And so in journalistic pleasure I post these photos to my blog. Also for those who might be viewing in Taiwan!
Thursday, November 25, 2010
First Frost
This Fall I anticipated the first frost with the excitement of one waiting for Christmas. After living in Taiwan for two years--and distracted by its own distinctive meteorological and astronomical peculiarities--I didn't realize how much I missed this fascinating phenomenon. Nor had I ever really considered how strange and beautiful it really is.
And so in journalistic pleasure I post these photos to my blog. Also for those who might be viewing in Taiwan!
And so in journalistic pleasure I post these photos to my blog. Also for those who might be viewing in Taiwan!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Fall
I took a walk today down the hill to the Train Station. Most of the leaves are gone, but the trees that still have leaves are brightly yellow.
Nneka followed me down. For an old lady, she's still pretty adventurous. Here she is at the pool where sometimes we see a beaver.
You can't tell because of these photos, but last night we had our first frost. Let's hope I can get a picture of that soon. As for now, it's great Fall weather.
Nneka followed me down. For an old lady, she's still pretty adventurous. Here she is at the pool where sometimes we see a beaver.
You can't tell because of these photos, but last night we had our first frost. Let's hope I can get a picture of that soon. As for now, it's great Fall weather.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Waiting
Eating sweetened ice
listening to Deng Li Jun.
Pretty and sad,
her voice and my ears,
the darkness between.
I'm wondering if F-- is coming tonight,
or if she'll stay in town.
I've paid my electric and my rent
I've even tidied up the room.
There's no more money in my wallet,
just a bucket on my shelf
that brims with change.
Ice melts, and I think
of all the things I've bought.
listening to Deng Li Jun.
Pretty and sad,
her voice and my ears,
the darkness between.
I'm wondering if F-- is coming tonight,
or if she'll stay in town.
I've paid my electric and my rent
I've even tidied up the room.
There's no more money in my wallet,
just a bucket on my shelf
that brims with change.
Ice melts, and I think
of all the things I've bought.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Highest Noon
In the morning I forgot that it was the perfect day. I only remembered that it was, halting in my glum enthusiasm that went with me as I walked, when I saw an outside bulletin board, a portion of which was constructed upon a compass perfect east-west line, with a shadow tucked neatly under it. Later, excitedly looking out my second floor window, trying to ignore all of the babies in the baby class who had just bombarded through my door, I saw a small gate that had a cast a perfect east pointing shadow, made entirely of right angles. Today was June the 22nd, a perfect day, and it lasted for only a second.
I first discovered the real importance of today last weekend when I went with Fiona to Taipei to see her friends. I spent most of the time talking to her friend’s Swedish husband. We were talking about whether or not Taiwan was tropical, and he said that he had heard that the North was “not quite” and that the south was. “That makes sense,” I said, “because where I live, Chiayi, we sit directly on the Tropic of Cancer.” I must have then pondered this for some time because then I asked a stupid question, something I simply wanted confirmed really, basically the suspicion that the Tropic lines, in celestial terms, mark the extent of the earth’s tilt, back and forth. It is nice to know that even now, new cosmic discoveries are still possible. I said, “Is the true significance of the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn that they represent where the sun will be at its widest swing (the earth at its furthest tilt)?” He confirmed it. You always think of the equator as having that honor, seeing the sun straight up in the sky, but in truth that only happens twice in a year even there, which is the same for every other place in between the two Tropics. If you live on the line of a Tropic, however, as I do, it only happens one time a year, on the first day of Spring, the “longest day” of the year. When all shadows lie down like truth, forsaking the ambitions of distortion, and present things, their shadows, in the true manner of their forms.
And so, when my last student left at 11:30 thirty, I borrowed Fiona’s camera and made a haphazard investigation of the entire school grounds (technically, still on the clock). I went into the kitchen and ate Auntie’s cold noodles and tried to explain to some people, but either my message didn’t get across or else no one was really impressed.
I wasn’t sure when it was going to happen, when the sun would stand directly over head, but it built in intensity like it does waiting for the sun to rise, every second becoming unnoticeably yet undeniably brighter. This had a whole different quality however, rather like the eye of a storm, a second of clarity in an otherwise unnoticeable day. What I didn’t expect (another revelation) was that it did occur at exactly 12:00 o’clock, and although I’ve lived my whole life knowing that it was Noon, it has never lived up to its reputation. Noon actually is, bless those people in Greenwich, England, the highest arc of the sun.
