Whispers of Alishan
How an impromptu journey to Alishan transformed into an unforgettable adventure.
One fine Sunday, I found myself waking up later than I’d like, still cradled in the lazy embrace of a chilly yet sunny morning in Taoyuan. You know the type of morning that whispers, "Get up! Do something exciting today!" And there I was, in my cozy blanket, pondering what to do with my weekend. That’s when it hit me: Alishan!
Ah yes, Mount Ali, that majestic beauty I’d been dreaming of for ages. But, of course, my workaholic tendencies had always held me back, with excuses like, "Work is too hectic," or "I’ll plan it later.” You know, the usual. But today felt different—this morning had a vibe, like an invisible force was urging me to just go.
But then, reality tapped on my shoulder: it was already past 10:30 a.m. Facepalm. Planning an Alishan trip wasn't exactly a spontaneous "just get up and go" kind of thing. I mean, it’s not around the corner; it’s tucked away in Chiayi, a solid four to five hours from Taoyuan. The logistics were daunting: bullet trains, local trains, walks, and a mountain climb that needed some serious time investment. By the time I’d drag myself to the top, it would probably be midnight, or worse, I’d miss the mystical sea of clouds entirely!
Now, let me paint you a picture. I’ve been obsessed with the sea of clouds for years. My room? It literally has a painting of Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich. Yes, that one where a guy stands on top of a mountain, gazing at endless clouds like some cool philosopher. I’d been dying to have that moment—me, surrounded by clouds, alone, like I owned the sky. And yet, there I was, once again, tempted to put it off.
But then, like a slap to my sleepy face, I thought, "Wait, hold up. It's a beautiful morning! Why am I hesitating?" This was my shot, my moment. I couldn’t let procrastination win again.
Suddenly, it clicked—why not take my scooter to Neili station instead of a walk? Parking it somewhere safe would save me a ton of time. That way, I’d just hop on a local train to Taoyuan or Zhongli, grab the bullet train, and bam, I’d be in Chiayi in no time! It felt like a genius plan. I mean, who needs meticulous planning when you’ve got spontaneity and a scooter?
Excitement surged through me, and before I knew it, I was up and getting ready at lightning speed. I grabbed my keys, hopped on my trusty scooter, and zoomed off. Neili station, here I come! I parked, scanned my EasyCard, and caught the local train to Zhongli. A short walk later, I was standing at the Zhongli high-speed rail station, and before I could second-guess myself, I was on the bullet train. Woosh! In what felt like no time, I was in Chiayi.
But as soon as I stepped off the train, another facepalm moment hit me. “Why didn’t I just scooter straight to Zhongli? The scooter’s battery would’ve survived it!” Oh well, live and learn, right? At least I was here, in Chiayi, one step closer to those dreamy clouds.
Chiayi… Oh man, what a place! There was something almost magical about it, like stepping into a hidden corner of the world that time forgot. The air was different there—peaceful, yet buzzing with an energy I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It wasn't just a place; it felt like a whole mood. If Chiayi were a person, I’d have probably asked it out on a date. But enough with the romance! I had business to attend to—Mount Ali was calling, and I wasn’t about to let her down.
So, there I was, at the Chiayi railway station, ready to take the bus that would whisk me up to Alishan. Now, they have this direct bus service just for Alishan—how convenient, right? I climbed aboard, looking around, and, well… it was practically empty. Like, ghost-town empty. There were maybe two or three other passengers. I had a fleeting moment of doubt—why was no one else going up there? But then I shrugged it off (because good for me, LoL) and decided to just enjoy the tranquility. After all, the peaceful roads of Chiayi were my companions for the journey, and they weren’t bad company at all.
Fast forward, and bam—I was at the top! The bus had brought me to the Alishan National Forest Recreational Area bus station. One step away from entering my dreamland. Just one step. But oh boy, I didn’t just trip; I tumbled into a mess of confusion!
So, picture this: as soon as we arrive, the bus driver says something to a lady in rapid Chinese. Now, my Chinese, let’s just say, was about as good as a toddler trying to read Shakespeare. I thought I heard him say something along the lines of, “If you wanna go up to Alishan, take another bus from here.” Logical, right? Well, what he actually said was, “If you wanna go down the mountain to return to Chiayi, catch a bus here.”
And what did I do, you ask? Yep, you guessed it. I waited for another bus like an absolute genius, thinking I was heading up. I hopped on, all proud of myself for being so proactive, and we were off! The bus starts winding down these beautiful mountain roads, and after a few minutes, it hits me like a slap to the face—wait… why are we going downhill?
Panic sets in. I muster up my best broken Chinese and ask someone, “Uhh… where is this bus going? How to go to Alishan?” The look they gave me… priceless. And then they said, “This bus is going back to Chiayi. Alishan is up there.” Cue the internal screaming.
