Not in Kansas Anymore--Daily Life in Taiwan

Not in Kansas Anymore
or North Carolina, either--odds and ends-- observations at random on Taiwanese daily life

click on a photo to see an enlargement

Culture shock happens when you pick up the live wire of daily life in another country, particularly another continent. It can be the big thing such as finding yourself a racial minority and oddity in the street, or small things such as wondering what all those fires in front of every business and home mean--it's not the least bit cold. Why do people stuff their sales receipts in special clear plastic boxes on the sidewalks?--and, speaking of sidewalks, why is the sidewalk a different height and design in front of each business or home? and speaking of home and business, what is it like to have the family living room open out into the street and double as a place of business where every body who wants to, say, have your dad fix their scooter, can bring it right up to the family couch and television? Does everybody have their family shrine right over the TV and DVD player?

Before we get into the genuinely amusing, strange stuff (from an American perspective) about Taiwan, let me get several things off my chest:

Don't they all look alike? I mean, really how can you tell those people apart?
This is the one comment that pushes my button. Really. Stand around on any street here for five minutes and you'll see Taiwanese don't look any more alike than Caucasians. Even without the admixture of the American Armed Forces stirring the genetic pot for decades, the advent of modern hair coloring means the average school girl with blond hair here is no more likely to be a real blond than an American one. There has been a disquieting fad for wearing enormous blue contacts in their eyes.

a shot of this promotional poster is as well as I can do since I couldn't take photos of the elevator operators in Shin Kong Department Store

Don't they eat dogs and other odd stuff like snakes?

No. They don't eat dogs. Most dogs I've seen here are as pampered as ones in America. On the way to a concert today, I saw no less than three dogs in, so help me God, knitted sweaters. In this heat, that may cook them, but not by design.

What people eat is always an interesting question. Food often is a major definition of culture. My culture in North Carolina is only a generation or two removed from widespread consumption of chitlin's, possum, squirrel, and fat back. Frog legs are considered a delicacy in French restaurants, so let's not get carried away with what other people think is down home cookin'. There is a place in Taipei called Snake Alley that sells snake meat. It's mostly a tourist attraction now. The average Taiwanese eats no more snake than the average American eats rattlesnake or alligator meat.

Don't you get tired of eating rice?
No. Mainly because they don't serve a lot of rice here. Look back through all my food photos, in my travel postings and my extra photos on Flickr; don't see any rice do you? Rice is served like a roll might be served to you in the States. I have been served rice three times in the more than two weeks I have been here. Each time it was simply in a small bowl to the side, a bowl no bigger than a coffee cup at home. The average Taiwanese's reaction to a serving of Kung Pow chicken from an AMERICAN Chinese restaurant would be about the same as an American's if served field peas, collards, carrots and fried pork chops glopped together on a bed of twelve slices of bread.

WITH THOSE ITEMS OFF MY CHEST, LET'S TAKE A LOOK AT SOME STUFF THAT AIN'T LIKE IT IS AT HOME.

7-11s run this country. It's not a democracy nor a dictatorship. It is "quick-stop-ocracy."

There are competing chains, Circle K, Family Store, Happy Store, etc. but they're all the same as a 7-11 which remains the dominant brand. You can do anything at a 7-11; pay your bills, taxes, traffic tickets; buy French wine, pickled duck eggs, Love Milk, and videos.

Every receipt comes with a lottery ticket. Now wouldn't that just get all the Baptists' and liberals' panties in a twist back home in the South!


It seems tax evasion was a problem for the government in a country where credit cards are not widely accepted and small business transacts most business. The government hit upon the idea of a sales lottery rather than a sales tax. Every sales receipt has a lottery number printed on its back. Once a month, the government publishes several newspaper pages of winning numbers. You can win anywhere between $5 and about $200 if you have a lucky sales receipt.

The government's theory was everybody would demand a sales receipt if they had a chance of winning a lottery. You play anytime you make a purchase; no matter how small a purchase. The result is, as the island has become more prosperous, most people don't want to bother with combing through thousands of lucky numbers in a newspaper once a month to maybe win $5. Charities stepped in. Along many streets you see clear plastic canisters promoting various charitable causes soliciting your sales receipts. Retired volunteers go over the numbers on receipts collected. It gives non profits a source of funding and gives old people a steady way to contribute without hard physical labor. The Yngge Ceramics Museum I visited last Saturday collected sales receipts instead of charging admission. If you were without a sales receipt (unlikely in this country) you could run across the street to 7-11 and buy a piece of candy for pennies and come back with a sales receipt.

Amazingly, you can never have too many convenience stores. I have a photo of a place a few blocks from the Taipei Artists' Village where I am staying of two 7-11 stores separated by only one block. I have often seen several competing brand stores in one block together.

Sales receipts donation box on Zhong Shan North Rd. Just outside a bridal photography shop.

Even Gucci and Louis Vuitton have money to burn on Zhong Shan North Road

Walking up Zhong Shan Road, I saw Gucci and Louis Vuitton placate beings with money. Nothing unusual about that you say, Vuitton and Gucci market to people with money.
I do not mean that to sound like it is written. They were giving away money.
Everybody offers money to the gods and ancestors. Once a month, at least.