I must have ran outside a little too quickly because my boss followed out shortly after. “Joe,” he said, “what’s wrong?” I quickly yet lucidly explained to him what was going on and pointing to some pretty impressive shadows, basically lines and circles of things that any other time of the day or year would have been obscure oblongs and rectangles. And he said, “Oh, we don’t really notice that.” “Actually,” I said. “It happens only once a year—today.” “I thought you saw something fall,” he said, “or that you saw a snake.” “No,” I said. “It’s the shadows. I live in Pennsylvania, so seeing shadows like this is really strange.” He reiterated that in Taiwan nobody really cared. I guess that made sense, because I bet for a week or so it looks pretty much like this around lunchtime. But on the other hand, I didn’t really understand it. It was odd. I tried to be cool about it, but after taking some pictures and explaining it again to one more teacher, who at my insistency told me that she would look it up on the internet. Not bad. But I went outside.
It was strange to see all the things turned into lines and circles, and curious to see how many things were built upon the cardinal directions. The handrails going up to the post office made one black line, like a snake lying below it. The post office boxes, red and green, on the other hand, cast square shadows that fit perfectly their square bolted stands. Even the shadows of trees were interesting to see—to see really what the tree looked like from above, and you could see it, painted on the ground from any angle. In fact, everything, for about ten minutes had an ethereal, lifted sense to it. Maybe I was just high on it, or maybe the sunrays, more intense on this crystal clear day than I probably have ever experienced them, had boiled my mind over. When I saw a shadow that was off or crooked, I knew with religious certainty, it was the building that was wrong, not the shadow.
My last trip was to the rooftop of my own building, eight stories high, and here, fifteen to twenty minutes past twelve, things began to loose their intensity. I looked off one side to see my shadow streak to the very bottom where my head sat on the pavement far below. Things were bending. It was passed.
Click here for photos.
I first discovered the real importance of today last weekend when I went with Fiona to Taipei to see her friends. I spent most of the time talking to her friend’s Swedish husband. We were talking about whether or not Taiwan was tropical, and he said that he had heard that the North was “not quite” and that the south was. “That makes sense,” I said, “because where I live, Chiayi, we sit directly on the Tropic of Cancer.” I must have then pondered this for some time because then I asked a stupid question, something I simply wanted confirmed really, basically the suspicion that the Tropic lines, in celestial terms, mark the extent of the earth’s tilt, back and forth. It is nice to know that even now, new cosmic discoveries are still possible. I said, “Is the true significance of the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn that they represent where the sun will be at its widest swing (the earth at its furthest tilt)?” He confirmed it. You always think of the equator as having that honor, seeing the sun straight up in the sky, but in truth that only happens twice in a year even there, which is the same for every other place in between the two Tropics. If you live on the line of a Tropic, however, as I do, it only happens one time a year, on the first day of Spring, the “longest day” of the year. When all shadows lie down like truth, forsaking the ambitions of distortion, and present things, their shadows, in the true manner of their forms.
And so, when my last student left at 11:30 thirty, I borrowed Fiona’s camera and made a haphazard investigation of the entire school grounds (technically, still on the clock). I went into the kitchen and ate Auntie’s cold noodles and tried to explain to some people, but either my message didn’t get across or else no one was really impressed.
I wasn’t sure when it was going to happen, when the sun would stand directly over head, but it built in intensity like it does waiting for the sun to rise, every second becoming unnoticeably yet undeniably brighter. This had a whole different quality however, rather like the eye of a storm, a second of clarity in an otherwise unnoticeable day. What I didn’t expect (another revelation) was that it did occur at exactly 12:00 o’clock, and although I’ve lived my whole life knowing that it was Noon, it has never lived up to its reputation. Noon actually is, bless those people in Greenwich, England, the highest arc of the sun.
