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Experiencing Through the Body
To truly know Wanrong, one must abandon the
administrative map
—
and resist the romanticized
image of a mountain
“
hidden paradise.
”
Wanrong
must be sensed through embodied living.
This sensory experience is distinct: the air infused with
the vegetal scent of betel nut blossoms and bird
’
s
nest fern fields, tinged with rawness and fresh soil;
the weight of post-rain mountain mist pressing low
against rooftops and skin; the roar of blue pickup
trucks shifting gears along winding industrial roads,
layered with the distant sound of flowing streams.
In the return-home memories of Wanrong residents,
there is always a moment after leaving the straight
provincial highway
—
hands turning the steering
wheel onto narrower access roads
—
when the
vehicle
’
s vibration intensifies, asphalt grains grow
coarser beneath the tires, and streetlights give way
to betel nut groves and mixed woodland. It is in
this bodily jolt that they know: they have entered
Wanrong.
Only by living here does one understand that
distance is not measured in kilometers, but in the
curvature of mountain roads and the whims of
weather. As night falls, warm cooking fires glow
outside homes at the dark mountain foothills. For
those who live here, leaning against mountains,
living beside rivers, and coexisting through borrowed
routes with lowland towns, it s way of dwelling that
constitutes the most authentic and grounded form
of home.
these former quasi-reserved forest designations.
Planned according to economic priorities rather
than Indigenous life patterns, this spatial logic
produced the fragmented, island-like distribution of
Wanrong
’
s villages along Highway No. 9.
Wild, Therefore Beautiful
Xilin and Jianqing sit at the northern edge of the
township, their daily rhythms closely aligned with
Fenglin. Wanrong and Mingli lie just across the
river from Guangfu
’
s urban center. Mayuan
and Hongye, meanwhile, are tightly linked to
the Ruisui living sphere. These relationships may
appear dependent, yet Wanrong residents are not
preoccupied with competing against lowland towns
in terms of convenience. Instead, they turn toward
and embrace the distinct wildness that emerges
from this fractured terrain.
This wildness is a confidence grown from the land
itself. Steep slopes and lingering mist force arrow
bamboo shoots to push through heavier dampness
and cold, making them crisper and more resilient
than those grown on the plains. In the forest shade,
tender coils of bird
’
s nest fern absorb mountain
moisture, yielding flavors both pure and rich.
Occasionally, the air carries a sharp blend of lemon
and citronella
—
the scent of mountain pepper
(maqaw), now being actively restored in Hongye
Village
—
a fragrance belonging to hunters and the
forest alike.
This wildness also reflects cultural depth. Geographic
isolation has allowed distinct Indigenous cultures to
ferment quietly within mountain folds. Whether Truku
weavers threading ancestral eyes into the warp and
weft of looms, or Bunun singers forming circles along
the Fuyuan River to chant eight-part harmonies
praying for millet harvests, Wanrong
’
s wildness
remains deeply compelling.
For travelers entering Wanrong Township, the shift in
perception is immediate and visceral. One moment,
they move within the modern order of Highway No. 9;
the next, a single turn plunges them into an organic,
untamed mountain landscape. This constant
oscillation between the regulated and the wild is
Wanrong
’
s most captivating spatial quality.
借 道 的 山 影
Mountain Silhouettes on the Borrowed Trails
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