Uluru - Kata Tjuta National Park

This is the story of some big rocks. 

An absolute saga of more than five years in the making, I finally visited Australia for the first time almost six months ago with my godfather, Dave. I had 16 days in Australia, 10 days in New Zealand, and 5 in Fiji. The story is complete, finally, and only now am I feeling the desire to write. The desire to write outside of work has been non-existent over the past several years, although the instinct to travel far and wide only seems to have grown stronger. The drive to photograph has only grown stronger over the years, like a California wildfire. 

But my memories of Australia (and New Zealand and Fiji) have ignited something, particularly of my 2-night visit to Uluru - Kata Tjuta National Park in the Northern Territory of central Australia back in November 2025. I keep thinking about those extraordinary fucking rocks, about what I saw and felt out there in that dry, arid, and desolate slice of the Central Australian Desert. That memory is giving me the ache to return to this Aboriginal outpost someday, for more than two nights. Another thing that fueled the fire to write was reading Bill Bryson books, including "In a Sunburned Country" which was the story of his travels around Australia in the '90s; on that occasion he did see Uluru, but for only two hours after driving all the way from Alice Springs because he didn't make a hotel reservation at the same resort town in Yulara that I stayed in. I read this book once a few years ago, but I didn't remember much. Reading it again after I had my own experiences in Australia made it stick more effectively, and it provided ample motivation to put my own words down on paper.

I had wanted to see Uluru for myself for many years. Considering I'm a sucker for rocks and mountains and geological formations of any kind, Uluru naturally captured my imagination. I had seen many images of a big red rock in the center of Australia, conjuring images of some great adventure that takes many hours of planning and execution. In reality, it really did take a lot of time, effort, money, and desire to go there. Uluru was just one feature of a trip that took a gargantuan amount of coordination and communication with Dave, who was instrumental in making this trip a reality. While Uluru was but just one aspect of this trip, it was the top priority of the five-week marathon and in hindsight, it was my favorite experience of the whole adventure. By the time we touched down at Uluru on November 8, 2025, we had already been in Australia for a week and a half after reveling in the iconic Sydney skyline, driving hundreds of miles on the World War I-inspired Great Ocean Road, and wandering amongst the many skyscrapers of Melbourne. 

The approach to Uluru - Kata Tjuta National Park on that Virgin Airlines airplane from Melbourne was an exciting one. It turns out that the journey to Uluru itself isn't exactly difficult because you can fly directly from Melbourne or Sydney. Each of my fellow passengers were pointing out the windows and chattering loudly, and there was an excitable buzz in the cabin because Uluru was clearly visible on the orange ground. Kata Tjuta was also visible in the distance, although I had no idea what would be waiting for me there. My eyes were glued to both formations, even from the vantage point of the small peephole through the exit door that the attendant allowed me to have, if only for a moment because the airplane was close to landing. While this flight wasn't as beautiful as the one from Bishop to San Francisco, it had plenty of merit for most fun flight I've ever experienced, partly due to the first-class seat I occupied in the first row right next to the window and the level of service that came with it. 

The Ayers Rock airport is a tiny one with just two gates; in comparison, Bishop's airport boasts one single gate. Both of these airports compete for the title of Best Airport in the World in my head because they're so easy to navigate. But the AR airport is an almost-miniscule facility that at least offers paved runways, running luggage belts, souvenir shops, and a food kiosk. Dave and I deplaned straight onto the tarmac in a happy mood, reveling in the upbeat vibe that had infected everyone else on that plane, including the pilot. Surprisingly, Dave was able to snag a rental vehicle despite the fact we didn't make a reservation ahead of time, and our carriage for these 2.5 days turned out to be a compact, boxy, Isuzu four-wheel drive SUV.

Finally, after 400 miles of observation as a passenger, Dave decided to try driving for the first time on the left side of the road with the steering wheel on the right side of the vehicle. He giggled as he gingerly navigated the parking lot and onto the main road towards Uluru. It was a bizarre feeling, to ride as passenger on the left side of the vehicle, driving a road with surprisingly little traffic, and Uluru itself clearly visible, dominating the flat horizon. Stone-cold sober, I felt as if I had fallen into a dream on a different planet, like I did within Monument Valley (although on that occasion, my guide and I were undoubtedly inebriated). 

Images don't do landmarks justice in my experience. They can attempt to convey scale, but they almost always fail. Uluru has always looked massive in the images I had seen throughout my life like how Big Ben, the Grand Canyon, Zion, or Monument Valley look huge in images. Like those other places, Uluru is even bigger in reality. 

Actually, it's a behemoth of an orange rock, like a colossal alien structure that had just landed from outer space. 

In some light, Uluru is red. In others, it's purple. Standing on the ground at the base, it's orange; this color is the result of its richness in the common mineral feldspar. Formed 550 million years ago, Uluru is a lump of alluvial fan that was part of an ancient mountain, and what we see today is the result of erosion over eons of time. Uluru is what the Anangu people call this massive arkose sandstone formation. William Gosse, an Australian explorer born in England, "discovered" Uluru in 1873 and named it Ayers Rock after Sir Henry Ayers, an Australian politician. But the Anangu have lived in this area for many thousands of years, living off the land thanks to their extensive knowledge of the environment all tied together by "tjukurrpa", the era of time when ancestral beings shaped the landscape, established laws, and created rituals, songs, and stories that continue to define life, land, and behavior today. After spending just two nights here, I can (kinda sorta?) understand why the natives call this place their home; the spiritual energy is overwhelming!

Dave and I reserved an apartment at a resort called Sails in the Desert in Yulara, one of several establishments right outside the borders of Uluru - Kata Tjuta National Park. This apartment was quite posh in the sense that it didn't feel like your typical hotel room, rather it felt like a home in which you could spend lots of time relaxing; it was almost a shame that I spent so much time outside exploring the park rather than lounging on the soft corner-sectional couch or taking a bath in the spacious and luxurious bathtub surrounded by marble. Dave and I giggled as we first opened the door, greeted by a warm foyer complete with a chair and standing light, and we immediately spotted a charcuterie platter on a long dining table in the living room. This unit was on the third floor of the resort, which meant that our balcony offered unobstructed views of Uluru. 

