The Moon Festival

September 22nd - a glorious day. The locals call it the Moon Festival, or the Mid-Autumn Festival, known to me as the Sleep-Until-Two-WatchMovies-Eat-Sleep-WalkAround Festival. The Taiwanese celebrate in a different way than Brendan and I but I will do my best to explain the slight differences, if any.

By Chinese calendar standards, this day falls on the 15th day of the eighth month, the day always ending with a bright, full moon. Luckily for me, this was a Wednesday and schools were closed. In the modern days, most celebrators spend time with their family. What do they do? BBQ, eat moon cakes (above), eat a few pomelos, go to temple, relax, maybe go out for a late dinner and take a break from their hectic schedules. They DO NOT sleep through the afternoon, watch movies all day and take a few naps but the survey of all my Taiwanese friends is still incomplete. Moon cakes are delicious! Most of them I should say. About the size of a donut, each has a 'tasty' filling that is labeled with the dough in Chinese - an obvious problem for me. One was jammed pack with a pineapple gelatin-paste, sweet and tasty, Fig Newton like. And then a few of the others - wow, no idea but I think one was curry powder and pencil shavings, another was pork and melted plastic, another may have been fish scales and walnut shell. No matter, I ate them all - I'm trying to fit in!


We start the afternoon by going to our local church, Xintian Temple. The place was buzzing when we arrived, families with very young to very old making the rounds to observe a religious aspect the Moon Festival. Originally a harvest festival welcoming the end of summer, the moon part revolves around ancient folklore involving an immortal, archery, jealousy, an emperor and the elixir of life - eerily similar to my last relationship. SparkNotes version available on Wikipedia. Circling back, the temple is a place to give thanks on this day but most importantly to honor and remember family ancestors.

I found out this next part from my Taiwanese contacts, go me. The typical spread is on a large table - items include pomelos, grapes, moon cakes, pineapples, rice cakes (not made by Quaker), dried noodles, tea, beer, a few prayer cards and a few items a relative preferred. The spirits see the offering, are grateful for being remembered and help to guide the living in a karma-like reciprocity system. But on Wednesday, these tables were everywhere - in front of apartments, businesses, bus stops. And always packed to the edges with the offering.


Next, say a few words. Grab a incense stick, set it ablaze, careful not to poke anybody's eye out and pray to your ancestors. Maybe apologize too - they saw how you acted last night at the club, not happy.

In this photo, Brendan, sporting a sporty orange tank circa 1988, takes a quiet moment to reflect on our journey so far. Each person holds a stick on incense, makes their peace and drops it into the large black, cauldron to extinguish and release the wisps of white smoke prayers into the air.


Traditional observances, check, time to mix it up.
A quick ride on the subway takes us to Ximen, a Times Square imitation. This photo is a view into the main square which is for foot traffic. Shoppers, kids getting ice cream, couples grabbing a bite and looky-loos doing anything except something. Lots of smiles, laughter and a fun atmosphere. It is a huge area, filled with sneaky side-alleys, where one feels like a small fish in an ocean of a pond. And they only speak Chinese in this pond, argh.





Not waning gibbous, not waxing gibbous, but a full moon glowing with confidence finally makes the appearance. A great day, even though we missed the BBQs, and another opportunity to learn a bit more about my new surroundings. Maybe they have a Sun Festival? Either way, grab a grill, I'll bring the beer and we'll celebrate like they did in 983 B.C., Shang Dynasty style.

...sweet tank.

#2 - What The Hell Is This?

What good are the processed, mass-produced 7Eleven treats if you can't slather it in some kind of filmy sauce hyper-infused with sodium? My nuked noodle dish with a side of something accompanied by something else should have some kind of sauce to cover it's nakedness. Here are a few of the options at the particular location I wandered into.

The flavors are as follows: green, red, pink, brown, yellow and orange. Pretty decent selection, I'm a little upset they didn't have teal or black but maybe they'll have it at another 7Eleven next door. I gathered my options and discretely slid out through the automatic door. It made a loud "ding" - discreteness thwarted.