At the beginning of the lunar month, offerings are made to ghosts, gods, ancestors, and assorted spirits. Taiwanese give more money to gods than the Baptists. And they do it direct-- with a system of delivery FedEx and Western Union would envy. They burn it.
In the West, when we say "give money to God" we don't think God actually needs money; we believe God wants us to behave in a moral manner so we give money to what we believe is a good cause God would endorse. In the East, religion and ethics are less intertwined. (Confucius, a mortal who devised a system of ethics for which he is honored and revered, but is no more a "God" than we would worship at the Jefferson memorial because Jefferson devised our system of government.)
Here, ethical guidance aside, gods need money to build their mansion of many rooms--demons evidently don't work for free. To gain favor, mortals burn "spirit money" which goes directly to a god or an ancestor. In temples, offering are made as well--the price tags often left prominently attached.
(You would think a god would know how much you'd paid or even that you'd gotten it on sale but left the original price tag on.)
A table covered with flowers, burning sticks of incense, candy, or even elaborate meals are set out in front of a house or building while the spirit money is burned. I have seen a few people pray at these tables, but the majority of people are just casually throwing stacks of spirit money into the fire while discussing the latest soap opera or who has got the better baseball team, no solemnity or reverence to the practice at all.

Actually, you can send quite a bit postage free and guaranteed delivery to gods and spirits. There is a good business in making elaborate Mercedes, sailboats, houses, etc. that are burned at temples to be sent to ancestors or gods one is trying to bribe for favor. (No word on whether you have to burn gas for the Mercedes as well.)


My initial cultural ignorance was so vast that the first time I arrived in Taiwan in 2004 in the city of Kaohsiung, it was 87 degrees F but my wife and I supposed we should expect cold nights as everybody had these large oil drum looking cans outside their homes for burning stuff. We assumed they would gather around them for warmth like street people in the States.
It was the lunar month change.
By the way, you don't have to wait for a new month to send money to heaven. If your ancestors run a little short before the next new moon, you can go to a temple and use one of the large, elaborate furnaces there.
At most stores, you can buy stacks of spirit money to burn. Buy gold leaf covered money to send to gods and silver leaf covered bills to send to ancestors. Evidently, the gods and ancestors are easily fooled, since only the top most bills in any stack of spirit money you buy actually have the designs and leaves of metal on them.

Below, some spirit money burners for sale. Others are simply red painted cans with holes cut in them.

A shop for all your spiritual needs near Long Shan Temple. The bales of yellow colored spirit money are stacked to the left behind the scooter. You can buy small offerings, candies, etc. to use at home or next door in the temple. Small money burning cans are visible at the bottom of the counter in the middle. I love the "no smoking" sign in a shop selling and burning incense.

Lovely Rita, the Meter Maid...
As I mentioned earlier, you can pay your parking tickets at the 7-11. Actually, you can pay them at all sorts of places; government offices, banks, etc. A parking ticket is not only no big deal here, it's expected.
True story. Back in April of 2005, a Taiwanese friend took me and another visiting American artist out to the National Palace Museum (the old one) and found a nice parking place just a block or two away. We spent three hours in the museum before returning to his car with six or seven parking tickets stacked under the windshield wiper. We were horrified and apologetic that we'd cost our friend so much money, 'why, we'd have paid for a stay in a parking garage!' we told him, he'd owe a fortune, we'd help pay, blah, blah, blah.... Relax, he said, it's just parking tickets. Exactly, we said and started our rounds of apologetic hysteria again... Puzzled, he finally tried to quiet us by saying, well, okay, if you insist and it'll make you happy, I'll pay the parking tickets right now.
He pulled over and went into a 7-11. "It came to NT$ 60," he said when he came back out. (About US$ 2).
Parking tickets are really just parking bills, he explained. Rather than put up meters and run a punitive system as we do in the States, they just post signs saying how much parking costs per half hour or so along a particular stretch of road. A meter maid comes by every half hour recording your license tag and leaves another computer bar coded ticket (or bill) on your window. You have thirty days to pay or you do pay a penalty. But you can take a stack of them into a 7-11 or a government office anytime, have the bills scanned and pay what you owe. It takes pressure off meter maids, no maintenance for meters, and signs are cheaper to post and can vary the amounts charged by time and day. The same system works for motor scooters.

Meter maid working her route along Tian Jian Street. Below, a meter guy for scooters on his bicycle in front of the Taipei Artists Village. Note how well equipped he is with umbrella, satchel, water and so forth.

No Tanning lines, please!
Tanning beds never made it here. Darker skin is considered unattractive. Freckles are thought ugly. Umbrellas are sold with UV ratings!
It is hot most of the year, most people carry an umbrella against the sun, not rain. You'll even see some people wearing gloves while riding bicycles or scooters to keep their hands from tanning. And since people are constantly losing umbrellas, they are a favorite items for street vendors to sell. You can buy a large one for about $US 3.


The Sidewalks of Taiwan

If you're a city planner or inspector for a modern American city, please just skip the next section. it will only give you heartburn.

In Taiwan, each person is responsible for the sidewalk outside their business or home. You can do it to please yourself. Anything goes.
(Remember the two giant colorful feet painted outside the foot massage business I placed at the top of a previous blogpost?) A sidewalk can be an area of artistic and/or personal expression for the owner; it can serve a useful purpose such as being designed to integrate with the business. Since Taiwan receives twice the world wide average yearly rainfall, flooding is a problem; sidewalks are often built steeply sloping away from the front of the building. It is not at all uncommon to step up or down one, two, or even three steps as one walks along since one owner may have built his section much higher than his neighbor.

That's not your only hazard.
Motor scooters and bicycles are allowed on the sidewalks, too. If you're hit, it's probably your fault for not paying attention. As a practical matter, it probably helps if you're running an outdoor/sidewalk eatery and there are too many steps for a scooter or bike to go up; it keeps scooters from zipping through and among your customers and tables. Parking spaces are often clearly marked for scooters on the sidewalks (as you can barely make out in one of the photos above.)

