A cup of coffee in Asia

Asia through my eyes, one sip at a time

[acupofcoffee-asia]

Direction: Taroko National Park/ Part One

When I decided to visit Taroko National Park using only public transportation, I didn’t have high expectations, but I decided to give it a shot. I arrived at Hualien station in the morning and headed to the bus stop: no issues, except that the buses ran infrequently, and the schedules could be a bit unpredictable. Encouraged by the welcoming demeanor of the gentlemen and lady waiting at the bus stop, I decided to ask them for some information: that’s when, out of nowhere, my luck began!

My luck was called 云霞 (Yun Xia), a Chinese lady's name, meaning "rosy clouds." After gathering some courage with my somewhat broken Mandarin and getting some helpful information from a few kind gentlemen, or 叔叔 (uncles), about whether my plan was feasible, a short, middle-aged woman with a warm and open attitude, reminding me a lot of one of my inspiring high school teachers, told me that she was heading in the same direction. That's how we ended up walking together toward 砂卡礑步道 (Shakadang Trail: the name likely comes from the Atayal indigenous group, where in the Atayal language it means 'molar teeth,' referring to those discovered during their settlement.)

From the station, we got off after 11 stops, and despite the slightly cloudy weather, once we passed the entrance and descended the steps, we were greeted by a lush, green landscape. I had thought Yun Xia would just accompany me to the stop, but instead, after exchanging a few words to get to know each other, taking photos of the scenery and of each other, despite my shaky Mandarin, we somehow understood each other very well, and continued to walk together.

We ended up walking the entire trail together, reaching one of the most scenic spots of the Canyon: crystal-clear water, smooth rocks, lush greenery, and dark clouds contrasting with a kind of grey mist that occasionally descended to the height of the trees.

Yun Xia decided to buy some local food from a few stalls run by locals, and her kindness, openness, and generosity towards everyone she met deeply inspired me. It felt like walking among friends, as she addressed every person we encountered as if she had known them forever, and they responded in the same way. I felt warmly welcomed by everyone we met, and she introduced me as her newly-met friend; despite the few words, the smiles, and gestures spoke volumes.

After avoiding a bit of rain and finishing the meal — which she insisted on offering me (black rice with a sweet filling, served inside bamboo) — we decided to head back. After all, we wanted to continue on to at least two more stops, and with the unpredictability of the buses, who knew if we’d make it! On the way back to the bus, we continued getting to know each other. She asked me, 'Try to guess what my profession was before retirement, 猜猜.' And guess what? As I had thought, of course she was a teacher!

This is just the first part of a short story from a late February 2024 day when I went to Hualien from Taipei, with the main goal of exploring Taroko National Park, without much planning. If you enjoyed this, stay tuned for the second part in the coming days, along with more adventures around Taiwan and mainland China.

Recalling these memories, it’s impossible not to think about the losses caused by the earthquake that occurred on April 4, one month after my trip. Due to the severe damage, this section of the trail is now closed. (Note: the earthquake had a significant impact on the region, and the trail has been closed ever since.)

[acupofcoffee-asia]

Ita\ Aprile 2024, un soggiorno veloce ma intenso nella contea di Lingshan, Guangxi, Cina.

En\ April 2024, a quick but intense stay in Lingshan County, Guangxi, China.

Ita\ Non so descrivere la sensazione che ho provato quando la macchina del nostro accompagnatore si è fermata al varco del villaggio. Case da entrambi i lati della strada, con delle grandi porte decorate e striscioni rossi con scritti caratteri neri. Si trattava di uno dei villaggi della contea di Lingshan, di cui ora non ricordo il nome.

È a Lingshan che ho avuto l’esperienza più forte, anche se per pochi giorni, sono stata accolta nella quotidianità del luogo, in particolare dalla famiglia della mia cara amica Ling, tra cene con parenti e battute di pesca.

En\ I can’t quite describe the feeling I had when our driver’s car stopped at the entrance of the village. There were houses both sides of the road, with large decorated doors and red banners with black characters written on them. It was one of the villages in Lingshan County, but now I don’t remember the name.

It was in Lingshan that I had the most powerful experience, even though I stayed only a few days. I was welcomed into the everyday life of the place, especially by my dear friend Ling's family, with dinners with relatives and fishing trips.

