I don’t remember when I first got the idea to circle the island of Taiwan on foot, but in the winter of 2020, I tried.

I spent about half the trip sleeping at friends’ (and friends of friends’) houses, and the other half sleeping in parks and behind convenience stores trash cans in a bargain bin Decathlon tent.

I didn’t, however, circle the entire island. I only traveled most of the west coast, from north (New Taipei) to south (Chiayi), for a total of 300 kilometers over the course of 13 days. The last 2 days, however, were a part of a short-lived “second-wind” attempt; I had only persisted 11 days (250 kilometers) from departure to my first train home.

Had I stuck it out, I probably would have made it around the entire Taiwanese mainland in just over a month. But going it alone was, well, lonely. And I had made things worse by refusing to engage with people more fully and make it fun — stubbornly telling myself I was on a “meditation retreat,” all the while neglecting the fact that human connection was what I really sought.

On one hand, I think I missed out by not going the full distance; on the other, I’m not sure that pushing myself to the finish line would have guaranteed I got the most out of the trip, either. Maybe it’s for the best that I cut my losses — the better to make space to “circle back” to the project later.

That said, the journey was far from a wash. If anything, it ended when it did not because it had been boring and lonely from the beginning, but because whereas it had started out fraught with challenges and a necessity to rely on others, by the second week I felt like I had everything figured out and had fallen into the habit of walking on auto-pilot with headphones on.

Consider the following both a guide to my methods as well as a preface to an account of my 13-day journey.

Restrictions: The Uncanny-Valley Expat

Recently, an inspirational Brit, Russ “the Hardest Geezer” Cook, ran from the southernmost to the northernmost tip of Africa, running 1–2 marathons (40–80+ kilometers) nearly every single day for just under a year. My trip was far from the feat of human endurance Russ’s journey was, or that of any other paragon.

It was, however, challenging, and unique to that of most Western backpackers (especially outside of Europe) in that from start to finish, I only spoke the local languages: Mandarin and Taiwanese.

Granted, this wasn’t new to me. I’m a translator. I’d vowed to stop speaking English on Taiwanese soil with few exceptions from the day I got to stop teaching English and started freelancing full-time. I didn’t have any “other foreigner” friends, and I insisted on speaking Chinese with everyone.

Novel or not — advisable or otherwise — this principle has allowed me to live a relatively authentic life in Taiwan, at least in juxtaposition to those of the “eternal-tourists,” whose comfort zones lie in English-speaking circles with other expats and local Americanophiles.

More to the point, it means that the journey I’m about to share comes from the uncanny-valley perspective of an expat who has spent the last decade trying to pretend he’s not one. Every conversation you are about to see recounted took place in Mandarin or Taiwanese (mostly the former). Every challenge you are about to hear described was undertaken not by a gap-year backpacker passing through exotic lands nevertheless far removed from him, but by an immigrant trying to find belonging in and make sense of his not-so-new home.

What It Means to “Circle the Island”

“Circling the island” is a literal translation of a Mandarin term common in Taiwan, pronounced “huándǎo” (環島).

As far as island countries go, Taiwan isn’t particularly big or small. It’s about 15% the size of New Zealand, and roughly the same size as old Zealand (plus the rest of the Netherlands).

That’s to say, it’s big enough to have its own unique culture and customs, but small enough that the locals tend to get claustrophobic, and fly outbound to Japan, Korea, Singapore, and Thailand any chance they get.

But whether or not the type to fly to Japan in March to see the sakuras in Kyoto and then again in December to go skiing in Hokkaido, Taiwanese folks generally feel pretty good about their quaint island home. And for those who take pride in being Taiwanese, a “circle around the island” is a sort of pilgrimage.

Some do it as a leisurely week-or-so road trip, traveling by motorcycle, car, or van. Others take trains from city to city. Those undaunted by the elements who want a bit of exercise cycle around the island over the course of days, or even more than a week. Then, you get the hardcore guys and gals, who spend upwards of a month making the circle solely on foot, sleeping not at hostels but in the sleeping bags or tents on their backs. It was this final definition of “circling” that I was interested in.

