This two-day, one-night cultural journey felt like a practice in rediscovering the land.
On the first day, we stepped into Xizhou, Changhua, arriving at “Chunyuan” — a poetic place created by poet Wu Sheng — for a meditative class on encountering life.
In the soft morning breeze of Chunyuan, we came close to a water buffalo for the first time, a gentle soul named Xiao Lala. Its calm eyes and slow, steady steps seemed to set the breathing rhythm for the entire farmland. As we learned about the buffalo’s behavior from the teacher and tried to interact with it, I realized that being with animals is not about leashes and commands — it’s about awareness, respect, and patience. The buffalo was larger and more grounded than I had imagined. Standing beside it, I could feel its warmth, its breath, and the unhurried world reflected in its gaze. When I reached out to touch its rough skin, it didn’t step away — instead, it gently leaned its head toward me, as if to say, “I know you’re here.”
One of the most unexpected and profound moments was the class on “Buffalo Dung Incense.” In city life, buffalo dung is something we instinctively avoid, but in Pure Garden, we collected it fresh, kneaded it in our palms, shaped it, and set it to dry. From this, I understood that everything has value — if we are willing to look at it anew. When the incense was lit, the rising smoke carried a faint scent of grass. Buffalo dung was no longer just a rural byproduct, but a form of life wisdom, a way our ancestors coexisted with nature.
We picnicked in the forest at noon, with sunlight filtering through the leaves as if slowing time itself. In the afternoon, we made red turtle cakes (hong gui kueh) — the warmth of the glutinous rice expanded in our hands, holding tradition, wishes, and blessings. The turtle-shaped pattern symbolizes longevity and peace, and every ancient line on the mold carried generations of lived wisdom. When the steam rose, it wasn’t just the aroma of food, but the flavor of togetherness — the feeling of hands connecting with hands, a tenderness easily forgotten in modern life.
After leaving Chunyuan, we drove south to Chiayi. By night, the “Cultural Night Market” was bustling with voices and the rich scent of cooking oil — a stark contrast to the day’s calm in Pure Garden. Only travel can make one move so swiftly between these two worlds and truly see Taiwan’s cultural richness — both pure and vibrant, serene yet lively.
The next morning, after a light hotel breakfast, we stepped into the Southern Branch of the National Palace Museum in Chiayi. Surrounded by paintings, artifacts, and rare collections, I felt as though time folded, and Wu Sheng’s poetry about the deep bond between land and people resonated more clearly. Culture is not just displayed objects — it’s the breath built up in everyday life. At noon, we enjoyed turkey rice — a humble dish filled with the warmth and authenticity of local life. Before returning, we stopped at Hinoki Village, where the scent of cypress wood and the quiet of Japanese-style streets felt like a deliberate pause at the end of our journey, a chance to take a deep, quiet breath.
Perhaps the meaning of travel is not how far you go, but finding a moment to truly stop — to hear the voice of the land. And I am grateful that this trip allowed me to hear it.
From walking alongside a buffalo on the first day to conversing with cultural treasures on the second — rural charm and artful heritage together painted the most moving scenery of our journey.
See the highlight video here: https://www.instagram.com/p/DRbO3SgEgy9/?hl=zh-tw
