Something stinks like wet fart in Yangmingshan. I wanted to pass out as the minibus snaked through its way to one of Taiwan's National Parks. My confusion heightened at the incongruence of wet fart smell juxtaposed against posh mountain mansions and chic, little cafes. Yet, I seemed to be the only one who can smell it - or who minded it. The other passengers happily bounced on their seats 'til we got to the bus stop.
"Sulfur," Chris explained, sensing my panic. I'd die if I had to inhale the noxious aroma all throughout our planned 1,000-metre hike up Mt. Cising. Chris continued, "Smells like rotten eggs. Taiwan has plenty of hot springs."
Hot springs? I immediately relaxed.
The hike was an intense 2-hour walk up to the peak. I was huffing and puffing like an asthmatic one wheeze away from the grave. Along the way, geriatrics managed the hike without any trouble at all. Every joyful greeting of "Ni Hao!" or "San lin fai lo!" felt like a jeer. They might as well have been saying, "Look at the poor, little gay boy who can't manage a small climb, ha ha." Endorphines? Anti-Alzheimer pills? Whatever these folks are on, I wanted it.
"Go, go, go!" a park ranger urged me as the tracks got steeper and narrower. The air got much thinner, too, and the combination of sweat, rain and sulfur was fast making my eyes spin. I felt like I ws in a Tim Burton movie. Anything can happen: The Black Pearl might emerge from the mist, I might get attacked by apes, I might become a corpse bride.
"Here," the ranger offered me a baby-blue raincoat. "Put it on. Don't get sick." Then he sped away. I wanted to scream. He looked well over 60, and he was managing the fucking mountain like a kid playing hopscotch.
When we finally reached the peak, Chris read the plate on the lookout point. "Welcome to Mt. Cising, which offers 360 degree vies of Taipei..." We both had to laugh. Visibility was shit. We could see only as far as 10 metres away.
"It's a special experience," I consoled him. "Everybody else has seen the view from here. We got a unique chance to scale the mountain through rain."
"Thanks for the raincoat," I said to the park ranger after he took my and Chris' photograph.
"Keep it," he admonished, "and pass it on to whomever you see along the way who might need it."
***
Legs aching, we headed to the hot springs.
"There are gay boys around," Chris observed whilst our bodies marinated in milky-blue hot water.
"I know; I can feel it," I said. "Good thing there's plenty of kids around, too. There's no mistaking the fact that this place is not kosher for cruising."
"Yeah," Chris acknowledged. "Looks like the boys are well behaved enough to only use this place for meet-and-greet, and then go elsewhere."
Ain't no complainin' 'bout no rotten egg when you're in... "Fun Taiwan."
With Affection,
James
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