Last night when we left Danshui, we split up when we got back to the subway station near the house. I went to the drug store to pick up more Panadol, which doesn’t work well, but it is all they’ve got and Irene took James home by bus. I went overboard and bought a couple boxes (they come only in boxes with enough for 2 days), some cough drops and a soda. They don’t give out plastic bags in Taiwan and I didn’t want to buy one, so I stuffed my pockets, rearranging my usual pocket contents into unusual places for the walk home.
We slept with the windows closed last night. Irene doesn’t like it but it seems to help my cough. I’m completely convinced that I cannot clear off the last vestiges of this cold because of the filthy air.
Today we headed into the mountains again for a few days and my hope was that some good clear air would help. I couldn’t imagine that air could be any worse than Taipei’s the last few days. Before we left, I went down the street to get some Cong You Bing for breakfast. The typical practice is that you order the food, they cook it, they give you the food, you pay and leave.
Things went normally this morning until I reached for my wallet, which was missing, and I didn’t have enough change to cover the $45 bill (remember that’s only $1.35 US). My Chinese is good enough to order breakfast, but it isn’t anywhere near as expansive as to be able to say, “I’m sorry, my wallet is missing and I cannot pay you.” I could only try to look really embarrassed and mortified (not hard), mime a wallet falling out of my pocket (In fact, I suspected I just hadn’t put it in my pants when I got up) and saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over. I tried to convey that I’d return soon with the rest of the money.
After a confab between Mr. and Mrs. Cong You Bing, they agreed to accept the $35 that I had.
I got about halfway home when I discovered my wallet in a pocket on the wrong side of my pants. I had shifted it last night at the drugstore. (See? That earlier story was going somewhere. It was foreshadowing.)
I rushed back, paid them the rest of the money, along with another chorus of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” and went upon my way, complete with my full load of stress for the day before 8:00AM.
When we left around 9:30 we travelled by car, with Mr. Huang coming along for the trip. Our first destination, Chingjing – It’s a sheep farm. No, I’m not kidding, the Taiwanese can turn a sheep farm into a tourist attraction. (See previous travelogues for entries on “cows”.)
To get there, we travelled south on the newest North-South Freeway, one I haven’t been on before, towards Taichung. As we approached Taichung it became apparent that Taipei is in the pollution minor leagues compared to Taichung. The air was positively toxic. Too thick to be smog, I dubbed it “smuck.”
Just outside of Taichung, we stopped at a rest area. I’m told this is the most beautiful rest area on the entire freeway. It’s so wonderful that citizens of Taichung arrange meetings there and just go socialize and look at the stars. Of course, the really nice part about it is that no toll gates lie between Taichung and it so they can get there for free.
When we arrived, the air was still thick and nasty. As far as I could immediately see it wasn’t much different than any other Taiwanese rest area, consisting of a large parking lot, bathrooms, gas station and restaurant area. Of course, I almost couldn’t see Taichung, or the sea beyond it – which, considering the direction is is facing could no doubt be a nice place to see a sunset from.
The truly impressive part is the bathroom. The men’s room had 77 urinals (yes, they’re numbered) and 4 to 8 stalls. There were urinals for as far as the eye could see. They had installed urinals on every conceivable bit of wall space. I was half expecting them to be installed on the doors of the stalls, or at least have a second level for even more. I never could get a picture. As you can imagine, a busy rest stop doesn’t have many times when the restrooms are empty enough to snap photos.
Once out of Taichung I hoped the air would clear up, but it never did, even high into the mountains the smuck pushed its way up the valleys, rendering all the good scenic photo spots nearly worthless.
Typical of inland mountain roads, the road we were on was narrow, steep and winding, but not nearly so bad as some I’ve been on. What we did notice was that no one paid the slightest head to the double yellow lines; cars were passing cars on the narrowest of mountain curves, repeatedly missing certain death by inches.
When we did arrive at our hotel near Chingjing Farm, it was really quite nice, but like all the other hotels in the area, it occupied a small terrace hacked out of the mountains. Each with a commanding view of the valley below – or it would have if the air weren’t still solid haze. As the sun began to set, the clouds slowly moved in and displaced the haze, but by then it was dark.
I took a walk up the “road” (really, more of cemented goat track) to the 7-11. They must not get many foreigners in these parts because everyone I passed on the road had to say, “Hello” and “How do you do?” and then laugh when I answered back in English. Perhaps I have a funny accent?
I scouted out the area, and discovered that there was not only a 7-11 and a Starbucks, there was also a mini-mall complete with every form of sheep paraphernalia you can imagine – lotions, potions, shirts, hats, shoes, sheep ice cream and every type of stuffed sheep (cute and cuddly, not real and macabre) – and, most importantly a food court which had at least one place selling fried chicken.
We returned later as a family and had dinner, before turning in for the night.