人類認爲季節不是個東西而是一段時間。但我們人叫做季節，那個“時間”其實是神。顯然有四位神，兩位像女生，另外兩位像男生。
我最喜歡的就是秋神。她已經不算年輕，已經有很多經驗，但她卻不算老的。她不像夏神或春神那麽活潑。由於這些特性，她常被誤解，很多人一看到她就會覺得很難過或者懷舊。
實際上她一切都很滿意，而且人越認識她越了解她的快樂。她的眼睛像秋天的雲一樣灰，也不溫暖，可是很清楚。看到她的眼睛就有很安定的感覺，就像你已經過了這個輩子，不用擔心已經發生的事也不用擔心未來。
她頭髮是金紅色的，就像秋天的樹一樣亮一樣深。人跟她在一起的時候會發現過生活不用那麽辛苦，不像冬神那麽窮，或春神那麽忙。她去哪裏，哪裏就變得跟她很像，涼快、金紅色的、能夠收穫、欣賞生活。
雖然秋神已經在這個世界很久，可是她完全意識到什麽都是短暫的。也許這個知識是爲什麽很多人看見秋神就會懷舊，大家看見她的眼睛、頭髮，發現生活本來就那麽簡單也那麽美，就會審問自己今年還是這輩子爲什麽這麽忙、錯過這麽多機會有不同的經驗呢？
每年秋神乖乖的讓冬神來，輕輕地看他破壞她的工藝品。葉子一個一個的變脆，換顔色，掉下去。涼爽靜的空氣變得天寒地凍，暴風雪來。憤怒的冬神叫太陽晚一點來，早一點離開。每年，像秋神來的方式一樣。
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Chinese New Year, two
Last year it was spent with Matt. He was kind enough to make his way across the Taiwan Strait to visit me. We traveled in a big loop around the island, exploring places I had not yet had a chance to see, shouting “到了！” a lot, and generally having a boisterous, grand ol' time.
This year there was a sparsity of old American friends during the biggest week of the Chinese year. Luckily for me, that void was filled with Taiwanese. So it was all together a different kind of experience: there was a feeling of festivity that I did not get last year, a feeling similar to Christmas in the States; I spent the week in one locale, realizing once again how rich this little city of Tainan is; and with the near constant company of Taiwanese, I felt a sense of integration into families and into a culture where I am still so obviously such an outsider.
Saturday, New Year's Evening, was spent with my teashop lady, and her elder sister and daughter. We drove to Tainan county and bunked in a very classy hotel in the town of 關子嶺, famous for their mineral hot springs. Our room had a balcony overlooking the mountains, mist constantly rolling down into the valley and then rushing up again as it hit our hotel, creating the feeling of a screen, or curtains. The balcony was also fitted with a wooden jacuzzi, and the water of course was drawn from the hot springs. We spent the evening steeping ourselves, and before bed I received my first red envelope, a pleasant surprise.
The following day was spent driving around Tainan county to any number of places I had never been before. It was a good mix of temples, farms, restaurants, and recently constructed parks designed to resemble Holland. Finally, we came back to familiar territory, and spent the evening at my tea shop lady's "ancestral home" playing ma-jiang (a very traditional Chinese gambling game with small blocks instead of cards) and eating and eating.
Monday was notable for the activities and the company. I spent the day (ten in the morning until six in the evening) laboring in the hot Tainan sun (the remainder of the week's weather would prove to consist of a wonderfully consistent, cold Seattle drizzle) building what is known as a Kong Yeh. This is essentially an earthen oven of which construction and use requires the better part of a day. A hole is dug, large clumps of very dry dirt are used to construct a housing over the hole, a fire is built and maintained until the clumps of very dry dirt are red-and-black hot, food is placed in the housing (after being wrapped, rolled in mud, and left out to dry), the structure is intentionally collapsed and buried in less-clumpy dirt, and finally the food cooks - under the very hot dirt - for about two hours.
The Kong Yeh participants were all guys my age. This was also kind of special. Even after being in Taiwan for some time, I have found it difficult (though I have not made an enormous effort) to break into this social group. My Taiwanese friends tend to be old, and if they are not old, they tend to be female. Spending the day with a bunch of twenty-something dudes lent me a closer look into a different part of Taiwanese life.
The only reason I was part of the Kong Yeh festivities was 謝金福, the father of the guy who invited me to spend the day with his friends cooking things in dirt. This gentleman had walked up to me the week previous Chinese New Year while I was dialing a number on my cell phone, on the side of the road. In traditional Chinese fashion, he sparked a conversation by employing the most meaningless of questions, "Are you calling someone?" "Yes," was my reply. In a few minutes we were in my room talking about my life here, and the following day he brought me an absurd amount of fruit and I made him tea.
