Artist in the Slow Lane

Liu Ka-shiang states pensively: "As a nature writer for whom walking is at the core of his existence, I reached maturity quite late. It wasn't until the current stage of my career that I finally felt like I had really hit full stride, was seeing a lot of things clearly, and understood how to express myself in simple language."

On a sweltering day in late June, with the outdoor temperature at 35°C, he sits before me, reflecting at a leisurely pace on his career as a nature writer.

[p51] Shown on this page are a garlic pear, black-faced spoonbill, field mustard, and water buffalo. [p52] The covers of a few books published by Liu Ka-shiang.

There is one type of author who does not set out with a publishing plan, does not set specific goals, does not repeat himself, and does not hope to become a big star. The only thing he wants is to get lost in nature, and just keep walking and walking. Liu Ka-shiang is one such author.

In 2009, Liu published Train Travel for 11 Yuan, which earned him relative fame in the shrinking market for nature writers. It sold over 20,000 copies. People started recognizing him in train stations, and using his book as a travel guide.

Liu's books attract a regular clientele, but certainly don't qualify as bestsellers, as is inevitable for a nature writer. But things are changing. People's concept of travel is undergoing a slow shift toward a greater emphasis upon human-interest themes. Simplicity and slow pace are coming into vogue, as small revolutionary flames begin licking away at conventional travel habits. "Slow travel" takes different forms, but perhaps the best-known way of doing it is to go out visiting all the tiny little train stations to be found around Taiwan. Indeed, it has become the mainstream among non-mainstream travel styles. The market was thus primed for a book such as Train Travel for 11 Yuan.

Over the past 30-plus years, Liu has been down countless roads, collected enough materials to fill up a library, and published nearly 70 books. If we put his work in the "Taiwan description" category, "then what I write about," says Liu, "is a Taiwan that most people don't know about-one that is either long gone or on the way out."

The times have at last come full circle and met up with Liu. We are living in an age that is losing its sky, oceans, forests, and ancient trails due to man's frenzied quest for development. And we've also lost a sort of respect for basic research, as well as the connection between man and nature.

In 1978, the 21-year-old Liu published his first book of poetry-River Downstream-under the pen name of Liu Zikuai, thus launching his literary career.

[p51] Shown on this page are a garlic pear, black-faced spoonbill, field mustard, and water buffalo. [p52] The covers of a few books published by Liu Ka-shiang.

After graduating from university, Liu did his military service in the navy, where he became familiar with migratory birds in the waters off Penghu. After discharge from the navy, he began taking solitary walks along the Dadu River and Daijia River to observe the birds there. Whatever he observed, he conscientiously recorded. In 1980 he was awarded the China Times Narrative Poetry Award for "Happy Forest." And in 1992 he published Travel Notes, the first book in which he recorded his walks in the wilderness and his birdwatching observations. Students of Taiwan's nature writing all agree that this book "opened up a whole genre of nature writing in Taiwan."

As a "literary youth," Liu didn't choose to specialize in the natural sciences, but the explorer's blood of a maritime people flowed in his veins and pushed him to probe the world around him. Every time he visited a new place, he would sketch out a map of the environs and then add in nature drawings and historical information. Liu thus exiled himself to the margins of the literary world. He cultivated his marginal territory with care, however, and ended up unexpectedly broadening the scope of Taiwan literature.

He is grateful to Taiwan. A mountainous island sandwiched in between the ocean and a continental landmass, and located at a temperate latitude, Taiwan is a place like few others anywhere else in the world. "I am very lucky to have been born on such a special island, and to have had a happy childhood. It's even more fortunate that my family was supportive and economically secure enough that I had enough time and opportunity to observe nature all around the island on a long-term basis, to familiarize myself with scenery throughout Taiwan, and to get to know the many different types of topography the island has to offer."

So, what does exploration mean to Liu?