After relaxing in the unit for a few hours after the plane ride, we set off for Uluru in the gray Isuzu box. To enter Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park you must purchase a 3-day pass for $38. We scanned our passes at the border and passed the checkpoint in the early evening. I remember feeling surprised that there was hardly any traffic on the two-lane highway in a state of minor disrepair. We stopped a couple of times along the red, dusty shoulder to take photos of the behemoth from distance; by this time fluffy clouds began to develop in the sky and cast their shadows against the formation which created even more interesting photo compositions. We briefly stopped at the sunset viewpoint, a long, one-way driveway with many parking spaces, and noted that we should return there for sunset. We continued on the road, with the rock growing in size as we approached, and still there wasn't much traffic. Weird. 

We turned onto the road that almost forms a whole ring around Uluru; there's several hundred feet of missing pavement because the natives believe that part of the rock is especially spiritual. This road leads travelers to the Uluru-Kata Tjuta Cultural Center where people can learn basics about the Anangu culture, plants and animals in the area, the rock's geology, and local artists, as well as the village of Mutitjulu. The rock was larger than life from this vantage point, rising more than 1,000 feet above the ground, forcing us to look up at it. Still, even here, there was hardly any traffic. This made me wonder if we were somewhere we shouldn't be, but no one accosted us. More clouds cast their delightful shadows on the rock and briefly softened the sunlight. Both of us were in awe of this massive orange thing and its countless ripples, crevices, black-streak-lined dry waterfalls, lines, curves; parts of it remind me of a scored loaf of bread or a hunk of meatloaf. Click click click went both of our shutter buttons. 

We approached a large dirt parking lot between the road and the rock, the trailhead to Kantju Gorge. Something told me I needed to take a walk here. Dave and I discussed things for a few moments, and then he reluctantly agreed to let me out so I could walk a trail and he'd pick me up later. Off I went strolling along the orange-reddish path, further into the shadows of Uluru. Up close, it's even bigger. But it never felt threatening. Rather, it felt otherworldly and welcoming. Upon reflection in the days and weeks afterwards, I concluded that the rock felt like it was friendly and cordial towards me, and happy for me to stay a bit longer. I had the impression that Uluru actually likes the attention it gets from visitors. 

I took my time while reading informational signs on this trail about ancient, epic battles between Kuniya, the python woman, and Liru, the poisonous snake man, that left their marks on Uluru. Occasionally I'd pass a large, chattering tour group, but I found peace and quiet on the path which I still found odd. I'm used to massive crowds of people in these famous landmarks and national parks and considering we visited during tolerable heat in the upper 80s to low 90s (Fahrenheit), I expected it to be busier. 

I passed several important locations along the trail and saw petroglyphs. I saw where the Anangu cooked, where important men stayed, and one location that was sacred to Anangu women. The informational sign by this spot instructed visitors to refrain from taking pictures of it. I moved on. Meanwhile, I was continually fascinated by the curves, indentations, colors, caves, and texture of Uluru. I touched it with my hand. It was rough, gray, and slightly flaky which is what results after the wind and water have decayed minerals in the rock.  

As I approached Kantju Gorge itself, I noticed one rather large dry waterfall sitting below a dip in the rock, a column of inky black against the bright orange of the rock illuminated by the late-evening sun. I had this area all to myself. No chattering groups of tourists, no animals, nothing except a gentle breeze in the desert oak trees endemic to Central Australia. It was here where I felt full-body goosebumps develop. I moved a bit slower and looked up a lot with my jaw on the floor. This place was POWERFUL. The concept of Tjukurrpa appeared earlier in this entry, and the power I felt may have been a reminder of this (since I'm an outsider, this is my own personal guess based on my limited education of the idea). The Anangu believe the aforementioned ancestral beings created Uluru and that their ancestors are still here, very much alive. 

***

I arrived at the base of the gorge on a metal walkway which halted right at the edge of a small waterhole below the dry waterfall. A nearby sign encouraged visitors to take a seat on the bench and take in their surroundings in silence, and that the water here is sacred, so that's what I did. For 15 minutes I sat there in stillness, just listening to the breeze and surrounded on three sides by the huge orange wall. I could have stayed in this spot much longer, just soaking in the peaceful energy and studying the black outline of the dry waterfall. Central Australia doesn't get much rain at an average of 11-12 inches of it per year, but when precipitation does arrive on Uluru, it can create mesmerizing, ephemeral waterfalls, something I may only ever see in images. I've seen pictures and video of Uluru in these scenarios where rain creates many cascading waterfalls, and it would be a dream to see it happen with my own eyes. While I tried to imagine what Kantju Gorge looks like when water is flowing, I still felt slightly stunned that I was here at all, a foreigner a long way from home, on a sunny and warm evening.

Slowly, I made the decision to return to the trailhead to meet Dave. I passed one couple near the waterhole and quietly told them the energy here reminded me of Monument Valley in America because it's overwhelming and everywhere. I had been waiting for Dave at the trailhead while swatting at a group of relentless bush flies determined to embrace my eyeballs and explore the recesses of my nostrils, for only a few minutes before he returned in the Izuzu.

I told Dave that the energy was wild on that walk with a big smile on my face, and then I noticed that he had picked up two young female Anangu hitchhikers who were on their way to the market center near our resort. Wearing T-shirts, shorts, and sandals, one spoke English better than the other and told us that they have seen many actual waterfalls cascading from the rock during rainstorms. They waited patiently while Dave and I photographed a colorful sunset, each of us giggling at the treat. It took me a while to come down and process what I had experienced that evening because I had just watched the rock glow in the last light of day with clouds so perfect I couldn't have asked for anything better. We drove the rest of the way to the resort in silence. The girls told us where to pull over near the market, and we watched them disappear into the darkness. 

The Anangu believe it's disrespectful to take photos of certain parts of Uluru. The girls we met on the drive home said you shouldn't take any photos of it at all because a photograph takes a piece of its energy. In the six months since I visited those rocks, I can understand that point of view because I've thought about those fucking rocks each and every day since then. I keep talking about them and my experience. Perhaps I really did take some of their energy home with me. 

***

We had an early start the next morning because we signed up for a sunrise show complete with lights, narration, music, breakfast, and clear viewpoints of both Uluru and Kata Tjuta. Dave and I both dragged ourselves out of bed at the godforsaken time of 0330 because we needed to meet the coach bus at the entrance to the resort at 0400. The bus drove us a short distance from the resort to a hilltop viewpoint of both formations in the park. Boardwalks led people to the top of the dune to a wooden deck, all bathed in red light in consideration of nocturnal animals. A pair of men met each person on the platform and offered tea and blankets which were useful in the chilly pre-dawn breeze.

