It was the day of our little Taitung Carp Mountain neighborhoods twice annual block party. It usually consisted of many covered dishes, a large tent, raffles and a karaoke stage. There were very few English language songs. Local luminaries showed up for windy political speeches. Excellent music performances were invited from all corners of the island. I kind of suspected that this would be my last block party. My wife, Kate had been giving me the classic “3C” restrictions – No communication, No contact, No coitus – for 3 years.
I made pasta and cookies for the dinner. I won a dish drier rack in the raffle. It seemed appropriate as I had washed a considerable number of dishes cooking.
The last event was the karaoke open mic. So, why was I up there singing Wu Bai's Tong Ku Da Ren and George Michael's Careless Whisper? I didn't even like the song.
It just seemed appropriate.
To understand the dynamic, you'd have to go back some years.
When we moved into the neighborhood, it was at the referral of Kates former clasmate. Her name was Rosa. Her husband, Michael and I got to be really good friends, having many things in common, carpentry, steel work, mechanics, a love of the great outdoors.
Michael kept to himself, unlike his wife who had her nose in everybody's business. She was all too often coming to our house with,“ Did you hear about so and so …,” and the conversation would fall into hushed whispers. There was a conspiratorial air about all of her conversations.
It was a standard device for winning someone's camaraderie, use gossip to create a false aura of trust, and then use it to bait and hook when there is something that you want. It wasn't too hard as Kate had very few friends, and was not well adjusted to social manipulations.
Jane and Jerome Chen were on the no tuition program. Father had died. Mother, Miss Chen, had 3 kids and no job. So, I suggested that we hire Miss Chen to do our house cleaning at 7pm, while we had classes. This way Kate and I would not have to do it at 9 pm. It would be a good way to provide an income for her. This worked very well for several months. She did an excellent job, was quiet as a moth. Then, Rose found out. Rose then used her influence on Kate. “My mother sits at home all day and feels useless. She could use the opportunity to get out. Also, she could use the money for her annual trip abroad. “
None of that made sense to me. I knew Rosa was a busybody and expected the same from her mom. After several days of arguing which grew to serious bitterness, we were saddled with Old Rosa, who insinuated herself into our lives like a chigger until she became a mole for her malicious daughter, gathering information for the gossip mill.
So, with all the gossip flying from the Rosa network and from the friends who owned small businesses ( see “Heard it Through the Grapevine” ) and previous classmates, and 5 sisters our lives were ruled, misruled and ultimately ruined by misinformation.
Kate has never been able to understand that one cannot believe all of the gossip. Wisdom demands that we put a stop to it by dropping friends who thrive on gossip. Ultimately it was minor insecurities fed by gossip which are the undermining of many loving relations. Everyone of the world's religions and social systems warns of the evils of gossip. Yet, we persist in feeding this demon.
Walls
We live our lives the way we build our houses; a house, small yard and a high wall around it, the wall topped with shards of broken glass to discourage people from climbing over. In fact, this is a perfect metaphor or our social lives. What goes on beyond the wall, is none of our concern.
We develop less then cheerful visage so as to prevent people from peering over the wall.
I have lived with these walls all over Taiwan. In Fang Liao, Pingtung an agrarian community, an empty lot with an orchard was next to our house. It was infested with vermin and insects. We had decided to clean it up and plant. As it turned out, all of the neighbors had been throwing their refuse over the wall for year. It was knee deep in rubbish of every kind.
Variations on the broken glass toppings include barbed wire and even razor wire.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Careless whisper
It was the day of our little Taitung Carp Mountain neighborhoods twice annual block party. It usually consisted of many covered dishes, a large tent, raffles and a karaoke stage. There were very few English language songs. Local luminaries showed up for windy political speeches. Excellent music performances were invited from all corners of the island. I kind of suspected that this would be my last block party. I had been enduring the classic “3C” restrictions – No communication, No contact, No coitus – for 3 years.
I made pasta and cookies for the dinner. I won a dish drier rack in the raffle. It seemed appropriate as I had washed a considerable number of dishes cooking.
The last event was the karaoke open mic. So, why was I up there singing Wu Bai's Tong Ku Da Ren and George Michael's Careless Whisper? I didn't even like the song.
It just seemed appropriate.
To understand the dynamic, you'd have to go back some years.
When we moved into the neighborhood, it was at the referral my wife, Kate. Her name was Rosa. Her husband, Michael and I got to be really good friends, having many things in common, carpentry, steel work, mechanics, a love of the great outdoors.
Michael pretty much kept to himself, unlike his wife who had her nose in everybody's business. She was all too often coming to our house with,“ Did you hear about so and so …,” and the conversation would fall into hushed whispers. There was a conspiratorial air about all of her conversations.
It was a standard device for winning someone's camaraderie, use gossip to create a false aura of trust, and then use it to bait and hook when there is something that you want. It wasn't too hard as Kate had very few friends, and was not well adjusted to social manipulations.
Jane and Jerome Chen were on the no tuition program. Father had died. Mother, Miss Chen, had 3 kids and no job. So, I suggested that we hire Miss Chen to do our house cleaning at 7pm, while we had classes. This way Kate and I would not have to do it at 9 pm. It would be a good way to provide an income for her. This worked very well for several months. She did an excellent job, was quiet as a moth. Then, Rose found out. Rose then used her influence on Kate. “My mother sits at home all day and feels useless. She could use the opportunity to get out. Also, she could use the money for her annual trip abroad. I helped you get started, here.“
None of that made sense to me. I knew Rosa was a busybody and expected the same from her mom. After several days of arguing which grew to serious bitterness, we were saddled with Old Rosa, who insinuated herself into our lives like a chigger until she became a mole for her malicious daughter, gathering information for the gossip mill.
So, with all the gossip flying from the Rosa network and from the friends who owned small businesses ( see “Heard it Through the Grapevine” ) and previous classmates, and 5 sisters our lives were ruled and misruled by misinformation.
Kate has never been able to understand that one cannot believe all of the gossip. Wisdom demands that we put a stop to it by dropping friends who thrive on gossip. Ultimately it was minor insecurities fed by gossip which are the undermining of many loving relations.
I made pasta and cookies for the dinner. I won a dish drier rack in the raffle. It seemed appropriate as I had washed a considerable number of dishes cooking.
The last event was the karaoke open mic. So, why was I up there singing Wu Bai's Tong Ku Da Ren and George Michael's Careless Whisper? I didn't even like the song.
It just seemed appropriate.
To understand the dynamic, you'd have to go back some years.
When we moved into the neighborhood, it was at the referral my wife, Kate. Her name was Rosa. Her husband, Michael and I got to be really good friends, having many things in common, carpentry, steel work, mechanics, a love of the great outdoors.
Michael pretty much kept to himself, unlike his wife who had her nose in everybody's business. She was all too often coming to our house with,“ Did you hear about so and so …,” and the conversation would fall into hushed whispers. There was a conspiratorial air about all of her conversations.
It was a standard device for winning someone's camaraderie, use gossip to create a false aura of trust, and then use it to bait and hook when there is something that you want. It wasn't too hard as Kate had very few friends, and was not well adjusted to social manipulations.
Jane and Jerome Chen were on the no tuition program. Father had died. Mother, Miss Chen, had 3 kids and no job. So, I suggested that we hire Miss Chen to do our house cleaning at 7pm, while we had classes. This way Kate and I would not have to do it at 9 pm. It would be a good way to provide an income for her. This worked very well for several months. She did an excellent job, was quiet as a moth. Then, Rose found out. Rose then used her influence on Kate. “My mother sits at home all day and feels useless. She could use the opportunity to get out. Also, she could use the money for her annual trip abroad. I helped you get started, here.“
None of that made sense to me. I knew Rosa was a busybody and expected the same from her mom. After several days of arguing which grew to serious bitterness, we were saddled with Old Rosa, who insinuated herself into our lives like a chigger until she became a mole for her malicious daughter, gathering information for the gossip mill.
So, with all the gossip flying from the Rosa network and from the friends who owned small businesses ( see “Heard it Through the Grapevine” ) and previous classmates, and 5 sisters our lives were ruled and misruled by misinformation.
Kate has never been able to understand that one cannot believe all of the gossip. Wisdom demands that we put a stop to it by dropping friends who thrive on gossip. Ultimately it was minor insecurities fed by gossip which are the undermining of many loving relations.
Michael - 1987 – present, Kaohsiung, Hong Kong
I'm at the KH airport, boarding gate, minutes before boarding. I'm going to Hon g Kong on a visa trip. It's late afternoon and I thumb through Time magazine during the last few minutes. Across from me is a rotund Taiwanese man, about my age, jovial smile, “Good afternoon.” he greets me, as our eyes meet. “My name is Michael.”
“Hello. My name is Malcolm.” I reply in teacher talk. I expect to go through a series of ESL routines like, “ Hello-how-are-I-am-fine-and-you.”
“Malcolm,” half asking, and then before I can say anything, “like Welcome, with an 'M'. It's a common name in Australia”
I have a feeling that this is not going to be your average English chat session. I decide to overlook the difference in the vowels. It's a good mnemonic. I use it to this day, when I introduce myself.
So, I wasn't too surprised to hear, “Have a good die”.
I raised my eyebrows, “excuse me?”
“In Australia, that is how they speak. The first time I heard it, I said,'what? who died?'”
OK. This is not gonna be your ordinary chat.”You're English is very good.”
“No, where, where.”
We both laughed at his parody of the Chinese expression of modesty. I felt as if I were in the presence of the Laughing Buddha ( 笑佛 )
Here's my card. Call me when you come back to Taiwan. Maybe you can teach my office staff.”
We exchanged cards and promised to get in touch.
When I returned from Hong Kong, being quit involved with a project, I postponed calling Michael for a couple of weeks. When I did call him, he recognized my voice right away,” Ma Tai-i. I am so glad you called. Tell me where you are. I will come and pick you up. “
“There's no need. I can take a cab.”
“No, I insist.”
He picked me up on Wu Fu Road and took me to his music school and trading company in Fong San. I met his mother, his office staff, mostly relatives Over the next 2 hours, he called in many of his sales staff and his kids to meet me. And we drank a lot of tea. I t became apparent to me that this man was the center post of a tent, a very large tent, consisting of a very extended family, a music school, a day care, a trading company, a construction company and an active life with the Lion's Club.
He told me how he used to work in the foreign affairs police department but was disillusioned by certain inconsistencies between what is practiced and what is preached.
“What do you call it when the power of relationships is used to go around the law?”
“Nepotism?”
“Yes, that is it.”
Within a week I was teaching his office staff, a month his immediate family, in 2 months his extended family to prepare them for emigration. I began to wonder if I hadn't, at some time, inadvertently rubbed his belly.
I could write a book on Michael and his beautiful family. The times we shared are among my fondest memories of Taiwan. Whenever the drudgery of life got me down, thoughts of him encouraged and inspired me. Never in my life have a known a man to have such even temper, quiet patient wisdom, thoughtful consideration for his family and his staff. He lived by a code ethic which he kept to himself. Through his actions, over the years one could discern it. He was consistent, never a double standard. He was a mountain of a man in character. And like a mountain provides water, wildlife, shade, runoff soil for the ecosystem below. He too was very good provider for all who touched him.