Tuesday was spend with foreigners, but Wednesday found me back in the whirlwind of celebrations. I ate dinner with 謝金福 and his family, we watched a movie, and I made tea for everyone. We also made plans to go to a temple on Friday, one to which I had not been before.
Thursday found me back at tea shop lady's house. From her massive-block-of-wood tea table, we sat and sipped and stared at the drizzling weather, a depressant for most Tainanese, but a wonderful boon to my spirits. As the clouds ran out of water, we decided to go to 佛光山 in GaoXiong county. This is the biggest temple I have been to in Taiwan, and also the most Buddhist. Most temples are a kind of interesting mix of Daoism and Buddhism, and it is not uncommon to see people smoking or cooking in them. But this temple was very well kept, and had a much different ambiance. Because there was a lantern festival there were also hoards of people, but they were well behaved and everyone was enjoying the sudden burst of cool weather, fresh air, lanterns floating overhead, and background chanting.
This temple was only surpassed by the temple I went to the following day. 謝金福, as promised, loaded me and his son into his little green car and we drove out of Tainan city, into the county. We drove through several smaller towns, drove down a rural road, and finally turned off into a parking lot. It was drizzling and cold and reminded me horribly of Seattle. We walked down a path and my ears picked up chanting once again. When I saw the prayer flags I finally understood what 謝金福 had been explaining to me: that this was a Tibetan temple. It was my first time visiting one, and it was again different from other temples I have been to. Prayer flags, prayer wheels, prayer bells, and many different temples or shrines for several different Buddhas (or perhaps Gods?). Perhaps it was simply the clouds in the sky and the fact that I could see my breath, but it was really a peaceful experience. There were not many people and the temples, in particular the huge central one, were the most ornate and beautiful I have seen here.
I forgot what I did on Saturday.
But I do remember...
I remember now.
Derek, a friend from Seattle, came from the north to visit me with his girlfriend. I took the city bus for the first time, and we went to 安平, a small, famous town to the west of Tainan. It being the last Saturday of the main week of vacation for most Taiwanese, the only thing really visible in 安平 was people. We then went to the biggest night market in Tainan. More people. We went to a lounge bar and had our polaroid picture taken by some group of girls in mini-skirts and bunny ears. We slept in my apartment, them on the floor, me on the bed. It was tight. Cozy.
Sometime during that whirlwind my teashop lady called and told me I could go to her place on Sunday for my first lesson on Taiwanese cuisine. I was thrilled. After barking about this for too long the previous weekend, she finally had understood I seriously wanted her to teach me to cook Taiwanese style food. I arrived at her place around four in the afternoon. We drank tea, and she brought out some vegetables for me to prepare. Some other guests came by and we got swept up in conversation. At one point she took the strainer full of prepped vegetables and snuck off to the back, leaving us in the front of the store. I quickly excused myself and followed her.
She was surprised when she saw me come back and said, "You really do want to learn!" I confirmed, and she got noticeably excited and started going into some detail about processes and ingredients. I learned the general method of cooking vegetables; I learned to make a particular dish with a tofu like food called 百業, mushrooms, ginger, and sesame oil; I learned how to make rice (kind of reviewed, really); I learned how to make whole fish. I wrote it down. And I hope I can do it again.
The next week I sprang into the new year but also back into reality. It had been a nice vacation.
This year there was a sparsity of old American friends during the biggest week of the Chinese year. Luckily for me, that void was filled with Taiwanese. So it was all together a different kind of experience: there was a feeling of festivity that I did not get last year, a feeling similar to Christmas in the States; I spent the week in one locale, realizing once again how rich this little city of Tainan is; and with the near constant company of Taiwanese, I felt a sense of integration into families and into a culture where I am still so obviously such an outsider.
Saturday, New Year's Evening, was spent with my teashop lady, and her elder sister and daughter. We drove to Tainan county and bunked in a very classy hotel in the town of 關子嶺, famous for their mineral hot springs. Our room had a balcony overlooking the mountains, mist constantly rolling down into the valley and then rushing up again as it hit our hotel, creating the feeling of a screen, or curtains. The balcony was also fitted with a wooden jacuzzi, and the water of course was drawn from the hot springs. We spent the evening steeping ourselves, and before bed I received my first red envelope, a pleasant surprise.
The following day was spent driving around Tainan county to any number of places I had never been before. It was a good mix of temples, farms, restaurants, and recently constructed parks designed to resemble Holland. Finally, we came back to familiar territory, and spent the evening at my tea shop lady's "ancestral home" playing ma-jiang (a very traditional Chinese gambling game with small blocks instead of cards) and eating and eating.