Back in the 1990s, Liu wrote a regular column called "Explorers in Taiwan" for the Independence Morning Post in which he introduced foreign explorers who came to Taiwan after 1858. In his column he defined "exploration" as searching for and studying the unknown, using countless different methods to discover new information. For a true explorer, sometimes the process is far more important than the result.

"Exploration is a microcosm of society. It is a challenge, and encourages people to reach beyond their limits, seek excitement, and develop an understanding of a completely different aspect of existence."

This is what Liu wrote in his preface to Explorers in Taiwan when it was published in book form. It reads a lot like the author having a dialog with himself. It's a promise to himself, and the quest of his life.

Liu Ka-shiang stands under an old tree at the entrance to the Caoling Historic Trail. Wherever he goes, Liu takes a close look at the environs to discover links between the surroundings and our everyday lives. He has published his findings in over 70 different works, and become something of a spokesman for the beauty of Taiwan.

When his knowledge accumulated to the point where it approached the level of academia, Liu found himself confronted with a jarring conflict between the language of the natural sciences and the language of literature, so he "cast about for a compromise between reportage and a more formal style of academic writing." He was looking for a style that would allow him to write accessibly about complex topics. His writing tended to be straightforward and unadorned.

The travelogues of early Western visitors to Taiwan have been the biggest influence upon his writing. After his 1988 publication of a work of prose poetry entitled In the Eyes of the Flying Squirrel, Liu announced he would quit writing poetry and turn instead to natural history research and nature writing. His publication the following year of The Development of Ornithology in Taiwan marked a definitive shift for Liu as a writer.

The animal novels Pinocha the Plover and Horenmomo: A Story of a Humpback Whale spring from Liu's formidable imagination and a deep knowledge of animals. Pinocha the Plover urges Taiwan society to show more concern for migratory birds, and can also be read as an environmentalist novel. The inspiration for Horenmomo came while Liu was birdwatching in the wetlands, where for some unknown reason his thoughts turned to the mysterious stranding of humpback whales and he shifted the focus of his research to marine life.

The Song of a Little Green Hill series brought another big course change for Liu, who once said that "3000-meter peaks call out continuously to me." Out of a sense of responsibility toward family and community, after getting married Liu chose to stay at home for a time to care for his children. For three years he eschewed long-distance trips and limited himself to walks in low-altitude forests near home. Each morning he would follow a set route to what he chose to call Goshawk Hill "because it was a goshawk that attracted me in that direction." There was a little hillside pond at Goshawk Hill where Malaysian night herons would occasionally put in an appearance and people would come to fish. Liu silently observed the birds, taking photos, sketching, and jotting down notes without ever once saying a word to anyone. In the afternoon he would go to work at the China Times, for the income of a nature writer was not enough to support a family.

[p51] Shown on this page are a garlic pear, black-faced spoonbill, field mustard, and water buffalo. [p52] The covers of a few books published by Liu Ka-shiang.

The hillside pond was less than an hour's walk from home. The sounds of city life could be heard at the pond. The little green hill prompted Liu to include travel in his definition of nature. For people who cannot get away from the restricted confines of their daily routines, Liu came to see travel as any action taken to achieve a change of scenery and mood: "To leave the house is to travel, to travel is to wander."

"You don't have to go traipsing all around the globe, or go to places dripping in history. There's plenty to discover on short little outings right here in Taiwan." Silent Wanderings and Lost for a Day in a Little Town were inspired by this new philosophy of travel. Whenever you go roaming about, you will make new discoveries and get lost in places you've never been before. One road leads to another.

Observing stray dogs was another routine of Liu's during his "little green hill" period. Keeping to himself, Liu watched a group of stray dogs near his home for more than 600 days. He kept a journal to record the habits of these homeless animals, and how they looked after each other.

By the time he published his observations in 2007 in a book entitled Stray Dog Hill, a construction company had already gobbled up the natural setting that had once been the dogs' territory. Practically overnight, ritzy property replaced abandoned lots and displaced the stray dogs.