Ita\ La giornata per me più indimenticabile è stata quando, un giorno, siamo andati in barca, in mezzo alle ninfee a pescare. Siamo stati cullati dalla brezza della barca in movimento, ho imparato i movimenti del pescatore; mi sono impegnata molto per pescare nel modo giusto, nonostante io sia vegetariana e in fondo, sia stata contenta di non aver pescato neanche un pesce, ero contensissima di avere la possibilità di condividere quel momento con loro. E che posto mozzafiato.

En\ The most unforgettable day for me was when, one day, we went fishing by boat, surrounded by lotus flowers. We were rocked by the breeze as the boat moved, and I learned the fisherman's movements. I tried really hard to fish the right way, even though I’m a vegetarian and, in the end, I was happy I didn’t catch a fish. I was simply thrilled to have the chance to share that moment with them. What a breathtaking place.

Ita\ Non volevo chiudere gli occhi per portarmi a lungo nella mente l’immagine di quel lago e delle ninfee che si muovevano al nostro passaggio, del silenzio, rotto ogni tanto da un guizzo o da una nostra parola, scambio o risata.

En\ I didn’t want to close my eyes, so I could keep in my mind the image of that lake and the lotus flowers moving as we passed, the silence, only interrupted sometimes by a splash or by one of us speaking, exchanging words or laughing.

[thistransient]

[acupofcoffee-asia]

Taroko National Park/ Part Two

After retracing the Shakadang trail, heading towards the bus stop, we immediately realized something was wrong: the bus scheduled according to the timetable didn’t seem to be arriving. While we were waiting, we met a French family in the same situation, who asked us for some tips. The little I could do was try to act as a translator between them and Yun Xia, who, being familiar with the area, was the only one who could help us in some way. After a while, we lost sight of the family, but the bus still hadn’t arrived. So, who else but my amazing, newly-met travel companion could come up with a solution?

A few minutes after deciding to hitchhike, a car with a family of three stopped, and not only did they take a detour to drop us off at what would be our next stop, the Nine Turns Trail (九曲洞) but they were so kind and generous that they didn’t make us feel uncomfortable about it at all.

This second path was shorter, but its unique feature lay in how the trail was structured: it was almost entirely inside a tunnel, with tall pillars lining both sides. Looking out from them, you could catch glimpses of views that, despite the unkind weather and overcast sky, were nothing short of stunning. I believe, and I’m pretty sure, the photos I managed to take don’t even come close to capturing the beauty and grandeur of it all.

In any case, the stop was short, it was getting late, and Yun Xia had to head home to Taipei (to take care of her cat). It would take her a bit longer than me, as I was staying in a hostel in Hualien that night. Fortunately, the return bus passed by, almost on time!

Instead of heading straight back to Hualien, to the hostel as I had thought, while chatting about this and that with her, I decided to go to the last bus stop: I really wanted to see the sea. I got off at the terminal, Tianyang, to head to Qixingtan Beach: 七星潭 (Qīxīngtán).

Imagine arriving, just after getting off the bus, to a rather isolated street with small local vendor stalls on either side, surrounded by lush greenery that leads to the pebbles of the beach and then the blue of the sea, with stray dogs wandering around alone.

The encounter with these stray dogs was one of the few (maybe the only) moments during this week-long solo trip when a red flag went off in my mind. But it wasn’t until I realized I had wandered into what seemed like the entrance to an aboriginal reserve—an area that, as I later found out, held cultural significance for the local people but wasn’t formally designated as a reserve—that I had to fight my curiosity to keep going. I realized that I was all alone, in the middle of a barren field with a few trees, and at least two large stray dogs by my sides, not looking at me too kindly. Calmly (my movements were, but not the beating of my heart), and with all the composure I could muster, I got out of that uncomfortable situation and made my way toward the beach, where I stayed afterward.

The beach!

As soon as I got close, I felt an urge to do something that was a bit unusual for me. You should know that when I travel, I tend to not stay very much in contact with my loved ones; I check in with a simple "I'm fine, hi, how are you?" But in that moment, I felt the need to make a video call to my parents because I had to share the vastness and power of what was in front of me. They were with my grandmother when I tried to give them a taste of what was a very rough, threatening sea, yet at the same time so fascinating and powerful. It had the power to send adrenaline through my veins, and a feeling that, neither with words now, nor on the phone with them that day, I think I was able to convey.

