The rain stopped and I got ready for my ride.
A longer trip down the coast would require a proper motorcycle.
Moving up to Space’s bike was a 100 CC upgrade; his 150 CC Kymco cruiser was a workhorse.
Its imitation “Barely Davidson” saddlebags rendered it a case of 2-wheeled irony.
After a brief stop to fill the tank I rode along the East coast. Highway 11 was a beautiful stretch of road nestled between the mountains and the ocean. The scenery was awe inspiring; the dense greenery of the mountains complemented the deep blue of the water. As beautiful as it was, the highway was deserted. There were times that I didn’t pass a car for kilometers.
What a great road! Elevation changes, switchbacks, straights and tunnels. It had a mix of everything. If I had my own motorcycle here, I would tear this place apart…and then it would probably tear me apart, and that would tear us apart; but now I’m on to INXS lyrics from the late 80s and I don’t want to go there…not now anyways.
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| On shaky ground: where the highway once was |
I made many stops along the way: bulls grazing, a guy fishing, rock slide, old bridge, old washed out section of the highway since replaced by a tunnel, fishing village (boo…no sashimi!).
Space had suggested I visit the
Bashen Caves.
“Just look for the giant penis marking the Tropic of Cancer, it’s just past there”.
It’s funny just how many things looked like giant penises.
I kept on thinking that I had missed the caves when yet another phallic symbol would appear on the side of the road.
And then I saw it; the Tropic of Cancer marker whose road sign actually read “Tropic of Cnacer”.
I stopped for the obligatory tourist photo.
The
Bashen Caves couldn’t be far off.
To call them “caves” is a bit of a misnomer, they are lit by daylight and don’t extend any more than 15 metres into the mountainside. It was at the first and largest cave that a Buddhist woman approached me. She offered to tell me about one of the caves (there were 17 of them but this was the largest). She walked me through and I drank some of the water that tricked down through the mountains. It is said to have healing properties…fuck! I should have taken a gallon with me!
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| Ingkwan and I |
“Come and take a picture from the outside, it looks like two pigeons”. I don’t know what she was talking about; I didn’t see any pigeons. Truthfully, it looked like a woman’s privates. But as blunt as I am known to be, there was no way that I was going to say that to a kind outwardly religious Buddhist woman with a shaved head. Space would later tell me that newly married Taiwanese couples often visit this cave and another rock formation that looks like a penis in the hopes of improving fertility. I’ve got two words for them…antler wine.
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| Two pigeons? I don't think so. |
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| Still can't find the pigeons |
We talked a little longer, she was interested in my trip and I was fascinated by the fact that she lived at the caves.
She invited me to sit for a cup of coffee.
Her name was Ingkwan.
Actually that was her Buddhist name, her birth name was Mia Chen.
Ingkwan was 70 years old and had lived at the caves for the past 30 years.
She was fluent in English and told me that it was part of her course of study in her former life as a practitioner of acupuncture, acupressure and something that I think might be reflexology.
But she gave it all up when she decided to become a Buddhist teacher.
She never married; couldn’t find the right man.
An opportunity for marriage had presented itself in the past, but he had plans to move to the
US and she didn’t want to leave.
“Wait” she said. “I want to give you something before you go”. She returned with two “beauty stones” that she had picked up during her long walks along the rocky coastline. She explained that she gathers them because the lines in the rocks and the shapes of them are beautiful.
I thanked her for her kindness; she had truly made it a special day for me.