The 15-minute light show was meant to be a chance to listen to local Anangu storytelling about their lifestyle, which explained the role of the seasons in this arid climate and how everything is tied together, from the tiniest bush fly to Uluru itself. Each person took a seat on the steps below the platform, all wrapped tightly with their own red blankets. While watching the show, we also saw the first light of dawn develop near Uluru. Behind us in almost the opposite direction was the imposing figure of Kata Tjuta.

Our main purpose for attending this show was to photograph sunrise colors at Uluru, so I faced that direction most of the time. Some wonderful golden clouds developed in that direction as time went on, and the whole time I knew this was a gift. I felt emotion fueled by gratitude which caused the tears in my eyes, and I successfully lived in that moment, right then and there. There was so much energy and overwhelming beauty in those moments, like it was the stuff dreams are made of; it's something I’ll never forget. Nearby, Dave was having an immensely profound personal experience, although he didn't share this with me until after we returned to America. How many people get the opportunity to watch the sunrise in such a highly spiritual location in Australia? I kept expecting the big rock to start glowing with the early morning light, but it never actually happened. Kata Tjuta was actually what caught all the sunrise color, and it turned a vibrant and deep red-purple color with the first light of day. Most of my photos were of Uluru, but thankfully I did capture its opposite in all of its splendor.

***

I got a bit of a late start on the drive to Kata Tjuta because I tried to nap after the sunrise expedition. It was no use, especially after such an emotional affair fueled by coffee, pastries, and adrenaline. So, I prepared to leave from the luxurious apartment. Dave chose not to make the trip with me because he wanted to rest; he didn't reveal to me the actual reason for his bowing out until after I returned, but he did have me agree to a time for my return. I told him 6 pm, and he countered with 5 pm. Fine. See you then. 

Off I drove into the red wilderness with plenty of water and salty snacks on board. I scanned my park pass at the boundary again, my car the only one in line. With Uluru looming to my left, I passed the turnoff and headed towards Kata Tjuta and, eventually, the boundary between the Northern Territory and Western Australia. Just like what I experienced on the drive around Ayers Rock, there was suspiciously little traffic on this road. There were no buildings, no services, nothing indicating civilization, just a ton of spinifex grass, wispy desert oak trees, and the rock in the distance. The highway meandered through gentle, rolling sand dunes with Kata Tjuta steadily increasing in size on the horizon, and all the while I noticed splotches of purple from those tiny wildflowers I had seen near the airport. 

I paused my journey to explore the sunrise viewing area of the formation. There were a small handful of other vehicles in the parking lot, but I was still able to park right next to the walking path. I set off on the metal walkway all the while spying more purple wildflowers and endlessly swatting at bush flies and regretting my decision to leave the car without my mosquito net. The path leads up to the top of a sand dune where there is a covered viewing area complete with informational signs. It was here where I learned the name of these purple wildflowers: parakeelya, which are native to Australia and New Guinea.

This viewpoint provided an excellent view of the formation; it was miles long with tall domes of reddish-orange rock, some of them leaping out of the ground in a threatening manner as if they were warning any visitors to stay away, like a fleet of enemy submarines. I didn't feel any particular energy at this point, only the buzzing of relentless bush flies who were succeeding flawlessly at eroding my sanity. 

After passing a dead camel on the side of the road, short termite mounds, and areas charred by wildfire, my next stop was the sunset viewpoint much closer to the formation. Kata Tjuta is made up of a conglomerate of sedimentary rock and debris cemented together with red sand.  It was actually “discovered” one year earlier than Uluru by Ernest Giles who named it Mt. Olga after Queen Olga of Wurtemburg. Kata Tjuta is the Anangu name for this formation which roughly translates to English as “heads, many”, and this rock is sacred to the Aboriginal men of the area. The sign at the trailhead for Walpa Gorge included an eerie warning:

“Kata Tjuta is sacred to Anangu men. Our people have always shown respect when visiting this special place. They would camp a short distance away and walk in quietly. They would not swim in the waterholes. Women entered this area as well to collect food and water but always behaved appropriately. It is the same now. It is the same for you. Hold in your heart the knowledge that this is a special place. Walk quietly, tread lightly. Stay on the track. Enjoy this place as it is.”

Along with the sign at the tailhead with the wisdom from the Anangu and map of the area, there was a covered sitting area and a water tank for the public complete with a warning about the risks of heat exhaustion. On this day the temperature reached the low 90s. To protect myself from sunburn, I wore a long sleeve hiking shirt and long pants, along with the mosquito net. From this trailhead, one could see one of the deep canyons perfectly where the trail led into, surrounded by massive orange domes spotted with recesses and imperfections; I saw faces in the rock, but felt no energy at this time. The rough trail rose in elevation closer to the gorge and supplied occasional benches for hikers to rest, but these came with no protection from the sun.

I encountered more unfamiliar wildflowers inside the gorge such as the fluffy mulla mulla. Besides the brief chatter from the few other hikers, the gorge was silent. The walls were tall, massive, and imposing, rising silently almost 1,800 feet around the surrounding plains. I passed small bridges that help people progress along the trail in wetter times and standalone boulders composed of a conglomerate of rocks and stones, like giant pieces of red poop. It wasn’t a difficult walk nor a particularly long one at less than 1.5 miles there and back. The challenge was the heat.

The end of the trail was a metal square platform that faced the eastern side of the gorge where it was so narrow that it would be impossible to continue walking. The platform was unprotected from the sun and there were three square benches. I stood there for a while, just observing the stillness of the walls. Still, nothing profound revealed itself to me. Meanwhile, a small handful of groups of tourists joined me on the platform, including two women who got their peace-sign selfies all while chattering away. They soon departed back towards the trailhead. Eventually, I heard a sound.

It was birdsong. I don’t know where the bird was coming from or what species it was, but the haunting singsong call echoed amongst the walls. It was so notable that I caught it several times with a video on my phone. This must have meant something, but what? I had my fill on the platform eventually, and began the walk back to the trailhead, all while bush flies buzzed around me and landed on the mosquito net so close yet so far to my delicious eyeballs, nostrils, and ear drums. The light had changed amongst the gorge by this time, with the sun in a slightly different position. Halfway down the trail, the thought popped into my head that I had just found the entrance to another dimension. What a weird thing to think.

I returned to my car and had hearty helpings of water and the trailmix in my backpack. It felt wonderful to be in air conditioning in the car, and I drove to the next trailhead at Valley of the Winds farther into the formation. This was a loop trail, approximately four miles in total. After beginning the walk, I realized that I could feel some sort of energy on this trail. I saw faces in the domes. The trail took me up to a hilltop of sorts called Karu Lookout where there was a sign indicating that the trail ahead was still open and the heat tolerable, and that tourists should not take photos. Of course, I took photos. The rock itself may have taken issue with this.

