Mid-Life School Crisis

Any celebrations that end with 0s or 5s always get noticed, they're plain better for whatever reason. Personally, I think the aesthetic features of the numerals give an appearance of success of achievement. Take Don Gorske of Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. This model American has become oddly famous for eating his 25,000th Big Mac from McDonald's, appearing on late night TV shows and popping into your news aggregator from CNN or the AP - an amazing testament to the power of the human body to withstand such an assault! I'm the press will be uninterested until the 30,000 mark, the power of zeroes. Heading back to Taiwan, it was with great rejoice that the local Tianmu Elementary School in the neighborhood where I work recognized their 30th year of service. Responsible for the educational advancement of thousands of Taiwanese youth, the school is a landmark in this northern community. A tremendous party was in order, full of fun, excitement, reflection, food, merriment, and games for the families to come and enjoy. Since Giraffe is directly across the street, it was absolutely essential to make our presence known, reminding parents that our school is cracker-jack. It was also absolutely essential that I get to the school at 7:30AM on a Saturday. 'Just out of curiosity, what would happen if I showed up at...' Blah, too bad I don't live here, then I could have skipped and promised to make it to the 35th. Or 40th.

Not much can be said about the Soviet-style design, you could easily swap the sign for a textile mill and nobody would think otherwise, besides the clown-colored inflatable gate. The immediate facing facade is dreary; no hanging window flower boxes, no pastel drawings on widows of children holding hands from around the world, not a hint of kids are work or play. Thankfully the administrators decided to spruce up the deco immediately through the gate to remind parents that this building is not a prison, even though it wouldn't be hard to make it one. Under red tents inside the school's drop-off circle, community organizations and businesses tout their messages, hand out literature, and entice groups of children to play their ring toss or darts game for a small fee. Between and past the main structure on the left and on the right (the library) is the school's track and blacktop.

Well would you look at that? A couple hundred mostly cute kids singing and dancing the school's song. The first grade children donned their class shirts and headbands, pink and blue for their designated genders. Scattered around the track, the tinny speakers broadcasted an allegro moderato march highlighted by a motivated brass section. While the parents clapped along and toe-tapped to the continuous bum-bum-bum of the tubas, the kids flailed pompoms and sang along with the lively music. Some of the performers were enjoying it far less than others, the former moving like Japanese robots through the dance steps which had been programmed into their systems. Still early in the morning, a few had the morning daze looking absentmindedly into the camera of an enthusiastic parent. Obviously, the idea of replacing Saturday morning's Sponge Bob viewing with this mandatory jollification did not sit well some. Sacrifices must be made! Fortunately for them, their efforts to glorify Tianmu Elementary school was the first event during a lengthy program and the exhibition lasted a few songs. Relieved, the children marched in straight lines off the track, free to roam the campus without needing to hear that lame song for a very long time.

Excellent candid photo #1! 'This cotton candy makes my throat itch, waaaaaaah!'

In one of the main courtyards, tents were set up to house games, snacks, and sweet treats. To give you an idea of the school's size, this courtyard was one of four with just as much square footage. One of them had not been paved over, wide ferns and small palms remain. Families filtered in and out to take a break from the the ongoing spectacles near the track. Refueling on ice tea and corn dogs, the attendees were also eager to test their skill on a variety of carnival games. Interested in my neighbors offering, it appeared some of them were outrageously rigged. Like two tents down, trying to bounce a ping pong ball into the opening of a glass vase with a $1000 bill inside ($30 USD) or into a hole the size of an M&M. The vendor wisely provided contestants with maybe twenty shots giving a little bit of confidence and probably saying '...no, no, no - you are stealing MY money! Look how many times you can go!' Clever, shrewd but clever.

Against my strong advice, Giraffe's game had to be completely 'legit' and without any trickery, too bad. Our tent had two games; the game on the right side was your classic throw-something-knock-it-down variety. Twenty dollars gets you three tosses and thirty gets you five. With each number knocked down, you get a certain prize and an adrenaline rush similar to rock climbing or para-sailing.

On the left side was our shooting gallery; our AK-47 was a wood pistol with a waistband elastic to create tension. Place the elastic band on the barrel and the hammer, release the tension handle and voila! Thirty dollars gets you ten shots and fifty gets you twenty. Like the toss game, the more Taliban you blast the sweeter the prize. And just so you know, children, shooting Teacher Andrew does not award you a higher score or a better prize. My classes might be Taliban-esque with all the homework I assign but I assure you, it would take a lot of rubber bands to eliminate this dictator.

