Beijing, third day

I rose early, but not before the Frenchman, who again succeeded in sneaking out of our dormitory, tucked back in the maze of HuTongs, without waking me up. He was probably already on his train to the west of China, a place I was increasingly curious about as I stayed in Beijing. From there he would head to Pakistan to go hiking.

On an empty and hungry stomach, I headed out to meet Hunter. I assumed we would get breakfast together, but I was wrong. It was raining again today. Deep clouds roofed Beijing and darkened the streets, protecting them from most all the cheeriness the sun would have brought. Hunter and I pushed our way onto the crowded subway, he maintaining a steady conversation all the while. Today I felt I was better able to decipher his thick Beijing accent and catch the words that flew out of his mouth like they really needed to be somewhere immediately, or perhaps he was just laying it on a bit thinner and speaking more slowly out of pity.

We got off the subway with hoards of others, and were swept up the stairs and into the main entrance way where several entrepreneurs were slinging umbrellas. I bought one before we surfaced in the middle of Tiananmen Square, pausing only briefly before going in the (now not) Forbidden City, or Imperial Palace.



The palace is massive, and the architecture and scale of the place push you back in time. Still, when you get past the structures, or rather inside them (as far as they let you), the most conspicuous thing is how empty they are. Hunter commented on what I already knew, "All the relics were moved to Taipei." Moved was a kind of polite euphemism though, as most Chinese are of the opinion they were stolen and just stashed in Taipei.



In some ways this is kind of neat. That China holds the house and Taiwan holds the furniture, while frequently the basis of some political tensions, also serves as a unifying force and a reminder of a not disparate but rather a shared history. I did not feel like voicing this opinion to Hunter, though, and just nodded my head when he asked if I had been to the Palace Museum in Taipei where the ancient pieces are held.

We went to the Temple of Heaven where for the first time since my arrival in Beijing the clouds cleared. The break in the overcast sky was somewhat monumental for me: I had been unable to shake the feeling the Beijing was a dark, dreary place. What I did not realize is that this sentiment was mostly if not entirely attributable to the weather. I had been so caught up trying to understand what people were saying to me, and understanding where I was, and deciding what I should be doing, and all the while not feeling very happy about the whole situation, that I had failed to realize my world had been turned on its head. I had come from sunny, hot Tainan to cold, cloudy Beijing, and while on the surface the two environments were largely similar, I felt there was something hiding just below, something sucking the life out of the city I found myself in.

Turns out it was just cloudy. (I realized it is probably fortunate I am returning to Seattle during the summer months.)



Like jumping from hot springs into a cold pool, we left antiquity for the bustling, modern shopping district, where I ran into the first McDonald's I spotted to buy a chocolate fudge sundae. Despite the cold weather it made me feel much more at ease. I could be in any city in the world, but America could still be found in the friendly neighborhood McDonald's. This desire for the familiar took me by surprise. I was having difficulty reconciling the fact that even after two and a half days I was still not able to settle into my surroundings, surroundings that I imagined would have been less than foreign to me after a year and a half in Taiwan. Perhaps it was precisely this very unconscious expectation that I would be able to sweep into Beijing like I owned the place, and that expectation's ultimate betrayal, that led me to buy that chocolate sundae.

Hunter capped off the day by taking me to a famous tea house, 老舍茶館. Diplomats of all flavors visit here, and it has been established as a kind of Beijing landmark. The tea is not really worth mentioning, though the entertainment was somewhat fun. I think the place is famous, and the tickets were as expensive as they were, simply because fame becomes a kind of self-reinforcing fiction after a certain amount of time, and observance and recognition of it likewise become obligatory. Fortunately, a few days later, the Great Wall would not lead me to have similar feelings.