“Hello. My name is Malcolm.” I reply in teacher talk. I expect to go through a series of ESL routines like, “ Hello-how-are-I-am-fine-and-you.”
“Malcolm,” half asking, and then before I can say anything, “like Welcome, with an 'M'. It's a common name in Australia”
I have a feeling that this is not going to be your average English chat session. I decide to overlook the difference in the vowels. It's a good mnemonic. I use it to this day, when I introduce myself.
So, I wasn't too surprised to hear, “Have a good die”.
I raised my eyebrows, “excuse me?”
“In Australia, that is how they speak. The first time I heard it, I said,'what? who died?'”
OK. This is not gonna be your ordinary chat.”You're English is very good.”
“No, where, where.”
We both laughed at his parody of the Chinese expression of modesty. I felt as if I were in the presence of the Laughing Buddha ( 笑佛 )
Here's my card. Call me when you come back to Taiwan. Maybe you can teach my office staff.”
We exchanged cards and promised to get in touch.
When I returned from Hong Kong, being quit involved with a project, I postponed calling Michael for a couple of weeks. When I did call him, he recognized my voice right away,” Ma Tai-i. I am so glad you called. Tell me where you are. I will come and pick you up. “
“There's no need. I can take a cab.”
“No, I insist.”
He picked me up on Wu Fu Road and took me to his music school and trading company in Fong San. I met his mother, his office staff, mostly relatives Over the next 2 hours, he called in many of his sales staff and his kids to meet me. And we drank a lot of tea. I t became apparent to me that this man was the center post of a tent, a very large tent, consisting of a very extended family, a music school, a day care, a trading company, a construction company and an active life with the Lion's Club.
He told me how he used to work in the foreign affairs police department but was disillusioned by certain inconsistencies between what is practiced and what is preached.
“What do you call it when the power of relationships is used to go around the law?”
“Nepotism?”
“Yes, that is it.”
Within a week I was teaching his office staff, a month his immediate family, in 2 months his extended family to prepare them for emigration. I began to wonder if I hadn't, at some time, inadvertently rubbed his belly.
I could write a book on Michael and his beautiful family. The times we shared are among my fondest memories of Taiwan. Whenever the drudgery of life got me down, thoughts of him encouraged and inspired me. Never in my life have a known a man to have such even temper, quiet patient wisdom, thoughtful consideration for his family and his staff. He lived by a code ethic which he kept to himself. Through his actions, over the years one could discern it. He was consistent, never a double standard. He was a mountain of a man in character. And like a mountain provides water, wildlife, shade, runoff soil for the ecosystem below. He too was very good provider for all who touched him.
Gestation - Taipei 1987
In 1987 Taipei was a bustling metropolis of cash, currencies, gold, smog, dust where a Benz SLK shared the same lane as a wooden cart pulled by a water buffalo, where a traffic accident involving 3 Benz's was not unusual. It was too much for me. I missed going home to the quiet pastoral suburban dorms of Pohang Iron and Steel Company in Korea.
I spent 10 days and 10,000 NT touring the island looking at alternatives. I returned
to Taipei and decided to give it a chance.
There was no escaping the noise of construction, traffic or destruction. In 7 months I lived at several different locations.
I got to know the pubs. I networked more than I drank. A year in Korea had increased my tolerance. There were no discos, the nightclubs catered to Taiwan businessmen. But there was a growing number of western style pubs which attracted foreign business people, English teachers and local women trawling for foreign men either to practice their English or for long term or short term relationships.
I was thoroughly unprepared for winter in Taipei. The cement buildings and marble floors magnified the cold. The thin blankets that came with my meager rented room were inadequate. One night, as a last resort I poured out a puddle of Kao Liang liquor on the floor and lit it on fire. I fed the fire a cup at a time until I warmed enough to stop shivering.
While living in Mucha, 3 blocks from the graveyard, weekends were impossible. The funeral processions started early Sat and Sun mornings. Enjoying the wrong lifestyle, pub crawling until sunset. We closed the pubs, bought bags of beer and climbed the unfinished stairs of the steel cement skeletons which would soon be the skyscrapers you see today. In the darkness from level to level we saw pairs of eyes peering out at us, and a strange language which was definitely not Chinese, nor Taiwanese. Dark skin, broad shouldered, swarthy men and women, were sleeping on the levels of the raw cement building, on layers of cardboard, wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets, strumming guitars, drinking Whisbih.
After 9 months, human gestation period, I decided Taipei was not for me; New York with single fold eye-lids. I found that I was getting nothing while spending a lot of money and body fluids. I grabbed the opportunity to move south.
I spent 10 days and 10,000 NT touring the island looking at alternatives. I returned
to Taipei and decided to give it a chance.
There was no escaping the noise of construction, traffic or destruction. In 7 months I lived at several different locations.
I got to know the pubs. I networked more than I drank. A year in Korea had increased my tolerance. There were no discos, the nightclubs catered to Taiwan businessmen. But there was a growing number of western style pubs which attracted foreign business people, English teachers and local women trawling for foreign men either to practice their English or for long term or short term relationships.
I was thoroughly unprepared for winter in Taipei. The cement buildings and marble floors magnified the cold. The thin blankets that came with my meager rented room were inadequate. One night, as a last resort I poured out a puddle of Kao Liang liquor on the floor and lit it on fire. I fed the fire a cup at a time until I warmed enough to stop shivering.
While living in Mucha, 3 blocks from the graveyard, weekends were impossible. The funeral processions started early Sat and Sun mornings. Enjoying the wrong lifestyle, pub crawling until sunset. We closed the pubs, bought bags of beer and climbed the unfinished stairs of the steel cement skeletons which would soon be the skyscrapers you see today. In the darkness from level to level we saw pairs of eyes peering out at us, and a strange language which was definitely not Chinese, nor Taiwanese. Dark skin, broad shouldered, swarthy men and women, were sleeping on the levels of the raw cement building, on layers of cardboard, wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets, strumming guitars, drinking Whisbih.
After 9 months, human gestation period, I decided Taipei was not for me; New York with single fold eye-lids. I found that I was getting nothing while spending a lot of money and body fluids. I grabbed the opportunity to move south.
She wears the pants - Da Liao, 2003
She wears the pants
During my years in Taiwan I never saw any overt signs of a women's movement like we had in the states during the last half of the 20th century. I wondered why. Back home we developed an image of Asian women as a severely oppressed group, subservient to their male counterparts, restricted and reviled. When we get here, we see nothing of the sort.
There were a number of events that helped me understand the nature of the man woman relationship in Taiwan.
I was negotiating a property management deal for a house in Taimali. The owner, Mr Huang, lived in Chao Dzo. He picked me up at the station. We went to his house. We sat at a small simple table and chairs meticulously arranged on the sidewalk in front of his house. He also had his friend Mr. Linn, a property broker, join us.
They went to great lengths to arrange the seating just right. The small square folding table was against a wall. I faced the wall. Mr Huang was to my left. Mr Lin was to my right. There was one extra chair next to Mr Huang, but not really at the table. We drank green tea. I proceeded to outline my proposal. He said, “ Oh, no wait. My wife will be down in a minute.“
So, we talked the usual foreigner talk; food, weather, climate and the always unnerving,” What do you think of Taiwan women?” When Mrs Huang arrived, I stood up, moving my chair over to make room for her at the table. I picked up her chair to move it closer to the table.
“ Oh, no, that's quite alright,” quickly moving the chair back to its original location.
She took the seat next to, slightly behind her husband. I noticed that she was just within his peripheral vision. A lot of shifting and adjusting ensued, a centimeter this way and that way. I was so caught up in the drama, I lost my attention to the topic. Mr. Linn sat patiently, quietly through all of this as if he were familiar with it.
“So, umm. Let's go over this rental agreement.” And, I noticed that every time I asked a question of Mr Huang, Mrs. Huang would lean forward just a tad, barely discernible, just enough to bring herself into his peripheral vision. He would hesitate. Then, she would nod or shake her head, ghostlike, ever so slightly. He would speak and she would resume her default position.
I was reminded of a wealthy woman in the back seat of a chauffeur driven car. By the end of the discussion I was so fed up with the charade, I turned to the wife and looked her square in the face and said,” Your property is going to waste by erosion and vandals. You are not gonna get a better chance than this. You have my number. Call me when you decide. Have a good day.”
On the drive back, I began to see this interaction as a metaphor for how so many households are managed. She drives, discretely from the back seat allowing him all the outward appearances of power and prestige.
Later I related this incident to my cultural consultant. “In traditional Chinese household, generally, man has his domain and woman has hers. Duty. Generally.” and he said no more as if leaving me an open door.
I took the bait,” So what is his domain, what is her domain?”
“Generally,“ he continued,” man is responsible for everything outside the house. Woman's duty is everything inside the house; the shopping, cooking, kids, family relations.”
“So what does that leave for the man?”
“The job and income, the farm, the social life. There is a balance of power. “ I thought about how many of my Taiwanese friends brought home their pay and handed it directly to their wives and when they needed money they would ask, “ Lao-paw, gay wo -i- dien chien, how bu how?” -Wife, give me some pocket money, please.-
“Maybe that's why so many men bring home the money and give it to the missus.
“ Why do you think?” he asked.
“ It gives them leverage,” and , “perhaps, he is bad at math,” I added with a grin.
“ Leverage,” Paul contemplated that. Then, after a moment, with a mischievous grin he made a gesture like a cup, “Women retain,” and the a gesture like a shaft,” Men, spend.”
“ Lai, lai,” as we lifted our cups to drink.
I considered one of my paragliding business relations, Da Xi, who handles all of the money coming into his business. But when it comes to pay outs,” See my wife.” This made it easier for him to manage the social aspect of his business relations. His wife is cast socially as the fierce guard, a pit bull, a junk yard dog.
Paul continued, “ In America what is the divorce rate?”
“Over 50%.”
“If you maintained a balance of power you would not have this problem.” he instructed.
“Well, in a post-industrial society things are a little more complex. In a 2 income family, the man really has no domain anymore. This traditional formula is obsolete.”
“He just laughed.” You see, his wife lived in another city, 5 hours away where she ran her own business. She visited once or twice a year and left the child rearing and household to him.
During my years in Taiwan I never saw any overt signs of a women's movement like we had in the states during the last half of the 20th century. I wondered why. Back home we developed an image of Asian women as a severely oppressed group, subservient to their male counterparts, restricted and reviled. When we get here, we see nothing of the sort.
There were a number of events that helped me understand the nature of the man woman relationship in Taiwan.
I was negotiating a property management deal for a house in Taimali. The owner, Mr Huang, lived in Chao Dzo. He picked me up at the station. We went to his house. We sat at a small simple table and chairs meticulously arranged on the sidewalk in front of his house. He also had his friend Mr. Linn, a property broker, join us.
They went to great lengths to arrange the seating just right. The small square folding table was against a wall. I faced the wall. Mr Huang was to my left. Mr Lin was to my right. There was one extra chair next to Mr Huang, but not really at the table. We drank green tea. I proceeded to outline my proposal. He said, “ Oh, no wait. My wife will be down in a minute.“
So, we talked the usual foreigner talk; food, weather, climate and the always unnerving,” What do you think of Taiwan women?” When Mrs Huang arrived, I stood up, moving my chair over to make room for her at the table. I picked up her chair to move it closer to the table.