To an American sculptor, the use of green marble is amazing--such veneers are VERY expensive at home. Taiwan is the second largest exporter of marble in the world after Italy. Marble, especially around the east coast city of Hualian is cheap, so is widely used. No store at home could afford such a marble sidewalk in front of their shop even it it were allowed. Note the sloping sides. Taken on my trip to the small town of Yngge.

From a marble sidewalk to marbles in the sidewalk. A photo taken a block down the street from the one above.

BELOW, closing up a sidewalk eatery after lunch in Taipei. Note the steps to the upper right.

There is a program in Taipei now to paint all the electrical system switch boxes for beautification. Artists use oil paints to paint standard landscapes. Nearly all have bright blue backgrounds.

BELOW, a Taipei motorcycle dealer has embedded spark plugs in the sidewalk outside his store

Typical view of sidewalk variation

HAAS, WHAT WILL YOU WRITE ABOUT NEXT!!??
The truth is I am faaar behind in catching up everything I have notes and photos for. I spent a day in the ceramics city of Yngge. You can, at least, see some of the photos from that trip on my Flickr album HERE
I want to write about the bridal industry--it's not just the different customs which are to be expected--wedding photos here would shock Americans; I have not yet written up anything about the wonderful SoHu Paper Museum and the remarkable people behind it; I have not even gotten any good photos yet to go with the story about the dancers/drummers/monks/meditators/physical fitness buffs/acting company living in the mountains--U Theatre, whose performance I attended at Chiang Kai Shek Memorial Plaza (the plaza is an article in itself); I have not yet written up the visit to Long Shan Temple, even though I used some of the photos in the article about the National Palace Museum. Not to mention the scantily clad girls in glass booths on the edge of town (they're not what you think--they're selling betel nuts to taxi drivers and working men); the lucky money cats and crystals in all the stores--no matter how sophisticated; the Taiwanese obsession with brassieres; and my own misadventures learning and speaking Chinese; my return trip to the 228 Memorial Peace Park; and the unique Grass Mountain Vistas program being developed at one of Chiang Kai Shek's former mountain villas.

In closing, I leave you with the two unique restroom signs I encountered at the SoHu Paper Museum Friday. They are made in cut paper.

Chop Shops and Green Pancakes--Joel Goes Native

Chop Shops and Green Pancakes--Joel Goes Native
in which I not only get a Chinese name and official chop, but examine wedding invitations and visit a barrel maker

click on photos to see enlargements

To see the full photo album of Chinese chops and seals go to my Flickr album HERE

I needed a Chinese name and an official seal or "chop" to transact some business here. My friend and fellow sculptor, Wen Ching, came by the Taipei Artists' Village to meet me for a stroll over to his cousin's office. His cousin, Liang Jen Li, is not only a sculptor but runs several other businesses, among them, teas, video productions, and arts management.

The weather's perfect here now, so we strolled along Zhong Shan North Rd. just to see the sights. It wasn't long before we came across a the sort of thing you won't find on an American main street--in fact, I understand it's even unusual here considering how active and upscale Zhong Shan Rd is--we found a wooden tub maker. He makes barrels, too, which would make him a cooper, but buckets and tubs are his specialty. His shop has been in this location since 1928 and appears to be virtually unchanged.

All the items are hand made by the man in the middle and his assistant on the left. The metal fittings and hoops are loose since it's meant that the items--made from Taiwan cyprus--will be soaked and kept wet. When wet, the wood will swell to make the metal parts fit perfectly. The big tubs are designed to bathe in with special medicinal herbs; regular buckets and dumpling steamers are seen to the right.


Pushing on, we walked through the side alleys, past shops for dried fruits, and a shop selling dried sea horses, turtle skeletons, and snake skins for medicinal purposes. I hope those aren't soaked in the barrel maker's tubs, too!

Nothing like a little turtle shell and mountain goat antlers to stir up an appetite.

I had to investigate one of the sidewalk breakfast joints offering what I thought was bread sized slabs of lard for sale. Wen Ching was showing a lot of patience waiting for me to examine every mundane detail along the streets. He had gave an astonished laugh when I asked about the "slabs of lard." They are actually pieces of rice flour bread, with various types of spices or meat embedded in them. You buy one and they toast it on the griddle, cut it up for you and top it with whichever gravy or sauce you want. We took a table, placed an order and had enough for two spending only 90 cents US.

We managed to get another two blocks down the road without eating but couldn't get past the attractive young lady selling spongy, green pancakes---with, you guessed it--red bean paste filling. The pan cakes are mixed with ground green tea and cooked on one side only before being whisked off the griddle and and rolled around a filling. The owner walked up, insisting the foreigner try one on the house. I did and must say it was good. Wonder what sort of children's Dr. Seuss book there is in "Green Pancakes and Red Beans on Yellow Dragon Street?"

They look like small green sponges the red bean past can be seen barely peeking out

We made it to Liang Jen Li's office without being offered more food. He immediately pulled out excellent, rare tea and so we drank several cups of tea while (you guessed it) he sent out for lunch! The REAL question in Taiwan is not China, but "What are we eating next?"
Several pots of tea and a full lunch later, we had finished discussing business. It turned out I need a Chinese name and an official chop-- or seal-- for documents. A Chinese name is not an odd idea to the Chinese. Most of them have Western names for convenience in dealing with foreigners or to use on the internet. If I have a Chinese name, then they have a way to address me using sounds they can make. This works both ways. To my mortification, I found from my friend Wen Ching, I had been mispronouncing his family name in a way that made it sound like is was saying..well, ahem...ur..fecal matter.
We soon ran into a problem. Not only is my name VERY difficult for Taiwanese to pronounce properly, but the best transliterations into characters and words come out as "Huh Joe" which means "drinks alcohol." Worse, a name chop needs three characters or words and we only had two. Wen Ching suggested I supply them with my official name including my middle name; perhaps they could figure something out with a little more to work with.



