The road to Hengchun

Leaving Lamey Island

The night of July 12th I searched Airbnb for suitable digs on the mainland. I found an inexpensive place in the extreme southeast corner of Taiwan, the city of Hengchun, and put down funds to secure a two-night stay.  I had twelve days left before my plane was scheduled to depart Taipei, ample time for me to explore the east coast of the nation. The east side of Taiwan is sparsely populated, at least compared to the westward. I wasn’t especially psyched to undertake a bunch of nature walks, but if that was what was left to see here then I was resolved to make the slow trek northward. I wanted to be in the capital city by the 20th to provide me with a few days to buy gifts. 

I returned my ebike on the morning of the 13th and walked the short distance to the ferry terminal. The return boat ride to the mainland was uneventful. I did dread the next step, a 15 minute walk in the stifling heat of the late morning which would get me to a bus stop that Google told me would begin my journey to Hengchun. 

I followed Google maps to the bus stop. The next bus was not due for another 40 minutes so I huddled beneath the only shade tree on the street.

{One of the most remarkable features of Taiwan is the lack of shade. Tree-lined streets simply do not exist here.}

 While I waited for the bus (no place to sit; I almost literally hugged the only tree on the street because it provided a tiny cone of refuge from the sun.} I struck up a stilted conversation with a teenager who was waiting for the same bus. 

In a land where shade is hard to find,
the geniuses of Taiwan do this to trees! 

It was nearly midday when the bus came. The blissful air conditioning resuscitated me. I peered out the bus window looking for any sign of the train station that was my next Google-directed destination. I tracked our progress on my phone, but that didn’t prevent me from missing my stop. The bus driver seemed miffed when I screamed for him to stop. The result was that I had to walk back a few blocks in the now-overwhelming heat. But I found the train station and bought a ticket for my next leg. 

Google directed me to ride the train for about 20 minutes. At that point I was to disembark near a highway that would provide the last leg of my journey/ordeal. The railroad and the highway paralleled the south coast of the nation. The rail car was empty except for me. Most importantly it was air conditioned. 

It was here that my trip went off the rails figuratively and literally. 

I was the only person to leave the train at my stop. What’s more there were no living, breathing people at the station. A sign near the doorway gave directions on how to scan your ticket before boarding the train.  The small building that seemed to serve as a depot was a rundown wreck of a structure. The only furniture in the place was a metal desk against one wall that, I’m sure, hadn’t been used by anyone for years. A cardboard box in the opposite corner contained some trash — plastic bottles, chip packages. I sat on the desk and tried to gather my wits. The heat pressed in through the two doorways. I drank the last of a bottle of water that I’d purchased at the ferry terminal. I stared at my phone seeking to understand the Google directions to my bus. Due to my terrible sense of direction I wasted ten or fifteen minutes wandering around the neighborhood of the ‘depot’ looking for my bus stop. My heavy backpack dug into my shoulders. 

Finally I deduced my next leg, a five minute walk to a nearby roadway. A dusty dirt pathway led me to a highway. Off to my left I espied a standard bus stop with a glass canopy. One lone traveler, a bespeckled guy of about 30 years old, stood holding a guitar case as he waited for his bus. My heart leaped. Here was a potential co-traveler I could talk to, and he could reassure me that I was in the right place. Hengchun here I come!

Except……..he was on the westbound side of the highway; I was headed east. The backpack gained five pounds of disappointment. The heat taunted me. For the first time I focused on the highway: four lanes, separated by a two-foot high barrier. Traffic whizzed by me at a frightening speed. There were no scooters here (the first place in Taiwan where they were absent). The pace of traffic, at least 50 mph, was too swift for scooters. I gazed east and west but saw no traffic lights or stop signs.  I saw cars, buses, trucks, motorcycles, all rushing at breakneck speed on this coastal turnpike. 

Google insisted I go to a bus stop on the other side of the road. And, to my great surprise, I noticed a painted crosswalk a few yards ahead of me. There was nothing to do but get myself to the other side. I steeled myself for the dash. It was a bit like trying to run across a California freeway, but, thankfully, the traffic was just light enough to provide me with space to make the peregrination. The worst part was that I wasn’t sure there was a bus stop on the south side of the road. I lugged my thousand pound backpack westward along the thin shoulder. Vehicles zoomed by. I felt the draft of trucks and buses. Just ahead of me was an dilapidated building that clearly had once been some sort of business. It was boarded up, but there was a bit of an overhang that gave me a tiny bit of shade. I put down my backpack and searched for somewhere to sit. I found an old milk crate near the road and dragged that into the shelter of the erstwhile enterprise. As I looked westward towards the oncoming traffic I spotted a tilting, rusted old sign partially hidden in some shrubs, with the number 88 on it. I was in the right place. Google had directed me to board the 88 bus. 

