to stay or go: backpacking taiwan will decide my fate
it was time for an ultimatum. decision paralysis was eating me alive. this is my unexpected journey to a gap year at 30
My name is Lauren. A few weeks ago, I quit my job in big tech to travel the world, after ending an 8 year relationship, finding love again, shattering my leg in a road accident and surrendering to the concept of living a wild and precious life. This is my story.
Indecision feels harmless at first. Paths of every kind - untouched, well trodden, gentle, steep - multiply infinitely in front of you. But like a slow, steady fog, the weight rolls in at dawn. A silent tide that swallows you whole.
I had experienced this before. The compounding paralysis that came before ending a long-term relationship. My indecision was disorientating. It silenced my intuition and numbed my gut. In the end, the weight was so heavy I couldn’t bear it any longer. I pulled the trigger, launching myself into free fall from the fence I’d straddled for over a year.
As the months crept closer to when Tim (my now boyfriend) would be leaving for a world trip, I was struggling to sleep. To stay or to go. The decision-paralysis chipped away at me, bit by bit.
It was time for an ultimatum. What I needed, was an adventure. To try before you buy, if you will. Somewhere a little…unusual…for a two week summer holiday. A path less travelled. At the end of the holiday, I would decide whether to quit my job and take a gap year once and for all.
Of the world’s 195 countries, I can’t remember how we decided to pin the stakes on Taiwan. An innate curiosity, perhaps, born from the Made in Taiwan labels that were stitched into my childhood. I envisioned a grey landscape, thick with industrial haze and silicon smog.
“China could invade any day”, a bookseller muttered, as he bleeped through a copy of Lonely Planet Taiwan. I did, as all Brits do, and laughed politely at the bookseller’s remark, before launching into a frenzied Google search: “political - situation - Taiwan”. Relationship status: complicated.
And that was ‘just’ the politics. A few months before our trip, a huge earthquake hit the eastern side of Taiwan, killing 19 people, injuring thousands and shutting most of the Eastern side of the island to tourists.
I was about to set foot in a place where the ground beneath my feet was just as unpredictable as its political landscape. In Jessica J. Lee’s Two Trees Make A Forest, Lee writes, ‘Taiwan is an unstable landmass in perpetual confrontation’. Sounds a bit like me.
The ‘make or break’ feeling hung as heavy as the humid air in Taipei, Taiwan’s capital. Neon light glimmered across the wet pavement, dramatic against a purple, bruised sky. The city smelt damp.
Tim and I dumped our bags at our hotel and headed out to explore. After trying (*choking on) oyster pancakes at a famous night market, we discovered a dimly-lit alley off the main thoroughfare. Electronic music thumped from underground. Curious, we followed the sound and chanced upon an underground bar lit with red strip lighting, “Commander D”.
We climbed down several staircases and entered a dimly-lit room.
Men of varying ages were staring at us. Those in smart suits occupied the darkest corners of the room, sharing bottles of expensive-looking champagne. Others, younger, wore cargo trousers, tight netted tops and gathered at the bar. A single grey-haired Westerner hovered in a gloomy corner.
Right. Commander D. D for dick.
Despite the fact I was the only woman in the room and that Tim was incredibly underdressed, we agreed to one drink. Our prayers for Dutch courage were answered with rocket fuel cocktails. A few dizzying sips in, a bell started ringing and two young Taiwanese men climbed up onto the bar. A timer dangled above their heads and the couple began to kiss to cheers from the audience.
We worked out that the game was to kiss a stranger for as long as possible without pulling away or gasping for air, chemistry either fuelling the kiss or snuffing it out in seconds. I marvelled at the universality of chemistry. Some kisses were instantaneously magnetic, others clunky and forced. It somehow reminded me of my single days in London, and of my morning commute. An electric lock of eyes amidst a sea of strangers, the fizz of chemistry. The train sways, the doors open and a silent question hangs in the air, unanswered.
The world is so full of life.
In the following days, I quickly realised that taking a gap year would mean saying goodbye to any notion of looking attractive. I had to buy a bright yellow rain poncho, which looked like a giant condom, to shelter from a huge downpour.
I was permanently bedraggled, sweaty and always in an odd outfit ensemble. Plus I’d been bitten alive by Taiwanese mosquitos, which gave my puffy, red joints the appearance of an arthritis-ridden ninety year old. My mum didn’t hold back on the feedback:
The nightlife side of backpacking also hit me hard. Not only does it require small talk with strangers (an introverts nightmare) but also considerable alcohol consumption (the first issue perpetuating the latter). I spent one morning in Taipei vomiting into the toilet of our windowless hotel room, my stomach filled with Kaoliang liquor - fiery, grainy and lethal at 58%. I bet the 25 year-old backpackers are fine, I begrudged, frustrated at my increasing sensitivity to hangovers.
Desperate for a remedy, I wanted to see if a local pharmacy could cure my hangover-induced stomach ache. At this point, we were at the southernmost tip of Taiwan. Everything was in mandarin and with no common language between us and the little pharmacy we’d discovered, Tim and I resorted to charades. Oscar-winning performances of squatting and hand waving flow motions attempted to articulate our request for anti-diarrhoea tablets. Confused, the pharmacist opened a translation app on his phone and a loud, mechanical voice boomed: “CREAM FOR SWELLING IN ANUS?”Ground, swallow me whole.
The more time we spent in Taiwan, the more I became increasingly in awe of this strange new world. Far from grey and industrial, Taiwan was lush, green and peaceful. It’s people kind, generous and warm. Tim would check in with me occasionally, offering a nervous “so, are you having a good time?”, as he watched me reapply bite & sting lotion or assess a new food dish suspiciously. He didn’t ask about whether or not I had made up my mind.
And then, in the early hours of our first night in Tainan, with serendipitous symbolism, Tim and I were startled awake by a loud alarm from our phones. Before we could react, a low, rumbling sound like distant thunder began. A second later, our room started shaking. The ground seemed to be moving at a different frequency to the ceiling. Our light fixture swung like a pendulum. The contents of our backpacks fell to the floor. Everything was rattling.
An earthquake.
Continues next week. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading my story. You can catch up on all my posts here. Consider subscribing if you’d like to hear more as I prepare for my gap year.
I enjoyed hearing about Taiwain through your eyes! I I may be relocating there later this summer. I love that you are classifying your time traveling as a gap year. I quit my corporate job last summer to travel through south america which no plan but following my heart. Looking forward to reading your adventures :)