And so it went - rubber bands whizzing by, clanking of wooden pegs hitting the metal targets, laughter, endless exchanges of paper-scissor-stone, excitement, meats on a stick, and personally a lot of sweatiness. At the end of the day, we had collected thousands of dollars or about...

* 983 pegs thrown at targets

* 2,360 rubber bands shot

Making money wasn't the idea, covering our costs and advertising was our goal and was achieved. During this whole time, Giraffe's owners and one-part timer were out on the street handing out flyers and talking up our fantastic branch. Thousands of promotional flyers were handed out describing our approach and why parents should give us their dollars instead of our rivals. The afternoon culminated in a school-wide relay race, each grade competing against one another. Some of the teams looked like Olympic superstars, timing their start off the blocks to match up with the baton passer and handing it off effortlessly. Other teams, did not. I will say it was quite exciting, a coworker and I began casual bets based on the looks and demeanor of the teams lining up for a race. I could tell when the blue or the teal shirts would absolutely crush the yellow team - 'seriously, one of the kids is wearing loafers, there is no way he is going to keep up.' When it got down to the wire, the parents jumped up screaming 'jiao yio, jiao yio!!' ('Keep going! Keep going! And if you bring disgrace to this family you aren't going to have dinner for the rest of the weekend...'). Trophies awarded to the victors, hugs and encouragement to the runners-up, and a few promises of candy and snacks for me from the spoils of my gambling.

Here are a few more spectacular photos....

'Ughhhhhhhh, why did I eat that?'

Super Taiwanese Mullet, he's got your back.

'I want to play games too. I like corn dogs. Please let me out...

Please.'

'Take that you extremist S.O.B.!'

'She will not talk to you, or any other members of the press until this matter is resolved in a court of law.'

#3 - What The Hell Is This?

If you thought I was moving to Taipei and not going to eat a lot of weird treats for your enjoyment, you are dead wrong my friend. Today's post is brought to you by Rolaids. Easing your discomfort after mowing down a bucket of ox gall bladders with a side of eel farts has never been easier. Just grab a few tablets, chew, and wash it down with a tall glass of fish pee and you should be feeling better right away. Let's check out today's mystery...

The Item: I was casually loitering at my local 7Eleven, browsing as usual, and I found this unusual item. In a resealable, pink plastic bag, there isn't much to explore by simple means of observation. The foreground features a lovely pile of purpley-brown nuggets frosted in a powder, sugar I'm thinking, but possibly anthrax. In the background is a glass of an orange liquid accented by green stems or leaves, like Tang with decorated with grass clippings. The only English is a little bit helpful, on the dark pink banner mentioning 'It tastes sour and sweet.' Helpful, I really like the ambiguous 'It' suggestion.

The other side has a viewing area; you may observe your snacks at rest before their demise. Again, not a whole lot going on. The picture on the front is a little bit off - instead of the smooth, snowy appearance, my goodies are wrinkled tidbits covered in white fungal spores. Has this thing been sealed properly? Where did these come from anyways?

I pay for my merchandise and scurry back to my apartment like a mouse with his cheese. Tearing open the package, the aroma of artificial sweet fruit fills my room. The scent is what I imagine Lady Speed Stick to smell like, perfumey and strong enough for a man but meant for a woman. Before tasting, some guesses I have are figs, cherries, tiny plums, dates, or rabbit droppings. Yes dear friends, I had to go there, and explore the uncomfortable option that maybe, just maybe, this rare Taiwanese delicacy has found its way into the mass markets of the public. As an outsider, I find it absolutely essential to separate myself, abstain from any ethnocentric assumptions, and consider ALL the options. More research is necessary...

It is my mouth, I have the right to know. To the right is a strangely detailed and accurate picture of the droppings from oryctolagus cuniculus, commonly referred to as a European Rabbit. Wikipedia has not installed scratch-and-sniff webpages, I am unable to determine a match in smell. The size, original color, and shape are remarkably similar, my tongue begins to curl in disgust. Using the latest photographic technology used by the CIA to track criminals who change their appearance, here is a computer-generated image with the effect of 'powdered sugar' turned on to match my culprit...

Oh...

my...

God!

These resemblance is dead on! The system tells me it is 90% positive that my picture is a positive match. Knowing this evil, maddening fact, the experiment must continue.

The Guess: The Taiwanese population seem to have their act together, I don't think a whole society walking around popping rabbit nuggets into their mouthes could be so hospitable or friendly. Against the strong, compelling photographic evidence, I'm going to say it is a cherry.