“ Oh, no, that's quite alright,” quickly moving the chair back to its original location.
She took the seat next to, slightly behind her husband. I noticed that she was just within his peripheral vision. A lot of shifting and adjusting ensued, a centimeter this way and that way. I was so caught up in the drama, I lost my attention to the topic. Mr. Linn sat patiently, quietly through all of this as if he were familiar with it.
“So, umm. Let's go over this rental agreement.” And, I noticed that every time I asked a question of Mr Huang, Mrs. Huang would lean forward just a tad, barely discernible, just enough to bring herself into his peripheral vision. He would hesitate. Then, she would nod or shake her head, ghostlike, ever so slightly. He would speak and she would resume her default position.
I was reminded of a wealthy woman in the back seat of a chauffeur driven car. By the end of the discussion I was so fed up with the charade, I turned to the wife and looked her square in the face and said,” Your property is going to waste by erosion and vandals. You are not gonna get a better chance than this. You have my number. Call me when you decide. Have a good day.”
On the drive back, I began to see this interaction as a metaphor for how so many households are managed. She drives, discretely from the back seat allowing him all the outward appearances of power and prestige.
Later I related this incident to my cultural consultant. “In traditional Chinese household, generally, man has his domain and woman has hers. Duty. Generally.” and he said no more as if leaving me an open door.
I took the bait,” So what is his domain, what is her domain?”
“Generally,“ he continued,” man is responsible for everything outside the house. Woman's duty is everything inside the house; the shopping, cooking, kids, family relations.”
“So what does that leave for the man?”
“The job and income, the farm, the social life. There is a balance of power. “ I thought about how many of my Taiwanese friends brought home their pay and handed it directly to their wives and when they needed money they would ask, “ Lao-paw, gay wo -i- dien chien, how bu how?” -Wife, give me some pocket money, please.-
“Maybe that's why so many men bring home the money and give it to the missus.
“ Why do you think?” he asked.
“ It gives them leverage,” and , “perhaps, he is bad at math,” I added with a grin.
“ Leverage,” Paul contemplated that. Then, after a moment, with a mischievous grin he made a gesture like a cup, “Women retain,” and the a gesture like a shaft,” Men, spend.”
“ Lai, lai,” as we lifted our cups to drink.
I considered one of my paragliding business relations, Da Xi, who handles all of the money coming into his business. But when it comes to pay outs,” See my wife.” This made it easier for him to manage the social aspect of his business relations. His wife is cast socially as the fierce guard, a pit bull, a junk yard dog.
Paul continued, “ In America what is the divorce rate?”
“Over 50%.”
“If you maintained a balance of power you would not have this problem.” he instructed.
“Well, in a post-industrial society things are a little more complex. In a 2 income family, the man really has no domain anymore. This traditional formula is obsolete.”
“He just laughed.” You see, his wife lived in another city, 5 hours away where she ran her own business. She visited once or twice a year and left the child rearing and household to him.
Canceled Class - Kaoshiung 1987
One of my students called to cancel class today. In her early thirties, with 3 kids in kindergarten and elementary school, she drives a BMW. Her husband drives a Benz when he is in town. He's usually in China where they own a factory. Selina is a long, lean, leggy woman, built like a runway model. She is high maintenance. She often cancels class. She is active in the community, Majong club and frequent weddings. She takes medication 'for her nerves.'
“Hi Selina,” I answered.
“Teacher I'm sorry I have to cancel class today.”
“Oh, is everything O.K.?”I asked.
“I am in the hospital,” she confessed.
“Are you alright?”
“Nothing serious. Minor surgery."
"Does it hurt much?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "This is my third time."
"I have the baby removed.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry.” I empathized.
She laughs nervously, “ Never mind. I have 3 already,” she consoled.
“How does your husband feel about this?” I wondered.
“He doesn't care. “
“Oh.”
“It's not his.”
“Oh.”
“Hi Selina,” I answered.
“Teacher I'm sorry I have to cancel class today.”
“Oh, is everything O.K.?”I asked.
“I am in the hospital,” she confessed.
“Are you alright?”
“Nothing serious. Minor surgery."
"Does it hurt much?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "This is my third time."
"I have the baby removed.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry.” I empathized.
She laughs nervously, “ Never mind. I have 3 already,” she consoled.
“How does your husband feel about this?” I wondered.
“He doesn't care. “
“Oh.”
“It's not his.”
“Oh.”
Passion for My Work, Kaohsiung 1987
I had a big day tomorrow and got to bed early. I had a rented 1 room on the first floor of a small apartment building. I shared the flat with a husband, wife and their 2 kids. It was a 1 block walk from the office were I was implementing a new English language program based on The Natural Approach. I have a passion for my work and this was a remarkable opportunity to get ahead of the curve bringing state of the art methods to this small city.
I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of a whisper my name. “Malcolm, Malcolm”.
I walked over to the window. It was Sunny, my co-worker. A petite cute, homely looking woman. She had offered to share her flat with me. I was concerned about propriety.
It looked like trouble from the start. 3 days earlier, she had taken me to her 2nd floor place to show me around. The whole space was open, like a loft, with tall windows all around, all 4 sides. It cost a small fortune in curtains. Sunny went up the stairs ahead of me, wearing the tiniest denim short shorts I had ever seen since leaving the New Jersey shore.
My eyes lapped up her velvety skin and I remarked, “ Nice view,” perhaps a ½ second too early as we had not reached the top of the stairs.
She replied,” yeah, but there's nothing to see, really,” and then stopped herself, looked down at me over her shoulder. She caught the direction of my gaze, and smirked coquettishly.
I detected a definite change in her gait.
What is it about chicks who have androgynous names, Tracey, Bobby, Sunny, Sandy, and the trouble that follows them.
I whispered out the window,”Hi Sunny. What can I do for you?”
“I lost my key and can't get into my house. Can I stay with you ?”
I could smell the alcohol through the screen.
She was loud and staggering.
“No, this is not what you want to do. Call your girlfriend and go home.”
“ Please, please, Malcolm.” She got louder.
The next window was my landlord and his wife.
“Shhhhh. I'll open the door. But you sleep on the bed, I sleep on the floor. Agreed?
“ Agreed.”
The steel roll down door was like a dragon going up. She stooped to get in and banged her head. “ Ow, shit.”
“OK. We have a meeting in the morning to discuss the new curriculum and marketing strategy. We need to be alert and alive at 7 a.m. OK? “
“ Whatever you see.”
I carried her to the bed, tucked her in fully clothed and took a blanket to the floor.
5 minutes later, I feel her on the floor spooning me.
I scooped her up and place her back on the bed.
5 minutes later, she was back again, spooning me and cradling my little friend.
“ Oh, Sunny, you don't want this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“ But I don't.”
I turned her down a 4th time. ”Alright, if I do this will you then let me sleep?”
“En.”
If I exhaust her she'll fall asleep. Then we can all get some sleep. There is an old adage about urinating where you eat. I knew that I would regret this later.
I tried not to let myself get swept away in the passion.
I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of a whisper my name. “Malcolm, Malcolm”.
I walked over to the window. It was Sunny, my co-worker. A petite cute, homely looking woman. She had offered to share her flat with me. I was concerned about propriety.
It looked like trouble from the start. 3 days earlier, she had taken me to her 2nd floor place to show me around. The whole space was open, like a loft, with tall windows all around, all 4 sides. It cost a small fortune in curtains. Sunny went up the stairs ahead of me, wearing the tiniest denim short shorts I had ever seen since leaving the New Jersey shore.
My eyes lapped up her velvety skin and I remarked, “ Nice view,” perhaps a ½ second too early as we had not reached the top of the stairs.
She replied,” yeah, but there's nothing to see, really,” and then stopped herself, looked down at me over her shoulder. She caught the direction of my gaze, and smirked coquettishly.
I detected a definite change in her gait.
What is it about chicks who have androgynous names, Tracey, Bobby, Sunny, Sandy, and the trouble that follows them.
I whispered out the window,”Hi Sunny. What can I do for you?”
“I lost my key and can't get into my house. Can I stay with you ?”
I could smell the alcohol through the screen.
She was loud and staggering.
“No, this is not what you want to do. Call your girlfriend and go home.”
“ Please, please, Malcolm.” She got louder.
The next window was my landlord and his wife.
“Shhhhh. I'll open the door. But you sleep on the bed, I sleep on the floor. Agreed?
“ Agreed.”
The steel roll down door was like a dragon going up. She stooped to get in and banged her head. “ Ow, shit.”
“OK. We have a meeting in the morning to discuss the new curriculum and marketing strategy. We need to be alert and alive at 7 a.m. OK? “
“ Whatever you see.”
I carried her to the bed, tucked her in fully clothed and took a blanket to the floor.
5 minutes later, I feel her on the floor spooning me.
I scooped her up and place her back on the bed.
5 minutes later, she was back again, spooning me and cradling my little friend.
“ Oh, Sunny, you don't want this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“ But I don't.”
I turned her down a 4th time. ”Alright, if I do this will you then let me sleep?”
“En.”
If I exhaust her she'll fall asleep. Then we can all get some sleep. There is an old adage about urinating where you eat. I knew that I would regret this later.
I tried not to let myself get swept away in the passion.
Rainbow Bridge/Kasa Taitung, 2002
Rainbow bridge
I was in the habit of rising at 5 and going directly to the work site, the future location of the Rainbow Bridge Cafe. It was formerly a devastated old farm house, 80 meters from the beach, on the edge of what would soon be the Taitung Beach Park.
I should start at the beginning. It occurred to me that teaching English in a classroom is an exercise in futility as a classroom is a sterile environment. I kept an eye out for some place that make a live English setting, something with low cost western food and drink and space for various activities, part indoors, part outdoors. I envisioned a place that would accommodate the three basic foreigner demographics; missionary, teacher, business, as well as the local people. I wanted a social center.
I looked at several places which were all too expensive, to small, too closed, too remote.... On one of my regular runs to the recycler at the garbage dump on the town beach I spied beneath a large pile of rubbish and rubble, the remains of an old farm house. The roof and walls were intact. The whole place was desolate for years and had become the neighborhood refuse pile.
I poked and probed around on the property trying to get into the house. With a cane knife and gloves it took 15 minutes to get in through the vines, weeds, tangle of lumber, steel, broken glass.
I was convinced that with a lot of hard work and some cooperation from others I could make it into an indoor outdoor cafe restaurant with a nice family atmosphere.
I knocked on the house next door, a wood cottage with lattice windows and a portico. The owner was a middle aged stately Taiwanese woman with features that told a story of years past of glamor and wealth. Behind her was a man in a wheel chair. She invited me in and We agreed in principle on a 4 year lease at 10,000 NT, I get the first 6 months rent free in exchange for cleaning up. I went home to write the contract. I had learned long ago that off the shelf contracts are a rip off. If you want a good deal, you can get one. You just have to write your own contract.
