Genuine Thanksgiving

This past Thanksgiving weekend, I didn’t eat any turkey or yams, and I only had half of a piece of pumpkin pie, but I realized I have much to be thankful for. The funny thing is, I think this is the first Thanksgiving that I didn’t try to force thankfulness. It just came.

A common American Thanksgiving tradition is to go around the table and name a few things you’re thankful for. The social media craze seems to have taken this to a whole other level–listing something you’re thankful for every day of November. Usually, people give glossy, pre-packaged answers: my family, my significant other, my job, my freedom of religion. Come to think of it, it could make a fun drinking game. Hear the word family, do a shot.

It’s an admirable tradition, taking a few minutes to contemplate the blessings you’ve been given, and I don’t want to denounce it. But every year, it sets me on edge. I’m not good at putting on a show, of acting a certain way when I’m not feeling it. Sometimes, this is a virtue. (Saving my friend from buying an unflattering dress) Other times, it’s a fault. (Not complimenting my friend on her new baby because his face is raisin purple)

So when I’m put on the spot to fork over a serving of thankfulness, it often doesn’t happen. I just regurgitate something that will pacify the people around me. “My family, my significant other, this scrumptious-looking meal . . .” It’s not like those are lies. I am grateful for those truths. But I don’t really mean it, not in that moment.

I explained the tradition to a friend on Thursday. She thought it sounded great and wanted to do it. In our gluttony-induced comas, we kind of forgot, but I want to do it now.

This year, I’m thankful for . . .

. . . a group of friends. It takes me a long time to settle in to a place, into a group of people. I didn’t feel like Boston was home until it was time to leave. But Taiwan has been different. My friends and I may not have all the same interests or speak the same native language, but with them, I am free to be myself.

. . . Taiwanese friendliness. One of Josh and my Thanksgiving dinners was at our church. We were the only two foreigners there, and I was the only one who doesn’t speak Chinese. Yet all the festivities–the songs, the skit, the testimonies–were all translated into English. For me.

. . . parents who don’t always agree or understand, but who do always love and respect. I mean, my mother is reading Caitlin Moran right now because I mentioned it to her a few weeks ago. That is love.

. . . learning, at the behest of Josh, to ignore trivialities and pursue what makes me happy: books, writing, beer, copious amounts of coffee, and figuring out how to light my pipe by like, the third try. My underwear drawer is totally unorganized (finding a pair of matching socks is murder). My legs are getting prickly. And that is OK. I think.

I’ve pulled up a chair to many Thanksgiving tables: my mother’s, both my grandmothers’, my Boston landlord’s daughter’s, a French restaurant’s in Montreal, and a Taiwanese-Canadian couple’s. This year, it was some friends’ coffee table overloaded with seafood pasta and fried chicken. But I finally felt what Thanksgiving is really about.

The Real Taiwan

Lonely Planet: Taiwan (Yes, I am that mainstream.) says that venturing outside of Taipei gives travelers “their first taste of what many consider to be the ‘real Taiwan.’” Josh and I spent five days road tripping around Taiwan on Rodney the Motorcycle for the Double Ten holiday, and Real Taiwan is certainly cooler than . . . the fake one. (?) It was a magical place where the air smelled like jasmine and pollution didn’t blot out the sun.


Day 1 – 220 km

When I was a kid, I loved the book Misty of Chincoteague. I wanted a horse with “a patch of white on her side, shaped like the United States” desperately. But horses—nationalist symbols or not—did not want me. I was that pre-teen girl at the horse-riding birthday parties whose tame, donethisfordecadeswithoutbuckinganyone mare would get distracted by some tasty morsel of grass, fall behind the group, then get spooked by my cries for help and gallop away, only to be rounded up by a not-handsome-at-all cowboy.

After spending seven straight hours on the motorcycle, I think those horses were doing me a favor. They could smell the weakness in me when it comes to chapped tushie. We wanted to get as far away from the sprawling capital in one day as possible, so we made a break for Taroko Gorge.

We passed these views along the way.

*Yilan

Taroko Gorge is the number one tourist destination in Taiwan, and it’s easy to see why. It’s basically a mini Grand Canyon except with marble walls and a river with minerals in it that make it a cloudy grey-blue.

People here have a different style of traveling—families and friends go places together, in huge groups on double-decker tour buses. That’s totally awesome until 30+ buses (For reals. We counted.) are trying to navigate the windy, two-lane road perched on the edge of cliffs through the Gorge. Normally, driving a motorcycle means you can just whip around traffic jams, but not when there are buses involved. It took us 20ish minutes to go five kilometers.

*Note: This is the widest part of the road.

Day 2 – 180 km

Back on the bike, we spent the day on Highway 9, which goes along the East Rift Valley between the East Coast Mountain Range and the Central Mountain Range. The valley makes up about 20% of Taiwan’s land mass but only 2% of its population. Basically, it’s just stretches of rice fields and fruit trees. With mountains on each side, expanses of rice fields, and wizened farmers in conical hats, it’s the Asia that people who have never been to Asia always picture.

Day 3 – 14 km

We spent Monday hiking the Walami Trail, some of the best preserved jungle in Taiwan. It was here that I learned something new about Josh: he can talk to monkeys.

There were monkeys everywhere. We had staring matches with five or six different troops. They would stare at us for several minutes, their little red faces indignant through the trees. They’d yell this single syllable squawk back and forth, (probably monkey speak for “Stranger, danger!”) and then all we’d see were the trees swaying back and forth and they swung away. Seeing monkeys in the wild was definitely a highlight.

Back to Josh’s special gift. The first time we heard their danger squawk, we couldn’t quite spot them through the dense foliage. So Josh, a monkey aficionado, mimicked their squawk perfectly and, sure enough, they jumped towards us. Then they realized they were getting lured in by that creepy guy with the dark van and did an about-face, but it was still cool.

*We didn't see any of these, but I kind of wanted to.

*The ferns were as big as palm trees!

Day 4 – 220 km

On day four, it was time to set our sails for home. We took Highway 9 back along the coast.

*Water buffalo

Day 5 – 130 km

Seeing as we had passed the Tropic of Cancer (i.e. that invisible line that keeps rain clouds at bay) the day before, the last stretch wasn’t as picturesque. But it was beautiful in its own grey way.

We stopped at my favorite place in Taiwan for seafood – Daxi Fishing Port. . .

. . . and got a bowl of fried goodness, including fried seaweed. That may sound gross to the uninitiated, but I haven’t met someone yet who tried it and didn’t become addicted.

We did other cool things too, like soaking in hot springs, and met lots of great people, like our couchsurfing host's toddler, who was obsessed with "the Germans." Now, three weeks later, winter is approaching. Soon, I’ll be enduring nonstop drizzle and cleaning mold off the apartment walls. But, even when I’m drying my face with my perpetually wet towel, at least I’ll always have the Real Taiwan.