There were few other people on the trail. I passed a young family at the Karu Lookout on my way down the other side. The trail was developed with stones placed strategically to create steps on the slope, but it was still rough. I was mostly alone in this area with only the gentle breeze and my footsteps creating any sounds. I reached a point in the trail that connected to a loop down in the valley, and there was a square wooden bench for walkers to rest in the shade of a tree. After setting down my backpack, I wandered to the trail and faced the section that led between two massive domes and said to myself that this reminded me of Utah and Arizona. I also noticed the gut feeling that I shouldn’t proceed farther, partly with Dave’s curfew in mind and a feeling that I was unwelcome here. I felt slightly uncomfortable. This was the first time in my life when I thought, “this rock doesn’t like me”. I felt as if the rock was trying to get me to leave, like I was an unwelcome houseguest. The energy was strong here; it felt slightly aggressive, territorial, and male, the first time I’ve identified a gender for energy that I felt amongst rocks. It was quite unlike the inviting feeling emitted by Uluru. Perhaps I messed up by taking photos at the lookout?  

This gut feeling is not unheard of to other people who've visited Kata Tjuta. In fact, it seems to be more common than you think. When Dave and I visited the art shop at cultural center, I told the woman working in there about my experience. To my surprise, she nodded wisely and told me that another woman who made the trek felt the same thing. A friend of mine has visited the formation several times during his time as a professional geologist, and he told me stories of odd happenings within the walls of Kata Tjuta, such as tourists exclaiming that they finally found proof of aliens or of his stumbling upon a native ritual that featured the skulls of long-dead animals. So, it's not only me. Kata Tjuta is known as a place where you must use caution and be sensible because the rock does odd things to visitors. I have yet to hear of anything similar happening within the friendly confines of Uluru.

On my way back up to the lookout, I briefly lost the trail. I spotted the actual path a few feet to my left, so I attempted to reach it by crossing a significantly sloped stretch of rock. I lost my footing here and fell down, suffering scrapes on my hand and knee and ripping a hole in my hiking pants. After groaning, I stood up and spoke out loud.

“Alright, message received. You don’t like me. I’ll go back to the trailhead.”

I stayed true to my word and hustled back to the trailhead, taking some photos here and there. It was around 3 pm by this time in the warmest part of the day and some fluffy clouds had developed, making the sky even more interesting. I returned to the car and drove to the sunset viewing area, this time with what looked like a field trip for a group of school children also at the parking lot. At the viewpoint itself, I got the feeling that Kata Tjuta preferred me to be at this distance taking pictures.

                                   

On the drive back to the resort, I encountered the same suspiciously little traffic. I stopped once or twice to take even more photos of Kata Tjuta in the distance, including again at the sunset viewing point; the rock told me it preferred me at this distance compared to within its valleys and canyons. Eventually, I retuned to the resort around 4 pm. Dave was snoring in bed in our apartment and after he woke up, I told him about what I experienced. This was when he revealed that he chose not to join me because he could feel that aggressive male energy from Kata Tjuta all the way from the resort, some 30 miles away. Impressive. We had discussions about what could possibly be out there and what could possibly happen. Because the rock's energy is so pronounced, the argument could be made that you enter as yourself but leave as someone (or something) else and bring something entirely unwanted home with you. Considering I'm still thinking about this rock six months later, especially when I wear the pants with the hole in the knee, perhaps I did bring something home with me...

***

Or final morning in the Central Australian Desert had arrived much too quickly. Before heading to the tiny airport in our rented vehicle to catch a flight to Brisbane near midday, Dave showed me a stretch of Uluru I hadn't seen until then. It featured many examples of weathering and erosion in the rock that formed lots of shapes and textures, one of which looked exactly like a brain to me. Was I looking at Uluru's brain? Eventually, we parked at the trailhead for the Kuniya Walk and Mutitjulu Waterhole, a highly spiritual place for the Anangu where legends say the ancestral beings are still living and damage from great battles can still be seen on the gargantuan walls. The trail leads visitors past petroglyphs and highly sensitive cultural areas closed to the general public. The trail ends at the waterhole itself with a square metal platform and a wooden park bench. 

White sitting on the bench listening to the gentle breeze in the trees and soft chattering from a pair of men to my left, I felt immensely peaceful. The reflection of the rock in the water was like a mirror when the breeze died down, and I could see how water courses over several cascades to reach the waterhole in wet weather. This is one of the few places in the area that boasts a permanent source of water, so it's a special feature to the Anangu. Unfortunately, it was time for us to head to the airport and I felt irritation because I wanted to stay longer. Not until we had boarded the plane and were flying east towards Queensland did I realize that I had another personal experience at the rock. While sitting on that bench, Uluru was telling me that I was welcome to stay a little longer and that it was happy to have me there. 

Someday I’d like to return to Uluru – Kata Tjuta National Park because I have unfinished business there. I’d love to see if the energy feels the same on the second visit, and whether Kata Tjuta still doesn’t like me on the next visit. Perhaps I’ll take fewer photos then. I’ll never claim that I understand why the Anangu have stayed in this area for tens of thousands of years, nor can I claim that I relate to what they feel or sense at Uluru and Kata Tjuta.

All I can say is that I got a taste of whatever is there in the red center of Australia, and I want another one.

Taiwan: My first Trip to Asia

Prologue - My silver 2011 Toyota Camry flipped over onto its roof twice in one day. That was stressful. How did this happen? I have no idea; my dreams can be super weird. But in all seriousness, it probably stemmed from my trip to Taiwan, my first visit to Asia from December 2024 to January 2025. Because I've waited until now (April 2026) to write about the trip, I'm relying heavily on memory to write this, in addition to notes I took at the time. It's not a bad thing because I loved the 8 days in Taiwan. For those 8 days, my world was upside down but my stomach was deliriously satisfied from all of the delicious food I encountered. In fact, I had never enjoyed the food of any of the 25 countries I've visited more than what I tasted in Taiwan. 

This was a massive trip, make no mistake about it. I had been feeling low-grade anxiety and nerves for a week or two before the adventure for several reasons. I was thinking about the language barrier because I knew exactly one word of Mandarin Chinese. The memory of getting sick during my first visit to Massachusetts in October 2024 resurfaced. During a walk Christmas night in my hometown while visiting my parents, the thought of my life “pre-Taiwan” and post- popped into my brain; perhaps I was overthinking. This was my first time traveling abroad since I returned from my stint in Cherbourg, France in 2017! So, the nerves were understandable. Regardless, life doesn’t get any better than this state of anticipation! 