I walked from one side of the shore to the other, until, after meeting some Taiwanese children who called me "美国人," (měiguó rén - American), (different from mainland China, where I was mostly called "俄罗斯,"(Éluósī - Russian), I headed towards the bus stop. It was there, after an hour of waiting for a bus that I thought would never come, that I met a Vietnamese family, with the father speaking perfect English, and we exchanged some travel information.

Just as we were talking and trying to figure out how to get back, since the bus still hadn’t arrived, a tourist bus driver showed up, a private one, to replace the one that was supposed to pass. With a kindness that continued to surprise me, despite having encountered not one person who wasn’t kind during those days of traveling, he explained that we had to go with him. And so, after a long journey (I was at one of the last stops, having reached the terminal), I got off and headed towards the hostel, which was still an unknown to me.

When I saw the alley I had to go down, it seemed anything but reassuring, since it was dark. But as soon as I stepped inside, I understood that this wasn’t just any hostel, and that it would be hard to find one as beautiful as this in the future.

I was greeted by a girl at check-in who gave me some directions, explained that I could check out on my own by leaving the key on the desk, and told me that the room I was going to stay in had girls from all over the world. "You’ll get along well," she said. "You’ll have so much to share, I’m sure of it." And that’s how it was.

Without even realizing it, I was plunged into the story of Charlotte (a fictional name), from France, who was taking a gap year from work and spoke a little Italian. During this year, Charlotte had sailed on a boat with strangers and planned to surf in Taiwan. Charlotte had a diary in which she asked everyone, including me, what happiness is. I think I told her that happiness, for me, is like a quest, something you never stop searching for, traveling, meeting people, and having experiences. But what struck me the most were the answers, so different, that people gave her. The simplest ones were the ones that touched me the most. I don’t have any contact with her at the moment, but I’m sure she’s gathered many more interesting ones.

We went to bed early, and the next day, when I went out to explore the east coast of Taiwan, I didn’t meet any of them. I said goodbye to this place with a bit of melancholy, and I hope to return one day. I hope it didn’t suffer too much damage after the 2024 earthquake.

This part of my journey has come to an end, but the more I write, the more I realize how much happened in those six days in Taiwan, and even the seemingly insignificant details, when I think about them now, take on a new hue. For example, how cozy was the little room and the bed I slept in at Hualien? I felt so at peace, and so at home. A year may have passed, but when I think about it, the feeling of gratitude remains.

[acupofcoffee-asia]

Taroko National Park - 太魯閣國家公園 🌱🌏

[global-musings]

How This Tibetan Community Is Modernizing a Centuries-Old Braiding Tradition (Vogue Magazine).

Photographed by Kin Chan Coedel

[a-light-seeking-dream]

The Earth, Tibet (photoseries, 2014) by Zhou Mi 

[acupofcoffee-asia]

🌏🌱

[landsccape]

[acupofcoffee-asia]

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[shihlun]

Hualien, 1940s.

[mothmiso]

Taiwan (2) (3) by Ah - Wei

[acupofcoffee-asia]

😍

[toenduretogether]

Ladies of a Big Family (~1920s), Yang Baocai / Aboriginal Family (~1920s), Photographer unknown

In Sight: Tracing the Photography Studio Images of the Japanese Period in Taiwan (凝望的時代: 日治時期寫真館的影像追尋), curated by Chien Yung-ping (簡永彬)

[insiderzx]

Dan Bing 😋

[thistransient]

Kochi colours

[acupofcoffee-asia]

Taroko National Park/ Part Two

After retracing the Shakadang trail, heading towards the bus stop, we immediately realized something was wrong: the bus scheduled according to the timetable didn’t seem to be arriving. While we were waiting, we met a French family in the same situation, who asked us for some tips. The little I could do was try to act as a translator between them and Yun Xia, who, being familiar with the area, was the only one who could help us in some way. After a while, we lost sight of the family, but the bus still hadn’t arrived. So, who else but my amazing, newly-met travel companion could come up with a solution?

A few minutes after deciding to hitchhike, a car with a family of three stopped, and not only did they take a detour to drop us off at what would be our next stop, the Nine Turns Trail (九曲洞) but they were so kind and generous that they didn’t make us feel uncomfortable about it at all.

This second path was shorter, but its unique feature lay in how the trail was structured: it was almost entirely inside a tunnel, with tall pillars lining both sides. Looking out from them, you could catch glimpses of views that, despite the unkind weather and overcast sky, were nothing short of stunning. I believe, and I’m pretty sure, the photos I managed to take don’t even come close to capturing the beauty and grandeur of it all.

