All I had to help me find the hot
springs north of New Peitou known as Mazu Keng was a cartoonish map with less
than precise directions. I rode my motorcycle up Chungshan North Road to
Tienmou, turned left onto Tienmou West Road, right onto Tienmou North Road, and
left again onto Hsingyi Road, which wound up into the mountains, past hotels
and stone-faced luxury villas, the buildings growing more sparse as the terrain
became more vertically challenging. Several large, imported motorcycles blew by
in the opposite direction, impressive in their mirrored anonymity, giving me
the feeling that the road must lead somewhere far off and exotic.
I reached the intersection of
Chuanyuan and Hsingyi roads at around 4 in the afternoon, but there was no
immediate sign of Mazu Keng, so I asked a nearby fruit vendor, who directed me
to the huge valley across the road from a technical institute, outside of which
students were using whistles to direct what little traffic was passing through.
I rode down into the valley, parked my bike on the sandy parking lot next to a
small, water-filled quarry and made my way up a railed walkway which followed
the stream that flowed down from the mountains. Plastic water pipes were strewn
like giant strands of gray spaghetti over the smoking ground under the
surveillance of surprisingly well-groomed stray dogs, who kept watch from atop
smoldering boulders which no doubt kept them warm on cold nights. Rocks
perspired clouds of steam amid the bubbling pools of water, creamy with sulfur
deposits, which dotted the landscape as I followed the path up into the thick
foliage.
Ahead, a couple of riverside temples
to Guanshiyin mandated a pause for worship. The occasional bird, born on
currents of air which smelled of wet, green foliage, glided under the trees,
browsing for waterborn prey. Discarded bottles and pieces of styrofoam swirled
endlessly among the eddies and currents of the stream's rushing gray waters,
which emitted a sound like deep radio static. I followed the path beyond the
temples until I came to a bridge with a message painted on it which read
"Women Only; Men forbidden to enter" in Chinese. Next to it was
another, higher bridge with the opposite message. A tattered tarp hung from the
bottom of the men's bridge, obstructing the view from the women's side.
As I crossed the stone bridge over
the rushing gray water and faced upstream, I saw three concrete structures, one
on the right and two on the left of the stream. All three were open huts full
of steaming hot springs and naked Chinese men. Some of the men were exercising
or smoking out on a patio which hung out over the river. A towering stone cliff
rose on the right side of the stream, large trees hanging precariously from large
cracks in its face. I learned from a man on the other side of the river that
the nearer two huts were for paying members only, while the one farthest from
the bridge was free. I made my way over to the structure and entered.
Two hot spring pools occupied one
side of the room, while the other was lined with ancient wooden cubbyholes for
bathers' belongings and an old table with a tea set and several steel kettles
filled with hot water on it, surrounded by tiled cement projections to be used
as chairs. There was also a stone basin filled with cold water to wash oneself
off with before entering the hot pools.
One of the
men instructed me as to how to enter the pool, which was lined with small
plastic basins filled with hot spring water. Take the basin water and pour it
over your feet, he told me, and then get in the pool. Then refill the basin and
put it back on the edge of the pool for the next bather to use.
The water was hot but not scaldingly
so. One of the pools was shallower and hotter than the other, but in the pool
that was actually deep enough to sit down up to one's neck in, the water was
comfortable to sit in for only a few minutes. Periodically I had to get out and
let myself cool off.
Behind the
hut was a small open courtyard with chairs where men sat and played chess as
well as a small section of floor paved with foot-massage stones to walk on. On
the other side, next to the river, was the patio I had seen from the bridge,
where there was a small cold-water pool with showerhead, as well as some rusty
weights and slippery benches. One of the men told me that in the old days they
would bath in the swirling waters of the river itself, before the cold-water
pool was added.
The place seemed very old indeed.
Rules were painted on the moldy concrete walls in red, WWII-era characters over
white backgrounds, indicating that no one with skin disease was allowed in the
pool. Transsexuals were also not allowed. The clientele of the place seemed to
be made up of middle-aged or older men, seemingly from all walks of life,
although it was hard to tell with everyone being sans apparel.
At about five or six, the mosquitoes
came out. It being April, they weren't so bad, but I imagine they can get
pretty nasty during the summer months. I trod carefully on the foot-massage
stones or went out to the patio next to the rushing water between soaks in the
pools, rinsing off my feet before entering the pool each time. The sound of the
water and dripping vegetation plus the smell of sulfur gave the entire scene a
natural feeling almost entirely opposite that of the crowded streets of Taipei.
Though the men talked of politics and stock prices, their voices lacked the
tense nervousness usually heard in the city. It was hard to be nervous in that
place.
Eventually, though, it was dark, and
I faced another ride down the mountain back to my home in the city. I said
good-bye after probing the limits of my Taiwanese talking with some of the men
sitting around the tea table. I felt lighter than when I had arrived, or at the
very least in a better mood. I paid my respects to the goddess at the temple on
my way out.
One of the cars in the parking lot
had fallen halfway into the river, and as I fired up my Yamaha I heard people
wondering aloud whether the people who owned the car knew what a parking brake
was for. The owners themselves were an apparently rich couple, the man in a
suit and tie discussing how to get his car out of the river with the tow truck
driver while his well-dressed wife chatted on her cell phone.
I hadn't even set off for Taipei, yet
somehow I already missed Mazu Keng.