Another Side of Hualian

Another Side of Hualian

   

Slipping over rapids, our boat swirled past rocks. The river divided the horizon. Clouds draped mist over forested hills…

    

    

Ruisui calms you the moment you leave its two platform train station. A tiny town in Hualian county, its’ one storey buildings only take a portion of the sky. There are bicycle and scooter rentals, a tourist information centre, hotels , homestays, noodle restaurants and a 7-11.

      There’s plenty of accommodation in Ruisui. We found our place just two minutes from the station.

     ‘Hey, look at this,’ shouted the boss. A smiling woman with permed hair, she showed us a stag beetle in a blue basket. ‘You can buy him for one hundred Taiwan Dollars,’ she announced. ‘Before I would have said fifty dollars, but he’s grown.’

     Three singing children jangled keys before as they led us from reception. The rooms were cleaner than you’d expect, for a hotel that shows its customers insects.  Just as I thought she was about to produce more invertebrates, our host pulled out a map of the river, and helped us plan the rafting trip.

    At 9am the next morning, we were sitting in lifejackets by a pebbly riverside. Misty air blew between the hills.  

    ‘Don’t hold the paddle like this,’ yelled the straight-backed lifeguard captain. He held both hands together at the top of the handle. ‘Or like this,’ he boomed, grabbing the paddle by its’ …paddle.

    On the river’s slow stretches, the day became an organized water fight. Each boat had artillery of two plastic pails. Paddles, hands, and even shoes were also used as hydro-projectiles.

    ‘Aaarrrrrrgggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!,’ shouted our most determined adversary.       ‘Arrrrrrgghhhh, you are going to die.’ His team mixed aggression with cunning.

    ‘Could you lend us a water pail, ours is lost.’

    As I said no, loaded water pails unleashed from hidden corners. Across the water, a rafter let go of her pail accidentally. The pail flew into her enemies boat. Cheers laughed against the rocks.

     In the evening we rented bicycles from the shop by Ruisui train station. We rode for five minutes , and were surrounded by the chatter of insects, the tweeting of birds, the dipping and buzzing of bees accompanied by silent winged butterflies. Pineapples presented themselves in cactus-like fields, betel trees were thin palms on the horizon, mountains stood crowned by clouds.

     We breathed in air that tasted of the plants around us, pineapples in the ground, pomelo and jackfruit in the trees, tea in the hills, and the sun itself, invisible yet delicious in the air.

     Rain drizzled the next afternoon. A truck of betel nut stood downstairs in our hotel. On the way out of town, we cycled past a betel nut factory. Kids ran around while workers peeled the nut from its’ green shell.

     From the Tropic of Cancer, we looked out over the valley. The Tropic of Cancer marker is a white, straight structure that points to the sky. Every midsummer, the sun shines directly above the Tropic of Cancer. On June 22, at noon every year, the structure has no shadow at all.

     ‘It takes two years to grow a pineapple,’ said the woman in the adjacent shop. A chicken crowed over the dipping hills. ‘We grow all our pineapples and tea leaves in the fields behind this house.’

    The Saoba Stones are a pineapples’ throw from the Tropic of Cancer. Two Stonehenge like monoliths, they point directly at the sky. Nobody is sure why.

    ‘Maybe the people who planted these stones had an early form of astrology or science,’ Rox said. ‘That’s why the stones are so close to the Tropic of Cancer.’

    ‘Maybe they saw that on midsummer’s day, the stones had no shadow,’ I said.

     Rareseed Ranch is just off Route 9, signposted by two cows on a bicycle. A minute from the main road, hills fill the sky, and small storks hop in the fields.

     It’s a genuine farm with an open café and a pleasant veranda. Two ostriches entertain visitors. They strut up and down, guarding a field where cows and storks graze alongside each other.

    We bought  a set of mantou- Taiwanese milk-bread, cheesecake, yoghurt and milk, all for 135NT dollars.  The sky was blue, but we sat under umbrellas. A dog sat beside us, we leant back in our chairs,  and watched the hills rest as the  sun began to fade.

Ruisui is accessible by train from Taipei. Tickets cost between 450 and 550 NT and take 4 to 6 hours depending on route and train number. A tourist information centre and a number of hotels are located next to the train station. Many hotels will help organise a rafting package.

Chinese New Year: G- Strings and Boats in Southern Taiwan.