The Result: Ow. These niblets are 75% pit, 25% flesh - in my excitement, I noshed a little bit too hard and maybe loosened a filling. Immediate taste is sweet, followed by a sourness so intense, my tongue twists into a question mark, making it impossible to talk. Tart is an understatement, like lemon concentrate, I can barely open my eyes. A few seconds later, the rush subsides leaving my mouth tired, palette exhausted. The pit is oval, similar to an olive, but the results are still unknown. I visit Google Translate, punch in a few guesses of what I think it is, and the symbols for 'plum' are very similar. But technology fooled me once already today, I can rest easy knowing that no rabbits were harmed in the making and packaging of my experiment.

Conclusion: Inconclusive

The Exploder

If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Allow me to introduce the Exploder, a miracle of Japanese craftsmanship and engineering. During my trip to Spring Scream in Kenting, the Exploder was my ride and this scooter has seen kilometers. The positive, it was loaned to me for zero dollars. The negative, as explained by the lender, "..just don't go too fast or else..." Right. I didn't even hear that part, all I focused on was the zero dollars. Instead of a scooter, I received a bicycle with an engine as strong as a food processor, safety features similar to a see-saw, and a ride as comfortable as a cactus-tobaggon. Perfect! Scooter-jackers would be made fun of by their posse if they stole this. On idle, it sounds like a chainsaw fart combined with a dryer full of quarters running on tumble cycle. Don't care, at all. Take a blender, throw in 100 pennies, a jar of pickles, hit 'liquify' and you've got the noise at what I think to be around 50kph. Am I embarrassed? Please. You wish your ride could last this long. Let's take a look at the features...

The Exploder has supported so many butts, it is actually starting to shed. The foam underneath is cracked, hardened, and worn. Not sure if I'm sitting on a cushion or a bag of crushed asphalt. Rear-ends of all shapes and sizes have smooshed this once luxurious foam support in different areas resulting in a texture of a rubber blanket on a coral reef. The vibrations sure didn't help the ride; if I had any kidney stones tucked away in the deepest regions of my guts, surely they were rattled out. The glossy accent paint on the steel mounts has long since departed, leaving a poo-poo brown rust thick with grit and tetanus. Rear passengers should avoid this support at all cost, instead wrap your soft, smooth and comforting arms around my boyish physique and hold on tight.

You want LCD display? Nice try, this baby was conceived before TVs turned color. How about LED? Maybe once upon a time. But the speedometer doesn't work, neither does the tachometer, or the any-other-kind-ometer. Please also note the lack of side mirrors, they were causing too much drag. Just take your eyes off the road, turn your head around, turn back, hope nothing is about to be under your front tire, and keep cruising. The pewter matte finish of the handlebar casing has a texture similar to sand paper or a goat's horn. Like a roll of pink fiberglass, too much poking, pressing, or prodding could result in microscopic slivers. Then you have an itch in your armpit, which you touch and now you have them there. Then you sneeze, cover your mouth and get them in your gums. Now, you alternate your scratching hand between your mouth and your armpit giving yourself a full-on B.O. mouth rinse.

The lights work, but they are desperately trying to escape from the frame. One cover remains, the left blinker and he's hanging on for dear life. How thoughtful of the Exploder's owner to use clear tape, not duct tape, to remedy this malfunction. As you can see, it is a Yamaha and they make damn fine products. Carbon gray fenders accent the navy blue body punctuated by stripped, rusted nuts and bolts holding it together. Custom stickers adorn the front of my chariot letting other riders know that even though I don't value my life enough to make this vehicle safe, I still want to look good.

Normally the underside of any kind of vehicle is covered to prevent exposure to dirt, water, roadkill, etc. Not the Exploder! What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. The Exploder also disposes of superfluous pieces of undercarriage automatically. While you ride to the local Grease Bucket Fatty Man's Chicken Shack to pack on the calories, the Exploder is dropping pounds like nothing. What you see are the bare essentials it takes to run an internal combustion engine. If it isn't important, get rid of it - like the automatic starter. Typically scooters have a button you push and presto, machine on. That feature has been removed, for your convenience. Today's model features a kick start lever; just stand off to the side, jump off a curb, friend, concrete barrier, or bush with a massive amount of downward force, and bingo! If you hear chainsaw farts, you know you did it right.

Any false move by my right leg could result in a IQ-changing shock from the exposed wires. Is it a bad sign that I can clearly see the other side of the road through most of the parts? If you had a car and could see through it while you standing beside it, you'd be like 'oh @#!$$^#, maybe I should get on that.' And if you were driving a horse, you'd be like 'oh damn, where'd you get that pony at?' The muffler with sharpened edges at the bottom of picture was used to determine the standards of acceptable emissions. Anything worse than the Exploder should be seized, dismantled, and melted down into useful widgets.

