Of Taiwan, Yet Not of Taiwan

Tracing the Rich History of Kinmen

By Mark Caltonhill

[first published in "Travel in Taiwan" 2010 (http://go2taiwan.net/must_see_kinmen.php)]

Whatever you do in Kinmen (and there is plenty to occupy visitors for days or even weeks), don’t call it part of Taiwan. While the local people are friendly and forgiving, they will gently point out that Kinmen, which is as close as 2 km from the mainland China coast but almost 230 km from Taiwan, was always and still is a part of China’s Fujian Province, albeit a part that is now under the jurisdiction of Taipei and not of Beijing.

Thus the island – actually an archipelago of two inhabited islands, Kinmen and Little Kinmen, and a number of small uninhabited ones — has a history entirely different from that of the island of Taiwan. This has colored its culture over the centuries and, as the Republic of China (ROC) and People’s Republic of China (PRC) draw closer with the post-Cold War thaw finally reaching East Asia, continues to do so.

For example, whereas Taiwan was a frontier territory in the 17th and 18th centuries to which Chinese immigrants fled to begin a new life, Kinmen was a part of the “older” China. Indeed, it later became a source of emigrants itself, a few of whom settled in the Penghu archipelago and Taiwan, many more of whom traveled to Japan, the Philippines, throughout Southeast Asia, and further afield. It is estimated that around half a million descendents of Kinmenese now live overseas, a figure that represents about 10 times the islands’ current population.

Their story, first as laborers and later as merchants, is told in detail (with good English translations) in a combined gallery and history museum housed in the old Jinshui Elementary School in Shuitou Village, located in the southwest of Kinmen’s main island. In fact, the whole of Shuitou – with its reconstructed mansions as well as the more rundown establishments – is like one large museum. This is because the fortunes made and either remitted or brought home by some of the expatriate sons of Kinmen account for the great profusion of traditional Fujianese-style upscale housing, often mixed with Baroque and other Western elements.

Stone lions have long been worshiped by local people to protect them and their crops from the strong winds

Another good place to stroll among these historic buildings is Shanhou Culture Village in Jinsha Township in the main island’s northeast. In fact several villages within the Kinmen National Park area, which encompasses a large portion of the two main islands, have been restored to their 19th- and early 20th-century glory using a “replace old with old” strategy, making a visit to Kinmen a unique step back in time almost unparalleled anywhere else in the ROC.

The northeast of the main island is its windiest area and thus has most of Kinmen’s iconic wind lions. These stone statues of varying size and design, some holding objects such as pens, balls or ribbons, have long been worshiped by local people to protect them and their crops from the strong winds. Sometimes there is one for a whole village, sometimes one per household. The Kinmen National Park administration regularly stages a fun event in which visitors buy a book and crayons and collect rubbings from a selection of lions, which they can then swap for a prize before leaving the island. In the days before the Chinese Civil War, Kinmen was known for its fishing and, less so, its agriculture. Today it is best-known in the region for its kaoliang (sorghum)-based alcohol and its artillery-shell knives. This change and these products are the result of yet another twist in the island’s history.

As the Chinese Civil War came to its stand-off conclusion in 1949, ROC forces relocated to Taiwan but managed to hold onto numerous islands just off the mainland China coast, including the Matsu group off the city of Fuzhou in northern Fujian and Kinmen off Xiamen in southern Fujian. Situated within sight of the coast and under a virtual state of siege, fishing became impossible in all but the most inshore island waters. Many local residents relocated to Taiwan, but for those who stayed a new livelihood was needed.

In what now must be seen as a stroke of genius, Kinmen-stationed General Hu Lian, originally from the sorghum-growing region of Shandong Province far off in northern China, recognized that the island’s soil and water were ideal for growing the grain and making traditional kaoliang liquor.

Today, the distillery near the island’s center – Kinmen Kaoliang Liquor Inc. – produces around 24 million liters of 38 percent and 58 percent liquor annually, generating around NT$12 billion in sales for local and national coffers, and making Kinmen one of only two counties in the ROC not in debt to the central government, according to information provided at the distillery’s visitor center.

Those sightseers with a taste for culinary tourism may also try the island’s famous “imperial tribute candy” at the sales center of the nearby Sheng Zu Food & Beverage Corp., where they can watch a dozen modern takes on the classic recipe being made by hand. The original flavor is peanut, however, and clearly Kinmen’s soils are suited to that crop too, as it is found in fields and smallholdings everywhere and can be seen drying on the courtyards in front of people’s homes. While in the countryside, also look out for the cows. They might not be a big deal to Westerners, but for Taiwanese used to water buffalo, the “yellow” cattle of Kinmen are quite unusual. Old-timers still use their beasts for plowing and other heavy work, and out of respect and gratitude do not eat beef. Younger people, however, now keep herds commercially, and beef jerky is another Kinmen specialty. Naturally, one of the most popular flavors is kaoliang beef jerky. One final culinary-related must-see is Master Wu’s Chin Ho Li Steel Knife Factory.

Third-generation knife maker Wu Tseng-dong is often to be found in his factory/showroom, and will hand-make a knife tailored to a visitor’s needs if not busy. His family started off making agricultural tools, but switched to knives after the infamous PRC shelling of Kinmen that began on August 23, 1958. Over the next 44 days around 500,000 artillery shells rained down, and perhaps the same number – though many contained propaganda materials and not explosives – over the next 20 years. Wu’s father and other blacksmiths found the shells’ steel to be good for high-quality knives for kitchen and other uses, and Wu first helped out after school before taking over the family business. Taken back to Taiwan proper by soldiers stationed on the island, the knives, as well as Wu’s factory, soon became a firm item on tourists’ itineraries.

The islands’ key location and role in the six-decade stand-off between the ROC and PRC is the most recent historical event coloring Kinmen’s culture. This has also provided innumerable visitor options not available elsewhere. Favorites include the propaganda broadcasting station at Mashan, the closest tip of northeast Kinmen island to China. Here, singer Teresa Teng and others once did live broadcasts over enormous loudspeakers to PRC citizens just two kilometers away, extolling the virtues of life in Free China.

Mashan also has fortifications and short tunnels. But for better examples of this, the extensive tunnels at Qionglin in the center of Kinmen island along the coast (which was the PRC People’s Liberation Army’s ideal point of attack) are well worth the NT$10 entrance fee. These tunnels were largely dug out and fortified by local residents themselves, using military-supplied cement, so they could move around in relative safety and therefore continue their lives as normally as possible even while under attack.

Wu Chin Ho’s father and other blacksmiths found the shells’ steel to be good for high-quality knives for kitchen and other uses

For an introduction to military fortifications, Yongshi Fort on Little Kinmen, the other inhabited island, is recommended. Here are gun emplacements, an arsenal, dormitories, officers’ rooms, kitchen facilities, and tank emplacements, all underground and all connected by miles of tunnels. Visitors may even ride their bicycles through the tunnel from Yongshi Fort to the nearby Tiehan Fort if circumnavigating Little Kinmen by bicycle.

That the ROC still retains Kinmen (as well as Matsu) shows the success of these fortifications. In this it has done better than Koxinga, who held these islands and the nearby archipelago islands controlled by the PRC for years as a base to resist and harass the new Manchurian Qing dynasty based in Beijing in the 17th century, but who ultimately had to retreat further, to Taiwan, starting a new chapter in that island’s history. Today’s topic has been Kinmen’s history, and hopefully the people of this now peaceful archipelago will forgive their story appearing in a magazine called “Travel in Taiwan” — the name “Travel in Taiwan, Matsu, and Kinmen” would be just a bit too much of a mouthful. 

photos copyright Travel in Taiwan 2010
text copyright Travel in Taiwan and Jiyue Publications 2010,2012

Guns and Roses: Wanhua Makes a Comeback

The popular film Monga has revived interest in the oldest district in Taipei, home to some of the city’s major sightseeing spots.

TEXT AND PHOTOS BY MARK CALTONHILL

Derived from an aboriginal word Vanka referring to the canoes with which indigenous people brought sweet potatoes, charcoal, and other produce downriver to sell to Chinese settlers, it was adapted as Manga (艋舺; literally “small boat”) in Minnan. These characters meant nothing to the Japanese when they took over Taiwan in 1895, so they used the similarly pronounced Manka (萬華; literally “Ten Thousand Flowers”), and these characters were preserved by the incoming ROC administration from 1945, but using the Mandarin pronunciation Wanhua. Hence none of the original characters, meaning, or pronunciation was preserved.

The river was the heart of this district, the earliest part of Taipei inhabited by Han Chinese, but today is largely hidden behind high levees. A good place to start a visit is at the Taipei City Wholesale Fish Market (531 Wanda Road) near the river, where more than 100 tons of fresh fish are auctioned before dawn each day. Smaller quantities can be bought at the retail stalls next door, and there are a couple of restaurants selling cooked fish. Less bloody, the No.1 Fruit and Vegetable Wholesale Market nearby is also worth a look.

By the 1730s, Manga was the main center of trade in northern Taiwan, the origin of Taipei City, as well as its major port. This dominant role continued until silting of the river led to Manga’s decline. Another perhaps more important cause was the frequent fighting among ethnic subgroups who had migrated from Jinjiang (晉江), Hui’an (惠安), Nan’an (南安) and Tong’an (同安) in Fujian Province. These clashes finally led to a mass exodus of the losers, who then established Dadaocheng (大稻埕) as a rival wharf further downstream (at the end of today’s MinSheng West Road).

Manga’s Qingshui Zushi Temple (清水祖師廟), first built in 1787, was razed during such fighting in 1853, only to be rebuilt in 1867. Largely overshadowed by its larger neighbor Longshan Temple (龍山寺), its sleepy, restaurant-sided courtyard offers a glimpse of times gone by. It would probably not look very different from when Canadian George MacKay first came in 1872. One of the most successful missionaries in the entire China region, he nevertheless had great difficulty “taking” Manga. In his book From Far Formosa, MacKay spells it as Bang-kah, nicknames it “the Gibraltar of heathenism in North Formosa,” and says that its estimated population of around 45,000 made it the largest and most important city in northern Taiwan.

