A sultry sea mist blankets New Taipei City as I pedal from Tamsui District (淡水) up the coast. This might not be ideal beach weather but it’s fine weather for riding –– the cloud cover sheltering arms and legs from the scourge of the subtropical sun.
The dedicated bikeway that connects downtown Taipei with the west coast of New Taipei City ends just past Fisherman’s Wharf (漁人碼頭) so I’m not the only cyclist jostling for space among the SUVs and scooters on National Highway No. 2. Many Lycra-clad enthusiasts are racing north on stealthy Giants and Meridas, rounding “the crown coast” of Taiwan ahead of the midday heat.
The next dedicated bikeway –– and my humble destination –– is located a further eight kilometers up the road in Sanjhih District (三芝). It bridges two tourist beaches Chienshuiwan (淺水灣) and Baishawan (白沙灣) hence the name, Shuangwan Bike Path (雙灣) meaning “Double Bay.”
Photo: Thomas Bird
Although passing motor vehicles are unnerving, there is a cycle-lane (part of the national Cycling Route No. 1) tracing the fringe of the blacktop. Traffic is light in the forenoon.
The beginning of the Shuangwan Bike Path is marked without ceremony at a branch of 7-Eleven advertising itself as a cyclist’s “rest station” where a number of bikers have hauled-up to breakfast on boiled tea eggs and refill their water bottles.
Inland, there’s a cluster of concrete towers looking out over the Taiwan Strait like stone sentinels. Across the road, a shabby row of restaurants advertising “pizza” and “seafood” block Chienshuiwan’s seaside park from view of the highway.
Photo: Thomas Bird
It’s a further 10 minutes heavy-pedaling before the junction onto Chihsin Road (車新路) liberates my velo from the highway hustle –– a gear change both literal and figurative. The buzz of scooters is promptly supplanted by the hiss of insects. An ancient fisherwoman sporting an enormous bamboo hat sits on an old stone wall. Beyond her, the rice fields lie fallow, farmed only by worm-seeking egrets and their avian kin.
THE FONGJHIHMEN BIKEWAY
Crossing Sanzhan Bridge (三棧橋), I hang left at onto Tianliao Road that borders the tiny hamlet of Datianliao (大田寮). There’s a free carpark here that is all but free from cars, and a small passage that leads onto a windswept stretch of coast where two fishermen are busy baiting their hooks.
Photo: Thomas Bird
This also marks the beginning (or end) of the Fongjhihmen Bikeway (風芝門), a 4.5 kilometer-long section of the Shuangwan Bike Path, that according to the tourist blub, was made by repurposing “a former country road” and some “coastal wooden paths.” Significantly, cars and motorcycles are forbidden here.
You only need to pedal a few meters past the entrance stone to experience what it’s like to live in a world segregated from the internal combustion engine. The bicycle positions me perfectly to absorb the natural world’s chorus.
Spring has truly sprung and butterflies are dancing in the air over the bikeway, while track-side wildflowers are in full bloom. The sound of the surf melds with the pervasive birdsong,
Photo: Thomas Bird
After pedaling for some minutes, I notice two giant raptors circling overhead.
“They’re serpent eagles,” says Willis Chen (陳威志) who is walking the bikeway with a camera. “I’m looking to photograph a Eurasian Hoopoe,” he says, showing me a picture of an exotic bird on his phone. “I’ve heard somebody spotted one out here.”
I concede that I haven’t seen one, although I confess that the number of birds I’ve already seen has been quite unexpected.
Photo: Thomas Bird
“Springtime is peak birding season in Taiwan,” he tells me. “They’re making nests and laying eggs. In the summer, they migrate north because of the heat.”
The heat comes as the sun burns through the haze, bleaching the bikeway with yellow light. I take a quick rest beside a statue of three soldiers standing guard next to an abandoned old blockhouse, then push on, crossing a stream and tracing its bank until the bikeway becomes a coastal boardwalk.