Want to expand your collection of G-Strings? Think it's more fun to chuck a boat in the air than take it to sea? Get pissed off when someone else drives on the same road as you? If you answer yes to these questions you should follow me to Lan Yu, Taiwan's southernmost Isle.

Here are some of the things I heard about Lan Yu:

'Green Island is better.'

'It is difficult to go now.'

'You will probably throw up.'

Ok, the last prediction was actually in reference to the boat trip. It takes two and a half hours to get there, and after two and a half minutes I was rushing onto deck with one hand over my mouth. Once I'd steadied my gaze onto the horizon, though, my guts were steadier than the vast chopping waves. The same can't be said for the woman standing (fortunately), downwind of me.

Me and Rox stood happily, enjoying the wind, the waves and the sea spray. We were happy, at least, until the spray became more of a horizontal waterfall.

Being hit by a large wave is like getting slapped by nature. Nature is cold and wet, and it doesn't give a damn how long your shoes take to dry. 

'Shall we move to the other side of the boat?' shouted Rox.

'Not much point now,' I shouted. I shouted that because I didn't think it was possible to get any wetter. I was wrong. When we stepped onto dry land, it wasn't dry for much longer, and the locals probably assumed we were rescue cases rather than passengers. 

The view on arriving made up for that. Lan Yu looks like an island. That might sound obvious, but it really does. There's no other land on the horizon, and from a small distance the forested mountains appear uninhabited.

The view from the boat just after landing.

Soaked.

Our homestay owner turned up in a white van with a kicking stereo system and a bin liner for a back window. He used his seat shaking speakers to treat us to a play list of Western pop songs. If there is one consistent

rule of travel it is this; wherever you go you will hear songs you were trying to get away from.

All I wanted was a piss and a shower. But our host drove us around the thin winding road and stopped in the first village we got to.

'Is this your village?' I asked, observing the one storey houses, the kids, goats and chickens running, sitting, and pecking in the road. 

'No,' he said. 'We'll stop here and play.' He got out of the van, and I realised he was drinking a vodka alcopop. 

People sat outside houses, and a stall barbecued lunchtime sausages.What seemed to be the village square was full of people sitting around. Many held cameras, and were probably tourists from mainland Taiwan. 

'Is there a toilet anywhere?' I asked our host.

'You can use the police station?' he said. 

 I walked into the police station. 

'Is there a t-,' I began. The small, tiled room was full of men dressed like this:  

None of them were holding a camera. They were either painting Chinese characters on each others' backs, adjusting the position of their swords, or helping me find the bathroom. 

'Yes,' one of them smiled. 'Through there, on your left.'       

'What the hell was going on in there?' I said when I got back outside.  

'They are preparing our traditional performance. It is very important,' said our host.

 'Important?' 

 'Yes, before we had no clothes on this island, only-. This performance is to signify and remember that.' 

 Before I could ask more the crowd got bigger and started closing in on the market square. 

 'Careful, you lot,' people shouted from raised platforms and balconies. 'Leave an entrance, leave an entrance!' 

I soon saw what the entrance was for. Wearing only cloth underwear and swords the men charged in , shouting in guttural voices and flexing their fists at each other. 

 More men ran in, screaming primally, and holding a large, intricately carved, canoe like boat. 

Even more men ran in and gathered round the boat, shouting like they were about to fight. Something was going on in the centre. Then something rose up from their middle; the boat. Hands supported it, and pushed it up, up. The boat jumped above the men, and they shouted and cheered with each jump it made. 

The boat arrives in the village square. 

                

Then the boat went down and there was more mysterious commotion in the middle. And more near fighting on the outskirts. Then there was an outcome; they had selected a leader. 

The man was raised up in the boat to deafening, wordless approval. The hands went up again, the boat rose and fell , and the chief relaxed in his airborne, seaworthy throne. 

 People began yelling from the balconies again. 'Make an exit, make an exit.' 

We made an exit, and the men rushed past us, clenching fists, shouting, grimacing. Some carried the boat and the leader, and took him the short one hundred yards, down to the rocky beach. 

 With cameras all around, and birds dipping above the waves behind them, they re-created the village square scene, only this time, they let the boat go higher. 

When the boat came down, they took it towards the sea. In the water, they stopped the fist clenching and grimacing, and took to splashing each other instead. When the ceremony was finished, the boat, with a few selected locals on board, went out to sea. 