“The citizens of Bang-kah, old and young, are daily toiling for money, money – cash, cash,” he noted in his journal of 1875. “They are materialistic, superstitious dollar-seekers. At every visit, when passing through their streets we are maligned, jeered at, and abused. Hundreds of children run ahead, yelling with derisive shouts; others follow, pelting us with orange-peel, mud, and rotten eggs. For hatred to foreigners, for pride, swaggering ignorance, and conceit, for superstitious, sensual, haughty, double-faced wickedness, Bang-kah takes the palm.”

Today foreigners are warmly welcomed, though even the main tourist sights (Longshan Temple, Snake Alley, Xinmending, etc.) are not overrun with outsiders and the atmosphere is thoroughly local. Longshan, for example, is a typical working temple, where Manga residents go to supplicate and thank their favorite deities. Ostensibly a Buddhist place of worship, since the main deity worshiped is the Bodhisattva Guanyin, in reality it is typical of mixed temples with numerous other figures honored in smaller shrines to the rear.

Ghost money and herbs

XiYuan Road on the temple’s west side has many stores specializing in religious paraphernalia. Selling everyday items such as ghost money, divination tools, and statues, as well as high art and more bizarre items such as weapons used by jitong (乩童; “divination boys”) for self-harm when possessed by spirits, they are good places for visitors to search for more unusual souvenirs.

Along the east side of the temple is “herb lane,” worth exploring for vegetation used in cooking and herbal cures.

In front of Longhsan Temple is a large open plaza. This is an ideal place to learn about traditional life in contemporary Taipei. Members of the local community, most of them elderly males, gather here all day long to pass the time, make friends, and enjoy themselves, and the side streets are filled with small cheap eateries. One store of unusual interest is the secondhand bookshop, antique bazaar, and café at No. 152, Lane 4, GuangZhou Street, one of the nearest things Manga has to a museum.

Another museum-like venture is the government-backed development of Bopiliao (剝皮寮), a short street of old buildings, one block further east near the junction of GuangZhou Street and KangDing Road. Still a work in progress, it already throngs with local sightseers because it was featured in Niu’s Monga. With official support, many of the small houses along what is said to have been the district’s main street in very early times have been renovated and contain exhibitions of history, art, and local culture. Although there is not yet much in the way of English information, it is still a good place to take pictures and buy souvenirs.

Back on the square, buskers entertain crowds, experts pick lottery numbers for hopeful gamblers, people dance and play Chinese chess, monks beg, and streetwalkers and their pimps approach potential customers.

Although prostitution has officially been stopped, it seems to be tolerated in Manga, where the predominantly elderly women operate openly and there are still STD clinics behind the temple. The showcase platform of this “colorful” slice of local culture, HuaXi Street (華西街; nicknamed “Snake Alley”) further east, which had open displays of snakes, turtles, and apes, and one of the city’s major red-light districts along adjacent alleys, has largely been cleaned up. This is probably due to tourist dollars as much as government edict: the sanitized market now specializes in seafood snacks and foot massages as much as snake blood and happy endings. There are many temples in the district, and many temple activities. Of particular note is that each year in November or December (the 22nd and 23rd days of the 10th lunar month), the Qingshan Temple (青山宮) at 218 GuiYang Street Sec. 2 organizes one of Taipei’s most spectacular street parades, with statues of deities from nearby temples brought to celebrate the King of Qingshan’s birthday. Beyond the bright lights and camera crews, this is also an event that will have changed little since MacKay’s time.

Uniforms and costumes

From a transportation hub based on the river, Manga developed into a center of trade. In addition to the fishing and agricultural products sold in its markets, it was particularly known for its textile and clothing businesses. While these have largely gone elsewhere (mainly to China and Southeast Asia), there are still a few reminders to be seen and enjoyed. Two curiosities in the otherwise quiet Hanzhong Street area are the trade outfitters and fancy dress shops. The former provide uniforms for everyone from shop staff to marching bands, while the latter stock costumes for private parties, trade shows, and cosplay events.

Far more obvious is the modish district of Ximending, Taiwan’s first pedestrian zone. Busy on weekday evenings, it is completely mobbed with young people on weekends, when record companies, cosmetic manufacturers, and others put on stage shows featuring established and up-and-coming music and television stars. Licensed buskers and street artists draw crowds in the wider car-free streets, while the back alleys leading toward KunMing Street are home to dozens of small independent designers selling clothing and accessories to Taipei’s counterculture youths. There are tattoo artists and body piercers as well as hair salons, manicurists, and masseurs. Street walls are covered in bright murals and graffiti, and the sound of skateboards echoes through the lanes above the chords of indie-music played on portable hifis.

The area is also popular with musicians making pop videos, and with local television and film makers. Of course, Niu was not the first mainstream director to make use of the area’s traditional atmosphere. Hou Hsiao-hsien also chose it for his 1986 film Dust in the Wind (戀戀風塵) and Tsai Ming-liang used it in his 1992 Rebels of the Neon God (青少年哪吒).

Manga was once the entertainment center of Taipei, with numerous theaters doing good business on weekdays and weekends alike. Although many are gone, largely replaced by KTV centers, Ximending still has a range of movie houses showing mainstream and art movies, and is one of the main centers of activity during the annual Taipei International Film Festival.

One reversal of this cultural decline was the reopening of the Red House Theater (紅樓劇場) in 2002. This fine Japanese-era, Western-style building dating from 1908 was originally constructed as a market, but was converted to a theater by Shanghai émigrés in 1949. Now under city government control, it has handicraft stalls on the first floor, but regularly organizes performances upstairs.

Its reconstruction led to a wider change in local fortunes, and the pedestrian zone around the theater fills with café tables by day and pub seating at night. This is a center of Taipei’s LGBT (Lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender) community, as can be identified by the leather trouser and underwear specialist stores – Manga’s latest take on the textile industry – interspersed among the cafés.

The rest of Manga, lying to the south of the now underground Taipei-to-Banqiao railway line, has its own attractions, but is largely residential. For locals, two of the highlights of living there are the spacious Youth Park and even more massive Riverside Park beneath the Huazhong Bridge to Yonghe.

Wanhua Railway Station offers access to the Longshan Temple area for visitors from outside the capital, though Taipei Main Station is within walking distance of Ximending. There are also MRT stations at Longshan Temple and Ximending, and ZhongHua Road is a main hub for bus services throughout the city and beyond.

Out-of-towners can also take advantage of the wide choice of hotels in the neighborhood, ranging from backstreet hovels to high-class establishments. Perhaps the ideal location for those wishing to connect with Manga’s past is one of the riverside hotels with windows offering views of the sunset across the waters that once swarmed with boats.

So what will you find in Manga? No guns, hopefully, though perhaps a few hints of gangs, and definitely a lady-of-the-night or two. And religion to be sure, food for certain, and maybe you will even fall in love with Taipei’s original conurbation.

Text and photos copyright Taiwan Business Topics and Jiyue Publications 2011/2012

Kinmen: From War Zone to Tourist Spot

A onetime battlefield just off the mainland coast, these islands are now attracting visitors from both Taiwan and China.

TEXT AND PHOTOS BY MARK CALTONHILL

For an experience unlike any other in the ROC, make a trip to Kinmen; nowhere else is quite like this tiny archipelago of islands.

Located 230 kilometers from Taiwan proper but as little as two kilometers from the PRC coastline, Kinmen (once better known in the west as Quemoy) for most of the last half-century was as close as Taiwanese could get to mainland China. And then it was only in military uniform, since the archipelago of two inhabited islands and many uninhabited ones was long off-limits to civilian outsiders. Even most of the original residents had long ago fled Communist bombardments and the cultural isolation for the suburbs of Taipei and elsewhere in Taiwan.

Now open to tourists – including visitors from the mainland – and one of the initial gateways for travel to Fujian Province and beyond under the Three-Mini-Links, Kinmen (金門; pronounced “Jin-men”: the K comes from the same earlier romanization system that made Beijing into Peking) is something of a paradise and a paradox.

It is a paradox partly because, while it is resolutely part of the ROC, it has never been part of Taiwan. Rather, along with the islands of Matsu (馬祖), it is a tiny bit of Fujian Province still under ROC control. Moreover, just as its economy is heavily dependent on Chinese goods and Chinese tourists, even its birds, insects, and plants are more Chinese than Taiwanese. But it is even more of a paradox because although a million or so PRC bombs fell on the islands’ 134 square kilometers, its infrastructure was spared the more damaging urbanization and industrialization that affected Taiwan proper. As a result, it has a far higher proportion of historical buildings preserved.

Architecturally, therefore, Kinmen is fascinating. One absolute must, for all but the most transient of visitors, is to stay overnight in one of these properties, many of which date from the end or even middle of the 19th century and were built in traditional Fujian style. The grander buildings belonged to successful candidates in the imperial examinations, who then were sent elsewhere in China to hold official positions, sending back money to the clans that had supported their years of study. These buildings can be identified by the sweeping “swallow tail” roofs, distinct from the “horseback” structures of ordinary citizens.

Many of the “horseback” buildings are also quite substantial, since Kinmen was a key player in trade between China and the Chinese diaspora of Southeast Asia and beyond. Even those who could not afford to build a complete new house sometimes added an extra wing or extra story (traditionally Fujianese homes were single-storied). Exploring these architectural details, often executed in the latest fashions of the period, such as Baroque ideas brought back from abroad, is an attraction for visitors to even the smallest village in Kinmen. And with such newfound riches, the builders had to find ever more ingenious ways to protect the inhabitants from the pirates who still plundered the south China coast as they had for millennia, so there are high windowless walls, sniper nests, and hidden rooms to look for.

