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?
Thursday, June 23, 2011
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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