'Well then, time to go home and wash,' said our host in Chinese. 

'Is he suggesting we're dirty,' said Roxanne in English. 

 'I don't think so, I've never got a better wash than on that boat ride.' 

 'Maybe you smell like a fish.' 

 'I wouldn't rule that out.'

After settling in to our large, cheap, and sunny room, I rented a scooter from the guy in the house next door. It cost more per day that our room per night. I was too happy to bother bargaining. 

Riding a scooter in Taipei isn't as fun as riding a scooter should be. If you're not lost in a sea of safety helmets and revving engines, you're frowning at traffic signs or wondering if you should turn left through the visored  army of oncoming two-wheeled traffic. 

Lan Yu is freedom. Still wearing wet shoes,I turned left at the crowing rooster, and right at the sleeping pig. Within thirty seconds I was out and alone. On my right there were fields and mountains, on my left there was stones and the sea. I shouted with delight, and nobody heard me.

Afternoon nap. 

I returned from my test drive and took Roxanne out for a tour of the whole island. We did it in about two and a half hours, and it was only a bit difficult when there was a drop from the road and a high wind coming off the sea. The rest of the time there was nothing to crash into at all.

Usually I try not to eat meat. But the goats roaming the hills, chickens climbing village steps to return home, wandering pigs and fresh seafood, all made my concerns about livestock conditions and factory farming somewhat redundant, if only for the weekend. For lunch we had seafood and goat noodles. For tea our host cooked us octopus he had caught himself the night before. Many nights, he told us, he donned diving gear, grabbed his harpoon and waterproof torch, and crossed the rocky stones to catch his dinner. 

Drying Fish

Flying Fish Fried Rice

Free Range Chicken

Free Range Pig. 

The next day we rode around again. My shoes were dryer and our pace was slower. Everyone was friendly, nobody spoke English, and I was practicing Chinese at every corner.  We crossed the mountain slowly, taking in the lighthouse and generator at the top. There were sharp drops but the mountain goats were unconcerned. We went down carefully and explored the rocks and caves that surrounded the coastline. 

Our rental.

Traditional fishing boat being made.

The sea.

Typical village scene.

Goat resting on a bench.

An apple. A change from a grass based diet.

Village sign.

Leaving.

After a week in Taipei, Rox has announced that she is 'Lan Yu sick.'. In Taipei, people stare at us and assume our nationalities and language abilities are directly correlated to our skin colour. In Lan Yu, people smiled and started conversations. Everywhere has it's problems and annoyances, but Lan Yu was a perfect getaway.

Note: Lan Yu (蘭嶼) is a transliteration of the Chinese name. In English it is called Orchid Island. But no one uses that name and it is only useful for searching on Wikipedia. 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orchid_Island

Our home stay was great value. The owner enjoys local liquor but was always sober enough to go fishing after a day of beverages. His blog (with excellent pictures) is here.


tw.myblog.yahoo.com/ff2800/ 

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Hanboks in Lesbian Park

It was a morning of gentle beauty and random kindness. The sun lent the streets a milky warmth, and my jacket relaxed around my shoulders. With a smile , I stepped on the uncrowded subway.

It swung me to Sindorim. At Exit 2, I rang my lost cellphone. It was answered by Ewha, who'd found my phone after I'd left it in a taxi.

'I'm just coming,' she spoke English well, with a bright, near American accent, ' I can see you from here.'

Ewha must have been nearing forty. But her boots bounced with a symmetric energy. With the phone, she handed me a genuine smile.

'Thank you so much. That's helped me loads. Would you like a coffee or bottle of coke?' I pointed at a snack stall.

'No that's ok. It's my pleasure. Last month I lost my phone and I couldn't get it back. It caused me so much trouble. It's my pleasure.'

'Thank you.'

'No problem,' she turned and walked , her head in line with tower blocks along the horizon.


Back in Sinchon, drums distracted me from my route home. I turned right, and saw the gathering in Lesbian Park.

Too often , Lesbian Park is a place that doesn't live up to its' name. For a start, it doesn't have any grass. Due to the Korean government's assertion that grass is expensive, Lesbian Park is a tiled pavilion. In England, it would never be called a park. But in Seoul, it's the closest thing there is.

Seemingly at least, the place is also lesbian free. Rumours circulate that it is a late night meeting point. But activities there appear in line with a culture unfamiliar to open homosexuality.