Absolutely anything and everything is of interest to Liu, including the relocation of graves near the Xinhai MRT Station. The work started a long time ago, and has been proceeding at a very slow pace. For 20 years, Liu has watched one grave after another get hauled away, re-greening the hillside bit by bit. "Most people pay attention to something like that for maybe three or four years, but with some things you've got to keep watching for 20 or 30 years to have a feel for what's going on." Perhaps no one other than a solitary distance runner could fully appreciate his point. Liu is planning to write an article extolling the nameless people who've been carrying out the work.

[p51] Shown on this page are a garlic pear, black-faced spoonbill, field mustard, and water buffalo. [p52] The covers of a few books published by Liu Ka-shiang.

"When you use the modern animal novel as an interface for nature writing, you're not just writing fairy-tale-like children's literature, but neither do you need to constantly harp about man's constant destruction of nature. In the face of global warming, wanton logging of rainforests, and the depletion of water resources, a writer must do more than stand on the front lines of protest. Even more importantly, as a writer you have to infuse your writing with hopes and dreams."

Liu isn't generally the sort to get out and shout slogans on the front lines of a protest movement. He's easygoing by nature, which is why his protest is a low-key affair in which he stands off to the side and presents his ideas in an offbeat way. In "One Man's Protest Against Nuclear Power," for example, he doesn't scream about how he doesn't want nuclear power, but instead discusses the matter in terms of how it would affect his ability to take any walk in any place he pleases. Walking is a fundamental right, but when a nuclear crisis occurs, we lose the fundamental right to walk wherever we feel like.

The Alangyi Trail runs for 13 kilometers from Xuhai in Pingtung County to Nantian in Taitung County along the last stretch of completely undeveloped coastline in all of Taiwan. Liu first walked the trail 30 years ago. Over the intervening 30 years, Taiwan's coastline has become almost completely lined with tetrapod breakwaters and fishing harbors. Alangyi is the only place that remains untouched, but Provincial Highway No. 26 currently being planned by the Ministry of Transportation and Communications would run right through it. Liu has called on the authorities to just lie on the beach at Nantian and listen to the waves, then walk into the forest and cross the streams there, and think about the significance of the trail. He asks them to compare the value of the "slow life" versus the economic output of the road. What he is trying to communicate is that, in this centennial year of the Republic of China, might it not be possible to adopt a different way of thinking? Might it not be possible to "leave well enough alone" rather than scurry about building things? And especially where nature is concerned, he asks us to ease up, and give nature back to nature.

In Fifteen Asteroids, Liu provides unassuming descriptions of 15 ordinary people of no fame whatsoever, each of whom has made a deep impression upon him in the course of his travels, and changed his life in one way or another.

Liu has been changed, because he has been open to the possibility of it. There was a period when he often took his children out on his trips to provide them with an outdoors education and give them a chance to observe things. He was very enthusiastic and serious about imparting knowledge to them, but eventually discovered that children deal with nature in a much more open way, and giving them too much know-ledge was a recipe for failure. This realization prompted him to change the attitude he adopted in communicating with others about nature. He decided to dispense less knowledge and tell more stories. This marked a big turning point in his career as an explainer of nature. His publication of Patrolling the Mountains marked the return of poetry to his works.

"My worries, my favorite things... I use poetry to explore it all. Poetry is a sensitive probe, a radar that communes with the spirit world. Via poetic exploration, I broke through the fuzziness. At a time when the mountains caused me to feel a jittery sort of helplessness, poetry held an ineffable charm."

[p51] Shown on this page are a garlic pear, black-faced spoonbill, field mustard, and water buffalo. [p52] The covers of a few books published by Liu Ka-shiang.

Liu asks: "You know what I talk about in my speeches?" He gets up, retrieves a few packs of peanuts from his son's room, and places a few peanuts on the table. Pointing to them, he explains: "These are No. 9 peanuts, these are No. 11, and these are the most prized of all-black peanuts."