Taking the Urban Route

One of the reasons “circling the island” is such an obvious mode of travel in Taiwan is because the Taiwanese mainland is divided through the center by masses of mountain ranges, its only flatlands around the edges. Not all of these edges, however, are created equal, and civilization and industry tend to aggregate around the west coast while the east coast remains a pristine wilderness, save a couple major settlements.

For a lot of island-circlers, it’s the east coast — getting away from the city and being around nature — that makes the journey, and so those departing from Taipei in the north tend to travel clockwise while those departing from Khaosiung in the south travel counterways.

I chose the opposite route, walking from New Taipei to Taoyuan, then Xinzhu, Miaoli, Taichung, Yunlin, and finally Chiayi. Mostly, this was out of practicality. The majority of the information I found on the Taiwanese web was about how to get by backpacking in urban areas. And at least this way, if something went wrong, I wouldn’t be stranded in the wilderness or be too far from a hospital.

My Research

In the months leading up to my departure to “make the circle,” I slowly gathered all the information I thought I needed to ensure that I would always: 1) have a free place to lay out a sleeping bag or pitch a tent; 2) be close enough to civilization to restock on food; and 3) know how to avoid being mauled to death by the majestic Taiwanese black bear — or plowed into by the much more dangerous nighttime driver.

My preliminary research came from floating the idea in casual conversation and asking friends’ and acquaintances’ advice.

I learned a few things about pitching tents in urban areas from my friend Yiqian, who has been a female solo-traveler all over Europe and Japan off and on for as long as I’ve been in Taiwan. A Chan Buddhist friend advised that I might try getting pilgrim lodging at Buddhist temples (香客大樓) along the way by calling ahead. A friend from the south told me to make sure I got an extendable walking stick or two, because I was probably going to get cornered by wild packs of dogs (or at least unleashed ones) in the middle and southern industrial parks.

Then, I hammered out the details by checking out a few Taiwanese circlers’ blogs and PTT posts (kind of like a Taiwanese middleground between 4Chan and Reddit), and even posting a few questions of my own. It’s worth noting that I probably could have saved myself a lot of time by just posting in the “Circling Taiwan on Foot Association” (台灣徒步環島聯誼會) Facebook group had I known it existed, though.

Backpacking without hostels

My greatest concern was where I could pitch a tent and sleep with peace of mind and free of charge. Luckily, on-foot circlers pretty much always go the free lodging route, so there were plenty of suggestions from seasoned local backpackers.

In order of practicality and my personal preference, here are the recommendations I turned up:

1. Taoist and Buddhist temples

Half believing I was on a spiritual quest, my top preference for lodging was at a quiet, atmospheric Buddhist or Taoist temple. The friend mentioned above advised that I could call a few Buddhist temples in advance to inquire about pilgrim lodging, and all else failing go to Taoist temples and shrines in person to ask to set up my tent on the concrete outside, probably somewhere around the Heavenly Father (Jade Emperor) incense burner (天公爐).

2. Christian churches

Though not a Christian myself, several bloggers claimed that Christian churches were fairly accommodating to believers and non-believers alike, and there should be ample opportunities to score a spot for one’s sleeping bag among the pews.

3. Community centers

There seems to be a set number of community centers in every Taiwanese city district — or possibly even every neighborhood subdivision (li, or 里). Some netizens suggested that staff were sometimes willing to give backpackers a run of the place overnight, though I was just hoping for another building with a relatively isolated strip of concrete (parking lot) to set up my tent.

4. Middle schools and universities

While common sense told me that the last thing a school would want is some drifter setting up a tent on campus or in an arcade (outdoor hallway), the wisdom of the commons begged to differ. As for why these should be middle schools and universities and not high schools or elementary schools, I’m still not sure.