During our visit to the tea house Hunter explained to me that Obama had not been too good to China since his inauguration, what with meeting the Dalai Lama and all. In the same breath he told me how great Wen Jiao Bao is. I did not argue, but smiled. I do not know much about Wen Jiao Bao, and from the Chinese point of view Obama probably had not been doing anyone any favors by meeting with the Dalai Lama. But, this kind of national pride was increasingly taking form for me, and I was increasingly intrigued by it. It seemed not to be a tempered pride, a pride saddled with any kind of burden, but rather a young, springy pride, anxious to leap into the future. Just for this reason I also found it overly confident, and misinformed.

On the other hand, the contrast to my own admitted lack of exuberance toward my own country was somewhat humiliating. Earlier in the day Hunter had asked me what America's national anthem was and after long thought and amazement at my lack of knowledge (or caring) I began humming "America the Beautiful," only to be corrected by him. Still, I told myself knowledge of one's national anthem is not necessarily indicative of one's grasp on reality.

秋波微轉

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。

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.

The Nice Man

Today I was on the street dialing a number on my phone, and a man walked up to me and asked if I was recharging minutes. Before I knew it I had given him my phone number and email, and he was talking about taking me to the hot springs at GuanZiLing.

Eventually I told him I had to study, and we began to walk toward my apartment. He told me he would accompany me upstairs to see where I live.

We talked about his family and about what I was doing in Taiwan. We talked about my education and his work. He inquired about my future. Still, after a year and a half, this kind of behavior, this immediate familiarity, surprises me and I force casualness.

After half an hour, the nice man left. I offered to show him downstairs, but he politely declined.

Sleeping and Eating

I finished teaching a week-long, three-and-a-half-hours-per-day, one-credit conversation course at a local university today. There were 23 students, 20 of whom were girls. Two of those girls were named Sleeping and Eating and they were friends.

The first day I had prepared some watered-down newspaper articles to read, as well as several discussion questions. After walking into the classroom and saying "Hello, how are you?" to several students, only to receive a blank stare, it became apparent that lesson plan was not going to work. I threw the stack of papers to the side, rolled up my sleeves, and started writing food vocabulary on the board. By the end of the day everyone could say how they liked their eggs cooked, and describe the taste of fresh organic vegetables.

The following days were a mix of other elementary subjects: shopping, relationships, music and movies... Today, the last day, I played two songs that I really enjoy a lot. After discussing the lyrics and listening a couple times, I inquired about their feelings. The reviews were mixed. Nobody directly said they liked the songs, and one student, when I asked if anyone hated the songs, raised her hand.

I think one group of four girls managed to not learn much of anything the entire week, but even they wanted to take their picture with me at the end of class today. After thirty some odd pictures with all the students, I explained I needed to go.

I have to teach the same class to different students next week. I won't bother with the newspapers this time, and will ask some Taiwanese friends what music would be more acceptable. I will miss Sleeping and Eating, though.

Christmas!

I have had ten days of vacation from Chinese classes. Since I do not have a real job, I have had the most free time in Taiwan since arriving here last year. It is nice. I have gotten to know some Russian people, and as a consequence want to go to Russia. I have become acquainted with a few new Taiwanese friends as well, but I cannot want to go to Taiwan because I am here, right now.

On the 25th of Merry Christmas I will go to Taipei and will come back on the 27th of Merry Christmas.

On the evening of the 31st I will leave for the base of Mt. Snow. On the 2nd of January I will hopefully be at the top for a moment, and come back to Tainan on the 3rd. If all goes according to plan, I will be furthest away from the deleterious effects of sea-level gravitational forces since birth.

In my free time I am reading some books:

1. The Generalissimo (still working on this one)
2. The Time Traveler's Wife (first non-textbook Chinese book!)
3. State and Society in the Taiwan Miracle
4. The "One China" Dilemma
5. Zen Buddhism and Psychoanalysis

It rained yesterday, and it was a nice winter rain, not a crazy summer rain.

My friend/Taiwanese patron Saint is going to let me live in his apartment for free starting in January.

This is a good place to stop. Expect some (gorgeous) photographs from the top of Taiwan soon.

