The Stairway to Hell Valley

Now that the weather's changing, for the better naturally, I have decided to incor- porate as many hikes into the weekends as I possibly can. Today marked the start of these Taipei Tours. In the coming weeks, I will be inviting my friends out to join me on a hike up in Tienmu, and since we may possibly have a large number coming with us, I decided to head out beforehand and scope out the scenery. And in this preparation, I was met with beauty, danger, and the weirdest place in Taiwan.

I began the day with a drive over to Tienmu- the little America of Taipei- known for its expansive ex-pat community, boutique shopping, and as a coveted resource to purchase American candies like Reese's Peanut Buttercups and Butterfingers. But today, my compass remained focused away from these calorie counters and instead on vertical heights and better views.


At the top of Tienmu circle, there is the entrance to the Tienmu Old Trail. The beginning to the trail is excessively strenuous to those who hate stairs. Although I didn't count them, you begin by climbing straight up a mountain, traversing over thousands of steps of stairs; a nearly impossible feat had I not been attending the gym and working out on the Stair-master. The stairs climbed ferociously past jungled homes and mountain-terraced gardens. At times, the staircase seemed to move along in impossible dimensions, fraying out in fascinating waves and curls, sending one off in dizzy spells certain to throw you off balance and incidentally, off the mountainside.


A short respite was welcomed, before more stairs.


Finally, at the top of the mountain, I came across a long, cylindrical black tube running down the mountain side. The sound of rushing water could be heard within its mysterious innards. This long black tube was the culmination of the Grass Mountain Waterworks. Disease was a common problem for Japanese forces occupying Penghu Islands, during the Sino-Japanese Wars, and while building a framework of interconnecting crossroads throughout Taiwan. To prevent the further spread of disease, and to protect Japanese Nationals living in Taiwan, the Japanese Government set up a public health system in 1895 involving running water and sewage. Eventually, the need for tap water grew so high, the Japanese Administration could not meet the population's needs. Therefore, in 1928, the Grass Mountain Waterworks project, in front of which I was standing, was implemented. It delivered 28,800 cubic meters of water from Yangmingshan to 150,000 people in Taipei per day.


Where the trail and the pipeline met, the roads divided. One way was a continuation of stairs to the Taipei Cultural University. The other way was the more scenic, and ironically, more dangerous of the two routes. Naturally, I chose this pathway.

While this route offers scenic vistas comparable to an early autumn's hike in the Berkshires, this jungle has one thing eastern Massachusetts does not: the Macaque monkey. An endemic in Taiwan, these monkeys live generally in areas under 3,000 meters above sea level. They are most active at dawn and dusk, and seeing as my trek was in the middle of the day, I made no encounter with them. But not to fear, I will have a second chance as I plan to take my friends up at the start of dawn to find the monkeys.


Some may find this mission to be a bit foolhardy, as the Macaque are known to attack tourists with their teeth and claws, steal food or expensive electronics, and make life a little more tiresome after climbing all those damn stairs. I am told that as long as I do not stare, or stop to feed them, I will be fine. I intend to follow the rules on this one!


After passing an oddly placed restaurant on the middle of the trail, complete with two dogs and an enormous hog, I reached the end of the trail. Having arrived at a paved road, with a map only in Chinese, I was a bit confused on where to go. Fortunately, a very kind woman offered me guidance. She informed me I could go either way- the first brought me to the Taipei Culture University while the other sent me to the backside of Yangmingshan. At first I crawled up the steep road to the University where I grabbed a second lunch (I was hungry after all that work), found a Catholic Church designed in far eastern decor, decided the University area was boring and returned back to go the other way. This way was much more interesting because the pathway followed along side a natural hot spring river. I followed the steaming brook, and the sulfurous fumes, until I finally reached my destination- the base of Yangminshan. I caught a bus and rode it back down the mountain to the MRT, and took a train up to Xinbeitou.


I had been to Xinbeitou once before, during the winter, to experience the public outdoor hot spring. This time, my destination was along the same lines, but entirely different. I was headed for the source.


Along the central park, past the public library, the hot spring museum, and the public hot spring, up the hill and down a side street not well marked, I came across the strangest, and eeriest place I have been to yet in Taiwan- Hell Valley. Hell Valley is the hot spring source where a foul and odoriferous natural spring comes gushing up through a sulfur gas hole from the volcanic fires below. The spring ejects 2,000 CMD of water at a near boiling temperature of between 80 degrees and 100 degrees Celsius. Although it is clearly too hot to swim in, that doesn't stop locals from coming to boil their eggs in the water! It is a very acidic geothermal pool with a pH of between 1.2 and 1.6, allowing it to easily corrode metals and buildings. As a Melanterite Spring, or more commonly known as a Green Sulfur Spring, it exists in only one other place in the entire world.


