Hiking in Taiwan - Exploring Taroko Gorge

We were headed back to Taipei Joyce's home town (and briefly my own). Much as I love the city (especially now I don't have to go to work everyday while I'm there) once you've spent a night on the town and done a bit of shopping it is possible to start wondering what to do next.

So we set about planning our escape, and looked at the options, one thing is obvious about Taiwan it has fantastic hiking possibilities with high mountain peaks, national parks and some unique flora and fauna. So easy then.

Well not quite, good information in English is not as readily available as it could be on hiking in Taiwan, particularly in English - actually I hope this blog might help out a bit. Our first plan was to climb Mount Jade (Yueshan) the highest peak in South East Asia (when I heard that bit I had visions of people thinking I was Chris Bonnington every time I casually slipped it into the conversation, although apparently the climb is not too difficult). However unfortunately you have to apply for a permit, these are allocated by lottery at the beginning of every month. Our application failed. Never mind we thought we have a Plan B the less famous Snow Mountain. Well, we found this too needed a permit applied for 2 weeks in advance. Again we tried. Without going into all the tedious details all our attempts to get a permit to climb anything proved about as easy as gaining a friendly smile from an immigration officer at passport control. Add to that we had to do it all from England with flights and dates already organised and we might as well have been ...... Eventually we had to settle for Plan C - permit free hiking in Taroko Gorge.

No sooner had we booked the train and hotel than with all the predictability of the baddies hideout blowing-up at the end of a James Bond movie the weather started to turn. In fact a typhoon alert was issued in the south of Taiwan, we trudged off to bed thinking, well, we’ll try and make the best of it. Later that night as we slept still dreaming of winding mountain paths we suddenly found ourselves woken-up, the room shook, the bed wobbled, it could only be an earthquake and of course the epicentre it turned out was in Taroko. It felt like the elements were conspiring against us, I was almost tempted to take it personally; it turned out to have been quite strong 6.3 on the Richter scale, the largest earthquake in Taiwan for 2 years. Determined not to let those pesky elements win, and in any case a bit bored of shopping we set off anyway.

We travelled on the fast train from Taipei to Hualien also known as the Taroko Express (2 hours) which you should ideally book in advance, seats were limited when we tried but then again it was the middle of the school holidays. From there you will need a bus, Taxi or hire car to travel up the gorge. There is also a slow train (3 hours which seems to stop at Taroko much nearer the gorge itself.

When we got there some of the trails had been closed due to the earthquake but the weather with all the politeness of someone queueing for the lifeboats on the Titanic and decided to stay fine after all. The Gorge itself is spectacular and the perfect antidote to the hubbub, concrete and neon of Taipei. Within no time at all we were standing on a mountain side green, verdant hills spreading off into the distance, fresh air and not anther person in sight. Were we really still in Taiwan? The trails themselves are rumoured to be populated by macacus monkeys however we did not manage to see one on our trip. There are various trails you can choose from. The most popular seem to be the Baiyang Trail and the Tunnel of Nine Turns both of which are quite short and crowded. There are some great longer hikes however we tried the Jutsuen (Bamboo Village) trail about 4 km west of Tienhsiang. A 28km return journey, jaw achingly beautiful trail, and best of all it was all ours.

Venezuela

Venezuela

February 2008


All our hopes of getting away in February to somewhere warm and sunny seemed to have been dashed. Airfares were rising faster than a bankers bonus and everywhere that offered even a remote chance of sun was starting to more expensive than Paris Hilton's charity bag

Then we discovered Iberia were offering cheap (well cheapish) flights to Caracus. Not somewhere we had thought of visiting before but it had something that set it apart for all other destinations - it was affordable; or so we thought. Not only that but it had Angel Falls, the Andes, the Jungle, a cranky socialist government that loved sticking two fingers up at the US. It was a poor mans' Cuba and to be fair the flight wasn't that bad, a bit like getting Easy Jet long-haul with a quick change in Lisbon.

And so we found ourselves in Caracus in early February myself a Connexions Advisor and Joyce my partner a Taiwanese national working in Norfolk as a teacher. However with everything that seems too good to be true there was a catch - Exchange Rates. The government set the exchange rate at 2:15 Bolivar Fuerte to the dollar the actual rate however would have been around 6 or 7 if the currency was freely traded, meaning, everything seemed hopelessly expensive on arrival. So we found ourselves in a developing country and being charged nearly 4 quid for a bottle of water - ouch.

As with most problems there was a solution and in this case it was the black market. Obviously this could be considered to be being a bit too relaxed with the law and did mean we spent the whole trip feeling like drug addicts looking for a fix. Finding a dealer, locating a back alley or some dark corner to do the deed, taking care not to be ripped-off. Having said that we never were ripped off, everybody seemed to be in on it, waiters, travel agents even fish mongers, so trying to get the best rates and 'score' some cash became all part of the fun. It just seemed to be part of the way everything worked in Venezuela.


We started our trip in Caracus. I had heard all sorts about the heady night life and we hit the town running straight off the plane. This is where we found out one of the best things about Venezuela - Venezuelans. They are completely nuts, and as hospitable a people as you're likely to meet. We soon found ourselves stumbling home at 4 in the morning feeling like we knew everyone in town.

It couldn't last and didn't, Venezuelan President Chavez had called a referendum and banned the sale of alcohol for 4 days. In England if there was one sure way to lose a referendum this was it. But this was Venezuela and we spent night after night going to bars and clubs and wondering why they were closed or would not serve us. 'Nothing today come back tomorrow', they would say - we were somewhat slow to catch on.

It was time to move on, so we did. Our next stop was Puerto Colombia. For telly buffs this is where 'Willy Wonka' Harcourt-Cooze's cocao farm is. For the uninitiated he is working to produce the world's finest chocolate and sell it at eye-popping, just for the connoisseur type prices in posh shops like Selfridges. But that's not why we were going; also in this area is the Henry Pittier National Park, Venezuela's first. An area of cloud forest that roles into the Caribbean Sea famed for its biodiversity in particular it's 578 bird species. If that's not enough it has lovely beaches too. We travelled by local bus which gave me a good chance to put my ropey Spanish to the test, one of the great things about learning a foreign language is that if you can have a short conversation on a bus, in bar, well anywhere you will look like a genius to anyone else in your party (or perhaps just feel like one). I did however have plenty of chance to practice as the 2 bus journey ended up taking around 6 hours. And this to go somewhere that's pretty much next to Caracus on the map. Working out distance when you come form a little island like England is ot always easy.

We spent a week in Puerto Colombia beach bumming it, jungle trekking it, and wondering around the Cocao Plantation wishing somebody would sell us some chocolate ice cream. The whole chocolate situation had that so near yet so far vibe to it, a bit like a boat load of sailors adrift on an ocean of water with nothing to drink. And then it was time for Joyce to leave, she had to return to England to work, I was off to Merida with Mountains to climb. This had all seemed a brilliant idea back in England but as I packed Joyce off in the VW Camper van that was to take her to the airport I could not help but feel a certain melancholy descend. The 20 hour bus journey to the Andes ahead felt about as appealing as bumping into Robert Kilroy Silk at a swingers party and the often repaeted cliche from American cop movies 'Im getting to old for this' was going round my head like an echo.