Homesick

By Edison Santacruz
(Attended in Summer 2024)

My time in Taiwan was like nothing I’d experienced before. I arrived at Taoyuan International Airport on June 2nd. Stepping off the plane felt akin to stepping off a rocketship into a whole new world of pristine white flooring and walls. The airport was like a museum of sorts; decorated with technicolored picasso-esque statues as tall as I am, relics with bilingual explanations of what they were encased in glass, as well as a wall of orchids commemorating the 16th president and vice-president of Taiwan’s inauguration. My cheeks were undoubtedly sore from smiling so much, but soon came my first hurdle of the trip. I did not know how to get where I needed to go.

Before leaving for Taiwan I reached out to a friend of mine who teaches music at an American school in Taipei, and he invited me to stay at his place in Shilin District. Anxiety commingled with the excitement of adventure as I struggled to understand which bus might take me there or how to even buy a ticket; I also spent an embarrassing amount of time walking in circles, in and out of the airport. Self-consciousness made the tendons in my shoulders and neck stiffen. I used my then deeply limited Mandarin to ask for clarification on which bus would take me where I needed to go and was rewarded with an answer I’m sure I didn’t understand because I don’t remember what I was told. I ended up wasting $4 USD on a bus ticket that would go unused. Finally, my friend reached out to me, he told me the MRT, Mass Rapid Transit, was the easiest way to get to his place. They even have a train station built into the airport!

In order to board the MRT, I needed to buy an Easycard. There was a little booth in front of the turnstile that grants access to the trains, and it seemed they had different designs for their EasyCards. I wanted to buy one that had Snoopy on it, but they were sold out, so I ended up buying a green-blue one that had little creatures on it and text that read “Dopamine Monsters”. I can’t say I wasn’t disappointed that I couldn’t carry Snoopy around in my wallet, but it was at least cuter than the flimsy, yellow, needlessly expensive MetroCard. I tapped the card and was granted access to the turnstile.

Soon enough, after needlessly lugging my luggage down escalators when nearby were a number of elevators to take, I was at the platform surprised to find that when the train pulled in a little jazzy tune played alerting everyone that the train had arrived. Much nicer than the almost-demonic screeching that trains in New York emit from their tired, rust-encrusted brakes. I remember just sitting in amazement as I looked around the clean train, noticing the prohibition of food or drink on the train, the absence of unwashed vagabonds with syringes pricked into their flesh. I did not miss New York as I watched the landscapes transform from densely wooded forests with the occasional lake into massive acres of what seemed to be farmland, nor when the farmland transformed into cities with unique and inviting architecture. Taiwan was not going to be the bleak, fast-paced industrial prison I had grown up in. I considered calling my sisters to tell them all about how much nicer Taiwan already was than NYC, not once did I lose service while on the train either, but I decided to try and be fully present in my first few hours in the country that would be my home for the foreseeable future. My excitement transformed into peace.

Eventually I arrived at Zhishan station, awkwardly trying to handle my luggage around the escalators and stairs and make my way outside. The rain seemed to be dying down, but if it was still as hot and sticky as when I first arrived: I no longer remember. It was still morning, and my friend met me at the station, but he was in a rush because he had joined a Dragon Boat Rowing team and they had practice that afternoon. He offered to call me an uber, which I declined, lent me his spare keys, and we went on our separate journeys for the day. Despite the eleven minute walk with burdensome cargo, I remember my trek to his apartment feeling more like a dream. My eyes fixated on every passing street sign and closed store. I’m sure I was thrilled at seeing Chinese characters, familiar and foreign to me, labeling the streets I would wander through aimlessly when I had the time to. I only found myself slightly annoyed with the minimal space provided as the pavement, and the occasional crack or bump which would force my luggage to trail behind me on its side instead of on its wheels. Having spent over twelve hours on the plane didn’t register to me as I was the most energized I’d ever been. It’s more than likely I skipped happily for a moment or two due to the unbridled giddiness that coursed through my body like something sweeter than adrenaline. I don’t remember the sounds or smells of that specific day any longer, but it’s possible that the silence of the neighborhood was only broken by the occasional motorcycle or call of a bird. Before long, I reached the Shilin apartment and realized I had to carry my luggage up to the fifth floor. Naivete convinced me that I could bring the cumbersome suitcases up those countless steps by myself in one go, but I was only able to carry my belongings up to the third or fourth floor before my lungs and muscles reprimanded me for my hubris. I was not strong enough to bring myself, my carry-on, and my suitcase all the way up ten flights of stairs all at once.

