i arrive back in taipei on sunday evening, and after a light meal of steamed buns and sweet potato greens (my stomach needing a little rest after a week full of culinary adventures) i hit the hay.
monday morning i was up and out of the apartment early--ready to begin my weeklong exploration of taipei's outer edges. i borrowed doug's scooter to ride down to the subway station, instead of taking the bus, and enjoyed the thrilling and breezy ride amongst the chaos that is taipei traffic. i have to report that his scooter goes much faster than the little one i used to drive back in the states.
i began the day hiking up zhishan, or zhi mountain, which lies within the northeastern edge of the city. climbing up the stairs right off the sidewalk--honking cars, speeding scooters, restaurants and apartment buildings just behind me--i was soon in an oasis of trees, the roar of the city below seeming very far away. the top of the mountain offered incredible views, with taipei stretched out as far as the eye could see. i continued to hike around the top for another hour or so, discovering a number of little shrines just off the path, small engraved stone tablets set upright in the earth, nestled in the vines and flowers. happening upon a small plaza also near the top, i watched silently as a crew of very elderly gentlemen and ladies went through their daily exercises and stretches. a few sat quietly, meditating.
intending to head back down the mountain, i started to walk down the path on the side opposite the staircase i had taken up, and soon the path opened up onto another larger plaza, and turning the corner around a stand of trees, a large temple stood before me. after marvelling that such a structure could be hidden on this mountain--which, with all due respect, is really more of a hill--i consulted my lonely planet guide and found that the temple was built to honor Chen Yuan Kwang, a "revered sage and general" who lived 1500 years ago. the first hall of the temple contained what i guessed to be General Chen's likeness, and for a temple tucked away from the urban environment below, there was a lot of bustle surrounding him: a few men were meditating silently beneath Chen's statue, families were arranging sacrificial foods just inside the entrance, and the office nearby was emitting all the sounds of a typical workplace (typing, phone ringing, the shuffle of papers).
the room behind the main hall was actually an open-air courtyard, which is one of my favorite features seen in the many temples visited so far. the inside rooms of temples are usually very dark, except for the lighting on the statues, so there is always something magnificent about walking into the next room and being blinded by the daylight; when your eyes finally adjust, you are greeted with ornate sculptures, flowing water (usually), and all the intensely bright colors used to decorate the temple architecture. it all seems to sparkle in the light.
just past the courtyard was another shrine, this one filled with absolutely the most beautiful buddha statue i have seen in my travels. perhaps it was my eyes, still adjusting to being back in the darkness of the temple, but the sitting buddha seemed almost alive, the gold of the statue seeming closer to skin, the eyes seeming to take notice of me as i stood there, transfixed. stopped in my tourist tracks, i suddenly noticed two things that had somehow escaped me before: the whole room smelled like jasmine flowers, and somewhere nearby, there was a monk chanting the sutra. how had i not noticed the ringing of the bells or the monk's voice? or the sweet scent in the air? and further, where did this magical temple come from? where was i?
back outside, i took a seat under a big shady tree, still stunned. eventually, i wandered back down the mountain, encountering along the way another beautiful statue, this one of guanyin, the goddess of compassion. she is always pictured with a water vessel in hand, tilted downwards, the contents presumably pouring out--which i have imagined to represent her endless ability to give, to nurture.
i walked along the shuangxi river--the banks and wetlands set aside as a riverside park--and then took the MRT to the grand hotel, one of the most visible landmarks in the city. it is a massive, chinese-style high rise, complete with red pillars, swallowtail roof, and ornate detailing. i made sure to peek into the lobby, which is as luxurious as the exterior would make you expect: huge pillars, red velvet everywhere, and one of those wide staircases that is meant for grand entrances.
my intended destination was the martyr's shrine, a 10-minute walk away from the hotel. at this plaza and sanctuary, the taiwanese government honors those who have died in past wars, and the front gate and inner hall are guarded by silent, unmoving guards. every hour, these young men change positions, twirling their bayonets and moving deliberately through an elaborate series of steps and exchanges. unlike in the states, where we would watch something like this from behind a railing, we were allowed to march along with the soldiers as they went through their routine, only having to move slightly away from them during the segments where their bayonets went flying. participating along with them made it feel much more like i, too, was honoring those who died instead of just witnessing their ritual, my steps expressing solidarity with the respectful precision offered by the guards. i wondered what this meant for taiwanese that visited the site--are they ultimately more aware of the toll of war? what would happen, for instance, if americans visiting d.c. participated alongside soldiers as they changed guards at the tomb of the unknown, for example, or other markers of american sacrifice and loss? i was reminded of a documentary i saw on the artist maya lin, who designed the vietnam veterans memorial. she intended for the memorial, which grows larger as you descend into it, to invoke a similar feeling of participation and solidarity, so that it would not be a monument glorifying battle, but one that grieves its toll. i felt something similar yesterday.
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