Of course, it is easy to take cheap shots at something that looks shoddy, beat up, or worn down. You may think that because it looks like a piece of slow moving rubbish, it is a piece of slow moving rubbish. And that is true, it is exactly that. But, looking past the disfigurement and covering your ears from the deafening noise pollution, the Exploder and many others like that get you to where you want to go. Looks aren't the most important thing, only if you want to pay more. In three days of riding, it started the first time every time, used $2 worth of gasoline for a couple hours of driving, and never crapped out. Suckers were lining up to pay an unreasonably high price for shiny, brand-new wheels for the holiday weekend; the shops there triple the rate during the Spring Spring festivities. I paid nothing and still got to the same places as everybody else. In this battle between the Young Studs and Old Faithful, it was a tie - score one for the good guys. Don't touch the Exploder, it is absolutely perfect the way it is; if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

I'm 100% sure the next person who uses it will die.

Derp.

In Soviet Russia, scooter drives you.

Spring Broke - Part II

The police have closed off the main stairs to the beach. I guess 1,000 people on a beach loaded with fireworks, alcohol, and hormones isn't the best combination. But it is a beach, there has to be another way. A hundred yards away from the main staircase is an opening, a makeshift trail! I channel the spirit of Lewis and Clark, take one big step into the darkness and slap my face into a tree branch. Hm, maybe a little to the left this time. Ouch, a thorny-something. Okaaaaaaay, three steps in and I'm already bleeding, the rest should be a breeze. Enter widow-maker uneven concrete stairs. Crash, bang, boom. My descent is softened sand, I've made it. Hit my face on another branch. Walking towards the surf, I hear a soft thump-thump-thump repeating over and over. Is it natives? Oh please be some kind of cannibalistic ritual. Around the corner of a huge rock pile right beside the water, I see it. It is a gigantic, throbbing, frenzied horde of people moving and shaking to heavy bass coming from the beach bar at the bottom of the stairs I bravely disregarded. It is a massive beach rave. Where have you been all my life?!?!

Working around the edges, I find my way into the crowd. People are having a really, really good time. Every now and then, a professional quality firework bomb explodes directly over the middle of the dancers, energizing the group even more. The golden sparks float gracefully towards the mass before extinguishing or setting any ironic trucker hats on fire. What's a good party if your life isn't in some kind of danger? The music, fireworks, dancing, cheering, and singing never slows down, it only speeds up. Somehow, I find my friends and we literally danced the night away.

The music finally stops, the only sound comes from a sharp ringing in my ear. After taking off my sunglasses, I can clearly see the sorry state of this trashed paradise, which also means that it is morning and I have been dancing all night long to vicious DJs blasting house music to a couple hundred partiers on the smooth sand. The sand this morning is much different from when I visited in December of last year; littered with empty beer cans, bottles, cigarette butts, Americans, an abandoned right sandal, used firework casings, dignities, multicolored plastics, tote bags. People stumbling around, saying things like "Where's Josh?" at 7:00AM on Sunday morning was a great ending to my first night in the once cozy beach town of Kenting. Some survivors gather their belongings, head to the stairs at the bottom of the hill, trudging up to retire to their hotel room, campsite, shanty, or park bench. Others, still confused by the lack of bass coming out of the massive speaker stacks, smoke cigarettes and make idle conversation with their neighbor.

It's a funny feeling after staying up all night and not being tired; your brain is saying "great, daylight at last!" but your body is feeling "oh no, daylight at last!" At last, I convince my entourage of two it is time to call it. I carefully step over the rubbish, brush past a person in a furry costume that is identical to the Cincinnati Bengals football mascot, weave my way around a few zombies moaning for bottled water, and finally lumber up the stairs to the street. Same scenery, different location. The bartender Mark packs up shop quietly, the shop of course being a converted Fuso flatbed truck-bar.

