Lost and found in Keelung
The morning in Keelung had a peculiar charm, the kind that stirs both excitement and a tinge of apprehension. The port buzzed quietly in the distance as I stood on the gangway of the ship, convincing myself that this would be a simple hike, a chance to stretch my legs after days onboard. What I hadn’t planned for was the peculiar mix of unease and exhilaration that comes from realising you’re lost.
The trail started innocuously enough, winding its way through the Zhongshan District’s lush greenery. Birds chirped overhead, and the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at unseen creatures. The map on my phone was a vague reassurance, but with the network flickering in and out, I decided to follow my instincts instead. Surely, I thought, the trails would loop back eventually.
As the elevation climbed, so did my spirits. Keelung’s port shrank in the distance, its cranes and ships becoming toy-like against the sprawling sea. The path, however, seemed to have a mind of its own, splitting and twisting into a maze of trails that maps didn’t quite account for. It felt as though every turn led to another choice, each one more ambiguous than the last. At some point, I realised the familiar markers – a crooked tree, a stone bench – were nowhere in sight.
A pang of worry crept in, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity. What if I kept going? What lay beyond the next bend? After all, I reasoned, retracing my steps was always an option.
The trail became narrower, wilder, and more enigmatic. Paved paths turned to uneven stairs that meandered through an area that seemed frozen in time. I passed through what looked like an abandoned residential neighbourhood – if you could call it that. The zinc-clad houses stood eerily quiet, their walls streaked with grime and the ground littered with debris. It felt deserted, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone might be watching from the shadows. Each house was so close to the next that it created a claustrophobic maze through which the trail snaked.
As unsettling as it was, curiosity pushed me forward. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the crunch of my footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves. Serenity was nowhere to be found here; instead, there was a surreal tension, as though I’d wandered onto the set of a forgotten film. At one point, I realised I could no longer see the hills I’d come from, only the narrow trail ahead.
The path eventually wound its way out of the area, descending to the bottom of the hill. And then, as if by magic, civilisation reappeared – a small neighbouring town, bustling with life. The sound of scooters and chatter was a welcome contrast to the ghostly quiet I’d left behind. I felt an overwhelming relief as I stepped onto a familiar road that led back to the port.
That day, I learned something profound: being lost isn’t always about geography. It’s about navigating the unfamiliar and finding beauty, even in the eerie quiet of an abandoned place or the unexpected warmth of returning to the known.
