Randonautica Cycling Six— Xihu Township
13th July 2024
Here we go again — another Randonautica adventure to ignite my adventurous spirit. This time, I decided to start a little further south, escaping the usual 10-kilometre radius around my home. I cycled down to Huatan Railway Station. From the station, I could hear the distant sounds of a busy temple celebrating something that I couldn’t quite understand.
Opening the Randonautica app, I pressed for it to search for a random location. Within seconds, the owl’s face (the app’s logo) gazed back at me from the middle of the countryside. Satisfied, I began my journey by heading out of the centre of Huatan. This trip would take me to the edges of Xihu Township, in the heart of Changhua County.
The route took me across the railway tracks, and I always get a small thrill when a train passes. Listening to the alarms and watching the flashing lights, I observe the faceless heads passing by through the windows, likely unaware of my existence. The flimsy pole rocks in response to the train’s air pressure, bouncing momentarily with the suction.
The rumble of scooters around me is ever-present. I do my best to ignore the exhaust fumes, as if inhaling the smoke from a giant cigarette. When the train passes, there’s a brief moment of silence. Then, as if on cue, the roar of the scooter engines resumes.
One of the things that would be hard to miss is the giant tree. It’s an old tree standing proudly in the middle of the road. Though I have no idea how old it is, I guess it might be around two hundred years old, perhaps even older. This tree left me with more questions than answers. Why was this tree spared when the forest that once surrounded it was cut down?
What is special about this tree?
Sometimes, it’s nice to leave some questions unanswered. It makes the world a little more mysterious when not everything is explained.
Crossing the river, I ventured deeper into proper farm country, leaving behind the outskirts of Huatan Township. I gazed upon the silent river, where a few insects flew and the occasional small bird fluttered among the grassy islands, occasionally brushing against the water.
I found myself at a crossroad, surrounded by the typical farming landscape of the flatlands of Changhua County. The grey clouds and the turned-up mud gave the scenery a somewhat dull appearance.
The countryside seemed a little boring that day. With most of the rice harvested, the ground was left with boggy puddles — not the kind of view I’d want from my bedroom window.
I kept pedalling, each push bringing me closer to my destination. Despite this, I found myself a little bored, and my mind began to wander, causing me to momentarily lose track of where I was. This was strange, as I usually cycle to forget about life, even if just for a few hours.
Traditional houses are dotted throughout the countryside, and part of me has always wanted to own one. I’ve long dreamed of owning an old house, to be part of the history that it holds. It was nice to see that this particular house wasn’t abandoned like so many others. It perfectly exemplifies modern-day Taiwan, where these quaint homes start to get lost amidst the more modern buildings that surround them.
This image gives a clear view of the scenery I travelled through that morning. The flat landscape made for an easy ride, though the weather was still quite warm. The fields were churned up and had lost their fresh green look. Buildings were randomly dotted around, and it seemed as if some farm owners were moving out of their traditional homes and building modern houses on their land. It was strange to find these modern structures here; I would have expected to see them in larger cities like Taichung or Taipei.
As I pedalled along the flat roads, I could hear the distant, continuous roar of the freeway. The sound of the countryside was almost mute.
The roads, being as long and straight as they were, made it easy to navigate my way around. Markings left by tractors and occasional lumps of mud or clusters of farming trash were scattered here and there. These were all signs that I was not in the wild but in an active agricultural area.
I caught glimpses of farmers working in their fields, mostly driving tractors, but occasionally I saw someone with their hands in the mud, digging with tools.
Passing under the freeway, I enjoyed the sheltering shade of the dark tunnel. Water dripped from somewhere, creating a small puddle. It wasn’t a peaceful place to stop, not with the heavy flow of traffic right above my head. I could hear the trucks pounding their way through the countryside. As you can see in the picture above, the freeway was to my left, my quiet country road ahead of me, and farming lands to my right.
If I looked to my left, I saw the rushing pace of life, the country alive with the modern world as trucks transported goods to the cities in the south. If I looked to my right, I saw the quieter side of Taiwan, one farmer alone in his field as birds swooped from shrubs to trees. I was stuck in the middle of these two worlds. This felt a lot like my life. Though I long for a quiet and simple existence, it seems almost impossible with work and family keeping me busy at all hours of the day.
I received a warning on my phone that it was getting too hot. I took shelter under a tree that offered ample shade. It was an intriguing spot to pause. The owner of this little stretch of road had gathered a variety of discarded items and assembled them into small structures. One of these caught my eye — a shed made from a white door, wooden panels, and tin sheets, clearly repurposed for storage.
It was a good example of recycling waste, but it also highlighted the extent of human wastefulness. I didn’t venture further down the road to photograph the other structures; I had a feeling I was encroaching on private land and didn’t want to disturb the landowner.
I realised I hadn’t taken a photo of myself during this random adventure. With time running short and not many picturesque views around, I decided to snap a quick photo. I suppose this reflects the kind of area I was travelling through. It wasn’t about the views; it was more about experiencing rural country life, with the modern world visible and close by.
As I neared the coordinates, I found myself on the edges of Xihu Township, in a quaint village-like area. Passing by a local temple, I noticed a long strip of stones — something you see almost everywhere in the country. The purpose of these stones is to walk on barefoot. They’re intended to massage the soles of your feet, improving blood circulation and helping you relax.
I decided to give it a try myself. I managed to get halfway before the sounds of pain escaped me: “Ohh, ahhh, ehhh.” I couldn’t understand how people did this so easily. In the past, I’ve seen elderly people stride across these stones as if they were walking on blades of grass. On this particular day, one stone caught me off guard and dug right into the centre of my foot. I had to place my hand on the trunk of a nearby tree for balance and step off.
As I was heading back to my bicycle, I noticed a face staring up at me from a stone bench. I picked it up and realised it was a dragon or lion — I’m not entirely sure which. It had come from the temple’s roof, where such figures often adorn the sides as the roofs swoop down. This one had broken off and someone had placed it here for safekeeping.
It looked quite impressive. I considered taking it home to add to my collection of random objects on my bookshelf, but I decided against it. It belonged at the temple.
I’ve always found temple art fascinating. Many temples, old and new, feature stunning designs that highlight the skill and steady hand required to create them. From dragons to figures of people, these artworks are imbued with stories from the Buddhist tradition.
This was the location given by Randonautica. It led me to someone’s courtyard, a traditional Taiwanese home. I couldn’t go inside, as that would have been rude, so I lingered for a moment to see if there was anything interesting nearby. There wasn’t; it was just a quiet area of Xihu.
However, I did notice something peculiar. During my journey, I had been craving grape juice, and at the coordinates, I spotted a small picture of grapes on the address sign of the house. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the coincidence.
Choosing an alternative route home, I headed towards Dacun Township — a town I had forgotten was renowned for its vineyards.
I decided to heed the signs that the universe was sending me — it was clear that the higher powers wanted me to enjoy some grape juice.
So, I did!
That wrapped up my adventure for the day. I must admit it wasn’t the most thrilling one, but that’s the essence of Randonautica. I did my best to make it interesting by finding subtle points of interest along the way.
You never really know where you’re going to end up, especially when you’re relying on a random coordinate app to guide you. I’m curious to see where I’ll end up next time.
