So This is Thailand

In just two weeks, I was able to place some pretty impressive super- latives under my belt: touching down on the mainland of the world's largest continent, traveling to my southernmost destination yet, as well as my deepest, and interacting with some of the worlds most dangerous animals (an appropriate continuation of my black widow encounter three weeks ago).

All of which were construed in Thailand, a country half grounded in reality, half flipping and swirling in a spicy green curry of intoxicating dreams. Food analogies are impressively apt for describing Thailand because hidden among coral beauties, colossal mountain, and concrete jungles lies a cuisine designed to both twitch the taste buds and send you reading some Trotsky on the toilet.

Although Chang Mai is best known for its cooking courses, the start of the rainy prevented me from venturing up into this province rich in history and tradition. Instead, I navigated due East, and stopped before reaching the Myanmar border in a historical little town called Kanchanaburi (by putting the stress on the third syllable, the name might in fact resemble less like an Aussie outpost and more like a place of Thai historical prestige).

While I will come back to Kancha- naburi in much greater depth with my sub- sequent posts, I would like to focus on the culinary factory that really stood out for us on this portion of the trip. On our final day there, we took a full day cooking course designed to help us appreciate the cooking expertise that goes into each and every dish. The morning began with a private tour of the local market, introducing us to native tropical fruits, snacks, spices, herbs, meat, and fish so fresh, they were still swimming around in a tub!

After the tour, we returned to the open air cooking school, run by Apple and Noi, set pictures- quely along a river, and we began learning how to cook in a true Thai style: when to balance the spicy with the sweet, when to serve curry or Pad Thai, and most of all learning that there is no reason in this world that Thais should ever get full of their own food.

As we sat down with our freshly cooked meals of lemon grass chicken, pork stir-fry, Tom Yum Kai Soup, Green Curry, and of course Pad Thai, we dug in with our forks and spoons (notice my inconspicuous hint that Thais don't use knives or chopsticks). We ate so much of the finest feast we had ever tasted, our bloated gastronomical organs, i.e. our stomachs, did not need replenishment for the next 24 hours.


But enough with food, as I am pining already for the pallet bliss of my yesterdays, and move onto the hallmark of any great country and that is transportation. In Taipei, taxis are both prevalent and expensive for Asian standards. Fortunately, the transportation situation tends to reside in the former and steers clear of the latter. Bangkok is like Taipei on Meth, with mad dashes in Tuk-Tuks (small, motorized tricycles) that come complimentary with the sweet perfume of motor exhaust. For this reason, and the Tuk-Tuks tend to be more expensive, I opted for the sky train and metered taxis. I am not necessarily convinced, however, that a metered taxi is the safer option all the time.

Whenever I entered a taxi, I handed them a card with my location written in Thai. They would hold it very close to their eyes, shake their head and extend their arms, squint their eyes and then apologize that they couldn't see it. After coming across multiple cab drivers with the same ocular disorder, I came to the desolate conclusion that I would have to ride with a blind cabbie. Perhaps this explains the reason behind the super cheap rates.

My taxi took me onto the highway only to get stuck in traffic. We can thank the engineering genius that decided to put a busy railroad at the end of the offramp for this congestion. But oh well, I still had plenty of time before I had to be at my destination. Then, while sitting there on the freeway, the cab stalled.

"Sorry," the man apologized, "out of gas!" Ok, so now I was with a blind taxi driver in the middle of the freeway in a cab without an gas. Fortunately, he was able to start the car and go a few meters before the cab stalled and he had to start it up again. The trains didn't help much either. We continued in our usual fashion, stop-and-go that is, until we were about 50 yards from the gas station. At this point, the taxi refused to start up again. So, as a test to his perseverance, the taxi driver got out of the car and pushed the cab the rest of the way, while I sat in the back seat. Fortunately, many Thai citizens were along the side cheering the poor man on. The ride cost only about U.S. $4.00.

Nothing, however, beats comfort on a coach bus. That's for sure.