After struggling with the keys and locks for a while, the first thing I remember doing when I made it into the apartment was rushing to take a shower. Two days of air travel paired with the sticky heat of Taiwan had me reeking of, at best, unwashed armpits. Soap and shampoo were more valuable than gold after seeing the pitiful amelioration bath wipes seemed to provide in terms of personal hygiene and smell. The warmth of the water mixing with the fragrance of his sandalwood body gel provided me with everything I needed to step back out of his apartment. I was ready to explore. Initially, I planned on going to watch my friend and his team practice rowing, but forgot why I didn’t end up doing that. Maybe it was because I wasn’t exactly sure where they were practicing, or maybe I was more intrigued by my immediate surroundings. One of the first things I ended up doing was withdrawing cash. The ATM I went to had a cute animation of a superhero with “ATM” plastered on his chest talking to some little girl. It seemed to have something to do with not sharing banking information and getting scammed by others, but I still lack the fluency needed to understand everything the recording said. I withdrew some money, I forgot how much, and spent the next hour wandering aimlessly around the neighborhood. I passed some fruit stands with the biggest watermelons I’d ever seen up to that point and what may have been a Taoist temple. I would have stayed out longer, but it began to rain heavily and, despite having bought an umbrella from 711, I did not want to stay outside in that weather much longer. I didn’t like the rain so much then, and circumstances that I’ll go further into detail later have caused me to detest the rain now.

The rest of that day was a blur. I went to a flower and jade market, awkwardly eyeing inventory I had no intention of buying yet. It was only my first day in the country and I didn’t want to fill my luggage with nonsense before I even got to understand what it was that the country really had to offer. Not to say that they were selling nonsense, but I still didn’t have a strong grasp on how far 1000 yuan could take you, and I didn’t really find anything I was interested in buying for myself or anyone else.

The Third Day

The 3rd was less memorable than the second, but it was the day that I consider my journey having truly begun. Again, I explored the surrounding shops and environment. I ended up coming across a great brown bird with a big chest, long legs, a short neck and eyes which were two concentric circles on either side. It was maybe the size of my forearm, and didn’t seem to move much. Its eye shape made it look like it was in a perpetual state of bewilderment, but aside from that it didn’t seem like much would phase the bird. It stood in the center of a park nearby where there were caution signs telling pedestrians to beware the snakes that might be slithering in the tall grass. It made my heart race with anxiety and excitement. I had spent the weeks leading up to my journey studying everything I could about the wildlife in Yangmingshan National Park and trying to figure out where I might be able to camp across the country. In my mind, all the wildlife that was in Yangmingshan would also be littered across the journey South to Kaohsiung. I felt a sense of adventure in being as prepared as I could be, all my survivalist gear packed into the giant maroon suitcase back at my friend’s place, as well as a looming sense of dread knowing that I would be alone for most of the journey. I considered asking to stay with him until it was time for classes to begin, instead I walked past the park and stumbled across a French cafe and bought breakfast for my friend and I to share.

We managed to use a delivery service “Hei Mao”- Black Cat to send my luggage to the guesthouse I would live at for the majority of my time in Taiwan. I had trouble operating it, especially since I did not have my own Taiwanese phone number, and the website to prepare my luggage for delivery was fully in Chinese. My friend and I alternated between using Google translate and filling and refilling out the same information until we suddenly found success. I don’t really know what did it, but minutes later we took my luggage to a 711 that was no further than two blocks away from his place and sent my package off to Kaohsiung. Well, I think I technically sent it to my landlord in Tainan who somehow brought my luggage into the room he assigned to me. That day I ate soup dumplings and drank a lychee slush, and prepared myself for the long journey ahead.

