human body might vault into the stratosphere.
An hour and a half of agony/ecstasy later, I finally reach the hostel.
The lady sweeping the lobby area looks up and asks me if I just got back. Yes. Did I go up there by myself? Yes. She thinks there are people looking for me, and I should go talk to that guy over there. That guy over there at the desk tells me that Zhang Ayi has been calling every 20 minutes for the past 3 hours, and that the police are looking for me.
Haha they are?
It’s no laughing matter, kid.
Oh. Right.
Where the hell have you been?
I think over here somewhere… (I point at the dotted line to nowhere on my mangled map)
You need a permit to climb that mountain with a certified guide.
Oh. Right.
The police want to talk to you (Hands me the phone)
The police chide me about going up the mountain by myself, after dark, where I needed a permit, and what’s this they hear about me not wearing a hat? (I’d taken it off before coming inside, and the damned guy at the desk sold me to the pigs!) And now I’m getting lectured in Chinese by My Mom again. Next up on the phone is Zhang Ayi, who is just glad to hear I’m alive so she doesn’t have to face my actual mom about sending me to my death on my birthday. She was the one that called the cops, and has been yelling at them that they need to do more than park by the road and ask passers-by if they’ve seen me.
Ok, so maybe my imagining teams of mountain cops and their dogs combing the mountainside was a bit overblown, but the cops were AFTER me man! And then they lectured me on the phone! The PHONE!
The kitchen fixes me a giant bowl of steamed rice, hot daikon soup, and tofu stirfry, which I gobble down like a cold and hungry guy who just hung out with an ice mountain for 9 hours. Kitchen lady asks me if I’ve had enough to eat. Oh yes, it was delicious but I’m quite full, couldn’t eat another bite! (standard response to avoid being crammed full of so many Taiwanese delights that one’s experience quickly becomes less than delightful)
Near collapse, I limp into my little closet room. My quads beg for mercy. Soon, guys, soon. There’s a plain straw mat on the ground, and a stack of soft things that are either thin floppy mattresses or thick stiff comforters. No matter – I strip naked from my damp clothes, put half the stack under me, half the stack on top of me, and close my eyes.
Best birthday ever.
