Memory of a tour

I feel the sweat clinging to my skin and the chill of the AC blasting overhead. Heads nodding in and out of sleep from my view at the back of the bus, swaying to the rhythm of the drive. Souvenir bags bulge out from the overhead shelves. The hum of the bus engine I’ve grown used to is playing in the background. The city lights peek out of both windows of the bus, and it’s a sea of stars. 

The tour to Sun Moon Lake is done. 2 hours back to Taipei. I’m processing everything that just happened today. There was a huge family that joined the same tour, and I couldn’t help but feel happy for them. The grandma holds onto her grandson’s back while they ride a bike around a picturesque lake. I’m sure they'll remember this for years to come. 

One of the tourists didn’t know how to ride a bike. The guide offers to give them a ride on theirs.

“How do you like riding on the back of the bike?” I ask. 

“I really like it, I think I’m going to learn when I get back home”. 

I’m hoping they do. Wouldn’t that be the best souvenir, to have a life-changing bike ride that spurs you to learn a skill that you can keep with you for the rest of your life?

We stopped by a famous tea store, and someone in our group was really excited to buy cakes and tea leaves; he bought two huge bags loaded with goods. An auntie took a photo of me in front of the visitor center that day. The fleeting nature of vacation tours makes me a bit sad once it’s all said and done.

I start to think about returning to reality once my trip ends. This experience has been healing; I was able to take a well-needed break from work and spend some time with myself in a new environment. There were places that I wanted to check off my bucket list when I came to Taiwan, and going to Sun Moon Lake was a very memorable part of it. At the same time, I was hoping that this visit would somehow reveal to me the answers I was searching for. What direction should I go with my career? Will there be any creative projects that I can work on once I return? I worry about the uncertainty of the future, and I’m hoping that an “aha!” moment will end my anxiety. But I realize that it’s going to take some time for things to work themselves out, and that a trip can’t magically solve everything.

The tourist next to me has spent the last ten minutes trying to take a picture of the moon. The highway walls and city lights start to meld together with the speed of the bus. What a human experience to find the moon so beautiful. I think about all the previous generations before me that looked up at the moon. The way that people around the world are so captivated by it that we’ve honored it through festivals across different cultures. We try to capture it through our phones, our paintings, our art, our writing, our eyes, all in the hopes of preserving a memory of its beautiful mysteriousness

In an hour or so, we’ll all go our separate ways and bring our souvenirs home. There is a 99.9% chance I will never see these people again, but I don’t think I’ll forget them, at least not for a while. I see myself in them.

In the way I wish to bring my grandma on a bike ride.

In the way that I want to learn new things after experiencing different parts of the world.

In the way that I can’t help but stock up on snacks for family and friends.

It feels good to take photos for other tourists. 

I can’t help but look up at the sky and search for the moon.

I walk back to the hotel, these thoughts lingering on my mind as I think about dinner plans.