The Alaska Book

In the summer of 2001, I quit my job and went north to ride my bicycle across Alaska.  What does that have to do with Taiwan, you ask?  When I got home, after riding over 1,200 miles and seeing the Arctic Ocean, I thought the adventure would end.  But it didn’t.  The adventure continues even today. 

Alaska, in a way, brought me to Taiwan.  I set out to write a book about my adventure north, and in the process, became an English teacher in Asia.  While the book was never published, I did manage to put out a children’s book for my Taiwanese students to read, so in some small way I feel like I have become that writer I always dreamed of.

Here are some selected passages from, The Alaska Book, the high points that I remember the most, the times when I wrote what I felt and was not afraid to share it with the world.  I hope by reading this you too will find your passion and follow your dream.  You have to believe there is something out there, or you will never go looking for it.

The Alaska Book – Selected Passages

By Daniel White

I looked out across the landscape for a place to sleep for the night.  Between the mountaintops was a high plain called Glacial Flats.  It was barren of features and the wind moved across it in gusts.  When the wind stopped, there was no sound at all.

…

I found a real curious place. 

Down the road was the faint trace of a turnoff.  Dirt tracks had been half-hidden by the low-lying vegetation that covered the plain.  The tracks led to a homestead of sorts.  Here was a cabin, a cooking area, and a pile of firewood.  Behind it was an outhouse with a half moon cut in the door and another structure that had not been finished.  Time and a lack of use hung on every corner.

…

There was frost on the ground in the morning.  I went out into the woods and found a single ray of sunlight coming down through the trees and stood there a long time, basking in the warmth and beauty of it.  Sometimes I could hear the raven calling, sometimes the eagle.  I couldn’t remember which day of the week it was.  I tried to think back to the last known day, counting forward from there.  This could have been Friday or Saturday, but I wasn’t certain.  I looked inside my journal for answers, but found none.

…

Clouds filled in the sky above, as if they were moving floods of water, drowning every open ounce of space.  A little rain fell down where the clouds overlapped.  Along the mountain rim they collided and splashed.  A storm has come upon me.  Soon I sank into its depths.  A gasp of air here and there as I was buoyed in and out of it.  Rain down my soul and thunder in my nightmare.  Morning brings safety.  Until then, I bare the shrieking winds alone.

…

I have this deep, unexplainable urge to leave everything behind.  I want to go to some place magical, where nothing I have ever known of exists.  It’s something I’ve felt inside me for as long as I can remember.  When I look closely at the land I see kinds of plants I’ve never seen before.  I begin taking pictures, proof that this place exists.  On the western horizon I see a string of calling mountains.  They are calling me to stop the car and head out over the vast landscape. 

…

Here the river flows north past ice-covered lakes.  I want to dive into such a lake, to be surrounded by it, filled up by it, completely becoming the lake.  I want the land to form me – not me always trying to form the land.  I want to give up control with my mind and run freely, no longer determining where I need to be.  I could get lost out here.  I am in another world.  The part of me that makes sense is no longer in control. 

…

I came down from the mountain.  An ethereal world faded out behind me.  I was on my way home again.  As I crossed the mountain pass and began to make my descent, a lightening storm flickered in my rearview mirror.  On the northern side of Antigun Pass I had seen caribou and musk oxen living in the wild.  Across the arctic plains – the expanse between the Brooks Range and the Arctic Ocean – were species of plants that did not exist anywhere else in the world.  That world was now being left behind me on the other side of the continental divide.

…

Some nights I sat wrapped in the mystery of what brought me here.  Was it the smell of the air, the cold, the warmth, the flight of a bird, or friendly play with a dog?  Each still memory is like a moment of silence.  Fading sounds, like the falling of the rain.  The miles, the many miles of searching down the road for a meal, a conversation, or a place to stay.  People living, all old or getting old, much like the land.  To me, a river is a drink of water.  Time is the mountains.  Sleep, exhaustion.  Nothing more.

Ten Little Dumplings

Fried Dumplings

I was getting hungry and needed to explore my Chinese in order to grab something to eat.  Diane was at work and I’d had a busy morning, so finding something edible for lunch was up to me.  I walked down the street and stopped at my favorite dumpling store, where I pointed to a box and showed them the hand sign for “ten,” crossing both of my index fingers in the shape of an “X.”  Within minutes, I was happily rewarded with a set of ten dumplings and I devoured every one of them. 

Now, “ten” is not that hard to say in Chinese:  “shi” (十), with a rising tone.  The challenge comes when you hear it said with a Taiwanese accent.  They tend to drop the “h” when speaking Chinese, sounding more like “si.”  For example, try saying “44” in Chinese, “si shi si” (四十四), then apply the Taiwanese accent, arriving at “si si si.”  If you know the tones well enough, you’ll understand how to say this correctly.  In fact, if you can count to ten clearly in Chinese, you’ve already mastered the tonal side of the language.