Before long, I made it back to Zhishan station saying goodbye to my friend and getting on the train to Huilong Station. I don’t really understand or remember why I decided to take that train when I wanted to walk the entire way, but I remember one of the workers from the train station cautioning me not to drink from my water bottle as it could incur a fine. You aren’t allowed to eat or drink anything in Taipei’s MRT or MRT stations, no wonder it’s so clean! Afterward he directed me to the correct train I would need to take to get to Huilong and expressed that my Chinese was “很厲害”, using the same adjective to describe my proposed journey South. He, like many people I would meet, thought that the attempt was ludicrous but commendable.

Most of my trek seemed to be through streets that people seemed to seldom walk on. There’s much less transformation of landscape when walking through a country as opposed to taking the train, for a while it seemed to me like the country would only be signs warning people of falling rocks, thin sidewalks and hills crowded with trees. Google Maps had told me that I had over six hours to walk in order to make it to wherever it was I was trying to get to. I called my father, mother, and listened to music as I tried to find some way to make the walk less mind-numbing, but as it turns out avoiding traffic with a fifty-odd pound backpack on the narrowest sidewalks ever conceived is not particularly exciting, instead it was boring and a little irritating. Sure, I still felt the novelty of doing something “irrational” in a foreign country, but time distortion and the load on my back was sure to kill me. When it rained, it poured, and when hunger came it was ravenous and unforgiving. I don’t remember the sun setting, probably because it was obscured by the rain clouds, but well into the night I was still hours away from my destination with swollen, malodorous sweaty feet. I think blisters were already daring to form at my toes and the space between them. I did my best to pacify their indignant behavior with athletic tape and bandages. In the end however I had to call an Uber, and I found myself grateful I did as while we drove to the farm I’d camp at, we passed a few stray dogs. I’d already encountered some on my walk and experienced a similar type of cortisol that I would get in too-big crowds in the states or when staring at an assignment I didn’t know how to begin, only the danger seemed much more real because I had few encounters with angry strays. I did not know whether or not the dogs in that area actually posed any threat, but was unwilling to find out firsthand.

I set up my tent in a big doorless building filled with other tents. I smelled of feet, and my back burned with exhaustion, but I probably set up that tent in record time. If I remember correctly it took me less than ten minutes. I desperately, quickly unfurled my sleeping bag and tried to blow up my sleeping pad and pillow, but found my travel pillow would deflate with any pressure applied. It was riddled with holes. I taped it up as best I could with medical tape, but resigned myself to sleeping with a half-inflated pillow on my sleeping pad which was only marginally softer than the ground. It was the quickest, most well-deserved sleep I’d ever gotten.

I woke up to what sounded like screams or barks. It freaked me out, and I still have absolutely no idea what those calls were. I wanted to find out but had no means to trace or record the noise, so I gave up and simply walked around the campsite/farm to see what was there. A koi pond, a giant lake surrounded by fishermen and leggy white birds that may have been herons, as well as all sorts of flowers and trees and stink bugs and bees. I avoided the insects fearing the killer wasps I know exist in the country, but I doubt there was anything all that dangerous around there. There was, however, thankfully, a bathroom with showers. I wouldn’t have to resort to the useless bath wipes that sat purposelessly in my bag. I had a chicken rice ball for breakfast and set off again passing a Costco and the first restaurant I would spend money at in Taiwan. I couldn’t read the menu so well, and didn’t understand the pricing, or what the cashier even really said, but I ordered something. The lady passed me a tray with pork, rice, and what seemed to be various vegetables with a cute little yakult drink. I ate clumsily, still not having had a solid grasp on how to use chopsticks, and felt embarrassment color my cheeks when the occasional grains of rice or veggie flew over to the other side of the table I was sitting at. I was maybe halfway through my meal when I looked closer and realized that the piles of whitish gray on my tray, which I thought were beansprouts, were in fact tiny whole fish. I didn’t know that I’d ordered that, but hunger and exhaustion still controlled my body, and the food was good. I hungrily finished my plate, tried sheepishly to thank the workers for the meal and set off to Hsinchu.

