Day 11: Kenting 墾丁 > Donggang 東港
Stay: Donggang Hostel
Since I biked over 100km yesterday, today was a light day. I biked over to Donggang, which is in Pingtung County, just neighboring Kenting. There's something different about this area.
It seems neglected. So many tourists go to Kenting, and some go to Kaohsiung, the major city in the south, but no one goes to Pingtung County. For those that do, they only pass by to take a ferry to Lambai Island (琉球島, known colloquially as 小琉球). So it's quiet. It feels residential.
I walked into the hostel. A man greets me in English. He's really tanned. Hanging on the wall of the hostel is a map of Taiwan and its various bike routes. Nearby, pictures of him on a bike, running, and swimming. Next to that, a dozen or so medals and medal ribbons He looks like a triathlete. A bit chubby, not the fittest of lads, but sturdy. He asks for my ID and when I give him my Taiwanese card, he switches to Mandarin -- not that he had any issue with English.
A little boy pops out and greets me. He starts talking a lot about my outfit, asking where I came from, and where my bike is. The father doesn't mind him. The kid goes outside and looks at my bike, and looks at the panniers hung on the back. He asks me if my tire pressures need to be checked, almost like a little mechanic, and I laugh and say yes. The father also laughs, and says he's quite a talker, and continues to help me check in. The kid runs back in after I'm done and says "All good! Tire pressures are (he checks the air) O-K!" The father asks his son to show me to my room, and he offers to take my bag. "It's heavy" I say, advising him. He lugs one of the panniers with his hands in a display of strength as he walks up into the room and puts my bag down. "OK, here's your room. Please feel free to choose the bunk you want." He then proceeds to ask me where I'm from, and how far along my path I am at. The father comes up after he hears his son, and advises him gently not to disturb the guests and to remember to let them rest. I tell him it's no problem but the kid shyly smiles and backs away to the depths of where he popped up.
When I head down, the father asks me what my plan is today, and he hands me a map of things that are worth seeing. He tells me that one of Taiwan's top chocolate producers is based in Donggang, and recommends me go visit the museum and try the restaurant there. He also tells me to go check out Dapeng Bay (大鵬灣), which is a reclaimed wetland park. So, I do that, in that order.
Both places are dead. I am the only patron in the Chocolate Factory, and one of the few people around the Dapeng Wetland Park. Like I said early, it feels like one of those towns that just got passed by.
The most memorable part of Donggang (aside from the chocolate, which was actually pretty good), was the father and son. When I returned from my mini excursion, the kid was there watching cartoons, and the father was there as well, taking care of his mother. The son came to greet me and asked how the chocolate factory was, and the dad shoo'd him away, saying not to bother me. But, he kept talking; he could see in my eyes that I didn't mind him talking to me and he kept asking questions about the bike ride.
The father told me that the night market was open tonight. In Donggang, the night market opens only two times a week, unlike those in bigger cities which attracts customers week-round. It just so happens that tonight, it was there. He asks me if I want to take a short bike ride with him and his son back to Dapeng Bay to watch a light show that usually goes on at around 20:00, and I agree. There's nothing better than a local getting to take you around.
Come time, we bike out. He jumps on his bike, and so do I, and he asks his son if he wants to come. Before we know it, he gets on his little bike, and he follows closely. The father is satisfyingly nonchalant about his kid. He does not worry about him when we enter into a busy intersection, and he follows closely, like an imprinted duck. He does not need to yell at him to make the child listen, as the child has an inept sense of self and awareness about how he makes others feel. He talks my ear off, and never ceases to fill an empty void with conversation that is both riveting (he is a good storyeller) and overly detailed. The father jokes to him, saying that I need a break, while the both of us know well that he will not stop talking. But it isn't annoying. There's a calmness to the nonstop chatter that just drowns out into the background.
Dapeng Bay is a bit windy at night. When we get to the light show viewing point, there is in fact no light show, since the windyness canceled it (there was no indication that this would be the case). Oh well. The father and I stop at the point, and the kid goes and plays on his bike for a bit. I ask him about his family; where he'd come from, and why he decided to open the hostel. His mother is from Donggang, and he and his siblings grew up in Tainan. As his mother got older, she wanted to move back to Donggang since it felt more like home, and the son couldn't stay in Tainan without moving with his mother. So, they bought a small house and started a small business -- the hostel -- to keep a flow of people coming in, keep the income flowing in, and for the kid to get a chance to socialize with the outside world. It was incredibly humble.
He tells me about some of the developments of Donggang. He says the government never has enough money for the development of tourism in this region, and any project that gets starty usually gets stalled once the mayor changes over. "It's really a shame" he says, "I think Donggang is a special place, and others would realize that." He talks about the tourism industry in Taiwan, how even the Taiwanese do not want to go to Donggang and opt for better options domestically or abroad. He seems hopeless about it, but complacent in his life. The son comes back, and reports to me what he has seen, and runs on several tangents of stories. He mentions that he, like his father, has also done some marathons (half marathons) before too. His father proudly shows me pictures of his son after having finished a race, with a medal hung around his neck. It feels like the two are mutual friends, despite being decades apart. The boy is 9, but if he turns out to be anything like his father, he should be a proud, upstanding man.
Often, the charm to the places I've been to often depended on the people I've me there. Taipei right now feels like a big, foreign city. Donggang feels like a home. I'm thankful that the father showed me around Donggang today, taking me on a short bike tour of the city, before dropping me off at the night market. He recommends some good food, and the son chimes in for one last time. At the night market, I walk around aimlessly looking for some good food, and try to soak in the ambience of what a night market probably used to be like. There are a few chains that have made it here, and a few ma-and-pa stalls selling local goods. It's decently packed. Something about this market feels different. I don't know if authentic is the word, but maybe because so many people have passed by Donggang, whoever showed up today is probably from this area. There are little to no (visible) tourists around, and it's just one long street of activities and food. Ah, I know, it is not a more authentic version of Taiwan -- it is a more cozy version of Taiwan. The kind of Taiwan where I feel like is really Taiwanese. And, who knew I'd experience this in the southern corner of the Island.