拜托

Today I was riding my bike, avoiding the usual life threatening obstacles: other bicycles, scooters, cars, buses, people. I had my eyes on a lady on a scooter, waiting on my side of the road, presumably wanting to cross. After a while on the roads in Taiwan, I have learned to anticipate the illogical. Sure enough, just as I was about to pass her, the lady began to accelerate into the road, directly in front of me.

This was not so remarkable. I glanced over my shoulder, swerved, and avoided her.

What surprised me were the words that slipped from my mouth. "拜托." It was the first time I had said them, and I was not sure what they meant. Just getting home, I have looked them up. "Give me a break!" was the definition I found (specific to Taiwan). I do not know how accurate this translation is, or how those words lodged themselves in my head, but it seems I used the phrase in a semi-appropriate situation, without any conscious effort.

Kind of incredible what our brains do.

Humor in Argentina

In response to an article titled "Living With the Crisis."

To the Editor:

I welcome that the issue of the economic crisis is gradually disappearing from the pages of The New York Times International Weekly that is published in Clarin in Buenos Aires. At one point, during the recent months, many of your articles were related in one way or another to the crisis.

I have lived 43 years in Argentina; all my life I have experienced an economic crisis. However, I live a happy and fulfilling existence. Maybe Americans should try to understand that economics are not the only important issue in life.

--Héctor Horacio Otero
Buenos, Aires

This just in...

Opinion »
Editorial: Where the Dust Blows and Settles

To reduce problems caused by dust storms, the world needs to improve agricultural practices and reduce desertification.

_____

Awesome, New York Times. Thanks for the insight.

Rugged

During Matt's visit in January and February we sometimes discussed Taiwan and China and how things compared. At one point I asked him how he would characterize Taiwan in one word. I think he did it in several, but I had an [pre-meditated] answer ready: rugged. Judging from Matthew's reaction I believe he thought that was a silly summation. But I have lived here longer than he stayed here which results in an asymmetry of information. I have more than he does, and I am right.

But it is interesting, Taiwan's ruggedness. Five hundred years ago this place was given the name Ilha Formosa, which was eventually shortened to plain Formosa. In fact, many people still call it that, including locals. Formosa came from Portuguese which came from Latin and means beautiful. But beautiful and rugged might be construed as opposite, which is a problem for my argument. How could the one word characterization of "the beautiful island" be rugged?

I am just going to claim the Portuguese were being silly when they gave Taiwan that name. They saw the unnamed island from afar and, not caring to stick around, thought of a title that would make their seafaring fables more interesting to audiences back in Portugal. (This is my personal take on the history.)

This is not to say Taiwan is ugly. It isn't. But I am positive the Portuguese had beheld islands seemingly more deserving of that name while on their voyages.

So then, why is it rugged? The short answer is out of necessity. Taiwan is comprised mostly of mountains. They rise from nothing to thousands of meters like cliffs. In fact, Taiwan is home to the highest mountain in East Asia, YuShan, at some 3,950 meters. This mountain rises from the ocean floor to its highest peak, an altitude gain of 8,000 meters, in just about 100 kilometers.

There are so many mountains because underneath the island exists a kind of haphazard mess of tectonic plates and belts and terranes. This complex, chaotic "system" leads, of course, to many, many earthquakes. (There have been three or four in the few weeks I have been back on the island. During the last one I was watching a movie in my room and only after thirty seconds of constant rumbling wondered whether I should get up from my bed.)

And then, of course, there are the typhoons. Taiwan is not the only country that has to deal with the buggers, but they can be a serious burden. The last big one, Morakot, produced 1.4 meters of rain in 24 hours and 2.7 meters within 72 hours. This, in conjunction with Taiwan's mountains, was a perfect recipe for mudslides which wiped out bridges, eroded foundations under roads, washed away entire towns, flooded cities and destroyed several tea crops. Aside from the rain typhoons bring, it can get quite windy.

