This Bar Has Wheels

Late December in New England: frozen sidewalks, windburn, darkness, depression.

Late December in Taiwan: frozen daquiris, sunburn, brightness, depression ("Aw dude, that beer stand is far away, bummer.").

These are the problems that ravage the tropical landscape of Kenting, Taiwan. Truly hard times have befallen Brendan and I; should we go surfing or just lay on this velvety, white sand? Ugh, I hate making difficult decisions. And where the hell is my sunscreen?

About a month ago, I asked my terrific employers how long my Christmas break was? They informed me that Christmas Eve was on a Friday, that leaves Saturday and Sunday, the whole day is all yours kiddo! Vomit. No Christmas break? No time away from my ungrateful, extremely well-behaved and literate students? Does Jesus know about this? I've got news for you Giraffe, if I don't take a few days off, these kids are going to start learning the English language with a Southern accent and vocabulary words that would make a prison guard blush. My bosses don't speak great English, I guess my wild gesturing and barbaric tone scared them into giving me a few days off.

After Giraffe's Christmas Spectacular (will post later in the week), the foreign roommates went out for some Christmas Eve libations, ending very late and discussing the brilliance and fortitude behind the Christmas Yule Log DVD. SPOILER ALERT: It's a video of a log fire set to Christmas tunes, wish I could have been at the production meeting for this blockbuster. After three hours of sleep, or decomposing, Brendan and I made our way to the main station in Taipei to board the high-speed rail (HSR). The train moves at 150 MPH, has cabin attendants, assigned seating and can offer some of the most amazing views of the Taiwanese countryside. I learned all of this from the brochure stuffed into the seat in front of me, I spent the two hours on board drooling into my armpit. From the last stop, the southern city Kaoshiung, and another one hour by bus, we made it to Kenting - a little smelly, confused, sweaty but conscious. Temporarily.

The small town hugs the coast for about a mile, one main road allowing beach-goers access to the rocky shoreline. Kenting consists of the following: a mega-resort filled with people who wear their sandals in a pool, an elementary school, two vans that sell alcohol (or two bars with engines), small restaurants and bars, dozens of surf shops, a impressive population of wild dogs and scooter salesmen up the wazoo. Quiet, unassuming, the area is frequented by foreigners and I think English here was more usable than Taipei. Most of the action is on the main drag, a beach anchoring either end, vendors and food carts straddling the road at night. The specialty? Grilled cuttlefish, think squid's better looking cousin. Since crazy ideas like "refrigeration" and "sanitation" top the vendor list of "Things I Don't Give A Crap About," I skipped these particular purveyors.

There is a pleasant national park to visit with the normal features: visitors center, nature park, hiking, bus-loads of Japanese, conservation center to name a few. We did a short hike, filled with ups and downs, impressive views, rocks, and trees, and shrubs, and plants, and birds, and blah blah blah. Sorry folks, you get the idea, it was really nice and I really enjoyed it but I can only elaborate so much before I start to cut and paste from National Geographic.

They will rent scooters to anybody. Sure you could walk most places, but why not take your life into your own hands for a few days? Could be fun! I rented from a gentleman by the side of the road; eating a sandwich, balancing a cellphone between his shoulder and ear, writing out the lease form. Definitely legit. After I cleaned off the lettuce from my helmet, rock and roll. I'm sure to fit in like a local, no problem just ease the throttle and OH MY GOD A BUS! No problem.

Wherever Brendan and I go, we make friends, we did so at two competing bars. But as I alluded, these are not your typical bars. Sure, we visited a few brick and mortar watering holes but something didn't feel right; I couldn't take the bar with me after I had my fill.

Van bar numero uno is Mark Bar. Nicely stocked, well-known, a locals place. We happened upon this vehicle by accident; the sound of hippy drums drifted down the coast and called us like the Siren's song. And the Siren is Jagermeister. We linked up with many locals, learned about what beaches to visit and why living in a city is so "not righteous, maaaan" and "totally bogus, maaaan." Just kidding, the locals did describe the rhythm of Kenting as more mellow. Mellow as in drink until dawn, go surfing, maybe work a little, and repeat kind of mellow, maaaaaan.

Mark's Bar is situated on the back of an over-sized flatbed , fully stocked with electricity and coolers. Besides wine and finer spirits, it offered everything one could need and even a few challenges. For example if you could ride a bicycle the size of a terrier inside a small hula-hoop three times, you win a free shot of tequila. Or you could fall on your face one time and buy the damn thing.

The rival across the street was Alex's Bar. In his mind, Alex is a black, Jamaican musician, touring the world spreading reggae rhythms, using an incomprehensible accent and feeling 'ire. Instead, he is a Taiwanese bartender, touring the coast spreading hangovers in a van using an incomprehensible accent. Not too far off. But he was a true gentleman and one of the friendliest people we met. The van is all reggae, all the time. His chariot decked out in rastafari colors, furniture made by hand from driftwood, homages to reggae legends, amazing music playing at all times. We were treated with true island hospitality and talked the night away over cold beer and a magic potion. The name wasn't very friendly but it included the word 'bucket' and some a combination of foul words that rhyme. Take a small, plastic beach bucket, a pint of cheap whiskey, a can of soda and an energy drink and all of a sudden this reggae club is hopping. And after another one, you'll think you're at a bar that you can drive! Excellent! But drinking and driving is NOT excellent man, drinking and scootering is way more fun. Jokes...

We sat on a beach, we swam, we ate fresh seafood, we stayed out late. We had lunch at a bistro with a French owner (Chez Papa, amazing brunch!) and the nicest wife who would happily taunt our pathetic appearances after a long night, "Oh, 1:00 lunch, early for you today." I'm going to come back; warm weather, cheap hotels, reggae music, surfers, cute girls and a whole lot of nothing. And when I'm back at Giraffe, getting poked, prodded, smacked and teased, I'll be daydreaming of that day; the feathery sand, warm breezes, refreshing ocean water, briny smells and balmy temperatures. I miss it already, maaaaaaaan.