This morning, though, the park was a festival. Men crouched over board games, while women dressed in traditional hanboks gathered outside, beating drums and dancing. Then they entered and circled through the melee, their loose, exotic clothes flapping lightly in the breeze.

I entered and filmed the gathering on my phone. To them, it might have been a normal Sunday. To me, it was a step into Korea before Samsung, Christianity and cosmetic surgery changed the face of this curious land.

In an adjacent foodstore I bought cheese and porridge. The shopkeeper was watching the park through the window. For no reason, he handed me a free satsuma along with my bought goods.

Walking back under the sun, I bounced the satsuma from hand to hand, in time with the beat of the drums.

Kissing

‘Do you wanna get a taxi?’ asked Rox as we neared the subway station. It was total laziness, but the backs of my thighs ached from the hike.

‘Yes,’ I said.

The taxi had placed itself ineptly by a lamppost. It was impossible for customers to enter. We had to knock on the window before the driver moved his vehicle into a sensible position.

‘Sinchon-yok chuseyo,’ said Rox, as we breathed and let heat massage our muscles.

‘Taxis are fucking great,’ I leant back, ‘they’re just so warm.’

The sangyapsal rested in my stomach and I put my hand on Roxanne’s leg. My mind moved back to our post-walk restaurant, the look an old man had given me as I placed a kiss on her lips.
‘Are we breaking some huge taboo?’ I’d said.

‘Yes,’ said Rox.

Korea’s position on public kissing is less clear than that of other Asian countries. In India, tonguing on a train is almost as offensive as a blowjob in a bank. And in Thailand you won’t need to tell couples to get a room; they‘ll get one before they begin.

On my first night out in Seoul, I noticed teenagers kissing against walls together, like British fourteen-year olds at bad discos. When I asked my students what old people complained about in Korea, one of the gripes was snogging in the streets.

‘They say young people are so rude, because no one used to kiss outside.’

In the taxi, not knowing how bad it was, I leant over to Rox, moved my lips towards hers, wrapped arms about her warmth.

‘Excuse me,’ piped the driver suddenly, ‘you, your partner, seeing each other?’

‘Pardon?’ I said.

‘Speaking English, English I don’t know, is it called, seeing each other?’

‘Yes,’ said Roxanne, ‘it’s called seeing each other, or dating.’

‘Or going out together,’ I added.

‘What is your country?’

‘England.’

‘America.’

‘What is your hometown famous for?’

‘Stonehenge,’ Roxanne prompted me.

‘Stonehenge,’ I said.

‘Stonehenge,’ the driver frowned in the rear view mirror, ‘I don’t know well. What is it?’

‘Just a bunch of stones, really,’ I said.


Conversation paused as we rose on the road over the river. Lights, pulling softly, held the horizon and the sky together.


‘Actually I don’t like kissing,’ said the driver. We bumped onto hard ground. ‘ I don’t like kissing in my taxi.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said quickly, ashamed I’d been so insensitive.

‘Why not?’ pushed Roxanne.

‘My wife, she never kiss me now.’ said the driver.

‘Is it rude, though?’ I asked, ‘kissing in the back of a taxi?’

‘She says that if I can make money, then she will give kiss to me.’

‘But is kissing in taxis impolite?’ I repeated.

‘I am jealous of your action.’

‘But is it rude?’

‘No, no, not rude,’ said the driver.

‘Well in that case…’ I kissed Roxanne. Both Rox and the driver laughed.

‘You are actor and actress,’ he said. I wasn’t sure why. Lights around were closer now, buildings clamouring for space.

‘Excuse me, what is your job?’

‘We both teach English,’ Rox said.

‘Ah, English teacher. I used to teach English. Now I am taxi driver. Not enough money. My wife, she tell me to make more.’

‘Ah, chogiyo,’ Roxanne leant forward, ‘ This is my stop Joe. I’ll call you later.’

‘Ok,’ I said.

‘Excuse me, your girlfriend?’ asked the driver as we pulled away.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Very beautiful.’

‘Very,’ I said. I smiled, and the lights got brighter.

An Unplanned Protest

The shouts came into my apartment. It sounded more raucous than a normal Friday night. I wasn’t going out, but I needed some food. Maybe bimimbap if a place was open, or mandu from a local stall.

Coat wrapped about me, I headed out. Hearing the shouts coming from my right , I forgot about food and ducked through an alleyway.