Now by the end of a ride, that spicy papaya salad you inhaled earlier is ready to part ways with you. Which brings me to concluding with pleasantries and toiletries. Thai toilets on general tend to rank just a little lower on the evolutionary plumbing ladder than Taiwan, making bowl movements a true test of character. Waste disposal is, after all, one of the considerations of how "civilized" a country is.

First off, it took me about a week to figure out just how to flush the damn things. In most restrooms, you were presented with little more than a tiny pot adjacent to a medium sized water basin filled with water and a bowl. With no apparent flushing mechanism, I turned to the toilet section in my Lonely Planet guide book and followed their step-by-step instruction on how to use this quagmire-like hopper.

Step One: Use the water from the basin to wash your nether regions. This is a perfect reason as to why one ought to always bring their own T.P.

Step Two: Pour lots of water into the toilet so it automatically flushes.

Step Three: Try to repress any images from the last five minutes of your life. (Ok, so this one wasn't in Lonely Planet, but I think it is an extremely important final step.) The toilet experience is a fine example of why one ought to be armed with as much knowledge as possible.

For example, while staying in Nang Rong, the water stopped flowing early in the morning. I was waiting in the courtyard of my inn for a taxi to arrive with six other foreigners when a young polish woman came out with wet hair. We all looked at her hopefully and inquired if the water was back on. She informed us that no, it was not, and with a look of ingenuity that only McGyver can muster, she told us about the little basin next to the toilet with water in it. That's right, she used the toilet water to wash her hair, and while we were all horrified by this, none of us had the heard to tell her what just did.

This wraps up my anecdotal introduction of Thailand. These points are, however, by no means a "best of" summary of my time here in Thailand. They are only minor stories chosen to set the stage of a vastly different world. In the posts to come, I will take you to the 12th century Khmer Ruins set against the Cambodian border, to the death railway along the River Kwai, and to the sunburned bodies roasting in the Gulf of Thailand. And best of all, no boarding pass required.

From your narrator with a "Thai taste", Michael.

The Black Widow

Is there any name for a spider, or any animal's name for that matter, more frightening than the Black Widow? And, what's more, is there anything more frightening than one landing on your arm? From experience, I can tell you, no, there really isn't much more frightening than that.

While hiking in Pingxi on Monday, making my way up to the Temple housing the Kwan Yin Dripping Water Cave, I made my way through truly jungled terrain equipped with terrifying creepy crawlies. As I passed countless bushes and trees, I could feel invisible strands of spider webs brushing across my face and arms. But with the sweat and humidity dripping down my face, the cobwebs didn't really seem to phase me. And to be quite honest, I am used to this from my countless hikes in the Northeast United States with harmless spiders.

However, somewhere mingled with all that sweat and intensity, I could feel the light pitter patter of eight little feet crawling up my forearm. I looked down and saw the most monstrous little spider I have ever seen in my life.

This spider was jet black and had an enormous abdomen twice the size of its head. It was no larger than the knuckle of my ring finger, but the dark, ominous color sent my hairs on edge. Without thinking, but after getting a good solid look at this harbinger of doom, I took the guide book in my right hand and brushed the eight legged arachnid to the ground. I watched him fly off and caught a glimpse of the tell-tale red hour glass on the underside of his abdomen. I thought to myself about what a freaky spider that was and then continued on, giving no second thought.

No second thought, that is, until I thought, what if there are more spiders? I then did that dance, you know which one, where you start freaking out and shake every part of your body just in case there are other spiders, scorpions, or venomous snakes lurking about in the far reaches of your body. I mean I rustled my hair, jumped up and down, waved my hands in the air, and almost reached the point of stripping naked fearing one had passed by unnoticed up into my shorts.

Fortunately, at the height of my lunacy, I calmed back down and came to the conclusion that there were no more spiders on me. I continued up the trail, to the temple, and the spider didn't enter into my train of thought until one lonely night at the computer, several evenings later.

As I was doing some aimless Google searches, the image of that black spider popped up in the foreground of my mind again. I typed into the Google search engine "poisonous spiders Taiwan" and came across a great study of the different spiders all around Taiwan. I was relieved to discover that the majority of spiders are in fact not poisonous in Taiwan. However, one that we ought to watch out for, the study mentioned, was the Black Widow.