Hell Valley covers an area of about 3,500 square feet. The valley is, we shall call it what is is, the crater of a volcano that was formed when it sunk prior to an eruption. Fortunately, today, the residual heat within the crater is not strong enough to set off another kaboom. Instead, it makes for a piping hot source for hot, and surprisingly enough, radioactive springs. The small traces of Radium found in Hell Valley give the hot springs it feeds a recreational and rehabilitating (as some claim) effect.


And when my time with with Hell Valley came to a close, I decided it was time to put that radioactive magic to work on my very tired feet. I walked further down stream, to where the boiling hot water had cooled down quite a bit, stopped by a noodle shop and ordered a bowl of beef noodles to go, strolled down to the running green sulfur water, took off my shoes, rolled up my pants, and I dipped my aching feet into the rejuvenating hot spring waters rushing past me just as the sun was beginning to set in the distant horizon.

Now when I dug my chopsticks into my slippery noodles and reminded myself I was cleansing my feet in a radioactive river coming straight from a volcanic crater, I had to check myself and ask, "Can life really get any better than this?"


From a man who finds himself asking that question more and more each day, your friend, Michael.

A Potter's Life

I have picked up several new hobbies while I have been over here- Chinese, teaching, Asian beer drinking, British English, Chinese Calligraphy, and Asian beer drinking. But perhaps the most secret of all hobbies was given away in the title of this post- my pottery.

Having never taken a class in pottery, I thought I might give it a go. My sister is the potter of the family,- her works are on display in my home in Byfield, MA- so I thought maybe there might be a bit of that visual artistic gene dancing somewhere in my fingertips as well.

For Christmas, I brought two of my friends to a town called Inge, famous for its decorative and illustrious pottery. We boarded the train at Taipei Main Station and for mere pocket change, we were there in less than thirty minutes. The day was dismal and gray, but our spirits were high as we made our way down a small ally to the local pottery store.

During the week, the place is fairly empty so you can make three items and keep one or pay for the others. On the weekend however, when we arrived, you can only make two and keep one or pay for the other. Well, when I sat down at the wheel, I felt the creative juices flow out of my brain and into the clay. I stayed focused, and interested. I built illustrious vases and bowls and dishes. The owner noticed how intrigued I was by my work and he therefore gave me more and more clay to build as much as I wanted. It was a terrific experience.

After we sculpted our designs with our hands, it was off to the decorating table where one could add design after design onto one's cup or bowl. If you wanted to write a message- go for it. If you wanted to add on clay accessories- that was great too! Anything you wanted was available to you.

The first item I made was a cup from with one can drink tea. However, I found a traditional handle to be just too tacky and Western. I wanted to keep the design simple and Eastern which, of course, has no handle. However, here in lies a problem- with no handle, one burns one hand. I therefore decided to reinvent the Asian Tea Cup by adding nodes around the cup to rest your palm and your finger tips. In case one can't determine where to put one's fingers, as though it weren't obvious enough, I labeled Chinese Characters to direct the lost soul's gripping function.

My second creation is of a pig. I created a candy dish and, at the center is a humbling pig waiting to be discovered by the hand that reaches to deep. A gentle reminder to the gluttons of the party!

My last creation was conceived and produced at Sun Moon Lake. In a previous post, I portrayed the creation sans color. Here is the final product. As a reminder, the characters written on this bowl translates to "My there be enough left from this harvest to start another." Translated to it's western counterpart, "May there always be food in this bowl." The bowl is decorated with a Sun and a Moon symbolizing the location at which it was made followed by the dates.

The story ends sadly, though. On our elated return to Inge to pick up our pottery, a friend of mine was disappointed to discover the shop where we made our pottery had lost her pottery. While disappointing, the shop did manage to salvage the cup she made for her father. After picking our pottery, we made our way over to a restaurant for some delicious noodles. But this was an interesting restaurant because after paying a deposit at the beginning of the meal, you can decide if you want to keep your dish or not. See as I had just moved into my new apartment and had no dish ware, I deemed this to be an excellent souvenir of an equally excellent day.