In any case, the stop was short, it was getting late, and Yun Xia had to head home to Taipei (to take care of her cat). It would take her a bit longer than me, as I was staying in a hostel in Hualien that night. Fortunately, the return bus passed by, almost on time!

Instead of heading straight back to Hualien, to the hostel as I had thought, while chatting about this and that with her, I decided to go to the last bus stop: I really wanted to see the sea. I got off at the terminal, Tianyang, to head to Qixingtan Beach: 七星潭 (Qīxīngtán).

Imagine arriving, just after getting off the bus, to a rather isolated street with small local vendor stalls on either side, surrounded by lush greenery that leads to the pebbles of the beach and then the blue of the sea, with stray dogs wandering around alone.

The encounter with these stray dogs was one of the few (maybe the only) moments during this week-long solo trip when a red flag went off in my mind. But it wasn’t until I realized I had wandered into what seemed like the entrance to an aboriginal reserve—an area that, as I later found out, held cultural significance for the local people but wasn’t formally designated as a reserve—that I had to fight my curiosity to keep going. I realized that I was all alone, in the middle of a barren field with a few trees, and at least two large stray dogs by my sides, not looking at me too kindly. Calmly (my movements were, but not the beating of my heart), and with all the composure I could muster, I got out of that uncomfortable situation and made my way toward the beach, where I stayed afterward.

The beach!

As soon as I got close, I felt an urge to do something that was a bit unusual for me. You should know that when I travel, I tend to not stay very much in contact with my loved ones; I check in with a simple "I'm fine, hi, how are you?" But in that moment, I felt the need to make a video call to my parents because I had to share the vastness and power of what was in front of me. They were with my grandmother when I tried to give them a taste of what was a very rough, threatening sea, yet at the same time so fascinating and powerful. It had the power to send adrenaline through my veins, and a feeling that, neither with words now, nor on the phone with them that day, I think I was able to convey.

I walked from one side of the shore to the other, until, after meeting some Taiwanese children who called me "美国人," (měiguó rén - American), (different from mainland China, where I was mostly called "俄罗斯,"(Éluósī - Russian), I headed towards the bus stop. It was there, after an hour of waiting for a bus that I thought would never come, that I met a Vietnamese family, with the father speaking perfect English, and we exchanged some travel information.

Just as we were talking and trying to figure out how to get back, since the bus still hadn’t arrived, a tourist bus driver showed up, a private one, to replace the one that was supposed to pass. With a kindness that continued to surprise me, despite having encountered not one person who wasn’t kind during those days of traveling, he explained that we had to go with him. And so, after a long journey (I was at one of the last stops, having reached the terminal), I got off and headed towards the hostel, which was still an unknown to me.

When I saw the alley I had to go down, it seemed anything but reassuring, since it was dark. But as soon as I stepped inside, I understood that this wasn’t just any hostel, and that it would be hard to find one as beautiful as this in the future.

I was greeted by a girl at check-in who gave me some directions, explained that I could check out on my own by leaving the key on the desk, and told me that the room I was going to stay in had girls from all over the world. "You’ll get along well," she said. "You’ll have so much to share, I’m sure of it." And that’s how it was.

Without even realizing it, I was plunged into the story of Charlotte (a fictional name), from France, who was taking a gap year from work and spoke a little Italian. During this year, Charlotte had sailed on a boat with strangers and planned to surf in Taiwan. Charlotte had a diary in which she asked everyone, including me, what happiness is. I think I told her that happiness, for me, is like a quest, something you never stop searching for, traveling, meeting people, and having experiences. But what struck me the most were the answers, so different, that people gave her. The simplest ones were the ones that touched me the most. I don’t have any contact with her at the moment, but I’m sure she’s gathered many more interesting ones.

We went to bed early, and the next day, when I went out to explore the east coast of Taiwan, I didn’t meet any of them. I said goodbye to this place with a bit of melancholy, and I hope to return one day. I hope it didn’t suffer too much damage after the 2024 earthquake.

This part of my journey has come to an end, but the more I write, the more I realize how much happened in those six days in Taiwan, and even the seemingly insignificant details, when I think about them now, take on a new hue. For example, how cozy was the little room and the bed I slept in at Hualien? I felt so at peace, and so at home. A year may have passed, but when I think about it, the feeling of gratitude remains.