Black Widow.

Black.

Black Spider.

Oh, dear God...

I shot out of my chair again and gave a hearty encore of the absurd dance I did back in the jungle that day. Once I gained my composure, I did a Google image search of a black spider and sure enough, glowing on my computer screen was and exact image of the same spider I saw looming on my arm- dark as night back, red hourglass abdomen. Now, I am no spider expert, but I know I had a very close encounter with a Black Widow Spider that strange and scary afternoon.

Fortunately, I was not bitten by the widow maker, I mean, Black Widow. And I know, that spiders have received undue negative images all throughout the world. Even the the Black Widow is misunderstood. The venom of a bite from a Black Widow is rarely enough to kill a fully grown human, (although it is more than likely fatal for children). More often than not, the Black Widow will scamper away more terrified of us than we are of them. And yet, while I know all of this to be true, the experience nevertheless gave me one massive case of the heebie geebies.

I think it's safe to say that my incident at Silver Stream Cave and now my Black Widow attack at Pingxi will seriously force me into considering bringing along a hiking partner for my next Taiwanese adventure.

From your Black Widow hun..... gaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh... Michael.

Photo courtesy of National Geographic, www.nationalgeographic.com

All in the Family

Monday morning I was greeted with a bright sun and the fortunate grace of not being called in on stand-by. Therefore, with bright hopes of a fine day resting on the horizon, I took off for a place just east of Taipei called Pingxi.

To the loyal readers of this blog, Pingxi might ring a few bells; the area is reminiscent of sky lanterns, hot stinking trains, crazy old women wanting English lessons, and torrential downpours while wandering lost and with no sense of direction. What's more is, I believe I may have mentioned that bad times make for good stories. Well, I can tell you friends, it has not come to the point, yet, where we look fondly on our first trip to this treacherous part of Taiwan.

However, this trip was to be solo, by bus, and in fair weather. Wait, by bus you ask? Oh yes. Apparently there is a bus service that runs from Muzah in Taipei and goes to Pingxi in 45 minutes. The ride costs three swipes of the MRT card, or NT$45, was not crowded, and presented me with some of the most charming scenery around Taipei. Already, this second voyage to Pingxi was vastly improving over my last trip.

Once I arrived in Pingxi, I was dismayed to see dark clouds rolling in over the mountain and thuderous crashes sounding in the distance. A quick wind was picking up and I knew I had to make a choice: climb the mountains and beat the storms, thus risk stranding myself in unpredictable and dangerous weather, or wait it out at the bottom of the mountain for the storm to pass. My recent accident at Silver Stream Cave made me weigh all my options quite heavily.

At last, I decided to test the elements, and incidentally my ability to judge an approaching storm, as I made my way up the unique mountains. I have commented on before how the hiking trails are managed in this area, that rather than dirt paths meandering up the sides of mountains, the Taiwanese prefer stairs straight up instead. Well, the stairs at Pingxi take hiking to a new level when they are actually cut straight into the cliff faces themselves.


Although I have a decent head for heights, it was a dizzying task at times. And with the chances of a small thunderstorm coming at any time over these unprotected rock faces, the chance of failure was elevated. The danger and intensity swirled around my head as I made my way up the first of two peaks: Dutiful Son Mountain.


Dutiful Son Mountain climbs at a solid 75 degrees, making it difficult, yet climbable. The difficulty comes at the finale when the stairs are replaced by hanging ropes dangling over a vertical cliff and you have to literally scale this terrifying peak up to the summit. But once there, the views of the surrounding countryside are incomparable. Furthermore, there is a splendid view of the nearby and more precipitous climb up Loving Mother Mountain.


Loving Mother Mountain dwarfs Dutiful Son Mountain, but it isn't as dangerous in my opinion. The steps are twice as long and more exposed to the elements, but in reality, the climb was relatively simple and dare I say, peaceful. Once I had arrived at the summit, I was presented with the most enchanting view of Dutiful Son Mountain and the surrounding countryside. The serenity and magic of the rolling mountains stretched deep into the distance and blended effortlessly into the quiet horizon.