They sort of did. After much chatter between them in Taiwanese and scribbling characters back and forth to each other, they came up with
Spelled in PinYin as Ai He Jiu. Pronounced "Aye Huh Joe."

It literally means------LOVES DRINKING ALCOHOL! (in fairness, Ai is common in Chinese)

"Well," Liang Jen Li muttered, "Nobody will forget your name."

Now, we had to wander up and down the streets looking for a chop shop to make my new chop. Not so fast, I was told, I needed to decide on a style.

Style?!

Liang-Jen pulled a sheet of paper from his files. On it were examples of his companys seals. In one column large size seals were arrayed in various styles of calligraphy; to the right was a column of smaller seals. The left ones, they explained were seals used only for various specific functions of the company. There was one seal style used for company proposals and promotional material; another, using older style calligraphy, was only to be used by the company accountant on financial reports. The seals in the right column were the corresponding styles of company personal seals to be used with each large seal. For example, a financial report would have both the large seal stating the name of the company and a smaller personal seal of the person authorizing the report.
I insouciantly took a photo of the sheet as an example for this travelogue. There ensued between Wen Ching and Liang Jen Li a short conversation in Taiwanese; then, Wen Ching explained in English, that since seals are official and legal signatures perhaps it would be best if in an era of PhotoSHop and easy digital reproduction, that I not publish a sheet of their seals. It is akin to publishing a photo of somebody's bank account numbers or signatures here in the West. Embarrassed, I hastily deleted the photos and they very kindly allowed me to photograph a sheet of seals from a defunct company (which I have altered slightly, so they can still be detected as forgeries.)

The maze like calligraphy is the most ancient style; the brush type being more "modern"

Finally, we were ready to find a chop shop. Wen Ching's father-in-law is a retired master chop carver--in the old days, seals were hand carved. One had to be both an excellent craftsman and an excellent calligrapher. Now, seals are machine carved, running off computer programs. You can go to a very high end chop maker or even find them on the streets. Street chop vendors often work along with key makers--the equipment is the same.

We left the office; walked past the orchids growing on trees along Renai Rd;

Past fruit stands

and coral carvers

and all sorts of other shops--a brassierre shop, a woman preparing betal nuts, and a place that seemed like a

until we found a chop shop similar to this one

stone chops with miniature statues are quite collectible but very expensive. I, and most people, buy wood or plastic sticks from which chops are made, sans decorative little statues

Our chop maker poses with me before starting on making my chop


He paints the end of the blank chop red; then brushes on the calligraphy. Note the wooden nifty adjustable chop holder.


Getting ready to make a chop the modern way--he wouldn't really have to use the red paint and calligraphy.

Notice the large character for "Ai" will be on the right. Chinese reads from right to left, and Chinese always state a family name first.



A machine cuts my chop

My finished chop. The characters written out with a ball point pen and taken to the chop maker on the right. My chop and the red ink pad, a donation from Liang Jen Li since I had forgotten to buy any at the chop shop. Note there is a cap on the right to put over the chop end when not in use. Notice also the dot on the chop so the user knows which way to position it when applying the chop so the characters are right side up and reading from the right. If seals wear out or are damaged, the bottom is simply sanded smooth again and a new seal carved.



It's tough making a living as a chop maker. My wooden chop cost me only NT$ 130 (about US$ 3.75) so they are also the place to have wedding announcements, wedding invitations, birth announcements, and business cards printed. See the photo of a sample fancy wedding invitation below.


Nearly all the chop shops, but not the sidewalk vendors, sell elaborate stone and wood carvings for collectors, but that's not a real money making market. They occasionally also sell ornate stone chops made as gifts. Below, one of the stone curios for sale at the shop.



Our chop maker's front window. The elaborate stcker seen below was in several places in the shop. I also saw it in many other places. It is an ornate combination of four characters welcoming good fortune and money to come into the this place.


So, sealed, but not signed, that was the end of my Chinese name and chop adventure.
It was not the end of the day's adventures by any means but it's all I have room or time for now. We had a discussion of door gods we found in an alley; walked by the Dr. Sun Yat-sen house; and I took Wen Ching out to supper at a Xian style restaurant which serves odd Chinese food even by Chinese standards. Xian cuisine is totally different. Xian, you may recall is the province in north central China where the large underground ceramic army was found. But that's all for another newsletter.

My photo albums of my Taiwan trips can be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/joelhaas/sets/

Red Bean Filled Hockey Pucks and Mind Control

The National Palace Museum

March 11, 2009 Wednesday -- Taipei, Taiwan

Hockey pucks full of red bean paste and mind control practiced on swarms of tourists, all in an attempt to see the dowager empress' jade and gold fingernail coverings—a trip to the National Palace Museum.

Single adult admission is NT$ 160 (about $US 4.65) They take credit cards in the restaurant, museum shop and for tickets. Not many places in Taiwan take credit cards, that's why I mention it. web site www.npm.gov.tw

Since it rained again today and photography is forbidden in the museum, I have decorated this travelogue with photos from Long Shan Temple which I visited Tuesday.