Some of these houses have been preserved by their first owners’ descendents, but many long ago fell into disrepair, especially after many residents moved to Taiwan to escape the salvos. It is primarily these latter structures that are now set up as restaurants, shops, museums, galleries, and above all as homestays, under an innovative, and initially controversial, program operated by the Kinmen National Park administration. The government organization pays for the renovation of private buildings in return for a 30-year lease on their use. Instead of operating the buildings itself, it puts them up for tender for local people (and occasional outsiders) to suggest projects for their use.

As a result of that program, tourists now have the chance to stay in a 19th century merchant’s home, renovated and refurbished in classical style, in the winding streets of Zhushan Village (珠山), or in dozens of similarly fascinating buildings. The cost is around NT$1,400 a night for two people, including traditional Kinmen breakfast (www.official-house.idv.tw),

Another renovation project, located in the old Jinshui Elementary School in Shuitou Village (水頭), houses a museum explaining the way of life of Kinmen residents in former times, particularly those who went abroad for work, first as laborers and later as merchants. The information, presented in English as well as Chinese, includes the estimate that around half a million Kinmen descendents now live overseas, a figure about ten times the island’s current population.

So many properties have been renovated in Shuitou in southwest Kinmen that the whole village resembles one large outdoor museum. Another good place to view historic buildings is in the island’s northeast at the Shanhou Culture Village (山后民俗文化村) in Jinsha Township, but visitors will see stunning scenes wherever they travel.

Wind lion statues

While in the northeast, the windiest part of the island, take a look at Kinmen’s iconic wind lions (風獅爺). Stone statues of varying sizes and designs – some holding objects such as pens, balls, or ribbons; some freestanding and some bas-relief on the side of houses; sometimes one for each village and sometimes one per house, they are worshiped to this day by local people to protect themselves, their boats, and crops from the strong winds. No one seems to know their origins, but they are a unique feature of Kinmen, and as such are much collected in miniature as souvenirs by visitors.

Other commonly bought items to take home include locally made knives and bottles of Kinmen kaoliang (高梁), a distilled liquor made predominantly from sorghum. Though the latter can be found in any supermarket throughout Taiwan, special designs of bottles and limited-quantity runs are only available at the distillery. Kaoliang is so synonymous with Kinmen in the minds of Taiwanese that most assume it was always made there, though in fact sorghum is a temperate grain, commonly grown in Shandong and other northern Chinese provinces.

When Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist forces lost the Chinese Civil War in 1949, by sheer historical fluke they were left in possession of the Kinmen and Matsu groups of islands. (Another common misconception is that Chiang intentionally held this territory as a bridgehead for reinvading the mainland, but in truth, it was merely accidental that these were the last two positions from which he was retreating to Taiwan when the Korean War started and the U.S. Navy entered the Taiwan Strait to prevent any further advance by Mao’s Communists.)

As mentioned above, many local residents relocated to Taiwan proper, but for those who stayed, the traditional occupations of fishing and trading were no longer possible with the islands under a virtual state of siege. By a stroke of good fortune, one of the island’s senior officers, General Hu Lian, was originally from Shandong. He recognized that Kinmen’s soil and water were suited to growing sorghum and making kaoliang liquor.

According to information provided at the visitor center of the distillery – another must-see of any trip – the plant now produces around 24 million liters of 38% and 58% liquor, generating around NT$12 billion (about US$400 million) to national and local coffers, and making Kinmen one of only two counties in the ROC not in debt to the central government.

While in central Kinmen, another destination for those with a taste for culinary tourism is the Sheng Zu Food & Beverage Corp. (301 Boyu Rd., Sec.2, Jinning), famed for its production of “imperial tribute candy” (貢糖). Originally peanut flavored, it now comes in around a dozen modern variations on this classic recipe. The name is said to derive from the confection being so good that it was presented to the imperial court, and while this is perhaps legend – or more likely, PR – the quantities sold from the company’s gift shop suggest it at least satisfies the Taiwanese palate.

Peanuts grow well in Kinmen’s soil and can be seen growing in fields and drying in the courtyards in front of people’s homes. While in the countryside, look out for cows as well. For Taiwanese accustomed to water buffalo, these “yellow cattle” (黃牛) are quite unusual. Elderly farmers still use them for plowing and other heavy work, and out of respect and gratitude do not eat beef. Those of the younger generation, however, now keep herds commercially, and beef jerky (牛肉乾) has become another Kinmen specialty.

From swords to plowshares

A last culinary-related destination are Kinmen’s knife makers, who are renowned for using the steel from unexploded Communist artillery shells to manufacture high-quality kitchen equipment. Wu Tseng-dong of Maestro Wu’s Chin Ho Li (金合利) knife factory puts on a show for tourists and will hand-make a knife specifically to a visitor’s needs. His family started out making agricultural tools, but switched to knives after the PRC shelling of Kinmen began in earnest on August 23, 1958. Over the next 44 days, around half a million artillery rounds targeted the island, and roughly the same number fell again over the next two decades, though many of these later missiles contained propaganda materials rather than explosives. Wu’s father and other blacksmiths used the steel to make knives and sold them to soldiers stationed on the island. By word of mouth, they became famous throughout Taiwan for their high quality.

Signs of war are evident all around Kinmen: a tank stands corroding on a beach near the airport; “Danger - Mines” signs hang beside coastal paths on Leiyu (烈嶼), the second inhabited island, better known as Little Kinmen; a grenade-shaped monument stands beside the road; and near Guningtou Village (古寧頭), site of a major battle of 1949 when PRC soldiers landed on Kinmen, there is a temple dedicated to Regimental Commander Li Guang-qian (李光前). Li lost his life but led his troops to victory and is worshiped by local people as War Lord of Guningtou and guardian deity of Jinnin Town, where a road is also named in his honor.

Many former military sites are now war-tourism hot spots. These include the broadcasting station at Mashan (馬山) in northeast Kinmen, the closest point to mainland China, where singer Teresa Teng and others exalted the virtues of life in Free China over enormous loudspeakers to PRC citizens.

Mashan also has fortifications and short tunnels, but those built at Qionglin (瓊林) in the center of Kinmen, where the PLA was expected to attack, are more extensive and well worth the NT$10 ticket price. In fact, rather than having a military purpose, these tunnels were largely built by local residents so they could continue their lives as normally as possible even when under attack.

For military fortifications, head to Yongshi Fort (勇士堡) on Little Kinmen, where there are gun emplacements, an arsenal, dormitories, officers’ rooms, a kitchen and tank emplacements, all underground and all connected by miles of tunnels. Visitors can walk or ride bicycles through the tunnels to nearby Tiehan Fort (鐵漢堡).

So much for the historical and cultural attractions, most of which come under the administration of the National Park Service. But given the islands’ sparse population, there are also natural wonders to explore. Of especial interest are the birds, as these small islands offer permanent or temporary abode to around 300 species, compared with a total of around 500 for the whole of the ROC. The various woodland, marsh, beach, and agricultural habitats are suited to ospreys, storks, cormorants, lesser pied kingfishers, and falcated teals, among others, as well as such local favorites as the Tibetan hoopoe and blue-tailed bee eater.

Good places to see bee eaters feeding, mating, and teaching fledglings to fly are Tianpu Reservoir (田埔水庫) and Qingnian Nongzhuang (青年農莊) in Jinsha Township (金沙鎮) in eastern Kinmen.

Other bird-watching sites include the Shuangli Wetlands (雙鯉濕地) for kingfishers, waterfowl, and birds of prey; Lake Ci (慈湖) for cormorants; and Lingshui and Xi lakes (陵水湖, 西湖) and the Tiandun Sea Wall (田墩海堤) for oriental skylarks, oystercatchers, terns, and collared pratincoles.

Visitors will also see plenty of butterflies in season, but only the most fortunate will catch sight of Eurasian otters, which live in fresh water but may be active in shallow coastal waters after dark.

The horseshoe crab, once consumed as a delicacy or used as fertilizer, and their shells turned into ladles or hung on walls to repel evil, is now a protected species. This ancient creature, actually related to spiders and not a crab at all, has barely changed in hundreds of millions of years. Females come ashore in summer to lay eggs in the sand above the high tide line, and their offspring do not reach adulthood until about 14 years of age, making them highly susceptible to environmental stress. Their complete life cycle and Kinmen’s suitable habitats are introduced at the Horseshoe Visitor Center (2 Xihai Rd., Sec.1, Jincheng Township), and small crabs can be explored for at the nearby bay behind the Juguang Tower (莒光樓).

From there a causeway connects to the now uninhabited Chenggong Isle (建功嶼), previously a military base and earlier a leper colony, which faces the Chinese city of Xiamen (廈門) just 10 kilometers away.

One new inhabitant of this islet is a giant statue of Zheng Cheng-gong (鄭成功; also known as Koxinga), who used Kinmen as a base for several years before evicting the Dutch from Taiwan in 1661. Paid for by citizens of the PRC, the gift would seem to symbolize the fact that instead of fortifying against an attack by China, the islands are now welcoming a daily “invasion” of shoppers and sightseers from across the water. The numbers may well grow further if a current move to open Kinmen to gambling casinos proves successful.

Text and photos copyright Taiwan Business Topics and Jiyue Publications 2011/2012

A Day Trip to Yingge and Sanxia

Besides the museum and shops devoted to ceramics, “old streets,” and an exquisite temple, the area is ideal for hiking and cycling.

BY MARK CALTONHILL

It is easy to zip past the Sanying (三鶯) interchange on National Highway No. 3 (the second north-south freeway) on one’s way to high-tech Hsinchu, the mountains of Nantou, or the island’s historical heart of Tainan. Easy, with all the new tower blocks stretching as far as the foothills, to pass off the twin towns of Sanxia and Yingge as nothing more than an outer ring of New Taipei City’s commuter belt, housing the latest generation of white-collar workers. But as a center of northern Taiwan’s “old tech,” and with their own forest-covered hills and plenty of historical traces, the two towns provide many reasons for inclusion on a list of must-see destinations during a stay in Taiwan. Indeed, at little more than half-an-hour by train or a couple of hours by bicycle from downtown Taipei, they are among the most visited tourist spots by locals and foreigners alike.