I must have ran outside a little too quickly because my boss followed out shortly after. “Joe,” he said, “what’s wrong?” I quickly yet lucidly explained to him what was going on and pointing to some pretty impressive shadows, basically lines and circles of things that any other time of the day or year would have been obscure oblongs and rectangles. And he said, “Oh, we don’t really notice that.” “Actually,” I said. “It happens only once a year—today.” “I thought you saw something fall,” he said, “or that you saw a snake.” “No,” I said. “It’s the shadows. I live in Pennsylvania, so seeing shadows like this is really strange.” He reiterated that in Taiwan nobody really cared. I guess that made sense, because I bet for a week or so it looks pretty much like this around lunchtime. But on the other hand, I didn’t really understand it. It was odd. I tried to be cool about it, but after taking some pictures and explaining it again to one more teacher, who at my insistency told me that she would look it up on the internet. Not bad. But I went outside.
It was strange to see all the things turned into lines and circles, and curious to see how many things were built upon the cardinal directions. The handrails going up to the post office made one black line, like a snake lying below it. The post office boxes, red and green, on the other hand, cast square shadows that fit perfectly their square bolted stands. Even the shadows of trees were interesting to see—to see really what the tree looked like from above, and you could see it, painted on the ground from any angle. In fact, everything, for about ten minutes had an ethereal, lifted sense to it. Maybe I was just high on it, or maybe the sunrays, more intense on this crystal clear day than I probably have ever experienced them, had boiled my mind over. When I saw a shadow that was off or crooked, I knew with religious certainty, it was the building that was wrong, not the shadow.
My last trip was to the rooftop of my own building, eight stories high, and here, fifteen to twenty minutes past twelve, things began to loose their intensity. I looked off one side to see my shadow streak to the very bottom where my head sat on the pavement far below. Things were bending. It was passed.
Click here for photos.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Glancing Down
Perhaps this poem should be called "And I still have two months (and less) to go."
Started impulsively
compiling lists
between classes
of things to be taken
and things to be left behind.
Most of my things fall into basic categories,
yet others are mentioned all alone. And yet
everything in this world can be put down on a piece of paper.
What’s funny is I won’t forget these things.
I just had to write them
in that familiar perspective.
Like from a plane
glancing down.
Started impulsively
compiling lists
between classes
of things to be taken
and things to be left behind.
Most of my things fall into basic categories,
yet others are mentioned all alone. And yet
everything in this world can be put down on a piece of paper.
What’s funny is I won’t forget these things.
I just had to write them
in that familiar perspective.
Like from a plane
glancing down.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Traveling Around the Island
Today is the second day back in the routine of waking up and teaching. Last Sunday I was in Taipei, and the three or four days preceding that I was wondering around the island with Hun Lye and Kevin Lane (who both now are in Tibet). The trip was significant for me on many accounts. One, which seems only symbolic, that we traveled around (encompassed) the whole island, in fact had many opportunities to show me my digestion of my experience here as a whole. Managing driving and arrangements, for instance, and being the designated "ben di ren" (local person) I probably spoke more Chinese those four days than I normally do in several weeks otherwise. That was both a great opportunity and a revelation, proving to me in more concrete terms, what exactly I have learned, and not.
To go into detail what we did, without a worked narrative, might be tedious. Suffice it to say that it was a splendid trip for me. Encompassing the island was a significant enterprise. For it also allowed us to immerse ourselves in all sides of the island.
Beginning with Chiayi, the first day and night, the lesson was in the culture that dominates most of the island. We saw swing dancing and entertainment in a park on a Tuesday night, as well as tons of food stalls, tea stalls, and exercise parks. Wednesday, we traveled to the mountains and saw tea production first hand, from the very picking (migrant Vietnamese workers getting paid 60NT per kilo of raw tea leaves), to the roasting and rolling, and to the drinking of the tea itself (as expensive as 6600NT per kilo). Here were guys smoking cigarettes, chewing betel nut, and drinking Heineken all the while bending over mounds of fresh tea, sending out the most delirious aroma that stuck to our clothes and imaginations long afterward.
Wednesday night and Thursday morning, we spent at Foguangshan, the largest and probably most significant monastery in Taiwan, where I stayed four years ago as part of a school program, and where Hun also has connections. Here was Taiwan in its strangest manifestation, where massive buildings were being constructed over night and where nuns with beaming diligence performed all significant labors, from pouring concrete, to amassing and compiling volumes of Buddhist art. An island of incense and activity.