The next day, after a busy morning of kindergarten class, I was in desperate need of filling my belly again.  I went back to my favorite dumpling store and decided to order twenty this time.  I gave the same hand signal, the sign of an “X,” but this time I did it twice.  When my order arrived, still the same box of only ten dumplings.  Did they think I’d stuttered in sign language?  Or, when I’d made the “X” two times, was I only adding emphasis and clarity to the ten that I’d indicated?  Regardless, it became clear that I needed to speak Chinese to get exactly what I wanted.

A few days later, kindergarten once more getting the better part of my empty stomach, I went back to try again.  I walked up to the counter and meagerly said, “er shi” (二十), which means “twenty” in Chinese.  Instantly I could see they had no clue what I was talking about.  I said it again, louder this time and with an exaggerated tone, but still that blank look in their faces.  I tried dropping the “h,” sounding like “er si,” but no box of 20 dumplings appeared anywhere in sight.  So I went back to my hand signals and received ten dumplings.

I walked away dejected and hungry.  After I rounded the corner, something occurred to me.  I waited a few moments and then went back to the store, again ordering a box of ten dumplings using hand signals.  Suddenly I had two boxes of ten, or the twenty dumplings my gut was set on.  Maybe surviving in another country wasn’t going to be as hard as I had imagined.

After a few weeks of using this tactic, my wife and I stopped in for a bite to eat at that same dumpling store.  The waiter was familiar with me by this time and asked my wife in Chinese why I always came back for seconds.  When she explained my dilemma to them, they all had a good laugh about it.  But the next time I went to buy dumplings, a new problem arose.  They were so eager to provide the twenty dumplings that I failed to express to them that I only wanted ten this time.  What was I to do on the days when I might be really picky and wish to eat only twelve dumplings, or fifteen?

Hunger is often the driver in our quest to learn new things.  Learning to get what I wanted for lunch on the streets of Taiwan has taught me more about speaking Chinese than any lesson in a classroom back home would.  By living overseas I’ve been learning not only the language, but also putting into practice on a daily basis.  Once you’ve mastered the numbering system and can count fluently in Chinese, you’ll be able to order food, go to the bank, and talk about the weather, the days of the week and the months and the year.  You’ll be able to give an address to a taxi driver or buy extra sets of clothes at the department store.  I’d suggested that if you’re new at speaking Chinese, focus on the numbers first and listen closely to the tones involved.  Then go out and satisfy your hunger by saying something new in Chinese.

River Trails in Northern Taiwan

River Trails

She sprinted past the tombs on her bicycle, fearful that some ghostly apparition might spring up and sweep us away to another world.  I raced around the bend in the river, just ahead of her, eager to put some distance behind us.  The tombs strung across the hillside looked down on us in vacant disregard.  Suddenly the scenery changed and we dropped down below a series of crisscrossing highways.

Diane and I were riding the Keelung River Trail in search of a route to Danshui, a thriving city on the northwestern coast of Taiwan.  Until recently sections of the trail remained unfinished.  Mr. Ma, now president of Tawain, pushed to have the circuit completed while in office as major of Taipei City.  The river trails provide quick access to many points in Taipei County and are a safe alternative to riding on the road, away from cars and traffic headaches.

Mr. Ma’s vision now stands complete.  The Keelung River Trail and the Danshui River Trail run uninterrupted, as if cutting Yangmingshan National Park off from the rest of the island.  Anyone eager to cross the northern tip of Taiwan on a bicycle will find a world of scenic opportunities here, all within a day’s ride away.

The route begins in the port city of Keelung.  Although the eastern side of Taiwan is mountainous, here the river stays flat and is easy to follow.  Once entering Xi Zhi, however, deciding which side of the river to stay on becomes a bit of a logistical nightmare.  After you’re ridden through this section a few times, you’ll know what I mean.  But, until then, just follow someone else and ask for directions whenever needed.

Once you’ve left Taipei County and entered the Taipei City limits, the river becomes less tedious to navigate.  You’ll see that sections of the trail are still under construction, mostly under bridges.  However, alternative routes and trailside maps are easy to find, leaving little chance of getting lost.  Also within the city limits, you’ll find plenty of places to stop and grab a bite to eat or stock up on bicycle accessories, if needed.  

The view from the top of the Dazhi Bridge is remarkable.  To the south of the river is Dajia Riverside Park.  Farther away, across Taipei, is the towering Taipei 101 building.  Dazhi Bridge is a good place to get on and off the trail, if you’ve had enough riding for the day and would like to return again sometime later.  If you don’t have a car, take the road to Yuanshan and throw your bicycle on the MRT.