Moreover, with their “old streets” located just four kilometers apart, it is tempting to treat them as a single day-trip destination and quickly knock off their most famous attractions: the ceramic shops of Yingge and the intricately sculpted Qingshui Zushi Temple (清水祖師廟) of Sanxia. This would be a shame, however, as the towns (now “districts” 區 under the latest round of local government reorganization) deserve a more thorough exploration.

Yingge (鶯歌; literally “Oriole Song”) brings to mind the Chinese expression “Orioles sing and swallows dance” (鶯歌燕舞), which, with the idiomatic meaning of “rising prosperity,” is apt for this town, whose affluence based on ceramic manufacturing has made it stand out from 1805 to the present day. This industry, in turn, derived from the threefold convergence of raw material supply (clay), power source (coal, in next-door Sanxia), and mode of transportation (a broad-flowing river and later the railway) for shipping out finished goods.

In our post-railway age of transport by truck, in which rivers pose an obstacle rather than an opportunity, and especially with the River Dahan (大漢溪) reduced to a trickle following construction of the Shimen Dam upstream, it is difficult to imagine how important rivers once were in the economic life of northern and western Taiwan.

This significance is emphasized in an introduction to the town presented at the Yingge Ceramics Museum (鶯歌陶瓷博物館; 200 Wenhua Rd.; www.ceramics.tpc.gov.tw). Other permanent displays introduce the history and uses of ceramics, from aboriginal “ancestor pots,” through the four centuries of Han Chinese traditions – kitchen utensils, toilets, roof decorations, temple artifacts, and much more – to modern high-tech applications.

The museum also has collections of ceramic art, and presents temporary exhibitions of prize-winning modern works. On weekends in workshops behind the museum, local and international artists in residence explain their latest pieces and help teach DIY techniques to first-come, first-admitted students (NT$50 for materials and NT$150 to have one’s masterpiece fired). Two gift shops sell souvenirs, and a café and a restaurant provide refreshments.

DIY training is also offered at numerous galleries along Yingge’s “Old Street” (sadly renovated in recent years to someone’s movie-set idea of what a historical street might resemble), which is actually a triangle of streets around Jianshanpu Road (尖山埔路) on the other side of the train tracks from the museum. This area is a good source of everything from cheap PRC imports and slightly imperfect Taiwanese made-for-export items at NT$10 and up, to high-end ceramic art valued in the millions of NT, as well as various other handicrafts in other media.

Places to eat

Traditional foods stands, tea shops, open-air restaurants, and street musicians create a holiday atmosphere on weekends, and the Taiwan Memorabilia shop at 13 Jianshanpu Rd. and the similarly retro-themed restaurant at No. 85, which claims to sell “Yingge’s Second-best Food,” take people back to the supposedly idyllic postwar decades.

While there are also a number of interesting stores between the two main tourist areas, probably the best reason to head into downtown Yingge is A-po’s Sushi (阿婆壽司; 63 Zhongzheng Rd.). Selling sushi for NT$35, miso soup at NT$15, and sliced pork, also NT$35, A-po’s is a 45-year-old institution famed (and much imitated) throughout Taiwan.

While Yingge has always been something of a one-ring circus, relying exclusively on pottery for its prosperity, Sanxia (三峽), on the other side of the Dahan River and freeway and stretching far into the foothills, had profitable coal, camphor, dyeing, and tea industries.

At first sight, the Sanxia Historical Relic Hall (三峽鎮歷史文物館; 18 Zhongshan Rd.) with its first-floor displays of amateur painting, is unpromising. But upstairs, even though there is very little English-language information, the introductions to the town’s history, and in particular the photos of old Sanxia and displays of tools and artifacts relating to the four industries, make it worth a visit. Located in the old town office, a Japanese-period building, the hall also organizes free guided tours of the town on weekends, albeit in Chinese.

Next door, down an alley to the left, is the Indigo Dyeing Center. This should be the first stop for those of a DIY inclination, since the blue-dyed articles take between one and three hours to dry. Prices range from NT$200 to make a purse and NT$250 for a handkerchief, to NT$450 for a scarf and NT$600 for a t-shirt. For those of lesser artistic skill, the center has a shop selling a wide range of traditional and modern clothing dyed in local style.

The town’s main attraction is, without doubt, the ZuShi Temple (祖師廟; 1 Changfu St.), whose every inch of stone and wood was exquisitely carved under the direction of locally born artist Li Mei-shu. More of his work can be seen at the Li Mei-shu Memorial Gallery (李梅樹紀念館; No.10, Lane 43, Zhong-hua Rd.), for which a “cleaning fee” of NT$100 is charged. Dating from 1769, when Fujianese immigrants brought incense from their parent temple and established branches all over Taiwan, the temple has been rebuilt three times, most recently from the ruins of the Second World War. So fine is the work by Li and his workers that it is now a place of pilgrimage for worshipers from the original temple in southern China.

Minquan Street (民權街), running westerly away from the temple plaza, is Sanxia’s “old street.” Almost every town and village in Taiwan with a couple of old buildings now promotes its “old street;” there are dozens in New Taipei City (nee Taipei County) alone. This is one of the best, however, and although it has been somewhat homogenized in line with the city’s tourism-promotion program, it still retains many original architectural features.

The store fronts are very similar to those in other towns, since they resulted from an earlier attempt to standardize dwellings starting in 1916 during the period of Japanese rule. Nicknamed bamboo houses because they are long and thin and divided into sections, the buildings stretch far back from the road. Usually only the front quarter is used as a shop and therefore can be seen by the public. For insight into a complete structure, usually with atrium, well, and mezzanine level, visitors may browse the antique shop at No. 59, or pay NT$20 for an even better example at the gallery in No. 96.

A great many properties are still private homes, often renting out the shop front. While there are some antique, souvenir, and memorabilia stores, increasingly these spaces are taken by traditional food sellers, and visitors can get quite full on free samples simply by walking up and down the short road. Yet more vendors take up position on weekends on the bridge leading away from the Zushi Temple, which is a hive of activity as most tour buses park on the opposite side.

Two sites of ethnological interest are the aboriginal encampment beneath the bridge connecting Yingge and Sanxia, and the Hakka museum. The first is a spontaneous development that grew up over a span of 30 years and is inhabited by indigenous people drawn to the area for work but unable to find affordable accommodation. The government has repeatedly tried to evict the squatters, but the area looks increasingly like a small village.

The second, the New Taipei City Hakka Museum (新北市客家文化園區; 239 Long En St.), is designed in the manner of the Hakka round houses in Guangdong and Fujian provinces of China. The extensive exhibitions introduce this famous architectural style known as “earth towers” (土樓), the various branches of Hakka language spoken in Taiwan, the main centers of Hakka population in Taiwan (although Taoyuan, Hsinchu, Miaoli, and Pingtung counties are best known, there are around 680,000 Hakka living in New Taipei City, but they tend to be more assimilated into the Minnan and Mandarin communities both culturally and linguistically), Hakka life in early Taiwan, Hakka fashions, local tea production, Hakka religion – the Three Mountain Kings (三山王) are characteristically worshiped, the Yimin (義民) Festival on the 20th day of the 7th lunar month (at which Hakka celebrate their role as “Righteous People” in helping put down rebellions in Taiwan), and Hakka music, song, and opera.

Children can do DIY lantern and doll-making, and there is a restaurant specializing in classics such as Hakka stir fry (客家小炒) and “pounded tea” (擂茶), plus a shop selling souvenirs.

Enjoy the outdoors

For most visitors, all these attractions are usually more than enough for a day trip. Lovers of outdoor pursuits are encouraged to return, however, since this urban itinerary misses most of Sanxia. With an area of more than 190 square kilometers and forested mountains rising to 1,700 meters, but only around 100,000 residents, it is New Taipei City’s second-largest district and one of its least populated.

A short hike of about five kilometers takes visitors to Baiji’s (白雞) Xingxiu Temple (行修宮; 155 Baiji Rd.), whose quiet is in contrast to Zushi’s renao (“heat and noise”), perhaps because it is not Daoist, as it appears to be, but actually Confucian.

Further afield, the Dabao (大豹) Scenic Area down the No. 114 county highway, a route covered by the 807 bus, is popular with cyclists and ramblers, with dozens of marked trails leading from the valley bottom into the surrounding hills. Those looking for more gentle interaction with nature can head to the Man Yue Yuan National Forest Recreation Area (滿月圓國家森林遊樂區; 174-1 Youmu Neighborhood), which is famed for its autumnal maple trees, trails, and two waterfalls, for an NT$100 entry ticket. Accommodations are available at the Great Root

s Forestry Spa Resort (大板根森林溫泉渡假村; 80 Chajiao Neighborhood) from NT$5,000 a night upward. The Resort also has hot springs (NT$350 per person), a restaurant, and short trails. For a stiffer challenge, there is a full-day walk of about 20 kilometers through dense undergrowth and across countless steams from Xiongkong (熊空; “Bear Hollow”) at the end of the bus route, to Red River Valley (紅河谷) near Wulai, where swimming spots, hot springs, and a bus back to Taipei await. It is easy to imagine this as Atayal aborigine hunting grounds, which of course is what it was, and still perhaps is, as some hikers report seeing aborigines with homemade guns. (Richard Saunders’ book Taipei Day Trips has details of several hikes in this area).

Transportation to Yingge is by train, bus, or car, to Sanxia by bus or car. Alternatively, there are very pleasant bike paths on both the north and south banks of the Dahan River, the northern one continues after Yingge to Daxi (大溪) and beyond.

cycling in Kaohsiung

article in Taiwan Today (GIO online newspaper) about cycling in Kaohsiung (http://www.taiwantoday.tw/ct.asp?xItem=167358&ctNode=427):

On a warm spring Sunday afternoon, Hsu Ching-jan, his wife and 8-year-old daughter make their way towards downtown Kaohsiung City to go shopping and eat snacks before heading home. All are riding newish-looking bicycles and are wearing regulation helmets and brightly colored cycle jerseys. They are just three of a great many cyclists thronging the car-free bike paths running along both sides of the Love River near the city’s harbor.