When the last emperor left Beijing's Forbidden City in November 1924, the Nationalist government moved in to catalogue the millenias' worth of treasures stored there and set up a museum from this incomparable store of Chinese art and historical artifacts (many items were both.) With the eruption of war with Japan, the collection was crated up and moved to Nanjing in the south. Later, the collection was hauled around China as the war ebbed and flowed. It was hardly installed again in Nanjing in 1946 when the Chinese Civil War saw it crated and on the move again, this time to Taiwan in late 1949 as the Nationalist government of Chiang Kai Shek retreated to the island. In the 1960s a program of building a home worthy of the treasure was undertaken and a fraction of the tens of thousands of crates of treasure put on display. To this day, it is considered the definitive collection of Chinese art. My writing is not a review of the art--it needs no reviewing--but of the visitor experience, at least, as compared to my previous visits in 2004 and 2005 when there was massive renovation of the museum underway.

A lantern outside one of the minor side shrines at Long Shan Temple

The National Palace Museum has always been one of the world's great museums and now it finally looks like it. The National Palace Museum is a very different than the one I saw in 2004 and early 2005. That museum had been built in the 1960s on exhibit design and theory developed in about 1910.
There was a certain charm to that. The floors creaked so you knew you were in a museum. There were old glass cases in some rooms that let you get really close to the exhibits and take a fantastic photo. A lot of objects had been put on display in small areas and two or three groups of Japanese tourists or local 6th graders on a field trip could close off a gallery to nearly anybody else by sheer force of bodies and noise.

There are downsides, though.

Embroidery in progress on a street near the temple. The embroidered gold dragon at the top of this travelogue was on sale here, too.

Now the National Palace Museum is a world class museum showing few objects VERY dimly lit, while VERY efficiently moving massive tour groups of Japanese, Mainland Chinese, and local 6th graders through.
While I clearly understand cloth and ink will fade under strong light, the light levels are so low it is difficult to even read some of the labels, let along actually see the paintings or objects.
While I clearly understand cloth and ink will fade under strong light, I am at a loss as to why jade, bronze or ceramics need to be as dimly lit as paintings. I defy any museum curator in the world to produce evidence of even one metal or stone sculpture being damaged by normal lighting.
I applaud the National Palace Museum (NPM) for instituting a no photography rule. While I seriously doubt the deleterious effects of photo flashes on the exhibits, there is no doubt the movement of crowds would come to a crawl or a halt as galleries erupted in photo flashes so constant it would look like a 1970s disco.
BUT. If you're going to forbid photography, then the gift store should be well stocked with comprehensive catalogs of the collections AND a high quality series of CDs with digital photos available.
Laughably bad DVDs on the NPM collection are available; copies of catalogs for two dozen or so past special exhibitions; stacks of three year old museum magazines; some fantastic full size copies of hanging scrolls are on sale in one corner of the 3000+ sq ft gift store. Sadly, the NPM's gift shop yields nothing to other great museums of the world in primarily selling overpriced, logo stamped gimcrackery in classy and elegant setting for several times what you'd pay at WalMart. (and about 10 times what you'll pay one subway stop south at Shilin Night Market.)

Leave your ducks and chickens at home if you're taking the metro

As mentioned before, the building's overall design promotes the ebb and flow of great shoals of tour groups.
One of the innovations helping the independent visitor (though I am sure that was not on anybody's mind) is the requirement tour groups have to all buy head sets, each tuned to a their guide's unique radio frequency. The guide has only to speak softly into his broadcast microphone to talk about an exhibit and then quietly direct his group to move right or left or forward down a hall, etc. to the next item. There is far less noise of talking or confusion and no hubbub as tour leaders try to speak loudly to be heard (in several different languages) and then direct their group off in one direction without accidentally picking up several confused members from another group.
To an outsider, it is rather eerie to watch large groups of people being choreographed in different directions by a seemingly invisible hand.
I have to comment on the view outside.
There are several museum restaurants; a cloak room check service, wheelchairs, elevators, plenty of benches in the galleries, bathrooms and staff in the museum. If you are not sure about our ability to navigate Taipei's public transport there are swarms of taxis at the museum.
While the National Palace Museum grounds themselves are imposing, beautifully laid out and maintained as befits its status as a world class museum, its surroundings can only be described as a Chinese Rush Limbaugh's wet dream. No regulation and utter lack of zoning or city planning has resulted in scabrous apartment buildings directly across from the museum, dominating the terrace and balcony views, and transmission lines built directly across the back of the museum. Urban planning is still a new concept here.

stone dragon winding around a temple column at Long Shan Temple

I got to the NPM by taking the red line metro north six stops to Shilin Station; a half dozen or more bus routes passing the Shilin station go to the NPM. That fact notwithstanding, your correspondent managed to get turned around (with a compass!) and tried to board a school bus heading the wrong direction. An attractive and well spoken young woman took a few moments off from hurrying to class to walk me to the right bus stand, spoke with the bus driver and got me settled in the right direction. Don't know what she said, but the bus driver refused payment for the trip as well.

Nuns having their heads shaved outside Long Shan Temple

I would have gone into the Chih Shan gardens surrounding the NPM and then on down the road 250 yards to the new Museum of Taiwanese Aboriginals if it hadn't been a) raining again, and b) after hours in the NPM, I was dog tired and wouldn't have had more than 45 minutes in the Aboriginal Museum. Plenty remains for a return trip another day. Not only will I know where the right bus stand is, but I tried out a few of the small shops around the metro station for food.

