Taiwan

Taiwan moves like music—soft, shifting, and impossible to forget. In Taipei, morning begins with incense smoke spiralling through temple air. At Longshan, candles flicker against carved dragons; prayers murmur in rhythm with bells. Outside, the city hums—vendors steaming dumplings, scooters gliding through alleys of rain. The contrast feels complete, yet somehow seamless—tradition mirrored in technology. By dusk, the mountain town of Jiufen shimmers above the sea. Red lanterns sway along narrow stairways; the scent of tea and taro fills the wind. Below, clouds drift like ghosts through valleys once filled with gold. At Pingxi, you write a wish on paper, light it, and release. The lantern rises, trembling with flame, until it disappears into the mist—a small miracle of ascent. Then the train carries you to Taroko, where marble cliffs rise like the walls of heaven. Rivers cut through stone, waterfalls fall like veils of glass, and shrines cling to ledges kissed by cloud. At last, the journey slows at Sun Moon Lake, where morning mist floats on water so still it feels like thought. Mountains embrace the horizon; boats drift like dreams. You sip warm tea, and the island’s rhythm settles into your pulse—steady, sacred, serene.