Thursday evening brought us to Taidung on the east coast, quiet and filled with indigenous and Hakka groups. Friday brought us up the coast, seeing some of Taiwan's most beautiful coastlines and laid back towns, and we spent the evening and night in Rueishui, where, besides carbonated hot springs settled into the mountains, we enjoyed some of the best Hakka cuisine in the area. Friday brought us through Haulien (we stopped for their famous dumplings, bought the delectable moji treats and traditional millet wine) and all the way up to Taipei, where I dropped Hun and Kevin at their hotel, and journeyed on to where I was staying, at a friend of Fiona's new apartment in the north part of the city, where she and all her friends were absorbed in playing Mahjong.
The video below follows the same progression as above.
To go into detail what we did, without a worked narrative, might be tedious. Suffice it to say that it was a splendid trip for me. Encompassing the island was a significant enterprise. For it also allowed us to immerse ourselves in all sides of the island.
Beginning with Chiayi, the first day and night, the lesson was in the culture that dominates most of the island. We saw swing dancing and entertainment in a park on a Tuesday night, as well as tons of food stalls, tea stalls, and exercise parks. Wednesday, we traveled to the mountains and saw tea production first hand, from the very picking (migrant Vietnamese workers getting paid 60NT per kilo of raw tea leaves), to the roasting and rolling, and to the drinking of the tea itself (as expensive as 6600NT per kilo). Here were guys smoking cigarettes, chewing betel nut, and drinking Heineken all the while bending over mounds of fresh tea, sending out the most delirious aroma that stuck to our clothes and imaginations long afterward.
Wednesday night and Thursday morning, we spent at Foguangshan, the largest and probably most significant monastery in Taiwan, where I stayed four years ago as part of a school program, and where Hun also has connections. Here was Taiwan in its strangest manifestation, where massive buildings were being constructed over night and where nuns with beaming diligence performed all significant labors, from pouring concrete, to amassing and compiling volumes of Buddhist art. An island of incense and activity.
Thursday evening brought us to Taidung on the east coast, quiet and filled with indigenous and Hakka groups. Friday brought us up the coast, seeing some of Taiwan's most beautiful coastlines and laid back towns, and we spent the evening and night in Rueishui, where, besides carbonated hot springs settled into the mountains, we enjoyed some of the best Hakka cuisine in the area. Friday brought us through Haulien (we stopped for their famous dumplings, bought the delectable moji treats and traditional millet wine) and all the way up to Taipei, where I dropped Hun and Kevin at their hotel, and journeyed on to where I was staying, at a friend of Fiona's new apartment in the north part of the city, where she and all her friends were absorbed in playing Mahjong.
The video below follows the same progression as above.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Bugs
While I was biking home this lunch, I found myself thinking about bugs, probably because of an experience I had this morning when a cockroach flew at me and then disappeared. Perhaps his wings were moving faster than my brain (I had only gotten up because my bladder had pulled me out of bed and toward the bathroom) but it looked like he disappeared. So I was thinking, "What is worse than a cockroach?" And then I got to thinking that a cockroach isn't so bad. Most of the time it's trying to run away from you and to find a dark corner to grow bigger in.
So I began thinking what the worst possible bug would be. I'm still not done, but you can join me, too. So far I was thinking a tic-roach would be pretty bad. You know, you would be walking through tall grass, and all of sudden you notice that a roach is on your leg sucking your blood! Instead of shunning light, for example, the roach's one purpose in life would be to attach itself to your skin and suck your blood. Just think of waking up in the morning with a couple of those guys hooked to your ear.
But what a triple cross? For example a grasshopper tic-roach, something that would attack you in the broad daylight from across a parking lot. Something that made a loud crackling sound as it gleefully arced across the sky to bounce off your chest. However, so far my most sublime conception is that of a butterfly tic-roach, an example that might appear queer at first but upon investigation will show that an addition of a good part makes the whole thing much more worse. For instance, a butterfly has a chaotic pattern to it when it flies that would only heighten the horror of seeing one of these things in a lonely wooded grove headed right toward you. I also feel that the combination of horror and beauty (the wings I imagine to still be a butterfly's wings) would make the whole thing much more intolerable, like ice cream mixed with rum raisins.
