麵 --〉面
The character for noodles is the same as the character for face.
No offense to Matt for knowing simplified, though.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Taiwan, Part 6
My eardrums still have not completely adjusted to the sudden bursts of firecrackers and fireworks throughout the day. My body sometimes jerks and my mind sometimes, depending on the proximity of the GUNpowder, thinks gun.
I learned today that the increase in frequency of these explosions is tied to the birthdays of the gods. Pithily, birthdays equate to explosions.
It must have been a birthday then, of an important god, in Shan Hua, because I could not hear anything. I could not hear anything on the way to the birthday celebration, because it was quiet. I could not hear anything at the birthday celebration because it was loud. I cannot remember when, where, or how the transition took place - the transition from "on the way" to the party to "at" the party. It seems like it was just a simple turn of a corner, or less. Perhaps the transition just coincided with the widening of the alley into a kind of temple-square. Or maybe I do not remember because it was just too abrupt.
Floods of people. Symbol being banged next to my head. Fireworks. Fireworks. Drum being beat from all sides. People cheering. Costumed performers with ridiculous makeup and clothing performing in the window in the temple. Somebody pushing me, no. Somebody running into me. He's trying to break the chair. No, they are just jumping with the chair, pretending to try to break it. No, maybe they are just jumping. Symbol. Gong. Drum. People. Firework. Fireworks. Debris from fireworks. Large carriage moving very quickly being carried by large procession, seemingly coming from the middle of the crowd. Another. Another. Running into people, knocking people. Knocking themselves. They dropped it. Oh, they caught it. That is good. Fireworks. Gong. Drums. More carriages, more chairs, more firework debris. I need to get out of the way because if I do not I will be struck dead by the religious ceremony.
I brisked to the man with the soft serve machine. He looked half asleep. It was late, so I guess it was excusable, possible. His machine, situated just seven or eight feet from where I had been struck dumb by everything, seemed to be straddling the transition between the god-birthday-party-hell and the quiet, peaceful country that existed just outside that place. I bought a chocolate one and decided to make the trek back to the party again. Two or three steps and I had returned.
Gong. Fireworks. Carriage. Firework debris. Beam from carriage knocking people. Chair breaking-pulling-dancing men. Oh.
A man caught my eye, or rather mine his. He had already been staring at me, it seemed. Glaring, I think. Maybe it was misconstrued. It seemed like glaring, though. I thought it might have something to do with my ice cream cone from the outside. Maybe they were not allowed to be here, in the holy place. I took my cue - it was the most unfriendly glance I have received since I have been here - and made the trip back to the border safety zone, less than a second away.
And then I left.
In all, I probably spent two or three minutes there. It was one of the most bizarre, unnerving, unsettling experiences I could imagine. It seemed the world was ready to implode into the center of that crowd, from which everything seemed to be emanating. There was a pull and push tension in the physical actions of everything, as well as the atmosphere. And I was eating an ice cream cone trying to observe. And yet, a small number of strides brought me back to near complete serenity. So I stayed there.
I learned today that the increase in frequency of these explosions is tied to the birthdays of the gods. Pithily, birthdays equate to explosions.
It must have been a birthday then, of an important god, in Shan Hua, because I could not hear anything. I could not hear anything on the way to the birthday celebration, because it was quiet. I could not hear anything at the birthday celebration because it was loud. I cannot remember when, where, or how the transition took place - the transition from "on the way" to the party to "at" the party. It seems like it was just a simple turn of a corner, or less. Perhaps the transition just coincided with the widening of the alley into a kind of temple-square. Or maybe I do not remember because it was just too abrupt.
Floods of people. Symbol being banged next to my head. Fireworks. Fireworks. Drum being beat from all sides. People cheering. Costumed performers with ridiculous makeup and clothing performing in the window in the temple. Somebody pushing me, no. Somebody running into me. He's trying to break the chair. No, they are just jumping with the chair, pretending to try to break it. No, maybe they are just jumping. Symbol. Gong. Drum. People. Firework. Fireworks. Debris from fireworks. Large carriage moving very quickly being carried by large procession, seemingly coming from the middle of the crowd. Another. Another. Running into people, knocking people. Knocking themselves. They dropped it. Oh, they caught it. That is good. Fireworks. Gong. Drums. More carriages, more chairs, more firework debris. I need to get out of the way because if I do not I will be struck dead by the religious ceremony.
I brisked to the man with the soft serve machine. He looked half asleep. It was late, so I guess it was excusable, possible. His machine, situated just seven or eight feet from where I had been struck dumb by everything, seemed to be straddling the transition between the god-birthday-party-hell and the quiet, peaceful country that existed just outside that place. I bought a chocolate one and decided to make the trek back to the party again. Two or three steps and I had returned.
Gong. Fireworks. Carriage. Firework debris. Beam from carriage knocking people. Chair breaking-pulling-dancing men. Oh.
A man caught my eye, or rather mine his. He had already been staring at me, it seemed. Glaring, I think. Maybe it was misconstrued. It seemed like glaring, though. I thought it might have something to do with my ice cream cone from the outside. Maybe they were not allowed to be here, in the holy place. I took my cue - it was the most unfriendly glance I have received since I have been here - and made the trip back to the border safety zone, less than a second away.
And then I left.
In all, I probably spent two or three minutes there. It was one of the most bizarre, unnerving, unsettling experiences I could imagine. It seemed the world was ready to implode into the center of that crowd, from which everything seemed to be emanating. There was a pull and push tension in the physical actions of everything, as well as the atmosphere. And I was eating an ice cream cone trying to observe. And yet, a small number of strides brought me back to near complete serenity. So I stayed there.
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