I flew with Starlux, a Taiwanese airline that went into business in 2020, from San Francisco to Taipei City the day after Christmas (2024). Not only was this my first visit to Asia, the 15-hour flight was the longest of my life.

The only connection I had to Taiwan before the trip was an old school friend from my time at Bournemouth University, although she wasn't a super close friend, more like an acquaintance. But, is that actually true? We need to consider the fact I've been carrying a polaroid photo of her and two other friends in my wallet all these years later, and the fact I traveled to San Francisco in March of 2026 specifically to meet up with her during her time in the city for a business convention.  

Taiwan was never high on my list of places to visit. But, a friend from San Francisco, Ghee, who was born in Singapore, kept inviting me to join him in his home country, so I finally decided to take him up on his offer. He had embarked on a huge trip of his own beginning in Singapore. After his home country, he'd spend a month in Taiwan and then another in Japan. I actually decided to meet up with him during his time in Taiwan because I'd have multiple state holidays off from work (over Christmas and New Years). Before I arrived, he had started his visit on the southern part of the island seeing cities like Kaosiung and Tainan, taking his time and getting the feel for each place. 

Something I had never expected about the country was how I caught some people staring at me, like I was some sort of exotic specimen they had only ever seen on television or in books. Perhaps it was the large and scruffy beard I had back then; I had heard that Taiwanese men don't normally grow beards, so it's unusual to see someone with a beard. I don't remember women staring at me, only men and children. This was a first for me because I had never visited a place where I looked that much different from everyone else. I remember feeling self-conscious just walking around in normal clothing like I usually do. It was a bizarre experience. 

Similar to other travel stories I've published years after the fact, I wrote some of of the words here during the trip. Others, I wrote in April and May 2026. The prologue is a mix of 2024 and 2026 words, and the story begins the day after Christmas in 2024...

A slightly-taller-than-me TSA agent with curly hair emerged from a gate near the metal detector in the airport, approached me, and said in a low, calm voice,

“Look down here.”

I looked and I saw that he had formed a ring with his index finger and thumb near his waist with no explanation. I was thoroughly confused. After a few moments of us staring blankly at each other, he told me he “made me look”. I got a flashback to childhood when we’d play the made-you-look game. That made me grin and I finished the airport security molestations feeling great. Weird.

As I wandered the international terminal of San Francisco International Airport waiting for my flight, I felt genuine excitement about the trip for the first time. This is my first time traveling abroad since I returned from France in 2017 and began my career with the State of California in 2019. The thrill reached another level when it was time to board the flight; boarding a flight bound for an unfamiliar place is always an exhilarating feeling for me.

Although there were screaming, crying, whining children directly in front and behind me on this Starlux flight, and that the aircraft didn’t get into the air until after midnight, I was pleased with how this adventure began to unfold. I had heard good things about this fledgling airline beforehand, and now I have my own pleasant experiences with it even though I spent more than 15 hours inside that futuristic jet. Some aspects of the flight were enjoyable, such as the fresh and flowery scents in the bathroom and on the blankets given to passengers. The sleekly-dressed-in-gray flight attendants were kind and polite and each passenger was given a blanket, slippers, and an eye mask for sleep. The food was surprisingly delicious given that it’s airplane cuisine, and it came with metal silverware, something I hadn't seen before. According to the menu:

“Portraying the notion of weightless buoyancy via photographic technique, ingredients will orbit one another like planets. Impressed by the splendid view captured through the view of a bird’s eyes toward the natural field, the unique color palette we create, modest and accommodating, will generate a relaxed, enjoyable atmosphere in the airplane cabin.”

What the heck does that mean? I liked the food, but I still have no idea what they were trying to say. Perhaps the meaning was lost in translation between someone's native Mandarin Chinese in their head and Google Translate. As for the downsides…

A screaming baby was clearly stressing out her young parents directly in front of me, and the entire family took over the row with what appeared to be half of the children's toybox. Screaming and fidgeting toddlers directly behind me enjoyed kicking the back of my chair. Other crying children were peppered here and there throughout the cabin like landmines. Whatever atmosphere the food did create was destroyed by young children forced to endure a 15-hour airplane ride. Thank goodness for noise-canceling Bose headphones issued to me by the State of California.

But, here I am in Taiwan, my first visit to Asia. I’ve eaten some delicious food so far, handled the New Taiwan Dollar for the first time, ridden a high speed rail (HSR) train for the first time, and ridden a boat across Sun Moon Lake. I’ve noticed that some people have stared at me, perhaps because I’m a solitary white guy with a big beard. For example, while waiting for the train at the Taoyuan HSR station, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a man wearing galoshes a few seats to my right stare at me. Each time I looked at him, he’d hilariously look away. This wasn't the only instance of gawking at the odd-looking foreigner. In Taipei near our hotel, a man (who didn't have a beard and didn't look like he could grow one) hailed me on the sidewalk and waved. On the northern shore of Sun Moon Lake while Ghee and I walked on the sidewalk, a young boy stared at me and I stared right back. After a few moments of us awkwardly staring at each other like each of us had seen a green, six-armed alien, he smiled and I waved, and we parted ways.

This was my first experience on a high-speed train, and my goodness was it impressive. Whole neighborhoods, cities, and landscapes flew by outside my window in a blur of countless grey apartment buildings and farmland, and I had never ridden such a fast train. The cars were quiet, smooth, and comfortable, filled with people who were used to that kind of public etiquette, so I followed their lead. 

I met up with Ghee in the Taichung train station where we embraced in the middle of a sea of travelers. We went to a ramen restaurant in the station to catch up where I was the only white person in the building. Since I only knew how to say "hello" and "thank you" in Mandarin Chinese, my communication with the locals was limited. I had to rely on my friend for most things, including ordering at restaurants for which I was immensely grateful. 

At the train station we bought a transportation card that would not only allow us to board a coach bus to Sun Moon Lake, but it would work on all the buses that have stops around the lake. Sun Moon Lake, the largest natural lake in Taiwan, is surrounded by tall mountains in the middle of this small island just off the coast of China. The bus meandered through hills and along a gentle river with interesting geology on its shores. My eyes drank in the unfamiliar but beautiful landscapes on the other side of the coach window and there was never enough time to see everything. Once the bus reached the lake itself, I felt a minor electric shock and gasped. This lake was spectacular! It's surrounded by imposing mountains, and Taiwan's tallest peak, Yushan at almost 13,000 feet in elevation, is just south of the lake. To get to our hotel on the south side of the lake, we rode a pair of ferry boats that gave us panoramic views of the area. Huge temples, towers, and high-rise buildings dotted the hillsides around the lake. I learned that this lake is a popular vacation destination for Taiwanese families.

