My brain is never silent.
Having ADHD means that there is always something buzzing in there — an internal monologue that only ever shuts ups when I’m asleep or fully focussed (a rarity). Even as I’m writing this, my brain is simultaneously singing the intro of Cake by KARD, thinking about Dog’s next vet visit, and annoyed about the loud noise coming out from our neighbour’s renovation activities.
That’s why I often run away. Feed my brain something new to obsess about.
Taiwan was an impulse. An almost-year ender trip I thought to go on to back in 2019. I’m glad I did because 2 months after I got back, the world stood still and everyone got stuck in their homes.
Company in silence is oftentimes the most comforting
I headed straight to Hualien when I arrived, taking the train from Taipei Main Station on the same day I landed. The evening of my arrival, I walked the 45 minutes from my hotel to Dongdamen Night Market.
Along the way, I spied a small noodle shop tucked in the corner of Zhongshan road and Jianguo road. Of course I had to go in.
Two elderly gentlemen where sitting at one of the four small tables. One got up when I came in and went behind the counter to take my order. I sat in silence watching him cook through the small opening on the wall into the kitchen.
After giving me my noodles, he sat back down with the other gentleman who was still eating. They exchanged a few words before the man who I assumed was the owner of the noodle shop asked me in english: are you from the Philippines?
I said yes.
He said, “all the people I met from the Philippines are nice.”
I said thank you and said that so far everyone I met in Taiwan are nice.
He said, “that’s how it should be.”
Then silence.
None of us spoke after that. All I can hear are the sound of vehicles moving along the road, the occasional chatter of pedestrians, and the muted clink of utensils from mine and the other man’s bowls. All three of us seem content with it.
I complimented the noodles and bid them goodbye once I’m done. They told me to take care as they made their farewells.
It still remains one of my favourite moments in Hualien.
Patient companionship found in silence
I didn’t notice it immediately. It was about 50 metres from the noodle house when I realised that a black dog (stray, I assumed. But maybe not) was walking alongside me.
We weren’t bothering each other so I decided to just walk along with it.
It was only when I stopped at the 3rd shop and came out to find the dog always patiently waiting outside and then resume walking with me when I realised that walking together was not a choice that I made.
I tried randomly stopping when it gets slightly ahead. It would turn and wait for me. Through the many crosswalks we came across, it knew to stop at red and go at green. When the light turned green it would look at me briefly as if to say “let’s go.” I was very impressed.
Two different tourists said hi to me and said it’s great that I’m able to walk my dog without a leash. I just smiled. Mainly because I thought the dog might get offended if it seemed like I thought it needed a leash, or if I denied that it was my dog, or if I said that it was my dog. I don’t know, I was tired by then and not thinking very logically but the dog seem to be smarter than most people I know so at that moment it’s probably smarter than me.
I arrived in Hualien weary of heart and mentally exhausted, after making huge life decisions I was hoping not to regret. Maybe it was the universe giving me some company on my first day after arriving at a new country — while I’ve never been lonely in my own company, sometimes it’s just nice to have someone walk silently with you.
About two blocks from Dongdamen Market, we were waiting at the crosswalk for the light to cross to turn green. When it did, the dog turned its head to me, nodded, the turned left instead of crossing the street we were waiting to cross.
I believe in spirit guides — maybe that dog was. Or maybe it just took a liking to walking with me. Either way, it was odd but pleasant.
Silence can be a pleasant roar
I felt dwarfed by the grandeur of Taroko Gorge.
The cliffs rose high, rivers carved through rock, leaving only the sound of water against stone and the echoes of various fauna that bounces off the cliff face.
I joined a small tour group of about 8 people (including the guide) as we hiked through the corridors and waterfalls of Taroko Gorge. The best thing about it is that started very early at 5am so we got to the spots before the huge tour buses arrived.
We started at the Swallow Grotto, where our guide gave us hard hats, told us to stay to the side of the road but not too far to the side that we fall off, and waved us on our merry way. As I walked across the tunnels and the railed path, all I can hear is the steady rush of the water below, and the occasional crack of rocks.
The wind was tunnelling through the gorge and the howling added to the general roar that filled my ears. It was exhilarating.
It was vastly, vastly different from the noises I have been accustomed to, living in the city. I have always been averse of city noises — unlike some of my friends, I don’t miss it when I’m away.
This roar at the Swallow Grotto felt like silence somehow — a silence that spoke volumes. A silence that told me it’s okay to run away if things get to be too much. A silence that said I made the right choices so far. A silence that enveloped me in pleasant cold saying mistakes that happen, happens. A silence that encouraged me to walk the path forward.
It was a roaring silence that caused me to have a moment to clearly think.
Then that moment was gone and it was just a roar. I’m grateful for it.
The wondrous opportunities of waiting
On our way to Baiyang trail, traffic was stopped. Because it was a rainy week at the gorge, the national park is doing some maintenance/preventative stuff (I think they were putting nets on the cliff faces) to make sure that the roads remain safe and that no rocks would fall.
It took about 30 minutes so we all went down the van and started walking around.