The peacefulness of the scene was quickly interrupted when mother nature decided to remind me that I was on an exposed cliff face when she loudly bellowed out "Hey, idiot, get off the mountain! A storm's abrewin'!" Cracks of thunder very close to this outcrop sent me on my way, and I quickly, yet carefully, descended this glorious peak. And in no time, too, because the rain started tapping at my back as soon as I reached the head of the trail. Nature gave me just enough time before the storm hit to find shelter underneath a local pavilion with a gaggle of old Taiwanese dames. Certainly, it was no setting of any Harlequin romance novel, where I am forced into a local stable with scantily clad young women as the roaring storm electrifies our primal urges. Rather, I sat there calmly for forty-five minutes praying none of the grannies would request any "English lessons" from me during this passing rain.

Fortunately, the rain passed, and so did my fears of any advances, and I made my way down the road to a quiet town called Ling Chiao. With a main road no larger than a back alleyway, this village doesn't have much to offer a passing traveler. However, I was en route to a more fabled sense of gold at the top of a mountain behind the village. Taking a trail through wooded hills, (and absentmindedly walking through some spider webs only moments later to find what very well could be lethally poisonous spiders crawling all over my arm and shirt) I reached the summit and to a new and imposing temple. I walked in, greeted the monk and climbed carefully up to the top of the temple. On top, I was presented with two very special gifts.

The first gift was behind the temple. Here, a cave is tucked away in a place so remote and and so unknown, that there aren't even any photos of it on Google. This cave, called Quan Yin Dripping Water Cave, is another geological masterpiece. Over thousands of years, hanging plants have turned into stalagtites and stalagmites from a process of petrification by mineral-rich waters. In the center of the cave, a small statue, shaped from a large, central stalagmite, serves as a worshiping point to the Goddess of Mercy, Quan Yin.


The second gift was the panoramic view of the mountains, encased in a sweet unfolding of clouds and mist. The view, quite honestly, took my breath away. Because, after such a long and somewhat tiring trek out to the temple, I came to realize I was at the top of a mountain beside a wondrous cave. It was in this moment I felt a great and overwhelming sensation of achievement and tranquility as I gazed off at a view I had seriously worked for.


I descended the mountain, walked back to Ling Chiao, walked a bit of the train tracks to take some photographs of a forbidden waterfall, and caught the quaint train back to Taipei. And for what it's worth, the train wasn't crowded this time.


From a man who climbed the mountains that truly are all in the family, Michael.

Yehliu-stone National Park

On the second day of the dragon boat festival, I decided it might be worth a trip down to Ilan to check out the aboriginal races. However, by the time I got to the train station, it was already 1:30 and I wouldn't pull into Jiaosi until well past 3:30. By then, I had assumed, the races would be over so I needed to plan my day accordingly.

Last week, my trip up to Yehliu had been canceled due to inclement weather (that, and I forgot to bring my camera) so I decided why not give it a second go. Yehliu is on the north coast of Taiwan, and the only public access to this scenic spot is through a port city called Keelung. Luckily, I had already visited this city once before so getting there would be easy. And what's more, the bus there is out of the same terminal to the airport bus! Yet for some reason, I spent about an hour walking aimlessly around Taipei Main Station looking for that blasted terminal. Eventually, I found it, but I was already tired, sweaty, and in a foul mood.

The bus was quick and air conditioned- two things I like very much about buses. Keelung is a smelly harbor and one you wouldn't want to hang around unless forced to. The odor reminded me of Gloucester, but for some reason, much much more rank. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait a single moment for my bus to Yehliu and with that, I was off again on another fast and air conditioned bus.


By the time I reached Yehliu, however, the skies opened up and the plum rains began to pour down. That's what I hate most about plum rains: the day always starts deceptively sunny, and stays that way just long enough to lure you out without rain protection, only to trap you in a monster downpour. But the plum rains are never long, surely no more than one hour, and in this case, the sun was back out in fifteen minutes.