People think about the choices which are presented to them. So, I rewrote the contract introducing terms which I wanted the landlord to think about and excluding conditions which I didn't want her to think about. For example, I was making consider able improvements and investment in her property which there was no way I could uninstall should she decide to terminate the contract early. Now, most contracts stated that the tenant must return the property in the same condition as when they took possession. IN this case, that was ridiculous . I replaced it with a clause that stated that the landlord would have to reimburse me my invest of 150,000 NT if she terminated the contract early.
Before signing the contract I visited the neighbors to see how they felt about my plan. It would not do to start a project in a neighborhood that is not receptive to the idea. Most of the neighbors were very excited ad eager to help. “ Well, you can start by not throwing your rubbish here anymore. “
Some were lukewarm. They don't want to upset the status quo.” don't kill that plant. I use it for herbal medicine,” one neighbor demanded officiously.
So, I dug it up , potted it, and left It at her front door.
Started collecting flotsam and jetsam from the beach and the recycling centers. I asked all of my friends for plants, furniture, wall décor, beams, posts, ideas.
I acquired acetylene torches, hose and tanks to cut the vast amounts f steel beams that were scattered and mounted on the property. I hired a backhoe to dig a large hole and bury the organic rubbish.
One corner of the property adjacent the back door of the old Hai Bao Wang restaurant was knee deep n kitchen debris. I thought as I surveyed the mess, wouldn't it have been easier to just take out the garbage everyday rather than tossing it out the back door? With a rake and shovel I had to scoop it out and bury it. I plunged in not realizing that it was a haven for the biggest nastiest looking cockroaches I had ever seen in my life. After the initial shock, I realized that the only way to get 'er done was to ignore the things. So, for 3 hours, I wallowed in this filth driven only by a vision of a fine clean and green lawn and a garden pathway leading up to the cafe.
The land also had tons of steel trusses left over from a construction project nearby. Th e landlord insisted that I keep it all. I had sky hook stack it into a tunnel so that the neighbors could pass through under it and I could use the top as a deck.
It was right about this point that I took on a partner, Texas Dave. He showed me small sum of money to buy in as a partner. He was intelligent, aesthetic, and a very hard worker. His sheer persistence alone was worth the engagement. But he aggravated a lot of people with his single minded ultraconservative view and his Classic Texas 'frugality'.
One day I asked him to stop at the hardware store to buy a 50 NT box of nails to hammer down a couple dozen floor boards.
Picking up some rusty bent ones we had just removed he asked,” Why can't we just straighten them out and use them?”
He had an insatiable determination to be aesthetic. And more often than not he was. I was out of town one day and before going, we had a sit down to discuss what had to be done, a list of 23 items that were essential to the opening. We had already been on this project 6 months. That was 5 months too long. When I had returned and asked him what he had accomplished he replied, “Well you see that stone,” pointing to a stone about 1 ½ meters tall, “It was over there. I rolled it to the other end of the yard. I didn't like it there so I rolled it back.”
“Well, that was a Sisyphean labor,” trying to hide my dismay.
We were getting dangerously close to the opening date and we were no where near ready. Besides a long list of bureaucratic details, and a shopping spree to stock the shelves, I had a lot of wiring projects to do.
“ Is there anything I can help you with?” my partner asked.
“ Well, can you strip those wires and join them?”
“ Sure, no problem.”
I had measured and cut all the wires to length and needed only to connect them at their various junctions for lights, switches and outlets.
“Gimme a shout when you're done. “
Twenty minutes later, no shout, I went around the back to find my partner had stripped off about 18 inches of coating from the wires where a mere ½ would have been sufficient.
Never assume. Never assume that someone knows what their doing just because they say they do. “ You've never done this sort of thing before, have you.”
“Well, not really.”
Dave was a good one to give a muscle task. Give him a shovel and a tree root. He was also good at putting the finish on what I had started. I used an overhead projector to put an image of the world map, 3 meters tall and 6 meters across. It took a bit of marker work in the middle of the night. When I came back the next morning, he had feathered in all of the edges, the seas, so that it looked like a 200 year old parchment. It was nothing short of brilliant.
One of the biggest problems on this job site was that things made of metal kept disappearing. Soon I caught up with the local vagabond who collects scrap for recycling. I had to tell her 5 times that she was no longer welcome to come here to collect. I set up a bin and told her, “This for you. You take what we put in here, OK?”
We filled it with cans, bottles, paper. She was happy.
I enlisted the aid of the local drunks to move rubbish.
Opening day finally came around. I had to teach classes at my school , but rearranged my schedule with my partner there, my wife. So, at 8 pm, I was surprised to see her walking up the entrance way to the cafe. She pivoted left and right, saw only that there were 10 tables all of which were occupied with only women, between the ages of 17 and 35. Her mouth puckered like the south end of a north bound mule.
I knew there and then that I was going to have to get out of the cafe business.
I was in the habit of rising at 5 and going directly to the work site, the future location of the Rainbow Bridge Cafe. It was formerly a devastated old farm house, 80 meters from the beach, on the edge of what would soon be the Taitung Beach Park.
I should start at the beginning. It occurred to me that teaching English in a classroom is an exercise in futility as a classroom is a sterile environment. I kept an eye out for some place that make a live English setting, something with low cost western food and drink and space for various activities, part indoors, part outdoors. I envisioned a place that would accommodate the three basic foreigner demographics; missionary, teacher, business, as well as the local people. I wanted a social center.
I looked at several places which were all too expensive, to small, too closed, too remote.... On one of my regular runs to the recycler at the garbage dump on the town beach I spied beneath a large pile of rubbish and rubble, the remains of an old farm house. The roof and walls were intact. The whole place was desolate for years and had become the neighborhood refuse pile.
I poked and probed around on the property trying to get into the house. With a cane knife and gloves it took 15 minutes to get in through the vines, weeds, tangle of lumber, steel, broken glass.
I was convinced that with a lot of hard work and some cooperation from others I could make it into an indoor outdoor cafe restaurant with a nice family atmosphere.
I knocked on the house next door, a wood cottage with lattice windows and a portico. The owner was a middle aged stately Taiwanese woman with features that told a story of years past of glamor and wealth. Behind her was a man in a wheel chair. She invited me in and We agreed in principle on a 4 year lease at 10,000 NT, I get the first 6 months rent free in exchange for cleaning up. I went home to write the contract. I had learned long ago that off the shelf contracts are a rip off. If you want a good deal, you can get one. You just have to write your own contract.
People think about the choices which are presented to them. So, I rewrote the contract introducing terms which I wanted the landlord to think about and excluding conditions which I didn't want her to think about. For example, I was making consider able improvements and investment in her property which there was no way I could uninstall should she decide to terminate the contract early. Now, most contracts stated that the tenant must return the property in the same condition as when they took possession. IN this case, that was ridiculous . I replaced it with a clause that stated that the landlord would have to reimburse me my invest of 150,000 NT if she terminated the contract early.
Before signing the contract I visited the neighbors to see how they felt about my plan. It would not do to start a project in a neighborhood that is not receptive to the idea. Most of the neighbors were very excited ad eager to help. “ Well, you can start by not throwing your rubbish here anymore. “
Some were lukewarm. They don't want to upset the status quo.” don't kill that plant. I use it for herbal medicine,” one neighbor demanded officiously.
So, I dug it up , potted it, and left It at her front door.
Started collecting flotsam and jetsam from the beach and the recycling centers. I asked all of my friends for plants, furniture, wall décor, beams, posts, ideas.
I acquired acetylene torches, hose and tanks to cut the vast amounts f steel beams that were scattered and mounted on the property. I hired a backhoe to dig a large hole and bury the organic rubbish.
One corner of the property adjacent the back door of the old Hai Bao Wang restaurant was knee deep n kitchen debris. I thought as I surveyed the mess, wouldn't it have been easier to just take out the garbage everyday rather than tossing it out the back door? With a rake and shovel I had to scoop it out and bury it. I plunged in not realizing that it was a haven for the biggest nastiest looking cockroaches I had ever seen in my life. After the initial shock, I realized that the only way to get 'er done was to ignore the things. So, for 3 hours, I wallowed in this filth driven only by a vision of a fine clean and green lawn and a garden pathway leading up to the cafe.
The land also had tons of steel trusses left over from a construction project nearby. Th e landlord insisted that I keep it all. I had sky hook stack it into a tunnel so that the neighbors could pass through under it and I could use the top as a deck.
It was right about this point that I took on a partner, Texas Dave. He showed me small sum of money to buy in as a partner. He was intelligent, aesthetic, and a very hard worker. His sheer persistence alone was worth the engagement. But he aggravated a lot of people with his single minded ultraconservative view and his Classic Texas 'frugality'.
One day I asked him to stop at the hardware store to buy a 50 NT box of nails to hammer down a couple dozen floor boards.
Picking up some rusty bent ones we had just removed he asked,” Why can't we just straighten them out and use them?”
He had an insatiable determination to be aesthetic. And more often than not he was. I was out of town one day and before going, we had a sit down to discuss what had to be done, a list of 23 items that were essential to the opening. We had already been on this project 6 months. That was 5 months too long. When I had returned and asked him what he had accomplished he replied, “Well you see that stone,” pointing to a stone about 1 ½ meters tall, “It was over there. I rolled it to the other end of the yard. I didn't like it there so I rolled it back.”
“Well, that was a Sisyphean labor,” trying to hide my dismay.
We were getting dangerously close to the opening date and we were no where near ready. Besides a long list of bureaucratic details, and a shopping spree to stock the shelves, I had a lot of wiring projects to do.
“ Is there anything I can help you with?” my partner asked.
“ Well, can you strip those wires and join them?”
“ Sure, no problem.”
I had measured and cut all the wires to length and needed only to connect them at their various junctions for lights, switches and outlets.
“Gimme a shout when you're done. “
Twenty minutes later, no shout, I went around the back to find my partner had stripped off about 18 inches of coating from the wires where a mere ½ would have been sufficient.
Never assume. Never assume that someone knows what their doing just because they say they do. “ You've never done this sort of thing before, have you.”
“Well, not really.”
Dave was a good one to give a muscle task. Give him a shovel and a tree root. He was also good at putting the finish on what I had started. I used an overhead projector to put an image of the world map, 3 meters tall and 6 meters across. It took a bit of marker work in the middle of the night. When I came back the next morning, he had feathered in all of the edges, the seas, so that it looked like a 200 year old parchment. It was nothing short of brilliant.
One of the biggest problems on this job site was that things made of metal kept disappearing. Soon I caught up with the local vagabond who collects scrap for recycling. I had to tell her 5 times that she was no longer welcome to come here to collect. I set up a bin and told her, “This for you. You take what we put in here, OK?”
We filled it with cans, bottles, paper. She was happy.
I enlisted the aid of the local drunks to move rubbish.
Opening day finally came around. I had to teach classes at my school , but rearranged my schedule with my partner there, my wife. So, at 8 pm, I was surprised to see her walking up the entrance way to the cafe. She pivoted left and right, saw only that there were 10 tables all of which were occupied with only women, between the ages of 17 and 35. Her mouth puckered like the south end of a north bound mule.