I cursed myself so hard I’m surprised I didn’t jinx the rest of the trip. I scrambled to the front, begged the driver to let me off, and apologized profusely. “Dui bu chi”, I said. He was cool about it and dropped me off at this random spot in the middle of the hill. Said I could catch another bus from there.
Forty. Minutes. I waited. Just me, the mountains, and my stupidity. By now, it was already 4:30 p.m. The sun was sinking, and so were my hopes. But finally, another bus came. I flagged it down like it was a lifeline, and the driver, a woman this time, gave me this quizzical look that screamed, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” My cheeks were burning with embarrassment, but I managed to nod and squeak out a yes.
Déjà vu, folks. We were back at the Alishan bus station, and this time, I wasn’t messing it up. I walked straight to the ticket counter, got them to scan my ticket, and they handed me a cute little Chinese New Year card. "Xie Xie," I said with a weak smile, trying to cling to the tiniest bit of dignity.
By the time I finally set foot in the Alishan Recreational Area, it was 5 p.m. Poor, tired me. But hey—I made it. Alishan, my dream, my sea of clouds—at last, I was here!
Finally, 6 p.m. arrived. I bolted toward Ciyun Temple, heart racing with anticipation. This was it—the moment I’d come all this way for, the memory that would be etched in my mind forever. And wow… was it ever.
The sunset wasn’t just beautiful—it was haunting. Up there, 2500 meters above sea level, the air felt warm, as expected. I mean, it was the south of Taiwan after all, always warm, right? But as the sun sank lower, something bizarre started to happen. The warmth that had embraced me all day was ripped away, as if someone had flipped a switch. My skin, moments ago basking in sunlight, began to prickle with cold. The light, that comforting golden glow, started to fade fast, swallowed by the creeping clouds. And those clouds, they didn’t just roll in—they crawled, slowly, like something dark and menacing was seeping into the world.
It was eerie, surreal. The temperature dropped so suddenly it felt like the earth was gasping its last breath. Everything around me blurred, as if nature itself was whispering warnings, filling the air with a quiet, unsettling tension. It was like a scene straight out of a dream—beautiful, yet tinged with a strange sense of foreboding. Despair mingled with awe, and for a second, I felt like I wasn’t even on earth anymore. It was a moment I knew I’d never forget. And just like that, the sun disappeared into the sea of clouds.
Still wrapped in that eerie beauty, I began my walk back through the darkening forest, my mind lost in the memory of that sunset. It was only when I reached the exit that reality slapped me in the face. I checked for the returning buses... and guess what? There were none. Zero. Nada. Not a single bus in sight. My heart skipped a beat.
What do you mean no buses? I scrolled through my mental list of mistakes. Why didn’t I check the return schedules properly? Why did I assume there’d be buses after 6 p.m.? And here came the inevitable question—is this the moment I regret every decision I've made today?
As if that wasn’t bad enough, my phone was hanging on for dear life with barely any battery left. I rummaged through my bag. What do I find? A laptop. No USB-C cable for my phone. A laptop charger—fantastic, for the one device I didn’t need to charge. No food. No jacket. Amazing. I had, in my infinite wisdom, assumed it wouldn’t get cold because, duh, southern Taiwan! What could possibly go wrong?
The answer? Everything.
The sun had set, the darkness was closing in, and so was the cold. The temperature was dropping faster than I could think of solutions. Fantastic, I thought. This is how I go—death by foolishness. As my phone neared its final breath, I asked a local if I could book a cab. They quoted me 2000 NTD. Two. Thousand. NTD. My brain screamed, "Two thousand to leave this beautiful place? Is it worth it?" I hesitated. Paying 2k felt like a robbery. The idea of booking a hotel crossed my mind, but then the dreaded introvert in me took over. Whom do I ask? What if they laugh at me? What if they think I’m some lost tourist who doesn’t know what he’s doing? Ugh, the embarrassment.
So, instead of giving in to logic, I chose the most "Kaustubh" thing to do—I decided to roam the forest in the dark. Yep, let’s go exploring! But first, dinner.
I dragged my tired self to the nearest 7-Eleven, stomach growling. And just when I thought the night couldn’t get any more interesting, surprise—nothing vegetarian. Great, because apparently, one problem isn’t enough. A friendly stranger noticed my dilemma and asked in English if I was looking for something. "Yeah, anything vegetarian," I replied with a hopeful smile. He pointed me to a stall nearby.
And there it was—vegan instant noodles. Life-saver. I grabbed two packets of Wei Lei Meh noodles, filled them with hot water from 7-Eleven, and plopped myself down outside to eat. As the steam rose from the cup, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. It was cold, dark, and my plans were a mess—but here I was, enjoying the most comforting bowl of noodles ever.
Yummy indeed.