Taxi drivers wait at the top of the beach stairs, waiting quietly with droopy eyes to take back the last of the hedonists. Garbage is plastered to the street, about 10,000 dirty feet have mushed it into the surface. Just past Mark Bar is a young gentleman too weak to go on (bottom left of the picture). Head down, legs crossed, he dreams on a folding-plastic beach chair about not actually sleeping in the chair, or maybe a hot shower to rinse off the shame or disgust of the night's events. Either way, he smells and makes a strange gurgling sound, I leave him in the care of Mark. My scooter-chariot awaits me in the same spot and in the same condition that I left it. Keys in, helmet on, I slap myself in the face a few times for good measure and I whiz back to the apartment where I'm staying. It is above a traditional Chinese medicine shop, which means I need to walk through the storefront to get to the back. When I arrive at the shop, the business is open and a woman of maybe 120 tends to the counter. I try to hide my ugly appearance, but her disgust is palpable, my irresponsibility is obvious. She knows everything.

I wake up hours later, around the time senior citizens are having dinner. My throat is sore, I have sand in my nose (how the hell...?), and I'm pretty sure my vision is worse somehow. A good night, still have both of my eyebrows and nobody is banging on the door looking for 'Josh.' Brendan and I recap: 'Did you see those fire dancers?' 'There were fire dancers? Did you see that guy in the tiger costume?' 'Tiger costume?' This goes on for a few minutes, it did get a little crazy back there.

What is left of the day is spent rehydrating and refueling, who knows what night number two has in store for us. Like yesterday, the crowds hug the main street's shoulders and sidewalks.

Grumpily, I complain, eat meat on a stick, and meander to the other end of the main street to see my favorite Taiwanese Rastafari, and owner of Alex's Reggae Van/Bar, Alex. The Bob Marley coming out of the speakers eases my woes, Alex passes me a Corona and assures me that everything is going to be just fine, as soon as I pay for my drink. And he's right. But what to do tonight...

Brendan: "You want to check out the beach party?"

Me: "Mehhhhhhhhhh, well alright, just for a few minutes. I'm beat."

5:00AM

Overshot my goal of a few minutes by a few thousand. I've always been bad with numbers.

Spring Broke - Part I

The fella in the tank top to my left is sweating like a working farm animal, the smell also similar. Mopping his brow with a red bandanna between forced small talk, I can tell that he isn't 100% at the moment, more like 10%. At 9:00AM on Tuesday morning, our paths crossed on a bus from Kenting back to Taipei, after a long weekend punctuated by excessive indulgences of all kinds. I try to busy myself in a book, quickly glancing out of the corner of my eye for any signs of danger. After what I'd just seen these past three days, anything can happen. Of course, it does. Tank top mumbles something "...feeling a little worse for wear..." and snags the clear plastic travel sickness bags conveniently stowed in the seat pocket below where an airplane's tray table would be. Tank begins to clench, his whole body tensing up against the upcoming onslaught. During the middle of this bout between good and evil, clean and dirty, and what the body wants or doesn't want, Brendan turns around, politely asking "Woah, dude are you ok?" Tank catches a breath, "No man, I'm throwing up into a plastic bag. Maybe I shouldn't have drank all that whiskey for breakfast." Really? You think that was the problem? Maybe it was the coffee, I know when I have too much I get the jitters. Sadly, I realize that I'm not going to get too much reading done, at least until Tank's buckling knees stop rubbing against mine.

This was at 9:08AM, three kilometers out of Kenting and another seven hours in this steel sick wagon filled with sunburned, dehydrated, infected, wheezing, coughing foreigners with sand-filled pockets where Taiwanese dollars used to be. Let's go back...

Once a year, the Spring Scream music festival is held just outside of the small surf town Kenting at the southernmost tip of Taiwan and attracts thousands of people looking to have a good time. The town (read about my first trip here) hosts people from all over the country and bands coming from far and wide to entertain. For the business owners and vendors of Kenting, this is holiday weekend where they can make a killing, people selling food or crafts often working until 4:00AM when the crowds finally begin to subside. Hotels triple their regular nightly rates, renting a scooter costs double, vendors hustle hard and fast to move merchandise. From early in the morning to very early the next morning, people are consuming at breakneck speeds, scantily clad women patrol the main street 'promoting' beers and liquors, fliers are being handed out faster than they can be printed. The town itself has one main drag, about a mile from end to end; in the two lanes, only one is drivable, the sidewalks are crammed with sellers end to end and foot traffic in the shoulders moving at the speed of smell. Even more, behind the vendors are restaurants, bars, carnival games with customers overflowing on every side, occupying every conceivable space in or around an establishment. And it was like this for days.