I knew there and then that I was going to have to get out of the cafe business.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Acnestis - Du Lan, Taitung 2003
Acnestis – that part of the animal which they themselves cannot reach to scratch, usually between the shoulder blades
Du Lan, Taitung 2003
Perhaps a little history helps to understand the peculiar nature of Taitung. Whereas Taiwan for centuries was, in a sense, a dumping ground for the rejects of mainland China, Taitung was a dumping ground for the rejects of Taiwan. In fact, a remnant of the day when Taitung was a refuge for the criminal element on Taiwan is the county border post police station on the south cross island highway. Also, national government agencies often assign staff to Taitung as punishment for screwing up badly, or as a reward for long years of good service. It is for many reasons that it is called the “Back side of the island”.
So, you have a demographic of people of questionable character. On the other hand you have another demographic who want to just be left alone and live a life of routinized simplicity. So, while one group fights tooth and nail to pillage as much as they can, another group lives like ostriches with their heads in the sand.
The problem with this is that when your head is in the sand, your ass is in the air. So, while everybody knows about the crime and corruption that goes on, they don't want to do anything about it. And, so the society is locked in a downward spiral.
Yet a third demographic, the majority, is the aboriginal population, though many Taitung people won't admit their aboriginal heritage. Taitung boasts the largest population of aboriginal people on Taiwan. It also has the largest number of people in prison, percentage alcoholism, lowest education level.
With less than 1% of Taiwan's population, Taitung attracts little attention during election time. Consuming vast amounts of subsidy and providing very little tax revenue, it is of little interest economically. After Taiwan joined the WTO, agriculture and fishing profits diminished.
For those who go to Taitung on holiday, it is a beautiful place. Everything is rosy. But for those who want to make a more meaningful life, be active in the community, it isn't long before you are forced to pull back the thin veneer of charm and beauty to reveal the writhing tangle of crime and corruption which has become the very veins and arteries, known as 'kuan-hsi'. We Chinese are a tolerant people. And one thing that we are just too tolerant of is criminal activity, especially in our government.
I sat in a large beach side tin building, once the restaurant of an Australian artisan and his wife. It is a beautiful place, on the shore, about 15 km north from Taitung. The Australian has long since moved out. Two other people have tried to make a success of the place and failed. Now, the land owner's son, Winsom Lee, who has just graduated from college, is trying. He's failing too.
I order my usual chrysanthemum tea and chat with Winsom. “How well do you know Mr. Wang up the hill?”
“I know him in passing.” he replied.
“ He is applying for Tourism grant to put in a pagoda. He's pretty good with that. Get's a couple million every year.”
“ Ha, that's nothing my father owns 80 jya of land. That whole valley below Mr Wang's is all his. Right now he has 4 back hoes digging a water runoff way up in the mountain. The Tourism Department is paying for it. Do you know how much? Can you guess?”
“I dunno, 10 million?”
“Higher.”
“20 million?”
“10 times that.”
“200 Mil?!?! Wow. Your father is pretty clever.” I flattered him.
He nods his head approvingly. “They want him to open the land for tourism farm. But he doesn't want to, “ he said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“The government money is more than enough for him,” he replied.
“Isn't intent to do the business necessary to get the grant money?” I asked naively.
He laughed, “It is easy to get around. When they asked him to build cabins for bed and breakfast, he used industrial corrugated tin. They are little sweat boxes. Who would want to stay there? Hahaha .” Every year he gets paid to plant hundreds of trees on his own land. Haaha .”
“ Hey, I know a guy, he pays aboriginal work crews to ….”
“ Yeah, I know Chen E - tai. He gets gov't money to cut the trees. Then he gets gov't money to replant the trees. Pretty crafty, eh?” Winsom said.
“ He's not doing too badly is he? He has an Jeep Cherokee. His wife drives a Benz E-500. His kid drives a BMW. And, he pays his workers peanuts....” I said.
“ Hahahaa less! Betel nuts!” he laughed.
I try to hide my revulsion at the whole scenario so I can keep drawing him out.
“You heard about the Asian games?” I ask.
“Know, what?” he asks.
“He had hired a foreign Olympics coach, who took the team to gold medals. The national government gave them millions in reward...” I began.
“Yeah, He was supposed to share it with the team and with the other coaches. He gave them a big fat zero,” he finished the story for me.
“Yeah, I heard that from the foreign coach. How did you find out?” I confessed.
“He and my dad are drinking buddies. They got to drinking and bragging,” he boasted.
“So, tell me, what is the hope for tourism development in the coastal area in Taitung?” I probed.
“Less than hopeless,” he apologized.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because there are basically 2 power groups in the county, the people of the valley, and the people of the coast. The coastal people are mostly dirt poor aboriginal. No capital, no education, no kuan-hsi. And, they don't vote,” he lectured. “The Hua-dong valley is heavily invested Wai Sen Ren from centuries ago. They have kuan-hsi, relationship, education. And, they vote. Why do you think that the train went up the valley rather than up the coast?”
“ I dunno, better foundations?” I guessed?
“Yeah, better 'kick back' foundations! Hahhaha . Also, in the valley they are afraid of the coastal area developing and taking away their tourism opportunities. So, whenever they see an opportunity growing on the coast, they suppress it. Do you know where the Coastal Tourism Office is for Taitung County?“ he tested.
“ Yes, it's in ...near the boarder to Hualien.“ I said.
“Don't you think that if they really wanted it to be effective, they would put it in the middle of it's territory?“ he argued.
“ Hmmm, ” I was getting to see the picture here.
“ Didn't you try to get on a piece of land on Dulan mountain, just under Mr. Wang's as a take off zone? “ he asked.
“How did you know that?” surprisedly I asked.
“ How can I NOT know that? Small town. Every body knows everything about everyone. It's not always correct but we know it anyway,” he laughed.
“Well, what about it?” I tried to get him back on track.
“So, what happened?” he parried.
I launched into my story, “I offered Mr Wang to buy or rent the land. He said that he would get back to me. A week later I went back and somebody had moved hundreds of giant boulders onto the once beautiful grassy plateau. It was useless as a take off zone. Heck, you couldn't even walk on it. These boulders are a meter high. Must have cost a fortune to move.” dejectedly I explained.
“ Yeah, you see. Somebody sabotaged your plan. Probably in the valley they are trying to protect their monopoly. Somebody bought or rented the land from him and paid him to make it useless to you,“ he explained.
“Well, that is what he said, somebody had bought the land,” I offered. “I'm thinking 'crabs in a pot.'”
“Huh?”
I tried to explain “ You ever go to a sea food place where you can choose the fresh seafood? And they have a pit full of crabs? The crabs are climbing up on each other until they reach the top. Then, as one is just about to climb out, a claw comes from behind and pulls him and he tumbles to the bottom.“
He laughs hysterically,”Yes, yes, Taitung society is like this! Crabs in a pot. We fail to cooperate to the common good. We're so busy pulling each other down.“
“So, why doesn't the national government do something about the fiscal waste, the corruption in government?“ I asked.
“Taitung is too far away,“ he told me as if this were so obvious.
“What 40 minutes by plane, 5 hours by train,” I retaliated.
“Not just physically far, politically and economically far,” he said.
“Mr. Ma, you come from a democratic and capitalist country. What are the 2 most valuable commodities? “ he quizzed me.
“Well, you tell me. “ I was tired of the game
“Money and votes. Taitung has neither. So why bother?” with an offhanded shrug.
And, then reaching for that spot on his back, he said, “You cannot reach it to sratch it, much less clean it.”
Du Lan, Taitung 2003
Perhaps a little history helps to understand the peculiar nature of Taitung. Whereas Taiwan for centuries was, in a sense, a dumping ground for the rejects of mainland China, Taitung was a dumping ground for the rejects of Taiwan. In fact, a remnant of the day when Taitung was a refuge for the criminal element on Taiwan is the county border post police station on the south cross island highway. Also, national government agencies often assign staff to Taitung as punishment for screwing up badly, or as a reward for long years of good service. It is for many reasons that it is called the “Back side of the island”.
So, you have a demographic of people of questionable character. On the other hand you have another demographic who want to just be left alone and live a life of routinized simplicity. So, while one group fights tooth and nail to pillage as much as they can, another group lives like ostriches with their heads in the sand.
The problem with this is that when your head is in the sand, your ass is in the air. So, while everybody knows about the crime and corruption that goes on, they don't want to do anything about it. And, so the society is locked in a downward spiral.
Yet a third demographic, the majority, is the aboriginal population, though many Taitung people won't admit their aboriginal heritage. Taitung boasts the largest population of aboriginal people on Taiwan. It also has the largest number of people in prison, percentage alcoholism, lowest education level.
With less than 1% of Taiwan's population, Taitung attracts little attention during election time. Consuming vast amounts of subsidy and providing very little tax revenue, it is of little interest economically. After Taiwan joined the WTO, agriculture and fishing profits diminished.
For those who go to Taitung on holiday, it is a beautiful place. Everything is rosy. But for those who want to make a more meaningful life, be active in the community, it isn't long before you are forced to pull back the thin veneer of charm and beauty to reveal the writhing tangle of crime and corruption which has become the very veins and arteries, known as 'kuan-hsi'. We Chinese are a tolerant people. And one thing that we are just too tolerant of is criminal activity, especially in our government.
I sat in a large beach side tin building, once the restaurant of an Australian artisan and his wife. It is a beautiful place, on the shore, about 15 km north from Taitung. The Australian has long since moved out. Two other people have tried to make a success of the place and failed. Now, the land owner's son, Winsom Lee, who has just graduated from college, is trying. He's failing too.
I order my usual chrysanthemum tea and chat with Winsom. “How well do you know Mr. Wang up the hill?”
“I know him in passing.” he replied.
“ He is applying for Tourism grant to put in a pagoda. He's pretty good with that. Get's a couple million every year.”
“ Ha, that's nothing my father owns 80 jya of land. That whole valley below Mr Wang's is all his. Right now he has 4 back hoes digging a water runoff way up in the mountain. The Tourism Department is paying for it. Do you know how much? Can you guess?”
“I dunno, 10 million?”
“Higher.”
“20 million?”
“10 times that.”
“200 Mil?!?! Wow. Your father is pretty clever.” I flattered him.
He nods his head approvingly. “They want him to open the land for tourism farm. But he doesn't want to, “ he said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“The government money is more than enough for him,” he replied.
“Isn't intent to do the business necessary to get the grant money?” I asked naively.
He laughed, “It is easy to get around. When they asked him to build cabins for bed and breakfast, he used industrial corrugated tin. They are little sweat boxes. Who would want to stay there? Hahaha .” Every year he gets paid to plant hundreds of trees on his own land. Haaha .”
“ Hey, I know a guy, he pays aboriginal work crews to ….”
“ Yeah, I know Chen E - tai. He gets gov't money to cut the trees. Then he gets gov't money to replant the trees. Pretty crafty, eh?” Winsom said.
“ He's not doing too badly is he? He has an Jeep Cherokee. His wife drives a Benz E-500. His kid drives a BMW. And, he pays his workers peanuts....” I said.
“ Hahahaa less! Betel nuts!” he laughed.
I try to hide my revulsion at the whole scenario so I can keep drawing him out.
“You heard about the Asian games?” I ask.
“Know, what?” he asks.
“He had hired a foreign Olympics coach, who took the team to gold medals. The national government gave them millions in reward...” I began.
