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.