I like warm weather, traveling, enjoying the company of others, live music, and so does Brendan. Spring Scream was a perfect fit but there were problems early on. This event was so popular that the bullet train that runs from Taipei all the way south was in every way completely sold out. Ugh. We checked the normal slow train, completely sold out. Blah. Using my personal network, a friend of mine had hired a charter bus and there were a few seats left, yahtzee! We got on Saturday morning along with about two dozen other Westerners. Here are the highlights from the trip down: it took over nine hours, I met some cool people, I had to listen to some other not cool people talk loudly and stupidly, Hollywood made 'Transporter 3' (why?), our bus driver's name was Felix who can drive and kiss hot girls out of the side of his mouth (see picture for details), and I watched half a season of Mad Men on my iPod. I don't care how small the screen is, it sure beats overhearing some obnoxious, American jackass talking about French politics to a guy from France who had this look in his eyes that said, "zey are all zeh same, zey 'ave no business 'ere, pig dog!!!" American ambassador of the worst variety, merde.

The hordes of traffic significantly slowed our approach into the town, a quick turn off the main drag and the bus was evacuated in a hurry. Duffel bags in hand, we went to the main drag where a friend was working and who would be letting us crash in her apartment for the next few days. Pushing through, we found here jewelry tables between a 7Eleven and a hotel looking overwhelmed with all the quick hands passing shiny earrings and bracelets back and forth. Not the best time for reunions, a fast hi and bye, drop off the bags and get into the action. I had some meat on a stick to get things warmed up, some spicy Korean rice cakes (not the Quaker kind, they are shaped like chapstick and are like a thick, chewy noodle, amazing!), some more meat on a stick, maybe organs, and a cold beverage to settle everything.

At one end of town, in front of a Starbucks, Taiwan beer put up a huge stage to showcase their average product and Taiwanese bands. We ventured on over and saw some bands, most of them focusing on their appearance rather than their sound. Using fake fog, a lot of free beer being tossed into the crowd like hand grenades, and gogo dancers with temporary Taiwan beer tattoos strategically placed, the young crowd was bopping around and loving every second of it. Of course I couldn't understand the lyrics and the music was decent, but the energy and excitement was enough to get me going.

Around midnight, the town started to get even crazier. Below are some pictures of one of the least safe things I saw; a man lit a large box of multi-fireball exploding fireworks and decided to share it with everybody by walking down the street holding it above is head through the center of town.

Police? They were on traffic detail. Besides, everybody likes a pretty show, except if that pretty show is close enough to your eyes and ears to cause permanent damage.

How did the night end? Not early, a lot more coming, stay tuned.

Pingxi: Behind the Scenes

Let's go to Pingxi! Alright check the list first: super hip foreigners, check. Confused Taiwanese friends, check. Umbrellas, check. Train tickets, check. Ready to go! Of course I have no idea how long it takes to get there, what we will see or where it actually is, I do know we are going to send up a Sky Lantern. SPOILER ALERT: We did it, see post below.

Here are a few more pictures and a little bit more about this quiet, rural village and how every year it gets flooded with people who want the same things my travel partners and I wanted.

Pingxi (ping-SHE, kinda) is a tiny, rural town about 1.5 hours east of Taipei. About 5,000 Taiwanese call this their home and coming from 2,5000,000 in Taipei city proper, the differences were alarming. For example, Pingxi maybe only has half a dozen 7Elevens - oh the humanity! Like most rural areas, the rail system connects the old with the new and all the places in between. In case you didn't know, Taiwan's topography is seriously bumpy; the train tracks weave along mountainsides, dive through long tunnels, and eek up and down the elevations. Similar to the foot of the Rocky Mountains in the USA or New Zealand's South Island, the steep slopes are always within sight, looming quietly in the distance. Towns like Pingxi seem to exist randomly in valleys, a river cutting through the middle, kilometers away from the next signs of a town.

Still thought of as a traditional town, there isn't anything flashy about it. You aren't going to find the multiplex shopping center-car wash- day spa anywhere near here. Instead, you could small family-owned noodle shops, garment makers, tiny tea houses, one school, a few temples, and during this time of year, sky lantern producers. Tight, cobblestone paths weave around the small town center, only forms of transportation through these streets are scooters and donkeys. But there are no donkeys here so I guess just scooters.

On my drippy weekend visit, the town felt closed for business. Not a whole lot going on, many of the shops locked up in hopes for busier, sunnier days to follow. Still, all the Lantern Festival decorations that adorned the weary town reminded visitors of ongoing celebrations. The Lantern Festival is a robust, widely celebrated holiday in many parts of Asia; the legend of its origin is exciting, full of mystery and intrigue, and so long that I didn't finish it. But for the cliff notes version, you can find it here.