After checking into the hotel room in the Yuchi Township with a lake view and an oddly placed bathtub with jets and a bidet on the toilet, we strolled around the local night market, taking samples and smelling delicious smells from various sizzling grills. Taiwan is known for its night markets. During the day, certain streets are open to vehicle traffic. After a certain time in the evening, they close to car traffic, the food vendors emerge from the shadows, and pedestrians pack themselves into these urban canyons to immerse themselves in savory scents (the exception is stinky tofu), delicious tastes, flashing lights, energetic sounds, and unusual sights. A local tea shop burnt us out on tea education and samples. Like too much wine at a wine tasting, I could no longer smell or taste differences, but I did buy some tea leaves because they spent so much time with us. Other foods I sampled included a whole clove of garlic toasted in spices to the point where it was crunchy, a greasy and delicious egg and cheese sandwich, and some sort of rubbery green snack that tasted fruity.

Temples are everywhere in Taiwan, and it's no different around Sun Moon Lake. Ghee and I visited Wenwu Temple and Longfeng Temple during our visit to the area and both were spectacular. Wenwu is the much bigger place of worship, one that includes a gift shop and ice cream shop as well as massive statues of dragons with deranged, bulging eyes. It's a shrine to Taoism where people can engage in several activities including praying. I watched people not only pray, but provide simple offerings and use divination blocks. If you have a pressing and critical question, you can drop these blocks on the ground and they'll give you the answer you need. The temples smell strongly of incense and directly within the places of worship, I noticed some sort of energy that made me hesitant to even take pictures. Both places provided awe-inspiring views of the lake and one can see why a temple would be constructed in such a peaceful and beautiful place. 

Not only did I visit temples at Sun Moon Lake, we toured the oldest temple in Taipei, Lungshan Temple, built in 1738. This popular attraction practically crawled with people, but for good reason. Periodically damaged by fire, earthquakes, and World War II bombs, Lungshan is still pleasantly ornate and boasts its own waterfall. I watched people pray and use divination blocks like at the other temples, but in this much more crowded and noisier space. Ghee and I studied details in its decorations and appreciated them. I sat down on the edge of the walkway along with many others, and I just observed. Like the other temples I visited, I didn't feel comfortable taking many photos, although I did pose for one myself with it in the background near the street. 

What a way to end 2024. I am physically tired and sore, particularly my lower back and ankles from pounding the pavement so much, but I dare not stop moving. There’s too much to see, too much to eat, too many photos to compose. Between the Nikon and new iPhone 15 Pro Max, I estimate that I’ve taken more than 600 photos since I arrived in the country less than a week ago.

Today was the kind of day that leaves you mentally and physically exhausted from joy, fun, gratitude, and whatever else materializes on a trip. It’s difficult to pinpoint a specific highlight in a day full of one banger after another, but the highlight of this day was our visit to a nude hot spring resort in the Beitou District of Taipei. We rode the metro, then got on a bus to the northern hilly part of the city that gives way to foothills, mountains, and hot water, and then walked down a steep, paved slope to a nude hot spring resort, sniffing sulfur along the way.

It cost 250 NTD to enter the public spring, and we chose this instead of the smaller, more private bathes. As with other places in Taiwan, you must leave your shoes in a cubby and place your backpack in a locker. We had to bring our own towel too. Before entering the spring, we had to strip down stark-raving naked and then shower with soap. Being the only foreigner and Caucasian, and the only person there with a beard, body hair, and a tattoo, I felt considerably self-conscious. I could also feel stares from some of the men already inside the spring, most likely unaccustomed to someone like me attending. So, I decided to lay low and stay in my spot and be quiet. Once I was finished soaking, I quickly dried off and dressed, eager to leave that environment in which I stuck out like a sore thumb. It was a relief to get outside the resort and take a seat next to the river, and after we set back to our accommodation in Taipei, only then did I realize that I forgot my water bottle at the resort in my haste to leave.

Regardless, the hot water in the pool felt excellent. The hot springs in the region, specifically blue sulfur radium springs that contain the rare element radium, were first discovered and developed during the Japanese occupation of the island for 50 years beginning in 1895. To this day, Japan and Taiwan are allies and the island still shows plenty of Japanese influence. The water that comes from these springs is known for its healing properties and the minerals are fittingly found in only one other place in the world: Japan. In fact, there are tabletops in certain areas of the neighborhood where you can stick your hands in this blue sulfur hot spring water. After dipping my own hands in one such tabletop pool near the Xinbeitou Historic Station, I noticed afterward that my hands and joints felt better, more loose. The hot spring tourism industry in this area is documented inside the Beitou Hot Springs Museum, a multistory brick building where you’re asked to remove your shoes upon entrance and placed in a cubby, to be replaced with clean white slippers. This museum teaches about the history of not only the hot springs in the area, but also of the history of the building itself which at one point functioned as a public bathhouse supplied by the local springs.

On the way back from the hot spring resort on the bus, we were surprised to see a sign indicating we had entered Yangminshan National Park, an area known for its mountains and public hot springs. In fact there's one public hot spring where people can soak their feet but since its easy to reach with public transportation, the spring gets quite crowded. From what we could tell, there was no room for us to fit amongst the throng of humanity at that pool. Soaking in a hot spring is meant to be relaxing, and forcing ourselves into that space would not have been relaxing, only irritating. It would have made me wish I were anywhere else.

To round out the day after soaking in the hot springs, we braved packed metro trains. I've ridden metro trains and navigated the underground metro maze in many other cities in other countries, but the one in Taipei is an entirely different beast because of the sheer amount of humanity that filters through it. During rush hour, metro management creates lanes for people traveling in opposite directions just like car traffic on a highway. Metro platforms direct travelers who wish enter a car where to stand, and you must wait in line for your turn to board the train. Two attendants stand at the train doorways to keep order. When it was our turn to get on the train, it was standing room only; in fact, I was forced to remove my backpack and place it between my feet, and then reach straight up to grab a handrail so as to make even more room for people. I felt people actually pressed into me from all sides except my back because I stood against one of the vertical metal poles. The car was mostly quiet and cool air was pumped in. Considering how crowded the car was, I didn't feel stress, possibly because I was taller than most of my fellow passengers and could survey the landscape easily.