So with that, your Frederick Hurten Rhead of Inge, Michael.

A Few Gentle Reminders

After a certain amount of time living abroad, you acclimate to your bizarre surroundings. The large, burping women on the subway don't offend you and the dare devil scooter-men racing along the sidewalks don't set your heart to over drive. In fact, as much as it scares me to say it, I am beginning to feel at home in Taiwan.

For instance, my Chinese is no where near the level it should be for having lived here nine months. But in all honesty, it's not terrible for someone who hasn't been taking Chinese classes. I can go to stores and inquire or bargain about prices. I can ask for no sugar in several types of tea. I can even hold easy conversations about family, hobbies, and relationships. I have a great deal of work to do, but it is satisfying to know when push comes to shove, I can get what I want in Taiwan's native (or is it psued0-imperial?) language.

But as comfortable as I may feel, there are times when I am kindly rejected from my serenity and spat back onto the unforgiving pavement of reality. And that reality is simply this- I am still in Taiwan, and Taiwan is not America.

About two weeks ago, I briefly stepped away from my school to order some tea. As soon as I had emerged through the front door, I happened upon two older gentleman clearly displeased with one another. Scowls turned to verbal assaults which then in turn went to punches thrown at each other. I quickly stepped to the side as these two men took turns walloping one other with their fists. At this point, a group of spectators formed around the onlookers with beaming curiosity. Fighting and wrestling through the large crowd, the fight broke out onto the street with on-coming traffic screeching to a halt or swerving to miss them.

I turned to an onlooker, who happened to be the lao ban, or shopkeeper, of the store in front of which they were fighting, and asked whether or not we should call the police. She looked at me and shook her head and that was that. As a foreigner who could do little more than ask these two men if they would like their noodles hot or cold, I could not interfere in their feuding. Realizing this, I left the scene and went about buying that tea which brought me outside in the first place.

I walked a short distance down the road to my usual haunt- Kool Tea- flirted with the young, attractive lady who always works there, paid for my tea and began my walk back to the school. All in all, this formulaic process took only five minutes or so. When I got back to the store where the fight had broken out, I was greeted by a very interesting surprise. Nobody had bothered to call the police, because I knew there was a police station only a two minute walk down the road. Instead, there were two young girls separating these two ogres apart.

I sat down with my student after this episode and told him that in the United States, if a fight were to break out in a crowd of people, the law enforcement would be on it very quickly. My student smiled and said, "Not here!" I asked if it had anything to do with shame culture versus guilt culture, or saving face, or managing disputes independently, or cultural differences concerning fighting. My 16 year old student informed me that it was none of those things. "The reason no one called the police," he said, "is because the police are cowards! They would be afraid to do anything!"

My second parable of nine month culture shock comes in the form of weather. In New England, there is no such thing as spring. One day it is freezing and snowing, the next it is sunny and warm. Here, that phenomenon appears to be the same, but at a higher extreme. Last weekend, I went to bed in layers of pajamas covered in layers of blankets. The next night I was practically naked due to the 85 degree scorching heat and humidity. Naturally, there is a difference between a May summer and a July summer. In one weekend, thought, it seemed as if we jumped from March to August in a single sleep.

The citizens of Taipei also noticed this unusual hot spell and decided to join me for a hike on Sunday- all two and a half million of them. Interested in hiking and hot springs, I made my way to Yangmingshan National Park and was greeted by stop and go traffic the entire way. I swear that all the traffic problems of Taipei were transplanted onto the mountain that day as people decided to park their cars on the side of the road and walk up the mountain because they would get there faster. This, of course, did not improve driving conditions. But once the main crowds were left behind and I made my way to more remote locations in the park, I was at once greeted by fresh air, stinky sulfur fumes, and vast mountain landscapes. I returned to Beitou where I decided to veer away from the resorts and go for the public hot spring experience this time. Not as relaxing, but equally entertaining, these springs are a great location for friends of both sexes to relax, relate, and enjoy the mystic powers of the hot spring.

And before I sign off this time, I have exciting news for all of you. Inspired by my daring adventures in The Philippines, I have booked my next vacation. From June 15th to June 30th, I will be backpacking, scuba diving, and experiencing the splendors, riches, and culinary delicacies of South East Asia's favorite travel destination- Thailand. Of course, more on that trip in a few months.

So with open and sincere understanding of where I am, your existentially cognizant, socially perceptive, and culturally attuned lost, little boy of Taipei, Michael.