But one thing is for sure, the history of the actual sky lantern. Back in the good 'ole days of late 100s, a brilliant military strategist named Zhuge Liang was trapped behind enemy lines, separated from his forces. To attract attention, he sent up a hot air balloon alarming his friendly forces where he was and they quickly came to save the day in the nick of time, hooray! Furthermore, because of his savvyness and invention, today's lantern retains the shape of his traditional headdress, or hat to you or me, to remember the Chinese Benjamin Franklin.

In Pingxi, there are a mix of traditional and updated sky lantern shops. As detailed in the previous post, the idea is to write your wishes on the lantern, send it to the heavens for you-know-who to read, and hope that your prayers are answered. Wish for whatever you want: endless bowl of ice cream, good health, prosperity, to be on the next season of Dancing With The Stars, good luck. Whatever it may be, slap it on and send it high. To the left is a traditional way of preparing; select what color you want (each color represents a different 'theme'), write down your innermost desires with paint or marker in Chinese or English (for best results, use Chinese), and light the fuse. If you want to look really bad ass, like I always want to, attach a string of fireworks to the bottom, that way everybody will know you mean business.

Here, fellow foreigner Brendan writes down a few of his thoughts. I believe this one is dedicated to the Philadelphia Phillies and their triumphs in the upcoming season.

And here I am. So much pressure! What do I want? What should I ask for? How much Frank's Red Hot do I need for this life and the next? To make it simple, I went with the standards wishing-goodness. And to find a magic lamp with a genie that would grant me three wishes, upper-level thinking there.

On your mark, get set...

Goodbye and good luck! We watched until our magnificent creation floated over a ridge line, into a cloudy, gray abyss. Rain, wind, and cold couldn't stop our beacon of prayers. I was mesmerized, the flicker of candle getting smaller and smaller, a spec of red seemingly miles away shrinking before my eyes. Finally, poof, vanished. Hopefully omnipotent beings can read my sloppy penmanship. Suddenly, chills return to my bones, the damp mountain air reminds me of my earthly fragility. Coffee seems like the obvious solution and look towards the nearest 7Eleven. It is as far to me as my sky lantern is, what hell is this?!? I knew I forgot to wish for something...

Sky Lantern Launch

A few weeks ago marked another Chinese holiday for me to experience. This time, I was an actual participant instead of a confused outsider. The fifteenth day of the first month in the Chinese lunar calendar marks the Lantern Festival (my next post will be about the holiday) and a fun tradition of sending up small hot air balloons into the sky recklessly. Here's how:

1. Buy a sky lantern at the local sky lantern distributor. We traveled to Pingxi (ping-SHE), Taiwan, a place that is famous for the holiday celebration.

2. Write your wishes for the year, or any thoughts you'd like to share with the Gods, on the side. You could write Chinese, English, draw pictures, whatever suits you. I'm pretty confident omnipotent beings will be able to interpret your messages, or at least call their nephew who is taking English at the local cram school to help them translate.

2A. For added bonus, attach a string of fireworks to the end to attract attention to your floating masterpiece of hopes and dreams.

3. Set the thing on fire, light your firecrackers, run away and hope for the best.

4. Watch it float until you can't see it anymore. Pray that it doesn't fall from the sky and set fire to anybody's residence or business. That is the opposite of good luck for your upcoming year.

If you followed these instructions carefully, it should look like this...

Here is a quick FAQ in case there are problems:

Q: My house is on fire, did I do something wrong?

A: Yes you did, common mistake however, easily fixed. After putting out the fire by your own means or through the good graces of your local fire department, trying sending up your sky lantern outdoors instead of indoors. Your house isn't nearly high enough for the Gods to read your wishes and it is called a sky lantern, not a ceiling lantern, for very good reasons.

Q: What kinds of wishes work best?

A: That depends. I've found it best to wish for the well-being of friends and family, good luck and fortune for the year, and good health. But if you want to try to obtain a heavenly supply of endless chicken wings, the ability to seduce a piece of fruit with your wind, or merely win a ba-jillion dollars, give it a try.

Q: Who can use a sky lantern?

A: Anybody! But make sure you use under adult supervision and make sure that adult has adult supervision. Young, old, short, tall, ugly, unfunny, illiterate, sarcastic, boring, drunks, dishonest, lazy, rude, and more are able to be a part of this amazing spectacle. For best results, gather one person for each of the previous words and make it a team-building activity. Have fun!

Snacker Self-Help

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Giraffe Field Trip - Day 2

Too many sheep in one day can really stress anybody out. Bleats of our bushy friends reverberated through the valley making any possible effort at relaxing difficult. Getting lost in the scenery was quickly diminished after stepping in their leftovers a few times, and I'm not talking about food. But the kids are having a good time, all still alive, and a visit to the hot spring is right around the corner.