Taipei is also home to the National Palace Museum, a grand structure that houses many priceless Chinese artifacts from China's thousands of years of recorded history. There is no doubt that the National Palace Museum is more popular than the Beitou Hot Springs Museum considering the jade cabbage, Asia's equivalent of the Mona Lisa in the Louvre in Paris, is displayed here; it was once housed in Beijing in the Forbidden City. The jade cabbage is exactly what it sounds like: a sculpture of a cabbage made from jade. It sits in an enclosed glass box with all of humanity attempting to get a clear view and photo of it. I was one of many attempting to get a glimpse of it on this day and like my experience on the crowded metro, I was taller than most of the frenetic crowd and thus got my own picture of the cabbage of my own with no trouble. Along with the cabbage, I saw sculptures made from ivory, ancient paintings and text, beautiful jewelry, and many other artifacts that represent the history of China and Taiwan. Like the Louvre, I prepared myself by expecting dense crowds inside the museum and saw all the people as just another feature of the building. 

Taipei, the capital city and political center of Taiwan, is a massive metropolis on the northern end of the island with a population of roughly 2.5 million people. When the other neighborhoods and towns around Taipei are considered, the population of this urban conglomeration is closer to 7 million people. Perhaps one of its most famous aspects of the skyline (and something I had been looking forward to seeing myself) is Taipei 101, an enormous 1,667-foot-tall skyscraper that until 2009 was the tallest building in the world. I was looking forward to seeing this gargantuan structure with my own eyes, and I didn't have to wait long at all. Once we arrived at the Taipei Main Station on the train and wandered onto the street to wait for an Uber, Taipei 101 towered in the distance through city haze. I gasped. It's even bigger in person, as is usually the case when you've only seen iconic locations in images. The tower is so extraordinarily huge that it can still be seen on the other side of hilly landscapes, like on the train ride to the Taipei Zoo, miles away from where the building stands.

While Taipei 101 is an icon of the city, Taipei is known for its incredible food scene. The food I had tasted thus far on the trip at Sun Moon Lake was delicious, with perhaps the exception being the restaurant where the atmosphere consisted of screaming, crying children who managed to throw their food all over the table which showed me that no matter what culture you're from or what language you speak, a young child is a loud, messy, and rude animal. But once we arrived in Taipei, my food experience shot up into the stratosphere. Above it, even. Not only was all the food exceedingly delectable, it was also pleasantly cheap. For dinner during our first night in the city, we confusedly blundered our way down staircases and hidden doorways while following vague signs to a popular restaurant that's known for homemade beef noodle soup. This basement establishment had a line of patrons waiting to sit at older, rickety wooden tables on white tile floors. Ghee and I eventually sat at a table near the back of the cramped and noisy restaurant and we both ordered large bowls of beef noodle soup with sides. As soon as the broth touched my lips for the first time, I cursed out loud to myself, loud enough for the neighbors on my left to glance in my direction. In my experience, when food is good, it'll make me curse out loud or go cross-eyed, sometimes at the same time. This bowl of soup made me do both, and I sat there happily slurping away in culinary heaven. The best part? All of this food for two people cost $15 USD.

It wasn't just the homemade beef noodle soup. It was xiao long bao. Pan-fried pork buns from a tiny vendor down a narrow alley in the Shilin Market with a Michelin star. Spicy noodles in a crowded and noisy food court inside the base of Taipei 101. Porridge with millennium egg and pork floss. Spicy sausages. Cold boba tea with warm pudding balls and a dash of brown sugar on top. A whole duck served family style with ramen. Even the pig hoof soup complete with hoof still on the bone (though the texture wasn't my favorite). Stinky tofu! (The tofu tastes fine, but the offensive odor slaps you across the face from 30 feet away and provides visions of unhygienic backside; regardless, I'd eat it again.) It's been 15 months since this trip, and I'm still raving about the food in Taiwan. If you enjoy food and are willing to try different things, Taiwan is the place to be.

Much of this food can be found in the Ximending neighborhood, a sort of outdoor mall that caters to pedestrian traffic instead of vehicle traffic. It's bright, noisy, and energetic, an area that features attention-seeking street performers, political demonstrations such as for calls for Taiwanese independence from China, many narrow alleyways that boast delicious smells and tastes, as well as the larger-than-life spectacle that is Xing Fu Tang, a world-famous boba tea manufacturer based in Taipei, that headlines an open plaza with flashing lights and advertisements surrounding it. At this storefront, one must wait amongst a crowd of people all waiting eagerly for their own brown-sugar topped boba tea; you can watch the boba and other foods created by hand in the kitchen through the clear glass and once you acquire your own tea, it's time to attempt to leave the scrum, dodging young women taking selfies with their boba. The boba was so tasty I went back a second time later in the trip. 

Another activity that made my time in Taiwan special was a visit to the Chiang Kai Shek Memorial, an enormous public park complete with ornate gates, concert halls, koi ponds, gardens, and a massive statue of the man himself. President Kai Shek was a significant political figure first in China and then Taiwan when his Kuomintang, one of the major political parties in Taiwan today, was defeated in China by Mao Zedong in the Chinese Civil War in 1949. Walking through the area gave me chills and I laughed to myself more than once because the buildings within the memorial are so over-the-top massive and beautifully ornate. On one side of the memorial is the gate visitors walk through from the street. On the other is a tall and cavernous hall in which a statue of the man himself sits, and in between are two exquisite concert halls and endless, meticulously maintained Chinese gardens complete with flowers, assiduously manicured shrubs, peaceful koi ponds and elegant footbridges. I ended up visiting the memorial twice during my time in Taipei, once in the daytime and the other in the evening after a rainstorm. I was delighted to find puddles on the cobblestone that provided splendid, mirror-like reflections of the ornate buildings and shrines. The images I created with the iPhone gave me a high, and I traveled back to the hotel with a sense of accomplishment and peace.

 

On our final evening in the country, we visited Taipei 101 from the sidewalk at its base. We craned our heads all the way up to get the whole tower within our vision, like trying to look at something as tall as the sky itself. As is usual with popular tourist destinations, the base was crowded with tourists, people hawking useless junk to make a quick NTD, protests of whatever current issue, and the like. The shiny, blue-green tower was designed to resemble a traditional Asian pagoda and symbolize abundance, good fortune, and prosperity. Constructed finished in 2004, and it was also designed to withstand gale-force winds and the kind of earthquakes that are common in Taiwan due to its close proximity to multiple tectonic plates that constantly grind against one another. In fact, one such earthquake forced the closure of Taroko National Park on the east coast in the year before the visit, a place that ensnared my attention due to its mountainous and rocky terrain. I had hoped it would reopen in time for my visit, but no such luck. 