Green - My Guess - Lucky for everybody, there are sweaty hot dogs and sausages on a meat treadmill - food always looks better when it is in motion. Usually it backfires but I'm going to go with my instinct and say a relish of some kind.
The Result - Bingo! And it was quite tasty, I forgot this wasn't my entree after I sucked out the last of the slime. Great start, 1-1.

Red - My Guess - Well duh! If Green was relish, Red is undoubtedly ketchup.
The Result - There I go again, trying to use my flawed logic. The sauce is red, but it is a chili hot sauce, not too bad and similar in texture to Elmer's glue. I'll bounce back, 1-2.

Pink - My Guess - This is a toughie. The few pink foods that come to mind are shrimp, strawberry frosted donuts, cotton candy - each of which I've never seen in a cellophane bag about the size of a business card. But at the buzzer, I remember that sushi is usually served with pickled ginger, which is sometimes pink and...
The Result - ...I fail! Much to my dismay, it is not cotton candy or strawberry frosted donuts. This is a sweet chili sauce, the friendlier cousin of Red. Tangy and reddish-brown, almost like a sweet barbecue sauce, this will certainly go into my noodle thing which is starting to look like a work by Jackson Pollock. Falling behind, 1-3.

Brown - My Guess - Easy peesy lemon squeezy, soy sauce. If there is some other popular brown sauce in Asia, it should find another agent.
The Result - Great success! I'll give myself credit however I have never seen soy sauce like this. The taste and color unmistakable but the texture is alien; mix tooth paste with jelly and that is lurking in this packet. That was a gimme but I'll take it, 2-4.

Yellow - My Guess - I've been burned on the past 'obvious' colors but nothing really comes to mind besides mustard. Banana sauce? No, way too obvious. Some kind of curry? Too Indian. Mustard it is.
The Result - Nope. And no idea. After sending it to the lab for further analysis, this orangey-brown substance is coined 'oden' sauce. Naturally I consult the world's foremost experts on the topic and Wikipedia informs me that oden is a traditional Japanese dish with a few ingredients boiled in a light dashi broth. No help there but for you American readers, think duck sauce, heavy on the duck. Blast! 2-5

Orange - My Guess - Rounding it out is this mysterious entity. Right away I think marmalade but Andrew learns from his mistakes. But do the Taiwanese like jelly-flavored hot dogs? Maybe. Either way I'm going rogue and thinking mayonnaise.
The Result - Humiliation, the answer we were looking for was ketchup. I know many of you are up in arms, about to march to 7Eleven HQ in Dallas, Texas and demand an explanation but people, I ask you to remain in control. All ketchups are not created equal, this has the viscosity of house paint and the aftertaste of cherries.

A measly 2-6, poor showing this time out. Lessons learned; what might be obvious in your home country could be the opposite abroad and when you mix a few strange condiments on one strange convenience store packaged meal, the result is exactly what you'd think - delicious.

Typhoon'd!

There are rainy days, thunderstorms, heavy winds and bad storms - ruins your weekend plans! All these terms are mild compared to a typhoon, which has been flattening Taiwan for a few days now.

Typhoons, Snooki from the Jersey Shore, hurricanes, and cyclones are all similar terminologies - a large, slow-moving hot mess of air and wind causing complete devastation wherever it may travel. Names are derived from the origin of the storm meaning that storms forming above a certain longitude in the Western Pacific are typhoons and Eastern Pacific storms are called hurricanes.

After tireless research on the World Meteorological Organization, I also learned that the actual storm names (Hurriane Andrew, Typhoon Helena, etc.) are listed a year in advance and used when necessary, which I think is unfair. And some names don't really invoke feelings of fear. Hurricane Earl? Have you ever met anybody named Earl? I haven't. Tropical Storm Gaston? I can see the reports now - "This inherently chic storm will down trees in your neighborhood while sporting a tampico brown cardigan and quickly flip your car anchored in the agile, olive aviation trousers with a flawless, pearl chiffon to bring balance to this ensemble." Rubbish. What about Cyclone John Wayne Gacy? Or maybe Hurricane Willem DaFoe? Typhoon Brangelina? Serious business all around.