I followed the path down to the harbor and was struck by the most intriguing set of fishing boats. Well, the boats themselves were nothing special, but hanging on each boats were a few dozen enormous lightbulbs, the likes of which I had never seen. I stopped briefly to capture these unique vessels only to discover that these boats also serve as open markets and restaurants to the throngs of tourists that descend upon Yehliu each weekend. I'm not sure why my arrival didn't warrant a red carpet ceremony, or at least a fish.


I try my best each blog posting to provide you with accurate descriptions of my journey's in Taiwan. However, for the first time I find myself without words to describe just what Yehliu is (perhaps that's because I rely too heavily on mashed up cliches in my writing, but then again, it makes it easier to read).

Yehliu is a geologist's playground. Around each bend there are new and absurdly strange twists of geological formations. Upon first glance, you are presented with what look like for all the world to be ten foot mushrooms growing out of the rock formations. Clearly, little imagination was at work here when these rocks were title "mushroom rocks."


Some areas looked like marshmallow strands swirled on a dessert while other parts looked like runny ice cream marbleized on the stone. Some rocks resembled tofu jutting out of the water while others looked like honeycombs waiting for the worker bees to return home. One of the most intriguing points of this tour came with these enormous boulders that looked as if they were launched out of a canon and smashed into gelatinous goo. But that putty like clay was harder than your head. On only a stone's throw away, literally, were prehistoric fossils perfectly preserved in the cliffs of Yehliu. Here are some of the more interesting rock formations discovered on the peninsula.

A View of the Ocean from Yehliu Peninsula

Cliffside

Natural Rock Formations

Rocks of Twenty-four Filial Piety

Lover's Cave- But only is you love bugs

Fossils were prevalent on the peninsula

Tofu Rocks

Yehliu Rock Formations

Outstretched Hand and Snake

Honeycomb Rock

Melted Ice Cream Designs

Canon ball Rocks

Enjoying the Rocks

Dragon Rock

But perhaps the title for the most famous of all the rock formations must be given to the Queen's Head Rock which, I will give it to them, has a perfectly silhouetted resemblance of an ancient Egyptian queen. She has been the topic of recent conversation, due to the alarming rate at which she is eroding away. So best get your butts to Yehliu now before it's too late!


When the tour of Yeliu came to a close, I hopped back onto the bus and continued along the winding coast to Chinsan. Getting off in the city square, I made my way to the Old Street where some of the coasts traditional eateries are nicely preserved. Delicate sea fare, sweetened plum tea, and snacks and noodles enough to feed the royal navy, this port street is not one to be missed. However, I had limited time in this street because my daylight hours were reducing and I still had a great deal to cover before my time was finished.


I walked down to the seashore and climbed over the sea wall to meander along the rosy rocks near the tide. The sea was calm and gently, and made a perfect outing for dozens of families joining one another for a soft, quiet evening along the sea. I continued past these munchers down to the end of the point where I was presented with a magnificent view of the famed candlestick rocks out in the middle of the ocean. Only our imaginations can guide us as to the years of erosion and sculpting that formed the vast geological treasures that make up Chinshan and Yehliu.



Through an old army barracks went I and down to what I call the Disney Land of hot springs. Below a series of blue pyramid roof tops lay the Chinsan Hot Spring Pools. Inside are many shallow pools with waterfalls, spas, hot and cold springs, lazy rivers meander inside and outside, through caves and around gazebos, and surprisingly enough: water slides (which, yes, I did go down several times since I was the ONLY person there!!!)


After a fine soak in the warm tubs, I dried off and went back to Chinshan center where I caught a bus back to Keelung and then transfered back to Taipei. And although it wasn't the aboriginal dragon boats of Ilan, this little traveler isn't complaining!


From your recent graduate of Paleontology and Geology from the University of Yehliu, Michael.

Dragon Boats

Every year, on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, cultures all through- out Asia celebrate the Dragon Boat Festival. This origin of this tradition dates back over two thousand years during the Warring States Period of the Zhou Dynasty on Mainland China.