According to locals there are in fact four seasons here. Perhaps this is true, but summer absolutely dominates, and spring and fall could not be more than several weeks. Unfortunately, the typhoons and the blistering hot sun are packed into the same unrelenting season: summer. Most Taiwanese wear jackets and long sleeves in 35 degree Celsius weather, when the humidity is between 85 and 100 per cent in order to save their skin. And why bother to repaint the outside of your house if it is just going to blister and peel away from all the elements within a year?

The paint is not the only thing that gets neglected, though. All these natural elements - mountains, earthquakes, typhoons, sun, etc. - not only define the natural landscape, but are so prominent and ever present that they delimit the infrastructure and aesthetics of the cities. Upon my arrival in Taiwan I was struck how tile dominated the cityscape. Well, it turns out it is probably more attractive than concrete, the only viable alternative. Other materials such as wood just would not hold up. The strength of nature here simply demands that she be heeded.

Plants and animals, as well as architects, must adapt. The elements have exactly the same effect in the countryside, and upon my first trip into the mountains I was very disappointed. Compared to my native Washington the scenery simply did not compare. The shrubbery and trees were dark, dense, universally green and brown, and nearly indistinguishable. Like the white square tiles on the outsides of the buildings, the plants covering the mountains seemed to have one purpose: survival.

Becoming increasingly aware of this universal trait, I began to seek it out. I found it in buildings and flowerpots, mountains and trees, but also in society and people, particularly the elder generation. Old men riding rusted motorcycles without shoes and missing teeth, carrying large canisters of propane to and fro. An elder lady who opens every day for business - no weekends, no holidays; typhoon or no, customers or not. The person who collects the trash in a trailer attached to a single speed bicycle - one time I literally could not see her because of all the garbage bags enveloping her. She had become a part of the moving pile of rubbish.

Of course the construction of Taiwanese society has not blossomed solely from earthquakes and typhoons, but the effects I think are indubitable.

The thing is, while rugged and beautiful often have quite different meanings, in the case of Taiwan I see beauty not despite, but because of the ruggedness. One morning during those very few weeks that constitute spring, I was waiting at a stoplight when I noticed the trees were full of little yellow flowers. Literally overnight they had blossomed. They were not dominant. They were more like an accent to the background of green, but they stood out. They were bright, pristine, and fragile. And they were ephemeral.

Were it not for the constant rugged norm, I may not have noticed them, but that morning they really struck me. And they were not alone. In the coming days other flowers came and went as well, and I saw them too in a new light.

The man made creations, also, have a subtle beauty that I have slowly come to realize. I do not think it is intentional, but rather by necessity there is a lack of showiness in the design of most things. Taipei 101 aside, many buildings fall into the background noise, and the focus turns to what they contain (and do not contain). Everyone has the same iron door, and the same concrete walls and the same tile flooring. But some restaurants have good food and some do not. Nobody frowns if you go to dinner at a place with fluorescent lights, cockroaches at the front door, foldable chairs and unadorned walls; everyone smiles, however, if the food tastes good. Atmosphere is created by people and fills a space that might otherwise be taken by golden chandeliers and silk tablecloths. (There is of course something nice about intricate woodwork and grand staircases, but there can be a hidden beauty in the lack thereof as well.)

And the people. I know the man on the rusted motorcycle was missing teeth only because his smile was so large, talking to me in Taiwanese and not minding that I did not understand his words because his message was already clear. The lady that is open every day does not seem the least bit upset about it. On the contrary, whenever I go there to eat she seems joyed to be able to serve me. Yes, the people are the most rugged of all. Taiwan has been tossed from country to country, more recently endured its own social and political trials, deals with more than its fair share of natural disasters, and yet sincerity and generosity persist among the vast majority of the people I have encountered here.