[acupofcoffee-asia]

Come quando cerchi di fotografare un panorama, ma la foto non riesce a rendere la bellezza di quello che vedi.

Continui a guardare e non riesci a capacitarti di come quello scorcio catturato in uno scatto possa essere così tanto diverso da quello che ti trovi davanti, sarà una questione di scala? Sarà perchè nello schermo del telefono non può essere racchiusa la vastità di quello che vedi?

Oppure, è tutta una questione di emozione? Ciò che hai davanti, il riflesso delle luci sul mare, la difficoltà dell’occhio nel guardare? Non capisci più se le lacrime che spingono negli occhi siano date dalla commozione o dal piacevole fastidio che la luce provoca nell'occhio.

Il panorama è lì, lo sai che lo ricorderai ogni volta che guarderai la foto, ma ti fermi un attimo ancora ad osservarlo. Vuoi fissarlo, perché dentro di te sai che l'immagine originale non puoi davvero fermarla, nemmeno con una fotocamera. Prima o poi, sparirà.

Però intanto sei qui, commossa, grata delle emozioni che stai provando.

Una cosa simile accade in certi rapporti umani,

fugaci, momentanei,

nell'incontro cogli del calore,

una vicinanza,

qualcuno la chiama “aura”

quell’energia positiva che ti fa sentire bene in compagnia di una persona

e questa sensazione è ancora più sfuggente di un’immagine.

Può capitare che poi tu ti chieda “l’ho davvero vissuto?"

L'ho davvero vissuto?

[herpsandbirds]

Fiery-throated Hummingbird (Panterpe insignis), male, family Trochilidae, order Apodiformes, found in Costa Rica and Panama

Photograph by Sam Wilson

[acupofcoffee-asia]

Lately, I’ve found myself deeply inspired by the hummingbird. Now that I’m back home, I feel more like a robin. But when I was traveling across Asia for my studies, facing so many new things alone, I often felt lost and weak.

Then I realized: look how far I am from home! Look at how many things I’m handling—even if it’s not perfect, even if I make mistakes.

That’s why, when I learned about the hummingbird’s ability—despite its small size—to fly incredibly fast and even withstand the rain (where even a single drop can feel heavy for such a tiny creature), I started to see myself in it. Small yet determined, venturing far beyond what seems reachable just to find nourishment. It faces the same struggles as those around it—majestic eagles, so confident, competitive, and striking. But the hummingbird, unnoticed and swift, keeps moving forward on its own path. And in the end, after all its efforts, when it finally finds a flower, it is rewarded—sustaining itself with the most precious nectar, a symbol of the harmony it has been searching for all along.

[acupofcoffee-asia]

Around one year ago, I was here celebrating 元宵节 yuánxiāojié (Lantern Festival), between Taipei and 九份 (Jiufen - the picturesque mountain old town). 🏮✨

Jiufen, with its fairytale-like atmosphere, transports you to the past, with vivid colors and vibrant sounds, always crowded with people and surrounded by the lush green of the mountains and trees, emerging majestically through the mist and rain.

Taipei, modern yet steeped in history, blends the past and present with its vibrant nightlife, dynamic artistic scene, circus performances, international clubs, and bustling night markets offering everything from traditional dishes to the latest vegan options.

Every corner tells a story of a rich history, from ancient temples to lively streets filled with life. 🎇✨

The Lantern Festival (元宵节, Yuánxiāo Jié) is a Chinese tradition that marks the end of the Lunar New Year celebrations. Among its many customs, people eat tangyuan (汤圆), sticky rice balls filled with sweet fillings, symbolizing family unity and completeness. The festival celebrates the full moon's light, embodying themes of reunion and harmony.

Instead of the typical tangyuan (汤圆), I had this traditional Taiwanese dessert called taro ball with brown sugar ice (招牌芋圓冰 zhāopaiyùyuánbīng). The tradition of eating tangyuan during this festival comes from the dish’s name itself: 汤圆 (tāngyuán) sounds similar to 团圆 (tuányuán), meaning 'reunion' or 'being together,' symbolizing family unity. Additionally, their round shape (圆, literally meaning 'round') represents completeness and perfection, much like the full moon, which during the Lantern Festival symbolizes reunion and harmony. 🏮🎇✨🌕