5. Family Marts and 7/11s (convenience stores)

The idea behind this one is that convenience stores in the countryside tend to have open space around them, and the buildings themselves can serve as barriers against the wind. Obviously, this doesn’t work in a Taiwanese downtown area, where convenience stores are parts of lines of flats, there’s no sidewalk, and parked scooters leave mere inches of walking room between themselves and the shop fronts under the arcades.

6. Parks

Some say you can just pitch a tent in a Taiwanese park after dark and no one will care or ask you to leave. Others advise asking the local neighborhood chief (里長) permission to be safe, in case a cop knocks on your tent flaps and asks what the hell you’re doing. There’s word, too, that homeless folks can be territorial in certain areas and even ill-tempered about encroachments, though I haven’t seen evidence of this.

7. Cemeteries

Why would anyone want to spend the night alone in a cemetery, where every shadow that plays off the tent is guaranteed to frighten one half to death? Apparently because it’s not safe to set up a tent by a ditch on the side of the road, and sleeping in a cemetery is preferable to being buried in one. Plus, a tomb can provide a concrete base when the ground is too soggy. For the record, I didn’t take this option lightly — though even pious Taiwanese folks have insisted to me that it’s okay as long as you say a little prayer to ask permission from the dead.

My Equipment

Equipped with this knowledge, I was finally ready to take the step of no return and buy my gear. Most of it came from Decathlon, and was the cheapest I could find in one place. In total, I estimate I spent $150 — $250 USD.

On the day I set off, my pack held:

• 1x Two-person tent
• 1x Sleeping bag
• 1x Inflatable sleeping mat
• 1x Inflatable pillow
• 1x Tent light
• 8x Double-A batteries
• 1x 800ml water bottle (filled)
• 1x Light-weight down coat
• 2x Changes of clothes and undergarments
• 1x Pair of knock-off Crocs
• 1x Disposable raincoat- 1x Bag of bandaids and alcohol wipes
• 1x Pack of tissue-style toilet paper
• 1x Bottle of mosquito spray
• 2x Portable USB chargers
• 1x Kindle e-reader
• Relevant charging cables (phone, kindle, etc.)
• 1x Toothbrush + travel toothpaste
• 1x Thin, blank journal + pen
• 1x Wallet, with three thousand yuan (about US$100) inside
• 1x Emergency whistle
• 1x Bottle of pepper spray
• 3x Face masks
• 1x Paper fold-out map of Taiwan

I won’t explain every item in detail, though I do have a few notes based on what I knew at the time of my departure:

Inflatable sleeping mat

If you need a concrete platform to stay dry, don’t expect a sleeping bag to make that concrete feel any less like concrete. Either get an inflatable sleeping mat or expect to wake up sore, if you fall asleep at all. (Thanks to another friend, Yiqing — not to be confused with Yiqian — for this invaluable advice).

800 ml water bottle

I don’t know the perfect size for a water bottle, but in urban areas where there's water for sale on every corner, you’ll probably find that the weight of more than a liter isn't worth lugging. East coast circlers might need something more like a super-size-me cup or mini-keg, though.

3000 yuan

Though Taiwan has very little petty crime, this is the most money I wanted to carry around at a given time. For the rest, I intended to make periodic ATM withdrawals.

A paper fold-out map

Traveling by Google Maps is only as reliable as the phone battery running it (which incidentally drains fast when the GPS is on), so I definitely needed to make sure I had a backup (in addition to my portable chargers).

At the last minute, I also added reflective tape to my pack’s waterproof cover and heaped on some snack rations. Spoiler: In urban Taiwan, where there’s at least one Family Mart and another 7/11 at every corner, snack packs (like jugs of water) are absolutely dead weight.

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I was ready. On the night of Monday December 7th, 2021, I packed up my gear and set my alarm for 4:30 am.

Next - Day 1 Backpacking Through Taiwan on Foot: The God With the Liquor Gourd