This weekend, I was supposed to go to the beach. The only problem was the storm swallowed it up and visiting hours were revoked. Pity. Instead of waking up in sand and ordering a frozen drink with a tiny umbrella in it, I had to settle for a concrete jungle, real umbrella in hand and no libations to be found. At 8:00AM local time, the noise was deafening - winds well over 50MPH, rain falling in every direction and the noise of apartments coming apart; doors smashing into their weak frames, windows buckling, garbage bins whizzing around like discarded newspapers were all too common. Like Dorothy, I was convinced that my home was about to be lifted from it's foundation, sending the occupants to a strange new place where everybody was short and spoke in weird tongues. But then again, that wouldn't be very different from my current situation.

So I went outside. I had to! I had no food! Or beer! And to my surprise, I made it back, eventually. The scene outside was outrageous; scooters toppling over like they were made of straw, door mats in front of restaurants taking off into oncoming traffic, loose garbage moving at the speed of light, inside-out umbrellas cruising at low altitudes like a Tomahawk missile. Of course I'm one of the few brave (dumb) people on the street checking out the scene but I've never been in a typhoon, this is valuable primary research. Walking against the wind was laborious, one really has to lean forward and push off each step with conviction. The wind kept whipping debris in my face - plastic bags, cigarette butts, children, leaves - but I had to keep going. About twenty minutes later, or two blocks, I had returned to the apartment, safe and alive with my treasure in tote.

The typhoon season is coming to an end, I have won this battle. For now, I burrow in my nest enjoying the Asahi beer that I desperately needed. The storm will be over in a day or two, but it will be back - maybe not next week, or the week after, or the week after, or the week after...or the week after...but it will be back.

I'm a Giraffe

I'm a teacher! Who would have thought? Sure I studied business in college and worked tirelessly in the field but teaching has always been a good match with my personality. Besides, if I can teach my Mom how to use her computer and email properly, teaching young Taiwanese kids that don't share my language should be a cakewalk (sorry Mom - love you!). Alas, my latest adventure has landed me a job at a Giraffe English School in northern Taipei.


This is my school! And no, that is not our school bus! Giraffe is a franchise with branches located across the city; children go to normal elementary school during the day and afterwards, they come and learn English with Teacher Andrew. Giraffe has their own material - textbooks, workbooks, worksheets, etc. - but they extend freedom to each franchise on how to teach the material. My technique involves lots of games, making faces and dancing around like a fool at times. I'll take laughter over tears any day of the week.




This is my office - as you can see there are no students, I temporarily misplaced them. Class size range from 8 to 15 and their ages are mixed from 1st through 4th grade. Lessons are split between teachers at the school, me being the only foreigner, and since all the material comes from the home office, style and lesson plans are very similar. Upon enrollment, kids take a placement test to see which class they belong in. Here is what I've learned so far...



1. Kids are crazy - Was I like this when I was a young lad? Probably (sorry again, Mom). Of course, kids are kids and when they have some extra energy, you are very aware of it. My guess is the public schools must be putting some stimulants in the rice

2. There is a fine line between friend and teacher - As some of you may know, my gregarious and lighthearted disposition allows me some commonality with kids. I jump around, I crack jokes, I make faces and I play games - I'm really good at this and thankfully the students respond well. However, after an exceptionally silly lesson, trying to discipline the troublemakers becomes impossible. Would you listen to a teacher who just did his best Michael Jackson impression using a plastic dinosaur as a microphone? I doubt it.

3. The absence of a normal day - I have no idea what will happen during the course of a school day. What I mean is I know I will get there, teach, help students and leave. But when students ask me how many guns I own, where babies come from, how many girlfriends I have, or why is my Chinese such "poo poo", and can't help but stare blankly and wonder what the next gem will be.

There will be plenty more about my teaching but for now, short and sweet.