Yehliu - the urban antidote

July rolled to a shattering close amid twelve hour days, distracted students, and copious servings of wine and cheese.  My exhaustion hit its peak on Friday and Saturday, and I found myself wandering the halls of the office muttering, “Must grade essays.  Must grade essays!  Where’s Bao Bao?  Give me some dumplings, dammit!” 

Note to all: This is Bao Bao

At this point my pupils were dilated unevenly and I could no longer feel my toes.  I imagine that if House heard these symptoms he would immediately diagnose PTSSD – Post Traumatic SAT Stress Disorder.  And then hopefully he would serenade me with lonesome piano blues, as this is still the only known cure.

At the end of class on Saturday I hobbled home, crawled into my bed, and slept for fourteen hours.  I awoke to a dorm room full of people and plans.  We would finally start using our Sundays productively instead of merely sleeping off the effects of a rough night out.  We would sightsee.  On tap for the day?  Yehliu.

A trip to Yehliu had first been tossed around a couple of weeks ago.  A short, cheap bus ride would deposit us at a coastal geopark filled with sandstone rock formations shaped like mushrooms, tofu, ginger, fairy shoes, and queens (the monarchs, not the borough).  Our prior plans were thwarted in a number of ways: Luxy, Luxy-related exhaustion, essays, essay-related exhaustion, and the sad realization that if laundry was not accomplished on that particular Sunday we would probably all be arrested for olfactory indecency.  Also working against us?  Our routinely suppressed irresponsibility, flightiness, and inability to get anywhere on time. 

I’ve discussed this at length with my roommate / co-worker / partner-in-crime Linnea.  As a teacher, lateness is not an option.  You run the show.  If you don’t appear, 15-20 people get screwed over as a result.  So we simply have to ignore our dilatory natures, suck it up, and arrive on time with at least some kind of plan for the next three hours.  On days off this all goes directly out the window.  Plans are haphazardly made, and often broken.  Destinations are changed mid-route, if not mid-sentence.  Invitations are poorly extended.  Lengthy expeditions through underground malls deposit us directly across the street from our departure point.  And yet, somehow, despite all this, we made it to Yehliu on Sunday a mere three hours behind schedule.

Yehliu Geopark is a short walk through a small fishing village.  This village had an immediate and visceral impact on me.  I usually chalk this up to a childhood spent near the shore: I crave water, and get antsy if I’m away from it for too long.  I remember during college feeling a sort of painful longing every time I heard a chain clank against a flagpole.  The sound reminded me of boats and harbors, which I pined for endlessly during my Midwestern sojourn.  So the immediate sight of fishing boats, the smell of sea water, and the preponderance of crusty, muscled fisherman sent me reeling.  As much as I love cities, I must also have the beach.  And after four weeks of urban hysteria, Yehliu was exactly what I needed. 

 Yehliu looks like an alien landscape.  Black, pock-marked rocks cover a floor of golden stone.  The area is unfortunately well regulated so we couldn’t dive headlong into the surf in our underwear.  Also, Yehliu is popular.  Very popular.  I can only imagine what it would be like to have this place almost to myself, with no whistling guards, no Taiwanese tourist groups, and no Falung Gong protesters.  There’s something strange about being part of the picture-taking hoards.  I wonder how much I’m actually appreciating the scene on its own merits, rather than for its pictorial value.  I also feel competitive: that Asian woman over there is taking a picture.  I should be taking a picture!  She must know something I don’t!  I sometimes think traveling was easier when I didn’t have a camera and I just stole other people’s photos.  (OPP.  Shout out to the 90’s.)

Once I had finished reliving my central park mini-rock climbing youth, I joined the group in a hot, sweaty trek up the hill.  We finally left the tour groups behind, and were able to enjoy the juxtaposition of barren rocks, lush vegetation, and a perfectly blue sky. 

It was a good day.  I'm still not entirely sure what the hell I'm doing here, but days like this help.