Taiwan is rugged. To survive on this island requires toughness and a strong constitution, it demands effort and endurance. But it is because of this ruggedness that the Portuguese were silly, not wrong. They could not know, from a passing glance, the beauty this island contains. The necessity of ruggedness on the island demands that hubris be pushed aside: the beauty here is modest, slow to emerge, and demands patience from the observer. But it is also long lasting and powerful. I imagine the name Ilha Formosa will stick for quite some time.

Power in Numbers

Due to a recent overflow of really nice comments on my previously thought unread blog, I am considering a trip to Seattle. This makes my stomach turn a bit.

I am also working on a post about the typhoon you may have heard of, but that may never materialize at this rate.

Till then.

(And happy birthday, Olivia!)

One year later

I second guessed myself after uploading the massive picture of me to this website. But, then, after further thought, I came to the conclusion anyone looking at this probably wants to see my big smiling face in as many places as possible. Next step is a background-collage of yours truly.

Yes, so. One year later. Hard to believe as any other year, in some ways; easier in others. I have learned a lot, in any case. That is good, I think. It is evidence that I am still alive, for one thing. Here is a short list.

1. People are actually not very good drivers in Taiwan.

2. Taiwan is not the same place as Seattle, Wash.

Really, I had to work hard to shorten that list up.

Unintentionally, I have also learned a lot about children. I will leave my school, for the most part, at the end of this month. That will be a bit bittersweet: recently the kids have all been saying "Teacher Jonathan!" as I walk in the door every day. Just like them, the little devils.

I want to apply to schools. This process is impeded by a number of things, however: GRE; professors not responding to e-mail requests for excellent letters of recommendation. In the mean time I am just working on making my Chinese as sharp as possible. I remind myself that is why I am here, from time to time.

And, in keeping with tradition the last five years, I will be making my annual move. I will be forced to say goodbye to the living room and kitchen I enjoy now, but I will be happy to have a tub-less shower again. Something more authentic about them. I will also be across the street from my favorite restaurants. Furthermore, I will have a small balcony on which I am fantasizing growing plants and suntanning. The latter is in hopes of obscuring the currently too obvious farmer tan.

And you know, that is really about it. This is the fringe of my life. The core is teaching and learning. I will have more time in the near future and less money. One might hope I could muster some more insightful comments after this year, but I think it all seems pretty normal now. Ask me about it when I get back, and have something to compare it to.

And,

I just ate the best mango of my life.

It is all about the tea

Many thanks are owed to family and friends for redirecting a substantial amount of tea back to Taiwan and more specifically, to me.

I could write at length of my tea travails, but suffice it to say any expectations I may have had that good tea would be difficult to come by have been far exceeded. Over time I found myself drinking less tea, not enjoying the tea I was drinking nearly as much, and wondering if I was crazy to have ever liked it as much as I once had or if over consumption had simply taken its inevitable toll.

And then the box came.

Actually it was a letter, and it was in our mailbox for more than a month before I received it (I do not have a key to our post). But that letter was my ticket to better days and I toted it to the post office where I waited patiently in what seemed to be old school desks while they searched for what seemed to be a very long time for my box.

I affixed it to my bicycle and rode home very quickly.

Actually, I was quite nervous. My gradual disengagement with tea was not due to any lack of effort on my part. My searches for better tea stretched from Taipei to Tainan; searches for better water sources led me to mountains, through canyons, and to different purifying stations around the city. Different tea utensils and preparation methods were tried, and failed to deliver. As I opened my package I was preparing myself for the worst. How could it be that this tea from Seattle really made all the difference?

I sat down and heated the water. I rinsed everything and put the leaves in the tea pot. Finally, I filled the pot with water and put the lid on.

Interesting, I thought. The replacement of the tea pot lid did not cause the water in the pot to overflow, as almost always happened since my arrival. Due to lack of practice as well as my bad nerves, my first steeping was on the lighter side of perfect. My first reaction was muted and I was thankful I had numbed my expectations beforehand. But of course, poured more water in.