I am largely impatient but I think it was at that moment that I started to change the way I think about waiting. It’s no longer a waste of time but an opportunity.
An opportunity to stay safe, as you wait for your passage or means for transport to be fixed. An opportunity to discover new things at your waiting place. An opportunity to marvel at the wonders that are in front of you that you usually don’t notice because you are so intent on getting somewhere else.
I saw some people standing by the bridge rails looking out at the gorge. I walked over and saw that they were drawing. Then I looked out.
Gorgeous, sapphire waters. Marbling grey and a white mountains.
I would have missed that had we not waited.
When steady walks lead to moments of relief
The next place we went to was the Baiyang trail that led to the water curtain cave.
It was as steady trail, mainly on the side of mountains, going through some tunnels and suspension bridges. You can see the cliffs high above you and rushing river below.
The water curtain was a refreshing break before heading back out the trail. Imagine about an hour of walking, then submerging your feet in the cold water inside the tunnel. It was lovely.
There was a moment, when I was standing at a suspension bridge, marvelling at the sight of no less than 7 waterfalls across the vast gorge that I thought…nothing. My brain that’s always chattering is suddenly quiet.
Relief.
There’s always an internal monologue (or three) happening inside my head so having this moment of silence felt like such a relief. Imagine you are sitting at a full cafe where the voices of other people, the clinking of plates, the grinding of coffee beans, and the scraping of chairs on the floor are bouncing off the walls and creating this continuous flow of sound that is increasingly grating.
Then you stand up, step outside to a nice garden, and close the door behind you, suddenly cutting off that flow of sound. That’s what it felt like for me.
Silence can be a pleasant roar pt. 2
We headed to the Taroko Village Hotel for lunch. It sits on top a plateau and the view outside was pretty spectacular. Lunch was delicious, too. Our guide told us that the hotel is owned and run by the Truku people, the indigenous people of Taroko Gorge.
We then headed to the Tunnel of Nine Turns, which I was lucky to be able to go to. It was apparently closed for six years due to landslide damage and only opened in again that year.
It’s a pedestrian-only road that has been renovated and made safe. I tried to count if it is 9 turns but it somehow defied the definition of what a turn is so I stopped bothering and just enjoyed that roar again.
The steady roar of sound similar to Swallow Grotto, that’s a mix of the water rushing from below, the wind howling, the random crack of rocks, and the falling water on the other side. But this time, since you’re in a tunnel, it seems to envelop you.
Imagine walking along 700-metre road under a tunnel, with one side facing a gorge where you can see a series of waterfalls on the cliffs facing it. Beautiful.
Remembrance even on detours
Our guide wanted to take us to the Eternal Spring Shrine but since it had been raining and the area around it is said to be a bit dangerous, we found a spot from afar to view it.
It’s probably one of the most recognisable temples of Taiwan.
Our guide was wonderful. Throughout the day, he had been sharing with us random facts about Taiwan and historical events about Hualien.
He said that the Eternal Spring Shrine was created to commemorate the 226 men who lost their lives building the cross-island highway. He was very specific about the number and repeated it several times. Their names are displayed in the shrine, he also said.
I think it’s rather lovely; if your life is going to be part of a statistic, people should at least remember and honour the correct number.
The shrine itself was peaceful to look at. Tucked on the side of a cliff, with waterfall running under it. We spent a moment there.
Moments that take your breath away — literally
Half of our group wanted to try the ATV down by the beach…somewhere. So, the rest of us were dropped off at the Changuang Temple.
It was a quiet temple, sitting atop a hill. I could have stayed there, sitting at one of the tables at what seemed to be an observatory and just enjoyed the quiet.
But. no.
I had to look up, see the Bell Tower, and say “yeah I can go there.”
Mind you, this Bell Tower is atop a mountain. I walked through a suspension bridge and spent 30 minutes going up a trail of stairs. The suspension bridge I enjoyed immensely. The stairs, I hated.
I generally don’t do well with stairs.
I was cursing the whole time. Loudly, not in my head. And, as I am wont to do when I am hiking or faced with this high number of stairs, questioning my own sanity.
Then I got to the top and saw the view.
It was breathtaking, in more ways than one.
Of course, I had to go up to the actual bell tower. There was signage there that said if you are able to get to the bell tower, make a wish, then ring the bell.
I first wished to not fall on my face on my way down. My second wish is more about a direction I wanted to take that I thought then was impossible.
As both those wishes came true, I now believe in two things. First is that the Changuang Bell Tower does make wishes come true. The second is that people who have the fortitude and determination to get up to the Bell Tower, no matter how many stops they make and how loud and steady their swearing is, can make their wishes come true.
Luck may be fickle, and life is a bitch, but the universe favours the determined.
Or, at the very least, gives the determined chances to be favoured.
Hualien, in every corner, gifted me spaces where silence spoke, where beauty met reflection, and where wishes felt possible. It was a pause, a deep breath, a space for moments that demand silence.
Bonus:
A small gallery of some of the food eaten at Hualien
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