Shi Ti Ping: The Small Space Between Gods - 石梯坪

by Charles DeBenedetto

 

(A view of the mountains and ocean from Shi Ti Ping. Photo Credit: K.H.)

Taiwan is an island. That sounds obvious, but it is also very easy to forget. The island is large enough that the average Taiwanese person probably does not often see the ocean, and yet the ocean plays a large role in the Taiwanese story. The first people to come to Taiwan arrived here about 5,000 years ago, somehow traversing the rough waters of the Taiwan Strait on what must have been extremely fragile boats. Then, roughly 400 years ago, Han Chinese peoples started to cross over from Fujian and Guangdong provinces. The most important goddess in Taiwan, Mazu, is the goddess of the sea and fishermen, and the ocean still is the provider of life for many people here. 

But in the picture above, it is clear that Taiwan is not your average tropical island, with flat sandy beaches stretching out into the distance. Instead, looming green mountains sit right on the water’s edge, a physical reminder of the island’s origin story of the collisions of numerous tectonic plates. Looking at this view, I see that the Taiwanese people carved their lives out of the extremely small space between gods. The mountain god takes the entire central spine of the island, the ocean god surrounds it, and then there is the tiny patch of flatland leftover. That is where Taiwanese society happened.

(The Pacific Ocean from Shi Ti Ping. Photo Credit: K.H.)

These pictures are from Shi Ti Ping, a scenic spot on the coastline of Hualian County, in eastern Taiwan. The road to get here is treacherous, and new. While indigenous peoples have been here a long time, only recently have roads been built here. First, the Japanese developed railroads through the mountains, and later Han Chinese blasted tunnels to make roads. The drive here is on a sliver of road that looks over a precipice, with waves crashing below. Road signs alert you to the danger of falling rocks, and tunnels that last for over ten kilometers give you a clue as to the enormity of the mountain you are driving through. The lush flora on the mountains looks like it belongs in a Jurassic Park movie, and I feel a calming feeling at the thought that much of this landscape still has been untouched by humans.

At Shi Ti Ping, there is nothing to do really, and that is why I like it so much. There is nothing to do but think. So I look at the waves crashing, and I think, “No wonder the Greek and Roman gods of the ocean were angry, muscular men with weapons in their hands.” I think, “No wonder Mazu, who is said to be a very graceful and beautiful woman, is who the Taiwanese pray for to calm the seas and protect fishermen.” I look at coconut trees growing next to rice paddies, and admire the ability of rice to adapt to so many different environments, growing both in tropical Taiwan and in temperate Japan. And I look out at the Pacific, which takes up a full quarter of our Earth, and I think about how on the other side of it, from Canada to California, all the way to South America, society is shut down and panic is widespread, while here, life is normal, and the Pacific lives up to its name of being able to pacify.

(A view from Shi Ti Ping. Photo Credit: K.H.)

Despite the lack of people, there is still a cacophony of noise. The ocean waves are incessant, the wind passes by, and the birds never end their songs. It feels as though people here have been able to live more in harmony with nature than those of us on the west coast have. I understand why people here are hesitant to allow the government to build a highway down the east coast, because, even though it would surely result in economic gains, the inevitable surge in tourists would hurt the ecology here.

My home in America is rural, with mountains, rivers, forests, ocean, and clean air every day. Having come from such a background, it is difficult for me to adapt to polluted air and city life, despite how long I have been here. In a search for clean air, there are very few travel destinations left for me, except for high mountains and the east coast. And so, going to Shi Ti Ping felt like a homecoming for me, and, although the economic opportunities for foreigners on the east coast are few, I will do my best to eventually relocate there if possible.