"Heh. I live with you in Happy Village, don't I?" (Chuang Kung-ju)

The blood of the "people of the moun-tain and the sea" still flows in the veins of Taiwan's Aborigines. Ask one who has spent years roaming the island, "Where is your home?" and you're likely to hear that it's wherever there are mountains, water, the chattering of birds, and the scent of flowers. While perhaps not strictly true, the thought brings back memories of their old hearths and homes, warming them as they make their way through the weary world.

"The trees ended at the headwaters of the spring where he came upon a mountain. In it, he glimpsed a small opening through which light seemed to shine." Thus did Jin-Dynasty poet Tao Yuanming describe the approach to "Peach Blossom Spring," his legendary utopia to which no one could ever return. Today, many of Taiwan's urban Aborigines retain memories of a similar place.

We set out from Keelung one afternoon before the Lunar New Year, driving up Taiwan's northeast coast along Provincial Highway No. 2 in the stiff ocean breeze. We're headed for Shuinandong in Taipei County's Ruifang Township, the boundless blue expanse of the Pacific to our left, the dense green vegetation of Keelung Mountain to our right. Just past Yinyang Hai, where mine runoff turns the sea two colors, we spot a boulder inscribed with "Gengziliao-Good Land, Good Water" and the signatures of local representatives and officials. Turning right onto the narrow road, we climb then round a 60-degree bend only to be stunned by the natural beauty of the vista before us.