The distinguished Dazhi Bridge marks the joining of the Danshui and Keelung River Trails.  Still, you’ll still be riding along side the Keelung River for a while longer.  West of the Dazhi Bridge, the trail grows narrower.  Here, also, the crowds get thicker.  Solitary vendors appear at stray intersections, offering bottles of water or small treats to eat.  It wasn’t until we came to the Guangdu Warf, by the Acuatic Birds Marshland, that we found a decent cup of coffee.  Next door to the coffee shop is a donut store and next to that is a bicycle shop.  Guangdu Temple is also an outstanding place to look into the past and admire tradition as it is still practiced today in Taiwan. 

The ride north of Guangdu Warf reveals a glimpse of the vast Danshui River, working its way northward toward the coastline.  Exits at Zhuwei allow you to access to a McDonalds or a KFC, if you’re really missing the calories.  Here you’ll encounter the Hongshulin Mangroves Marshland and birds will swoop down over your head in a race to the finish line.  Hongshulin is also a great place to throw you bicycle on the MRT, if you’re looking for a shortcut home.

Danshui is the final destination.  We got there early in the afternoon and spent an hour snacking along the waterfront at some of the night market shops.  I sampled a curry chicken wrap Indian-style and my wife picked out a sausage skin stuffed with rice.  You can buy a boat tour and cross to the other side of the river, if you’re looking for more places to explore from here.  But we had had enough and decided to save that adventure for another day.

The entire river route from Keelung to Danshui can be ridden in a day, but if you’ve little experience with long distance cycling, be aware that it will cost you around 60 km.  If you’re really an avid rider, getting there and back again in a single day might get your heart pumping.  For alternatives, look into riding the Xidian River Trail and the Danshui River Trail. 

If you’re from out of town and have little time to play, take the MRT to Danshui and rent a bicycle there.  Ride south to Zhuwei and take the alternate route north again, for a casual loop ride.  Or, if you’re feeling strong, push on to the Guangdu Warf before returning home again.  Whatever your flavor, search the Internet for more information before going.  Be sure to get out and enjoy the many routes to bicycle along the rivers in northern Taiwan today!   

Classroom Chatter

Tony

Kindergarten is a great place to learn Chinese.  I mean as a teacher, not as a student.  In Kindergarten, little children are learning to communicate with each other for the first time.  The simple meanings they struggle to convey are short and to the point.  For someone like myself, who’s got the ability to speak Chinese like a three year old, I usually feel like I fit right in.

Often their attention turns to me, the most animated object in the classroom.  I’ve learned how to talk about the size of my belly (肚子好大) and how fat I am (太肥了), how to describe the gray color of my hair (白頭髮) and the shiny bald spot on the top of my head (沒有頭髮).  But I struggle with being called bald (光頭) and I try to let my hair grow long to cover up the inevitable signs of aging (我不是光頭, 我有頭髮).  Nevertheless, little children find these strange characteristics fascinating and relish the excitement that comes from contemplating the way I look.

Teaching older students has given me access to bigger, less personal, phrases.  “Teacher is coming!” (老師來了) and “Is it class time?” (上課了嗎).  What has surprised me more than anything is the level of English conversation I’ve heard in and around my classrooms.

“Teacher, why do we have to go to school on Thursday?” Michael raised his hand and asked before I had time to call on him.

“Because we had a typhoon on Monday,” I replied.

He was silent for a moment as I went back to teaching.  Then he raised his hand again.

“Teacher, why did we have a typhoon on Monday?”

Wow, Socratic method, I thought.  I wonder how long he’ll follow this line of reasoning.

“Because, out in the ocean, we have hot air and cold air and…” I began, but was interrupted.  Tammy raised her hand and started speaking rapidly without my permission – a habit I hoped wouldn’t spread to the rest of the classroom.

“Teacher, teacher, I know.  I know!” she said and ran to the whiteboard.

Before I had time to stop her, she commenced with diagramming an outline of the ocean and the hot and cold air weather patterns, explaining to the class how typhoons worked.  She could have been a weather reporter on TV – she was that good.

By now the class was heading in a new direction, not the one I had intended, but I let it go just to see what would happen.  I’d witnessed this one time before while teaching Kindergarten.  I had just explained to the students that animals have tails and people don’t.  One boy raised his hand and told the class that his mom said we used to all be monkeys.  I felt like some of my students still were monkeys, to be facetious.  However, debating evolution vs. creation wasn’t a road I wanted to go down with a bunch of six year olds.

As Tammy wrapped up her speech on typhoons, I erased her diagram from the whiteboard and sent her back to her seat.  I resumed teaching, yet in the back of my mind I wondered whether or not Michael would ask the next logical question:  why do we have hot and cold air out in the ocean?  Fortunately, he never did and I got through the lesson on time that day. 

When I reflected on these conversations later, I was impressed that my students could understand everything so well, considering English is their second language.  Nothing was ever explained to them in Chinese.  Sometimes, although rarely, there’s a moment of “flow” in my classes when the students begin to comprehend things far greater than anything covered in the teacher’s book.  Those are the moments I wish could happen every day.