Legend has it that the king the state of Chu decided to form an alliance with the growing and dangerous state of Qin. At the time, a royal adviser named Qu Yuan greatly opposed any form of alliance and was therefore banished. During his time in exile, Qu Yuan wrote a great deal of poetry and is now greatly remembered more for his literary accomplishments rather than his political ones.

However, disaster struck the state of Chu as Qin became so powerful that is conquered Chu. In great despair, Qu Yuan committed suicide by throwing himself into the river in 278 B.C.E. The local people were terribly afraid that the fish would devour the corpse of their beloved poet, so in response, they wrapped food and threw it into the river as morsels for the fish. It is believed that this gave rise to zongzi, or rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo leaves, which are traditionally eaten at the time of the dragon boat festival.

Over time, dragon boat races were held to ward off evil spirits or ghosts inhabiting the waterways. Whether to protect Qu Yuan or themselves, these races continue up until today.


In Taiwan, there are several places to witness these dragon boat races. Perhaps the most interesting one takes place in Jiaosi where an aboriginal style race takes place on the Erlong (double dragon) river. While this tradition has been going on for over 200 years, we opted for the closer dragon boat festival in the city of Taipei.


At the riverside park, below the famous fishing rod bridge, the 2008 dragon boat festival was launched. An enormous affair, we were delighted by the sheer number of folks out supporting this honorable tradition. We began the day with a joyful bicycle ride around the grounds. It was at this point I achieved one of my life-long goals: riding a two seater bicycle. At first, proved difficult to control, but before long, my capable partner and I were maneuvering quite well through the throngs of onlookers.


We peddled up to the fishing rod bridge which gave us a bird's eye view of the first dragon boat race. I was amazed by the speed at which the boats traversed the waters. From this top angle, you can see how the boat is organized with rowers on each side, a man on the rudder, and one more on an enormous drum to keep rhythm. The races were exciting as the boats hurled below me to the sound of an ancient drum pounding along.


Afterwards, we met some friends and enjoyed a bit of the races from the river level. Having already returned the bikes at this point, we were consequently on foot from this point forwards. The most exciting part, aside from the heaping pile of chow mien I had for lunch, was watching the teams board their boats before the race and take off past us. These photos and video capture the quintessential excitement that make up the dragon boat festival.

However, the excited quickly wears off after about one or two races before you realize these are just a bunch of people rowing a boat. So with that, we hopped on the bus with our complimentary rice dumplings and returned home culturally fulfilled. From your river demon scaring dragon boat pentathlon athlete of Dajia River Park, Michael.

My Own Back Yard

Several weeks ago, on mother's day weekend to be precise, I took a short walk in my own back yard. The air was cool and crisp and the walk was leisurely and serene. It began quite normally, in fact, with me getting lost in the labyrinth of apartment buildings and shops, occasionally stopping and asking for directions. Fortunately, my time spent aimlessly walking the streets of Neihu was significantly shorter this time due to a charitable gift presented to me by one of my students. Knowing full well how much I enjoy hiking in the poisonous snake infested mountains of Taiwan, my student gave me a map of the hiking trails around my apartment. The gift, I have to say, has already come in rather handy.


I discovered several tennis courts and outdoor swimming pools, so if I should ever require a good play followed by a good soak, I now know where to get my fix. But on this particular day, the swimming would have to wait. I found the landmarks necessary to get me to the hiking trail and, had I not gotten lost before, I would have made it from door step to wilderness in five minutes flat.


My back yard is frequented by a fair number of Sunday walkers. The entrance to the trail is a wide expanse of grass and mountains. A vast number of visitors were already congregating for a quiet summer's evening. I quickly passed their noise gawking and continued on to direction where a growing number of trekkers were heading.


The trail fell down below a small hill and followed up a stream. The stream wound back and forth, past some grazing water buffalo, and through some less than elegant, but more than functional, farms. Before long, I had bypassed the majority of open land and was now in the covered forests of Neihu, lying at the base of Yangmingshan National Park.