And, of course, it really was all about the tea. It was like being released from prison, or waking up from a bad dream in which the world had gone to nuclear war. It was as if my gradual appreciation of good tea, built over time and tastings, were being crammed into a period of eight or nine seconds, from the first scent to the aftertaste.

I steeped it a third time, with an irrepressible smile.

...

(In fact, after more thorough scrutiny, I am convinced that were I to collect data the (lack of) water overflow phenomenon would be statistically significant.)

May was never cool to begin with

Blogees, I am heretofore committing myself to brevity and conciseness in the hope that posting will not induce such a feeling of guilt as a result of detracting from the time I have to write silly pictures on paper over and over again in the hope that they may suddenly, spontaneously, and in an orderly fashion, find a resting place in the memory banks of my brain. Yes, brevity and conciseness.

Today brought a, as far as I know, specifically Taiwanese phenomenon to a new level of phenomenal. A quick introduction is in order.

Pot is illegal. This is true in most places, so not a big deal. But it is really illegal here. And under martial law illegal things are more illegal than they are in say, Seattle. Taiwan is now under constitutional law, but this legacy of strict prohibition seems to live on - more or less.

Despite its prohibition, the old Mary Jane seems to have captured the imagination of old and young alike. The emblematic leaf is found on shopping bags, bumper stickers, store signs, and the like. It is often on clothing.

Here is one photo:



Now, I must not assume everybody is ignorant of what this silhouette is. The product is, in fact, attainable if you look hard enough. But when the occasional old person becomes a walking advertisement, one starts to wonder.

My general conclusion has been that it is seen as a cool American/Western thing, is widely associated with Bob Marley, and does not necessarily indicate a political or social stance. This is not dissimilar to the clothing worn by some middle aged fathers and other young teenage girls, covered in large block letters to the tune of "FUCK". I think the benefit of the doubt is in order here.

However, the marijuana phenomenon, while having laid low for several months, resurfaced today at the school where I teach. I walked in through the sliding glass door to be greeted by an over-sized t-shirt with an over-sized pot leaf printed on the front, accompanied by an "I love marijuana; it's good for me," something or other.

This is an interesting intersection of culture. This particular lady spent a combined nine years in both Canada and the States. I know she knows what pot is. And, yet, she seemed to take advantage of the fact that people here do not know what pot is/pretend to not know what pot is/do not care what pot is/do not really know what is going on... by wearing a giant pot leaf to class. But, it was just that, no one noticed - or they did not care. At all. I mean, I don't know. Would a big beer bottle be appropriate? I think heroine needles are too far, right? Are white lines of cocaine on a black background permissible? I am finding myself having to recalibrate norms.

And at first, for about a minute, I tried to ignore it, in the same way I would almost not notice it if somebody was wearing that shirt in downtown Seattle. But the fact that we were in a kids' English school made this difficult, and the combination of drugs, children, illegality, ignorance, and knowledge would not let me be, and so now this "phenomenon" is back on my mind again, and I really do not get it. So, whammo, blog post. Any ideas?

Silliest simplification ever:

麵 --〉面

The character for noodles is the same as the character for face.

No offense to Matt for knowing simplified, though.

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.

老公

第一個老人：（站著站著就說）“哦！我跟你講，小狗不可以吃巧克力！”

第二個老人：（站著，看著另外兩個老人）“可以啊！”

第三個老人：（繼續給小狗吃巧克力）“哈哈哈！”

A political aside

Maybe I am desensitized because I am not living in America - but I do not think so.

$220 million has been paid out in bonuses since AIG received bailout money totaling $170 billion. I hear people are upset, feeling it is unreasonable that executives that put a financial institution (slash national economy slash world economy) into a financial free fall should be getting bonuses for their hard work. I understand Obama and his administration do not have much choice but to address this situation in some way - but it is dumb that they do not have this choice.