“We come here once or twice a month,” said Hsu. “Actually, it was my daughter Cindy’s idea originally. She’d heard about it from her classmates.”


This is typical of the way the pleasures of cycling spread by word of mouth. The Internet is similarly abuzz with recommendations.

“After many years of avoiding Taiwan’s second largest city [Kaohsiung], I recently went back,” Andrew Kerslake, a U.S. citizen residing in Taichung, wrote on his blog Taiwan in Cycles last fall. “The place had totally been transformed into a large friendly metropole with a small town feel.”

“It was gorgeous,” he concluded. “Most of all I felt safe.”

This final point is a key consideration. When asked why they do not cycle regularly, many Taiwanese cite safety as a major concern, along with pollution and—especially among women—getting sunburned.

Local cyclists have their own solution to this last problem: covering every inch of their flesh with layers of clothing. Regarding the first two, they have to rely on drivers’ etiquette and government administrations’ pursuit of antipollution policies.

“In order to make cycling more convenient and safer for citizens, bike paths are constructed as part of the sidewalk, so as to avoid bikes having to compete for road space with cars and motorbikes,” Kent T. Wang, director-general of Kaohsiung’s Department of Transport, said by e-mail.

Furthermore, to encourage cyclists to use the paths, he stressed that “they are built in coordination with road construction projects and in accordance with the same principles of signage, signaling and road marking.”

This will be good news to many cyclists visiting Kaohsiung from other cities—around the world and not just in Taiwan—who often feel themselves to be second-class road users. Taipei’s bike paths, for example, have few signs directing cyclists to destinations and no distance indicators other than those relating to the section of path being used.

“According to statistics from the Ministry of Transportation and Communications, Kaohsiung’s rate of cycle use in 2009 was 6.7 percent. This compares with a 2005 figure from my own department of 4.3 percent before the bicycling system was constructed,” Wang said. “This shows the gradual increase in bicycle use among Kaohsiung’s citizens.”

Wang explained that motivation for the city’s investment in cycling infrastructure was two-fold. “Our administration decided to promote the use of bicycles as an alternative to motorbikes for short journeys because they are better both for individual health and for protection of the environment. As such, it is part of our efforts to meet Kaohsiung’s low-carbon target.”

Due to its strategic location, from early in the period of Japanese rule, Kaohsiung was developed as the island’s major industrial region, a process that only intensified after postwar retrocession as it became the engine powering the Taiwan economic miracle. As the center of heavy industry—particularly steel, energy and petrochemical production—with thousands of factories, the city also recorded some of the nation’s worst air, water and land pollution indices, and one of the worst per capita carbon dioxide emission rates in the world.

It was against this background that incumbent two-term Mayor Chen Chu was elected. Two key items on her campaign manifesto were the improvement of transportation and emphasizing of environmental protection.

Not merely words with which to get elected, these policies have remained central to her efforts to transform Kaohsiung into a low-carbon and environmentally sustainable metropolis.

While most of the cuts in per capita emissions targeted—30 percent by 2020 and 80 percent by 2050—will have to come from the industrial, commercial and residential sectors, transportation policy can also play a role in a city notoriously addicted to car and motorbike use. Chen’s administration has expanded the city’s bus system, acquired hundreds of new, energy-efficient buses, and doubled MRT shuttle bus connectivity. It has also expressed its commitment to the embattled MRT system despite poor usage rates by citizens.

Folding bikes can be taken on buses and the MRT for free, and regular bikes on the MRT for a flat bike-and-passenger ticket of NT$60 (US$2.32), said Wang.

Alternatively, citizens can take public transport to one of 50 kiosks around the city to rent one of 4,500 bikes at a subsidized rate starting at NT$30. This C-Bike scheme, Taiwan’s first urban bike rental program, was what particularly caught CNN’s attention.

“NT$75 million of the costs for the C-Bike project came from the central government,” Lee Mu-sheng, director-general of the city’s Environmental Protection Bureau, said, also by e-mail. “With NT$15 million from the city budget, this made a total of NT$90 million in 2008.”

As for the 230 kilometers of bike paths, Wu Ming-chang, director of the Maintenance Office in the Public Works Bureau, estimated they had cost around NT$40 million for upkeep in the period 2010-11.

So do riders feel these investments have made Kaohsiung a cycling paradise?

Hans Chen, a Kaohsiung native who now lives in Taipei and commutes by bicycle from Guandu to the city center, said he prefers the Kaohsiung system, “because it is less abused by motorcyclists who illegally take shortcuts on the capital’s bike paths.”

American consultant Michael Cannon recently made the opposite move, from Linkou in New Taipei City to be near his wife’s family in Kaohsiung. “Riding around Kaohsiung itself with the flow of traffic is easier and more comfortable in comparison to riding in Taipei,” he said. “Due to the prevalence of scooters here, drivers are quite conscientious about cyclists and don’t push them off the roadway.”

But Michael Turton, an American educator based in Taichung, said he preferred Taichung or Taipei, not because the facilities were better, but because “the mountains are right outside your door, whereas in Kaohsiung there are many kilometers of terrible traffic between you and the beautiful hills.”

All three cyclists had suggestions for further improvements in Kaohsiung, from the removal of stray dogs to the provision of access ramps and extension of the system.

Moreover, there needs to be a change in perception of cycling from a twice-per month hobby to a transportation system if people like the Hsus and their daughter are going to commute daily to work or school by bike, and thus really contribute to hitting Kaohsiung’s CO2-emission targets

Eating in the New Year

GT (http://www.globaltimes.cn/www/english/travel/themed-tours/2011-01/618482.html):

"In operation for 26 years," one sign reads; "Family-run for 35 years," another states, while yet another proclaims they've been "Selling the best foodstuffs for more than half-a-century." In Taipei's Dihua Street, tradition is everything, and this is never truer than during the annual "Southern and Northern Product Fair" that runs for two weeks leading up to the Lunar Calendar New Year's Eve (falling on February 2 this year).

Families get together, neighbors and friends visit, and since Taiwanese are nothing if not hospitable, a good supply of food is essential for the holiday.

Street Life

Supermarkets and department stores do a roaring trade in specially packaged lihe (gift boxes), and bottles of wine or whisky with free customized glasses. But most people, even if they normally buy their groceries at supermarkets, like to go to a street market to get in some traditional xiaochi (snacks) in the days or weeks before New Year. In Taipei, this means a trip to Dihua Street, in the Dadaocheng district to the north of the city center.


New Year's Eve kicks off with the traditional family weilu ("get-together around the stove"), for which hot pot is a popular dish. To perk up the usual meat and vegetables, this will contain a variety of dumplings, mushrooms, tofu and seafood, all of which are on sale.


On New Year's Day itself, cooking is taboo, so pre-cooked meat and preserved vegetables are in great abundance. Most traditional are the larou (cured pork) and lachang (sausages), since la means both "curing" and is also an alternative name for the last month of the lunar calendar. Also seen in giant heaps are beef, pork and cuttlefish jerky, rousong (shredded pork), smoked duck - a specialty of Taiwan's northeastern Yilan County - dried fish, shrimps, scallops, shark's fin and abalone.

Vendors compete vigorously: some wear costumes - either traditional Chinese apparel or eye-catching animal suits - many shout, and all offer free samples to tempt shoppers.

"Around three-quarters of a million people will visit the market between January 15 and February 1," Chen Shih-Che of Original Creativity, a privately run marketing company, told the Global Times. "This is significantly more than in previous years," he added.

Original Creativity helps Taipei City organize the annual event, including bringing contemporary pop, dance and even rap acts to a small stage in the middle of the market.

But this is really just a new face for a long-established tradition that existed for decades before the government got involved. Nanbei huo, that is, the best "produce from South to North [China]," has been sold in Dadaocheng to the north of Taipei Railway Station since before the Japanese colonial authorities instructed local shopkeepers to build porticoed brick buildings in the 1920s, and even before the railway was built in the late 19th century.

Temple Fair

One of the oldest areas of the city, it dates from the migration from the even-older district of Mangka (now Wanhua), slightly further south along the Danshui River. This influx of population was perhaps the result of fighting between rival Fujian immigrants or maybe due to silting up of the river, but whatever the reason, Dadaocheng's wharf became a key northern Taiwan center of import/export, and the local streets boasted many of the island's finest houses and company buildings.

Indeed, several of these still stand, as does the Xiahai Temple at 61 Dihua Street. Dedicated to the Lord of Walls and Moats - more commonly known as City God - and with half-a-dozen altars bearing statues of several dozen different Daoist and Buddhist deities, at other times of the year the temple organizes walking tours of the historic neighborhood.

During the two-week fair, however, it concentrates on offering free "blessed tea" to flagging shoppers, while conducting its usual business of marshalling the services of The Old Man Under the Moon - a Daoist deity - who is said to help find prospective mates for single worshipers.
Most shoppers bypass the temple, however, as there is still much shopping to be done. Having bought hot-pot ingredients and dried meat, they perhaps focus next on the fruit, nuts and candies that relatives and friends will pick at between meals over the coming days.


Once more seen in great piles, and as always available to taste, are quantities of peanuts, pistachio, almonds, variously flavored pumpkin seeds, dates, figs, sun-dried persimmons, chestnuts from Tianjin, and the Taiwanese people's beloved pineapple cakes. One stall even sells Chilean cherries, showing that "North-South produce" now applies to all over the world. Most traditional, and still most popular, are ju (small oranges), since their name sounding like zhu (to offer good wishes) in Mandarin and ji (auspicious) is prized in Minnan Taiwanese - and also they are tasty, nutritious and symbolic of good fortune over the year to come.