The beginning of the trail was flat and comfortable. The humidity index was fairly low, so one would worry about having to tolerate a heady sweat. In addition, the low-lying trees offered enough protection from the sun at this point to produce a mild, chilling atmosphere for climbing through the dense thicket.

The climax of the hike was when I reached, you guessed it, more stairs. But these stairs brought most people to what they were looking for: the Yuan Chueh Waterfall. Cascading over a cliff side, this was by far the least impressive waterfall I have seen thus far in Taiwan. Wulai and Silver Stream both offer far more impressive waterfalls to check out. However, there were secrets to this waterfall that did escape my eye at first. Do you notice anything special? Click on the photo to enlarge.


That's right- carved delicately into the face of the rock to the right side of the waterfall, you can just make out the presence of a beautiful temple overlooking the expanse of falling water. Such a charming and secluded location for religious worship this place was. And the best part was, I didn't have to walk more than 20 minutes from my apartment, in the city, to get there.

From your friend living in city jungle, and the jungle jungle, Michael.

The Good Concert

In the early morning hours on the weekend of May 31^st, I, along with one hundred and fifty people boarded buses in Taipei and we made our way down to Sun Moon Lake. Although I had already vacationed there once, this return was for a unique and special reason. We were to be shown the work World Vision has accomplished for children in the Nantou region and to raise awareness of their needs with a large benefit concert.

The idea for the trip was proposed about six months prior, during one of my private lessons at World Vision Taiwan. My student of six months at the time told me they hold a concert, in conjunction with Starbucks Coffee, each year down in Sun Moon Lake. The concert was discussed periodically in our lessons over the following months until they extended to me an invitation to join them for the weekend. Delighted, and quite frankly flattered, I enthusiastically accepted.

My education, and my teaching, began on the bus ride there. Sitting with a man named Wilson, we started to engage in small talk. Not long thereafter, his heart was overcome with such happiness for the occasion, that he stood up before the entire bus and lead his fellow passengers in song. The song was a Mandarin Chinese version of the well known classic:

The more we get together, together, together

The more we get together, the happier we’ll be…

When he sat down, I turned to him and told him that there was an English version of that song as well. We spent the next few kilometers teaching one another this song in our own languages until we could sing with one another in both English and Mandarin.

Arriving at Sun Moon Lake, the day began with a presentation in a local church. Adjacent to the church was a dormitory recently built by World Vision to house indigenous students that can’t return back to their villages after schooling. We were given tours of this clean and impressive facility and met some of the young adults using this dormitory to help in their education.

The true delight of the weekend, however, came at the conclusion of this small presentation. We boarded our buses and the students directed us to their small villages deep within the mountains of central Taiwan. The trip took us though thick jungles and down dirt roads, over streams and around winding mountain passages. Finally, we arrived in the village which, although remarkably secluded was relatively modern.

We parked the cars and entered into the elementary school. For a community without a great deal of funds, it was heartwarming to watch the school principal hand to World Vision Taiwan a cheque for NT$6,000 to aid the victims of the earthquake in China. After this small ceremony, we were entertained by a small children’s choir, dressed in aboriginal robes, singing and dancing ancient indigenous melodies and steps. The loud cheers from the crowd at the end of this rare treat signaled the start of lunch. And what better ways to celebrate an indigenous community than with a pig roast. Waiting for us were not one, but two roasting wild boars along with hand-made bamboo rice, vegetables, muaji and corn. We feasted as the tribesmen did, among good company and abundant food, many years before.

One of the two suckling wild boars

Cracking open Bamboo Rice

The Great Feast

After lunch, we were given the opportunity to tour the school. On the way out of the dining hall, I was stopped by two mischievous young ones, Tom and Alan, who were very curious about me. As we sat down to chat in broken, but understandable English, more children started to gather round. Eventually, nearly thirty students were crowded around me; they interested in the first foreigner they had ever met. Some listened closely to the songs I sang for them, others asked me to share curious anecdotes about America. My favorites, however, were the ones who just sat their wide-eyed, gaping at and mystified by my strange and exotic blue eyes. Before long, I had a small audience, where I sang songs, answered simple questions and of course, performed a magic trick or two (which are always impressive no matter what language you speak).