In any case, it's for you to ponder, and to leave a comment if you think of something better. Just keep in mind the thought of dozing off under the cool shade of a tree on a summer day, waking up to the draft of gently pumping wings, a crowd of alighted flowers now sucking at your face.
So I began thinking what the worst possible bug would be. I'm still not done, but you can join me, too. So far I was thinking a tic-roach would be pretty bad. You know, you would be walking through tall grass, and all of sudden you notice that a roach is on your leg sucking your blood! Instead of shunning light, for example, the roach's one purpose in life would be to attach itself to your skin and suck your blood. Just think of waking up in the morning with a couple of those guys hooked to your ear.
But what a triple cross? For example a grasshopper tic-roach, something that would attack you in the broad daylight from across a parking lot. Something that made a loud crackling sound as it gleefully arced across the sky to bounce off your chest. However, so far my most sublime conception is that of a butterfly tic-roach, an example that might appear queer at first but upon investigation will show that an addition of a good part makes the whole thing much more worse. For instance, a butterfly has a chaotic pattern to it when it flies that would only heighten the horror of seeing one of these things in a lonely wooded grove headed right toward you. I also feel that the combination of horror and beauty (the wings I imagine to still be a butterfly's wings) would make the whole thing much more intolerable, like ice cream mixed with rum raisins.
In any case, it's for you to ponder, and to leave a comment if you think of something better. Just keep in mind the thought of dozing off under the cool shade of a tree on a summer day, waking up to the draft of gently pumping wings, a crowd of alighted flowers now sucking at your face.
Friday, April 23, 2010
One Week
First of all, it’s raining. It’s been hot all week, and even hotter in my room which is on the seventh floor and a guaranteed five degrees hotter there on any given day. Today my thermometer reads a welcoming Fahrenheit of 78—a refreshing reversal ushered in by the winds that carried the wet. Yesterday at the same time (after work) it was sitting patiently at 96, and remained that way until 11:30 when I got up and turned the air conditioner on. I’ve sort of been putting off that eventuality (in case you think me mad for waiting that long), but then it finally very simply just happened. I don’t even remember deciding to get out of bed. I do remember before that though, the fan on my legs full blast and changing sides several times only to feel the coolness on my newly exposed side of sweat evaporating. I also remember considering the irony to myself that the longer I lay in bed the more awake, and less tired, I became. I guess this reasoning that presented itself was so evident to me that it bypassed some more formal ring of consciousness and my body simply got up and admitted what a small part of my mind resisted: summer.
That night’s experience (on Thursday, for the record) got me into thinking about firsts. On the Sunday before (when it wasn’t quite so damned hot, but comfortable enough to sit outside a Starbucks in the evening), I had my first bona fide Chinese lesson from a student who currently studies at Chiayi University. The experience was quite encouraging, despite the feelings that other people have intimated to me: “What? You’re paying money just so you have someone to speak Chinese to?” This is another irony to consider, but it’s also the awful truth. My oral Chinese landscape is actually pretty bleak. Spending so much time with Fiona is the only reason I have made any progress at all in the area.
I forget when it started to get really hot this week, but, as it happens when heat comes, I get sores in my mouth (isn’t that lovely news!). I’m told that “hot” bodies (referring now to the perspective of Chinese medicine, and the physical temperaments of various bodies), which are mostly young people, have this same tendency. Luckily watermelon is a great “cool” food* that will soothe excessive heat, which explains, despite it being in season, why I tend to devour as much of it as I can at this time of the year. So on Wednesday, Fiona sent me willingly out onto the streets to buy some watermelon. “Don’t get a whole one,” she said. “Don’t get a half of one. Get a half, and a half again! What is that called? Tell him our fridge is too small.” Six and some blocks later, with a quarter watermelon in my arms, grotesquely too large to be a baby but nevertheless resembling one in the way I held it, I was back, knocking on the door. And by the way, Taiwanese watermelon is delicious. I wish I could eat some with Mark Twain just to get his opinion.**
There were some more firsts and ironies—but will anybody read them? That is a serious question that I have to ask myself now on a blog that is essentially idling, with no real purpose or direction. Not like Nathan Ballentine’s blog (see to the right) that is also his business. Or those blogs over there of professors who, with their interesting projects, seem to have a right in their blog. Soon I know this place will be like Chio’s or Ryan’s blog, in italics noting something like, "last undated 6 months ago."