In a similar vein, Taiwanese like to give gifts of pineapples, since its Minnan name onglai is homonymous with "prosperity has come." At one meal during the New Year celebrations, a fish will be eaten, since niannian you yu (every year have a fish) means "every year have a surplus," another auspicious saying. Naturally, both are on sale in the Dihua Street market.

Everybody's talking

Minnan is the language of the street, though of course everyone speaks Mandarin, and, since the stalls are staffed with temporary student workers, they are happy to practice English on foreigners. "Try one, it's free," is the usual opening phrase.

Taipei Mayor Hau Lung-bin spent two hours at the market on January 21, not to shop but to enjoy the atmosphere. "It's great to see events like this revitalizing the oldest parts of our city," he told the crowd, before handing out thousands of spring couplets for people to hang at home.

For those not lucky enough to receive the mayor's gift, there are stalls selling couplets, lanterns, paper cuts and other traditional New Year ornaments, most of them red and many bearing rabbit images, in keeping with this year's Chinese horoscope animal.

Several parcel companies run stalls and promise to deliver fresh produce in temperature-controlled bags to relatives and friends anywhere on the island within 24 hours, as does the local branch of the post office. Even the police get in on the act, with the local precinct taking advantage of the large number of visitors to promote anti-corruption and other public-service campaigns.

Somewhat incongruously, there are one or two shops selling objects such as belts and needlework supplies, not because these have any connection with the upcoming festivities, but because their stores are here year round.

In fact, Dadaocheng is a fascinating area to visit any time of year, such as at City God's birthday in the fifth lunar month, or when the district's puppet museum and theater has a new exhibition or show. At all times, the stores will still be selling the "best from the South to the North," and visitors are guaranteed a taste of Taiwan from times gone by.

Saisiyat aboriginal dancing

Dancing the Nights Away
– Joining Taiwan’s Saisiyat ethnic minority for a three-day religious festival

my second piece for GT (http://life.globaltimes.cn/life/2011-01/612864.html), though it used a different headline and, indeed a different photo of a different ethnicity dancing in a different location at a different time of the day


According to the legend of the Saisiyat people living in the mountains of Taiwan's Hsinchu and Miaoli counties, their ancestors accidentally exterminated a tribe of dwarf people from whom they had learned hunting, farming, brewing and other skills. To atone for this deed, at the full moon in the tenth lunar month every second year, they invite the spirits of this lost tribe to a three-day festival of singing, dancing, traditional foods and drinking their home-brewed millet wine. The Global Times recently went to find out more.
The 14 extant ethnic groups of Taiwan Aborigines comprise less than 2 percent of the island's total population, yet over four centuries' migration of Han-Chinese and the resulting social and political dominance, each has managed to preserve its identity, language and traditions.
One such tradition is the Pasta'ai (Dwarf Spirit Festival) of the approximately 5,000 Saisiyat people. It is held biennially in their home villages in the Nanzhuang Township of Miaoli County and Wufeng Township of Hsinchu County in the Xueshan Mountain Range of northwest Taiwan.
For decades it was a little-known, almost secretive event, but recently it has opened up to the outside world. And although at times this might look like just a booze-up, visitors are reminded that it is a religious rite and are asked to be respectful and well behaved. Immediately after having arrived, for example, locals and outsiders alike must call at a makeshift altar. Here, for a small cash donation, a sacred silver leaf is tied around their forehead or upper arm (and another around any camera or recording equipment).
Visitors may then enter the festival ground, but, for now, only Saisiyat tribe members may join in the dancing. Wearing self-made hand-stitched vests and other garments in the tribe's distinctive red-and-white colors, dancers link arms in long lines and perform a swaying backward-and-forward movement. This is designed to accentuate the movement of the rear, thereby creating a percussive rhythm on the "buttock bells" hung on the small of their backs. All the time the performers sing of their sorrow and gratitude to the spirits, and appeal for forgiveness.
Wiping out the dwarf people – said to measure just three feet tall – was not intentional, they chant. According to oral tradition, passed down from generation to generation in this three-day event, the tragedy occurred after just such a party as this.
Originally invited in gratitude for teaching the Saisiyat to hunt and farm, the Ta'ai, as the dwarves were known, had to cross a rushing river to attend their neighbors' annual harvest festival. Renowned for their singing and dancing as well as their warfare and magic arts, the Ta'ai were also infamous for their womanizing. Pregnancies often followed their visit, but the Saisiyat were too afraid to do anything about it.
Except on one occasion, when a young Saisiyat warrior, seeking revenge for the sullied reputation of his sister, sawed a notch from the log bridge used by the Ta'ai when returning home. His plan was too successful, and all but an elderly couple of dwarves were killed; the Saisiyat have been singing and dancing in atonement since.


For the first few hours each evening as the local Aborigines dance, outsiders watch, listen, take photos, purchase snacks and, above all, toast – and are toasted – with xiao-mi jiu (millet wine).
This fermented millet drink is of low strength (usually around 4 percent to 5 percent alcohol) but may be pepped up with grain alcohol. It is produced by the locals and bears no government-approved label denoting ingredients and strength, so visitors are advised to be cautious. Purchasing a bottle or two is recommended, however, as the hospitable Saisiyat constantly share from their own, and not to return the favor would be seen as rude. Many of the stalls selling the home brew provide free samples, so it is possible to choose a pleasantly fragrant version that is hopefully not too strong.
Foods are sold at the same stalls that surround the dance field, and at impromptu restaurants erected in one or two side alleys. Slate-roasted "boar" – likely just pork but possibly locally reared – and more exotic meats such pigeon or other small birds, plus a range of unusual high-altitude vegetables not found in city markets, attract particular attention. Sampling mountain fare has become popular with Taiwan's largely urban population over the last decade or two.
Indeed, the interest of the majority Han Chinese community in all things Aboriginal has mushroomed since the end of martial law in 1987 ushered in a new era of pluralist culture.
Moreover, when the island moved to a five-day working week in the late 1990s, citizens suddenly had the opportunity on long weekends to explore places and cultures they had hitherto only seen in television documentaries and travel programs.
Perhaps the opening up of the Pasta'ai to non-Saisiyat visitors should be seen in this context. And for those with sufficient time, participation in the event can be combined with walking in the nearby hills, visiting the Buddhist cave temples on neighboring Shitoushan (Lion's Head Mountain), or browsing the historic Hakka community of Beipu.
Staying in a local minsu (homestay) is a good way to learn more about the traditional community and Taiwan's Aboriginal culture. In particular, one can learn about the original anito spirit worship of the Saisiyat people, and how they view these traditions today after conversion, like most of Taiwan's Aborigines, to Christianity by Western missionaries.
Many younger revelers bring tents, however, or simply crash out on spare ground within walking distance of the festival site. This is mainly because the hours of dancing and drinking (alcohol is served by cup and ladle to the performers so they don't even need to break step) have taken their toll. At daylight, those still on their feet may stop dancing and find a place to sleep. But only until night falls again, when the Ta'ai spirits reappear and must, once again, be appeased – with more wine, dance and song.

on all things floral (except perhaps flowers)

first piece for global times (http://life.globaltimes.cn/art/2010-12/603746_2.html):

A child scans her bracelet in front of a sensor and a "flower" appears. It moves quickly onto a large screen, and is "planted" in a virtual "garden" with hundreds of others. Thus ends her visit to the Pavilion of Dreams, to the most popular exhibit at the Taipei International Flora Expo.



Set to use several million real plants (and countless such virtual ones) over its six-month run, the expo introduces visitors to the science, economics and aesthetics of various things botanical. Jointly sponsored by Taipei City and Taiwan's central government, it uses 91.8 hectares of public facilities - including the Dajia Riverside Park, the Children's Recreation Center, the Taipei Fine Arts Museum (the city's top cultural body), the long-disused Zhongshan Soccer Stadium, and historic buildings such as the Lin An-tai Historical Residence.

Expected to draw nearly 8 million people, the expo is the biggest event ever organized by Taiwan, with a population of just 23 million.

Most visitors enter at the western Yuanshan Park, and first pass the Floral Rainbow in the outside grandstand of the transformed soccer stadium. Inside, there would be held a series of six one-month-long competitions between nations, counties and private companies. Across the road in the Fine Arts Park, 22 countries will keep their exhibitions on for the entire six months in the Global Garden Area.

"This is one of my favorite parts of the Expo," the man in charge, General Producer Ting His-yung, told the Global Times. "In a small space I can see the designs of different cultures and understand the different ways in which different people think."

Another favorite exhibit is located on the stairway between the first and second floors in the Pavilion of Future in the expo's third area, the Xinsheng Park. This starts with flora from the shores of the Penghu Islands, and leads visitors through the vegetation common at increasing altitudes, until one reaches Taiwan's highest mountain, Yushan, standing 3952 meters above sea level and sparsely covered with alpine plants.

Ting also spoke of Taiwan's changing climate during the expo's half-year run, when temperatures will rise from -15 C to around 25. Combined with Taiwan's humidity and spring rains, such weather conditions are good for growing a wide variety of plants, he said.

Opportunities to take boats in Taiwan are surprisingly few considering no place is far from the sea. So, the highlight of the Dajia Riverside Park, the expo's fourth and final area, for many visitors is a boat ride along the Keelung River. This - as well as the Monet exhibition at the Taipei Fine Arts Museum - is the only attraction not included in the NT$300 ($10) combined ticket to the expo; and, at NT$80-250, it is not cheap. The trick is to chat up others queuing for tickets, since group tickets start at NT$40 per person.



Another idea is to start one's visit here, the most easterly point of the expo, as visitors are fewer and the queues shorter, taking less than the 1-2 hours for getting into some of the more popular pavilions. Shuttle buses run to six points within the expo, while free buses ply the outside gates.