Riding the #255 bus I saw my favorite Engrish for the day. A woman on a scooter stopped at a light; on her jacket was elegantly emblazoned “Candy Oiler.” Oh well, it doesn't have to make sense to be stylish, just has to be some sort of English.

One of the simple innovations I saw here was on the bus ride. We passed several road crews and each had set out a used, bald mannequin from a clothing store. A yellow rain slicker was draped over him and a red flag taped to his arm. Larger and more startling than a traffic cone and lot cheaper than the cheapest live labor!

Near the Shilin metro station I stumbled across a “German bakery.” Mr Mark, German bakery even has dual language signage Chinese/German in the store. It appears to be a chain, as I would bet in this part of Taipei the number of Germans is only slightly greater than the number of woolly mammoths. Bakeries and baked goods have become quite a craze here. Chinese cooking doesn't use an oven or baking; no wheat; no dairy; no sugar; little or no salt. Over the past five years, bakeries have sprung up all over. There will even be an international baking exposition late this month in the venue normally reserved for electronics shows. I bought a loaf of Mr Mark's bread for NT$ 115 ($US 3). Back in my room, I tried it. Let's just say it would struggle to find its market in the States, and would be laughed at with pity in Germany, but it is a vast improvement over what has been offered here in Taiwan in the past.

One of two lanterns at the Long Shan Temple entrance

The other two shops I tried had tastier and more rewarding food for far less. For NT$ 30 (95 cents US)
I had a sort of pancake wrapped around scramble eggs and cilantro, the whole smeared with spicy sauce and served n a paper wrapper.
Red bean paste is commonly sold as a sweet here, though it is barely sweet at all by Western standards. A street vendor filled one inch deep cupcake shaped moulds with a sort of fortune cookie batter (fortune cookies are unknown here—they were invented in California). When the batter has cooked, he stuffs the miniature pie shell with red bean paste until it's about an inch over the top. It's flipped over into a second pie shell and cooked so the customer is presented for about 35 cents US a hockey puck full of red bean paste to munch (or a Skoal's tin of chewing tobacco for those of us who grew up in North Carolina before we imported Yankees and hockey teams.)
As always, I am interested to hear from my readers with comments, suggestions, and corrections.

Taiwan Travel--Far More Tubas Than Needed

Tubas, fried squid, and teapots
March 7, 2009 Saturday Taipei, Taiwan (still rainy, windy and about 56 degrees F)

Trudging for teapots, the National Taiwan Museum, street demonstrations with way more tubas than needed, and the Chinese calligraphy store. Hard rain—has not let up since I arrived; the temperature about 60 F with gusty winds.

Originally, I just went out to buy a teapot.


I refused to pay $US150 for a teapot I was just going to use for everyday tea and leave here. People take their tea and tea pots VERY seriously here—Taiwan is the Napa and Sonoma Valleys of tea for many Japanese collectors—and fine tea shops in this area of town will not disgrace their teas by selling inferior teapots. Teapots here are no bigger than a Christmas ornament, often smaller, and the jasmine brewing teapot I needed is no bigger than an American coffee cup. Brewing tea here is nothing like an English method.

I couldn't just keep brewing tea in a old cereal bowl.

There are whole books written on the proper methods to brew tea, so it's not going to be the subject of this newsletter.

April 2005 my previous teapot vendor

Last time I was here, I just walked up Zhong Shan Rd, ducked into the alleyways and finally found a vendor selling used teapots for about $US 15. The weather's been so bad, I am not going to go walking that far and I doubt there are any little old men selling teapots out of crates lashed to the back of their scooter in this weather.


Layered in tee shirt, shirt, vest, and windbreaker and umbrella, I took the camera out, heading to Hua Shan market. It was almost 9 AM and not many people on the streets or shops open. I seriously wondered if my favorite eatery would even be open.

I should not have worried. At 8:50 AM there were TWO lines stretched out the door!
Saying the heck with it, I wandered east along Zhong Xiao Rd.
I took photos of sidewalks for a short article on Taiwanese sidewalks. (Everybody here is responsible for the sidewalk in front of their building, so there is a variation in the concrete and other materials that would drive an American—certainly Cary, NC's—city planners mad.) See the photo at the top of this letter.

Along the way, I stopped at a street stall, plopping out NT$ 39 ($US 1.12) for three sausage and cabbage dumplings. That was breakfast. Trudged the alleys all the way back, winding up behind the Sheraton. Passed several tea shops—all selling teapots for far more than I wanted to spend.

I passed two “barber shops.” Here barber shops are often a front for sexual services. One was shut up tight, but I could see clearly into the other. “Barber chairs” made up like beds reclined in an oddly lit atmosphere. Women in smocks beckoned to me, waving hair dryers suggesting it was not my hair they were going to blow dry.

The rain was not letting up, so I wandered on back to the TAV, had some hot jasmine tea (brewed in a cereal bowl), called Joy and read the news on line. I had a pear-apple and small bowl of muesli, then decided to walk on down to Shin Kong department store to see if they had an inexpensive teapot on the 9th floor in housewares. I spent a while first walking the shops in the Taipei Main Railway Station. (Despite much ballyhoo, zero progress has been made in making the main station more tourist friendly in the past four years.)
I walked the new underground shopping mall. No tea ware there either.

So. I finally arrived at Shin Kong Department store.
There were no inexpensive teapots on the 9th floor. What did I expect? They were selling them in the area next to Hummel figurines.

I did ride the elevators a few times just to ogle the elevator operators. If you ever wondered whether the rubber dolls from the movie LARS AND THE REAL GIRL found steady work and happiness, relax. They're all dressed now as Pan Am stewardesses from 1962 and working department stores in Taiwan.

