CITY

Living in the Hills

A Hebrew student shares the tea, trails, and legends of central Taiwan

Peter Sun
|
3 min read

Hi! I’m Peter. I was born in San Jose, California, and I’m a social work professor in Puli, a city in central Taiwan. I started learning Hebrew with Citizen Café while living in Israel (2024–2025), and I’ll begin my 10th semester this month! Outside the classroom, I love hosting Israeli backpackers and studying languages (Hebrew, Mandarin, and Taiwanese).

1. Where do I get my coffee?

📍Lugao Coffee

Once upon a time, sika deer were said to frolic and wallow in Taiwan’s forests, hence the name “Lugao” or “deer wallow.” I still haven’t seen a sika deer at Lugao Coffee, but its view of terraced fields and mountains is truly magical. I like ordering the local Ruby Red Tea and savoring its minty notes and warm, cinnamon-like aroma. You might catch me here reading Tehillim 22 and imagining what the tune “doe of the dawn” (אילת השחר) might have sounded like.

2. Where do I go when I’m feeling fancy?

📍 Fleur de Chine

Legend has it that an Indigenous community once chased a white deer they had never seen before, until it vanished into the waters we now call Sun Moon Lake. Many Israeli backpackers I’ve hosted here ask if they, too, can jump in and swim. Sadly, I have to tell them it’s only allowed once a year, during the annual cross-lake swimming carnival. As a compromise, I point them towards the Fleur de Chine hotel and tell them that they can get a wonderful view of the lake in the restaurant and maybe even catch a glimpse of Lalu Island, where the white deer is said to have turned to stone.

Sun Moon Lake from Fleur de Chine Hotel. Photo: WeiHsiang Wang, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

3. Cultural hub

📍Guang Xing Paper Mill

If you’re like me and (still) covet the texture, smell, and stories carried by paper, this is a wonderful place to learn how paper is traditionally crafted. A student at my university recently reminded me that we call social work an “art,” yet we rarely practice the way artists do. We don’t sharpen our tools. We don’t rehearse our sentences. We don’t memorize our entire repertoire like a concert pianist. Here, you can’t escape the labor. Watching paper made so deliberately is its own proof of art. This leads me to think that if only I could become a little more like a papermaker, maybe I’ll hear someone say, “Well done. You worked hard (השקעת).”

Photo: Perrine Aguiar, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

4. My go-to outdoor spot

📍Philosopher’s Path

An unassuming path that’s perfect for running, cycling, and language learning. If I’m stuck on a sentence, this is where it flows (זורם).

5. A place that I don’t like in the city

📍Sun Moon Lake

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” When the roads are packed with tourists, what should feel like an “Autumn Moon Over the Calm Lake” kind of scene turns instead into a chorus of boat-ride pitches, photobombers, spilled boba, and, well, just pure pandemonium (בלגן).

The 2024 Swimming Carnival of Sun Moon Lake. Photo: Isderion, CC BY-SA 3.0 DE, via Wikimedia Commons.

6. A significant person for you who was born in the city or currently lives there

Lily Li is a pastor, writer, and playwright who adapted Shakespeare’s Macbeth into a contemporary theatrical work shaped by Peking Opera. She lives in Puli and taught me how to appreciate Chinese literature. One book that she recommended that is still on my desk is Yu Qiuyu’s Living in the Hills.

 

 

About the Author

Peter Sun is a social work professor in Taiwan. Originally from San Jose, California, he enjoys blindfolded Rubik’s cube solving, hosting Israeli backpackers, and filming Formosan sika deer.

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Hebrew Nugget:

Living in the Hills

The past year has been an emotional rollercoaster – moving from the shock, pain, and sadness of unimaginable events to the moments of hope we felt with each hostage coming home, each family reunited, and every soldier returning safely. Alongside this, we’ve found countless reasons to be grateful – for the incredible outpouring of support from civilians, and for the things we still hold dear, like our families, our partners, and our community. But these feelings are always mixed with the ache and despair that everyone in Israel still carries, even now.
I’d say the best way to describe how everyone around me is feeling is רגשות מעורבים (reh-gah-shoht meh-oh-rah-veem), which means “mixed emotions.” רגש (reh-gehsh) means “an emotion” in singular, but in plural, רגשות, it might sound feminine with the “OHT” ending. But here’s the catch: this doesn’t change the gender of the noun or the adjective that follows, which still matches the singular form. So, it’s מעורבים and not מעורבות. It’s just one of those quirks of Hebrew that’s tricky to explain.