Credit: 위로가 될게 (Instrumental) by 일레인 (Elaine)

The morning after visiting Shifen Waterfall and setting off lanterns in Pingxi, my sister and I awoke to the thumping of our own excited hearts. Our adrenaline jerked us from our slumber like ringing alarm clocks. The rain outside swished on the pavement beneath our feet. It was cold, but slurping down a bowl of beef noodles from a nearby shop for breakfast warmed our bodies. With satisfied stomachs, we hopped onto a random departing tour bus and eagerly anticipated for whatever adventure we were headed towards. It had only been seconds before we entered the bus did we learn that we were headed towards Jinguashi, a town by the northeast coast of Taiwan known for its rich history and copper mines.

The bus steadily climbed a steep and winding incline for an hour. Staring wide-eyed at the misty landscape through the windows, my sister and I found ourselves curving through hilly mountains that overlooked coastal views. Colourful houses in different shapes and sizes dotted the slopes of green and the fog which blanketed the mountains defined their multiple layers. It was a sight to see.

When the bus finally reached its destination, my sister and I jumped off in excitement and stared at the view. Having only been to the urban areas of Taiwan before, this rural area displayed a different kind of mesmerizing beauty. We quickly realized our unfortunate luck, however. The Gold Museum required an entrance fee, so we only circled the outer gates. A recent typhoon had also severely impacted the town and the Yin and Yang Sea, so we were warned of the potential danger hiking down there would be. Thoughts of whether to continue our sightseeing in Jinguashi were quickly interrupted by a middle-aged woman who claimed to be a local. After overhearing our conversation marked with disappointment, the woman offered to be our guide that day. The chances of this stranger deceiving us seemed to be low, so my sister and I decided to follow her along the meandering roads towards a lesser known location which she was already enthusiastically chattering about.

The hike up was anything but boring. The three of us shared about our families, personal histories, and beliefs. We dared each other to walk through a dark mine, hooted with laughter into the wilderness, and peered over the bends every once in a while to almost scare ourselves with how high up we were. With very few tourists around, our voices were the sole sounds that accompanied us on our hike. Just as we reached the summit, the drizzling fell heavier and slid from the tips of our umbrellas to seep the corners of our clothing. My sister was carrying her flip-flops and walking barefoot by this time. Droplets of water flew in the air as she skipped along. Once gathered in large puddles, they were now scattered like disturbed cranes diverging from their straight path. The rainy atmosphere had never looked more magical. My sister and I sang songs while we ascended the stairs to the mountaintop and captured the blueish-gray Yin and Yang Sea with our devices. Even from the highest point, the sea looked like it would never end. While we sauntered, the woman took pride in explaining how the sea would glisten silver during warmer days and told us stories about Jinguashi. Life suddenly felt so simple and unfettered.

The sky had darkened almost completely by the time we reached the bottom of the mountain. It was only early evening, but the few dim streetlights made it feel like night had fallen. We were all wet, hungry, and tired, so our guide led us to a small restaurant for dinner. The restaurant was quite hidden that it almost seemed as if by coincidence that it would be waiting for travelers at the end of their journeys. After steaming bowls of rice and veggies, my sister and I thanked the woman for her incredible kindness throughout and we said our goodbyes.

At the time of, my sister and I did not think much about our encounter with the woman; however, when we retold the story to our parents, they called her an angel sent by God. In retrospect, the poor weather conditions combined with our naïve approach to adventuring Jinguashi were bound to result in unfortunate consequences. Without the woman’s guidance and such few tourists that day, we probably would have gotten lost, but God had protected and provided for us yet again. Even if the woman had not repeatedly asked my sister and I to not forget her during our hike, it is without a doubt that we wouldn’t, for we still remember her to this day. Like an angel, she appeared before us, and as mysterious as our meeting had occurred, so was the moment when we separated ways. The way in which our paths crossed is an event that I am forever grateful for.

The last few hours of me and my sister’s trip were spent on traveling to Jiufen, a mountain town locally known for its history and internationally known as a location carrying the ambience of Spirited Away. We were greeted by soft sunrays shining on the edges of umbrella tops that sheltered food stands by the time we arrived there. As my sister and I grabbed a quick bite for dinner, the hanging lit lanterns along and above narrow alleyways gradually replaced the sunlight. The atmosphere suddenly transformed; the day’s end was unraveling to display the enchantment of the evening. A blend of orange and yellow light flooded the twisting, stone staircase as my sister and I darted down them in squeals of delight. The usual crowd in the town was reduced, which made weaving through the little shops more convenient to do. Our legs carried us around corners that led us to a graffiti cave, a view of the A-Mei Teahouse, street food stalls, and shops that sold trinkets and souvenirs. The night view glistened while we stood on the mountaintop in the cold air. Needless to say, my sister and I were captivated by Jiufen’s beauty. Although we did not get to experience the town in its bustling state, we embraced its solitude and felt free to roam, leap, and yell in an unrestrained manner.

After a few hours of exploration, my sister and I took the long bus ride back home to Hsinchu. It was midnight when we arrived. We treated ourselves to our favourite rice hamburger from Mo’s to celebrate our first ever mini backpacking trip together before we slipped back into my aunt’s house, into reality, and then into dreams of nostalgia and of adventures to come.

This two-day trip showed me how much I have yet to explore and learn about the motherland. Whenever I recall fond memories of traveling, visiting family, and building relationships with the people I met there during this summer, I feel attachment and pride for the country which I was born in. Canada is home, but Taiwan will always feel like another home to me.