I was hoping the pandemic would not be affecting the Baishatun pilgrimage this year, but I was wrong. I had anticipated being allowed into the temple behind the waiting palanquin on the night of its departure, but again the inner hall was closed to the public.
The “deal” is this: the night of departure is worth going to just to be present in the inner hall to watch preparations for the palanquin to leave, even if it means having to walk for 5 hours until the nearest train station is reached in time for the first train back home. Without this to keep us there, we decided to leave and try to get back on the last train that night. We failed. An expensive taxi ride back from Miaoli.
The day of the arrival back at Baishatun was crowded, crowded, crowded. I was stuck in the throng, waiting for the return, with the sun on my face. The sun had gone down by the time the ceremony was held outside the temple. No photographs to be had, not that I knew I had better of from the last time I was here. On my return to the station, the priest under the lanterns, and the abandoned farming machinery.
This might be the last year I go to the Baishatun pilgrimage itinerary.
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