The land, the oceans, animals and some nomadic nations are unaware of the geographic borders and other artificial mechanisms we use to demarcate where one place ends and another begins. Imaginary lines in the sands of the Sahara Desert separate Egypt from Libya and Libya from Algeria. A line somewhere through the middle of the Great Lakes separates Canada from the U.S.A. An island separates the South China Sea and the Taiwan Strait from the Pacific Ocean.

It is a ridiculous notion that the waters on the western side of Taiwan should be any different from those on the eastern side, and yet no matter how much I tell myself that they are the same, separated only by a small accident of nature, there is an overwhelming romantic notion, that I will not relinquish, that I have to see the Pacific Ocean for real. Or rather, I have to see what we call the Pacific Ocean.

Jia Hui and I hired a scooter for the express purpose of driving from Kenting, where the South China Sea laps the shore sedately, to the inappropriately named Jialeshui (Beautiful Happy Water) where the Pacific Ocean thunders furiously against the steep rocky cliffs, exacting revenge for the unnecessary separation imposed by the island. Rough winds battered us as we drove along the winding coastal road, expectantly looking through the trees to catch our first glimpse of the Pacific. We saw it as we emerged from a forest road and crested the hill we had been ascending.

Standing on the edge of the cliff we looked far down at the ocean's impotent rage smashing against the dark rocks below us and then looked up to the horizon. I couldn't see America, just as I couldn't see China beyond the horizon on the western side. The Ocean on the one side seemed no bigger than the Sea on the other, but the knowledge that it is bigger, even though I could not discern it, was intimidating enough and left me awestruck.

I have seen the Pacific and I have marveled. Not at its size, but that it is there.

31 July 2002

Dion Marc Delport

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