People were running, banners in hand. Police, like heavy armoured beetles, formed solid blocks along the road. Even in the January chill, the air had a heated energy.

Police were behind and in front, light catching on riots shields as they stood. People were walking and so was I . Slogans were shouted in Korean, someone was carrying a broom. I had no idea what was going on.

‘So what do you think of all this?’ a woman said to me. She had a strong face and a determined walk. If she was from England, she’d have lived in a squat in Brighton.

‘I don’t know what it’s about,’ I said.

‘You know the fires in Yongsan?’ she asked.

‘Yes, where the people died.’

‘Yes. This is about that. Also , people are tired of Lee Myong Bak.’

‘What do you think of Lee Myong Bak?’

Her voice became corrosive.

‘I hate Lee Myong Bak and this government. They care only about the rich people, they don’t care about the poor.’

I couldn’t see how that set them apart from most other leaders in this world, and wanted to see if there was more substance to the hatred. We were walking between lines of riot police.

I was about to ask more when I saw a teacher from my school, a Korean-American called Sherwood.

‘Sherwood,’ I called.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘What are you up to?’ I asked.

‘Just came out to see this craziness.’

‘You just finished teaching?’

‘Yeah.’

Sherwood wasn’t exactly pro- protest. He told me the protest was illegal because it was blocking off streets and infringing people’s rights to lead normal lives.

‘But people should be allowed to protest,’ I said.

‘Yes, but…’

Then he told me he wasn’t going to take any crap if anyone attacked him. I asked him why he thought someone might attack him.

‘They kicked the shit out of me at the American beef protests.’

‘What, really, why?’

‘I took photos. I think they thought I might be recording their faces and showing them to the police. They threw me to the floor. At least fifty people were going past, taking a swing at me.’

‘Jesus.’

‘I’m nervous to take pictures now.’

The protestors stopped outside Hongik University, blocking off the crossroads with their presence. Me and Sherwood climbed onto a mini platform and watched. Sherwood filmed a video on his camera.

‘No flash,’ he explained.

After a minute I decided to explore the melee before going home. I walked through the crowd and filmed protestors on my phone. The police were increasing their numbers, building an impenetrable wall, and people were staying still, shouting.

Food was what I had come out for. I walked over to a pie stall I’d been to before, asked the owner what he thought.

‘People always protest, you know,’ he said.

‘Do you like Lee Myong Bak?’

He shrugged.

‘…but, what does this achieve?'

I was watching the proceedings carefully.

‘Hey, if things start, to happen, you walk, this way. Other night, fighting, people falling, getting hurt.’

‘Thanks.’

Nothing was happening fast, the tension building like a slow game of chess. The next day , I was going snowboarding. I paid for my pie and walked home through straight-faced riot police. I wondered about their lives, their personalities, what was behind the uniform of their stares.

Music to Read to

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Restaurant at the End of the Road

I hadn't been there during my first seven months in Korea, put off by the 'Couple Seat' signs and shielding red curtains.

Roxanne suggested going in. My normal restaurant was closed, and cold closed in around the warmth of our breath. We passed under hanging lanterns, and pressed the buttons on the automatic door.

A board offered instructions in Korean and English, but we were still confused. There was a machine we had to buy meal tickets from. We looked at it until a Korean man came in, and memorised the options he chose.

Tickets in hand, we peered at the anonymous curtains. I looked around one and saw a kind of mini alleyway, with people eating soup on sectioned-off stools.

'I can't see any couple seats,' I said.

We went into another alley and sat either side of a small wood divider. A man sat alone at the end of the row. There were curtains in front of our booths. I pressed a call button and a waiter opened my curtain, explaining I needed to fill out an order slip.

I didn't know what I was ordering, only that I could choose between standard and spicy, and that I had the option of extra calcium.

'Are you going for extra calcium?' laughed Rox.

'Nah, I had a glass of milk this morning. '

Roxanne's soup came with a pile of white powder floating in the centre, whereas mine didn't.

'Is that Calcium?' I asked.

'Yes,' she said, mixing it in.

'You should have tried it by itself. '

The waiter pulled the curtains back down and we ate with the divider for company. I was grateful for its' protection when noodles dangled embarrassingly from my mouth.

After eating I took the divider down. We talked happily, and I wondered what more tastes of the strange I could find in the normalcy that had become Seoul.