Monday was notable for the activities and the company. I spent the day (ten in the morning until six in the evening) laboring in the hot Tainan sun (the remainder of the week's weather would prove to consist of a wonderfully consistent, cold Seattle drizzle) building what is known as a Kong Yeh. This is essentially an earthen oven of which construction and use requires the better part of a day. A hole is dug, large clumps of very dry dirt are used to construct a housing over the hole, a fire is built and maintained until the clumps of very dry dirt are red-and-black hot, food is placed in the housing (after being wrapped, rolled in mud, and left out to dry), the structure is intentionally collapsed and buried in less-clumpy dirt, and finally the food cooks - under the very hot dirt - for about two hours.
The Kong Yeh participants were all guys my age. This was also kind of special. Even after being in Taiwan for some time, I have found it difficult (though I have not made an enormous effort) to break into this social group. My Taiwanese friends tend to be old, and if they are not old, they tend to be female. Spending the day with a bunch of twenty-something dudes lent me a closer look into a different part of Taiwanese life.
The only reason I was part of the Kong Yeh festivities was 謝金福, the father of the guy who invited me to spend the day with his friends cooking things in dirt. This gentleman had walked up to me the week previous Chinese New Year while I was dialing a number on my cell phone, on the side of the road. In traditional Chinese fashion, he sparked a conversation by employing the most meaningless of questions, "Are you calling someone?" "Yes," was my reply. In a few minutes we were in my room talking about my life here, and the following day he brought me an absurd amount of fruit and I made him tea.
Tuesday was spend with foreigners, but Wednesday found me back in the whirlwind of celebrations. I ate dinner with 謝金福 and his family, we watched a movie, and I made tea for everyone. We also made plans to go to a temple on Friday, one to which I had not been before.
Thursday found me back at tea shop lady's house. From her massive-block-of-wood tea table, we sat and sipped and stared at the drizzling weather, a depressant for most Tainanese, but a wonderful boon to my spirits. As the clouds ran out of water, we decided to go to 佛光山 in GaoXiong county. This is the biggest temple I have been to in Taiwan, and also the most Buddhist. Most temples are a kind of interesting mix of Daoism and Buddhism, and it is not uncommon to see people smoking or cooking in them. But this temple was very well kept, and had a much different ambiance. Because there was a lantern festival there were also hoards of people, but they were well behaved and everyone was enjoying the sudden burst of cool weather, fresh air, lanterns floating overhead, and background chanting.
This temple was only surpassed by the temple I went to the following day. 謝金福, as promised, loaded me and his son into his little green car and we drove out of Tainan city, into the county. We drove through several smaller towns, drove down a rural road, and finally turned off into a parking lot. It was drizzling and cold and reminded me horribly of Seattle. We walked down a path and my ears picked up chanting once again. When I saw the prayer flags I finally understood what 謝金福 had been explaining to me: that this was a Tibetan temple. It was my first time visiting one, and it was again different from other temples I have been to. Prayer flags, prayer wheels, prayer bells, and many different temples or shrines for several different Buddhas (or perhaps Gods?). Perhaps it was simply the clouds in the sky and the fact that I could see my breath, but it was really a peaceful experience. There were not many people and the temples, in particular the huge central one, were the most ornate and beautiful I have seen here.
I forgot what I did on Saturday.
But I do remember...
I remember now.
Derek, a friend from Seattle, came from the north to visit me with his girlfriend. I took the city bus for the first time, and we went to 安平, a small, famous town to the west of Tainan. It being the last Saturday of the main week of vacation for most Taiwanese, the only thing really visible in 安平 was people. We then went to the biggest night market in Tainan. More people. We went to a lounge bar and had our polaroid picture taken by some group of girls in mini-skirts and bunny ears. We slept in my apartment, them on the floor, me on the bed. It was tight. Cozy.
Sometime during that whirlwind my teashop lady called and told me I could go to her place on Sunday for my first lesson on Taiwanese cuisine. I was thrilled. After barking about this for too long the previous weekend, she finally had understood I seriously wanted her to teach me to cook Taiwanese style food. I arrived at her place around four in the afternoon. We drank tea, and she brought out some vegetables for me to prepare. Some other guests came by and we got swept up in conversation. At one point she took the strainer full of prepped vegetables and snuck off to the back, leaving us in the front of the store. I quickly excused myself and followed her.
She was surprised when she saw me come back and said, "You really do want to learn!" I confirmed, and she got noticeably excited and started going into some detail about processes and ingredients. I learned the general method of cooking vegetables; I learned to make a particular dish with a tofu like food called 百業, mushrooms, ginger, and sesame oil; I learned how to make rice (kind of reviewed, really); I learned how to make whole fish. I wrote it down. And I hope I can do it again.
The next week I sprang into the new year but also back into reality. It had been a nice vacation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