“Yeah, He was supposed to share it with the team and with the other coaches. He gave them a big fat zero,” he finished the story for me.
“Yeah, I heard that from the foreign coach. How did you find out?” I confessed.
“He and my dad are drinking buddies. They got to drinking and bragging,” he boasted.
“So, tell me, what is the hope for tourism development in the coastal area in Taitung?” I probed.
“Less than hopeless,” he apologized.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because there are basically 2 power groups in the county, the people of the valley, and the people of the coast. The coastal people are mostly dirt poor aboriginal. No capital, no education, no kuan-hsi. And, they don't vote,” he lectured. “The Hua-dong valley is heavily invested Wai Sen Ren from centuries ago. They have kuan-hsi, relationship, education. And, they vote. Why do you think that the train went up the valley rather than up the coast?”
“ I dunno, better foundations?” I guessed?
“Yeah, better 'kick back' foundations! Hahhaha . Also, in the valley they are afraid of the coastal area developing and taking away their tourism opportunities. So, whenever they see an opportunity growing on the coast, they suppress it. Do you know where the Coastal Tourism Office is for Taitung County?“ he tested.
“ Yes, it's in ...near the boarder to Hualien.“ I said.
“Don't you think that if they really wanted it to be effective, they would put it in the middle of it's territory?“ he argued.
“ Hmmm, ” I was getting to see the picture here.
“ Didn't you try to get on a piece of land on Dulan mountain, just under Mr. Wang's as a take off zone? “ he asked.
“How did you know that?” surprisedly I asked.
“ How can I NOT know that? Small town. Every body knows everything about everyone. It's not always correct but we know it anyway,” he laughed.
“Well, what about it?” I tried to get him back on track.
“So, what happened?” he parried.
I launched into my story, “I offered Mr Wang to buy or rent the land. He said that he would get back to me. A week later I went back and somebody had moved hundreds of giant boulders onto the once beautiful grassy plateau. It was useless as a take off zone. Heck, you couldn't even walk on it. These boulders are a meter high. Must have cost a fortune to move.” dejectedly I explained.
“ Yeah, you see. Somebody sabotaged your plan. Probably in the valley they are trying to protect their monopoly. Somebody bought or rented the land from him and paid him to make it useless to you,“ he explained.
“Well, that is what he said, somebody had bought the land,” I offered. “I'm thinking 'crabs in a pot.'”
“Huh?”
I tried to explain “ You ever go to a sea food place where you can choose the fresh seafood? And they have a pit full of crabs? The crabs are climbing up on each other until they reach the top. Then, as one is just about to climb out, a claw comes from behind and pulls him and he tumbles to the bottom.“
He laughs hysterically,”Yes, yes, Taitung society is like this! Crabs in a pot. We fail to cooperate to the common good. We're so busy pulling each other down.“
“So, why doesn't the national government do something about the fiscal waste, the corruption in government?“ I asked.
“Taitung is too far away,“ he told me as if this were so obvious.
“What 40 minutes by plane, 5 hours by train,” I retaliated.
“Not just physically far, politically and economically far,” he said.
“Mr. Ma, you come from a democratic and capitalist country. What are the 2 most valuable commodities? “ he quizzed me.
“Well, you tell me. “ I was tired of the game
“Money and votes. Taitung has neither. So why bother?” with an offhanded shrug.
And, then reaching for that spot on his back, he said, “You cannot reach it to sratch it, much less clean it.”
United Colors of Taiwan - Taitung
Colors. We love the diversity in our clothes, cars, computers, pictures, pets, flowers, houses, deco.... In fact, everything in our lives is enhanced by the increased diversity of colors. So, why is it so difficult to accept racial diversity?
1987
I taught Jen at the YMCA in Kaohsiung for a couple of weeks, after which we had built a good personal relation. So, when he asked me to dinner after class, I had no reservations. We stood outside waiting for the other classmates who were joining us. We both groped for a topic during the hiatus. We started taking at the same time, like a pair of dancers starting off on the wrong foot.
“You go ahead,” I said.
He asked, “I was just wondering, do you have any trouble here in Taiwan, you know, being a nigger.”
Whoah! I was smacked in the face. Immediately, I appreciated that he was naive. “Well, Jen a couple of things. First I appreciate you're being sensitive to the race issue in Taiwan. Second, I think you mean, 'negro' not nigger. In some parts of the world you can get killed for using the “N” word. “
Blushing nervously, “Oh, I'm sorry,” he interjected.
“Never mind because, which brings me to the third point, I am not a negro.” I said.
“But you're black,“ he countered.
“No, I'm brown. I'm Hispanic and Indian, from India. Technically were Caucasian,” I corrected.
“Can I say 'black'? I mean will I get killed?” he asked, still nervous.
“This generation, black is good. It keeps changing. Alas,.. .,“ I try to put him at ease. ”What's in a name. A philodendron by any other name would be just as hard to grow.” I remarked.
“I don't understand,” he said.
“No worries. Teacher told a bad joke. Everybody please laugh!” I said.
They did and we shook loose a generation of racial tension.
Black man Cafe
2000 Taitung
Being a mediocre guitarist, I was elated to hear that there was a foreign musician who just moved to town. He's from Dominican Republic, I was told. He was a “ Hei- Ren” , black man.
I went to the hotel cafe where he worked, and introduced myself. He was all smiles and pleasant. He looked a bit like Michael Jackson especially from a Taiwanese point of view.
He played keyboard, drums, a little guitar. I gave him my number and invited him to jam sometime with Roger and me.
“Well, I don't get out much. I have to mind the kids, “ he said.
“Oh, you have kids, already?” I asked.
“They are my wife's kids from her previous marriage. I have to pick them up from school and drop them off at their buxibans,” apologetically.
“So, now you're a husband, a father, and a business owner all in one swipe. That must be a lot of stress,” I sympathized.
“You have no idea,” he said.
“ How do you feel about the name of the cafe? ' Black Man Cafe'?” I probed.
“It's her cafe, her money. If it works, it works.“ he resigned himself.
“ Well, it worked for the toothpaste,” I offered. We laughed.
“You're not offended by the tokenism?” I asked.
“She has my passport. She gives me 100 NT a day. If I do not play, she cuts me off. I cannot leave. I cannot protest.“ he said.
I told several friends about Patrick's cafe, his music and suggested that they go over and introduce themselves. So, they did, two foreign men, Tom and Peter, a very blond Austrian girl named Iris, and one local woman named Betty. They came back to me with a tale of terror.
“I can't believe she spoke like that.” Iris said.
“What the heck happened?” I asked.
“Well, we took a table, listened to a set of music, ordered cake and coffee. When the break came, we complimented Patrick and asked him to sit down. Then his wife, Jenny? Her name is Jenny? “ Iris said.
“What is it about Taiwan women named Jenny they are demonic.” Tom offered.
“Jenny came over and told us to leave her husband alone.” said Iris. “She chased us out of her cafe. She said that If I came back she would take a knife and cut off my nipples.”
“She told us that her family is all gangsters and that she could have me killed with just a phone call,” said Peter.
The next time I saw Patrick, I asked him about the event. He said that his wife is very possessive. They fight about it all the time. But he loves her very much.
“And does she love you or are you just a draw card for her business?” I asked.
“She loves me. I know she does.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
“I love to make music, but not like this. I feel like a trained seal. I would rather buy a tour bus and take tourists around the island. That is what I would prefer to do for a living.” he said.
“ Well, I hope your dream comes true,” I said.
I didn't see Patrick again until I got an email from him. He said that he had found where she had hidden his passport. Had scraped together enough money to escape. He said that he had been kept like a slave, how she had used her 'affection' as a lure, to entrap him. He was glad he was free. “Free at last, free at least. Thank God almighty I am free at last! “ was how he put it.
Most women I have met in Taiwan have the same response to black people, “They smell funny.” “They are too big.” “They talk funny but dance well.” But the black men I know tell a very different story - without going too much into detail - of long, hard, loud, vigorous one night stands. It seems back stage and front stage behavior vary.
In 2009, I still see that people of color, black or brown, are less likely to be selected for jobs.
My friend Gary, a black American in Taipei in 1987 was swamped with work as an English teacher. But, as more Caucasians arrived, he was displaced, not on the merits of his work, but just because white people are more marketable. Apparently, as one of my Taiwan friends put it, “Black man only sell toothpaste.”
1987
I taught Jen at the YMCA in Kaohsiung for a couple of weeks, after which we had built a good personal relation. So, when he asked me to dinner after class, I had no reservations. We stood outside waiting for the other classmates who were joining us. We both groped for a topic during the hiatus. We started taking at the same time, like a pair of dancers starting off on the wrong foot.
“You go ahead,” I said.
He asked, “I was just wondering, do you have any trouble here in Taiwan, you know, being a nigger.”
Whoah! I was smacked in the face. Immediately, I appreciated that he was naive. “Well, Jen a couple of things. First I appreciate you're being sensitive to the race issue in Taiwan. Second, I think you mean, 'negro' not nigger. In some parts of the world you can get killed for using the “N” word. “
Blushing nervously, “Oh, I'm sorry,” he interjected.
“Never mind because, which brings me to the third point, I am not a negro.” I said.
“But you're black,“ he countered.
“No, I'm brown. I'm Hispanic and Indian, from India. Technically were Caucasian,” I corrected.
“Can I say 'black'? I mean will I get killed?” he asked, still nervous.
“This generation, black is good. It keeps changing. Alas,.. .,“ I try to put him at ease. ”What's in a name. A philodendron by any other name would be just as hard to grow.” I remarked.
“I don't understand,” he said.
“No worries. Teacher told a bad joke. Everybody please laugh!” I said.
They did and we shook loose a generation of racial tension.
Black man Cafe
2000 Taitung
Being a mediocre guitarist, I was elated to hear that there was a foreign musician who just moved to town. He's from Dominican Republic, I was told. He was a “ Hei- Ren” , black man.
I went to the hotel cafe where he worked, and introduced myself. He was all smiles and pleasant. He looked a bit like Michael Jackson especially from a Taiwanese point of view.
He played keyboard, drums, a little guitar. I gave him my number and invited him to jam sometime with Roger and me.
“Well, I don't get out much. I have to mind the kids, “ he said.
“Oh, you have kids, already?” I asked.
“They are my wife's kids from her previous marriage. I have to pick them up from school and drop them off at their buxibans,” apologetically.
“So, now you're a husband, a father, and a business owner all in one swipe. That must be a lot of stress,” I sympathized.
“You have no idea,” he said.
“ How do you feel about the name of the cafe? ' Black Man Cafe'?” I probed.
“It's her cafe, her money. If it works, it works.“ he resigned himself.
“ Well, it worked for the toothpaste,” I offered. We laughed.
“You're not offended by the tokenism?” I asked.
“She has my passport. She gives me 100 NT a day. If I do not play, she cuts me off. I cannot leave. I cannot protest.“ he said.
I told several friends about Patrick's cafe, his music and suggested that they go over and introduce themselves. So, they did, two foreign men, Tom and Peter, a very blond Austrian girl named Iris, and one local woman named Betty. They came back to me with a tale of terror.
“I can't believe she spoke like that.” Iris said.
“What the heck happened?” I asked.
