Yesterday was the first day of a new year in the lunar calendar.

To anyone celebrating – Happy New Year :)

Last year I wrote about celebrating Lunar New Year in Taipei on this blog, but I also wrote a short feature on it in the hopes that some editor might pick it up.

Well, no one did, and now it’s that time again so I thought, it’s a story already written, why waste it? I’ll share it with you here. Enjoy the read.

A New Year’s frenzy

“Get up! Get ready! We are going to be late!”

It’s 5 a.m.

My cousins and I obviously have different concept of being late, but I oblige and peel myself out of bed. Out of all the days in the year, today would be the day to make my dreams heard by the Gods.

The first day of a new lunar year is an auspicious day in the Taiwanese culture. It is when families gather together for breakfast, before taking a pilgrimage to their ancestral temple to pray for a year of good health and wealth.

We pack ourselves into the waiting family cars, filling the interior with aromas that blend tradition and trend as we breakfasted on thin pancakes topped with egg, and sipped on take away Starbucks coffee.

On the fringe of the city is a ring of hills and mountains that cocoons Taipei in a protective basin. It is dotted with nature trails and hill top temples unchanged by the ever modernising cityscape. As we ascend further away from the big smog, dense apartment blocks eventually give way to lush subtropical scenery dotted with patches of farmland.

“I hope we are not late! There will be no more room for us at the temple.” My uncle mumbles as he tries to find a parking space.

Cars, motorcycles and hikers from all corners inch their way towards the temple, each keen to beat the others to the altars. Street vendors touted grilled sausages, ice cream, fresh fruit and peanut brittles, filling the air with fragrant aromas that counter the exhaust fumes.

The obsession with being early or late isn’t something scripted into Taoism, the traditional religion followed by most Taiwanese people, their devotion to worship is effectively self-motivated, for the Taiwanese believe the closer you can place your incense towards the Gods in the ever smoking cauldron, the better the favour you’ll receive from the Gods.

And it was in the spirit of beating the others on this ticketing system we finally reach the temple entrance on the summit.

Drawn to the chanting of temple nuns, the soft dings of prayer bells and the flickering lights of the eternal pillars, I linger by the prayer hall, mind mesmerised by the buzz of the atmosphere.

“Remember. Three incenses. Three stops.” My cousin appears and pushes three sticks of burning incense into my hands.

“One towards the sky, for the ancestral spirits. Then the main temple, for the one that guards us. Finally, pay respect to the deity of this temple at his altar on the hilltop.”

I follow the general flow of the devoted crowd to complete my circuit before returning to the terrace beside the temple where groups of multigenerational families posed for their annual new year’s photograph.

Behind them, the bamboo silhouette of Taipei 101 shimmered in a golden hue in the morning sun, a reminder of the modern world that defines this city. Yet, in this frenzy for New Year’s blessings, I am relieved to find that some traditions are too precious to disappear.