The adventure was far from over. I had noodles in my belly, the night stretched out before me, and now I needed to charge my phone. And just when I thought I was out of luck, the universe sent me an angel. No kidding.
I walked into this small, cozy general shop, a warm light spilling out from the inside like a beacon of hope. Desperation makes you bold, so I approached the elderly lady behind the counter and asked if she had a charger. My Chinese was far from perfect, and it was clear she didn’t quite catch what I was trying to say. Enter Google Translate, my trusty lifeline. I typed out my situation—how I missed the last bus, how I was about to spend a very chilly night in the woods, and how I desperately needed to charge my phone.
Her face softened as she read the translation. She nodded and said yes, motioning for me to wait. Then, this lady, who barely knew me, went inside her home, leaving me wondering what was next. She came back with a jacket. Not just any jacket, but the kind that felt like a cozy, portable fireplace. She handed it to me and said I should keep it.
"Wait, what? Keep it? No, no, I’ll return it when you close up for the night," I said, determined not to take advantage of her kindness. But she wouldn’t hear of it. After some back-and-forth, we agreed I’d keep the jacket for the night and return it in the morning after 7 a.m. I thanked her a thousand times over, purchased a charger from her, plugged in my phone at her shop, and left there to let it charge.
As I waited, the cold air began to gnaw at my ears and creep through my clothes, reminding me of just how unprepared I was for a mountain night. The wind whispered ominously, like it was promising more shivers to come. The temperature had dropped dramatically, and I was starting to feel the bite of the mountain’s winter grip.
After what felt like forever—though it was probably just an hour—I went back to the shop. The lady was about to close up. I thanked her again, grabbed my phone, and, fully prepared to brave the forest once more, I wandered off into the night. The jacket was officially my best friend. By now, it was freezing, and I checked the temperature: 5 degrees Celsius.
As soon as I put on the jacket, I couldn’t help but smile. This wasn’t just warm—it was heavenly. It hugged me like the universe itself was wrapping me in a blanket, and suddenly, I wasn’t cold anymore. Now that warmth wasn’t an issue, it was time to find a place to crash. That’s when I spotted a Buddhist temple in the distance. Perfect.
I walked over, found a bench, and plopped myself down, thinking about how this might just be the most adventurous night of my life. "I’m so glad I came," I muttered to myself, feeling a strange mix of triumph and calm settle over me. Everything was perfect. Until... that sound.
Buzzzzzzzzzz.
A loud, droning noise cut through the silence, and it went on for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably just a minute. My brain scrambled to make sense of it. And then it hit me—It’s the sound of fogging machine for pest control. Mosquitoes! Of course, how could I forget? The bane of my existence. I love the outdoors, but mosquitoes? No thanks. I thought, great, just great, my night is doomed.
For a second, I panicked. I imagined being eaten alive by swarms of mosquitoes. Then I remembered I had no problem with snakes. In fact, back in my hostel in India, I used to catch them for fun. Yep, that’s right, snakes? Cool. Mosquitoes? My personal nightmare.
But I held my ground, determined not to let some other buzzing ruin my night. I shut my eyes, prepared for a long battle with the bloodsuckers. Half an hour passed... and no bites. No buzzing near my ears. No mosquitoes?
I opened my eyes, a little stunned. Probably the preventive measures at Alishan had worked wonders. For once, I was relieved. No bugs, no mosquitoes. I could finally breathe easy. And that’s when I had another realization—the real enemy wasn’t the bugs. It wasn’t even the snakes.
It was winter!
The night dragged on like an endless test of endurance. By midnight, the cold was unbearable, seeping through my jacket like a relentless enemy. I was at the top of a hill, alone in the middle of a forest, with only a thin t-shirt and a jacket to shield me from the biting cold. It felt like zero degrees, maybe worse. The jacket that had once been a lifeline was now powerless against the chill, and I was shivering uncontrollably. My fingers were turning numb, my breath fogging the air, and my eyes felt like they were freezing over.
In a brief moment of lucidity, I remembered I had gloves in my bag. I hastily put them on, but they barely made a difference. The cold was too intense. I closed my eyes, hoping for sleep to take over and rescue me from the misery, but after just a few minutes, I jolted awake. The cold was unbearable, almost painful. At that point, I accepted the truth—there was no way I was going to sleep through this night.
The only thing that could keep me warm was movement. So I walked. I walked to generate heat, to keep my blood flowing. And then, once I was warm enough, I would rest for a while. Then, as the cold crept back in, I would walk again. I repeated this cycle, like a nomad pacing through the moonlit forest, alone in the silence. The world was still, the full moon glowed behind shifting clouds, casting a soft, eerie light over the trees. It was cold, but it was also breathtakingly beautiful.