I pulled out my phone and reconnected with my Google maps directions. It said that my bus was due in about 30 minutes. To get myself ready I started looking for other buses headed this way. After about ten minutes I saw one. It raced toward me at freeway speed. My eyes tried valiantly to pick up the bus number — or any useful information — from the front of the careening coach. But the sun’s glare defeated my efforts. As best I could divine the colored letters scrolling across the top of the bus were alternately Mandarin and English. I had, at best, three seconds or so to read whatever it said, but the sun was too bright. There was no way I could identify my bus if it came. 

I began to think like a bus driver. Why would the operator stop for me? The dirt driveway of the extinct business was only about 20 yards long and four yards deep. Trying to stop a bus from 50 mph to zero mph would take race car driver skill. And what was the likelihood that the driver would expect to see someone where I stood? It was obvious that this bus stop was only theoretically a stop. For Google this was enough. But in the real world I couldn’t see how or why a bus would pull over here. I had real doubts that the driver would even see me with his vision focused on navigating this high speed thoroughfare. 

And the heat. I was out of water. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Waves of heat wrapped around me. My mouth became so dry I didn’t think I could speak. I began to surmise what the symptoms of heat stroke were. I wanted to sit on my milk crate to husband my energy, but I feared this would make me truly invisible to the bus driver. Out of desperation I flagged down a bus. I knew it was the wrong one, but maybe he would take me to a better waiting spot. 

The driver pushed open his door and stared at me. I tried, through my arid mouth, to explain my predicament. He didn’t understand most of what I said, but finally blurted out that the 88 bus would be coming, he couldn’t take me. I sat back down on my crate. 

If Google was right my bus was due in less than five minutes. I put on my backpack and stood up to increase my chances of rescue. But I had no faith that I could spot the right bus, flag it down, and get out of this oven. 

And then a car stopped. A woman rolled down her passenger window and said something to me. I assumed she was a taxi driver seeking a fare. I rubbed my fingers together indicating I wanted to know how much she would charge. Hengchun, I knew, was more than an hour away by bus so any cab fare would be hefty. I didn’t have enough cash for such an expedition.

“I don’t want any money,” she said. “You have been waiting here for a long time. I can take you somewhere. “ Should I trust her? My mind did some fast calculating. {How did she know I had been waiting a long time?} I glanced quickly up the highway. My bus was due any minute. If the operator saw me talking to this woman they would never stop. But the bus, I knew, was a crap shoot at best. Even if this woman was trustworthy I wasn’t sure where she could take me that was better than my present spot. Both options had difficulties — which to take? I told her I was headed for Hengchun, which she, thankfully, comprehended. 

I opened the back door of the car and thrust my backpack inside. I sat down as fast as I could (she might drive away with my belongings!) and breathed in the cool air of the auto. Over the next 30 minutes she drove westward talking in Mandarin on her phone. I was so dazed from my ordeal that I could only sit passively while she drove. Whatever she decided to do with me was beside the point. I just wanted to be in this comfortable conveyance. Nothing else mattered. 

I realized after a few minutes that she was contacting the bus company to find out where she should leave me. It took her several calls and much palavering before she settled on a strategy. She pulled over in a populated area and detailed instructions to me.

“There is the stop,” she said as she pointed behind our parking spot. “Take the 67 bus. It will arrive in 12 minutes.”  I threw my backpack out the car door and stumbled back to the indicated location. I thanked her profusely. She drove off, made a U turn and was gone to the east in less than  a minute. I found a little shop that sold drinks. I asked for water, They said they only sold food. But then one of the two women in the shop dashed back to the rear of the store and emerged with a cold bottle of water. I tried to pay her but she refused the money. I was petrified that I’d miss my us so I did more thanking, and made my way back to the bus stop. In the appointed 12 minutes the bus came and in 45 minutes I was in my Airbnb lodging in Hengchun.