From the base we (and quite a few other people) hiked to the trailhead to Elephant Mountain through a prosperous and wealthy neighborhood scattered with sleek and modern apartment buildings and a beautiful park filled with all the amenities you need for outdoor recreation in a city environment with the intention to photograph the skyline at sunset. Elephant Mountain, so named for its resemblance to the head and trunk of an elephant, is known as a wonderful place to view the iconic Taipei skyline with Taipei 101 as the crown jewel, but it's no secret. The location can be found everywhere you look and people will willingly and gladly tell you about the vista point and where to find the trailhead. As a result, the trail is as crowded as the busiest shopping centers and night markets in the city, complete with certain people who attempt the trail completely unprepared for an actual hike with elevation gain. At the trailhead we spied a cement staircase with countless steps that disappeared into the trees on the lush hillside, and contemplated the task along with several other people mentally preparing themselves to put in work and sweat.

The walk up the mountain is less than a mile round trip, but it's brutal because the steps never end. The trail was filled with people all going through the same struggle. We took several breaks to catch our breath while listening to the gentle creaks of bamboo trees swaying in the breeze, and we passed countless people who did the same. Because the trail is so accessible, business-minded entrepreneurs are known to set up carts near the start in the hopes of tempting exhausted walkers with a bit of fresh-squeezed orange juice (which worked on us). The trail leads to a vista point where some picnic tables sit under a wooden canopy where scores of people stand at sunset in the hopes of getting a clear view of the skyline for photos. If you want a clear space right on the short metal fence on the edge of the slope, then you need to walk up there with plenty of time to spare before sunset. Sporting a wet T-shirt from my sweaty back, I watched the light from golden hour advance into sunset, and noted how Taipei 101 shined and glowed the golden color of the setting sun. I watched the light develop on each of the skyscrapers and change their colors, like a manmade urban version of the Grand Canyon. There weren't numerous clouds in the sky on this day, but just enough to make for an interesting composition with Taipei 101 as the central focal point. Not only does Golden Hour light make the tower even more beautiful, like an actively burning candle, it presents an even more compelling identity with how it glows after the sun vanishes for the evening thanks to countless colorful lights on its exterior. During the daytime it effortlessly dominates the skyline, but it truly shines at night. The tower demands your attention like a vibrant peacock in full show in the night sky.

On my final day in the country, Ghee and I joined a coach tour of three small villages on the northern coast outside of Taiwan: Yehliu, Jiofen, and Shifen. Each of these places deserves at least a day of exploration on their own but when you have limited time, some exposure is better than none. For coach tours like this, we acquiesced to being herded like cats by the young, enthusiastic Taiwanese tour guide who did a great job of delivering information about Taiwan on our way to the peaceful northern coast from the chaotic Taipei city center. After a relaxing drive through the foothills north of Taipei, we caught sight of the East China Sea and Taiwan's stunning northern coastline. First up was a stop at Yehliu Geopark, a fascinating collection of sandstone hoodoos right on the water. Some of them, such as Queens Head, are quite famous because of their shapes and because I saw long queues of tourists waiting to get close to it on the narrow boardwalk, I declined to join it and instead photograph it from afar with the 300mm lens. Since we had only an hour at the geopark, I hustled to see as much as possible and go as far into the area as I could. After climbing several sets of stairs to a spot overlooking the formations closer to a lighthouse, I left most of the tourists behind. The views gave me impressions of the California coastline with mountains bordering the deep blue ocean, and I felt peaceful in the moment. It turns out that multiple tourism operators bring busloads of tourists here, so the crowds quickly become intolerable. With my hour quickly evaporating, I walked with intent and took many photos with both of my cameras. I was the last one back on the bus a minute or two late, dripping with sweat.

Jiofen is a small village perched on a mountaintop famous for its teahouses. It was one of the places outside of Taipei that I was most interested in seeing because of its views from atop the mountain and its ornate, handsome teahouses. Like Yehliu, multiple tour companies take busloads of tourists to this town and its narrow, souvenir-hawking alleyways lined with street food vendors all emitting some sort of delicious scent, which creates consistent pedestrian-centric traffic jams. Ghee and I made a beeline for one of the more popular teahouses and with luck on our side, one of the tables on the outdoor balcony opened up as if Taiwan were attempting to send us off with the best experiences possible. We sat at that table drinking in both the views and delicately relaxing tea for the longest time, neither one of us dissatisfied with the situation. You could see for miles across the northern shoreline, with both ocean and mountains as far as the eye could see. But of course, our limited time was almost expired, so we slowly made our way back to the coach, but not before buying a figure of the Taiwanese god of wealth, and some jellyfish for a snack.

Shifen is yet another town on the northern coast that thrives on these tour companies transporting far too many tourists into its humble yet charming confines. There are two major draws to the area; the first is the massive Shifen Waterfall, a 66-foot-tall, 130-foot-wide behemoth along the Keelung River. This is the most broad waterfall in Taiwan and it sounds like a jet engine considering the amount of water crashing over the cliff on this day. The second draw to Shifen is the opportunity to send off sky lanterns, after one writes their hopes and dreams on them, along the train tracks on Shifen Old Street. Watching all of the sky lanterns be released is quite the spectacle, with one or two simply bursting into a ball of flame before reaching any sort of height, interspersed between times when a whistle sounds, all tourists vacate the tracks, and a large train proceeds through town. Ghee and I declined to send one up ourselves and instead chose to munch on ramen while watching the festivities. This seems to be a fun tradition until you realize that, on the drive into town, you've passed thousands upon thousands of spent sky lanterns hanging from tall branches in the trees around this lush valley, floating down the river, decorating vehicle roofs, and dotting the ground.

The coach returned us to Taipei in the dark that evening after a long and eventful day. My eight days in Taiwan had concluded and considering it was my first exposure to Asia, I had a wonderful time even though it was so far outside of my comfort zone. I'd return to Taiwan in a heartbeat, if only just for the food. My stomach was quite happy during that trip and I'm pretty sure I returned to California a bit heavier. The flight back to San Francisco was much quieter compared to the first Starlux flight, and I met my incredible parents at San Francisco International Airport who drove me back home.