keelung, taiwan
i missed the 301 four times on the way to the Fairy Cave. The 301 is the bus that goes from here to there, when here is the bus stop just east of the harbor intersection, and there is the Fairy Cave, the destination of the day.
at the bus stop, i looked at timetables. i had two separate digital applications open to check times and places. i waited for 40 minutes, during which two buses should have come and gone. the Fairy Cave is an hour further walk from here. i watch the 304 bus come and go. still no 301. I look up what another bus might be that goes to the cave. Imagine that. The 304 does.
I start walking – the route will be west and then north, along a waterline.
i find another bus stop and it says the 301 should be coming. i wait five minutes and decide to keep walking. halfway to the next bus stop i watch the 301 drive by. i keep walking. i see another 301 up ahead stopping at another bus stop. i start jogging, guessing at the time it will take me to get there. i am waving my arms like a bird. i miss it by 10 seconds. i am walking again. the 301 stops at a traffic light. i’m still walking. then i see that there is another bus stop directly on the other side of the road. if i had jogged 10 seconds earlier, i could have gotten across the road and caught the bus. now i am stopped at a crosswalk, and the bus is driving away again, over the horizon.
20 minutes later, i find another bus stop. i open one of my apps. it says the 301 is two stops away. i am sitting on a curb between two cars. this is a small bus stop. i look up from the app that says that 301 is two stops away. i lift my eyes from the app and i watch the 301 scream by. it couldn’t see me because i was sitting on a curb between two cars at a small bus stop.
i’ve given up by now, and by the time i reach the Fairy Cave bus stop, I’ve watched a total of six buses go by that could have taken me here more – efficiently.
i walked roads that should be ridden, no sidewalks and abandoned sites. the pier is on my right, shipping containers and cruise liners and dock workers.
there are steps up to the fairy cave. three cabs are in the parking lot. you can smell the water dripping from the cave ceiling, and you can feel the sound of the artists who made the idols along the walls, and the vibrations of the creators who put together the pieces of the gods to pray to. i move forward and then back, putting my palms together and checking in with history.
back near the entrance there is a small notch in the cave wall that goes to the left. i duck in and it’s a passageway that gets smaller, and smaller, and smaller, and i’m crouching like a thief and my satchel is knocking against the walls. my shoulders don’t fit sideways, and there is no tunnel entrance viewable from where i’m at. the small path underfoot isn’t flat, but a mound, and my shoes are slipping off, like water running off a hill.
there is another presentation when the tunnel opens up. i already forgot what it looks like, and only remember what it felt like thinking that my lanky knees almost didn’t get me here.
i’ve returned to the exit, having my talk with Shiva carved into the smooth stone.
there’s another cave nearby, according to the map. i take a wrong turn, fix myself, and go that way. this is a neighborhood that vines and trees have reclaimed, slinking over broken wood, rusted pipes and occasional unusable leftovers in abandoned structures mixed with signs of life – it’s a half and half mix of production and decay.
i follow a sign that says ‘go here for the buddha hand cave’ then follow a different sign that says ‘go to the temple’. Now i’m in the wilderness. There are concrete steps and they are squared but inconsistent and covered with wet moss. There is no one here – this is a jungle. I’m going up and around and over. There are no straight lines. There is only the sound of me wondering my questions, and i’ve sweat through my clothes even though it’s not hot and it’s not raining either, just wet everywhere and i’m climbing and zigging and zagging and sometimes there are houses but no people, clothes on lines but no people. scooters but no people. brooms and dustpans but no people.
then i’m on a road. a full paved road. i drifted out of an abandoned cocoon into modernity, the last few meters before the temple. welcoming, an abandoned bus stop, half transparent. says – 301, 302, 304. Vines are snaking around the crooked pole underneath it. the temple is big and beautiful, dreamy out here, dark yellow lights inside, horizontally wide, lots of places to pray, throw moon blocks, check in, drink the tones. the gold inside is brighter than i’ve seen.
i’m having my moments of spiritualist peace. contemplating like always. i take my time, i am letting the incense full my lungs and i’ll close my eyes and transport and surrender to unspoken wisdom of consecrated ground, maintained despite any considerations like – location. this place a fifteen minute hike through serpent country from bat country to no-man’s land.
i start back down the road – my map tells me to go back through the jungle to find the nearest bus stop where buses stop. i start back down the road, the road with no sidewalks, curves like a slow river, and three huge tour buses aim at me then avoid me, the drivers making big circles with big steering wheels to not swipe me with rearview mirrors.
i brush siperwebs off my damp hat, rub the back of my hand that smells like mosquito repellant across my beard, and wonder if the people on the tour will have the same conversations with the gods that i did. they didn’t fail on the way here, didn’t scrape their knees, didn’t miss the buses, didn’t jog on sore heels, didn’t climb with burning, overused ankle joints, didn’t hold on for dear life when stairs tilted dangerously toward cobra dens.
they are comfortable, up high, in a group, fed information and history in a climate controlled tank on wheels. a different experience surely, without the tension and withdrawal of the unknown, without the potential for karmic release a single misstep away.
different experience for sure – not better or worse, not deeper or more shallow, but different. it’s a journey of accumulation, the details of which are often not recorded, more regularly forgotten.
and a guru might say, that all you’ve ever done is experience the exact current moment, the finest grain of time, no matter how long it took me or anyone else to get to our destinations, but as i’m still seeking enlightenment of sorts, i might reply that the exact current moment, the finest grain of time, still didn’t occur in the right sequence for me to catch the 301.
