Close Encounters with Water Buffalo

When we last left our wanderlust-ing heroine, she was recovering from the raptures of Italy.  My next major opportunity for intercontinental exploration did not appear until my senior year in college.  My cloistered Mid-Western music school had finally decided that maybe, just maybe, students of classical music might benefit from time spent in Europe.  You know, the place where this stuff was written.  Enter stage left: a semester in Vienna, appropriately decked in golden Klimt finery.  I immediately knew that this trip must be mine.  Nothing would stop me.  I would be victorious.  If memory serves me correctly, my quest to attain Viennese glory involved the procuring of a sketchy sublet-er, the ending of a relationship, and finally an interview with the musical powers that be in which I faced the challenge of explaining to them how I would manage to complete my graduation requirements even though this trip would expressly keep me from completing some of the necessary courses.  My justification went something like this,

"Don't worry, I'll figure it out."

The members of the committee stared at me in bemused confusion.

"No really, I will.  I'm not sure how I will, but I'll do it.  Because when I want to do something, I get it done.  I make it happen.  And this is going to happen."

The members of the committee were now trying to conceal their guffaws.  They were not entirely successful.  But, nonetheless, they approved my application, and off to Vienna I went.  And yes, I did graduate on time, though I could not tell you how I "made it happen".  I'm pretty sure mental breakdowns and red wine were involved.  And maybe a few of my roommate's research papers.

And that was the last time I ever exhibited such passionate determination and resolve.  Oh sure, I've worked towards things, and I've wanted things really, really, REALLY badly.  But I've never felt that potent mix of unstoppable chutzpah and infantile stupidity.  Until, that is, I went up against the Caoling Historic Trail.

The Caoling Historic Trail is known as one of those trails in Taiwan you just have to do.  As in, if you do one hike in Taiwan, this is it.  I've wanted to do this hike for over a year, and November was officially the Caoling Silver Grass Festival, so I figured there couldn't be a better time.  Of course I planned to do this alone, because I find hiking alone to be extremely peaceful and centering.  Also, Taiwan is so densely populated that you're never entirely alone.  Or so I thought.

Let's address my preparations: one bottle of water, one bottle of tea, lunch, and snacks.  More than enough, since my guide book said that the trail only takes 3-4 hours.  Well, one of my guide books said that.  Others said 7-8 hours.  But what's an hour or four between friends, right?  Note that my preparations specifically do not include rain gear.  Or a flashlight.  This will become important later.

It just looks like such an innocent little trail...

I got a late start, (because I sleep like the boozy cabaret singer that I am) so I started at the end closer to Taipei, Fulong Beach.  My end point was Daxi, where I planned to relax over a lovely seafood dinner.  Along the way I was promised stunning views of the pacific and rolling fields.  The first two hours were refreshing, and occasionally hilarious.  Although I went on a weekday, the trails were pretty crowded with elderly Taiwanese hiking groups.  Let me say, that I do love elderly Taiwanese hiking groups.  Everyone is so friendly, so helpful.  They offer you tea.  They encourage you with calls of "Jaiyo!  Jaiyo!", the Taiwanese equivalent of, "You go, girl!".  And they also play inspirational music.  Rather loudly.  And their inspirational music consists of "Davy Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier", and doo-wop songs about infidelity in the 1950's.  After two hours I made it past all the traditional sights.  I had quelled the wild winds.  I had seen the tiger inscription. I had reached a scenic overlook.  At this point I found myself facing a crossroads.  Many people chose to turn back.  I could go to Dali, which was a only few kilometers away.  Or, I could climb really high things and hit the Taoyuan Valley and finish in Daxi, as originally intended.  Of course I chose to press on.  I got to the next, even more scenic outlook, and had my lunch.  And oh, the vista.  It was stunning.  As a city girl, I do love Taipei.  It is amazingly designed, and offers a variety of daydreams and distractions.  But it's rural Taiwan that really sets the island apart.  I enjoyed my lunch while watching the mists rolling in over the shore, reveling the green, the brown, and the blue.

.....and 30 seconds later those mists had covered the entire mountain side and I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of my hand.  Oh, and it was raining too.  Pop quiz, hotshot - you're hiking alone on a mountain in Taiwan.  You can't see, and it's raining.  You only have 3 hours of daylight left.  And you still can't really speak Chinese, goddammit.  What do you do?  WHAT DO YOU DO????

Just imagine how awesome this photo would be,
were it in focus.

Okay, a few of you probably said, "shoot the hostage".  Hopefully most of you said, "turn back and go home."  I, of course, said "Daxi, or bust," and continued on my way.

I reached the top of the next hill, and accidentally stumbled on to the Lord of the Rings set.  It looked as though I was walking along the edge of the world.  No stunning views of the Pacific for me.  And no one else on the trail.  Just endless fog and tiny stone path.

What I wouldn't give for a helpful elf right now.

And still, I pressed on.  Daxi couldn't be that much farther, right?  I mean, I had been hiking for close to three hours, so, according to some estimates I had a mere...five hours to go.  You can do this, Smela.  you can do this,

And then, a Water Buffalo.

Friends, sometimes a woman comes face to face with the abyss, and sometimes that abyss is populated by feral Water Buffalo.  I inched forward.  Horned heads jerked up from their grassy snack, and I found myself peering into the black eyes of bovine oblivion.  In one fluid movement I turned around and walked quickly, calmly, and in a totally nonthreatening manner back up the path.  And there I sat, contemplating my options.  I had been hiking for 4 hours.  I was probably 2 hours from Daxi.  It made no sense to turn back, but I was scared.  The way back was familiar, known.  The way forward, treacherous, and filled with rabid Water Buffalo.  Why, Smela, why!  Why did you undertake this ridiculous adventure on your own?  Without ample supplies?  And with only a few short hours of daylight on your side?  But then I remembered equally foolish 21 year old Andi, who set out with absurd determination, and yet somehow managed.  I can't really say that she always succeeded.  But she managed.  There was, ever and always, only one way.  Forward.

I scurried past the herd of Water Buffalo while projecting a servility I haven't felt since music school voice lessons, and was rewarded with a sudden clearing of the valley.  All around me were hills of green, sometimes muted, sometimes, brilliant.  The sky was a bruised indigo.  In the distance to my left, civilization twinkled.  Down the mountain to my right, the white breakers yearned for sand.  I had reached the perfect moment: totally alone, enveloped in the beauty of my foster country.

Light was fading, and the last part of my journey was still ahead of me, the Daxi Forest Trail.  And this last part was most definitely the worst.  Dark, jungle-like vegetation broken only by the pathetic light of my cellphone and the screech of nocturnal creatures.  Two hours later I reached the end of the trail, a broken woman.  I was soaked. My legs screamed like tortured banshees.  My water was long gone.  Basically, I was exhausted and pathetic.  Delusional, if you will. Why I had attempted this?  I wasn't ready for this.  But it had happened.  I made it happen.  There was a certain satisfaction in that.  I still had a bit of my stubborn pride.  I knew I wasn't using it in the right way, in a meaningful way.  But as I rode the train back to Taipei I took comfort in knowing that I hadn't lost it entirely.  
          

Truer words were never spoken.