Destination #2: Hot Spring Hotel

Nottaclue, Taiwan

This should have gone in the previous post but I was feeling uninspired at the time. After all the sheep had outrun the children, it was time to move on. Back on the tour bus once again, I was informed that our next stop was the hotel for some dinner and R&R. But this wasn't just any hotel; under foundation of this place (and many others in the town) were natural hot springs. Taiwan is located in the collision zone of two tectonic plates. For centuries, indigenous people knew about them but paid no attention, it is after all really hot and sometimes that hurts. But under Japanese control in the late 1800s, their own culture rich with hot soaking, the spas and hotels began to develop. Which brings me to the hotel. While the kids splashed in a pool off to the side, I was being blasted by a stream of hot water powerful enough to strip paint from a wall. While the kids were drying off, I was in a sauna sweating out months of poor behavior. And while the kids were being brought back to the rooms, I was enjoying some hydrotherapy on my back with water so hot it changed the color of my hair. Quick sidenote: when getting into the sauna I missed a small step, slipped a little and fell forwards. Luckily my hand caught my balance on the sweaty inner-thigh of a man in a speedo tipping the scales at 300lbs, also the only person in chamber. International incident avoided, sustained awkwardness achieved.

Destination #3: Formosan Aboriginal Culture Village

Yuchi, Nantou County

Of course the time spent away from my pupils evaporated as quickly as my muscle aches. I'm technically on duty, shortly after the kids are back in the room I return to survey the damage. Like I imagined, my roommates have learned nothing about the how to dry their suits and towels. No Michael, this shirt will not get dry balled up in the sink. Titan, please hang your towel on the shower curtain rod and not the lid of the toilet. After vigorously beating them with pillows, some mindless TV to numb trauma and a little gameboy, lights out. My roommates Michael, Titan and Andrew were as worn out as I was. Worn out enough that a few minutes later, one of my roomies began snoring something awful. It was what I imagine to be the sound from the combination of a blackhole closing up and massive hog that just received some terrible news. Really kid?

Bright and early, time for the morning feed. Here is almost a complete picture of the little monkeys. From left to right is Andrew, Titan, myself and Michael. By far, the funniest breakfast meal I've had, there may have been a stoned chef in the back. Not to be confused with bad taste, it was the offering that made me smile, here is the list: chicken nuggets, scrambled eggs, salad bar, rice, toast, cereal, pork lo mein, hot and sour soup, pizza and a few more things. Don't tell kids in America that over here they eat chicken nuggets for breakfast, one of the only times you'll hear a 10-year old American kid say "I WANT TO GO TO TAAAAAAAAAAIWAAAAAN!!!"

Back on the bus, an hour away to Sun Moon Lake. The lake is super famous in the country; home to the Thao tribe, this spectacular body of water represents holy ground for them and talked about extensively in their folktales. It is also the largest body of water in Taiwan and hosts a 3-km race during the Mid-Autumn festivals.

The culture village was on the other side of a hill as big as a mountain but the crafty Taiwanese had installed a gondola about twenty years earlier, good work! The monkeys and I got into our skyward cube, enjoying the spectacular views. Well, they enjoyed spitting out of it into the forest below but I took a lot of pictures.

Arriving on the other side at 11:00AM, we are handed maps and are taken inside the park. Once there, our guide says meet here at 3:30PM, adios. The park has the largest European garden in the country AND the largest outdoor museum in the country including nine different villages highlighting Taiwan's earliest tribes. Or you could do what I did: eat corndogs, ride a merry-go-round 59 times, eat corndogs, play videogames, ride a tram, get sick from corndogs. There were much bigger rides that peaked my interest but motion sickness really bummed out my partners in crime. And I didn't feel like cleaning up their motion sickness. But we had a great time; I bought them ice cream, we ran around a lot and made it back to the meeting point on time. My bosses were surprised but pleased.

Back on the odorous coach, ready to get back to the city. During the daylight, the views were simply phenomenal; I had no idea the country had this kind of natural splendor. It actually reminded me of New Zealand. Winding roads hugging the mountain on one side and a steep drop on the other, rivers carving through the valleys and eating away the luminescent limestone masses, leafy flora growth stretching endlessly. A great break from the city, a bluer sky and certainly cleaner air. I'm very lucky my bosses took me and luckier that the kids are all well behaved. Without a doubt, I'll certainly be coming baaaaaaaah-ck....

Yikes.