If I was exhausted making my way to the center of Taoyuan, I was a dead man walking making my way to the heart of Hsinchu. After making the halfway point, which was also in Hsinchu, each subsequent step made me increasingly miserable. I took the occasional photo or video of my surroundings professing that “I am tired and the idea of calling an Uber is increasingly alluring but I think I can still make it. It’s only three more hours” I was trying to delude myself into believing that even after walking six hours I still had energy left to walk the remaining three hours. What made the exhaustion all the more unbearable was the mosquito bites collecting on my legs and the blisters on the soles of my toes that all but crippled me, not to mention the loneliness that slowly grew heavier in my chest as I considered that I was in a city of strangers and everyone I knew and loved was twelve hours behind, likely asleep. I made it to Hukou, but I don’t think that’s the part of Hsinchu I was trying to walk to. Inside one of the 711’s, I called an Uber to take me to some hostel I found online.

From then on, my journey had metamorphosed. My body was unwilling to carry on as it had been for the past two days. The skin of my shoulders burned intolerably from the chafing of my too-heavy pack, and the muscles across the whole of my back screamed from the lactic acid I must have been producing from the overexertion. My feet, too, seemed to mock me for my foolishness or naïveté. Each blistered step I dared to take was some cosmic joke on me, but I refused to wholly relent. Even if I wasn’t going to walk 200 miles and camp out in the total wilderness, I could still see all the cities I planned to visit. So that’s what I did, using the country's buses, trains, and Ubers. I don’t know how many people I’d met along the way, but I know this alteration in my plans allowed me to engage further with the culture and people and make friends I couldn’t have otherwise made if I stuck to my original plans. Before long, I arrived at Kaohsiung station the morning of my first day of school.

My Classes

My classes began at 1 in the afternoon, so I still had time to go to the guest house. When I got home, I was overjoyed to replace the heavy survivalist gear that dragged my body close to the ground with little more than two notebooks and my bright yellow duck-shaped pencil case. From school it was another hour long walk. I remember seeing pigeons near Lotus pond, which I always feel like calling a lake due to its massive size, and marveling that they all still had all their toes. It was an impressive man-made body of water with statues and pagodas constructed or under construction around different parts of the pond. I thought I would walk through the pond and its surrounding park everyday to get to school, and though I saw it often, it wasn’t a daily occurrence. Before I knew it, I made it to campus.

At the main gate was a tall red paifang that had Wenzao Ursuline College of Languages written on it. I don’t remember the first day of school too much, but the three hours of classes might as well have been ten minutes. It flew by much faster than I anticipated. I know afterwards I met up with my fellow Hunter students. After class we went to a nearby Japanese restaurant and just enjoyed each other’s company. That evening we went to Liouhe Night Market, and I rather impulsively got a tattoo that I would cover up a week later. At the end of the night we were considering how we would get home, some of my friends wanted to bike, but myself and another one of my friends never learned how until that night that is. Granted I was still horrible and nearly swerved in front of cars more times than I could count since for reasons that I cannot explain my body willed the bike to turn left even though I wanted nothing more than to ride straight ahead.

Still, I practiced as much as I could and I think by the second or third day of being in Kaohsiung, I could ride any bicycle relatively fine. It ended up being my main mode of transportation for the next three months.

Those three months

Those three months are hard to remember linearly at this moment. When I remember Taiwan and my time at Wenzao, it’s more like tableaus of different adventures that I’d had, both academic and personal. I see myself sitting in the small, chill classroom surrounded by my classmates looking up at the powerpoint presentation and practicing sentence patterns with each other. I see my friends and I sitting together at a convenience store or restaurant, laughing too loudly, playing card games, or reading through the textbook getting ready for an upcoming quiz. I see all the locals that I’d made friends with at the bars, coffee shops, restaurants and taxis striking up conversations with me or participating in the ones that I’d started and really just enjoying getting to know more about each other.

I thought about all the friends that I’d made, and how much I’d learned and grown and felt safe and warm and knew even while in Taoyuan airport, I was already homesick for Taiwan.

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