It is dumb because $220 million/$170 billion = .0013 or 0.13%. So 0.13% of the bailout money is going into the pockets of people that probably made bad decisions by buying credit-default swaps (does anyone know what these are yet?) and sent AIG, a company so important and so large that it is deemed "too big to fail" by the U.S. government, into a nosedive.

But, big deal. What does that 0.13% buy the U.S.? Well, probably a few things, but the most important is a big label that says "We respect contract law (even in times of financial duress and/or crisis)."

It seems unlikely anyone will be able to get this money back: the stimulus bill stipulates bonus contracts written before February of this year need be honored. But the fact they are trying might (should) scare potential investors and intellect - especially those looking on from abroad (where half of the recipients of this bonus money are living) and who have a choice where to put their money and skills. Governments attempting to intervene and renegotiate, void or bypass private contracts made long ago sends strong signals, perhaps beneficial in terms of short term political clout, but what about long term financial-economic-political integrity?

Like I said, it seems the people over on the east coast have little choice but to respond to public outrage, and it seems the CEO of AIG has little choice but to pay a visit to congress to justify these bonuses while the question of how to effectively utilize the other 99.87% of the bailout money is subordinated. Yes, they have little choice; it is just the public that ought think for a minute.

I am very handsome

I know this is true because the old man who stands behind the counter that is positioned perpendicular to the long line of food from which I was slowly selecting things said so. I trust him because he was able to look at me for a long time while I was thinking about whether I really wanted to add food made from rice to my plate because it was heavy and would add a lot of weight and therefore cost me more. But food made from rice is not very nutritiously valuable and I was going to be eating a bowl of rice anyhow. I was thinking about this for a long time, and he was staring at me for the same amount of time. I also trust him because he said it many many times. I laughed because I was embarrassed or something along the lines of embarrassed and that prompted him to ask me if I understood what he was saying. I told him I understood and he seemed satisfied and that is another reason I trust him and know I am handsome.

Sometimes other people also tell me I am handsome but I do not have as good a reason to believe them because they do not have the opportunity to stare at me while I am thinking about what I am going to eat for lunch.

And I think the lowest point in Tainan is under the railroad tracks. There is a tunnel that goes under the railroad tracks so that you can go from one side of the train station to the other. I have not confirmed this is the lowest point, but seven months of observation makes me think it is. If it is the lowest point it is fitting because this is also the low point of Tainan, or the place in Tainan most similar to Hell. It is more similar to Hell and is the low point of Tainan for a few reasons.

1) It is always 4-5°C hotter in the tunnel than it is not in the tunnel.
2) It almost always smells bad in the tunnel.
3) When Dante went to Hell, which is why we know it exists, he went down, not up.
4) The people that live in the tunnel, like the people that live in Hell, just want stuff from you.
5) The people that live in the tunnel are ugly.
6) People pee in the tunnel.

When I go pee I usually go in my own toilet in my own bathroom and I aim for little pieces of poo that are stuck to the sides because our toilet is an anomaly. It is an anomaly because most toilets in Taiwan are recessed into the floor and you have to squat to use them, which is fine because I have learned how do this without peeing on myself which happened the first few times. The second most common type of toilets in Taiwan are standard Western toilets that people sit on to use, or if you are a man you can use them standing up if you do not want to go poo. These have a reservoir of water which comes out from the top of the bowl of the toilet when it is flushed so that the entire inner bowl of the toilet is cleaned with water. Our toilet looks like a Western toilet but it is not because when it is flushed the water from the reservoir enters the bowl beneath the waterline of the water that is already in the toilet bowl, and swirls and replaces the old water.

Most of the time this leaves little pieces of poo stuck to the sides of the inner toilet bowl because it is hard to have all the poo not hit the sides a little bit. When I go pee I try to clean the toilet bowl sides because they are gross but it is even grosser when I have to clean the toilet with a sponge which no one else seems to like to do.

Maybe the place where all the toilet water goes is actually the low point of Tainan, or the place in Tainan most similar to Hell.

But I do not live there because I am very handsome.