On the beach, families are making sandcastles from the so-called “iron sand” –– a mixed of white coral and volcanic rock –– that according to a tourist signpost, can be attracted by a magnet. Out at sea, the greenish rocks that line the shore are another unique geological attribute of the area, I learn, “Algal reefs” that grow just one centimeter every 10 years but are, nonetheless, an essential habitat for various small fish, crustaceans and shellfish.
Photo: Thomas Bird
Given this rich maritime habitat, it comes as no surprise when the dedicated bikeway ends at Linshanbi Fishing Port (麟山鼻漁港), a rectangular harbor where several blue junks are moored. The boats have eyes painted on the bows, a tradition, I’d read, to help sailors find their way home in heavy seas.
COFFEE BY THE CAPE
A hill path leads to Hi La Vu Opening (嗨！老屋營業中) a somewhat eccentrically branded, if colorful restaurant, which affords diners unrivalled views of the harbor.
Photo: Thomas Bird
I sip a slow coffee, lost in the vista for a time, but eventually summon the energy to continue along the bike path. I still need to get to Baishawan if I am to complete the journey.
The route passes behind Linshan Cape — a peninsular that is popular with walkers — then runs down a tree-lined hill to the Baishawan Visitor Center, concluding at a junction of the provincial highway.
At the road’s edge stands Guanhang Temple (觀航寺), decorated with pretty yellow lanterns and scented with sandalwood. It’s forecourt is an ideal space to turn the bike around and complete the Shuangwan loop by following the bikeway back south again.
Photo: Thomas Bird
Earlier this month Economic Affairs Minister Kuo Jyh-huei (郭智輝) proposed buying green power from the Philippines and shipping it to Taiwan, in remarks made during a legislative hearing. Because this is an eminently reasonable and useful proposal, it was immediately criticized by the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) and Taiwan People’s Party (TPP). KMT Legislator Chang Chia-chun (張嘉郡) said that Taiwan pays NT$40 billion annually to fix cables, while TPP heavyweight Huang Kuo-chang (黃國昌) complained that Kuo wanted to draw public attention away from Taiwan’s renewable energy ratio. Considering the legal troubles currently inundating the TPP, one would think Huang would
Taipei Mayor Chiang Wan-an (將萬安) last week told residents to avoid wearing scary Halloween costumes on the MRT so as not to alarm other passengers. Well, I thought, so much for my plan to visit Taipei dressed as the National Development Council’s (NDC) biennial population report “Population Projections for the Republic of China (Taiwan): 2024-2070,” which came out last week. Terms like “low birth rate” and “demographic decline” do not cut it — the report is nothing short of a demographic disaster. Yet, in Taiwan, as in other countries, it is solvable. It simply requires a change in mindset. As it
Chiayi County is blessed with several worthwhile upland trails, not all of which I’ve hiked. A few weeks ago, I finally got around to tackling Tanghu Historic Trail (塘湖古道), a short but unusually steep route in Jhuci Township (竹崎). According to the Web site of the Alishan National Scenic Area (阿里山國家風景區), the path climbs from 308m above sea level to an elevation of 770m in just 1.58km, an average gradient of 29 percent. And unless you arrange for someone to bring you to the starting point and collect you at the other end, there’s no way to avoid a significant amount
For three films now, Tom Hardy has smushed Jekyll and Hyde into one strange and slimy double act. In a Marvel universe filled with alter egos that cloak stealthy superpowers, his investigative reporter Eddie Brock doesn’t transform. He shares his body with an ink-black alien symbiote (voiced with a baritone growl by Hardy), who sometimes swallows him whole, sometimes shoots a tentacle or two out and always chipperly punctuates Eddie’s inner monologue. These have been consistently messy, almost willfully bad movies, but Hardy’s performance has been a strangely compelling one-body buddy comedy. It’s one thing to throw a cape on and
RSS