The most important "local knowledge," however, is that the expo operates a reservation-ticket system, by which ordinary ticket holders must re-apply to visit the five most popular attractions. These secondary tickets are limited to a total of about 25,000 per day, meaning that at least half of all visitors will see none of the key pavilions. Early media reports focused on complaints by disgruntled ticket holders who were denied access to various pavilions. Ting dismissed these as a case of his fellow Taiwanese not grasping the workings of a world-class event of this sort.

It is essential, therefore, to read up on the expo and plan one's visit in advance, arrive before the gates open at 9 am, and get in line for the one or two top priority sights.

The five reservation-required pavilions are the Taipei Story House, a mock-Tudor building dating from Taiwan's trade with the West in the late 19th century; the Celebrity's House, dedicated to singer Teresa Teng; the Pavilion of Regimen, with its collection of bonsai; the Expo Theater, which shows a short 3D animated film about human impact on Taiwan's fragile natural environment; and the Pavilion of Dreams, with its display of the latest innovations loosely linked to botanical themes.



The expo has almost 7,000 artistic performances, ranging from community troupes to some of Taiwan's leading international-standard dance and musical ensembles. If seeing one or more of these is on one's list, then finding their times and locations and getting a seat in advance will also be necessary.

Many of the pavilions have been designed using cutting-edge technology in keeping with the expo's commitment to "3G" (green buildings, green transportation and green technology) and "3R" (reduce, recycle and re-use).

The highpoint of this is perhaps the FE EcoARK, appearing at the expo as the Pavilion of Fashion, constructed largely of bamboo and recycled PET bottles, which its creator claims set seven world records, including as the first wide-span exhibition hall with a zero-carbon footprint.

It is the only pavilion that will not remain on site after the expo. The other 13 will all remain - though their future uses are yet undecided - in what Ting refers to as "the expo's legacy for the city of Taipei".

As for the reason for holding the event at all, Ting, an academic with a 25-year passion for expos, said it was designed to showcase four of Taiwan's strengths: "Our technological power, agricultural power - including horticultural - cultural power and environmental protection power."

what can we learn from anybody?

China Post editorial:
What can Taiwan learn from the Inuit?

Taiwan's 40 death row inmates will not be executed simultaneously in a mass display of public wrath and vengeance, Minister of Justice Tseng Yung-fu said on Friday, in response to just such a request by some victims' families at a meeting in his office. Nevertheless, he reiterated that even though his ministry had the eventual goal of abolishing the death penalty, those who had already been sentenced to death would be executed as required by the law.

The question of abolition has caused heated debate nationwide following the ending by President Ma Ying-jeou's administration of a five year moratorium on executions earlier this year. Unlike Taiwan's number-one divisive issue — the question of unification with or independence from China — this topic cuts across party lines, and has already taken its first political scalp, that of Tseng's predecessor, Wang Ching-feng.

And it is a subject that will resurface again and again over coming months, as either alone or in small groups, the remaining 40 criminals meet their fates. Those demanding an end to what they see as barbaric vengeance will claim the moral high ground and mount increasingly vitriolic attacks on their ideological opponents and the state officials charged with carrying out these unpalatable acts. Meanwhile, those supporting the death penalty will continue to claim a popular mandate, and argue for implementation of tough laws in the face of liberal ideology and soul-searching. There is even talk of holding a national referendum to decide the issue, if not once and for all then at least for the foreseeable future.

But the issue is immensely complex and should not be decided by emotions or political considerations. It hinges on the fundamental relationship between a society and the laws it draws up to promote its good functioning.

Underlining his resolve to carry out the death penalties, Tseng also said Friday that “Law is meant to bring justice to the world.” But law and laws are designed to do much more than that. They are promulgated to persuade wrongdoers to mend their ways, to persuade would-be wrongdoers not to go down that path, to remove offenders from society and thus prevent them causing any more trouble (either temporarily or permanently), to provide victims or their families with a feeling of retribution, to provide society with a feeling of retribution, to protect people's basic rights but prevent them from infringing on other's rights and interests, to codify social and religious taboos, but above all, they are designed to continue the smooth running of society.

And different societies at different times need different sets of laws. Just about as far removed as possible from Taiwan's subtropical and largely urban and industrial environment is the arctic, nomadic, fishing and hunting culture of the Inuit. It is hard to imagine a more hostile environment for human beings to eke out an existence, and the Inuit traditionally formed communities that were strongly interdependent.

This reliance on each other was represented in their legal customs, which prioritized peace and social order, and made sure that responses to an offence would not cause further problems for the community. First violations or minor infractions were often seen as society's failure to take care of the offender, either materially or socially, and so went unpunished. Transgressors' behavior was simply ignored, in the hope that it would stop.

Repeat offenders or those committing more serious crimes became the subject of gossip, public ridicule and social criticism intended to curb greedy, selfish or unconstructive habits. Beyond this, disputes could be settled by song duels (which sound like an ancient form of rapping, with antagonists singing about each other's faults), fist fights and wrestling matches.

If these less subtle pressures were ineffective, social ostracism was used and, in extreme cases, physical ostracism from the community. In such a harsh environment where mutual aid was imperative, this latter punishment was equivalent to a death sentence. If all else failed, Inuit communities might occasionally resort to killing a repeat murderer or similar offender in order to ensure the survival of the group.

In all these measures, the needs of the community were paramount, and punishments were designed to impact material and social well-being as little as possible. Moreover, in a culture that traditionally had little excess wealth to spend individually on fines or collectively on imprisonment, social pressures and ostracism were cheap as well as effective.

Quite clearly, traditional Inuit legal practices are not suited to Taiwan in the 21st century (indeed, as the Inuit have moved from nomadic lifestyle to semi-permanent settlements, they are no longer entirely suited to contemporary Inuit communities). Their emphasis on maintaining peace, order and social harmony are worth bearing in mind, however, as Taiwan struggles to balance its conscience and utilitarian needs and re-assess its criminal code over the coming months and years.

sport for all (II)

"My First Triathlon"

(article in June's Amcham magazine: Taiwan Business Topics)

Two years ago I weighed 106 kilograms (about 233 pounds). The nearest I came to any sporting activity was when one friend cruelly asked if I had a basketball hidden under my shirt. Though I was athletic in my youth, over the years I’d spent too much time behind a desk, and consumed too many bottles of beer and bags of chips.

Still, high on my “bucket list” (things I want to do before kicking the bucket) was to compete in a triathlon – 1.5 kilometers of swimming and 40km of cycling, followed by 10km of running. Now I can check off that item, and while I haven’t won a race, I’ve lost weight, improved my fitness, and met a lot of friendly triathletes, many of them AmCham members.

Getting started was the biggest challenge, since for the life of me I couldn’t find where to sign up for a triathlon. Finally I found the Taiwan Racing website (www.taiwanracing.com ), subtitled “Follow Craig Johns & friends as they compete in triathlon, cycle and multisport events in Taiwan and around the world” and showing a picture of a blond curly-haired man standing beside a bike.

I fired off an email asking if Taiwan had any triathlons, and if so, were there any suitable for fatties like myself, and did he know of any ex-fatties with whom I could train. Johns replied that I would be welcome at any of the events listed at www.taipeimarathon.org.tw/contest.aspx (Chinese only). He said that some Taiwanese athletes participated, even though they couldn’t even swim, paddling around using a flotation device. He also recommended contacting a chap named Bill Bryson who helps organize regular training runs leaving the Taipei American School (TAS) campus at around 5 a.m. three times a week.

The next triathlon was in Kaohsiung in December, but I was too late to sign up. There was nothing then until April. Disappointed but excited, I signed up for two smaller events: Miaoli on April 11 and Hualien on May 29. I also signed up for a half-marathon in March, and then, since I’d already run that distance in training, changed my mind: “Heck, I might be ready for the full 42 kilometers,” I thought.

I emailed Bryson. He was very friendly, and invited me to any of the 30-kilometer Tuesday, 60-km Thursday, or 100-km Saturday runs.

“Just how fast do you go?” I inquired.

“22-23kph for the hills, 28-29kph for the others – sometimes a little over 30kph.”

Gee, I thought, that’s fast. Just how ex-fat was he? Bryson, a lawyer with Jones Day, said that having lost about 45 kilograms, he weighed in around 100. He quickly added that he was now a top-5 triathlete in his age-group in Taiwan, and had qualified for the world half-Ironman championship (1.9-km swimming, 90-km cycling, 21-km running) held in Clearwater, Florida last year. Unfortunately he’d injured himself while training and missed the event. As compensation, he’d crossed a different item of his bucket list by entering and finishing the Taipei marathon in December last year.

I decided to put in a month or two of hard cycling, then see about joining Bryson’s group.

Leading expats

Johns, it turned out, wasn’t just a guy with a blog. Not only is he the top triathlete in Taiwan, but he’s also a coach of the Kaohsiung-based national triathlon team. Previously he had been aquatics director at TAS, and before that a member of the New Zealand national triathlon squad.

Bryson met Johns at TAS about six years ago while getting back to swimming after a long lay-off. He had done a few triathlons in the United States after graduating law school in 1984, as well as the 28-km round-Manhattan swim. But since arriving in Taiwan in 1988, his weight had steadily increased. “Taiwan’s work ethic didn’t help, nor the country’s good food,” he says. Then two of his friends – both younger than him – had heart attacks, and Bryson knew it was time to get back in shape. Swimming and a Nordic trainer were the first steps, then cycling and eventually running. With Johns’ encouragement, he signed up for his first triathlon, Hualien in 2005, in which he came in around 16th in his age group, having taken more than an hour for the run.

Now in the 50-55 age bracket, Bryson has his own twist on the Taiwan work ethic, getting up at 4 a.m. for three sessions each week of cycling, three of swimming, and a number of runs. His bucket list now includes again qualifying for but this time making it to Clearwater, and doing a full Ironman. “Only one,” he stresses, “unless I qualify for Kona [the Hawaii site of the Ironman world championship]. In that case I’ll do two.”