I resolved to walk through the alleys behind Shin Kong and take a chance finding some little store selling teapots.

On a rainy day in Chinese alleys, you want to bring along a compass. You can't see the sun; you can't read the signs, and it is more than easy to get turned around. I hadn't brought along my compass or camera.

Luckily, after a half hour's walk, I emerged suddenly onto a main road right in front of a French Belle Epoque style building. Banners flying in front announced it to be the National Taiwan Museum.
www.ntm.gov.tw

I'n a sucker for museums, so in I went. The Taiwanese are fighting unemployment by having four people with three computers in the front selling 60 cent (US) admission tickets. You get a colorful ticket big enough to use as a bookmark and a handsome color guide in English to the museum included in the ticket price.

Built in 1908 under Japanese rule, the building was designed to be a museum from the beginning and has been well updated to keep up its mission. I toured exhibits of aboriginal tribes' clothing and tools; a large exhibit on Taiwan's six national parks; enjoyed a photo exhibition of sculpture made by Czech artists from plastic drink bottles and toured the top floor show on museum conservation techniques.

In a stairwell to the third floor, I stumbled across a young woman dressed in a ultra frilly thong, frilly miniskirt, frilly cap and jacket (all in red and white) and wearing high heel lace up boots. She was provocatively draped on the 1908 era window sills.
She was having her wedding photos made.
Soft porn wedding photos are a HUGE business here. People may snap a few photos at the actual ceremony, but ranking just behind the wedding banquet in complexity and cost, are the 6 to 12 weeks worth of fashion magazine/Maxim like photo albums created of the bride to be and her groom to be. Often, they're exhibited at the wedding banquet.

This is a subject worth a separate article, but I imagine it is pretty startling to Westerner with no advance knowledge. Her circa 1900 “French maid” outfit went perfectly with the building and her hired photographer and crew knew that; had probably used the location and costume before.

I perused the museum shop's books on early Taiwanese history, noting titles to come back to buy (when I didn't have to lug them around in the rain.)

The weather let up just enough to allow me a half hour stroll through 2-28 Memorial Peace Park behind the museum.

2-28 refers to Feb 28, 1947 when riots against Chiang kai Shek's corrupt government and the Chinese army's behavior erupted in Taiwan. Reacting with ferocious brutality, rather than address the problem, the newly installed Chinese government killed thousands of people, arrested and imprisoned thousands more. A “White Terror,” suppressing any dissent on the pretext of “fighting Godless Communism” commenced for months. (Chiang nominally converted to Christianity since his father in law was a Presbyterian missionary and it strengthened ties and good publicity with Western powers.) For years, if the matter were even referred to at all, it was referred to as the 2-28 Incident. Calling it an “incident” in terms of political impact and casualties is rather like referring to the First Battle of Bull Run as an “an incident at Manassas.”

(A newspaper article just published this week in the Taipei Times with a more detailed account of “the incident” in the town of Keelung north of Taipei.
http://www.taipeitimes.com/News/taiwan/archives/2009/03/09/2003437977

As a first step towards modern reconciliation between Chinese and other Taiwanese groups, the 2-28 Memorial Peace Park was established.

I entered it by crossing a small bridge over a lotus pond behind the National Taiwan Museum. A quarter of the park is taken up with a large amphitheater for music and stage performances. A pond with a small pagoda or temple covers part and there are quiet walkways lined with unnaturally square trimmed azaleas forming unnaturally box shaped blooms.

The large monument in the middle to the victims is surrounded by a small reflecting pool. You reach the center of the memorial itself by walking on carefully placed stone pavers to reach the center. Under the memorial sculpture, one looks up into a large Chinese style bronze bell. Unlike most of Taiwan's public places, there is no English signage. That's as it should be. This is their monument, not somebody else's.

(To learn more about the park and its back ground, I refer you to a very succinct article in Wikipedia at
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/228_Memorial_Park )

Almost on cue, as I finished walking around the 2-28 Park, the sky opened up again. I unfurled my yusan (umbrella) and fled back into the alleyways. It was long past lunch so I was happy to find a small street stall selling breaded fried squid. “Just the thing!” I thought, and soon I was on my way with a large paper sack of fried squid doused with cayenne pepper and ginger sauce. A bamboo skewer is thoughtfully provided so you can stroll, munch and not get too greasy.

Halfway through my bag of squid, I came upon a tea shop with just the teapot I was looking for! Looking beyond the window display I saw racks of fine teas and a glass counter with large cakes of tea, tea trays, etc. Well dressed staff worked behind the counter and in the very narrow aisle. They even wore neckties.
I felt too awkward with an umbrella, wet clothes, and clutching a bag of smelly fried squid, to go in.
I really wanted that teapot, though. It was the kind for jasmine tea, of which I have more than a pound, and I was getting tired of brewing it in a cereal bowl.
The elegant family in the store must have wondered at the gray haired “waigeren” (pro. wye guh run) munching squid in their alley and standing in the rain so long looking into their window.

You have to understand, buying a teapot in this store would not be a short and simple transaction as in America.

I would have to have several cups of tea with the family; make complimentary and semi intelligent comments on the tea; make small talk and answer questions about America; tell them how much I like Taiwan; then—and only then—express an interest in a teapot. God forbid it be the one I am actually interested in. Then I shall have to argue with the owner, convince him he really does have teapots worthy of even showing to a foreigner, and then, reluctantly being offered 3 other teapots at five to ten times the price I ever intend paying before I finally suggest the most moderately priced teapot in the window (about $US 12) Out of politeness, a price will have to be negotiated on that, even though it may be just a nickel or less off, so that all sides are seen to save face.
The merchant will be visibly disappointed to have spent so much time with “a rich foreigner” only to sell him a $US 12 teapot, so I shall be on the hook to save face all around by buying $US 25-50 worth of tea I do not need and do not have a developed palate to appreciate.