After this transforming experience, we boarded the bus to several other locations on the tour. Unfortunately, heavy rain settled in and our trips to some gardens and farms had to be canceled. World Vision leaders decided it would be best to check in early at our hotel and freshen up before the concert that evening.

At six o’clock, we were cordially escorted to the rain location for the concert. As I had expected a small, quiet concert, I was floored by the scale and grandeur of the event. Lights, smoke machines, speakers, video equipment, screens: you name anything one might find at a professional concert for an A class performer and it was there at the concert that night. The evening’s spectacles included performances by popular local groups, testimonials by World Vision volunteers, aboriginal dances by young children and a speech by yours truly. That’s right. Toward the conclusion of the concert, a staff member asked me if I would go up on stage and share my feelings with the audience about the weekend. Reluctant at first, I changed my mind as I realized that it was no different from an oversized classroom. On the condition I would be given five minutes to think about what I was going to say, I agreed. In less than a minute’s time, however, I was walking up to the front of the audience set to make a speech.

I talked about the wonder and joy I witnessed that weekend and how proud I was to be teaching for such a special and thoughtful organization such as World Vision Taiwan. I talked about the melodic language exchange on the bus ride down; I mentioned the hearty meal I received at lunch; and most importantly, I shared with them the lesson I learned, albeit corny, that morning with the indigenous youngsters, “Children believe in two things: human compassion and magic. And that is exactly what this is- magic.”

The next morning, I rose early for lunch and then hit the town on my own. At this point the rain had all but moved away and in its place was a fine and warm sunny day. The view from our balcony provides a stunning comparison of the two days’ weather.

Saturday

Sunday

As I made my way down to the lake area, I remembered fondly the last time I was here. Although it was cold in December, the place hadn’t changed much. The building were still there, the mountains rolling in the distance. The lake even maintained its charming calm. Boats rolled gently in the water and I, at rest with the happiness of the location, let my stress and worry (of which there was already very little to begin with) evaporate with the morning sun.

As I continued down to water, I found the original location of the concert. It was a shame the outdoor concert had to be cancelled because this location was particularly stunning.

With the sun still greeting us warmly in the morning, we then made our way to an organic tea farm. During our penultimate stop before our return back to Taipei, we learned about the growing, harvesting, and fermenting process of tea. As we made our way up the short path to the farm, we walked among the newly budding tea leaves surrounding the old farm building.

At the farm, I noticed a large group of people huddling around a something to the side of the building. Most had passed right on by, either with disinterest or with a sudden shriek! My curiosity got the best of me and in the end, I found myself with the other folks looking at the largest spider many of us had ever seen!

The tea farm was an absolute joy! Broken into two groups, our group was first shown a movie and a short presentation about the tea farm. Although it was entirely in Chinese, I managed to understand some as someone who has gotten rather fluent in speaking about tea in Chinese. The rest was translated to me by a very kind and equally patient friend. When the presentation was finished, we were served fresh Organic Assam Black tea and Organic Assam Milk Tea brewed with water from a rushing mountain spring. The black tea was so good, it prompted me to purchase my own set of tea at the end. The milk tea, as well, proved to taste nothing like I have ever tasted before. There were hints of spices like cinnamon or nutmeg that put this tea into the number one spot of any tea I have ever tried in my life.

After the tea tasting, we were given a guided tour of the working farm. We wandered through galleries, open air rooms with massive drying machines and grinding machines set to prepare massive amounts of tea. I couldn’t help but feel at times I was back in Burgundy, touring the wine vineyards and cellars of some of the most famous French vignobles. Enjoy this short pictorial journey of my time at the farm.

And thus, with the fresh odor of dried tea leaves roasting in our nostrils, we made some purchases of fine organic tea, stopped for lunch at an unusual yet picturesque aboriginal stone park, and then headed home to Taipei. From your tea tasting, speech making, Sun Moon Lake raving, indigenous entertaining man from Taiwan, Michael.