Not many know the difference between these peanuts, but Liu can go on for 30 minutes comparing and contrasting them. The No. 9s are smaller and tastier. Those are the ones everyone ate in the old days. The No. 11s are bigger but less tasty, so salt and garlic are added to make up for it. They are also squeezed for their oil. "That's the tragedy of the No. 11s."

Liu tells me about peanuts, tofu, eggs, yams, and other foods that "we eat every day without knowing much about them." He is against gourmet dining: "Taiwan is not a good country for gourmet cuisine." He argues that gourmet foods are wasteful of resources and distract us from our "non-gourmet foods."

He also talks about how to look at old things in a new way. He can give a thorough historical portrait of tourist destinations like Tamsui, the Alishan Mountains, Sun Moon Lake, Cingjing Guest House, and Jiufen-all of which he regards as overdeveloped and devoid of originality. He knows there are at least six old trails that lead to Jiufen. He knows the history of such places, which is why he is so good at digging up interesting new takes on old things.

"I used to write about faraway places and things that most people would not have seen before. Later I stuck closer to home, but I still wrote about places and things that most people would not have seen before." Now, however, "I write about ordinary things that we all see every day, including everyday food and drink."

It's all connected with his walking.

Liu's hand-drawn map of the Sandiaoling Historic Trail.

Liu's inner universe and his writings are both rooted in his habit of taking long walks. For him, walks are meaningful on more than one level. They are the walks of a nature explorer, and the walks of a poet. His walks engage more than just his body; they also engage his mind, his mood, and his world view.

"After you've walked a long time, you discover you can do without a lot of things. You understand the meaning of simplicity." Ever since the 18th century, the act of "walking" has harbored a note of protest against the mainstream, a reaction against the speed and alienation of the industrial revolution. Liu's walks represent, in a certain sense, his personal reaction against the mainstream. Slow pace combined with poetry is romantic.

The more he walks, the farther he goes. His walking has taken him beyond rural Taiwan, to Hong Kong and the Lingnan region of southern China (Guangdong and Guangxi Provinces). He's been walking in the Lingnan region for four years now, and has collected enough information on the plant life there to publish a book on it. When he goes to give a speech in Hong Kong, he wants to talk to them about mountain paths right there in the audience's own stomping grounds, but ones that they don't even know about, and about local plants and fruits that they never pay much attention to. In this regard, he is very much influenced by the thinking of early explorers, who believed in making a foreign place their own. "Let's say I go to Penghu, for example. I'd feel like I had let them down if I talked to the people of Penghu about traveling in Taiwan."

His roots are in Taiwan, but Liu has come to realize that "when you're in a foreign land, you have to focus on the things in that land." He adds, "Sometimes when you go to another country, you end up seeing Taiwan more clearly."

Looking back on the roads he's walked, Liu says he finally understands the meaning of life. Life is the slow accumulation of little things. And we mold our own place in life. This is the "asteroid" that he is working to become. And in the eyes of many, he's already achieved it.

[p51] Shown on this page are a garlic pear, black-faced spoonbill, field mustard, and water buffalo. [p52] The covers of a few books published by Liu Ka-shiang.

Liu Ka-shiang likes nothing better than to jump on a slow train and take his sweet time recording what he sees while puttering about every little nook and cranny in Taiwan. He is shown here on a train bound for Yuli Township in Hualien County.

Liu Ka-shiang focuses in on everyday things that most of us overlook as we go about our daily routines.

[p51] Shown on this page are a garlic pear, black-faced spoonbill, field mustard, and water buffalo. [p52] The covers of a few books published by Liu Ka-shiang.

[p51] Shown on this page are a garlic pear, black-faced spoonbill, field mustard, and water buffalo. [p52] The covers of a few books published by Liu Ka-shiang.