“Well, we took a table, listened to a set of music, ordered cake and coffee. When the break came, we complimented Patrick and asked him to sit down. Then his wife, Jenny? Her name is Jenny? “ Iris said.
“What is it about Taiwan women named Jenny they are demonic.” Tom offered.
“Jenny came over and told us to leave her husband alone.” said Iris. “She chased us out of her cafe. She said that If I came back she would take a knife and cut off my nipples.”
“She told us that her family is all gangsters and that she could have me killed with just a phone call,” said Peter.
The next time I saw Patrick, I asked him about the event. He said that his wife is very possessive. They fight about it all the time. But he loves her very much.
“And does she love you or are you just a draw card for her business?” I asked.
“She loves me. I know she does.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
“I love to make music, but not like this. I feel like a trained seal. I would rather buy a tour bus and take tourists around the island. That is what I would prefer to do for a living.” he said.
“ Well, I hope your dream comes true,” I said.
I didn't see Patrick again until I got an email from him. He said that he had found where she had hidden his passport. Had scraped together enough money to escape. He said that he had been kept like a slave, how she had used her 'affection' as a lure, to entrap him. He was glad he was free. “Free at last, free at least. Thank God almighty I am free at last! “ was how he put it.
Most women I have met in Taiwan have the same response to black people, “They smell funny.” “They are too big.” “They talk funny but dance well.” But the black men I know tell a very different story - without going too much into detail - of long, hard, loud, vigorous one night stands. It seems back stage and front stage behavior vary.
In 2009, I still see that people of color, black or brown, are less likely to be selected for jobs.
My friend Gary, a black American in Taipei in 1987 was swamped with work as an English teacher. But, as more Caucasians arrived, he was displaced, not on the merits of his work, but just because white people are more marketable. Apparently, as one of my Taiwan friends put it, “Black man only sell toothpaste.”
The 5 “Dze”
I have to give you a Chinese lesson in order for this story to work. There are 5 essentials in the cycle of life maturation, each of which, in Chinese ends with the character “dze”.
Hence the name 5 “dze”. They are 'Jin dze, che dze, fang dze, chi dze, er dze.' They mean, respectively, money, car, house, wife, child. This sequence is drilled into boys, hoping that they will get the sequence right.
And, in retrospect, this is very practical. If one has a child before a spouse, he/she will have less time to dedicate to the child. The burden of a child is best shared by 2 parents. If one doesn't have money first, then it is not possible to buy fuel for the car. This sequence is developmental, each one setting the stage for the next.
So, I wonder, why it is that with such brilliant sequencing of the stages of development of a family, I wonder why it is that so many Taiwan young women/girls have unprotected sex on first date?
Hence the name 5 “dze”. They are 'Jin dze, che dze, fang dze, chi dze, er dze.' They mean, respectively, money, car, house, wife, child. This sequence is drilled into boys, hoping that they will get the sequence right.
And, in retrospect, this is very practical. If one has a child before a spouse, he/she will have less time to dedicate to the child. The burden of a child is best shared by 2 parents. If one doesn't have money first, then it is not possible to buy fuel for the car. This sequence is developmental, each one setting the stage for the next.
So, I wonder, why it is that with such brilliant sequencing of the stages of development of a family, I wonder why it is that so many Taiwan young women/girls have unprotected sex on first date?
Spirit of the Mountain – Hu-to San, Puli, Taiwan 2004(?)
Eddie Sure and I stood on the top edge of the long slope on Hu To San which would soon be a take off for paragliding. Mr. Soon, the surveyor was down the hill with a very long tape measure. Eddie and I had recently signed a contract to develop his land.
It's 9 in the morning, I have been here over night. I slept in the van. I still have the sleep in my eyes. I was up at 6, watched “The Rising”, when the morning fog rises up from the town below. The magic is still with me. Two eagles are gliding at our eye level. The morning thermal isn't strong enough to sustain flight, for either of us. They call back and forth. I hear them calling me to the sky. Eddie and I cradle our coffees to warm our hands.
I break the silence, “My friend Paul tells me that centuries ago, this was the site of a large scale massacre of aboriginal peoples .”
Eddie looked up,” I'm not surprised. This land here was once a fishing village for the local tribes. They came down from the mountains in the spring time and caught fish right here.”
“Here?” I asked incredulously, looking for some sign of water.
“You see this whole valley here, “ he gestured with his arm spanning the whole town of 60,000 souls, “was once a lake.” Then there was an earthquake and that gap,” Eddie pointed across the valley to the west, where the highway comes through the tunnels into the valley, “broke open and all the water drained out. There have been archeological digs here and they dug up some artifacts.“
“Any dead bodies?”
“Hah, hah. Not that I know of. I hope not.”
“You told me once that so many people want this land. Anybody from the tribes?”
“Not a problem, the Spirit of the mountain will not let them have it.”
“The what?”
“ Everyplace has a spirit. Come on,“ he chided condescendingly.” you been in Taiwan so long, you don't know Tu-di-sen?( Local Spirits)”
“Oh, I see,” I was more familiar with the term Tu-di Miao, or local shrine, which, of course is to a local God, or Tu-di-Sen.
“The Spirit of the Mountain favors me,” he continued
I said, “I see.” I thought, well, then, the spirit of the mountain must really, really like me, Praise be to God!
I told Eddie the story of how hundreds of years ago, a troop of mainland Chinese soldiers were charged with restoring peace among the settlers here. They came into the valley and sent a message to the tribe inviting them to a peace banquet with lots of food and drinking. When they got them good and drunk, they killed all the young braves and made a pile of their heads. When the other tribes people heard about this they retreated to high on a mountain overlooking a waterfall and wailed loudly non-stop for a month. And this is documented in the historical archives of the Chinese and the Spanish who were here at the time.
“I bet that didn't make the Spirit of the Mountain very happy.”The following hiatus seemed to me a moment of memorial.
“I wonder if the local Tribal leaders might be interested in recreating a small replica of the fishing village. It would be a nice dedication, and a tourism draw card,“ I suggested
11pm, and I sit around a fire with several local friends, watching the moon traverse the valley, the stars pirouette. We beat drums, strummed guitars, sang songs in 3 languages. We drank drank cheap whiskey, beer and wine. “That'll make the Spirits happy,” quipped Peppermint Patty, Puli resident, college student.
Mark,another Puli resident, told us a story about his neighbor, who had come up the mountain one evening and wasn't seen again for over a week. When he came down the mountain again, he thought that he had been gone only a day. He said that he had been sitting in the fog, and he was drafted into the military. But they wore strange uniforms and carried muskets and sabers and spoke Japanese.
One by one my friends headed back down the mountain.
At 1 am, the fog gathered in the town below, thickening like New England clam chowder and only the tower of Mordor protruded, a giant middle finger gesturing obscenely to the sky. Soon the town disappeared completely. The fog continued to grow, it's upper surface rising up to meet us at the cliffs edge, waves on a shore lapping at our feet. I imagine ancient aboriginal dugouts rowing out on the clouds to catch fish. Soon we were completely engulfed in it, unable to see 5 meters in any direction. I heard the voices of the long dead weeping and wailing. I saw the dead get up and walk. I drank a libation to the souls who walk, swam, fly this mystical place, smiled and went to bed.
At 5:30 I woke to the sound of the “Health Holler”. I had my own health holler which started with caffeine and nicotine while standing over a long yellow stream. Walking to the edge, I noticed a large fresh hole in the earth. It was as if something had been removed from the ground, but no hole had been dug. There were no shovel marks, no footprints. The earth had been disturbed, leaving a depression, about 1 meter deep, in the shape of an adult body in the fetal position. I set down my morning toxins on the dirt. I lay down in the hole, curling my body to conform to the shape and was amazed at how neatly I fit. With a little effort, I thought, I can pull enough dirt over me and die here happily.
The morning mountain devotees trudged 2.5 km up the mountain, emerging from the cloud, like zombies, huffing and puffing, their breath contributing to the now receding fog.
With my can of coffee and cigarettes, I sat on the edge of the cliff and watched the morning mist raise up the mushrooms, and rebuild the city, brick by brick, atom by atom.
It's 9 in the morning, I have been here over night. I slept in the van. I still have the sleep in my eyes. I was up at 6, watched “The Rising”, when the morning fog rises up from the town below. The magic is still with me. Two eagles are gliding at our eye level. The morning thermal isn't strong enough to sustain flight, for either of us. They call back and forth. I hear them calling me to the sky. Eddie and I cradle our coffees to warm our hands.
I break the silence, “My friend Paul tells me that centuries ago, this was the site of a large scale massacre of aboriginal peoples .”
Eddie looked up,” I'm not surprised. This land here was once a fishing village for the local tribes. They came down from the mountains in the spring time and caught fish right here.”
“Here?” I asked incredulously, looking for some sign of water.
“You see this whole valley here, “ he gestured with his arm spanning the whole town of 60,000 souls, “was once a lake.” Then there was an earthquake and that gap,” Eddie pointed across the valley to the west, where the highway comes through the tunnels into the valley, “broke open and all the water drained out. There have been archeological digs here and they dug up some artifacts.“
“Any dead bodies?”
“Hah, hah. Not that I know of. I hope not.”
“You told me once that so many people want this land. Anybody from the tribes?”
“Not a problem, the Spirit of the mountain will not let them have it.”
“The what?”
“ Everyplace has a spirit. Come on,“ he chided condescendingly.” you been in Taiwan so long, you don't know Tu-di-sen?( Local Spirits)”
“Oh, I see,” I was more familiar with the term Tu-di Miao, or local shrine, which, of course is to a local God, or Tu-di-Sen.
“The Spirit of the Mountain favors me,” he continued
I said, “I see.” I thought, well, then, the spirit of the mountain must really, really like me, Praise be to God!
I told Eddie the story of how hundreds of years ago, a troop of mainland Chinese soldiers were charged with restoring peace among the settlers here. They came into the valley and sent a message to the tribe inviting them to a peace banquet with lots of food and drinking. When they got them good and drunk, they killed all the young braves and made a pile of their heads. When the other tribes people heard about this they retreated to high on a mountain overlooking a waterfall and wailed loudly non-stop for a month. And this is documented in the historical archives of the Chinese and the Spanish who were here at the time.
“I bet that didn't make the Spirit of the Mountain very happy.”The following hiatus seemed to me a moment of memorial.
“I wonder if the local Tribal leaders might be interested in recreating a small replica of the fishing village. It would be a nice dedication, and a tourism draw card,“ I suggested
11pm, and I sit around a fire with several local friends, watching the moon traverse the valley, the stars pirouette. We beat drums, strummed guitars, sang songs in 3 languages. We drank drank cheap whiskey, beer and wine. “That'll make the Spirits happy,” quipped Peppermint Patty, Puli resident, college student.
Mark,another Puli resident, told us a story about his neighbor, who had come up the mountain one evening and wasn't seen again for over a week. When he came down the mountain again, he thought that he had been gone only a day. He said that he had been sitting in the fog, and he was drafted into the military. But they wore strange uniforms and carried muskets and sabers and spoke Japanese.
One by one my friends headed back down the mountain.