Meanwhile, I pressed on with my preparations: 2,000 kilometers of cycling in January and another 1,250 in February, by which time I was down to a tidy 78.5 kilograms. But it didn’t last, as I spent the next three weeks bouncing between illnesses, only managing 196 kilometers for the whole of March. On March 21, I could complete only the first 21-km lap of the freeway marathon. I didn’t get an official time or even a souvenir towel; what I did get was sore and bleeding nipples for the next few days.

With a week to go before the Miaoli event, I called a few of Taiwan’s expatriate triathletes for some advice. Revital Golan, managing director of consulting firm Anemone Ventures, has herself only recently started to compete in cycle events and triathlons. “Don’t worry about your physical ability, just believe you can do it,” she told me. “It’s about your mental strength and will.”

Nor should I worry about the gear, she said. “All you really need is a reasonable bike, running shoes, and a swim suit and goggles. After your first race, you'll probably want to upgrade your bike and buy a tri-suit.” Also, although it was too late for this event, she recommended finding a training partner of similar ability or stronger, to encourage me to push harder.

“You won’t be first and you won’t be last, I can guarantee that,” said Simon Moore, a business manager with Air Products who has competed in triathlons throughout his six years in Taiwan and in the United States before that. “And hey, since it’s your first event, you’re guaranteed a personal best time.” He forgot to add: “If you finish.”

Acknowledging his growing passion for the sport, Moore finally bought a specialist time-trial bike last year after almost 20 seasons of competing on a regular road bike with clip-on TT bars. He took that to Hainan Island for the China half-Ironman, where he qualified for this year’s Clearwater event. But he emphasizes that the sport is about participating, not winning.

I called Bryson, apologized for not having made it to his pre-dawn rides despite his warm invitation, and asked for some last-minute advice. It was too late for any physical improvement, he said, but there was lots I could do in terms of nutritional preparation and race-day tactics.

Although for a “short” event like Miaoli, I wouldn’t be “hitting the wall” (marathon runners’ term for when the body runs out of available sugars after about 30 kilometers), he nevertheless recommended “carbo-loading” – that is, eating plenty of carbohydrates in the several days before a race. He also tries to avoid fresh fruit and vegetables over the last three days, since “you don’t want to be carrying all that roughage and be looking for a toilet as soon as you get going.”

“A couple of days before the race, check all your equipment, and go through your T1 and T2 procedures,” Bryson suggested, referring to the two transitions – from swim to cycle, and cycle to run.

“On the morning, three hours before the race, I drink some water and eat some salted rice crackers to replace calories lost during the night,” he continued. “One to two hours before the race is the ‘black-out period’ when you shouldn’t take any sugars. Your blood-sugar level rises, so your body produces insulin, which actually leads to a lower blood-sugar level and a feeling of drowsiness. In the last hour, I drink some more and take an FRS [free radical scrounger] gel. Before the race, I put on Body Glide.”

“Body Glide?”

“To stop chaffing, especially in the groin and nipples. You’ve heard of runner’s nipple?”

Unfortunately, I had not only heard of it, I’d experienced it. “I wish I’d called you a month ago,” I said.

“I put my towel on the ground to stand on, and put my helmet on the handlebars, and my sunglasses and race belt in the helmet. My spare tube, patch kit, and CO2 capsule are on the bike. I clip the bike shoes to the pedals. I have bike shoes that don’t need socks; getting socks over wet feet takes a lot of time. My running shoes don’t need socks either. For T2 I also have a water-bottle belt in which I put two bottles of water and two of sport drink, and it has a pocket for salt capsules and gels.”

“Gels?”

“Energy gels. But you need to train with them beforehand to get used to them. And drink water before and after you swallow them. Drink lots of water anyway. You have to stay ahead of dehydration. Drink small amounts, but don’t wait till you’re thirsty.”

“T2 is the toughest part of the triathlon. For 90 minutes during the swim and bike, your legs have been doing no weight bearing. Now you suddenly expect your legs to carry you. Not surprisingly, they object. The first kilometer of the run always sucks. One trick is to match your cycling cadence with your running cadence just before transition. And never stop for cramps.”

“Sockless shoes, race belt, drinks belt, gels, body glide, FRS…it sounds like a lot of equipment,” I said.

“Go see Howard,” Bryson answered.

Howard, I learned, is Howard Chen, a leading triathlete and cyclist, and owner of Howard’s Bike Co. (No. 27, Lane 22, Guangfu S. Rd.). I headed over to the store, and Howard turned up in person about 20 minutes after his assistant called to tell him there was an English-speaking person in the shop. I asked him what I needed to get started.

Entry-level aluminum time-trial bikes start at around NT$50,000, he said, and go as high as you want. NT$150,000-$200,000 would get me something nice – lightweight and aerodynamically fast, and equipped with carbon-fiber frame, forks, and wheels. Eighty percent of triathletes in Taiwan use road bikes, however, and entry level for one of those could be as low as NT$30,000.

What else would I need? Howard went through the list: helmet NT$1,500-$7,000; one-piece tri-suit NT$4,000 and up; shoes NT$2,500 and up; race belt NT$350; water/supply belt NT$1,500; and those mysterious gels at NT$60-$80. “Take one ten minutes before the swim, one before the bike, and then a couple more during the run,” he advised.

Howard also organizes Saturday morning training sessions leaving his shop around 7 a.m., permitting considerably more sleep than “work-ethic” Bryson up in Tianmu.

Also worth checking out is iRun (31 Minchuan W. Rd., Sec 3), run by Bruce Lee. He stocks a few bikes, but is better for clothing, shoes, accessories, and good honest advice. Off-the-shelf or customized TT and road bikes are available in all price brackets from many local stores such as Giant, Merida, Fuji, Kuota, and Louis Garneau.

Race day

I don’t know if it helped my energy level during the race, but my attempt at carbo-loading put on a kilogram or two and I weighed a pudgy 83kg on race morning. Similarly my attempt to avoid Bryson’s “black-out period” went awry when our 50-55 age group set off 38 minutes after the official start time. The delay was partly to allow the elite athletes to complete the first lap of the lake without any slow-moving obstructions. Another part, we were told, was because someone in the 45-50 group had caught his leg in the steps to the water and almost drowned.

“I didn’t ‘almost drown,’” Lee Wood insisted later, since he was the person involved. “But it was pretty nasty, with everyone clambering over me. I had to wait till they’d all gone, then pull myself out.” Wood, who heads HSBC Life Insurance, has been doing triathlons since the 1980s, and was in Miaoli because his 14-year-old daughter had signed up for her first competition, the half-distance event the day before.

Finally, after months of preparation, I was set to go. Seventy swimmers all leapt for the same four square meters of water, and the result was “people soup.” For the next 30 minutes I was hit, kicked, and mauled around the pond. Who in his right mind would ever do this twice, I thought. Some cheeky fellow decided to “draft” me [referring to a situation where one competitor benefits by being shielded by another from the wind or water] and save his energy for the bike, and for 10 minutes he hit my feet with every stroke.

“Drafting is illegal on bikes, though it is rarely enforced in Taiwan,” Bryson told me later, “but quite legal in the water. He shouldn’t have been touching you, though. Give him a good up-kick next time, and he’ll back off.”

T1 was okay, though I was disappointed to see so few bikes remaining after what I though was a reasonable swim. Also I couldn’t find my Vaseline, which I’d left in my bag.

The cycle section wove through a village and then onto the highway, half of which was closed to cars. We hurtled downhill, with even my 20-inch wheeler exceeding 50kph. After a 180-degree turn at the bottom, we climbed back the way we came. Another down, another climb, and it was suddenly time for T2. My odometer showed just 28.5 kilometers.

Bill’s comment that the first kilometer of the run is particularly difficult was probably the most helpful advice I received. Without that knowledge, I might well have given up right then. That the run did get worse was due only to the course design: after about two kilometers the path turned sharply uphill as we passed among rows of tea bushes where tea-leaf pickers were busy at work. One part of my mind (the part not dealing with the various pains and stresses my body was suffering, resisting the urge to stop and lie down) observed that this was quite picturesque.

I ran the first third of the hill, then walked – as fast as I could. The hill was so steep that everyone around me was walking as well. I resumed running after the sponge/drink tables at the top of the hill. Then, after four more hills and four more walks, the race was abruptly over.

I felt more anticlimax than sense of achievement. After all those early mornings and long days of training, it had been too easy. All my life waiting to tick this off my bucket list and it wasn’t nearly as hard as I’d feared.

Packing my things and heading away from the course, I caught sight of a big head of curly hair. It was Johns. I asked him later whether he had been in the race.

“No, I retired in February. I have severe osteoarthritis and bone-on-bone phenomenon in my right hip. I’ve been in pain on every run and cycle for the past two years. It was at a point where I couldn't sleep or walk properly, and the doctors finally said we have to do surgery now.

“I wish I had been racing – that’s probably the toughest run course I’ve ever seen,” he added, which made me feel a bit prouder of my achievement. I asked how the triathlon scene in Taiwan compares to overseas.

“Triathlon in Taiwan is evolving at a very quick rate. The number of events has doubled to 10 in 2009, though this is well behind countries such as New Zealand and the U.S. The number of competitors is growing at a faster rate than most sports in Taiwan, the quality of events is improving, and the level of the top competitors is getting a lot faster, but there’s still a gap to world-class level. There aren't enough females, events, funding, and most importantly coaches in Taiwan.

“Triathlon is a very expensive sport and the demographics tend to wealthy middle-aged people. Race organizers are focused on making money rather than providing events. This means that a large percentage of the population can’t afford to do these races, which really affects the development of the sport.”

He mentioned that Taiwan will have its first ever ITU- [International Triathlon Union] sanctioned race in September in Yilan, and its first official “half-Ironman” 70.3-km event on October 30 in Kenting. The country will also host the 2012 World University Champs.

I asked Johns to let me know when registration starts for the Kenting event. I have a new item on my bucket list – if I can keep my weight down for another five months.