I kept wandering, taking photos when I could, soaking in the peace that came with being the only soul awake in this vast, quiet place. The silence was thick, and the only sound I could hear was the crunching of my footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. I felt at peace, despite the cold. It was one of the most beautiful nights of my life.
Finally, at around 3:30 am, I started to see signs of life. People were waking up, preparing to head to the Zhushan Trail to witness what’s known as one of the most stunning sunrises in the world. I, too, was ready. I pulled out some snacks I had bought earlier at Seven-Eleven—nothing fancy, just enough to give me some energy.
I made my way to the Alishan railway station. This wasn’t just any train—it was a small, charming train that only runs in Alishan, snaking its way to the very top of the mountain. I could have hiked, but I had always wanted to experience this train ride. I bought a ticket for 150 NTD and boarded the train with a sense of excitement.
By 4:30 am, I was at Zhushan, early enough to secure a good spot. I raced to the railing, determined to record the sunrise with a time-lapse on my phone. It was freezing, my fingers numb, but I stood there, clutching my phone, waiting for the sun. For 1.5 hours, I held on, shivering in the cold, my breath coming out in quick puffs, fingers aching from the frost.
But then, the moment I had been waiting for arrived.
I could feel the sun before I saw it. There was a subtle shift in the air, a warmth that spread across my skin even though the sun hadn’t yet peeked out from behind the mountains. The clouds began to disperse, as if making way for something grand. A soft light appeared on the horizon, hinting at the sun’s imminent arrival. My body, so used to shivering in the cold, started to relax. The goosebumps that had risen from the freezing air began to settle as the warmth slowly returned to my skin.
As I waited, the sky brightened, the colors shifted from dark blues to pale oranges and pinks, like a painting coming to life. And then, finally, the sun emerged. A small, glowing ball peeking from behind the mountains, filling the world with light and warmth. It was as if hope had returned, lifting the heaviness of the night and replacing it with pure, unfiltered joy.
The transformation was incredible. The cold, harsh night was now a distant memory, replaced by the warmth and brilliance of the morning sun. I could see the people around me cheering, celebrating this beautiful, life-affirming moment. It was a feeling I can hardly describe. After a night of struggle and endurance, this sunrise felt like a reward—a gift from nature, reminding me of the beauty and resilience of life itself.
In that moment, I wasn’t just witnessing a sunrise. I was experiencing renewal, a sense of triumph, and the overwhelming beauty of nature unfolding before my eyes.
As the morning sun settled into the sky, warming up everything in its path, I knew it was time to start making my way back. My adventure had come to an end, and though I was reluctant to leave, I had to return the jacket to the kind woman who had helped me the night before. On the way down from Zhushan, I passed a shop selling scallion pancakes, my absolute favorite snack. For a moment, I wanted to stop and grab one, but the small crowd inside made me hesitate. I guess my shyness kicked in, and I decided to continue walking instead.
The descent down the mountain was peaceful and scenic—a 3-kilometer walk along a beautiful trail that gave me more time to reflect on everything I had experienced. When I arrived at the shop to return the jacket, someone else was there. I explained the situation and handed it back, feeling incredibly grateful for the kindness I had been shown.
It was around 9 a.m. by then, and as much as I wanted to stay and soak in more of the serene beauty, I knew it was time to say goodbye. This place, Alishan, had taught me so much about the raw power of nature and the unpredictability of life. It was humbling. I grabbed one last meal—my favorite tofu noodles—and caught the first bus out of the area.
As I sat on the bus, I couldn’t help but remember the meeting I had at 2 p.m. I had promised my professor that I’d help him interview some future interns. That’s why I had brought my laptop with me in the first place—just in case something like this happened, where I was stuck far away but still had to keep my commitments.
I was running on minimal sleep, still recovering from the cold night, but I didn’t want to miss my responsibility. I took the Tze Chiang Express train back, far too broke to afford the convenience of the bullet train again, but content with the decision. By the time 2 p.m. rolled around, I was all set for the interviews. I had already explained my situation to my professor earlier, and he had been understanding. He told me I could skip the interviews if I needed to. But no, I was determined to attend. I had given him my word, and even if it meant conducting the interviews from a train, I was going to be there.
The interviews went smoothly, and after they were done, I finally allowed myself to relax. I leaned back and watched the scenery roll by, knowing I was almost home. Soon, I would reach Zhongli, take the local train to Neili, and return to my dormitory. I’d then head to the lab, back to my usual routine.
But this adventure—this unexpected journey full of challenges, beauty, and self-discovery—was something I would carry with me forever. It wasn’t just a trip; it was an experience that left a mark on me, a memory that I would cherish for a lifetime.
Read this story in Hindi: https://lamhein.kaustubhdubey.com/2024/10/whispers-of-alishan.html
Check out the sunrise and sunset videos from my trip on my YouTube channel: https://youtu.be/esid9ruw1tI
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