*“The nature of watermelons is generally rather chilling and contains a great deal of moisture, yet they possess a certain purgative quality, which means that they are also diuretic and pass down through the bowels more easily than large gourds and melons. Their cleansing action you can discover for yourself; just rub them on dirty skin. Watermelons will remove the following: freckles, facial moles, or epidemic leprosy, if anyone should have these conditions.”
Galen (129-216 A.D.), Marcus Aurelius's personal physician
**"The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, and not to be mentioned with commoner things. It is chief of this world's luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth. When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took; we know it because she repented."
Mark Twain (1835-1910)
That night’s experience (on Thursday, for the record) got me into thinking about firsts. On the Sunday before (when it wasn’t quite so damned hot, but comfortable enough to sit outside a Starbucks in the evening), I had my first bona fide Chinese lesson from a student who currently studies at Chiayi University. The experience was quite encouraging, despite the feelings that other people have intimated to me: “What? You’re paying money just so you have someone to speak Chinese to?” This is another irony to consider, but it’s also the awful truth. My oral Chinese landscape is actually pretty bleak. Spending so much time with Fiona is the only reason I have made any progress at all in the area.
I forget when it started to get really hot this week, but, as it happens when heat comes, I get sores in my mouth (isn’t that lovely news!). I’m told that “hot” bodies (referring now to the perspective of Chinese medicine, and the physical temperaments of various bodies), which are mostly young people, have this same tendency. Luckily watermelon is a great “cool” food* that will soothe excessive heat, which explains, despite it being in season, why I tend to devour as much of it as I can at this time of the year. So on Wednesday, Fiona sent me willingly out onto the streets to buy some watermelon. “Don’t get a whole one,” she said. “Don’t get a half of one. Get a half, and a half again! What is that called? Tell him our fridge is too small.” Six and some blocks later, with a quarter watermelon in my arms, grotesquely too large to be a baby but nevertheless resembling one in the way I held it, I was back, knocking on the door. And by the way, Taiwanese watermelon is delicious. I wish I could eat some with Mark Twain just to get his opinion.**
There were some more firsts and ironies—but will anybody read them? That is a serious question that I have to ask myself now on a blog that is essentially idling, with no real purpose or direction. Not like Nathan Ballentine’s blog (see to the right) that is also his business. Or those blogs over there of professors who, with their interesting projects, seem to have a right in their blog. Soon I know this place will be like Chio’s or Ryan’s blog, in italics noting something like, "last undated 6 months ago."
*“The nature of watermelons is generally rather chilling and contains a great deal of moisture, yet they possess a certain purgative quality, which means that they are also diuretic and pass down through the bowels more easily than large gourds and melons. Their cleansing action you can discover for yourself; just rub them on dirty skin. Watermelons will remove the following: freckles, facial moles, or epidemic leprosy, if anyone should have these conditions.”
Galen (129-216 A.D.), Marcus Aurelius's personal physician
**"The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, and not to be mentioned with commoner things. It is chief of this world's luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth. When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took; we know it because she repented."
Mark Twain (1835-1910)
Monday, March 22, 2010
Camping III
During Chinese New Year (days after April arrived in Taiwan), all of us went camping in the inner mountainous region of Taiwan. The views should have been fantastic but sadly the trip was overcast with mist and rain and we couldn't see anything. This made a strange and often times eerie back drop for our adventures. Visiting a farm, for example, we found ourselves standing in the rain, with literally hundreds of other people holding umbrellas, standing on a grassy hill, looking at a stage that could not be seen, listening to a man and woman chattering on microphones and, apparently, shearing sheep(their words of course we could not understand), and all and all feeling slightly jilted (and the frequent thought of--"is this real?") In this and two other blogs, I have or I will post some video that I took at that time and just now put together. (I've already posted photos of the trip a while back.)
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