At 1 am, the fog gathered in the town below, thickening like New England clam chowder and only the tower of Mordor protruded, a giant middle finger gesturing obscenely to the sky. Soon the town disappeared completely. The fog continued to grow, it's upper surface rising up to meet us at the cliffs edge, waves on a shore lapping at our feet. I imagine ancient aboriginal dugouts rowing out on the clouds to catch fish. Soon we were completely engulfed in it, unable to see 5 meters in any direction. I heard the voices of the long dead weeping and wailing. I saw the dead get up and walk. I drank a libation to the souls who walk, swam, fly this mystical place, smiled and went to bed.
At 5:30 I woke to the sound of the “Health Holler”. I had my own health holler which started with caffeine and nicotine while standing over a long yellow stream. Walking to the edge, I noticed a large fresh hole in the earth. It was as if something had been removed from the ground, but no hole had been dug. There were no shovel marks, no footprints. The earth had been disturbed, leaving a depression, about 1 meter deep, in the shape of an adult body in the fetal position. I set down my morning toxins on the dirt. I lay down in the hole, curling my body to conform to the shape and was amazed at how neatly I fit. With a little effort, I thought, I can pull enough dirt over me and die here happily.
The morning mountain devotees trudged 2.5 km up the mountain, emerging from the cloud, like zombies, huffing and puffing, their breath contributing to the now receding fog.
With my can of coffee and cigarettes, I sat on the edge of the cliff and watched the morning mist raise up the mushrooms, and rebuild the city, brick by brick, atom by atom.
Shock night Puli HuTo San, 2005
Shock Night - Puli, HuTo San, March, 2005
Torrential rains this stormy night, consistent with the monsoon season. It's chilly. I want to find a place to live down below in the city with a heater and hot water. I want to call Melissa and see if I can stay with her. Or I can call Ron and Racquel. But, I think it is too late. My little red electric heater is not doing much. The three blankets are merely a comfort. I can sleep through the thunder and lighting. But, I wake with the passing of a vehicle.
What in the world is a car doing up here on a rainy night? Surely not my sometimes neighbor, Mr. Hsiao. I looked out the window to see a pair of headlights in the general direction of the power box and power meter. I think maybe someone is desperate for outdoor sex. Then, the banging sound began. Then the lights blinked. The heater went off. A light bulb burned out. All the power went out. I opened the door and felt a tingle of electric energy go through me. “Hey, who's there?” I shouted. The night was dark.
I went back to bed. Deal with it in the morning.
I heard a car drive away.
I woke to the Health Holler and went outside to investigate the electricity. I greeted the troupe of septuagenarian morning revelers with a smile. “Ping An!” I walked the 100 meters to where the meter and switch box were. Looking inside the breaker box I saw the mains were all tripped. And, it appeared that someone had used a pliers to cut the wires.
On the outside, the 220 volt cable had been hacked 40 or 50 times as if gnawed on by a dog, or hacked with a long tooth handsaw.
It occurred to me that had not the breaker tripped, I might have been fried when I made contact with the wet ground in the middle of the night.
I resolved to bury the line underground.
Torrential rains this stormy night, consistent with the monsoon season. It's chilly. I want to find a place to live down below in the city with a heater and hot water. I want to call Melissa and see if I can stay with her. Or I can call Ron and Racquel. But, I think it is too late. My little red electric heater is not doing much. The three blankets are merely a comfort. I can sleep through the thunder and lighting. But, I wake with the passing of a vehicle.
What in the world is a car doing up here on a rainy night? Surely not my sometimes neighbor, Mr. Hsiao. I looked out the window to see a pair of headlights in the general direction of the power box and power meter. I think maybe someone is desperate for outdoor sex. Then, the banging sound began. Then the lights blinked. The heater went off. A light bulb burned out. All the power went out. I opened the door and felt a tingle of electric energy go through me. “Hey, who's there?” I shouted. The night was dark.
I went back to bed. Deal with it in the morning.
I heard a car drive away.
I woke to the Health Holler and went outside to investigate the electricity. I greeted the troupe of septuagenarian morning revelers with a smile. “Ping An!” I walked the 100 meters to where the meter and switch box were. Looking inside the breaker box I saw the mains were all tripped. And, it appeared that someone had used a pliers to cut the wires.
On the outside, the 220 volt cable had been hacked 40 or 50 times as if gnawed on by a dog, or hacked with a long tooth handsaw.
It occurred to me that had not the breaker tripped, I might have been fried when I made contact with the wet ground in the middle of the night.
I resolved to bury the line underground.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
erosion, replacement
It's late at night and Paul and I are sitting under his Banyan tree and a last quarter moon with a bottle of Kao Liang which we are cutting with green tea. We fly-chat amicably about the kids, tech gadgets and local politics.
“Today I saw a gravel ship floundering off the cast of Dong Huh. It appeared to be sinking. I was laughing about it with the owner of the cafe, when we realized that standing directly behind is was the owner of the ship.”
Paul laughed at me,” Haw Gai, luh, ni!! ( It serves you right )”
“Well, that's funny cause that is exactly what I said to him!”
Paul laughed even harder. “And what did he say?”
“He asked me why I say that. I told him that he was raping the land, destroying the environment and creating an irreparable erosion problem for the rest of the population.”
“And...”
“ He said,'Business is business.'”
Paul is roaring with laughter, now. So, as I take the bottle to my side of the table, I jeer, “That's it buddy. We're cutting you off. I have two questions, 1. Why don't they take the gravel from the other side of the island where they have plenty of it? 2. What is so funny? “
“On the other side of the island is costs too much,” as he pulls the bottle back to his side and tops off his glass.
“It's gravel, for chrissakes, how much could it cost?”
Pedantically he offers, “It costs too much to buy politicians. On the west coast they have passed laws to protect the environment from gravel mining. You have to pay people to change the laws or to squeeze under them.”
Incredulously, I ask, “Oh? And they have no such laws here? But, here the protection of the land is much more urgent because the land is so much less. So, where does all this gravel go? “
Paul sighs impatiently, “Didn't they just build a new highway? And the Kaohsiung MRT? And the high speed rail?”
“They say about the South east coastal highway, you never drive the same road twice, I guess some of that gravel comes back here for endless repairs to the coastal highway.”
Paul starts laughing again.
“Oh, well that answers my second question.”
“Do you think they really want to repair the highway?“ he asks with incredulity.
“Well, I dunno. I guess if they do it once and do it right they can move on to better and bigger projects,” naively I offer.
“If they do it badly, they can do it again every year,” he instructs.
“ Oh, so the industry is labor driven. Oh, yes. I see. And, if they don't take the gravel from Taitung, where can they get it?”
Paul is getting impatient with me now, “We import a lot from mainland China. “
“Tell, me why does the coastal highway constantly get washed out?”
“The typhoon takes the gravel away from the beach. “
“But, it didn't used to be like that .”
Paul picked up his cup,” Lai, lai, Drink.”
We toasted and took a deep draw.
“No, because the rains brought the gravel down the mountains to replenish the beach.” as he refilled my cup.
“So the mountains don't replenish the beach anymore?”
Paul starts laughing again.
In my mind 's eye I see the gravel mines on every riverbed, about 300 meters up stream from the beaches. And a little light goes on my head. “Ohhhhh, I see.”
Paul sees the light bulb over my head , and laughs again as he pours me some green tea and Kao Liang. “Lai, lai, huh won dze bai, hai yo I bei. ( Finish this glass we have another glass.)” he parodies an obscure song by Wu Bai. “Drink, drink it will help to take away that look of hopelessness from your face.”
“ So, they profit from stripping the gravel from the riverbed which causes erosion of the highway, and sell the gravel back to the government to repair the highway.” I paused to let that soak in.
“And in Taipei they can't see this self-perpetuating cycle of destruction? Chen Swei bien was just here campaigning and so was Lien Jan. They only need to look out the window of their airplane to see the problem.“
Paul just points to that small point on his back between the shoulder blades, and laughs. “ What do you call that? Ak...”
“Acnesis.” I reminded him.
“Today I saw a gravel ship floundering off the cast of Dong Huh. It appeared to be sinking. I was laughing about it with the owner of the cafe, when we realized that standing directly behind is was the owner of the ship.”
Paul laughed at me,” Haw Gai, luh, ni!! ( It serves you right )”
“Well, that's funny cause that is exactly what I said to him!”
Paul laughed even harder. “And what did he say?”
“He asked me why I say that. I told him that he was raping the land, destroying the environment and creating an irreparable erosion problem for the rest of the population.”
“And...”
“ He said,'Business is business.'”
Paul is roaring with laughter, now. So, as I take the bottle to my side of the table, I jeer, “That's it buddy. We're cutting you off. I have two questions, 1. Why don't they take the gravel from the other side of the island where they have plenty of it? 2. What is so funny? “
“On the other side of the island is costs too much,” as he pulls the bottle back to his side and tops off his glass.
“It's gravel, for chrissakes, how much could it cost?”
Pedantically he offers, “It costs too much to buy politicians. On the west coast they have passed laws to protect the environment from gravel mining. You have to pay people to change the laws or to squeeze under them.”
Incredulously, I ask, “Oh? And they have no such laws here? But, here the protection of the land is much more urgent because the land is so much less. So, where does all this gravel go? “
Paul sighs impatiently, “Didn't they just build a new highway? And the Kaohsiung MRT? And the high speed rail?”
“They say about the South east coastal highway, you never drive the same road twice, I guess some of that gravel comes back here for endless repairs to the coastal highway.”
Paul starts laughing again.
“Oh, well that answers my second question.”
“Do you think they really want to repair the highway?“ he asks with incredulity.
“Well, I dunno. I guess if they do it once and do it right they can move on to better and bigger projects,” naively I offer.
“If they do it badly, they can do it again every year,” he instructs.
“ Oh, so the industry is labor driven. Oh, yes. I see. And, if they don't take the gravel from Taitung, where can they get it?”
Paul is getting impatient with me now, “We import a lot from mainland China. “
“Tell, me why does the coastal highway constantly get washed out?”
“The typhoon takes the gravel away from the beach. “
“But, it didn't used to be like that .”
Paul picked up his cup,” Lai, lai, Drink.”
We toasted and took a deep draw.
“No, because the rains brought the gravel down the mountains to replenish the beach.” as he refilled my cup.
“So the mountains don't replenish the beach anymore?”
Paul starts laughing again.
In my mind 's eye I see the gravel mines on every riverbed, about 300 meters up stream from the beaches. And a little light goes on my head. “Ohhhhh, I see.”
Paul sees the light bulb over my head , and laughs again as he pours me some green tea and Kao Liang. “Lai, lai, huh won dze bai, hai yo I bei. ( Finish this glass we have another glass.)” he parodies an obscure song by Wu Bai. “Drink, drink it will help to take away that look of hopelessness from your face.”
“ So, they profit from stripping the gravel from the riverbed which causes erosion of the highway, and sell the gravel back to the government to repair the highway.” I paused to let that soak in.
“And in Taipei they can't see this self-perpetuating cycle of destruction? Chen Swei bien was just here campaigning and so was Lien Jan. They only need to look out the window of their airplane to see the problem.“
Paul just points to that small point on his back between the shoulder blades, and laughs. “ What do you call that? Ak...”
“Acnesis.” I reminded him.
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