Just going back to Shin Kong Department Store, ogling the blow up dolls working the elevators and forking over $US 50 for a teapot is beginning to look better and better.

By the time I got back up to Shin Kong, though, there is some sort of street demonstration going on. As a matter of policy—I have learned this on previous trips—it makes me nervous to be around political demonstrations about which I do not have a clue and people waving signs I cannot read. Last time I stumbled onto one of these back in April 2005, there were three groups of demonstrators and a dozen busloads of National Police in riot gear involved.

Before I could move on, from down the street and leading the signs and marchers, comes the largest marching band I have ever seen parading by in blue and white uniforms (colors of the KMT Nationalists party). I note as I try to put space between me and them, the band has more than 50 tubas!!!
What sort of marching band or political demonstration needs more than 50 tubas????

Some blocks down the street, I finally went into the Royal Chinese Art company, a store I had always wanted to go in, but had somehow missed doing so on three previous trips. Frankly, I thought it might be a safe haven if the tubas broke bad and riot police were called in.

This is THE place for high end Chinese calligraphy and brush painting supplies. These people are to Chinese calligraphy brushes what Montblanc are to pens.

I gazed at exquisitely carved ink stones costing only a few thousand bucks (US!) Some are designed so the true beauty and detail of carving does not reveal itself until wetted with certain inks.
The carved jade brush rests, arm rests, seals (called chops), water bowls, and brush hangers are of a quality to make your jaw drop. Even more astonishingly, I know from other exhibitions of ink stones I have seen that, while these are high quality, they only run-of-the-mill high quality. I have not worked my way up to seeing the really expensive stuff yet.

Dressed as I was—and still smelling of fried squid, I am sure—I did not even dare to ask to be taken down stairs where they probably keep items that would fit in the National Palace Museum collection.
There were brush paintings for sale, too. At least two of them approached Hokusai's wish that when he was 100 years old he would be able to paint a dot perfect in its ability to convey everything he wanted to say.

As a sculptor and writer, I think a high end Chinese calligraphy store is the perfect combo.
Just wish I could afford it.
Good thing I brought a nice suit and tie. I plan to dress up and go over there a few times, eventually working around to asking about bringing a camera in.

Back at the Taipei Artist Village, it was supper time. I went up to room 401, studio of a young Japanese wood sculptor I had met the day before, Abe Nyubo. Abe's been working the past two months preparing large wood sculptures for an exhibition opening here at the TAV March 27. His wonderful wood carvings are made all the more appealing because he works in Taiwan's native camphor wood. The weather has been awful the past week, so he's moved all the work into his room and keeps on carving. The room is ankle deep in wood chips and smells overwhelmingly of camphor. We rousted his fellow countryman from next door, Kohske Kawasi, a music composer. Both these young men are mega talented artists and I will write more on their work in the future.
I suggested supper and they quickly agreed.

Abe (pronounced AH BEH) took us on a hike four or five blocks down the street to a hole-in-the-wall Taiwanese place he knew. Both Abe and Kawahsi are crazy about Taiwanese food. Tastier and cheaper than what they get in Tokyo according to them. There were no menus in English--or Japanese--we just pointed to stuff and relied on Abe's previous visits to let us know what was good.

We had pickled string beans with red peppers, tofu slices with 6 spices, beef tongue slices with three spices, and a plate of four translucent green, hard boiled duck eggs topped with several unidentifiable but delicious spices.

And that was just appetizers.

Our bowls of beef, cabbage, and soy noodles arrived.

Kawahsi got the double size bowl of beef extra spicy, while Abe and I got the cabbage and beef with noodles. We washed it all down with endless cups of iced tea, talked about art, Kawahsi's obsession with Taiwanese food and romantic music, and laughed about Abe's many girlfriends calling on his cell phone. Abe's girlfriends don't speak Japanese and he doesn't speak Chinese, so they communicate in broken English. Abe finally got fed up with the girls, turned off his cell phone and we turned our attention to the big screen TV at the back of the restaurant to watch Japan beat the tar out of Korea in the World Baseball Classic. The Taiwanese, like the Japanese are huge baseball fans.

(I took the photos below when I went there by myself the following night)

the kitchen is out on the street--you see a little of it to the right

Here is one of the cooks--facing the sidewalk

seaweed, tofu, sausage, hard boiled eggs, etc. ready to be chopped and served as appetizers

I picked up the bill—for all of us it came to just under $US 18 tip included—despite our gluttony. The young men protested, but not more than polite. I told them they could buy the beer for the evening.
A block later they ducked into a 7-11, emerging with four 20 oz bottles of local beer and a bag of potato chips. Well provisioned, we went back to Abe's room where we looked over his drawings and listened to some of Kawahsi's compositions.

Then Kawasi and I watched as Abe went into a panic realizing he had promised to meet a girl in the bar downstairs in a few minutes—an art dealer interested in his work, he claimed.

The panic passed when Abe realized his watch was still set to Japanese time and he had an hour yet. As Abe finally went off downstairs, I made my way to my room—it was not even 9 PM—and Kawahsi set out to see if the 7-11 had some candy he'd forgotten to buy.

And I, to quote Samuel Peyps, muttered, “...and so, to bed!”