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| (Hualien Harbor. Photo Credit: K.H.) |
Even through my medical mask, I can smell the salt in the
air. We begin to walk with umbrellas up to protect against the heat, but the
swift winds force us to bring them down and endure. After a few hundred meters
through a relatively empty parking lot, we find shade under a large tent. We
look around, and see mostly young married couples holding their children in
their arms, as well as some grandpas and grandmas, too. Some children run around
us, get too close to the water, and then get reeled in like a fish by their
parents’ hollering.
A few minutes later, our guide approaches us. She is a young
Taiwanese woman, probably a recent college graduate, and she speaks so softly
that, even with a microphone, she sounds like see is whispering in everyone’s
ears. She stalls for time while the crew gets ready, first by showing us how to
properly put on our safety vests, and then by asking us questions, like “Has
anyone been whale watching before?” or “What are you most excited to see?”
Eventually she gets a cue from a crew member, and she announces that it is time
to go. We line up for temperature checks, then make our way to the small ship.
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| (Time to go! Photo Credit: K.H.) |
We all file in line on the dock, and as we step on board, one
of the crew members is there to help us get on safely. As I step onto the boat,
he holds my hand for a moment. It is just for a second, but it feels very
powerful. Maybe it’s because of covid, or maybe it’s because this is almost
certainly the only moment in our two lives that will ever intersect. Whatever
the reason, holding this stranger’s hand feels…human.
Shortly after, I use some hand sanitizer.
My girlfriend and I take our seats at the back of the boat on
the second floor, which smells of exhaust at first but is fine once the boat
begins to move. The water in the harbor is smooth as an ice rink after a Zamboni
drives over it, and I’m sure everybody is thinking “This isn’t as bad as I
thought it would be!” But once we reach the open Pacific, we are immediately
rocked back and forth violently, so much so that I wonder if we are going to
capsize.
We sail straight out into the Pacific for a long while, and
we all look straight ahead, as though we are all playing co-captain. But
finally, I decide to look backward, back at Taiwan. This is what I see:
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| (Hualien as seen from the Pacific. Photo Credit: K.H.) |
From our vantage point in the middle of the Pacific, all of Hualien City appears miniature, each building a mere speck, dwarfed hundreds of times over by the mighty mountains behind them. The mountains are a faded green, and playful clouds dance all over them. The trail that the clouds leave behind look like something that a child would make if given a can of whipped cream and no parental supervision.
Everyone is still looking out into the open Pacific, and I seem to be the only one to notice the value of looking back.
* * *
When I wrote about Shi Ti Ping last year, the small village
in Hualien’s countryside, I wrote that the people lived in “the small space
between gods” – where the mountain god meets the ocean god, with a tiny dot of
land between them leftover for human life. But looking at Taiwan from the Pacific,
I realize that everywhere in Taiwan, from the remotest village to the Taipei
metropolis – it is all the small space between gods.
Part of the Taiwanese story is the continuing fight to
survive despite all of the ways that both nature and humans try to thwart them. Everything
from typhoons and earthquakes to authoritarianism and the One China Policy
threaten. But the Taiwanese are the people who took a chance on a perilous boat
ride across the Taiwan Strait to get here. Then, when they arrived and saw the
menacing mountains and lack of fertile land, they thought, “We’re not turning
back. We’ll make it work.”
But the view is not just menacing. It is stunningly
beautiful. Enough so to have made many over the centuries decide to dock their
boats here and attempt to carve out a life. Thinking of all this, I feel a bit like I am a part of that story too, as I also took a chance to come here and try to
make a good life. And Taiwan has proven to be worth the risk.
* * *
My thoughts are interrupted by our guide, whispering into the
microphone again. “Everyone, if you look from ten o’clock to two o’clock, you
can see some dolphins have come to catch a ride on the waves that our boat is
making.”
At first we see just one, then two, then four. Soon, there
are dozens surfing on our waves, not for any real purpose other than for joy’s
sake. They cut in front of each other, jump over our waves, then quickly race
around to get back in line. They remind me of children at the fair with a lot
of tickets to redeem on the rides. I smile widely, enjoying the fun vicariously.
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| (One of the dolphins near our boat. Photo Credit: K.H.) |
Our guide whispers, “I don’t know what you feel, but when I
see dolphins I always think about how much fun they seem to be having. In that
moment, I wish that I could be a dolphin and swim with them. I also always feel
surprised at how close they are to Taiwan. We often think of them as living
very far away from us, but really, they are our neighbors.”
I agree with her, and I also find it so admirable that they speed up when the
boat does, trying to rise to the challenge the captain is presenting them. They
must be having even more fun as the game increases in difficulty,
like a video game moving from level one to level two. But eventually, we are
too fast even for the most determined dolphins, and they swim away to continue their
fun somewhere else.
* * *
We never did see any whales on our whale watching trip, but
that’s okay, because the dolphins and the views of Taiwan are already well
worth the price. As we sail back to Hualien City, the Sun begins to set into
the mountains, and half of a rainbow appears over the Pacific. Our guide,
always the sentimentalist, whispers, “if you look to nine o’clock, you can see
a rainbow. It seems to be blessing us at the end of a wonderful and safe
voyage.”
I know that sounds really cheesy, but she is not wrong.
Seeing the rainbow does make me feel that way too, and makes me feel like the
gods sent it as one last miracle on top of the beauty of the mountains, clouds,
sunset, and the sparkling Pacific, as if to say, “is this enough for you yet?”
It all reminds me of a quote by Toni Morrison, that goes:
At some
point in life the world’s beauty becomes enough. You don’t need to photograph,
paint, or even remember it. It is enough.
I want to say, “Yes, it is enough,” and yet, here are my
pictures for you to see, and my story which is written just as much to remember
as it is to share.
As our boat glides into Hualien Harbor, I think of all the
boats throughout history that have come here, and of all of the people who have
seen the views that I have seen today. From the first indigenous people to have
rowed canoes here up from southeast Asia thousands of years ago, to the
Portuguese sailors who allegedly passed by and shouted “Ilha Formosa!” meaning
“beautiful island,” which today is a common nickname for Taiwan.
Of course when they saw this island they had to say “Formosa.”
What else could they say?
* * *
As we walk off the boat, we take one last look at the darkening
ocean before getting into our car. Driving back to our hotel, the mountains and
the ocean slowly disappear along with the Sun. Nothing seems to exist
except for us and the short stretch of illuminated road ahead of us. But I know
that it is all still there, and that it deserves to be called “Formosa.”
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| (The Sun beginning to set into the mountains. Photo Credit: K.H.) |
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