country roads, take me home...

I am the proud owner of a scooter once again.  After a few frustrating attempts at finding something that didn't look like it would break down if I sat on it, I received an e-mail from another foreigner back in Hsinchu. He gave me a good deal on his shiny red bike so I jumped at the offer.  The only problem-getting it back to Puli.  Of course, I'd been wanting to do a semi-cross country scooter trip for some time so I went out to Hsinchu with the intent of driving all the way back here.

Some people thought I'd gone crazy.  I got basic directions from my boss. My expat friend in Hsinchu attempted to explain how to find the provincial highway that would start me on my journey and his wife wrote a note in Chinese: please help this foreigner find highway 3. She took one look at the scooter, laughed, and insisted it would take 6 or 7 hours to reach my destination.

I said a prayer when I woke. I left my hotel in Hsinchu at 3:30 am, a smile on my face despite the protests of the doorman. "Too early," he warned. He looked extremely concerned but I assured him I'd be fine.

I could not find provincial highway 3.

I bothered a poor lady riding her scooter.  She had two giant bags full of cans and looked terrified when I opened my mouth.  After listening to me maul the Chinese language for a few moments she gestured for me to follow her.  Happily, I complied. I thought she was leading the way to my destination but my heart sank when she pulled over alongside the police station.  One security guard quickly turned into three.  He had to call his friends for back-up.  More attempts at speaking bad Chinese followed; I understood some of what they were saying said but to my utter shame I could not reply.  The bag lady got on the phone with her friend and said something like "This foreigner wants to drive to Puli by herself.  She can't speak Chinese and has no Chinese friend."  They kept laughing at the fact that I wanted to drive so 'far'.


Finally, after I said "I want go" in Chinese and pointed to the highway 3 symbol about ten times, someone figured it out. One of the guards hopped on his scooter and I followed him for about 30 minutes.  He then grabbed my notebook and wrote what I could only assume translated to "Help this crazy white girl get to Puli,"  said a bunch of stuff I didn't understand, and made a hand gesture at provincial highway 3.  I thanked him, grinned, and set off.   I do have to say the Taiwanese can be extremely helpful sometimes. I hope we'd be as kind back in the states.


The first two hours of the drive were the most difficult.  Cold air, dark roads, solitary traveler. Despite being a little nervous, I marveled at the experience.  With the rising of the sun, beautiful landscapes began to unfold before my eyes-a whole new Taiwan, a whole new world.  Aside from a few crazy drivers and a weird squeaking bat-like animal, the drive went well.  I stopped to take pictures when I reached enchanting highway 21. It winds through the mountains and looks totally Asian.:) Not a place to drive fast though, lots of twists and turns.

The total journey took about five hours.  I arrived in Puli with an aching body and a feeling of deep satisfaction; I felt amazed with Taiwan and even more amazed with myself.


Yes, I am bragging.  In the not-so distant past I feared driving alone in corn fields.  I used to think about horrible things happening to me and I'd give myself anxiety attacks.  Now I'm driving mopeds on lonely mountain roads in a non-English speaking country.  I've come a long way and I hope this boldness continues to take me to new, enlightening places.